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The Box

Started by renfairenewb, February 20, 2009, 12:04:08 PM

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Please let me know what you think of the story

Captivating reading
I want to read more like it
too much imagery
didn't keep my attention
I was lost
Almost as boring as a textbook

renfairenewb

Below is the my short story I entitled "The Box"  Please let me know what you think.  I cannot grow as a writer without constructive input.  I tried writing it as a first-person narrative, but sometimes I think I slip into second-person.  I hope that whomever reads it enjoys what it. 

renfairenewb

#1
I stand at the top of a barren, wind-swept hill overlooking an endless sea of knee-high grass.  The green and brown stalks ripple in waves responding to the invisible touch of the wind.  Turning to look behind me I see more of the same and realize—I am alone.  Above me heavy, grey clouds drift in lazy indolence across a curtain of cerulean ignoring the insignificance of my being upon the vast grassy steppe.  Between the clouds, translucent columns of golden sunlight slant down to the floor of the steppe bathing the areas below in an ethereal fairy ring of warmth and brilliance.  In the far distance, the sky's horizon is a black roiling mass of storm clouds intermittently punctuated by jagged beams of lightning.  The dull rumblings of thunder follow many seconds later reminiscent of a storm god beating his drums of war.
   
"Where am I?" I hear a voice ask; with the startling realization that it is me talking aloud.  A sudden, sharp gust of wind whips harshly in response to my utterance roaring in my ears as if angry that I spoke aloud breaking its quiet susurration.  I utter no more words and the wind slows and quiets eventually dropping back to the low moaning that it occupied before.  Looking around again I think to myself—"I am alone."  "What am I to do?"  "Where am I to go?"  "How do I get home?"
   
As I ponder my current situation I catch movement at the edge of my vision.  Squinting, I can make out in the distance the small figure of a solitary rider astride a mount moving at a slow gallop across the steppe.  I feel my shoulders slump in release and am surprised at how much tension and unease that I am harboring.   Breathing a sigh of relief, I rush forward several steps and begin waving my arms overhead shouting, "Hey! Over here!"  The wind roars in angry response as a gust nearly blows me off my feet.  Ignoring the sudden gale, I struggle to stay upright and continue to shout and yell trying to be heard through the roar of the wind that is pummeling me with fists of air.  Unable to stay upright I crouch and lower one hand to the ground and steady myself, but continue to wave my remaining arm hoping to catch the rider's attention.  I cease my shouting and almost immediately the wind lessens and quickly drops to the light breeze that I first knew.
   
Standing back up I begin waving both arms wildly jumping up and down all the while trying to get the rider's notice.  I keep quiet not wanting to raise the wrath of the wind once more.  My actions must have worked because the mount slows and eventually stops.  My excitement surges as I wave even more vigorously and excitedly running forward a few more steps in eagerness.  I open my mouth to shout, but as I take a breath in, I notice the wind begin to pick up again.  My teeth click as I quickly clamp my jaw shut and swallow the yell I was about to utter.  The wind subsides like a guard dog returning to it napping.  Instead of shouting, I maintain my arm waving like a man lost at sea trying to get the attention of a passing ship. 
   
A sudden arc of argent lightning coruscates angrily across my vision assaulting my eyes.  Almost immediately a crack of thunder whelms me to my knees battering my mind to near senselessness.  It is the loudest sound I have ever heard.  I shake my head trying to alleviate the ringing in my ears, and simultaneously, try to blink away the livid after image of lighting from my vision.  Shaking my head to clear the ringing, I regain my feet and look out upon the empty steppe, hoping to see my potential savior—the solitary horse rider.  Sudden panic grips me as the horse and rider are no longer in the same place I saw those few seconds, yet a lifetime, ago.  "Where did my help go?" I ask myself with growing alarm.  I spend a few anxious moments scanning the horizon in earnest. 
   
"Relief floods me as I spot shadows of movement that can only be the motion of a horse and rider.  The rider's path leads him into one of the circles of golden sunlight that dapple the steppe.  A glint of argent flashes from the accouterments that adorn the horse and rider, and in my mind I can almost make out the jingling sound of the harness and tack.  Still unable to make out many details about the rider I watch the horse gallop majestically towards me.  I feel the beginnings of a smile crease my mouth in joyful optimism.  As the horse and rider leave the radiance of the sun circle, I spy what can only be a sword strapped to the saddle.  My arms slow their crazed waving and eventually stop as I feel the grin fade from my face and uneasiness begin to grow within me.  Feeling foolish I bring my arms back down to my side and begin to second guess the wisdom of my decision to garner the rider's attention.  He is close now almost at the bottom of my hill.  I can tell it is a male from the broad shoulders and the unmistakable scruff of a face long in need of a shave.  Stained cowhide breeches are visible above his fur-wrapped boots and a cuirass of black, scale-leather armor covers his chest.   A plume of white horse hair juts from the center spire of his helmet and bobs in time with the rhythm of his mounts gallop.  His bare arms are tanned a deep brown and his cheeks are wind burned and red from the harsh, endless elements of the steppe. 
   
