Young Writers Society

Long before I am alive enough to actually feel it, I am aware of my barque rocking and tipping gently on the waves. The movement is impenetrable in its regularity, yet it is not stiff. Nothing so natural could be stiff. Just as one cannot appreciate silence without the sound of one's thoughts, there cannot be stillness without the rhythm of the waves. The stars hum to it, the wind whispers of it, the soil breathes in time with it. It has been here since the beginning of the Earth, and will be here until the end. It is the cadence of the Sea. It is the pulse of eternity.
The first thing my skin is aware of is the rough wood beneath me. My mind, only partially alive, lingers in confusion on the feeling of the splinters against my neck.
I was not lying on wood the last time I was awake. I was lying on coolness.
No, I was lying in coolness. I was encased in ice.
Yes, my skin can still remember the kiss of it—the frozen cocoon that preserved me through the long warm months. All that is left of it now is a slight dampness on the weather-beaten wood beneath me.
I can hear the Sea slipping and clapping against the side of my barque. The calls of birds and winds reach me faintly... so faintly. I cannot tell if they are actually distant or if my ears are just too numb to comprehend them fully. Everything feels foggy, muggy, heavy. The air is warm. Too warm. It awakens a sharp yearning inside me. A sudden desire.
Oh, how I want to cool it!
I want to cover it with icy fingerprints, to freeze it with my breath. I want to discard this human body and rise up into my reign—but I haven't the strength. I haven't even the strength to open my eyes.
It is too early.
Slowly, I take a small breath. As the air touches my tongue, I taste more than its warmth—I taste a dryness, a sweetness, a thick earthiness like bitter honey; the taste of death and preparation, and nostalgia. I taste him. I want to reach out to him but then I remember that he will not allow it. He never does. He will wait, just out of reach, tempting me out of my hibernation rather than waking me. That is what he does every time.
Maybe because he fears me.
Breathing has become easier now, smoother. I still have not opened my eyes, but I can feel him nearby and I know he is watching me. Waiting for me. I force my jaw to clench—will my arms not to give way as I prop myself up. Only once I am sitting do I pry open my eyelids.
So bright!
My eyes water from the stinging light, but I ignore them, thinking only of him, as he appraises my progress. I mustn't disappoint him. I force myself to forget the dizzy swimming of my head, the weakness of my limbs—what do they matter, anyhow? These are sensations of the body. They have nothing to do with me. I rise to my feet, mustering all of my infant strength to clutch the wooden wall of my barque.
Eventually my blindness fades, and I can start making out the familiar scene I am in: the small wooden boat beneath me; the Sea all around, fading to fog at the horizons; the island ahead... so far away, but I can still make out his barque, tethered to one of the island's many trees, bobbing up and down on the Sea. The island glows with his presence. My barque is drifting slowly towards the island of its own accord, but I cannot wait, and neither, I know, can he. Why does he not unlock the wind to pull me towards him? I can feel his eyeless gaze on me, surveying me from all directions. I know he is impressed. To him, I must be the most beautiful thing on Earth. This thought makes me swell with audacious pride.
“Unbolt the wind to me!” It takes several tries before my throat complies with me, and by the time I produce audible words, much of my strength has been spent. But I make sure that my voice is strong and sings loudly across the water.
Instantly, I know he has heard me, and that he is obeying me. He always obeys me. I spread my aching arms wide.
First his gust catches the sails of my barque, making them bellow out—then it catches me.
It lands forcefully, painfully, on my chest, knocking me off my feet. I hover for a moment—before I fall back onto my barque. I stumble and shrink on the weather-beaten wood, hardly aware of what my body is doing as blackness begins to overcomes me.

