Six Years

Abigail sighed contentedly as the warm bubbles swarmed around her. Such a wonderful feeling it was to unwind in peace and with the gentle roiling undertone of Paris noise outside her window. Abigail flipped on the hot water again, letting the heat seep into her tired bones.
She was going to see Lucas later. Six years was a long time between friends. And perhaps something more, thought Abigail. It had been six years since she had last seen Lucas. Six years since their last tearful good-bye. Six years since it had changed.


“I’ll miss you.” Abigail said, slow tears snaking down her cheeks. Her long blonde hair cascaded gracefully down her back, the moonlight giving it a silvery glow that only succeeded in making her distress hauntingly beautiful; the asphalt backdrop of the landing strip behind her created a jarring contrast to her ethereal magnificence. Lucas looked deep into her moist green eyes,
“I know Abigail. If you promise to write, I promise to come to be with you as soon as I can. Just let me sell the house and I’ll be there,” he brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, “Will you be alright paying the rent by yourself for a while?” Abigail nodded vigorously, a tear finally slipping off the end of her long nose. She looked down at his blackened shoes as a quiet sob slipped out. Lucas placed two fingers under her chin, softly pushing her face up to his. He whispered, that being all the volume he needed to say,
“Love you.” Abigail gasped quietly. Shocked to the very core, all she could do was nod. Lucas kissed her nose and then just as his lips were trailing down to hers, the pilot came jogging up to them saying,
“Come along Miss, we really must be going. British Airway Regulations say that we need to leave by 9 o’clock.” Abigail turned away from Lucas toward the pilot and nodded. Her gaze returned to her loving friend. His eyes had gone strangely glassy and he had moved back, putting a less intimate distance between them. She waved tentatively and whispered,
“’Bye.” Abigail followed the pilot to her plane. She didn’t look back. Lucas stood on the runway until the lights of Abigail’s plane were no longer visible. He shoved his hands deep in his now empty pockets against the chilly November air. There were no tears, only hollow rejected staring as he slowly walked back to his much abused car.
But that had been six years eight months and three days ago. A lot could have changed since then. Abigail sank lower into the fading bubbles. She found the best way to beat away the stress was to soak in a lavender-vanilla scented bath with Parisian sunlight streaming in over her body. Abigail sighed and looked at her clock. 3:48. She slowly rose out of the bubbles. Abigail smiled down at her wrinkled fingertips as they lightly ran up her arm. Just like Lucas used to do when I was upset, thought Abigail. She took a deep breath, and reached for her warm towel. Wrapping it around herself, she slowly walked out to her bedroom, savoring the feel of the new plush carpet under her feet. It squished between her toes, and felt quite good. Abigail closed the drapes and let her towel fall to the ground. She examined herself in the mirror, pleased for the most part with what she saw. A trim body, smooth skin, a flushed face from the humidity of the bath. Her large green eyes held a new shimmer to them that only comes with experiencing the world. Her long blonde hair was wet, clinging to her slim figure. Her breasts were the perfect size. Her nose managed to ruin the otherwise perfect image in the mirror, however. Too long for Abigail’s liking. She sighed, and wished yet again that it could be changed. Abigail had been to the plastic surgeon more times than she bothered to count, but every time she thought about getting it shortened, Abigail remembered that night almost seven years previously. How light yet loving that kiss had been on her nose. Abigail tenderly touched it, and couldn’t help but smile sadly. If only she had reacted faster. She could have told him how much she loved him, and begged him to hold her tight to his chest and never let her go. And now she had wasted practically seven years away from him. Because of her slow reactions.
Abigail walked to her closet, and threw the chestnut doors open. She paged through her dresses, finally settling on a knee-length white sundress with red poppies reaching up from the bottom in red finger-like tendrils, blossoming just below the waist. Abigail donned her underwear and the dress, slipping her small feet into their yellow high-heel sandals. She grabbed her matching straw hat as she strode out the door. As Abigail walked out the apartment building’s door, she smiled at the doorman saying,
“Good morning Steve.” He bowed and tipped his hat saying,
“Good morning to you as well Mademoiselle Jones.” Abigail walked out to the street, hailed a taxi, and said as she sat down,
“High Hill Park, please.” The driver nodded to the rearview mirror,
“Oui.” Abigail watched as the tall buildings passed her window. So much history was contained within them. Some were over 400 years old, some younger but still ancient, and yet there were still bulldozers just down the street, waiting impatiently to do away with all that history. All the slow and leisurely life that had once coursed through them, to be replaced with a newer, faster life. It made Abigail want to cry. Suddenly, the buildings came to a stop, to be replaced with a large field. Little boulders stuck up all over. The taxi stopped at the entrance to the iron-enclosed park. The swirling letters over the kissing gate read ‘HIGH HILL PARK’. Such beauty mixed with such sadness. Abigail leaned forward and asked,
“Could you please wait? I won’t be long.” The driver was in no hurry this morning and agreed. Abigail nodded and walked to the entrance. She paused to admire the artistry put into the contorted iron before gently pressing the gate open. As Abigail slowly walked the aisles, tears started slipping down her face. Three rows down, two across. She still remembered where they had last kissed. Such a sad day it had been.
Abigail came to a stop directly in front of the boulder. In solemn script, it read:


Abigail thought as she looked down at the headstone. It had been six years since she had come to visit her friend. Such a long time between people of any familiarity. She sighed, letting her eyes wander over the headstone. Her gaze flicked to the fourth finger on her left hand. A simple silver ring set with a solitaire sapphire shimmered back at her. She hadn’t found the box in her pocket until she was already in the air. A black velvet box, it had been. Inside Lucas had tucked a short note;

My dear Abigail,
I love you. There is nothing that could ever make me stop loving you. Not even Paris. Please remember me with this ring. Don’t forget that even if you can’t see it, I’m thinking of you. Always. Take the ring. If you’ll let me, I’ll replace it with something worthy of your beauty when I get over there.

“But he lied,” whispered Abigail to the little ring, “He never came for us.” Her thoughts once again wandered to that night she received the fatal news.

Abigail had been sitting in her favorite chair by a blazing fire, reading through their correspondence yet again. As she sat curled up, her phone had blipped at her. Even as she picked it up, Abigail reflected, she had known something was wrong. A surly male voice said from the other end,
“Mademoiselle Steele?”
“Oui?”
“We need you to come down to 4 Boulevard du Palais sil vous plait.”
“Is there something wrong Monsieur?”
“Oui, mademoiselle. It appears that a Monsieur Jones has been…ah… killed.” Abigail had gasped loudly. Already the tears were coming to her eyes. She whispered,
“How?”
“His airplane went down just off the coast. You were listed as his emergency contact.” Abigail just nodded, her throat feeling too constricted to do much more.
“Merci monsieur. What was the address?”
“4 Boulevard du Palais, Mademoiselle Jones.” Abigail wrote it down on a bit of scrap paper near the phone.
“Merci.”
“Bienvenue, mademoiselle. I’m sorry.” Abigail hung up the phone. Hurriedly wiping away her tears, she had gone down to the police. It had been Lucas, only with a sad expression of calmness about him, like he had gone with dignity. Abigail merely nodded before turning and all but sprinting away. The funeral had been a week later.


And now here she stood. Six years almost to the day after the funeral, with only a letter and a ring from him. Abigail lay down on the grass next to where she knew Lucas to be. She closed her eyes, and whispered to the grass,
“I love you too.” Abigail kissed her palm, and pressed it to the ground. Slowly, Abigail rose, brushed the dirt from her dress, and slowly walked out of High Hill Park.

Good morning! I'm Sela, and I shall be your reviewer today.

First off, I would like to say this was a sweet love story, despite the tragic ending. The image of Abigail lying in the grass beside Lucas's grave was actually pretty potent, and him dying definitely wasn't what I was expecting.

But all compliments must come to an end, and that's where mine does, for now. Shall we move on?

First off, Abigail was way too perfect, from start to finish. The minute I saw this:

She examined herself in the mirror, pleased for the most part with what she saw. A trim body, smooth skin, a flushed face from the humidity of the bath. Her large green eyes held a new shimmer to them that only comes with experiencing the world. Her long blonde hair was wet, clinging to her slim figure. Her breasts were the perfect size.

I could feel my heart sinking, I swear. Green eyes, blonde hair, skinny, etc etc etc. The minute your readers see this, I guarantee they'll clam up and maybe just ex the window all together. No one, I repeat no one, ever likes to read about a perfect character. Ever. Because it's physically impossible to be perfect and to make your character some blonde-haired green-eyed beauty is about as tasteless and boring as making her a soggy cardboard box. And the way you talk about her on the runway, with her ethereal, haunting beauty? Well, it just about makes me want to die with boredom. Yes, there are people out there like Abigail, but why would normal people want to read about them and how beautiful they think they are and how self-satisfied they are about it? They wouldn't, naturally. That's why you don't usually find such a mistake in good books; the author knows what people relate to, they understand that everyone has imperfections and everyone has problems, and they create characters that reflect those truths about humanity. Unless you always want to be stuck writing stories about perfect little cardboard boxes and never getting anything published, I suggest you give your characters some flaws, please. I would love to go on, because people writing about perfect characters really cheeses me off (for lack of rules that allow people to speak vulgarly on YWS), but I'm going to stop now, and hope you get the point.

