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Audioslave
05-09-2009, 11:13 PM
Alright, I've been a poor contributor to the showcase lately, my submissions being few and of decent quality. I'm trying to getting back into writing consistently and this is what I've started with. I'll reserve any of my own feelings about it, as I have no idea how it will be received by all of you.

Just a note; the *** indicates a time/place change. The stories has non-linear timeline.

__________________________________________________ __

We met in a bungalow in Fort Worth, in a downtown London flat, in Parisian chateau. Her ever-consistent toothless smile ran through each occurrence like a thread. Every hot tub, every frat dorm, every beach party she would be there, holding an unidentified drink and looking at me through the corner of her eyes. “So we meet again.” She would say every time.


“So we meet again.” The absolute silence of the Nevada desert hugged around us tightly, warmly. The only crack in the noiseless façade was the distant chatter of teenagers and the soft mumbling of hip hop music, yet even that was being pushed out by the pure and crushing emptiness. “Do I know you?” I said quietly, my eyes straining through the darkness, unable to decipher face from endless scenery. Like a painting coming to life, she stepped forward and revealed her body; a pure glass figurine in a world of concrete. She wore a tightly knitted sweater, despite the unbearable heat.
“Filé.” She said, the crescent moon illuminating half of her face, leaving the other side dark.
“Excuse me?”
“My name, Filé .”
“Well Filé, I’m not having such a good night.”
***
Christmas bells jingled noisily, constantly. The northern star stood, transfixed at the open door. Little men stuffed into big suits wandered by with secretaries and temp girls. A torrent of wine swept me off my feet and as I washed up onto a floral-printed sofa, I closed my eyes. “So we meet again.” Those dreadful words dripped into my ear, freezing and taking hold of my eardrum. “Not now, not again.” I said, rolling over. She sat down by my feet and said;
“I just came to tell you I’m leaving.”
“Aren’t you always? You’re teetering on the edge of here and gone, never resolved enough to pick safety or death, now or later. Your life is an endless party, a loosely strung-together collection of cocktail socials and keggers. When will you settle down? When will you let it go? When will you come home with me?”
She was gone.
***
“Honey…honey, yes. I’ll be home in the morning…No…No, they’ve taken everyone’s keys. A safety precaution, you’ll understand…Who? Oh, no, of course not. Why would she? Good night, dear.” A click, a smile. Her lips curved, mutated into something sensual, something inviting. She encompassed me, engulfed me. Her eyes shone, focused and light fires in my brain. Sounds of life perforated the paper-thin walls, the D-train rumbled overhead and the dim glow of modernization and Coca-Cola slipped into our room unnoticed. New Year eruptions sounded a transition; another thread on the strand.
***
“Why are you everywhere I am?”
“Because I am everywhere you could be.”
***
There she was, haunting me from across the dance floor. The bride and groom spun so fast they drilled through the ground, into the center of the earth. The ravenous brides maids flew overhead, eying me and just waiting for my defenses to fall. But it was her eyes I was locked to. Her slender, never-changing frame hypnotized me with its slow, deliberate movements in times of panic. “So we meet again.” She mouthed, licking her lips.
***
Lining up the cue, I tapped my foot to the classic jazz. The smooth, expensive whisky clung to my throat and kept it warm, kept it loose and talking. “So what is this, our fifth encounter?” I asked, missing the two ball and sinking my cue ball. “I believe we’re up to six now.” She said through barely-masked glee. As she lined up her shot, I admired the perfect contours of her body; her expansive scenery, her infinite space and unimaginable interior. I longed to touch her again, to experience her familiar, consistent embrace. She sank the six, seven then eight balls and looked up into my face, her eternal smile still engraved on her face. I reached for her and our lips met, pressing against each other, absorbing each others similarities. I laid her gently on the pool table and rubbed the soft felt underneath.
***
Sand under our feet, we danced to the cool nothingness of the desert. The party had long since driven away, looking for a quick fix and a cheap off. The forgiving, loving desert continued, attentive around us and shone its light towards our swaying bodies. Our lips touched, but just barely. Our hands grasped, but only lightly. Our eyes met, but just briefly. Small clouds of dust drifted around us as I dipped her low to the ground. Her own weight betrayed her as I felt her getting heavier, heavier, infinitely heavier. She slipped through my hands like pure alloy, yet her bolted smile stayed consistent. Slipping into the Mojave sand she fell into sweet forever and I was alone once more.