_______


When I awake, I am surrounded by leaves. I can feel them on my skin. I can smell them all around me, heavy with his scent. My barque must be on land now because the wood beneath me is still.
Opening my eyes, I see that the masts of my barque have been adorned with orange and gold leaves. Clusters of harvest fruits—pears, apples, figs, plums—lie scattered around the boat as though felled from their trees by the wind. Are these welcome gifts? I smile lazily. He is always so courteous. Past the decorated masts I can see the bright azure of the sky. It strikes me not for the first time how singular that color is to him, how unique. Nowhere but in the depths of Autumn can there be such perfectly blue skies.
Slowly, I stand up. I don't bother brushing the leaves off of my body; they cling to my long, tangled hair, tickling my bare shoulders and neck with his presence. I am still weak, but his infinite hands support me now, and I can feel them helping me as I make my way across my barque. When I reach the bow, he lifts me into the air—then lets me fall to the ground.
His earth cushions my landing, fallen leaves bellowing up at my impact then fluttering down again softly. Trees stretch upwards all around me. Their branches, vibrant with Autumn's colors, claw at the brilliant sky.
His air is dry and sweet and spicy, like mulled wine. The corners of my mouth twist in a smile. Mulled wine. How perfect! How seasonal. His quaint humor amuses me. The air kisses my lips and fills my lungs with its tart coolness. I bask in it, allowing it to flood me, intoxicate me... revive me.
But it is too warm. (Why must all of my traditions be so warm?) I conjure lungfuls of frost, then release them into his air. The tiny, glittering crystals around me take up the gold of his leaves and the blue of his sky.
I let out a small laugh, enjoying the feeling of my frigid breath on my lips, in my mouth, in my throat. I can feel my own power starting to course through me. It chills my blood. My reign will soon start.
“How much longer?” I ask him.
He does not respond.
I am about to ask the question again when I hear a soft sigh. No, not a sigh; a hiss. A rattling, crackling whisper.
And then I smell it: smoke.
My absurd human heart beats faster. I sit up. A few feet away from me, the leaves that blanket the floor have caught fire. Flames lick the trunks of the trees, brighter than the foliage—brighter than the sky. Feeding on the dry leaves, they grow quickly and are soon crawling towards me. I can feel their terrible warmth caress my face.
Anger and fear combat for prominence inside me. How dare he? He knows how I despise fire.
Hardly knowing what I am doing, I leap to my feet. A wild howl escapes my chest, straining my throat, tearing at my lungs. My mouth burns with the raw cold of the voice that thunders through my body, overpowering it. That body is not me; this voice is me.
This is the voice of Winter.
As the flames wither and die, I see him, standing on his barque.
I can see the effort that it takes for him to remain standing against the power that radiates from me. The force of it throws his long brown hair from his face. It makes his eyes water. He clutches one of the masts on his barque, his expression intent upon me.
So here it is: the Solstice. The period between his reign and mine. The transfer of power. The brief moment for which we both take human forms. What would happen, I wonder, if I refused to transform? What if I chose to stay in my body? What if I were to embrace his human body with my human arms...?
My throat is still roaring as these thoughts flit through my mind. The sound reverberates off of the trees, the ground, even the gray sky. He stumbles and shrinks before my power. The last of his colors fade as the leaves shrivel and fall to the ground, dead.
I know those fantasies I had are impossible. The warmth of love would melt me, reduce me down to nothing, and there would be nobody to replace me.
As Winter I cannot love him. As his lover I cannot be Winter.
I will always see him in passing, and he will always revive me with gracious tenderness—and I will never give anything in return. I cannot feel remorse for him, though. After all, each year at the end of my reign I do the same for my successor, without any thought of being repaid. Such is the way of the Sea, and it's sons and daughters. It has been our way since the beginning of the Earth and will be until the end.
I will never know what he feels towards me—whether he sees the Solstice as a welcome glimpse of me, or as an usurping of his power. Whether he eagerly anticipates reviving me with his gentle caresses or thinks of our ritual as an obligation which he must fulfill. I do not know, and I should not care. But I do.
With a breath, I snap the rope that tethers his barque to the island. My island. As I watch him disappear out onto the Sea, I feel the cold emptiness of despair rise up in me; the final burst of power that I need to be fully revived. I rise up farther, enveloping the island in my loneliness. The chill of it both soothes and excites me. I expose myself to the storms, unleashing hail and snow and wind; a ferocious tempest to announce my reign to the world.
The freedom floods me, elates me. I am taking over. It is my turn.

---------------------------------------------------

*saves a spot to review later*

Pretty interesting, and great visuals. I'm going to pick on your phrasing and word choice and overall theme, though.

Long before I am alive enough to feel it,

You open with the point that you cannot feel...but then go on for the entire paragraph of all these sensations. The rocking, the humming, the whispering, the breathing, the pulse. So many sensations, but supposedly the narrator can't feel them. And because it's first person, everything we know and feel should be exactly what the narrator knows and feels. So there's a direct clash. It's like saying,
"I'm not going to argue, but this plan is stupid and illogical because bears don't like nuts and you can't ride a unicycle and even if you set out to learn, you only have one leg, so there is nobody that will sell you a unicycle compatible for you."
You can't say you couldn't feel these things but then list all these things that one would feel if they could feel.

Why am I confused?

Eh, this question seemed weird to me. It basically says, "I am confused about why I am confused. I shouldn't be confused."

The air is warm. Too warm.
I want to cool it!
I want to cover it with icy fingerprints, to freeze it with my breath! I want to discard this human body and rise up into my reign—but I haven't the strength. I haven't even the strength to open my eyes.

There are strange, abrupt reversals of mood/energy here. The exclamation points rocket us out of sleepiness in the space of five words ("I want to cool it!"), and then shout a couple more lines ("Cover it! Freeze it! Discard my body!"), and then really quickly plummets back into sleepiness with five more words ("But I haven't the strength.") It comes across a little weird.

I taste him. I want to reach out to him but then I remember that he will not allow it. He never does. He will wait, just out of reach, tempting me out of my hibernation rather than waking me, as he does every time.
Maybe because he fears me.

On one hand, I like the mystery. On the other hand, you leave the reader in the dark for far too long. We have almost no idea what's going on until your last few paragraphs. It's not necessarily bad to leave us in suspense, but to have no clue if "he" is a real thing or a malicious thing or standing next to her or miles away or human or some kind of god--for great lengths of time--is a little too much mystery.

Eventually my blindness fades, and I can start making out the familiar scene I am in: the small wooden boat beneath me; the Sea all around, fading to fog at the horizons; the island ahead... so far away, but I can still make out his barque, tethered to it, bobbing up and down on the Sea.

"tethered to it" is a little unclear. Tethered to the island, I eventually inferred, but it was a little unclear.

Trees stretch upwards all around me. Their branches, vibrant with Autumn's colors, claw at the brilliant sky.

I very much enjoyed this line.

What would happen, I wonder, if I refused to transform? What if I chose to stay in my body? What if I were to embrace his human body with my human arms...?...The warmth of love would melt me...As Winter I cannot love him. As his lover I cannot be Winter.

Until now, the idea of love between "he" and "she" never crossed my mind. Their relationship felt more like "student and strict teacher" or "show-off rivals." Lines like these enforce a tense relationship:

Maybe because he fears me.

he appraises my progress. I mustn't disappoint him.

