An Abstract Life: Wonders

Author's Note:

Spoiler

This story happens after An Abstract Life: Binding (http://www.youngwriterssociety.com/viewtopic.php?t=79337), and it went through some major changes. Please find more faults and tell me about them. Thank you.
P.S. This is through the guy's POV.

An Abstract Life: Wonders

The steam from my breath clouds in front of my face. I can hear my heavy footsteps; I can feel the cold blade inside my pocket. What I am doing? The question pounds in my lungs as I run towards the green, the park. My shadow falls across a welcoming figure – a large tree that holds every part of me. I see my eyes and my soul in the tree. Even as I tell myself I’m insane, I can feel the handle of the knife in my hands. As moonlight reflects off the blade, wood is cut in the dark. Pieces of bark are flung violently away, into the night.

I don’t know myself anymore.



We sat in my tree – our tree – reading our books as our favorite branches creaked beneath us. She was next to me, just a foot away, and we were lost in the authors’ worlds. Separately we read, yet each of us could clearly sense the other’s presence. I liked days like this.

I glanced over at the figure beside me. We had met just weeks ago, but it felt like forever. I loved the image of her perfectly still even surrounded by shifting branches, and I loved the way she’d sometimes see me staring at her, and look up and smile.

The book that was usually in her hands was nearly falling off her lap, and a piece of her light brown hair fell in her face. Her neck was bent at an uncomfortable-looking angle as her head rested on her shoulder. Her breath was calm as always, but somehow more so in her sleep.

“Mhn…” she muttered in her nap. An adjustment of her sleeping body set it precariously on her perch. I scooted closer, lifting my legs onto her branch and lightly pulling her into my lap. Her head fell limply on my chest.

“Come here,” I whispered, though I couldn’t help a small chuckle. She was half asleep now, and making all sorts of mumbles. Once I had her in my arms and was assured she wouldn’t fall, I tried to be a still as possible, and she drifted deeper once again.

She now next to me on the same limb, and both our feet were supported by the one in which she had previously sat. I leaned against a branch behind my back, and she leaned on me. Her hair was draped on my shoulder, a couple pieces brushing my neck. I stroked it as she exhaled warm breath on my shirt. Her face was so relaxed. Full of envy, I brushed her bangs back from her left eye, but immediately wished I hadn’t. The sight of that long, thin wound running along the top of her cheekbone made painful memories sprint back.



I don’t know myself anymore.

A flash of white drifted in and out of my mind. She knows who she is. She knows she’s insane and she’s fine with it. I bet she would forgive me. I bet she would love me.

The white appears behind me again.

It’s too good to be true – it’s not true! I turn and slash at the white, tell the memory to leave. But this time, it’s not a memory. Undoubtedly, the knife connects with flesh, but I might have imagined the look of betrayal on her face.



It was my mark – I had put that cut there. In my confusion, my frustration, I had been almost consumed. I had been a writhing shadow in the night, one out of so many others in this world, but she had still come to save me. I was sure I must have been terrifying, that in my loss of control she could have come out with a lot more than a scar, or not come out at all. How could I have done that? The question burned inside me, it made my chest tight and my body tense. I felt true pain, blazing regret. Her hands held the memory of her own blood from that night and it couldn’t be washed away by my tears alone. I wanted to undo and heal the wound that now marred the face of my angel, but I couldn’t.

I now sat staring at her cheek. The physical wound was mostly healed, but that line filled with my own emotions would be there forever. In a moment’s impulse, I pressed my lips gently against that place – the mark right below her left eye. She stirred as she woke, her hand jerking up and lightly tapping my head. Shining brown eyes looked up at me, but all I could see was the scar that was my own fault, and all I could feel was true hate for myself.

She did not even acknowledge the fact she had fallen asleep, she just said in a quiet, slightly raspy voice, “I thought you had forgiven yourself for that.”

“I’m trying, but it’s hard.”

“Mm, that’s right. You’ve lived with hatred for so long, so I don’t expect you to give it up easily, but,” she sat up, rubbing her eyes nonchalantly. A soft smile spread across her face, she invited me to smile too. “Won’t you let the wind carry it away? Why can you not forgive yourself when the one you hurt has forgiven you long ago?”

A thought lurking in the back of my mind popped out with surprising urgency.

