A Buried Whisper
Shayla shivered and smiled, fully appreciating the warmth her mackintosh secured within her under zip and hood. Pellets of hungry rain tore at the bare flesh on her legs, mass murdering the sparse amount of body heat she had circulating inside her. Legs that had only yesterday soaked in Moroccan sunshine were now being bathed in lashings of heavy “British” downpour. She breathed a heavy sigh and watched the flock of daily commuters struggling through ticket barriers; migrating back home to a dish of caviar and cava.
It’s almost like a religion. These people are all pilgrims, struggling to and from work every day. If once they cannot complete the pilgrimage, they know they have lost out on the sacred prize - that extra money bonus their work colleagues will brag about to them over lunch. So it isn’t just the economic meltdown that tips businessmen and women off the edge, it’s the lack of mental stimulation.
Shayla watched every detail, her mind consumed in something everyone else was either too busy or too tired to pay attention to: the anonymity of suits and ties; the din of leather shoes and high heels on white tiles. Each and every city slicker insatiable with their champagne larders and £40,000 end – of – year salaries. You could just see it in their faces, in their eyes that they were all cursing the credit crunch, but had too much self – respect to admit it.
A continental waft of French patisseries and Italian coffeehouses diffused through the air from Euston Tube Station, reminding Shayla of her surmounting hunger. Oh, how she desperately longed to savour a few helpings of Mama’s own Zucre Coco – a real childhood nostalgia. Instead, as if to find them magically appear, she looked up inside her umbrella, where only blue waterproof material skies shone, not the fairy godmother she had given up on many years ago. It canopied her mascara smudged eyes, the closed curtain to a window no one would ever want to step into.
All juggling the credit crunch with their expensive tastes, crowds were being drawn into the nearest café by the romance of comfy red leather sofas and frothing cappuccino cups. Only then did Daniel recognise the awkward silence that hung between them.
“Don’t think about it, please. We did it, and my conscience is still clear. I don’t regret anything. Look, I’m not trying to say we are angels, because we are far from that. But we did what had to be done, Jo. Why can’t you just understand that?”
“Don’t call me that! I’m not Jo anymore, alright. What I want to understand is why you can’t accept it. She’s gone from my life – Shayla is the new me. Shayla Sommer. There’s no turning back. It doesn’t change who I am in here,” she pointed to her chest, where somewhere a heart beat a rhythm she hadn’t yet become familiar with. She continued: “But just out here, the person I’m pretending to be. I want the world to stop asking questions I’ve forgotten answers to. Because those questions will cause me trouble and I don’t need trouble anymore. I’ve had enough of it! I -”
“Just calm down, come on. We both need to look at the logic of all this. You can't get dragged down by the tricks your mind wants to play on you. It'll drive you crazy. For one, we’re in the clear. And two, the police aren’t watching our every move. Meaning that we are free. We can live our lives like ordinary people.” Daniel tightened his grip around her shoulders and planted a kiss on her nose. Shayla laughed at that sudden gesture of affection. Affection she had almost forgotten all about.
“I love you, do you know that?” she replied as she stepped into his open arms.
It must be true what they say. Love is priceless. Yet love and unfaithfulness don’t always go hand in hand. Lies are said to break relationships, but I feel they can make a bond between two lovers stronger. No one needs to know about Tari. Except Theo.
It’s almost like a religion. These people are all pilgrims, struggling to and from work every day. If once they cannot complete the pilgrimage, they know they have lost out on the sacred prize - that extra money bonus their work colleagues will brag about to them over lunch. So it isn’t just the economic meltdown that tips businessmen and women off the edge, it’s the lack of mental stimulation.
Shayla watched every detail, her mind consumed in something everyone else was either too busy or too tired to pay attention to: the anonymity of suits and ties; the din of leather shoes and high heels on white tiles. Each and every city slicker insatiable with their champagne larders and £40,000 end – of – year salaries. You could just see it in their faces, in their eyes that they were all cursing the credit crunch, but had too much self – respect to admit it.
A continental waft of French patisseries and Italian coffeehouses diffused through the air from Euston Tube Station, reminding Shayla of her surmounting hunger. Oh, how she desperately longed to savour a few helpings of Mama’s own Zucre Coco – a real childhood nostalgia. Instead, as if to find them magically appear, she looked up inside her umbrella, where only blue waterproof material skies shone, not the fairy godmother she had given up on many years ago. It canopied her mascara smudged eyes, the closed curtain to a window no one would ever want to step into.
