This is a piece some of you may be familiar with, but the "new" people most likely are not. I thought it would be worth throwing up.
Note: This was originally written in a proper book prose style, with no spacing between lines and paragraphing, hence the abundance of regularly short sentence for the effect of tone. Not sure if it works quite so well on a computer screen, but here goes anyway.
Constructive criticism is highly welcome, and deeply appreciated.
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Chapter 1
.:. Angels in the Wind .:.
“Uzume...”
“Whose there?”
“It’s me…”
This voice, so familiar to her… “Who are you?”
“Follow my voice…”
But I don’t know where you are.”
“Where are you?” “Where am I?”
“We’re in my dreams...”
“You’re getting closer…”
Dark, so dark. She could see nothing. “ I can barely hear you.”
“Don’t worry. You’re nearly there…”
~~~ ~~ ~~~ ~~ ~~~
I remember it much like a distant dream, like one of those old memories that always stays with you. You know the kind. Its clarity fades with the passage of time, but it never seems any less profound when you reflect back on it, and it continues to tug at the heartstrings just as powerfully as it did that very first day.
Putting pen to paper had never been an easy task for me, and on this day, in particular it was proving to be remarkably more frustrating than usual.
I’d gone to the park that day, as I do most evenings, hoping the calm atmosphere of the place would help me focus my thoughts well enough to allow me to pen words that I’d be proud of. Most of the time though (as was the case now), I just ended up spending too much time in my own head, dwelling without resolution on my fears and insecurities, of which I had far too many.
The words I kept searching for were rarely, if ever, written.
It was on this day that I met her.
Only a few feet away from me, dressed in a simple black gypsy skirt and a red corset top, she was sitting on the soft grass, in front of a beautiful cherry blossom tree. Her legs were crossed in a meditative posture. One of her hands rested on the warm soil, whilst the other tightly gripped a paintbrush. Her easel lay next to her.
She was no doubt etching out a vivid and colourful recreation of the surrounding area on the canvas that rested in her lap, as her gaze shifted continuously from it to the vibrant nature that thrived all around us.
She had the eyes of a cat.
Nothing escaped her attention. Not the smallest leaf falling from the nearby trees, as the approaching autumn invited them to abandon their homes, or the familiar sounding crackle as they were crushed under foot by other people wandering the park, all of them in a hurry and a rush and a frenzy to keep their lives in motion.
She took all of it in, as if trying to contemplate the short life and existence of every single leaf that fell, to understand them utterly, despite knowing that each would die within moments of touching the ground.
She fascinated me.
As the fates would have it, one such leaf decided to make its home in my lap at that very moment. I had failed to notice its descent, or even its final resting place. She of course, had not.
Unfortunately, I was still watching her with the same quiet intent when her unfaltering observation of this leaf caused her to look
straight in my direction.
My wonderment was quickly replaced by an immense feeling of embarrassment, as if I had just been caught spying on her in an intimate state of undress, or something equally personal.
I quickly returned my attention back to the notepad in my lap, hoping frantically that she hadn’t noticed me looking at her.
If she had, she was probably right now contemplating whether or not to call the police and warn them about the crazy man she had just noticed. That, or whether she should sneak up behind me and knock me unconscious with her purse, before I had a chance to do the same to her, whereupon I would most likely take her back to the secret dungeon beneath my home, and torture her endlessly.
At least, this seemed to be the mindset of most of the women I’d known in the past.
This woman at least looked like she wasn’t insane, but I knew that if she had noticed me, and would subsequently decide to enquire as to why I’d been watching her so intently, it would have been difficult for me to explain myself …
…Sorry about that ma’am. I noticed you out of the corner of my eye just now, and I just happen to find you to be the most captivating woman I have ever laid eyes on. Hope you don’t mind…
…Heck, I didn’t fully understand what it was about her that so enthralled me, but simply watching this woman made me feel more aware of things. More observant. More focused.
I knew it would be better to be safe than sorry though, so I focused my attention back on my notepad again, properly, intending to actually get some writing done this time.
Though I knew with all honesty, I wouldn’t achieve much in that respect today.
It was then I noticed the leaf myself for the first time, resting comfortably on the open and wordless pages in front of me.
I shook my head, unable to resist a smile, and looked to the sky, to the heavens.