Paris? Why Paris? Why not Florida or Kentucky or Kenya or Ukraine? If you seemed to have any actual knowledge of Paris, or the people there, or anything, I might say, go for it, but you clearly don't. Usually I either write about places I know or have been to, or I write in some world where I can do anything I want and make up whole cities, which eliminates the cliche-ness of setting your stories in places like Paris and London. So please, unless you want to do research or go there or learn better French, do me a great big favor and write about places you know. There's something about people only putting TV shows in London and New York and only writing stories about such places as those that ALSO really cheeses me off.

And why does Lucas have to die? In a plane crash? Can you get any less interesting than that? Why can't he die saving a dog from a fire or falling out a window or of some awful disease or go skydiving and then realize he forgot his parachute? Besides, if he did die in a plane crash "off the coast", how did they find his body, and how did they identify him? After a horrific plane crash, would he really just look calm and peaceful in death? It all seems a bit far-fetched. My advice is, check over your stories and ask your parents/siblings/friends to read them to see if they really are realistic, because I wasn't at all convinced by this plane crash spiel.

Apart from that, I just have one other thing I'd like to point out--your sentence structure. A lot of it was well-written and believable, but then I saw things like:

There were no tears, only hollow rejected staring as he slowly walked back to his much abused car.

Wait. What? That is very awkwardly phrased. Let me show you how it might make more sense:

He didn't cry, but there was something in his eyes--something hollow, something empty, something miserably dejected. Then he turned and walked away across the cracked asphalt, and spoke no more.

Mine isn't much better, but at the very least it makes sense. There were more, but since I don't want to find all of them, I will merely suggest that you read over your stories at least once before posting, to weed out awkward wording like the sentence above. I don't want to have to stop and repeat things over four times before I can even begin to understand them; such a pause ruins the flow of the story and makes one feel as if one really has better things to do, and should do them immediately without finishing aforementioned story at all.

Just one last thing before I go:

Abigail came to a stop directly in front of the boulder. In solemn script, it read:

Here Lies

Lucas V. Jones

Born 12-14-1974

Died 7-30-2001

Son, brother, uncle, friend

May his flight with the angels be more fortunate than his flight on earth

Firstly, boulder? What boulder? Is he buried under a boulder? You should clear that up, so your readers aren't perpetually confused. And when was the last time you actually read an inscription on a gravestone? It would most likely be 'loving brother and son', or something along those lines. They don't just take every single title he might have had and throw it on there willy-nilly. Also the quote about flight seems tasteless and rather cruel, not touching or sweet or anything you normally find on a gravestone. A quote from the Bible, maybe, or some excerpt from a poem, or something. But what you put there seemed unrealistic, and as I said, bordering on cruel.

Well! As I said, there were bits I liked, but I would very much like it if you changed the way he died, or hopefully didn't kill him off at all. There are more original ways to make a story tragic, and plane crashes are not one of them. Keep writing, and please don't think that just because I was harsh your story wasn't any good. Everyone can improve, and that's exactly what we all do every time we open our word processors or notebooks or whatever, and start to write.

Best of luck!

-SELA

Hello! Book here, and I'm going to review this story
I absolutely loved it! The plot was great, but the emotion was a little off from your main character, I think you could have done better with the emotions
I couldn't find anything nitpicks, so yeah :3
Other that that, I loved it! one of the best stories I read.
Keep on writing!

p.s PM me if you posted anymore stories!
~Book Person~

Hi,

I'll be happy to give my insights.

First point, I love sad stories, especially tragic ones.

Secondly, I agree with the first reviewer that the character shouldn't be perfect.

Thirdly, I think you're a very good writer over-all. I know it's a short story. But it's very short! You need to write more to be great!

Good luck and take care!

Smiles,
Alexxa

Heya Angela

I'm here to review as requested! You've already got some nice reviews here, so I'll try not to sound too repetitive in my review. I'll start off with any nit-picks and general comments that I find: typo's and stuff.

Her long blonde hair cascaded gracefully down her back, the moonlight giving it a silvery glow that only succeeded in making her distress hauntingly beautiful; the asphalt backdrop of the landing strip behind her created a jarring contrast to her ethereal magnificence. Lucas looked deep into her moist green eyes,

Someone sounds a bit perfect, appearance wise xD

“I know Abigail. If you promise to write, I promise to come to see you as soon as I can. Just let me sell the house and I’ll be there.” He brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “Will you be all right paying the rent by yourself for a while?”

Ah... dialogue punctuation. I used to be absolutely terrible at it... You had a bit of a slip up here.