“What if I hurt you again?” I pleaded through my eyes, I wanted her to tell me what to do. I was so confused. “What if I kill you? I don’t think I could live with myself after that.”

She buried her face in my chest. She stared at my collarbone, trying to find the right words. I rested my chin upon the top of her head, and put an arm gently around her. I noticed my black jacket contrast highly with her white dress. A thought darted around in my head – can I really be with this girl? Do I even deserve her? The only answer that came was no, and yet I couldn’t recoil my arm.

Since we met, she had been teaching me to talk in her language – one without words. I tried, and it came half-naturally to me, as if deep down I was similar to her. On the other hand, she was learning to attach words to feelings and then to use those words, but found it a huge challenge. It wasn’t that she had trouble with the words themselves – she could talk fine – but she just couldn’t anchor emotions to those same words. Her feelings seemed to be too big to do that, too complicated. It was difficult for her, but she still tried.

“It makes me… happy?” she tried. She stared at me, pulling her head back, her eyes questioning. “Happy… is that right?”

“I don’t know,” I responded. “What does it feel like?”

“Hm… happy. It is like I am the heartbeat of a hawk riding favorable winds, or I am weightless like a cloud and I am drifting lightly. But sometimes when I feel the same thing, I cannot stay still like that cloud. I want to move and jump and dance. It is both a spirited star and a soothing relief – I feel it in the baby birds flying for the first time, but also in the flowers’ first bloom.”

“Yes, that’s happiness,” I confirmed.

“Okay then,” she went on, nodding her head. “Then, it makes me happy when I am with you, but other times my heart feels absolutely heavy and I am pushed down like a muggy summer day. There is no blowing air when you hate yourself, when you feel such terrible things.”

“Ah,” I replied. “You feel sad, or troubled.”

“Yes,” she said simply. She leaned away, slumping against the trunk of the tree and trying to get it to help her sort out what she was feeling. A few deep breaths, and she turned back to me, angling her head so the scar was pointing towards me. I couldn’t help but avert my eyes.

“Look at it,” she demanded in a sharper voice than I had ever heard from her. I still couldn’t turn my head back to face her; I didn’t want to look at both the source of my guilt and the invisible kiss mark that sealed it. But no matter how hard I looked away, leaning back, she advanced and soon had her face directly in front of mine. She was mostly on top of me now, and I didn’t want anyone to get a glimpse of us like this, so I forced myself to look at the scar as intently as I had when she napped next to me.

“Do you see this?” she asked. Of course I did. I nodded solemnly. “This came of your hatred, your anger. How do you think hating yourself more is going to atone for it?”

I had no answer. I didn’t know. She saw the hesitation in my eyes, and she continued.

“To be honest, I don’t particularly mind this mark. I almost like it. Somehow, it binds me to you. It reminds me of the anger you put aside in my midst. When you made this wound, it was not a conscious decision… but when I reached out my hand to you that night, you dropped the knife, you chose my hand instead.”

She smiled softly, relaxing a bit from her serious aura. She had a mixed expression that held both earnest honesty and perhaps a trace of tears. She continued, “This scar reminds me not of the swing of your knife, but of the release. You dropped your hate, even if it was temporarily. I want to ask you to drop it again, and never reach down to retrieve it.”

Her brown eyes gazed deeply at me before sitting back on the branch, her body assuming a more normal position. Her feet swung gently as they hung down along with the light material of her dress. She gazed through the wall of leaves into the distant sky, and let her eyes rest in the azure expanse.

Her head still turned away, she asked, “You are like the moon in some ways, you know that?”

I had heard this mentioned many times, but still didn’t really understand. She went on, unaffected.

“You are silent, a thinker. Your bright side is a wonderful thing to behold. You bring… happiness, peace. You love the night, and you see the good things it can bring.” She glanced over at me, but quickly looked away. “When you grow dark, you leave a lonely world in your wake – you make the wind miss your shine. However, unlike the real moon, I believe you won’t have your new moon phase forever. I think that one day, your beautiful crescent will expand and the wolves will forever howl in your shadows of silver. When your dark side leaves, I will be in no danger.”

“And,” she added without a trace of shyness, but instead absolute certainty. “The wind will no longer blow alone, but always race along the earth and be happy with you.”