All juggling the credit crunch with their expensive tastes, crowds were being drawn into the nearest café by the romance of comfy red leather sofas and frothing cappuccino cups. Only then did Daniel recognise the awkward silence that hung between them.
“Don’t think about it, please. We did it, and my conscience is still clear. I don’t regret anything. Look, I’m not trying to say we are angels, because we are far from that. But we did what had to be done, Jo. Why can’t you just understand that?”
“Don’t call me that! I’m not Jo anymore, alright. What I want to understand is why you can’t accept it. She’s gone from my life – Shayla is the new me. Shayla Sommer. There’s no turning back. It doesn’t change who I am in here,” she pointed to her chest, where somewhere a heart beat a rhythm she hadn’t yet become familiar with. She continued: “But just out here, the person I’m pretending to be. I want the world to stop asking questions I’ve forgotten answers to. Because those questions will cause me trouble and I don’t need trouble anymore. I’ve had enough of it! I -”
“Just calm down, come on. We both need to look at the logic of all this. You can't get dragged down by the tricks your mind wants to play on you. It'll drive you crazy. For one, we’re in the clear. And two, the police aren’t watching our every move. Meaning that we are free. We can live our lives like ordinary people.” Daniel tightened his grip around her shoulders and planted a kiss on her nose. Shayla laughed at that sudden gesture of affection. Affection she had almost forgotten all about.
“I love you, do you know that?” she replied as she stepped into his open arms.
It must be true what they say. Love is priceless. Yet love and unfaithfulness don’t always go hand in hand. Lies are said to break relationships, but I feel they can make a bond between two lovers stronger. No one needs to know about Tari. Except Theo.
I have Morocco to thank for the valuable lesson it taught me. I call it my mantra because it helps me to concentrate; it clears my mind to know I have a goal in life that I can work towards and achieve someday. It's the one living thing I took home with me to a safer place. I’ve never doubted Kareena, and I’ll never doubt what she told me. "If a man once fall, all will tread on him."
It’s what he deserves – and it’s what he is going to get.
Dear moderators and englishguru,
ReplyDeleteHaving read my Task 41, I hope you can gather that my story is based on an eccentric couple with a dangerous past. While I was writing my piece, little did I realise that there was a girl in the photo, and not a woman, as I had previously thought. Only at a second glance, unfortunately when I had finished my task, did I discover the mistake I had made. I would like you to judge my work as how I have stated it to be about above, and not to believe the girl in the photo is the protagonist, when it is actually a woman named Shayla. I would also like to apologise for my spontaneity and jumping to a conclusion that could seriously manipulate the story I am trying to depict.
Many thanks,
STARDUST.
Hey, STARDUST,
ReplyDeleteNo fret about the picture mix up - I wouldn't have questioned it if you hadn't pointed it out to me. I can't really tell that it's a girl in the picture either, especially with it being black and white and them standing so close together. I guess that's one more reason to be thankful I'm not colourblind (the primary reason being not liking green starbursts).
It's wonderful to read your work again. As with the other pieces you've displayed enthusiasm and understanding towards the task. Your prose feels good to read - you obviously have good intuition for what makes engaging reading.
Your sensory stuff, with the weather and - my word - food, is beautiful. I loved this: 'A continental waft of French patisseries and Italian coffeehouses diffused through the air from Euston Tube Station, reminding Shayla of her surmounting hunger.' Actually one picky bit - I don't know about 'surmounting.' Surmounting suggests reaching a peak, so fair enough on that, but it suggests you're traversing that peak - that you're getting over something. You'd be better to use 'mounting,' especially as this in an ongoing thing (I told you it was picky).
The sense of connection between sensory input and memories is nicely done too - you pulled it off it a way that really flows. It helped sustain the pace of the piece, which in turn works well with the intrigue you develop - it's fast enough that it doesn't feel forced. Well done.
You're clearly thinking about constructing the piece as oppose to just doing automatic writing - I can see you've taken time over your imagery to make it original, as in 'hungry' rain (I liked that a lot).
Within the weather section this line 'fully appreciating the warmth her mackintosh secured within her under zip and hood' felt a little out of place. Everything else is uncomfortable, making her smile for this small comfort feel a little too posative. Maybe you could clarify that this is a small comfort against the rest of the situation.
In the same paragraph, this bit: 'She breathed a heavy sigh and watched the flock of daily commuters struggling through ticket barriers; migrating back home to a dish of caviar and cava' left me confused. I wasn't sure what the line after the semi colon refered to - the narrator or the commuters.
