Warning: This work has been rated 16+.
The last weak claws of the usual weak winter of Hyderabad, were drawing away slowly. February was in the air and so was the nascent Spring. A silent tussle between the fading darkness and the emerging daylight. Nature’s every scuffle either destroys or transcripts something magical. The soothing breeze gave evidence to the later.
As a part of rare occurrences, that day I was on my jogging shoes and trod-ding the half existent tar road of my colony. Crushing the fallen dead leaves gave both my shoes and myself a mystic childish pleasure. The crispy sound added to the bliss. The meager quantity of the newly arrived fresh sunlight could just help me figure the end of the road giving itself away to the main road. The metro rail construction stood as a mammoth on it. I planned to make it my point of turning back, still about 300 meters ahead.
Panting heavily, the laziness inside me prompted me to take a halt before turning back. I rested my back against a small closed Pan shop that stood exactly at the corner. By the time my breath slowed down, the darkness was almost defeated for the day, lending more visibility to the vista. Just when I was about to start, a very distinct sound of someone coughing scratched the silence.
Inquisitiveness defies logic and need equally. As I went back of the shop, the sudden curiosity got its cure. It was a few sq. feet of space quite hidden from the direct glance of any passerby. She stood there with a cigarette in between her left fingers. Draped in that dark black, only her face was visible. She was beautiful. The contrast among the pinkish tinch of her face and her black attire helplessly multifold her attractiveness. The slightly faded red lipstick had few of its particles coated on the filter of the cigarette. The rest, still on her lips along with the magnificently sculptured eyes spewed in a silent enchantment. She was a lady, probably in her early thirties.
My sudden intrusion startled her. And I was in some state that slowly dripped from the astonishment of her presence towards the dazzle of her beauty. Shocked, she stepped back a little. Shocked, I stood their firm. The cigarette kept burning itself without a pause. Few thin flocks of smoke aimlessly floated around before migrating to non-existence.
As I came out of my startled phase, I realized that I was intervening on somebody’s utterly private and stolen moments. Somehow, I managed a faint smile and turned back. A strange temptation of wit and I turned again. This time with a bigger smile I pointed to her cigarette and said “That may kill…. first your beauty and then you.”
A smile in reciprocation. A puff more to establish ignorance to the caution. A smile again. Then she spoke “It can’t kill me more than this black piece of cloth that has killed all my wishes and desires long back. I live in the same planet as you, but in a different world demarcated by this black cloth. So near to every worldly pleasure, yet so far from even a bit of them.”
She paused. And then spoke again “was killed a few days after my college when I was forcefully introduced to this black world. How can a small stick of tobacco kill me again?”
With a faint laugh which was a futile attempt to hide her pain, she threw the last remains of her cigarette and popped in a mint gum. She unfolded the veil of her Burqa over her face and walked away slowly.
Startled further I walked back home. Thoughts were galore. Conclusions were none.
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140,178 Literary Works • 673,037 Reviews
i looooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooove this sooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo much only i don't really get it at the end
It was a very good piece of writing. The way you described the atmosphere was so engrossing. Being an Indian, it felt very perfect description of a beautiful February morning. Writing was full of myriad of beautiful literary tools to bring out the particular shade. Yet it was very small, and it has a serious problem. The first part of your description of beautiful morning in contrast with this girl cladded in a burkha, smoking, is very unimaginable. Further, the dialogue between them is very pretentious which I dont complain about, as it could be fine for some people, for me, I didnt like it. Same goes with the overly philosophical change in your tone in this very part is not in line with the whole sequence. Although, you don't have to agree with any of this, but what's important here is, that tone of narration is an important tool and a writer must always be aware about it. When you write a story in a multiple setting, in different environments, it has a tendency to change.
All the best for your efforts!
Thanks for the appreciation and many thanks for the suggestions:)
Will try to improve in my next.
Radrook here a once again to offer some suggestions.
Apologies if i offend. It isn’t my intention.
Please feel full free to cast aside all things you deem not helpful.
But if you do be sure its true by being extra careful.
That having been said:
The initial scenario of a traveler on a road is very interesting. I like the way that jogging shoes and the cigarette lets us know that we are dealing with modern times. Also the description of the time of year and how the walker felt about his surroundings is good.
Questions arose of course. Where is he or she going? I was hoping for hints and waited for these things to emerge gradually. But before they ever were provided, the story ended with an encounter with what we are told is a female ghost who stands calmly in a corner smoking a filtered cigarette. Then the walker walks calmly away without any opinion whatsoever.
As a reader this seemed rather strange and extremely unusual reaction since I would have personally urinated in my pantaloons and bolted as soon as she admitted being a cadaver. I would have also been extremely worried that she might latch onto my nose with her teef or jabbed that cigarette into my glass eye!
Suggestion
1. Show don’t tell.
2. Avoid saying things in complicated or in a roundabout way.
The main suggestion is to avoid purple prose.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Purple_prose
If expressions are too fanciful then they will draw too much attention to themselves and to the author.
example:
A smile in reciprocation.
[She smiled back.]
Punctuation:
[. . . half-existent . . . .]
The last weak[,]. . .
Startled further[,] I walked back home.
Grammar
panting heavily I . . .
Shocked, I stood their firm.
[Shocked, I stood [there] firm.]
Repetition of the word black as a negative could offend a black reader or a political correctness white reader.
The natural reaction to encountering an apparition is to run in fear and give what happened a lot of thought. So as a reader, I found that calm, mindless reaction extremely hard to believe.
BTW
Please note that it is best to place supernatural themes under Supernatural category. Some reviewers are averse to supernatural subjects. I only found out it had to do with the supernatural at the end when the “You shall not Die” message appeared in the form of an immortal ghost.
Looking forward to rereading more of your work.