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I remember in the Summer days, when we would sit for hours. Just looking at the wildlife that surrounded us in awe. There was always something new to find within the dense forest that we'd visit; local creatures making families, flowers swaying left-to-right, sowing their pollen as they did and the gentle breeze caressing our skin and forcing our hairs to stand up.
It was the kind of life that people dreamed of; no worries, no pressures, just the innocence of living on our shoulders as we ventured through the paradise with no idea where we'd end up. It was wonderful to feel each blade of grass brush against your ankle as you'd wander through the land, just to see a leaf fall ahead of you, or a mother feeding its children was so gratifying, we were part of this forgotten culture more than anyone else, we were really special.
Every time we explored we always stumbled upon one small area, a gap in the forest where a lone well lay, the only sign of civilisation we'd ever seen. Whether it was mere accident that we found this spot or by sheer luck surpasses my memory, but it was more beautiful than you could ever imagine.
The serenity that it gave us as we bathed in the forest's scattered sunlight was truly blissful. It was heart warming that something so simple could be such a utopia within itself, it's almost as if it called out to you when you set eyes on it, perhaps even before. The slight drip of water that trickled from the rope at the top of the well would give great weight to your eyes, and with the light aroma of life would sooth you like nothing else. It was like nothing you've ever experienced before; the creatures scuttling through the plant life, the beautiful bird songs chiming in your ear and that drip, over and over. How it went on for so long in such hot weather was beyond us, but we didn’t care. We never needed to care in this land.
Then it stopped.
No more birds chirping, no more animals moving, no more smell of flowers in our nostrils. Even the sun was eclipsed by cloud that moved from no where. All that was left was a slight breathing noise from the well. Slowly puffing in and out as if it was a struggle a breath. I wandered over. God knows why I would do such a thing, my instinct said to run back to reality and think nothing more of this, but I didn't.
As I got closer, the breath became it voice. It rung without warmth, without a caring sound of sincerity, but a piercing rasp to turn the purest of souls to stone. This was of ungodly realms, not the wonder that surrounded it. Instead the only dark in a floodlit forest. My hairs stood on end as it carried on rasping. Trying to tell me something, trying to entice me with its evil. I couldn't help but shudder in fear as goosepimples invaded my body, and couldn't help but move ever closer.
"Come here," it would whisper as I moved my ear towards the slow drip, "Come here..." If I could move my legs I would have, put paralysed by wonder I continued to move closer. Then, like the last words of a dying man the voice uttered "Gone..." and my head plunged down to darkness. The water woke me up from this trance but still I couldn't move. I didn't even struggle, just looked into the abyss below and made pictures in my head of the water below.
Then like a butterfly in winter, I was slowly killed by beauty.
Now for every day I'm missing, my mother sheds a tear, and for every two my brother sheds a dozen more. All I have left is my voice, now, no eyes to cry with, no soul to miss with. I simply wander round my grave, where the well used to lay, warning those who travel far not to look into the shimmer in the water...
Thanks for reading
Rickoss
It was the kind of life that people dreamed of; no worries, no pressures, just the innocence of living on our shoulders as we ventured through the paradise with no idea where we'd end up. It was wonderful to feel each blade of grass brush against your ankle as you'd wander through the land, just to see a leaf fall ahead of you, or a mother feeding its children was so gratifying, we were part of this forgotten culture more than anyone else, we were really special.
Every time we explored we always stumbled upon one small area, a gap in the forest where a lone well lay, the only sign of civilisation we'd ever seen. Whether it was mere accident that we found this spot or by sheer luck surpasses my memory, but it was more beautiful than you could ever imagine.
The serenity that it gave us as we bathed in the forest's scattered sunlight was truly blissful. It was heart warming that something so simple could be such a utopia within itself, it's almost as if it called out to you when you set eyes on it, perhaps even before. The slight drip of water that trickled from the rope at the top of the well would give great weight to your eyes, and with the light aroma of life would sooth you like nothing else. It was like nothing you've ever experienced before; the creatures scuttling through the plant life, the beautiful bird songs chiming in your ear and that drip, over and over. How it went on for so long in such hot weather was beyond us, but we didn’t care. We never needed to care in this land.
Then it stopped.
No more birds chirping, no more animals moving, no more smell of flowers in our nostrils. Even the sun was eclipsed by cloud that moved from no where. All that was left was a slight breathing noise from the well. Slowly puffing in and out as if it was a struggle a breath. I wandered over. God knows why I would do such a thing, my instinct said to run back to reality and think nothing more of this, but I didn't.
