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TITLE (EDIT)
And Angels Crept. |
DESCRIPTION
First attempt at writing a novella..(semi-bio)..i'm only two chapters into it but would enjoy some kind of feed back on it so far...cheers.
[1,325 words] |
TITLE KEYWORD
Biography |
AUTHOR
Duluoz |
ABOUT
THE AUTHOR
19 year old-English-Male.
[February 2002] |
AUTHOR'S OTHER TITLES (3)
Anna (Poetry) An account of love written as a conscious stream of thought. [128 words]
Anna Sleeps (Poetry) Wrote while watching an ex-girlfriend sleep... [31 words]
Torn Sheaves Encase... (Poetry) Another bash at spontanious poetry... [51 words]
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And Angels Crept.
Duluoz
Part 1
We preached-back to the bar – facing the silver drizzle that licked the panes-elbows pressed against the tacky bar...he rolled his head to put his lips to my ear-and as he spoke a warm breath fell inside me “there’s love on every street corner”...pausing for the still effect of his speak...”don’t get hung up on one”. He leant back arching his thin frame against the sill of the oak chair. His words made some contact. A careless warmth to it – but the tone in my head as I reeled it back and forth sunk. I exhaled through closed lips. “a lover on every street corner man, a lo-ver”. Sharpened at this he swung to face me sick eyed and starring; “you think there’s a difference” dry saliva attached itself to the corners of his broken lips but snapped as he railed to speak. “fuck you man”-“honest love is with that girl out there” now relaxing slightly and pushing himself back into the chair while leaning an eye to the corner of the street lain visible through the window that faced us-“she loves you as truly as women can-without veil-there’s nothing she hides beneath a thirty pound fee-she doesn’t dream behind your back as you make her”.. I slide an eye at the slip of his tongue... processing my criticism however he replied “you got nothin to lose by her doing it”-“that’s the difference”-he starts laughing-“there the only kind of women who ain’t out to fuck you”. I watched his eyes tingle at the sway of his discovery... Jonn was if only closely the nearest my ear had been pressed to the lips of Christ..he knew of no experience (except the abuse of drugs and lostmindedness) in the things that laid decay in the souls of me and the friends around us..he knew not of love or loss yet held a Christ like modesty to everything...he observed the pains of us around him so skilfully that he knew of all that love passion and pain held within its slippery fingers without risking its touch himself...and it was no naive or ignorant view he keep on any of our great worlds vices..he was a genius of our minds yet stood detached.
He sank his hands into his jacket and twisted off his stool-he walked toward the door turning as he neared it-he smiled and left. The bar lost some warmth I stayed for another drink and watched a landscape of grey twitch beneath the warm glow of street lamps...felt its orange warmth...I decieded to go for a walk as it wasn’t to cold outside-to bath myself in the misery of the damp crept pavements of the town. For a few miles I moved not really noticing anything but the sadness that hung in the air..thick..and heavy..the town had never looked so beautiful..at night the slow empty streets carried a weight that intrigued me..i was comfortable to wander them as they were gaunt and sad with me..immersed in nothing but a lost orange glow...we walked. My legs had began to ache so I moved my stride toward a collection of flats on the edge of the town-from the roofs of these buildings the whole post industrial wasteland of Walsall could be viewed...as I had found years earlier drunk with my brother shouting in inebriated excitement atop of these depressed frames of sad concrete that housed as many pains as id imagined in my travels-a collective of suffering and struggle to also seat my pains for a while. I eventually found my way to the top floor of one of the blocks after a few fumbled attempts that through poor lift operation ended me in landings a few floors below the top of the building. The locks on the doors to the roofs of these buildings had been removed by vandalism too many times for the caretaker to be moved to replace broken one’s and for comfort in this idea-jumping from the roof was ridiculous...they had balcony’s.
On the roof the edge seemed still and as the movement toward it caused the view beyond to drop away I shook slightly at the blur of the town...the oceans of night hung still against the sparkle of lights that flickered at its base...like insects the lights moved as stars began to puncture the canvas of night...filled with the sight I sat and gazed at this man made-accidental beauty-a foot of the vast inborn skies of night.
