Lately the sun had taken to warming away snow and waking up flowers. People slowly began to notice this, as their icy brains thawed, and they shed their woolen coatings and flocked to the newly comfortable outdoors.
A great deal of the outdoors was just roads and sidewalks and bus stops and grocery stores. These places just looked wet and sad with the sludge of dead leaves and trash the snow had been concealing now out in the open. But some parts of the outdoors had grass and plants and trees and these places flushed green, a color people had almost forgotten during the monochrome season.
A car is pulling into the parking lot of a park, one these green places. A boy and a girl get out. The girl, laughing at something, gets a cooler from the backseat. The boy says something and takes it from her. They walk along the path to the river, the boy moving the cooler to his other hand so he can hold hers.
They walk through the greenness towards the silver-blue ribbon. The girl points at wildflowers she doesn’t know the names of, and the boy picks one to go behind her ear. They find a picnic table that doesn’t wobble and open the cooler. The girl takes out pretty sandwiches and salads and bottles of soda which glow in the sun. She watches worried as he chews and smiles. He swallows, offers compliments, and she blushes and examines the grain of the table. Her legs are too-long in her too-short shorts, and they lie in a tangled heap under the table.
After their lunch, they walk along the riverbank, pointing and softly exclaiming at the things they had forgotten about in the last long months, things like birds and flowers and baby rabbits. When the girl sees a silver flash in the depths of the river, the boys tells her a fishing story. The story is about the time he was eight and had almost caught this fish when a bee stung him and he dropped the pole into the water. The girl isn't sure what's she's supposed to say to this, so she tries laughing a little and kissing him. This seems to be an acceptable reaction, for he smiles and she smiles back.
They walk for a while, but the heat of the sun beats down surprisingly warm on their winter-pale skin, the girl's face flushed and drops of perspiration on the boy's. They find a tree with cool darkness gathered under it and sit. The girl rests her head on the boy's shoulder and talks softly of her plans for the future. He nods and runs a hand through her hair.
When she runs out of things to say, he mentions his own plans. What he says makes her sit up and look at him, the nearly invisible eyebrows lowering and the painted pink mouth tightening to a frown. They are quiet after that.
Once adequately cooled, they go back into the golden light. The boy wants to see the rest of the park, so they walk onto the bridge over the river. He points at something on the railing. The girl glances at it and returns to watching the ripples in their reflection. He pulls out a pen and starts scratching into the soft wood.
“John.”
“What? I was just–”
“What do you think that’s going to do? You think writing our initials – I mean, look at all of these!” Her hand slaps the railing. “Do you think these people are still together? M and G, T and L, S and A…” She closes her eyes tightly, red fingernails biting into the wood. Her face is flushed again, but not from the sun.
“Hey.” He puts a hand on her arm and she shakes it off. “Hey, I didn’t know you felt that way. It’s no big deal. Let’s just keep walking, okay?”
“No.” She turns around. “No, I want to leave. I don’t want to be here anymore.” He stands, shoulders slumping imperceptibly, the pen stabbing at the ancient carvings. A bird sings in a magnolia tree on the far bank. The backs of her too-long legs reflect in the rounded, wet surface of his eye. They get smaller and smaller.
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I'm really not sure where I'm going with this. I've been working on it for a ridiculous amount of time and I think it's time for some feedback. And I had the hardest time coming up with a title. Other ideas: Reflections, Ripples, The River, The Bridge, Spring.
Help?
Points:
Time spent:
Canary word: Present
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125,020 Literary Works • 672,861 Reviews
Hola! So I think I'll go oldschool and write my comments/corrections right into the body of the story in the colour.... hm.... #0000FF ">bright blue. Here goes.
So that's my review! Also, nice to see someone else who isn't Hemingway crazy. I can't say I'm a huge fan either. Seriously, though, do more prose work. You have some serious potential there.
Keep writing!
--Tori
I adore your writing style! It's a really brilliant show-not-tell, and this story reminds me a lot of "Hills Like White Elephants" by Hemingway.
One thing that confused me was this sentence:
I think you've left out a verb or something.
Otherwise, keep it up! This style is really, really great.
Hey, thanks, glad you liked it! I'm not sure what to think of it to be honest. And interesting you compared it to Hemingway... uck. I have yet to figure out what's so great about him, haha.
Yeah, that's a weird sentence, though I did mean to write it that way. I think I'll rewrite it.
Thanks again! ^_^