A very short short story

by Terry 12 Replies latest jw friends

  • Terry

    Ha! Thank you. A writer learns nothing from praise--only from the reader.

    I appreciate the feedback. I do.

  • Terry



    He sat on the bed and wept.
    Her head rested on the pillow. A halo of hair shone illumined by the moon.

    His hand clasped the woman's wrist. Her arms were arranged across her chest. He choked and sputtered his words.

    "Mother, I'm so sorry. I know I've been a disappointment to you. . ."
    The young man's words trailed off into a whisper.

    Outside, the storm scattered splashes against the window panes; rattling as though hell itself were breaking loose.

    "I know you don't wah-want me spending time with strangers. . .um wuh- .women. . ."

    He stuttered and kept his eyes downcast so as not to confront his mother's face.

    " I hoped you wouldn't think. . .I would dis-disobey you. . on purpose."

    A flash and thunder punctuated his confession. All at once the rain subsided until the only sound was that of his own sobbing.
    Minutes passed.

    Finally, he lifted his hand and dried his tears and stood to full height beside his mother's bed.

    "Don't worry. I won't talk to her--that woman-- again unless it's about business."

    He turned toward the door of the bedroom and remembered the light switch, flicking it on and wincing at the expression on his mother's face.

    "Don't be ang-angry mo-mother. . I'll behave like a gent-gentleman."

    He was about to exit the room when he whirled suddenly around. . .

    He cocked his ear and the leak next to the hall banister made itself known.

    "Wha-what did you say, Mother?"

    He listened in the way priests listen for the voice of god.

    "Oh--her. . her name?"

    He froze in place and forced a smile.

    "She said it was Crane. Marian Crane. . . sort of like, um the bird."

    He stole a glance at the taxidermy owl he'd given his mom for Mother's Day all those years past.

    Silence filled the room as he fidgeted and darted his eyes about.

    Finally, the young man shrugged.

    He entered the hallway and skipped down the staircase toward the door where he paused and took in a breath, slowly exhaling--then proceeded into the night toward the motel office.

    There were things which must be done.

    Mother would be pleased.

  • steve2

    it flows much better. The trick,though, is not to entirely eliminate adjectives but to be more sparing so that their use lifts the descriptive level of the sentence and adds to the rhythm of the writing. I'd suggest reading as many published short-stories as possible.

    Two authors I like for their word play verve (and of course, their stories) are E. Annie Proulx (Canadian) and Janet Frame (New Zealand).

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