Introspection slide and twisted its hot fingers around me...i felt the cool night on my cheeks.....And angels crept on broken toes whispered in the moonlights delight all things undo in a field of tinder that waves unseen in the majesty of the skyline-her face a soft sculpture of smooth bones set in eyes that leek a thousand breaks and moves in slow whispers of a gentle angelic tone that makes men curl and feeds the sleep of wet dreamed eve’s -a face that hides in her bosom and swells in her loss as all that moves hangs gently upon her shoulders like the soft fall of silk upon the naked contours of a divine landscape of form reaching beauties edge-in celestial tongues and howls at the moon that takes her eyes she weeps at the sorrow of broken men at her feet..... I left the roof and went home... i miss her skin..she makes me want to die...i could smell her in my room...its warm...i fall to sleep, to dream, to wake.
Part 2
The soft light of morning fell lightly against the curtain above the bed, casting strange hazes about the room that lay still but for the wisps of dust that danced and flouted within the air-the light blue curtain bleed a purple mist around me and sunk the feelings that had laid waste to me for the past few days..a warmth held me beneath the sheets and pressed a brief disconcern for all things bad against my heart..the moment past and the morning unfolded with breakfast and a conversation with my dear mother-whom I was living with still due to my depressed and fiscally challenged state. The angel-my mother-danced around me as the day drew on. “I dont know if your bothered to hear of this” she bluntly expressed-but with a sombre tone that captured my ear as my mind caught its intriguing note..for she never explained a thing outside of triviality in such a voice. “I told you about the lady who lived down the street”...pausing as she often did to create some kind of dramatic tension..”the one who left her husband in the middle of the night and took there children because he was hitting her”..i replied with an unmoved “yes”...still stepping around the room she replied ”she was in an accident..a car crash..she was smashed to death..the children are in care, I think?”. For that moment of hers my heart sank..a thousand thoughts and pains melt for one persons death...something I’ve never understood.. I had been stripped of my self-despondence and cast a new view by her story she said nothing more but stayed in the room tidying and moving things around-almost frantically...i knew this story pained her I could see her grief for those irreclaimed children welling inside secret eyes..she had lost a daughter herself who had left to her keeping a beautiful young child-with golden skin and melancholy eyes that would infract heavens essence at one glance...she felt the world’s pains yet soothed its wounds from her lonely space where she wept for the things God led through children...she is indeed an angel-who feels the pain of every heart within her own delicate frame. She had told me this story to quiet my aching-the story that broke her to almost cry-I’m sorry mother that I feel glimpses of pain and cry..and you..you feel it all..it’s not fair..i’m sorry.
I left the house shortly afterwards with an odd glow in my stomach-saved at the thought of it not being worse.
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READER'S REVIEWS (3)
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"It seems like I critiqued this story once before. Perhaps you didn't like my comments and had them erased, or maybe I read it once before and never got a chance to review it. In any event, I'll pretend like I'm coming at it for the first time, and with "fresh eyes." Comments, 'preached-back' is presumably some type of walking action, but it is doubtful most readers will be able to discern what type of walking action is happening. It's interesting what you did with the word 'lo-ver.' Woody Allen did similar dialogue in the transcripts of 'Bullets Over Broadway.' The word works with a hyphen in it to show the characterization of the man's speech, and you managed to pull it off without having to go into dialectal speech such as 'luver.' Speaking of hyphens, I'd stick one in 'likemindedness' right between the two base words. Too many 'e's in 'deceided.' You were able to draw the reader in, with interesting characterization.--The Advisor" -- JA St.George.
"I found this a good, but very heavy read. Some of the phraseology was difficult to work round, and man do you like your purple description. That's not totally a critisism I like flowery description, the more the merrier as far as I'm concerned, as long as its clear. I've always been big on 'seeing' what the writer is trying to show but at times it was a case of wading through the syrup to find the story. There are some beautiful sentences in there. The styory itself is well told, characterisation coming along nicely and overall a strong start. If I had to suggest a change it might be to lose just a tiny bit of the flambouyance to let the dog see the rabitt. " -- Sooz, Dalton, England, Cumbria.
"Ehmm..m. Sehr gut Seite! Ich sage innig..!:) bmw" -- BMW, ..., ..., ....
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COPYRIGHT NOTICE
© 2002 Duluoz |
STORYMANIA PUBLICATION DATE
February 2002 |
NUMBER OF TIMES TITLE VIEWED
2365
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