As I got closer, the breath became it voice. It rung without warmth, without a caring sound of sincerity, but a piercing rasp to turn the purest of souls to stone. This was of ungodly realms, not the wonder that surrounded it. Instead the only dark in a floodlit forest. My hairs stood on end as it carried on rasping. Trying to tell me something, trying to entice me with its evil. I couldn't help but shudder in fear as goosepimples invaded my body, and couldn't help but move ever closer.
"Come here," it would whisper as I moved my ear towards the slow drip, "Come here..." If I could move my legs I would have, put paralysed by wonder I continued to move closer. Then, like the last words of a dying man the voice uttered "Gone..." and my head plunged down to darkness. The water woke me up from this trance but still I couldn't move. I didn't even struggle, just looked into the abyss below and made pictures in my head of the water below.
Then like a butterfly in winter, I was slowly killed by beauty.
Now for every day I'm missing, my mother sheds a tear, and for every two my brother sheds a dozen more. All I have left is my voice, now, no eyes to cry with, no soul to miss with. I simply wander round my grave, where the well used to lay, warning those who travel far not to look into the shimmer in the water...
Thanks for reading
Rickoss
Excellent use of descriptions, it was like the world convention of adjectives. Nicely written with a very individual style you seem to have carved yourself.
Cool.
Fantastic. Smooth, compact and care-free descriptiveness. I think without characters or plot you just flew through it describing things and what not.
"Then like a butterfly in winter, I was slowly killed by beauty."
"Now for every day I'm missing, my mother sheds a tear, and for every
two my brother sheds a dozen more."
*Thumbs up*
"Then like a butterfly in winter, I was slowly killed by beauty."
"Now for every day I'm missing, my mother sheds a tear, and for every
two my brother sheds a dozen more."
*Thumbs up*
While you're editing:
> I wondered over. God knows why a [well?] would do such a thing
:-)
It only takes a second or two to guess but for that bit of perfection! ;-)
As to the story, it was a beautiful description, but I was left thinking "What" and "Why"... sort of.
But that's me, and I'm probably missing the entire point. :-)
> I wondered over. God knows why a [well?] would do such a thing
:-)
It only takes a second or two to guess but for that bit of perfection! ;-)
As to the story, it was a beautiful description, but I was left thinking "What" and "Why"... sort of.
But that's me, and I'm probably missing the entire point. :-)
Thanks for the comments - and cheers for pointing that out, FFF (and Strafio ;-)). It's one of the those annoying words that look similar that I always miss when checking through.
Great story, Rik.
If I could make one criticism, it's that you seem to pick up on very minor details in a very significant way. It seems rather odd, when you're reading it.
If I could make one criticism, it's that you seem to pick up on very minor details in a very significant way. It seems rather odd, when you're reading it.
FinalFantasyFanatic wrote:
> Rickoss wrote:
> >feel each blade of grass brush against your angle
>
> Ankle?
Probably a typo like "anjle" that spell checker corrected wrongly.
> Rickoss wrote:
> >feel each blade of grass brush against your angle
>
> Ankle?
Probably a typo like "anjle" that spell checker corrected wrongly.
Briliantly well-written and described, but something stopped me being drawn in. I couldn't put my finger on it, nor explain it - perhaps I shouldn't have even said it.
And that's not to say it wasn't good.
Rickoss wrote:
>feel each blade of grass brush against your angle
Ankle?
And that's not to say it wasn't good.
Rickoss wrote:
>feel each blade of grass brush against your angle
Ankle?
*eyes widen*
With all of these great entries i'm starting to wonder if its worth finishing mine!
With all of these great entries i'm starting to wonder if its worth finishing mine!
I remember in the Summer days, when we would sit for hours. Just looking at the wildlife that surrounded us in awe. There was always something new to find within the dense forest that we'd visit; local creatures making families, flowers swaying left-to-right, sowing their pollen as they did and the gentle breeze caressing our skin and forcing our hairs to stand up.
It was the kind of life that people dreamed of; no worries, no pressures, just the innocence of living on our shoulders as we ventured through the paradise with no idea where we'd end up. It was wonderful to feel each blade of grass brush against your ankle as you'd wander through the land, just to see a leaf fall ahead of you, or a mother feeding its children was so gratifying, we were part of this forgotten culture more than anyone else, we were really special.
Every time we explored we always stumbled upon one small area, a gap in the forest where a lone well lay, the only sign of civilisation we'd ever seen. Whether it was mere accident that we found this spot or by sheer luck surpasses my memory, but it was more beautiful than you could ever imagine.