I listened to the impatience of the leaves as a strong gust ran through the space between our bodies. I tried to take in what she had said, and to imagine dropping my knife forever. How did one go about forgiving oneself? I knew only how to forget, but as soon as the memories flood back, so does the hate. How could I ever think about my actions without rage? Here sat a girl who didn’t even need to think twice. She didn’t fear me or loathe me for changing her face forever, no; she had even said that she didn’t mind the scar.

“How do you feel about your parents? They threw you out, what did you think when that happened?”

The question appeared from nowhere and seemed to hang there. I answered honestly, as best as I could. My fingers automatically threaded through my hair.

“At first, I was angry. I wondered what sort of people could reject their own child and simply stop caring. After I was on my own for a while, their words started to get to me. I started to agree with them – that I wasn’t worth anything.”

“You’re not worth nothing!” she snapped uncharacteristically. I thought this was strange, since she was the one who had brought it up in the first place.

“Really?” I asked with a wry smile. She seemed absolutely set in her opinion. “What am I worth – to you?

“Everything,” came the quick reply. There was no hesitation. I didn’t know how to react.

“Oh, come on. Just hate me already, like everyone else. Then I won’t be so confused,” I said, half-jokingly.

It took her a moment to figure out I was joking, to notice my expression. Her face went from puzzlement to amusement and then she laughed. Even in the period when she had not spoken, she had always been able to laugh in front of me. I loved her laugh.

Looking at this slim girl with dainty footsteps, a delicate laugh might be expected, but no, her laughter spread throughout her body. It was a laugh that was not held back at all, one that was not embarrassed. It was joyful to listen to, it made one want to join in with her. When that girl laughed, delight seemed to emanate from her voice and her very being, to spread to your being.

Her eyes shut as her smile widened, and her arms spread wide. She leaped forward, pulling me into an embrace, her lips brushing my ear. The moment felt frozen, like a firework paused at its full potential. Her arms around me were full of acceptance – they held me tight and close to her. She loved me like no one had ever before.

Soon she relaxed, and her arms were simply draped around my waist. I could not see her face, but rather I felt it fall into a more serious expression. Her voice dropped into a solemn tone. The silence was filled with only the fluttering of her dress, the chirps of tiny birds, and her soft words in my ear as she responded to my earlier jest.

“I could never hate you.” Her voice spread through me, it sent a chill wave of… security? Finally, someone had said those words to me with utmost sincerity. I was hearing the swearing of an oath; she promised her life if she ever broke it.

Then the white-clad girl around me indulged herself just a moment, slipping smoothly into her own language. Her mind sank into a world of emotions for which there were no words, a world inside her. She picked out the ones she wanted for me, and sent them through a hand on my chest. Her forehead rested on my shoulder, her other hand was pressing into the branch behind me. It was a pure exchange of feelings, there was nothing sexual or worldly about it, and there needn’t be.

Her hand said she would always be there for me; she would try her best to understand. The forehead on my shoulder said she wanted me. I was needed and I had a place in her heart. Her closed eyes meant she trusted me, and I put a hand on her head to assure her that I accepted everything. The tree was witness to this moment, it sealed away these seconds into the scars on its trunk forever.

It will take a long time to get rid of the hate I have right now, if not forever. But as long as I have this girl with me, I can at least not gather anymore. At least I can still love.

I might have imagined the look of betrayal on her face.

The stars twinkled above us. A dark, shiny river ran down her cheek. The hand she held out was splashed with that same red – almost black – liquid, but the invitation offered by it held me speechless. I heard a soft thump as my knife hit the ground. My knees buckled and fell to the grass with it and I blindly reached for that hand – I wanted it so badly. I could feel my tears flowing down my face and then on, to wash away the fear and the blood.

Hey Daisuki. ^_^ Evi here.

First thing I noticed: Esther Slyvester gave you a really good review on the first part. I agree with a point she made, which I'll talk about at the end.

Second thing I noticed: "mere" is an odd word, and thus it sticks out when you use it more than once in close succession. You use it twice within the first three paragraphs and it came across sounding forced to me. Watch out for that.

I loved the image of her perfectly still amidst the movement of the tree, a book open in her lap. However, in that moment the book was nearly falling off her legs and her head rested on her shoulder.

You said they were a mere foot away from each other, but her head is on his shoulders? Pretty sure it's difficult to rest your head on someone a foot away. Also, "the movement of the tree" puzzled me a bit. I sense the theme of "Nature is Alive" in the beginning, and it's described very well, but for the tree to be holding them up (and for them both to be on the same limb, moreso) it must be huge and sturdy. Sturdy trees don't really move. Maybe the leaves rustle, but the contrast between her stillness and the tree's movement doesn't make perfect sense.

