bluenose
12-16-2010, 12:13 PM
Hey guys, I really appreciated the feedback that I received regarding my short story, 'Alone', yesterday.
I have edited the story slightly and included a couple more paragraphs for those who are interested. I will probably post the remainder of the story up onto my blog when I get a little bit of time, but I will keep everyone updated.
I realise that the introduction is quite long-winded but I do think that it works, I just hope that the amount of description in the added paragraphs and sort of side step from the main plot does make sense when I bring it back in the final printed paragraph.
I think that it is a fairly easy read and I just hope that you do not find things overly descriptive and ultimately confusing or boring.
I hope you all enjoy it, any further feedback is appreciated as always. :)
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Each night before I switch off the light, my eyes curiously take a wander around the bedroom, in search of items out of place that may form a nerve rattling silhouette. A pile of clothing on top of the television, coats hung untidily behind the door, even a pair of shoes visible from around the side of the dresser. Effectively, anything that could defy expectancy or normality, anything that would not correspond with the outline and shapes usually noticeable when the light goes off.
Call me paranoid, but the darkness and my mind work together quite vividly. As soon as I permit the light its daily rest, my alertness towards sound and movement amplifies. Amongst other things, I hold a great dislike for the window pane above my bedroom door. Although I am closed in and the curtains are drawn, the clear glass remains an exposure point to anything that is external to the room. This creates something of a personal insecurity for me, tending to check the window around a dozen times each night before slipping off into my dreams.
Silly I know, as if there was something out there, then surely the unlocked door would be its access point rather than a window seven or eight foot up in the air. Yet the door is solid and opaque, the transparency of the glass, and the very fact that the other side, despite it being little more than a small section of the ceiling, is visible from where I rest, the cause of this slight anxiety I suppose. However, the main purpose of a window is ultimately to be able to see through it, whereby you expect there to be something to look at, or something to be happening on the other side.
Slightly beside the point, but might I ask? Have you ever looked at something, and I mean truly looked at something to the very point where you make something happen?! For instance, and rather irregular instance I understand. Have you ever stared at a pair of closed eyelids? Let me use this personal example as I realise this is quite strange. As a child, sharing a room with my younger brother, our beds were aligned directly next to each other, with a small walkway in between. At night time, staying awake for the longest period of time was often the childish competition that we would set, a stare out in the dark. I would always win the competition, confronted by the closing of his eyelids in defeat, but I was the unfortunate one as I found.
Just to ensure that there was no feigning, I would focus my sight long enough on him, placing every ounce of nervous concentration into my glare, my breathing gradually deepening, deepening, deepening, as I awaited realisation of victory… This was up until the moment when his eyes would abruptly, and quite terrifyingly, open. Not in reality of course, but my imagination and my anxiety were creating the illusion that his lids were two colourless eyes staring back at me. Each and every time I would reach this point, my present breath would come to a sharp, gut-wrenching halt as I jumped back and retreated under the covers.
You see, my expectancy and focus on something happening would prevail over reality, and my imagination made something surreal occur that appeared to be very real. With a window pane, the same illusion can be repeated. If I focus on it, or rather what is on the other side for long enough, I always believe that something is going to happen, or at least appear to happen as far as my imagination is concerned. Even though the last thing I want, being alone in the house, is to see something on the other side of that piece of glass, my gaze remains permanently fixated to that spot.
I have edited the story slightly and included a couple more paragraphs for those who are interested. I will probably post the remainder of the story up onto my blog when I get a little bit of time, but I will keep everyone updated.
I realise that the introduction is quite long-winded but I do think that it works, I just hope that the amount of description in the added paragraphs and sort of side step from the main plot does make sense when I bring it back in the final printed paragraph.
I think that it is a fairly easy read and I just hope that you do not find things overly descriptive and ultimately confusing or boring.
I hope you all enjoy it, any further feedback is appreciated as always. :)
=================================================
Each night before I switch off the light, my eyes curiously take a wander around the bedroom, in search of items out of place that may form a nerve rattling silhouette. A pile of clothing on top of the television, coats hung untidily behind the door, even a pair of shoes visible from around the side of the dresser. Effectively, anything that could defy expectancy or normality, anything that would not correspond with the outline and shapes usually noticeable when the light goes off.
Call me paranoid, but the darkness and my mind work together quite vividly. As soon as I permit the light its daily rest, my alertness towards sound and movement amplifies. Amongst other things, I hold a great dislike for the window pane above my bedroom door. Although I am closed in and the curtains are drawn, the clear glass remains an exposure point to anything that is external to the room. This creates something of a personal insecurity for me, tending to check the window around a dozen times each night before slipping off into my dreams.
Silly I know, as if there was something out there, then surely the unlocked door would be its access point rather than a window seven or eight foot up in the air. Yet the door is solid and opaque, the transparency of the glass, and the very fact that the other side, despite it being little more than a small section of the ceiling, is visible from where I rest, the cause of this slight anxiety I suppose. However, the main purpose of a window is ultimately to be able to see through it, whereby you expect there to be something to look at, or something to be happening on the other side.
Slightly beside the point, but might I ask? Have you ever looked at something, and I mean truly looked at something to the very point where you make something happen?! For instance, and rather irregular instance I understand. Have you ever stared at a pair of closed eyelids? Let me use this personal example as I realise this is quite strange. As a child, sharing a room with my younger brother, our beds were aligned directly next to each other, with a small walkway in between. At night time, staying awake for the longest period of time was often the childish competition that we would set, a stare out in the dark. I would always win the competition, confronted by the closing of his eyelids in defeat, but I was the unfortunate one as I found.
Just to ensure that there was no feigning, I would focus my sight long enough on him, placing every ounce of nervous concentration into my glare, my breathing gradually deepening, deepening, deepening, as I awaited realisation of victory… This was up until the moment when his eyes would abruptly, and quite terrifyingly, open. Not in reality of course, but my imagination and my anxiety were creating the illusion that his lids were two colourless eyes staring back at me. Each and every time I would reach this point, my present breath would come to a sharp, gut-wrenching halt as I jumped back and retreated under the covers.
You see, my expectancy and focus on something happening would prevail over reality, and my imagination made something surreal occur that appeared to be very real. With a window pane, the same illusion can be repeated. If I focus on it, or rather what is on the other side for long enough, I always believe that something is going to happen, or at least appear to happen as far as my imagination is concerned. Even though the last thing I want, being alone in the house, is to see something on the other side of that piece of glass, my gaze remains permanently fixated to that spot.