Young Writers Society

is there nothing between us and the void?

by liehart

We’re still waiting.

A month ago, he arrived.

He was alone, he told us so. He doesn’t say much. That way, what he does say is always right. We are no longer afraid of desperation. The waiting has taken all the fear out of us. Sometimes, when we find ourselves alone, we take a step outside. We break the rules. Look in every direction. With open arms, we wait for it to swallow us whole. And, occasionally, it works, and nobody mourns.

He has never been seen doing this. It’s not that everyone is always watching each other. We ran out all this way to avoid being seen. A shadow the size of a planet. A universe. Is this obscured, or has the comfort zone been pulled back, is there nothing between us and the void? But what we know- when it comes to him- is the truth set in stone. He is waiting, too. Not for a saviour, like us. He knows nothing but death. And he is doing all he can to evade its grasp.

He goes days not saying a word. He counts them all. He sees the world as it was: moving, fragmented, perfect, repeating itself over and over. He is weak, he cannot let go of it. He holds on with a grip of iron. There is no beauty to him, he cannot see it. He can only see in front of him, the identical boxes packed one after the other, passing through, never still.

The words he says do not matter. They are few and generic and soulless. Is it possible that they are all he is? A dead man, hiding in the corner, he never looks at you.

A month later, he will leave. We will never see him again.

We’re still waiting.

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51 Reviews

Points: 67
Reviews: 51

Tue Nov 28, 2017 2:03 am
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ellasnotebook wrote a review...

This piece is really beautiful. The atmosphere and quality of the writing is engrossing. The writing is very well done, and I really enjoyed reading this.

I'm going to be honest, this piece really confused me. I have no idea what it means. I don't think I'm smart enough too, honestly. Maybe this the effect you wanted, to keep everything shrouded in mystery, to leave it up to the readers interpretation.

Maybe it's about a man passing through a place at the edge of the universe where the people who are hiding from something or other reside. The people there are convinced that he is their savior, but he is not. He eventually leaves.

That was probably a terrible try at trying to figure it out.

Despite the shrouded meaning, this piece was just beautiful. I honestly don't even care that I didn't understand it. The language you use was stunning, and I'm just really glad I got to read it. Please keep writing!


liehart says...

Thank you! I love your interpretation, there%u2019s no right answer. I just wanted to write something a bit ambiguous and cryptic.

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841 Reviews

Points: 664
Reviews: 841

Tue Nov 28, 2017 12:52 am
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Radrook wrote a review...

Thanks for sharing this enigmatic short story written in a thought-provoking, pensive and somber mood. As a reader I enjoyed the story's tone. I am also very impressed by your command of imagery.

But as far as meaning, all i could derive was that there is someone who is expected to leave an assembly-line job and that his fellow workers, who are obviously greatly distressed by his behavior, will be greatly relieved when he does so.

I’m sure that there is a deeper meaning but it is simply too cryptic for me to merge into one coherent message. Many unexplained statements left to be pondered. If this was the intended effect, then the story succeeded. Despite this, I consider it a true work of art. Some short stories are like that. Their value and beauty is in the overall effect.

liehart says...

Thank you! It%u2019s a subjective meaning, I guess, but if that%u2019s not working then it%u2019s not working. But yes, it was intended to be that way.

Radrook says...

What is not working?

liehart says...

I just meant if you are not feeling the story then I haven't done my job as the writer.

The greatest part of a writer’s time is spent in reading, in order to write; a man will turn over half a library to make one book.
— Samuel Johnson