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Bottle

by Cailey


I could feel the relish with which the hands gently picked me up and carressed my glass sides. How lovingly those lips neared mine and brushed so softly and so sweetly. Each kiss was slow and deliberate, filled with longing for more. Yet, it was not long before I was empty. Devoid of the sustenance which had provoked each stroke, each glance from the hands who found me.

My first thought was despair. What purpose did I have now? Was I to be abandoned carelessly, now that I was little more than a shell? Would I be tossed violently, left to become merely shattered pieces of glass? A shiver ran down my thin body and I tried to stand taller, to prove that I could still be used somehow.

For a long time I sat in the sand. Occasionally the hands would reach down and hold me, tip me upside down. But I was empty, there was not a single fulfilling drop left inside of my glass case.

It was one such day when the once smooth hands which were now cracked and dry from the neverending sun reached down and picked me up again. But this time I was not kissed, was not tipped over and thrown carelessly back into the sand. Instead, something rough with grains of salt was forced into my mouth and through my neck. It sat inside of me like a soldier waiting for orders. No order was given. Yet the wrinkled hands began to move, and I watched the sand drift past as I was carried down the length of the beach.

With a swift motion, the hands were gone and I was flying, flying into the waves. Water drifted up over me and filled me, but the cloth stayed obediently inside of me as we began our journey through the currents.

Spoiler! :
I haven't finished.. sorry. But I ran out of time... and so you will have to be patient or just read what I have.


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Sun Sep 25, 2011 11:11 pm
creativityrules wrote a review...



Hello there!!!

I love the idea of this story. I love the whole 'message in a bottle' thing; it's something that's always been charming to me. I mean, I think it would be amazingly cool to find one.

The second thing I like about this story is your style of writing. It's was very pleasant to read. I found myself drifting into the story, imagining what it would be to be the bottle. I have a feeling that the next time that I go to the ocean, I will be reminded of this story. So, great work there.

Yet, it was not long before I was empty. Devoid of the sustenance which had provoked each stroke, each glance from the hands who found me.


I think that this part would've sounded a little smoother if you would've combined these two parts. Perhaps you could've combined them in the following manner:

Yet, it was not long before I was empty, devoid of the sustenance which had provoked each stroke, each glance, from the hands who found me.


Just a suggestion.

Overall, I think this is an absolutely awesome and beautiful piece of work. Great job!!!

Keep writing!! :)




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Sun Sep 25, 2011 7:08 pm
joshuapaul wrote a review...



Cailey wrote:I could feel the relish with which the hands gently picked me up and carressed my glass sides. How lovingly those lips neared mine and brushed so softly and so sweetly. Each kiss was slow and deliberate, filled with longing #FF0000 ">for more. Yet, it was not long before I was empty. Devoid of the sustenance which had provoked each stroke, each glance from the hands who#FF0000 ">(who? or which?) found me.
My first thought was despair. #FF0000 ">What purpose did I have now? (italicize)Was I to be abandoned carelessly, now that I was little more than a shell? Would I be tossed violently, left to become merely shattered pieces of glass? A shiver ran down my thin body and I tried to stand taller, to prove that I could still be used(comma) somehow.
For a long time I sat in the sand. Occasionally the hands would reach down and hold me, tip me upside down. But #FF0000 ">I was empty, there was not a single fulfilling drop left inside of my glass case.
It was one such day when the once smooth hands which were now cracked and dry from the neverending sun reached down and picked me up again. But this time I was not kissed, was not tipped over and thrown carelessly back into the sand. Instead, something rough with grains of salt was forced into my mouth and through my neck. It sat inside of me #FF0000 ">like a soldier waiting for orders(lovely description here, best line of the piece). No order was given. Yet the wrinkled hands began to move, and I watched the sand drift past as I was carried down the length of the beach.
With a swift motion, the hands were gone and I was flying, flying into the waves. Water drifted up over me and filled me, but the cloth stayed obediently inside of me as we began our journey through the currents.