Although by now then her voice had returned, she still preferred not using words about feelings.

By now then? Check your tense here. Not sure exactly what you're trying to say.

I now sat staring at her cheek, squinting my eyes against the blinding white of the bandage that only partially covered the wound.

A white bandage on her face? "Bandage" implies some sort of wrap-around thing, but I can't really see this description. Maybe you just mean a band-aid, or gauze?

“Hm… happy. It is like I am the heartbeat of a hawk riding favorable winds, or I am weightless like a cloud and I am drifting lightly. But sometimes when I feel the same thing, I cannot stay still like that cloud. I want to move and jump and dance. It is both a spirited star and a soothing relief – I feel it in the baby birds flying for the first time, but also in the flowers’ first bloom.”

These are not the words of someone who has trouble speaking. It's so incredibly eloquent for a character who apparently isn't used to words. Especially for one who can't think of "happy", but can think of all this. I understand that she's more comfortable with nature, so maybe she can use beautiful nature analogies-- maybe that's why this is so smooth. Keep in mind her speech impairments.

Her simple white dress hung down off the branch and was lightly waving in the wind. The off-white scarf around her neck tumbled silkily, winding its way down her beautiful shoulder, flowing along her thin arm.

Here is an example of what I think your biggest problem is: you're trying to hard. There are examples of this throughout the entire story, and if you want PM me so I can point them out, but for now I'll be more general.

This is a good story, Dai. You've woven some beautiful words together, with some very expressive imagery and description. My problem is that it's so flowery, so articulate, that I almost can't take the narrator seriously. You have the sweetest love story here, and I love that. But you've turned a simple scene of forgiveness into 3,000 words of extra similes and introspection. You don't need this many words to get across this idea. And even if you did, use some of those words to build up a more concrete plot and character-- instead of mentioning the whiteness of her dress and the beauty of her love so much, give us something more about that night with the knife. You said we didn't have to read the last segment to understand, but there's not enough here about that event to make it stand-alone. Expand on the pain with his parents. Instead of focusing entirely on his angst over hurting her, show us more of him-- does he worry about hurting her again? What does he think of their future?

Certain things seem arbitrary. The whitish-brown hair, for example. Maybe that was explained in the other part, but here it just seems unnecessary. Same with his golden eyes. I feel like there's a more meaningful conversation they could have in place of that exchange.

I really did enjoy this, and I can see that you have a lot of talent as a writer. My main advice is so stop trying to hard to frame every sentence perfectly, because it's coming across as a bit stiff. Just let the words flow, and don't be afraid to substitute description for substance.

PM me for anything you need!

~Evi

Heya.

I have to agree with Evi that this felt just a bit forced sometimes. Especially when you started getting into the colours, and comparisons between the two characters. The black/white, and any comparisons to day and night, gave this a bit of a fantasy theme.

The dialogue didn't surprise me as much when I read the first part, but it was very easy to forget she hadn't been able to speak just a few weeks ago. Make her language a bit more stilted, and have her slip into her own language more frequently. Make her a bit more alien, still, since she hasn't really been with him that long. You can get away with him knowing her language a bit more, because you say it comes semi-naturally to him.

I'd also try to replace some of the flowing metaphors about her with some more focus on his feelings. You talk a bit about them, but for some reason it doesn't feel solid. I can't read this story and say "I know why he's being so hard on himself." I figure it's supposed to be vague, but putting some of the narration towards why he can't forgive himself (for hurting her and for his past) would strengthen the story and give a much stronger theme of redemption.

Overall, the first part was stronger, but I think you lost something trying to make this part just as flowing as the first. Show a break in PoVs by changing your language, to something more simple. You had a lot of good characterization for what he should be in part one. Use it to shape his voice.

Hope this helps. PM me if you have any questions or comments.

~Rosey

I worked so hard to make this not as flowery, and to improve from the orginal version - so I hope its better! I love these characters, but I feel like they could be so much more than I can make them. It's driving me crazy! Anyways, I hope you enjoy this.
Insane,
Daisuki

Hey again Dai! Great to see you've edited.