I can feel his eyeless gaze on me, surveying me from all directions.

He knows how I despise fire.

It makes his eyes water.

The period between his reign and mine.

While the only thing that suggests love or adoration is:

To him, I am the most beautiful thing on earth.

And a running comment. Upper case "Earth" is a planet. Lower case "earth" is dirt/soil and nothing more. So lines like

beginning of the earth,

the most beautiful thing on earth

since the beginning of the earth

need editing.

So all in all, great descriptions that show us how the trees shake and how the world looks. But, to me, it's weighed down by overwhelming confusion until 3/4 through it and the forced "love" thing.

Hey, Azi! (I shall call you this for some time yet ) I shall be your reviewer for today.

Long before I am alive enough to feel it, my barque rocks and tips gently on the waves. The movement is untouchable in its regularity, yet it is not robotic. Nothing so completely natural could be called robotic. Just as one cannot appreciate silence without the sound of one's thoughts, there cannot be stillness without the rhythm of the barques. The stars hum to it, the wind whispers of it, the soil breathes in time with it. It has been here since the beginning of the earth, and will be here until the end. It is the cadence of the Sea. It is the pulse of eternity.

I love this opening paragraph, really I do. It's the sort-of telling that has the magic of showing in it, and I won't fault you for that. No, my only nitpick is the second line. Perhaps it's just me, but I find it difficult to understand what you mean by "untouchable in its regularity". I would have thought a word like "unnatural" (though repetition-wise, I see why you may not have used that) or "constant" (although that too sounds a little redundant). "Untouchable" doesn't seem like quite the right word.

The first thing I am aware of is the rough wood beneath me. My mind, only partially alive, lingers in confusion on the feeling of the splinters against my skin.

Should be "at".

The calls of birds and winds reach me faintly... so faintly.

Shouldn't this be "the wind"?

My barque is drifting slowly towards the island of its own accord, but I cannot wait, and neither, I know, can he.

Not a nitpick, but the end of this line reminds me of a line in Midnight Dance.

“Unbolt the wind to me!” It takes much of my strength to say these words, but I make sure they are strong and sing loudly across the water.

The MC seems disoriented after their (re)birth, and is slowly gaining the strength to use the parts of their body. But as for speaking, well, if they haven't spoken or used their mouth in a while, I'd expect their words to be slurred/croaked/a bare whisper, not simply taking away a lot of energy to say them.

For a moment, I feel my body tossed into the air, hovering.

I think the underlined part should be stricken out. Being tossed into the air and then hovering doesn't fit into the prior scene of "for a moment". However, simply writing "For a moment, I feel my body hovering" would be fine. Or even "For a moment, I am tossed into the air"/"My body is tossed into the air, and for a moment I am hovering." But as for how the sentence presently is, it just doesn't sit right with me.

Before I fall. I manage to land on my feet but I haven't the strength to keep from teetering.

There should be a comma here instead of a full stop.

I stumble and shrink, hardly aware of what my body is doing as blackness begins to overcome me.

"Shrink" is a strange word to use here. By using "stumble", I get the impression the MC is falling to their knees because of their weakness and is about to faint, but then "shrink" gives me the impression that they are now dying. Which they are most certainly not. Perhaps it's simply my interpretation...

When I awake, I am covered in leaves. (1) I can smell them all around me, heavy with his scent. My barque must be on land now because the wood beneath me is still. (2)

(1) Her eyes are open, yes? Because unless this is a mythical power of hers, its actually a bit difficult to tell by feeling if she is covered in leaves (because of how light they are), and I'm not sure if the smell of leaves will stand out very well, even if His smell is on them (his smell could be on anything there, really, not only on the leaves).

(2) Because of the scene where she was lifted up by the wind, I suppose I assumed that she'd been lifted away from the boat. I thought she'd landed on the, well, land. But if that's not the case, I advise you to make it a bit clearer where she landed before the break (it occurred to me that I've started to refer to the MC as female. Strange ).

Opening my eyes, I see that the masts of my barque have been hung with orange and gold leaves.

"Hung with" sounds a bit strange. I think "decorated/covered with" would fit more, and serve better.

And that's about it for my nitpicks. Truly, I have no real ones.

This was a great story, Azi, as usual. It was abstract, at least that's how it seemed in the beginning. And the first time I read it. But the second time over, I understood it a lot better, and the tragic story behind it. Because it is quite sad, but beautiful at the same time, especially with the descriptions you've written. Everything, from the Sea to the Solstice and the idea of star-crossed lovers in the form of Autumn and Winter fits so perfectly. You've given us a glimpse of a magically realistic world, where the seasons (and, my imagination has led me to believe, such things even as night and day) come alive at the point of their transitions, with all the appearances of a human but the souls of their true identity. And it is, in one word: breathtaking.

Really, an amazing job with this piece. I'm still debating whether or not I should enter this contest, but even if I did I'm rather sure I'd not come first place, not after this. Great job, and KEEP WRITING! Definitely looking forward to your next piece; you can only get better.

Tiger

'Zila! Thank you for the request. After such a beautiful phrasing, how does one refuse to review?

Azila, I agree with what Tiger said *pats Tiger and throws her a meerkat* about reading it the first time, being slightly confused, then rereading and marvelling at the beauty of it.

I also disagree with almost everything sargsauce said, although I think his review was brilliant and thorough. Only, I didn't understand it like he did, I think.

