photpa11
06-07-2011, 10:01 AM
I would just like some feed back on my story if possible, be as brutal as you like.
Tears streamed down Gregory’s shrivelled, colourless face, as he delicately brushed away the frail blonde hair that covered Summer’s youthful face. In this moment, Greg felt no pain; rather he felt sadness, while he blankly stared at a limp face that he knows will only come to be seen through memories.
In what felt like a pernicious root entangling his frangible brain, Greg made every attempt to reminisce on his blissful times with Summer which acted as morphine to his anguish.
Thoughts began to inundate Greg’s debilitated mind; allowing him to remember the sharp, acrid and metallic smell of fresh cut grass, as he sat on what seemed like a putrescent bench, only capable of bearing a small child. There, he was able to view his incandescent granddaughter sit comfortably on a black, rubber-like seat, protruding downward from her most adored swing-set. On this, Summer would sway back and forth, with a smile gleaming from her chubby, child-like face.
On this day, Greg was feeling particularly frail and regrettably unable to caper about with Summer. Even so, this was still a seemingly joyous day for Greg, watching contently as Summer frolicked in the retreating sun, before it tucked behind the silhouette shaped horizon, like the flame of a candle burning at the end of its string. In what would upsettingly be their last day to soak up the sun’s rays.
In revisiting this seemingly happy memory, Greg began to gaze at all that lay around him, with an entirely different and even pessimistic point of view. He placed his hand just above his eyes, as a way to block the sunset’s piercing glare flowing across the horizon, in order to simply observe the building’s that had deluged the suburbs, as though they were as viscous as water.
Still, Greg sat frozen on the bench, unable to warn or help anybody that surrounded him, for it was only a memory. His memory constrained his movement, only allowing him to peer at Summer, whom was so exuberantly strolling towards him, completely unaware of what would soon take place. Her sheer presence acted as ecstasy, electrifying his senses and distorting his perception of the world around him. For it was wholly the realisation that that she would never develop into the poison, he believed had come to intoxicate society.
In what could be seen from the corner of his eye, a stupendous mass of grey smoke protruded from the nearby New York City CBD into the clouds that resided above, expanding into a large umbrella-like dome at the smokes tip. Closely followed by what seemed like a wall of air, brushing along the foreseeable horizon, appearing deceptively harmless. Summer, frightened by the commotion, remained hidden between Greg’s legs, as what seemed like an ordinary wall of air passed them by, with Summer being simply too naïve to understand what lay hidden in this seemingly gentle stroke of air.
This horrid memory continued to replay in Greg’s mind, causing him to question man’s contentions, in a time where our insatiable need to conquer will come at any cost.
In the silence that enveloped his home. Greg, finding it increasingly difficult to gain a breath after ours of whimpering, softly whispered in Summer’s ear, “We as man will never surrender nor will we be pure, for we are conquerers and self-poisoners, and no matter how hard we pray, this will never come to change,” while he kneeled on the delicate and tired wooden boards that made up his tranquil home; cradling Summer in his frail arms, unable to feel her warmth. In the same moment, Greg began to feel his heart give up, but continued staring into her innocent brown eyes, completely aware that she has had no pulse all night now, yet unable to let her go.
Tears streamed down Gregory’s shrivelled, colourless face, as he delicately brushed away the frail blonde hair that covered Summer’s youthful face. In this moment, Greg felt no pain; rather he felt sadness, while he blankly stared at a limp face that he knows will only come to be seen through memories.
In what felt like a pernicious root entangling his frangible brain, Greg made every attempt to reminisce on his blissful times with Summer which acted as morphine to his anguish.
Thoughts began to inundate Greg’s debilitated mind; allowing him to remember the sharp, acrid and metallic smell of fresh cut grass, as he sat on what seemed like a putrescent bench, only capable of bearing a small child. There, he was able to view his incandescent granddaughter sit comfortably on a black, rubber-like seat, protruding downward from her most adored swing-set. On this, Summer would sway back and forth, with a smile gleaming from her chubby, child-like face.
On this day, Greg was feeling particularly frail and regrettably unable to caper about with Summer. Even so, this was still a seemingly joyous day for Greg, watching contently as Summer frolicked in the retreating sun, before it tucked behind the silhouette shaped horizon, like the flame of a candle burning at the end of its string. In what would upsettingly be their last day to soak up the sun’s rays.
In revisiting this seemingly happy memory, Greg began to gaze at all that lay around him, with an entirely different and even pessimistic point of view. He placed his hand just above his eyes, as a way to block the sunset’s piercing glare flowing across the horizon, in order to simply observe the building’s that had deluged the suburbs, as though they were as viscous as water.
Still, Greg sat frozen on the bench, unable to warn or help anybody that surrounded him, for it was only a memory. His memory constrained his movement, only allowing him to peer at Summer, whom was so exuberantly strolling towards him, completely unaware of what would soon take place. Her sheer presence acted as ecstasy, electrifying his senses and distorting his perception of the world around him. For it was wholly the realisation that that she would never develop into the poison, he believed had come to intoxicate society.
In what could be seen from the corner of his eye, a stupendous mass of grey smoke protruded from the nearby New York City CBD into the clouds that resided above, expanding into a large umbrella-like dome at the smokes tip. Closely followed by what seemed like a wall of air, brushing along the foreseeable horizon, appearing deceptively harmless. Summer, frightened by the commotion, remained hidden between Greg’s legs, as what seemed like an ordinary wall of air passed them by, with Summer being simply too naïve to understand what lay hidden in this seemingly gentle stroke of air.
This horrid memory continued to replay in Greg’s mind, causing him to question man’s contentions, in a time where our insatiable need to conquer will come at any cost.
In the silence that enveloped his home. Greg, finding it increasingly difficult to gain a breath after ours of whimpering, softly whispered in Summer’s ear, “We as man will never surrender nor will we be pure, for we are conquerers and self-poisoners, and no matter how hard we pray, this will never come to change,” while he kneeled on the delicate and tired wooden boards that made up his tranquil home; cradling Summer in his frail arms, unable to feel her warmth. In the same moment, Greg began to feel his heart give up, but continued staring into her innocent brown eyes, completely aware that she has had no pulse all night now, yet unable to let her go.