An adjustment of her sleeping body set it precariously on her perch

But "it" do you mean her body? Might want to clarify. This seems oddly-phrased.

And this is one of the only small-ish problems I'm going to point out, but it's a recurring one-- their positions in this dang tree! I'm just having trouble imagining it. When he puts his leg on her branch and pulls her over, for example, so that she's in his lap. That branch would have to be massive for her not to wake up during that, for them to be able to balance comfortably, but I don't really get the image of huge branches-- not if the branches as close together and you mention. And then towards the end, with her head on his shoulder and her hands around his waist. These sound like awkward positions. Maybe it's just me-- I always pay attention to positioning, because I find it interesting-- but make sure you can envision what you're describing.

I don’t know myself anymore.

I like this line, and how you repeat it from earlier. It's simple yet powerful without sounding overly-angsty.

Overall/Compared to last time

I think it's better, definitely. Did I ever mention I love how she characters are nameless? I can really appreciate a story where the author leaves main characters anonymous without it irking the readers, and I wasn't irked. You toned down the flowery language in the narration to a point where I can actually see a teenager/young man behind the words, and that's great. I think removing the golden eyes and whitish strip of hair helped focus the piece, too. I like the flashback placement, and how you referenced his parents some more. We can feel his backstory unfolding.

So now that you've fixed the boy, let's work on the girl.

Her language-barrier is still bothering me. I just don't buy it that she can't say "happy" or "troubled" but can still say "I am the heartbeat of a hawk riding favorable winds, or I am weightless like a cloud and I am drifting lightly". You explain that she can't anchor words to emotions, but, from a literal, medical standpoint, it's not realistic. And I know so much of this story isn't literal, but I feel this is key, and unless we can understand her issues we can't appreciate her as a character.

Thus, possible changes (which are to be considered and disregarded at your leisure). Some would be harder to write in than others.
1.) She knows she's "happy", but hates confining such a beautiful and complex feeling into such a simple word, so instead prefers to tell him in depth what it feels like.
2.) She can't articulate into words what she feels, so instead of saying it out so eloquently like that, she tries to motion it out-- turning her hands into soaring birds, pointing to the clouds and the stars, cocking her head and telling him to listen to the baby birds chirping, swaying on the branch like she's the wind. If she really relates to nature, it's more believable to pull her words from what she sees around her.
3.) You just simplify her language. I almost don't like this option just because her analogies are so pretty, but it solves the problem of "Where'd her language issues go"?

Anyway, good editing! I hope this helped, and PM me with any and all questions you've got. Happy writing!

~Evi
2.)

Hey again!

This is much stronger than the original. I could picture a very different character this time around, and he was himself instead of the same voice as the girl. The black leather jacket became a part of his character, as did everything about him. I especially liked the quiet, almost automatic lines you put in to make him more human. You also made his narration a lot plainer, although I did catch one "azure" instead of "blue" that was a bit jarring.

I liked how you changed her explanation about speaking; you might need to switch up the first part of this to make it completely work. Make it clearer that she does have a vocabulary earlier on, but she just choses not to use it. You have some of that going on, but it might need to be made a bit stronger in reference to this part.

That being said, I've got the same thing with Evi when it comes to the girl's language. The lines she reference are actually what I meant when I said she should slip into her own language. Add in some gestures, and tone down the language a lot. Make it much harder for him to get what she's saying. I'd have something like: "The wind, moving? Birds soaring." You said in the previous part that she didn't know how to put words to what she feels, so have her reaching for words. Have her not know what to say, at all, when it comes to conveying emotion.

I also would like a bit less suddenness to his parents being brought up? There was no transition in topic, and it'd be nice to see her give some sort of hint. It's a fairly sharp mood shift in the piece, and having a bit of logic behind it, or her watching him (ie- she realizes that's probably one cause of his anger and hatred is his parents, and his body language is saying that's the case). Since she knows the full story, she can use how he's speaking her language (body language, primarily) to put things together. Quickly, but not so quickly she changes the topics. (Part of this comes from there is no tone at all to how she says it; ie- no tag. I had a bit of a hard time attributing the line to her)

Overall, though, I liked the piece a lot more. Especially when you started getting into the flashbacks, because we could see a lot more of who he was. I'd like the second flashback to be a bit stronger, so we can feel his anger more, but it had a good circular feel to the work and connected the pieces a lot more.

Nice work.

~Rosey