Such as the quote at his quote:

Long before I am alive enough to feel it,

You open with the point that you cannot feel...but then go on for the entire paragraph of all these sensations. The rocking, the humming, the whispering, the breathing, the pulse. So many sensations, but supposedly the narrator can't feel them. And because it's first person, everything we know and feel should be exactly what the narrator knows and feels. So there's a direct clash. It's like saying,
"I'm not going to argue, but this plan is stupid and illogical because bears don't like nuts and you can't ride a unicycle and even if you set out to learn, you only have one leg, so there is nobody that will sell you a unicycle compatible for you."
You can't say you couldn't feel these things but then list all these things that one would feel if they could feel.

I guess I didn't see this like he did. I mean, when you lose consciousness, the first things that come to you are your five senses. Your sight and smell and touch is what you depend on because your mind is so foggy. That is what she is doing here: feeling her way back to life.

I thought it was a beautiful piece. I love her hesitation about really becoming Winter, but maybe a small thought as to how it will affect the world to have her remain human? Why does she decide not to become his lover and become Winter fully?

I know she thinks about what love would do to her and that no one would replace her, but wouldn't she be willing to suffer for love? Many would, why not her? Does she ever get tired on the never ending cycle? Of being alone? Meh! I'm thinking too much into this, which is a great compliment for you!

Haha. Hope this review was helpful, Azila, thanks for the lovely request!

Tanya

Cat, innit.

Hey, you know this contest of Cc's, yeah? Is it, like, a gathering of epic writers with similar writing styles or something? Seriously, I just reviewed kafka's entry, and Tiger's thinking of entering the contest. You all have that abstract, detached style. Weird. I blame the homeschooling. Errr... actually, I don't think Tiger's homeschooled... and I'm not sure about kafka. Still, I blame the homeschooling in your case. Sorry, al of this is completely unrelated to anything.

Speaking of abstractness, you do realise this review will suck, right? If there's one thing, well, two things that I can't review, it's poetry and abstract writing. Nonetheless, you've given me so many epic reviews before, so I'm going to at least try to be kinda useful. Basically, don't take me to the stocks if this sucks.

Guess what? I'm actually going to start a review! (Embarrassing confession: I had to Google the word barque)

Reading your writing makes me feel a like a mentally handicapped kindergartener (as you Americans say). Basically, I thought this was really cool and I loved the abstractness and complexity of it. U rok, turtle brain. I adore your descriptions, and I love the idea of this story as a whole. It's clever, and this may shock you, but I actually understood this the first time I read it. You heard right. Skinsy grew a brain for a moment. I seriously praise you for this though, Turtle lips. I can't even try to write in such a complex, yet effective way. I can only do simple things.

Errr... critiques. LOL. Good luck to me. Uhhhh... I dunno. Oh! I've got one! Even if it is pathetic... But anyway, yeah. Basically, some of the settings in this were a bit hazy to me as well as the whole situation with the barque, which I know know as a wooden boat thing thanks to Google. Tiger said something about this actually. When the MC was, like, blown by the wind, I thought she'd been blown of the barque and landed on the ground on her own. It took me a while to realise that she was still on top of the barque. I actually find that kind of... odd, I suppose. Even if the barque was blown with her, I wouldn't have thought that she'd have stayed on top of it. They both may have been blown to land, but the fact that she remained, like, in the barque seemed a bit weird to me... Err, does that make any sense whatsoever?

My God, a heat producing freezer has more use than me.

I think that's the only critique, if you could even call it that, I have for you. Something I noticed here was that this didn't feel as detached as some of your other pieces have. Really well done for that. This didn't even hint on monotonous (yes, I remembered that word). I wish it had though because I could have critiqued you properly then. As you can now see, what I said about me reviewing abstract pieces is true. I hope you don't kill me. Just keep doin' what your'e doin', innit.

Keep writing ('cause I know you love it when people say that),

xoxo Skins

Hi Azila!

This part sounds a little off:

I want to cool it!

I want to cover it with icy fingerprints, to freeze it with my breath! I want to discard this human body and rise up into my reign—but I haven't the strength. I haven't even the strength to open my eyes.

It is too early.

I think you may need to expand it a bit to make it sound less awkward. And stop the exclamation marks... they're making it much too jarring!

The fire seems a bit off-place. Also, I would like to see her more... interacting with the leaves of the trees. So don't just say they're effected by autumn, do something with it.

lk, hai! this is totally amazing and I understood everything. wat was it about?

Anyway, I am going to review this. I had a few line-by-line comments, so like the rebel I am (and because I know you'll ban me anyway), I copied ALL of it.

