A little girl sat in a patch of daisies. She made a rather dreary figure amongst the ivory petals and sunny powder, with a thick woolen scarf piled onto bony shoulders and a head of brown bristles. Flopping onto her back, she plucked a flower. Held it up to the sun. Pincering a single petal between her pointer finger and her thumb, she plucked it off. “One.”
The word flew out of her mouth and bounced around the room, a part of it jumping out of the long-felled roof. The other part slithered over rotting concrete slabs and squeezed through the fading red threads of a tapestry, then a crack in the stone. The word stumbled as the world opened up into a hallway of great ages long past, watched over by the critical, meaningless glares of forgotten kings and knights. It rolled over its little legs and went on down a regal carpet worn down to the texture of cattle skin, ignoring the bits of itself that crumbled off.
Finally, it skidded around the corner into a room with peeling walls and rows of tussed-up beds.
A rusted scalpel lay on a stool, tucked away in the corner.
The sound bent down in a pseudo-bow and folded over itself again and again until it was so very small, at which point a figure in black stooped down to pick it up. The figure remained where they were: sitting behind a dusty oak desk. They held the crumbling word to their ear, although they could perfectly fine from any distance, and let the sound join its ageless brethren in the dining hall. Then, they stood up and the joint where it looked like their knees were smoothed out and they continued getting up. It took a very long time for them to stop growing in height.
They glided out of the room, their black cloak soaking into the air. The hallway squished itself into a step’s length and they were there, outside the room containing the girl, just as a “Two” floated from the center. A white petal fluttered onto her nose, a wet gray wedge carved into its base, and she brushed it off. She was reaching for a third petal when a shadow fell upon her.
The figure extended a hand from its rippling sleeves, which was decidedly normal when one overlooked the sickly white shade the skin was.
Frowning, the girl rolled over and shielded the flower from them.
They waited. They could wait for a long time.
A pout, and the girl raised the droopy daisy into their hand. Their hand closed around it, avoiding touch with her fingers, and there was another ripple down their sleeve like how a large piece of food looked while being swallowed. Then, they receded the limb.
Settling for looking at the flowers, the girl inclined her head back and sneezed. It was followed by a staccato of rattly coughs. She swallowed and swept the back of her thumb under her nose.
The figure continued to wait, a paradoxical lighthouse of opaque grimness. They would not have to wait very long, this time.
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125,018 Literary Works • 672,861 Reviews
Good Morning/Afternoon/Evening/Night(whichever one it is in your part of the world),
Hi! I'm here to leave a quick review!!
Anyway let's get right to it,
Well this is an intriguing start there. It starts off with a sort of very still image there with this girl and a pretty sort of relaxed feel in general before it then sort of builds up into a much more active sort of move there and with this sort of activity stemming from something you don't normally imagine as travelling really makes things very interesting here. Well let's see where this goes.
Okayy...well this is building up quite nicely there to its end. There's something quite powerful and mysterious about this figure that's mentioned here. I do think that how vague you manage to keep it adds quite strongly to this piece and then building on the sort of pattern there with the numbers also adds an interesting touch to this here. Well, let's see how this comes to and end here, so far its been setup up really neatly.
Well the implications of that particular ending are pretty clear there and wow that took a turn I was actually not really expecting even though it was maybe ever so slightly hinted at. Well, this certainly wrapped this piece up quite nicely I think and overall, you've done a pretty good job here with this story.
Aaaaand that's it for this one.
As always remember to take what you think was helpful and forget the rest.
Stay Safe
Harry
Hey there, EnderFlash. I love short stories so I thought I'd give this one a read.
I'm glad I did, because it paints a beautiful image in my mind. Or maybe I should say 'sound' since it's more about sounds than anything else. There's just four nitpicks to point out...
She made a rather dreary figure amongst the ivory petals and sunny powder, with a thick woolen scarf piled onto bony shoulders and a head of brown bristles.
I know what you're saying, and in another context it would be fine, but I personally think this part should be reworded. 'Made' just destroys my flow. It makes me think that she's creating something, not that she appears a certain way. 'She looked like' or 'she appeared' or something along those lines would fit better in my opinon.
It rolled over its little legs and went on down a regal carpet worn down to the texture of cattle skin, ignoring the bits of itself that crumbled off.
'Down' is used twice in close proximity and it sounds a little repetitive.
The figure remained where they were: sitting behind a dusty oak desk.
Okay, this is just me, but I got a little confused by this. We've already established that the girl is 'the figure', so when I first read this, I imagined the girl. Obviously you mean the hooded man, but I only realised that afterwards, so I wasn't imagining the scene correctly. You might like to reword it, or maybe it's just me.
Settling for looking at the flowers, the girl inclined her head back and sneezed. It was followed by a staccato of rattly coughs
This part felt too short. You did such a beautiful job at describing the sound of 'one' and I'd love some added detail for her sneeze and coughs.
Now onto the praise, and I want to say that I love the detail in this. For a novel, it would be too much, but since this is a short story I think the writing style is well-suited. It's almost like poetry, and the personalisation of the girl's words is really convincing. We say that writing is an art, and I would definitely be happy to label this not as a story, but as a piece of art. It's lovely. I think the end could be drawn out some more; you start off really strong with the details but the end lacks it. But apart from that, I've got no real issues with this. Thanks for sharing it with us.
I liked that, I didnt fully understand at times what was happening, but I did enjoy it, and I felt that you really descriped things really well and, well it was different, wasnt like other things I tend to read, it felt like it was about something else and I really did like that, I would like to look more at other peices of your work, because I enjoyed this.
Burrow