I hear the snort of the horse and tear my gaze away from the rider to his mount.  It is a pale horse a fell steed with flecks of foam around its mouth and flanks.  Its nostrils are wide and flaring.  Its neck is arched and powerful with a rich and lustrous mane of white.  But as I look into the eyes of the horse there is only blackness.  There is no white of the eyes just huge black orbs that shine evilly.  A random thought occurs to me as I watch in morbid fascination the huge clods of dirt that fly up from the massive hooves that hammer the steppe like it was an anvil, "why didn't the wind rise up when the horse made a sound?  Why does it rise against me?" 

Berating myself for careless thoughts, I force my stare away from the mount and again look to the rider where our eyes suddenly lock.  I find myself swallowing in dread.  I am mesmerized and frozen in fear.  In the riders eyes I see my judgment, I see my shame, and I see my death.  In that eye arresting instant I see all of my pettiness, my fears, my faults, and my flaws reflected in his eyes: the times I was a bully on the playground, the time I stole my friends prom date away from him, all of the lies I had told over the years, and more—so much more.  I see my whole lifetime in that second our eyes meet and I find my lip curling in self-disgust as I feel the loathing and despair within me war the fear that has been consuming me.  I hear a low moan of helplessness and frustration escape my lips and the wind begins to rise in response as I hang my head in shame. 

I look up again and see the rider half way up the hill.  I try not to look into his eyes but am unable to do anything else.  Giving into the inevitable our eyes lock once more and I still see the unflinching judgment awaiting me.  Reaching across his body he unsheathes a non-descript, yet serviceable sword.  It isn't shiny like the ones I've seen in the movies.  Instead, the pommel is battered and the blade is notched in spots, but I know without touching it that it is razor sharp.

From somewhere I hear a faint melody playing that is vaguely familiar.  It is too slight to hear or make out, but it is unmistakable.  All the while I am staring at the rider, this horseman, this avatar of death on earth, and can't understand why my feet won't move.  I want to run, but am terrified into immobility with my eyes wide and staring in unblinking fear. 

I hear the horse snort again and it causes me to finally blink breaking my helplessness.  By that point I notice that the rider's sword is stretched out behind him held high and ready for a killing stroke.  The previously faint music is now discernable from everywhere and is echoing in my mind.  I hear my moan begin to rise in strength vocalizing my terror as I realize that my worst fear has come true.  Death has come for me.  The wind rises up to lash me with its fury for my temerity of moaning in dread.

There!  There it is again...I can hear it better now, I can understand the words to the music...

All our times have come
Here but now they're gone...

Glancing back into the eyes of the rider I see a maniacal eagerness glowing from within.  "He's going to enjoy this I think to myself" as the wind whips my hair into a gargoyle like frenzy around my brow.   A separate part of my mind can hear my scream continuing impossibly long and growing even louder.  The rider's lips curl back as he bares his teeth in an animalistic grin.  I watch in perverse fascination the veins and muscles in his neck bulge as he starts the downward stroke with all of his strength delivering the blow that will fulfill my judgment.  Time seems to slow and the music grows louder, as I watch the blade descend towards my neck.

Seasons don't fear the reaper
Nor do the wind, the sun or the rain...we can be like they are

Time has crawled nearly to a standstill but even as the movement of his sword sees to slow I am unable to move.  I even have the time to count the number of notches in his sword—two big ones and four small ones.  Finally I close my eyes and wait for oblivion to take me.  I find myself thinking, "I wonder if this is going to hurt?"  The music thunders on.

Come on baby...don't fear the reaper
Baby take my hand...don't fear the reaper
We'll be able to fly...don't fear the reaper
Baby I'm your man...

I come crashing awake, insane with fear.  Sweat soaks my sheets as I note the curtains billowing from the storm blowing outside.  One of the shutters must have come loose due to the wind because I can hear it thundering against the side of the house.  It is still dark outside.  My clock radio is blaring Blue Oyster Cults' song "Don't Fear the Reaper" and the time is blinking 5:00 AM in angry red numbers.  Looking around my bedroom I realize that it's all been a dream and I am relieved.  Sitting up I temporarily blind myself as I turn on the lamp that is on my nightstand.  Blinking the brightness out of my eyes I notice sitting below the lamp is a tapered white box with a folding top and the words Chan's Chunking Orient Express on the side.  A pair of used chopsticks juts out the top of the open box.  Picking up the box I take a sniff.  "Man, I thought that the Moo Goo Gai Pan was particularly slimy last night."  My stomach roils in complete agreement as I get up and make my way to the bathroom.