Long before I am alive enough to actually feel it, I am aware of my barque rocking and tipping gently on the waves. The movement is impenetrable in its regularity, yet it is not robotic. Nothing so completely natural could be called robotic. I don't really like this sentence. It's a bit redundant, but more than that, the mention of robotic makes the sentence feel unnatural. Also the one before it makes me stumble a bit—I like the idea, but I think it's distracting. Just as one cannot appreciate silence without the sound of one's thoughts, there cannot be stillness without the rhythm of the waves. The stars hum to it, the wind whispers of it, the soil breathes in time with it. It has been here since the beginning of the Earth, and will be here until the end. It is the cadence of the Sea. It is the pulse of eternity. I love this. But I also think it's too dramatic. Maybe tone it down a bit?
The first thing I am aware of is the rough wood beneath me. My mind, only partially alive, lingers in confusion on the feeling of the splinters against my skin.  But the last paragraph was all about her being aware of the stillness...
Why am I confused? My thoughts move so slowly...   Not really sure about this either.
Oh, yes. I was not lying on wood the last time I was awake. The 'oh yes' is too casual, IMO. On the other hand, I love “encased in ice.” I remember now; I was lying on coolness.  
No, I was lying in coolness. I was encased in ice.  
Yes, my skin can still remember the kiss of it—the frozen cocoon that preserved me through the long warm months. All that is left of it now is a slight dampness on the weather-beaten wood beneath me. 
I can hear the Sea slipping and clapping against the side of my barque. The calls of birds and winds reach me faintly... so faintly. I cannot tell if they are actually distant or if my ears are just too numb to comprehend them fully. Everything feels foggy, muggy, heavy. The air is warm. Too warm. It awakens a sharp yearning inside me. Ok, this part is dragging on now, getting a little boring, even if I still like the mood...
I want to cool it! For some reason, this sounds shrill to me, which I don't think is what you were going for.
I want to cover it with icy fingerprints, to freeze it with my breath! I want to discard this human body and rise up into my reign—but I haven't the strength. I haven't even the strength to open my eyes. 
It is too early. 
Slowly, I take a small breath. As the air touches my tongue, I taste more than its warmth—I taste a dryness, a sweetness, a thick earthiness like bitter honey; the taste of death and preparation, and nostalgia. I taste him. I want to reach out to him but then I remember that he will not allow it.I love this description—it's exactly what I think of with autumn. He never does. He will wait, just out of reach, tempting me out of my hibernation rather than waking me, as he does every time.  
Maybe because he fears me. 
Breathing has become easier now, smoother. I still have not opened my eyes, but I can feel him nearby and I know he is watching me. Waiting for me. I force my jaw to clench—will my arms not to give way as I prop myself up. Only once I am sitting do I pry open my eyelids. 
So bright! 
My eyes water from the stinging light, but I ignore them, thinking only of him, as he appraises my progress. I mustn't disappoint him. I force myself to forget the dizzy swimming of my head, the weakness of my limbs—what do they matter, anyhow? These are sensations of the body. They have nothing to do with me. I rise to my feet, mustering all of my infant strength to clutch the wooden rail of my barque. Barques have rails?
Eventually my blindness fades, and I can start making out the familiar scene I am in: the small wooden boat beneath me; the Sea all around, fading to fog at the horizons; the island ahead... so far away, but I can still make out his barque, tethered to one of the island's many trees, bobbing up and down on the Sea. The island glows with his presence. My barque is drifting slowly towards the island of its own accord, but I cannot wait, and neither, I know, can he. Why does he not unlock the wind to pull me towards him? I can feel his eyeless gaze on me, surveying me from all directions. I know he is impressed. To him, I am the most beautiful thing on Earth. This thought makes me swell with audacious pride. 
“Unbolt the wind to me!” It takes several tries before my throat complies with me, and by the time I produce audible words, much of my strength has been spent. But I make sure that my voice is strong and sings loudly across the water. 
Instantly, I know he has heard me, and that he is obeying me. He always obeys me. I spread my aching arms wide. 
First his gust catches the sails of my barque, making them bellow out—then it catches me. 
My body is tossed into the air. I hover for a moment, suspended over my barque—before I fall. I manage to land on my feet but I haven't the strength to keep from teetering. I stumble and shrink on the weather-beaten wood, hardly aware of what my body is doing as blackness begins to overcome me. I'm not sure about her being blown around... Dunno why, but I'm having a hard time picturing it.  
_______ 
 
When I awake, I am surrounded by leaves. I can feel them on my skin. I can smell them all around me, heavy with his scent. My barque must be on land now because the wood beneath me is still. 
Opening my eyes, I see that the masts of my barque have been adorned with orange and gold leaves. Clusters of harvest fruits—pears, apples, figs, plums—lie scattered around the boat as though felled from their trees by the wind. Are these welcome gifts? I smile lazily. He is always so courteous. Past the decorated masts I can see the bright azure of the sky. It strikes me not for the first time how singular that color is to him, and I know that I am on his island. Nowhere but in the depths of Autumn can there be such perfectly blue skies. 
Slowly, I stand up. I don't bother brushing the leaves off of my body; they cling to my long, tangled hair, tickling my neck with his presence. I am still weak, but his infinite hands support me now, and I can feel them helping me as I make my way across my barque. When I reach the bow, he lifts me into the air—then lets me fall to the ground. 
His earth cushions my landing, fallen leaves bellowing up at my impact then fluttering down again softly. Trees stretch upwards all around me. Their branches, vibrant with Autumn's colors, claw at the brilliant sky. 
His air is dry and sweet and spicy, like mulled wine. Mulled wine! How perfect. How seasonal. His quaint humor amuses me. The air kisses my lips and fills my lungs with its tart coolness. I bask in it, allowing it to flood me, intoxicate me... revive me. 
But it is too warm. (Why must all of my traditions be so warm?) I conjure lungfuls of frost, then release them into his air. The tiny, glittering crystals around me take up the gold of his leaves and the blue of his sky.  
I let out a small laugh, enjoying the feeling of my frigid breath on my lips, in my mouth, in my throat. I can feel my own power starting to course through me. It chills my blood. My reign will soon start. 
“How much longer?” I ask him. 
He does not respond. I'm wondering here; is there a reason why she is personified, and he isn't?
I am about to ask the question again when I hear a soft sigh. No, not a sigh; a hiss. A rattling, crackling whisper. 
And then I smell it: smoke. 
My absurd human heart beats faster. I sit up. A few feet away from me, the leaves that blanket the floor have caught fire. Flames lick the trunks of the trees, brighter than the foliage—brighter than the sky. Feeding on the dry leaves, they grow quickly and are soon crawling towards me. I can feel their terrible warmth caress my face. 
Anger and fear combat for prominence inside me. How dare he? He knows how I despise fire. 
Hardly knowing what I am doing, I leap to my feet. A wild howl escapes my chest, straining my throat, tearing at my lungs. My mouth burns with the raw cold of the voice that thunders through my body, overpowering it. That body is not me; this voice is me. I don't really understand the point of this. What is it accomplishing?
This is the voice of Winter. Like this.
As the flames wither and die, I see him, standing on his barque. 
I can see the effort that it takes for him to remain standing against the power that radiates from me. The force of it throws his long brown hair from his face. It makes his eyes water. He clutches one of the masts on his barque, his expression intent upon me. 
So here it is: the Solstice. The period between his reign and mine. The transfer of power. The brief moment for which we both take human forms. What would happen, I wonder, if I refused to transform? What if I chose to stay in my body? What if I were to embrace his human body with my human arms...? Lots of questions here. Maybe tone it down? Maybe? If I ask?
My throat is still roaring as these thoughts flit through my mind. The sound reverberates off of the trees, the ground, even the gray sky. He stumbles and shrinks before my power. The last of his colors fade as the leaves shrivel and fall to the ground, dead. Love this.
I know those fantasies I had are Delete, add 'were' impossible. The warmth of love would melt me, reduce me down to nothing, and there would be nobody to replace me. 
As Winter I cannot love him. As his lover I cannot be Winter. 
I will always see him in passing, and he will always revive me with gracious tenderness—and I will never give anything in return. I cannot feel remorse for him, though. After all, each year at the end of my reign I do the same for my successor, without any thought of being repaid. Such is the way of the Sea, and it's sons and daughters. It has been our way since the beginning of the Earth and will be until the end. Also a bit dramatic, especially the beginning of the paragraph.
With a breath, I snap the rope that tethers his barque to the island. My island. As I watch him disappear out onto the Sea, I feel the cold emptiness of despair rise up in me; the final burst of power that I need to be fully revived. I rise up farther, enveloping the island in my loneliness. I expose myself to the storms, unleashing hail and snow and wind; a ferocious tempest to announce my reign to the world. 
The freedom floods me, elates me. I am taking over. It is my turn.

 
--------------------------------------------------- 
Ok! That's done.

I'm sitting in the airport in Guayaquil right now, and thought it'd be a good time to read this. And I'm glad I did! I love your idea here. I can just imagine this actually happening in the world, and it's really... beautiful. The song fits it as well, though I'm a bit disappointed that you didn't chose the fat-wife-murder one. The seasons you chose in particular worked well—it really feels like this very story is happening every year. It's also reminiscent of pagan harvest myths and makes me think of old legends. I love it.

Aside from how much I liked it, I do have a few comments: right off the bat, the solstice is not the break between the seasons. It's the point when the day is the shortest, and it happens halfway through the winter, doesn't it? In other words, by the time of the solstice, it's already winter. I guess you could call it a break, maybe, but I've spent wayyyy too much time thinking/being distracted about it. Which isn't what you want. At the same time, I'm not sure I want to suggest you change it, because just the word solstice invokes the same feelings that your story does. Oh well, I'll stop talking about it now. You decide.

Secondly, I had to read it twice to get the feeling. The plot, sure—I always understood what was happening—and the characters as well. But it wasn't until I'd really thought about it that the mood came through. Because of that, and because this doesn't have as much moral depth (sometimes I end up thinking about your stories for hours and still come up with new layers) I definitely think the prose could be tweaked quite a bit.

For example, when you talk about her body language. It feels forced; same with all the “I feels,” which started getting kinda annoying halfway through. There were also a few places (I think I pointed them out above) were you veered towards wordiness/purpleness. All in all, I think it just didn't feel quite as polished as I'm used to in your work. I can't really put my finger on exactly why though. Which is why I'm failing at reviewing this.

What I definitely would suggest is going through, sentence by sentence, maybe while listening to the song, and trying to nail down the mood in every one.

Ak, flight has been called! I have to go, but I think this is mostly everything anyway. No idea if I helped or not. Let me know if you edit, etc. Also, I saw that you posted you allegory! I have to review that too, so maybe when we're waiting for the boat, lol.

Good luck! *likes*

Lupis

My plump, purplish friend. The Force was with you as you wrote this. Obi-Wan would be proud. Strong in the Force, you have grown. Yet still much, you have to learn. Well, not that much. I just enjoy talking like that. Uh huh. So. Do this, let us. Does that make sense? Or would it be "Us do this, let?" No way. Yoda's not that incoherent. How about "This, let us do." Bam. I'm a natural. Oh, shut up.



Seriously though. This was good. Well, it's by you, so I guess I should have expected as much. However, I do have some critiques I'd like you to consider. Firstly, this seems more like a fragment of a story than a story. I read through this once, got the basic emotion and story, and then read it once more. On the second readthrough, I looked for an underlying story - and I found one. Yet even that seems somewhat disjointed. You give me one state of mind, and you give it to me wonderfully - but then you just leave me hanging. You hint at past events, but even they are constant, meaning the mindset continues to be the same. Only far (I'm assuming far) in the past can we differentiate between the current and some other emotion. So. What this was meaning to say was that I thought you could use a bit more development. Expand on this, you should.

