The Science Behind A Love Letter
~Part I~
The Artist In Paradise
Eva walked through the cold winter streets. His ears were filled with
screams and songs, Mausoleum Romantic. Dead leaves blew over his feet
and spiraled down along the road, like some crackling hurricane. He
watched them for a while, while taking out a cigarette. ‘To be that free,’
he thought, ‘to just go where the wind takes you.’ He smiled. His mind
was wandering. He hadn’t been taking his tablets. He was told that they
would make him better, but sometimes he wondered. Who would he be if
he was better? He was made by this affect on his life, the depression, and
the emotions. He would just be like everyone else. Would he see what he
could see now, or would it just be a litter or leaves in the wind. Would he
feel this way about them? He wrapped his coat around him tighter, feeling
his skin break into goose pimples. The illness made him more aware
about everything. He could see colors everywhere, and use them to make
things better. He could look at a woman and be able to make out every
feature, could replicate the leaves of a tree on a piece of paper. He could
touch a stone and know what it looked like, could taste the air of a
polluted city and create a golden land. All from the affects of an illness
that took its toll every night. A small price to pay for greatness.
He crossed the road and stepped onto the pavement the other side.
Leaves whipped past him, scattering along the floor, crashing against the
wall next to him, colliding off the legs of the people walking along. He
slipped the cigarette into his mouth and took out a lighter from is pocket.
He rolled the flint and a flame burst up, only to be blown out by a gust of
wind. He smiled. The flame had been a mix of blue, orange and red.
When it died, it had turned an amazing blue, getting darker the higher it
went. He shielded the lighter with his other hand and rolled the flint again.
The flame burst up and smothered the end of the cigarette, the tip
glowing as the paper began to melt away. Smoke dribbled out of the end,
slowly and almost drunkenly, rising up, spinning. He felt light headed. He
didn’t know f it was the tobacco or the smoke. Just watching it move
made him want to move like it. He felt a sudden twinge. His head was
swimming a bit. He sighed. It was kicking in. He took out a small plastic
camera film case from his pocket and popped the lid off. Inside sat a
single pill. It wasn’t the ones he was wanted to take. He tilted the case
and it fell into the light. It was a deep blue, about the size of a screw
head, but its size had nothing to do with its affect. He placed it on his
tongue, slipping the empty capsule back into his pocket. He felt it slowly
stick. The smoke curled around it before slipping through his lips. In a
minute, it was gone. He walked on. Slowly, the colors seemed to get
brighter, and the sensation seemed to slip away. He started to slip back
into himself. He knew what his eyes were like. Pupils thin as cats. He
dragged on the cigarette, watching the tip glow. He felt the warmth travel
down his throat. In the winter, it felt better than ever. He walked with the
crowd for a while, watching the people. He could tell what their stories
were. Man in a suit talking seriously down a phone. His business was in
trouble, he had a bad family life. Woman in a red dress walking along
happily. Was heading to her lawyer to take everything off her soon to be
ex-husband.
He didn’t like this place. The world seemed to be cold and lifeless, with
nothing left in it that was worth holding onto, a shell. Everyone hated each
other and wanted each others things for free. This town was like a leech.
It clamped onto you so you couldn’t escape and then sucked your blood.
He slipped away from the crowd and crossed another road, walking up
to the station. He walked into its once grand entrance, which was now
covered in muck and graffiti. He let the cigarette fall to the floor then
crushed it under his shoe. Smoke rose from under his foot, like some
kind of wispy and, reaching higher. He turned and walked up the steps to
the station. The station stretched out quite far, just under the horizon line
. He walked along it, brushing cigarette butts and litter away with his feet.
He heard the train coming. The rubbish rattled and the signs began to
swing.
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125,018 Literary Works • 672,861 Reviews
Hey, Eva!
Poor guy. I really liked the way you handled this subject--his desperation is really easy to see, even though he has to resort to desperate measures. Your style of writing is really pretty and honest. Overall? Very cool. ^_^
A few things I want to talk about, though:
THE SCIENCE OF CARING
I ramble about this a lot in critiques, but it's true--you really have to have a main character that your readers care about. And granted, I do care about Eva because he's a sad person, but there's that little twinge of, "I could still put this book down and be okay that it was a really well-written story, but I don't have to know what happens to him". That's not so good. You want your readers to be slaves to your book--you want a delicious, well-written page-turner, and nothing less. Something that will keep them thinking about it for months.
Most people I give this advice to really leave no reason for me to care about their character present--they have to make it up. You have all the ingredients, however. They're just in the wrong places.
This is why I would begin the story with describing Eva's sickness. Everyone has gotten sick at some point in their lives, and most people wouldn't wish it on other people to be that way. Beginning with the sickness is a quick and dirty pathos-builder that will help set the stage for his actions to come. It's a two-for-one, if you will. And I think that's a pretty good deal.
THE READER SLAP
Literary symbolism is a beautiful thing. However, when used in a clichèd context, it can get to be a very annoying thing.
I've heard the "go where the wind blows you" metaphor a lot. And while it fits Eva's situation, it's kind of slap-in-the-face symbolism. I like to use slap-in-the-face-symbolism in moderation--with an especially obscure concept or a character revelation, and then only at the end of a chapter or so forth to make an impact. You don't want your slap at the beginning of the story, or you have to spend the rest of your time apologizing.
Instead, you can have the leaves, but don't have him comment on them. The reader will still get the message.
___
Good story, Eva! Feel free to PM me if you have any questions or want me to review something else for you.
Your imagery is very strong and I am really engrossed with your character's thoughts. But your ending is ambigous but it is a fitting ending to your story. I hope there is more because you have me hooked