But that had been six years eight months and three days ago. A lot could have changed since then. Abigail sank lower into the fading bubbles. She found the best way to beat away the stress was to soak in a lavender-vanilla scented bath with Parisian sunlight streaming in over her body. Abigail sighed and looked at her clock. 3:48. She slowly rose out of the bubbles. Abigail smiled down at her wrinkled fingertips as they lightly ran up her arm. Just like Lucas used to do when I was upset, thought Abigail. She took a deep breath, and reached for her warm towel. Wrapping it around herself, she slowly walked out to her bedroom, savoring the feeling of the new plush carpet under her feet. It squished between her toes, and felt quite good.

--- New Paragraph Here ---

Abigail closed the drapes and let her towel fall to the ground. She examined herself in the mirror, pleased for the most part with what she saw. A trim body, smooth skin, a flushed face from the humidity of the bath. Her large green eyes held a new shimmer to them that only comes with experiencing the world. Her long blonde hair was wet, clinging to her slim figure. Her breasts were the perfect size. Her nose managed to ruin the otherwise perfect image in the mirror, however. Too long for Abigail's liking.

--- New Paragraph Here --

She sighed, and wished yet again that it could be changed. Abigail had been to the plastic surgeon more times than she bothered to count, but every time she thought about getting it shortened, Abigail remembered that night almost seven years previously. How light yet loving that kiss had been on her nose. Abigail tenderly touched it, and couldn’t help but smile sadly. If only she had reacted faster. She could have told him how much she loved him, and begged him to hold her tight to his chest and never let her go. And now she had wasted practically seven years away from him. Because of her slow reactions.

I know that Abigail's supposed to have gotten plastic surgery, but her appearance is a weeny bit too perfect for my liking, even though her nose might not be. Her eyes, for example. They sound really pretty, and that's something natural. Therefore, it's natural perfection, which bothers me a bit. Even though she has had plastic surgery, she comes across as pretty perfect. I'm not seeing an awful lot of faults in her personality either, besides the fact that she clearly feels she needs plastic surgery, but I'm not sure if you'd class that as an imperfection. xD

Here Lies
Lucas V. Jones

Born 12-14-1974

Died 7-30-2001

Son, brother, uncle, friend

May his flight with the angels be more fortunate than his flight on earth.

I knew he'd end up dead... O.O

“But he lied,” whispered Abigail to the little ring. “He never came for us.” Her thoughts once again wandered to that night she received the fatal news.

Overall

As a whole, you have a good piece of writing here, if you ask me. I have a love for tragic stories; depressing, I know. That's me for you! I like the plot to this. Admittedly, it's not the most original overall idea. Couple in love, one dying without the other being able to say I love you. Although that's true, the way you wrote this and the impact of your style on it made it original and interesting to read. Basically, what I'm trying to say is that you put your own twist and style onto a not so original basic idea. Your grammar was very good actually. I found the odd little slip up here, but there was nothing big worth mentioning. Spelling wise, there was nothing I found wrong.

My main critique for this, I think, is basically that I'd like the background of this story explained a bit more. It's great to know that Lucas and Abigail were a couple in love, but what's the story behind them? How did they meet? Did they fall in love the second they saw each other? Were they best friends until they realised how much each other meant to them? Do you understand what I'm getting at? This is more of a personal thing, but for me, when reading a story, I like to not only know what's happening in the present, but what's happened in the present. The background of people's lives and relationships. I can't really explain it in much more detail, so I hope you get what I'm trying to say.

Another thing I'd like to see in this are memories. After reading many tragedy stories, one thign I've noticed that really pull out emotion are memories. The beginning of this is a good example, when you described your MC's saying their goodbyes. That was a memory, and that was what gave this story the emotion it did have. What I find is that little details, and not so complicated memories are what pull on my heartstrings. I'd like to see you describing how your MC remembers walking along the rain soaked pavement as water fell from the sky in the dead of night, Lucas's coat being her only kind of shelter. That's the kind of memory that I personally find makes me emotional when reading a story like this. It will change depending on the person reading, but things like that are what makes a sad story sad for me.

The only other negative I have is about your rather perfect MC, but I'm not going to describe that in much detail because others have done that for you. Besides, I don't think that it's a huge problem, but it is something I think you should consider. If you do make your character a little bit less perfect - appearance and personality wise - you don't have to do much. Juts tone her down a bit. Negatives aside, this is definitely a good piece of writing. All that you need to do is to revise it a bit, edit it up, and you could end up with a wonderfully emotional short story here.

Keep writing,

xoxo Skins

I have one word: Beautiful. It's just touching.
Keep Writing!
Nike

"Oui.” Abigail watched as the tall buildings passed her window. It should be a comma after oui not a period. Other than that I liked this story. But it was sad, not complaining. Write more. I like these characters I think you should make a novel about them but have Lucas be in a coma and her fly back and ...well you write the rest:)
Jenn