Okay Cailey, this was lovely. It really was a joy to read. I don't really know what the message or theme you wanted to convey? I did feel something but I can't pinpoint it. Telling a story from such a strange point of view is so unique and difficult. It's difficult because there isn't much of a standard, that is to say no great stories are told through they eyes of a bottle. But you succeed, somehow. So well done, I wish I had more to say about this but I don't it really was a delight.

JP




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Sun Sep 25, 2011 2:28 am
DevanEWilliams wrote a review...



Hello there! I know you said this wasn't finished yet, but I still want to comment on what you have written so far.
I love your entirely different perspective you set your story in. At first it's a little confusing, but I'm assuming that's what you're going for.
Let me explain what I was thinking when I read the beginning part of this:

I could feel the relish with which the hands gently picked me up and carressed my glass sides. How lovingly those lips neared mine and brushed so softly and so sweetly. Each kiss was slow and deliberate, filled with longing for more. Yet, it was not long before I was empty. Devoid of the sustenance which had provoked each stroke, each glance from the hands who found me.

I love how you almost began in the middle. There is not any type of exposition, you don't explain background, and yet it makes perfect sense as you read. Another thing that I thought was interesting was how during this portion of the story, it could be interpreted differently, not in quite a literal sense. (Aside from the glass part, of course.) It could be a metaphor for a person that was in a bad relationship of some kind.
One thing that I might suggest is a bit more subtlety. I know it's a bottle right away, and maybe (this is just my opinion) it would make it more interesting if you were trying to discover what POV it's in.
Other than that, it's wonderful and I can't wait to see how it turns out!
~Devan




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Sat Sep 24, 2011 7:50 pm
Poor Imp wrote a review...



Ciao Cailey,

Perspective is a fun toy to tinker with, da? And I think you've rather got a hang of tone--for you've set an aptly sensual tone to fit the situation. Yet at the same time, as far as pacing and detail, you seem rather to have stopped before you really had a good time with it.

Oy, a good example of it would be the bottle's thinking--rather than continuing to describe. One nearly always has a stronger voice, and certainly stronger action, through the direct saying what is--is felt, is done: colour, sensation, taste.

I could feel the relish with which the hands gently picked me up and carressed my glass sides. How lovingly those lips neared mine and brushed so softly and so sweetly


As the above, you begin so. But then you move to the bottle's existential despair at losing its upended telos in the world of sand and dehydration--and possibly obsessive-rum-addled-passion (though perhaps I'm merely reading the rum in, so to speak ^^;). Anyhow, regardless--what does the world feel like to the bloody bottle in 'despair'? Without saying despair.

Saying 'despair' has got its place in many a narrative. But in a perspective piece based on description, it's limp. Anything short has got to hit its points hard in each and every word. I rather like the
shiver ran down my body
--though you hop back into interpreting the shiver after, rather than layering the experience. ^_^; (Though it is tangential, do you know, you could have brilliant time with this if you flipped it to hyperbolic humour, and made the bottle's despair comical in its 'seriousness'. Er, after all--a bottle in existential despair?)

That all said, you've struck fairly well into an incongruous perspective. 'S not easy. You have some neat bits of description too, and I rather liked
Instead, something rough with grains of salt was forced into my mouth and through my neck. It sat inside of me like a soldier waiting for orders. No order was given. Yet the wrinkled hands began to move, and I watched the sand drift past as I was carried down the length of the beach.
for the images, described tactilely as well as metaphorically--sand and soldier.

But oy! I would love to see it tightened up, tidied. Especially bits like
each glance from the hands who found me
when hands can't glance, though they can graze.

All in all, lovely foray into perspective. Only focusing it, and perhaps striking inner dialogue, would make it quite excellent, and not simply a foray, but a solid finished expedition. ^_^


Yours,

IMP





Nouns can verb very well actually, they verb better than some verbs do.
— winterwolf0100