Godly
05-12-2009, 1:20 PM
What exactly does she represent? Is she his addiction, his bad habit, the representation of his lifestyle?

She is very intriguing, which is a great quality for such a character. I kinda wish you kept writing, I want to find out what she is.

Quadros
05-12-2009, 1:39 PM
I don't know. This is pretty much typical of your style in general, perhaps even more cryptic and vague than most. It seems like you straddle the line between poetry and the short story and while I keep telling myself that that's a brilliant form of unique self expression I can't help but focus on the negatives. Beautiful as your writing is, and I don't think anyone can deny that, it lacks the depth and substance of a true short story, and the measure and structural integrity of poetry. So I'm in two minds about it because while it's beautifully written there's nothing to sink my teeth into and at the same time the hybridisation suggests you're incapable of fitting your writing into either form of expression, which I know to be untrue.

I'm not having a go or really even criticising your intentions,I think what you do is great, I just think it's limited. It would be near impossible to expand you style of writing in volume without rendering in incomprehensible through the forests and mists of metaphors and ambiguity.

Also when, after all the description of her beauty she said her name was 'File' (accent schmaccent) I cracked up for about ten minutes which I doubt was your intention. I would pick a name which in no way resembles something you'd find in a tool box, unless that was supposed to be some clever comment on how she was 'filing away his sanity', in which case it just didn't work.

Audioslave
05-12-2009, 8:01 PM
I don't know. This is pretty much typical of your style in general, perhaps even more cryptic and vague than most. It seems like you straddle the line between poetry and the short story and while I keep telling myself that that's a brilliant form of unique self expression I can't help but focus on the negatives. Beautiful as your writing is, and I don't think anyone can deny that, it lacks the depth and substance of a true short story, and the measure and structural integrity of poetry. So I'm in two minds about it because while it's beautifully written there's nothing to sink my teeth into and at the same time the hybridisation suggests you're incapable of fitting your writing into either form of expression, which I know to be untrue.

I'm not having a go or really even criticising your intentions,I think what you do is great, I just think it's limited. It would be near impossible to expand you style of writing in volume without rendering in incomprehensible through the forests and mists of metaphors and ambiguity.

Also when, after all the description of her beauty she said her name was 'File' (accent schmaccent) I cracked up for about ten minutes which I doubt was your intention. I would pick a name which in no way resembles something you'd find in a tool box, unless that was supposed to be some clever comment on how she was 'filing away his sanity', in which case it just didn't work.

You should know that I quite like your criticisms and that you and Godly are the ones I always anticipate to hear from the most. Your criticisms are spot on, but I feel as though I either can't fix them, don't want or eventually will, as I evolve.

At the same time, I definitely can write a longer piece if I put my attention into it. The longer I write, the more expanded it becomes and less condensed all these ideas are, ergo it is less dreamy and indiscernible.

As for who she is/what her name means, Filé (French) means 'strand', which is essentially what she is. To answer Godly's question, she is essentially the superglue of his life. She doesn't necessairily need to be real, it's simply a device to illustrate any problems in his life and force them to address him.

While I don't normally do self-analysis, I will just to demonstrate that there is something underneath, even if I didn't do a good enough job of making it shine through. When she first appears, he's down in the dumps about something, still just a teenager. When she shows up, she doesn't necessairly fix it, but she ends up being a deus ex machina to help him cope with it. Ditto for the Christmas party, where he is disgusted with what he is, or at least what he is associated with. The phonecall with his wife is his own realization that he's trapped in a marriage that he doesn't want in anymore. Etc, etc.

sprene
05-12-2009, 10:08 PM
I really enjoyed that. The tone reminded me of something akin to a more metaphorical Chuck Palahniuk, and it was quite gripping for 10-or-so paragraphs.

The only thing I'd change is the sentence, "The party had long since drove off, looking for a quick fix and a cheap off." I understand it, but the double "off" is rather... off-putting. :lol:

Hats of!
05-16-2009, 9:05 AM
What a pun there Sprene.

I liked it. I'm not really that keen on literary terms (so I won't give you a long response like Quadros did), but out of a story/art-wise perspective it was quite neat. It's great that you experimented with a non-linear story. Great. Even though it could be done a bit better. But I guess that's hard to do in a text.

Hypnotic
05-17-2009, 7:20 AM
:clint: