My Story (Fiction (Realistic Fiction))

Remove all ads!

The crow-feathered quill came down hard upon the gray and unrefined parchment like a stone descending to the ground. It stood there for a long moment motionless feeling the surface poised and waiting to be moved as opal-like eyes watched from high above waiting. A droplet of ink black as blind sight formed at the feather’s downward tip suspended for a brief eternity until it finally hurdled hopelessly down to be absorbed by the canvas. At that moment the creation began, the quill twitched quickly downward and back then curving to the side and up again mirroring the precise movements of its master hand. Upward and to the right again the feather glided with the grace of the wing it from which it was plucked from all the while leaving long and swirling lines of dark residue as it went. On and on it went forming first characters, then words, until even complete phrases were scratched into the parchment. In short time entire families of wet blackness populated the flat and quaint terrain of the sheet. The hand suddenly rose high with the quill and casually dipped it into a pool of dense black fluid only to return seconds later to its original activity. So many poetic metaphors and words of higher meaning poured seemingly endlessly from the stained mouth of the quill in those few minutes that the once strong and commandeering hand now ached with that satisfying throb that meant something had been done.

He looked over the parchment, scrutinizing. Scanning what was written with the machinelike precision of spell-check and the humanlike instinct for something more than grammatical perfection in his work. His stare was hard and unforgiving as if he could intimidate the ink into reforming or disappearing all together. Its was these moments he cherished, like a god among his creation he searched long and hard for the slightest imperfection and when he did his wrath’s incarnate came in the subtle yet effective form of a red mark indicating a misused word or an ill-placed comma. Long and tedious was this procedure but the resulting product would be a flawless paper in perfect English. He as a law used ballpoint pens for this task and as a result his quill sat then in its ceremonial glass container like some alien being frozen in space. And as he worked he looked upon it, wondering at its humble glory. The magical thing that brought life to inspiration and created his worlds of magic and wonder.

The quill was lain serene and thoroughly cleaned upon its cushioned resting place above the other stationary. The missing hairs of its feather adding more to character than subtracting to material value. It rest there stiff as ever, silent guardian of his works like the gargoyle, physically alert only during those few hours of writing a day, but always present in spirit, wandering it's landscape of oak, ink, and paper like a ghost throughout the graveyard. He knew that the Desk would never be defiled so long as the quill was present.

As he finished his proofreading he relaxed. He shut his eyelids, let his body sag low into the even lower sagging armchair he always used to write in. As he opened the lids revealing the twin jewels of vision the first thing he beheld was the Window. Ah, the Window. It was many times his inspiration, his muse. Not so much the things outside and inside the window but the glass itself was good a base as any for a story or poem. The only thing that can see both sides at once all the time, just sitting there watching life, death, creation, destruction, rain, snow, sun, and countless others with a certain dignity, a certain meaning that we all seem to take for granted, always mindful and indirect. With this his heavy lids closed once more for one final sleep before his next masterpeice.

[ June 05, 2003, 00:12: Message edited by: The Scholar Of Thought ]

 

Copious with words, evocative, descriptive, and leading to apparently nowhere.

I think it's good, very good, actually, but I don't see why I would want to read more.

Ironically, I detect one or two spelling/grammatical errors.

 

Very good actually. It has a purpose because if it were any more Kafkaesque we would understand almost nothing of it.

 

You lost me.

 

Me too.

 

i like it its very good but i cant quite see where its going, i need to see more. i want to see more, more ... More! ... MORE!!!!!

listen to me .... MORE!!!!!!!!