The serenity that it gave us as we bathed in the forest's scattered sunlight was truly blissful. It was heart warming that something so simple could be such a utopia within itself, it's almost as if it called out to you when you set eyes on it, perhaps even before. The slight drip of water that trickled from the rope at the top of the well would give great weight to your eyes, and with the light aroma of life would sooth you like nothing else. It was like nothing you've ever experienced before; the creatures scuttling through the plant life, the beautiful bird songs chiming in your ear and that drip, over and over. How it went on for so long in such hot weather was beyond us, but we didn’t care. We never needed to care in this land.
Then it stopped.
No more birds chirping, no more animals moving, no more smell of flowers in our nostrils. Even the sun was eclipsed by cloud that moved from no where. All that was left was a slight breathing noise from the well. Slowly puffing in and out as if it was a struggle a breath. I wandered over. God knows why I would do such a thing, my instinct said to run back to reality and think nothing more of this, but I didn't.
As I got closer, the breath became it voice. It rung without warmth, without a caring sound of sincerity, but a piercing rasp to turn the purest of souls to stone. This was of ungodly realms, not the wonder that surrounded it. Instead the only dark in a floodlit forest. My hairs stood on end as it carried on rasping. Trying to tell me something, trying to entice me with its evil. I couldn't help but shudder in fear as goosepimples invaded my body, and couldn't help but move ever closer.
"Come here," it would whisper as I moved my ear towards the slow drip, "Come here..." If I could move my legs I would have, put paralysed by wonder I continued to move closer. Then, like the last words of a dying man the voice uttered "Gone..." and my head plunged down to darkness. The water woke me up from this trance but still I couldn't move. I didn't even struggle, just looked into the abyss below and made pictures in my head of the water below.
Then like a butterfly in winter, I was slowly killed by beauty.
Now for every day I'm missing, my mother sheds a tear, and for every two my brother sheds a dozen more. All I have left is my voice, now, no eyes to cry with, no soul to miss with. I simply wander round my grave, where the well used to lay, warning those who travel far not to look into the shimmer in the water...
Thanks for reading
Rickoss
It was the kind of life that people dreamed of; no worries, no pressures, just the innocence of living on our shoulders as we ventured through the paradise with no idea where we'd end up. It was wonderful to feel each blade of grass brush against your ankle as you'd wander through the land, just to see a leaf fall ahead of you, or a mother feeding its children was so gratifying, we were part of this forgotten culture more than anyone else, we were really special.
Every time we explored we always stumbled upon one small area, a gap in the forest where a lone well lay, the only sign of civilisation we'd ever seen. Whether it was mere accident that we found this spot or by sheer luck surpasses my memory, but it was more beautiful than you could ever imagine.
The serenity that it gave us as we bathed in the forest's scattered sunlight was truly blissful. It was heart warming that something so simple could be such a utopia within itself, it's almost as if it called out to you when you set eyes on it, perhaps even before. The slight drip of water that trickled from the rope at the top of the well would give great weight to your eyes, and with the light aroma of life would sooth you like nothing else. It was like nothing you've ever experienced before; the creatures scuttling through the plant life, the beautiful bird songs chiming in your ear and that drip, over and over. How it went on for so long in such hot weather was beyond us, but we didn’t care. We never needed to care in this land.
Then it stopped.
No more birds chirping, no more animals moving, no more smell of flowers in our nostrils. Even the sun was eclipsed by cloud that moved from no where. All that was left was a slight breathing noise from the well. Slowly puffing in and out as if it was a struggle a breath. I wandered over. God knows why I would do such a thing, my instinct said to run back to reality and think nothing more of this, but I didn't.
As I got closer, the breath became it voice. It rung without warmth, without a caring sound of sincerity, but a piercing rasp to turn the purest of souls to stone. This was of ungodly realms, not the wonder that surrounded it. Instead the only dark in a floodlit forest. My hairs stood on end as it carried on rasping. Trying to tell me something, trying to entice me with its evil. I couldn't help but shudder in fear as goosepimples invaded my body, and couldn't help but move ever closer.
"Come here," it would whisper as I moved my ear towards the slow drip, "Come here..." If I could move my legs I would have, put paralysed by wonder I continued to move closer. Then, like the last words of a dying man the voice uttered "Gone..." and my head plunged down to darkness. The water woke me up from this trance but still I couldn't move. I didn't even struggle, just looked into the abyss below and made pictures in my head of the water below.
Then like a butterfly in winter, I was slowly killed by beauty.
Now for every day I'm missing, my mother sheds a tear, and for every two my brother sheds a dozen more. All I have left is my voice, now, no eyes to cry with, no soul to miss with. I simply wander round my grave, where the well used to lay, warning those who travel far not to look into the shimmer in the water...
Thanks for reading
Rickoss