One more thing. I really have no idea where you're going with that Fall character. What does he feel for Winter? First you're saying he loves him, and then somehow he's afraid of him, and then they're best friends, and then they're rivals... this is one confusing relationship. Please, let the reader know what is actually going on.

Okay! That's about it. Keep writing.

-Kafka

Hello Azila!


Honestly speaking, I wasn't quite a fan of a story like this, but you made it possible for me to finished reading this with a smile on my face. ^^ Your style is unique and I'm impressed of your main character on how she interacts with the nature and all. Although there were some parts where you went a bit descriptive, but anyways, I considered it because it was how the story should be. You were good at showing, but you might want to tone it down a little bit because it seemed rather uninteresting in some points. >.<

Seeing this overall, there wasn't quite a conflict that occurred on this piece. Yes there was, but it looked just like a minute stain on a floor, which just can be easily cleaned. In my own point of view, the story lacked its showing of importance to the readers. You have a good narrator but connection between the character and myself was not much stronger than with the character to the "nature". it was just a bit blurry, that's all. Anyways, hope you get my point. lol.

The story was flowing smoothly and as expected from you, there were really no grammatical errors I could see so far. I have really nothing much to say because those previous critiques before me have pretty said much about it. ^^

When all's said and done, I enjoyed reading this. I love the title by the way- the simplicity of it. Anyways, good luck in the contest! Let me know if you have any questions.

Keep writing,
Yuri

Seriously, Azila? You wanted me to review this? Look at all the other ones above! There's nothing left!!
Sorry to seem lazy, but I don't think I could mention even a misplaced semi-colon without repeating somebody else.

EDIT: YWS counted this as a review, so I'd better make it look good. Drat

Slowly, I take a small breath. As the air touches my tongue, I taste more than its warmth—I taste a dryness, a sweetness, a thick earthiness like bitter honey; the taste of death and preparation, and nostalgia.

Winter is breathing through her mouth? I dunno, after waking up, I normally breath through my nose for a while. I know it would ruin all the tastes that you talk about right after, but you could easily replace the tastes with smells.
This isn't very important, so you can ignore me.

First his gust catches the sails of my barque, making them bellow out—then it catches me.

When I read this, I thought it was, "His first gust..." but then I had to go back because I saw that I misunderstood you. Maybe a comma should go after 'First'. I'm not sure if that's grammaticality correct.

But it is too warm. (Why must all of my traditions be so warm?) I conjure lungfuls of frost, then release them into his air. The tiny, glittering crystals around me take up the gold of his leaves and the blue of his sky.

This is the first (and only) time you use parentheses. It's kinda abrupt, so maybe you should cut it.

Okay, that's all I could do, sorry.
Jenth

Wow, this is so cool Azila!! I love it!!!

I think you did a really good job of your metaphorical stuff. This is really clever and the idea of it is really interesting, so well done! Loads of other people have given you really good suggestions for you to work on, so I dont think I have much else to say. I cant wait to read more of your stuff!

Im following you by the way. Also am I allowed to use smilies in reviews?? I just want to make sure!

Wow! I loved it, definitly one of the best things i've read on here so far. The imagry was vivide and I swear I could almost feel it as the power shifted from him to her (if I interprited it right, it seemed like the narrator was a girl... I could be wrong though, it has happened before-

*Snort* that's an understatement...
I'm still pissed at you, Mira, now leave me to reveiw so I can post

Anyways, definitly worth my time reading it. Now I wanna know what Winter's whole take on the solstice is though...

Hello, hello! Here and hoping to help.

On first read through:

The movement is impenetrable in its regularity, yet it is not stiff. Nothing so natural could be stiff. Just as one cannot appreciate silence without the sound of one's thoughts, there cannot be stillness without the rhythm of the waves. The stars hum to it, the wind whispers of it, the soil breathes in time with it. It has been here since the beginning of the Earth, and will be here until the end. It is the cadence of the Sea. It is the pulse of eternity.

I feel like the point that this section is trying to make is beautiful and valuable, but it doesn't speak beautifully or communicate its value. See, this passage, I think is trying to speak about that pulse of eternity and how natural it is and graceful, but the passage is stiff in itself and therefore fails to communicate that message. I hope that's understandable. Use smaller, more natural words and phrasing to follow the message in the form. Other than that, it might not even serve the piece well to interrupt with this description here. I think it would be best to move straight on to what the skin feels.

My mind, only partially alive, lingers in confusion on the feeling of the splinters against my neck. 

Ugh, I don't know why you're separating the mind from the voice in this entity. Like the mind is confused but something else in this entity is not? If the entity is confused, then you can say it more simply. Say that you linger on the splinters against your neck, but yeah, I think there's something a little fishy and inconsistent between being aware of something and feeling it. It's okay if you want to separate them. I believed it, but here you bring back “feeling”, which I thought we weren't going to yet.

Okay, and then I get very bogged down by this heavy, languorous voice you've chosen for this entity. Which seems wrong, reading about how the entity longs to be cool again, because you think of coolness as sharp and sparse and crisp, not flowery and spilling out all over the place in this fluffed-up language that you're writing in. Like “faintly... so faintly”. That seems so pretentious and slow and lingering that it doesn't make sense, not to mention it's burdensome to read through. I do think it's important for you to linger in the moment of this entity waking up, but I don't think you're doing it in the most beneficial way.

I can see that you try to bring pauses into the piece by separating lines apart, but that's a cheap way to make us linger on something. You should reserve that for something that needs very special emphasis. Doing it over and over again takes away the special. Try to linger in an image instead of bringing out the pause in those interruptions.