Also this bit: 'Yet love and unfaithfulness don’t always go hand in hand' is not quite right - I'd imagine 'love and faithfulness' would be what you're going for.
Nice work with the 'pilgrimage' comparison. I liked that whole section. And your ending is paced well, revealing just enough - I would definately keep reading.
It's always great to read your work. You must be motivated to keep producing stuff of this quality even in the holidays. You should know that it's well worth it - I thoroughly enjoyed this piece, and I'm looking forward to the next. Chekov said that if you want to be a good writer, just write loads of stuff, then write some more (to paraphrase). With the commitment you have, I don't doubt that you'll achieve that intended result. I hope that you're having a good summer. Take care,
Andy
Hey stardust
ReplyDeleteJust thought I'd comment, Great stuff, Ican see how you have tryed to simplify your work and now i can understand your work,
But, Mr S said between 300- 400 words, you did 700 but thats only because it works and it can't work any other way (well it ll it could but hey :D)
Have a great holliday, see you at school
Mechanical Angel:)
Thank you, Mechanical Angel for the advice. I have always known that I do tend to waffle a lot with my prose, but I have never got round to actually seeing to that particular fault. I now know that it is my new challenge for an upcoming prose task (like how I avoided really large words in Task 41) to stick to the amount of work englishguru requires us to write. Thanks, anyway for the well - needed prompt!
ReplyDeleteHave a great holiday,
STARDUST.
I never stick to word counts either :)
ReplyDeleteStardust, hi there, and apologies for the late posting. This is a strong and evocative piece you’ve written. I like the confident use of italics, slipping into a deeper level of consciousness, and the shift from observation of the commuters to the revelation of plot, and the hints, never fully explained, as to what ‘Shayla’ and Daniel have done.
ReplyDeleteLines I particular like: “Legs that had only yesterday soaked in Moroccan sunshine were now being bathed in lashings of heavy “British” downpour. She breathed a heavy sigh and watched the flock of daily commuters struggling through ticket barriers.” Followed immediately by the italicised section, precisely demonstrating her train of thought.
Also, “You could just see it in their faces, in their eyes that they were all cursing the credit crunch, but had too much self-respect to admit it.” An astute observation, but I would have put ‘pride’ rather than ‘self-respect’; pride is usually seen as more of a failing than self-respect.
And I love her looking up “inside her umbrella, where only blue waterproof material skies shone”. A wonderful melancholy poetic image.
As for the sudden reference to some crime or event in the past which Shayla wants to escape, this works well – as far as it goes. There are hints as to what happens, and a flurry of names that go unexplained, but at the end I’m none the wiser, beyond the fact that someone – Tari – has been done over in some way, and that there is still the possibility of Shayla and Daniel being caught – the police might be on to them, Theo knows about what happened. This is fine for a short standalone piece, but in a full short story you might want to give away a bit more of what actually happened.
As for the writing itself, be careful of cramming too much into one sentence: “Pellets of hungry rain tore at the bare flesh on her legs, mass murdering the sparse amount of body heat she had circulating inside her.” There’s too much going on here, and check every word for its meaning and power – you can’t mass-murder something that exists only sparsely! A quick off-the-cuff rewrite: “Pellets of rain tore at the bare flesh of her legs, eliminating the final sparks of body heat circulating inside her.”
And I’d say your treatment of the commuters is too much of a good thing, especially considering they are only the jumping-off point for the main thrust of the piece.
You have “the flock of daily commuters struggling through ticket barriers; migrating back home to a dish of caviar and cava” (how many of them actually eat caviar? Not that many, and those that do don’t drink cava with it!); then the italicised paragraph, which is great; then “Each and every city slicker insatiable with their champagne larders and £40,000 end – of – year salaries” which seems like a repeat of what you’ve said before, and I’d cut; then “You could just see it in their faces…” which is great; then “All juggling the credit crunch with their expensive tastes, crowds were being drawn into the nearest café by the romance of comfy red leather sofas and frothing cappuccino cups” which again seems like repetition, and could be cut without losing anything.
The contrast between the ‘made it’ city slickers and the ‘got away with it’ outsiders is a great basis for the piece, but you’ve got to get the balance right for it to really sing. All in all, though, great work and I look forward to the next task.
Thank you Andy Parrott and Jonathan. Your comments have been, without doubt, valid and constructively critical and I look forward to hearing from you soon.
ReplyDeleteMany thanks,
STARDUST.