Hey, is this meant to be a sign? Or are you just having fun with me today?
Silence.
Obviously, I wasn’t literally expecting an answer from Him.
Come on… I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye in the past, and you’ve probably got better things to do up there than listen to my silly rambles, like trimming that lovely long beard of yours or something, but how about just this once, okay?
Still nothing.
Please?
A cold breeze swept over me suddenly, ruffling the pages of my notepad and sending the leaf flying into the air. I watched, mesmerised, as it was swept away by the current of the wind, before disappearing from my sight completely.
Thanks mate.
I looked once more in her direction, somewhat less apprehensive this time that she might suddenly decide, in a fit of feminist independence, to report me to the police, the FBI, or possibly the National Army.
Thankfully, her reactions wasn’t anywhere near as extreme as I’d feared. She smiled at me, a shy but pleasant smile, and waved.
I waved back nervously, not sure if I should say something or not. It wasn’t a thought I had to dwell on for long though, as she was the first to speak.
“Hey,” she smiled.
There was a soft but energetic manner to the way she spoke. She sounded much younger than her actual years, which I hazarded a guess at being somewhere in her late twenties.
Her voice was comforting.
Her voice would give substance to my own words, with a more profound beauty than I could ever hope to achieve on my own.
~~~ ~~ ~~~ ~~ ~~~
We talked for a while.
She had such a sharp eye for detail when she spoke about things – her uncanny knack for observation stretched beyond only what she saw, it seemed.
She was easy to talk to, and conversation between us flowed effortlessly. Listening to her was invigorating, and I fed off her every word.
Her name was Uzume, she told me.
Her mother, she explained, had chosen this name when, after suffering a premature labour whilst on holidays in Japan, she had decided, in a misguided gesture of affection, to name her after…
“Ame-no-Uzume…” I guessed.
“…Japanese Goddess of the arts. Right.” she laughed.
Her laughter was infectious, and I could not help but let out a chuckle of my own, “Sorry. I’ve always been interested in religion and Japanese culture.”
She smiled again, a gentle but slightly embarrassed smile.
Her gaze shifted from me suddenly, glancing at everything around her, in much the same manner as before, when I had first noticed her. Something in ours surroundings had evidently caught her interest.
I looked in the same direction she was, but nothing out of the ordinary caught my eye. Whatever it was, it either had disappeared, or had been beyond my capabilities to grasp.
Call it intuition if you wish, but I was convinced, with steadfast certainty, that it was the latter.
I wasn’t sure whether to be amazed by the idea, or feel uneasy about the simple possibility of such a thing.
My attention was swiftly brought back to the real world when I noticed that she had suddenly begun painting on the canvas in her lap again, with an intensity this time far beyond what I’d witness earlier.
She was biting her tongue, her hand and the paintbrush a ferocious blur, her mind determined on visualising whatever it was that she had seen, and I could not.
When finally her passionate painting ceased, I moved to her side, curious to see what it was that would lay on the canvas.
It was a beautiful watercolour recreation of the surrounding area. Though it was a flawless piece of work, and undeniably beautiful, it was neither of these that left me without words...
In the centre of the painting, at the same spot I had looked only moments ago - in vain - to catch sight of whatever had grabbed her attention, was the image of an angel so vividly alive, so intensely real, that no mind's eye could possibly have birthed it’s creation....
I'm currently looking for gamers with an interest in the gaming culture and industry outside of Final Fantasy to help with a new, upcoming video game news site. If you think you're interested, please throw a PM my way.
I just started first draft of my novel after a year and a half prep... and this easily surpasses my first chapter... I hope we can critique each other... it'll be good...
very soft, almost vague edges, but your attention to detail is amazing. You can almost picture the scene, the way you describe it, caressing your words.
It's a work in progress but it's intimidating. *smiles*
I really enjoyed that. x3
It was really nice and you know, it wouldn't be bad in itself as a short story.
I liked the descriptions and they way you were able to master telling something in first person. It's always fun to read that kind of stuff.
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leaving for the summer. Will try and pop in everyonce in a while. It will only get worse once school starts, so go ahead and wrap your head around me not being here. Please don't PM while I'm gone. I hope I can clean the slate with you all before I leave. Um... I guess that's it. Have a happy and safe summer and God loves you!
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