There are precious few, I think, who are offered up to the eager and calloused maw of puberty a second time. When we trudge through its sickly humid, isolated halls the first time, we do so blind to the context of age and experience. Our peers normalize and socialize the experience, and so we think it normal. Few then reflect later, the dry-burning haze of regret and embarrassment shielding our adult sensibilities from the earth-razing chaos of our youths.
It is a fool then, who would tread the depths once more. A fool, or a desperate man.
I write you all then, a desperate fool, my boots sodden in the foulness and the change once more, but now I know. I, with my fellows, embark with that burden of experience and age, knowingly into the sweating bowels of Hades, to experience the change again. There are no peers now to normalize the chaos. For many of us, we embark alone, tracing blindly once more the labyrinth. So I am.
I had long since forgotten the melancholia of the change. The fierce tides that batter ill-equipped minds and hearts, so consuming, so insistent on capsizing those that would raft its waters. When first I spanned these violent, screaming peaks, I was singular and afraid, gripped by the hands of howling sea wind, chilled to the centre of me. Now that I have returned, I recognise its grip. It stifles my tongue, my eyes, my lungs that I cannot cry, cannot scream for help. So instead, I will write.
I was told once, that ideas are meaningless unless written. That, in the great human crusade for truth, it is our duty to write, and to share, that together, human understanding might be better. But I am no general. I cannot, while so gripped by fear, seek to quest forth on such a righteous, ruthless campaign. I am a coward, and so, I will write here instead. Confess my fears and sorrows and hopes to be lost in the uncaring and unhuman tides of probabilities. But if, by chance, you should stumble upon my words, then I thank you for bringing meaning forth from a coward's tongue.
So I am drawn back to the pen once more.
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139,082 Literary Works • 672,408 Reviews
Hi! Belated welcome to YWS!!! I hope you are having fun here. I, CATS, got curious because of the unique title, so I want to review it! Ok, let’s see...
First of all...I love how the title gives away nothing about the story, making readers curious to see what it’s about! That’s what lured me in...
I think the story is very creative, has a great start, and an amazing finish, like a seal on a letter, sounds final! The middle is also very nice, keeping me interested all the way. Love your works, can’t wait for more!!! Happy Writing!
Love,
CATS
hey! :]
I was enthralled by the self-characterization here, and I think it is the strongest element to this! Adolescence is described as both ravenous and unfeeling, and that sets the tone immediately as something visceral / highly nuanced. As the narrative goes on, there is a descent, e.g. the "sweating bowels of Hades." This evokes a mythological journey to me, such as with Orpheus or Theseus, and that frames puberty as both epic and claustrophobic. The narrator is too vulnerable to explicitly say that though, so they mask it with self-deprecation. That's very realistic!
The narrator frames their experience as undergoing the agonies of puberty again--now, with the added curse of adult awareness--as well, and I am unsure what that is supposed to do plot-wise. It *could* work on two levels: a literal second adolescence through hormonal / medical / situational means, or symbolic re-immersion into a destabilizing transformation. I would've loved to see this narrative go into one of those boxes rather than existing outside of them, since I am not understanding what the second puberty means in a literal sense. If it's literal at all.
There is a moral imperative of writing that is explored more in the end; you write that ideas have meaning only when shared. I feel this could be misunderstood because there isn't enough subtext. This sentiment alone feels a little backhanded, and besides that, I am unable to connect it to the broader themes that came earlier. If the 'second puberty' metaphor is simply figurative language about responsibilities--and I assume it is--then jumping right into philosophical musings on art feels abrupt / unnatural. A concrete idea or image could benefit the ending, or you could explore more of what puberty means for people as a time of change.
I hope this helps; have a good one!
lina
Hi!! Welcome to YWS! Look forward to your future works!