So, eek. I've kept reading and I really think that the voice is taking a heavy toll on my seeing in this piece. The lines sometimes seem so frivolous that although I really want to see the true beauty in the piece, I'm instead distracted by lines like this:

His quaint humor amuses me.

It sounds like you're in a false Elizabethan parlor or something. It doesn't belong out here in the rotting leaves and the lolling waves. I want to read what is really going on here. There is something so much more powerful between Winter and Autumn than

How dare he? He knows how I despise fire. 

more powerful than “How DARE” and “deSPISE”.

There is power and tragedy in Winter's longing and her questioning about whether Autumn feels the same way. I feel like you've only grasped the edges of the true story here, and I feel like, I KNOW you don't want to because I know the deadline is creeping up, but I feel it would benefit most from a complete rewrite, keeping that tragedy and that heartache at the center. You don't have to bother too much with setting out some concrete tradition or the parameters of the tradition to us, or MENTION that it's a tradition. We're humans and we know that winter takes over after autumn. What we don't know is how these entities feel and I'd love you to be able to approach that and try to capture that. Keep in mind what I said about Winter's voice, too, if you can. Make it more real, less haughty. Winter might seem haughty, but not in the false way. If you think she's mightier than the other seasons, she would wear it naturally, not so crudely in her voice.

I also really love the idea of them taking on human bodies, but I'm not sure exactly how that works. It seems like it would be harmless if they were to approach each other, but Winter is worried that she would melt, even in this human form? That could be something to explore, too.

Also, looking at this as just a story and not trying to fit it into the parameters of the contest or anything, I think you've fallen into something good in the idea of having something change from the beginning of the story to the end. Something does that doesn't need to be specifically described: autumn changes to winter. So what you get to do is delve right into the story that goes along with that change. How does Winter change from the beginning of this story to the end? She is more powerful. Show that more in how she speaks. She seems, in this version, just as powerful at the beginning as at the end, only she's aware in the beginning of how weak her shell is.

I hope some of this makes sense. I really think that what you're approaching could be so interesting, powerful, and engaging. I think you just kind of stumbled off the mark, but you can definitely get back to it!

If you have any questions or something I said doesn't make sense (which might be likely), feel free to drop me a PM. Thanks!

Oh golly, I wish I had a richer vocabulary for this review. To quote someone, Jagged I believe, "We have not been given the words necessary." As you know, I held off reading this 'till the deadline so that you may have time to edit this. Looks like the editing time was not really needed.

What you've got here is such a powerful conflict between two such powerful forces that -- well, explain this as I might in my meager word choice, if my monitor could punch me, it would punch me as I was reading this work, and I'd fall off my chair right down on the floor. That the conflict is mixed with love - of sorts - makes it so much more interesting and involved.

The imagery is ethereal, the prose is crisp, the characters - even the barely seen Autumn - three-dimensional. You generously sprinkle the text with words from the song. I made the mistake of listening to the song as I was reading the piece, and was stuck with a giant silly grin on my face that made a few co-workers throw me odd looks. However, it's unfortunate that most of the reviewers did not bother listening to the song, it seems, thus having questions about word choice (*coughtigerspritecough*). Really, for me, much of the beauty of this piece came from comparing it to the source material. But I do have a question about that - you used the words "stumble and shrink" twice. Was this an accident, or a deliberate choice? If it was deliberate, it seems almost like a throwback. Winter is weak at first, so she does that. As Autumn weakens and Winter grows in power, Autumn is the one doing it. Very interesting.

There is some criticism I can offer, however, and as minor as it seem, for me it was a fairly serious issue. There were a few lines like this:

It takes several tries before my throat complies with me

I let out a small laugh

These lines conflict harshly with the rest of the piece. I'm not sure if I can explain it very well, but they are where the abstract, mythological feel of the piece fades, snaps, and falls back down to the surface of a realistic human world. Everything else here is like the Japanese Kabuki theater: every action is deliberate, every colour well-chosen, every word carefully considered. It's larger than reality. But those lines I mentioned remind me of the mortal world. To describe a laugh as small makes it too specific, and specific details occur only in our human world, not the world of Autumn and Winter. Likewise, the part about "several tries" also hints at imperfection. A story like this must be perfect. After all, Aesop never bothered to describe what the golden chicken's farmer was wearing, or what the chicken had for breakfast. No, Aesop's stories are grandiose, mythical, where everything can be as perfect or as imperfect as the reader's mind makes it. When you add specifics... well, let me quote Sopor Aeternus' song "To a Loyal Friend": "Whenever lightness seeks to carry me away, you connect me safely to the ground..."

As an afterthought: I know that a barque is a large vessel with several masts, but both the song's vessel and the one in your story remind me relentlessly of this image:


Relevance to source material: well, you managed to see more in that song than I did, and that's quite a bit to say. I take 3-hour long walks every day, and in that time I listen to songs on repeat, obsessing over what's behind the music and the words. Though Autumn was never scrutinized super-closely, I like to take pride in my examination of art - and then you write this. I'm humbled, to say the least.

The only part I could find that's sort of inconsistent with the song is that the song actually seems to be suggesting that "he" is Winter. Courtesy of this line: "But once his cold will die // In my ardent embrace." Though it seems that the song presents the female character as more frail and more vulnerable, so I guess I wouldn't be going out on a limb if I assumed you just did a partial gender flip here for a more interesting writing experience.

The results of the contest will be announced tomorrow.

Lyrics of the original song:


Your judge,
cC