Orchids

[tigermoon]

The house was stuffy and dark, pressing against my skin as my feet pattered across the tile. My footsteps, a child’s, echoed against the cold walls—foreign. In the office, his office, papers lay strewn across the desk. They crinkled slightly at the edges, a collage of white and black and gray. A computer squatted on the desk, dormant and layered in dust. Each layer told a story like fossils etched in stone or the rings of a tree, ancient. I remember closing the door behind me as I silently entered the room, drawn in from the kitchen by an open book. Its pages had been punctured and painstakingly sewn together, the string connecting each thought, keeping the sentences tied together. I leaned over the desk, squinting to read the handwritten draft, “The plants appear as moderate-sized one-leafed cattleyas except they have a silver gray, dark green appearance and are stiffly upright with slightly flattened pseudobulbs. The plants are slow to reestablish in cultivation—they seem quite deliberate—and may take their time about putting out any new growth, even a year or two. They do best on cork slabs, but if not kept too wet they—” I turned the page and an orchid fell out. It was pressed, frozen in time, its colors muted and leaves dried. I picked it up, twisting the stem between my fingers. The petals crinkled as they rubbed against each other, singing.


I sit in the same place he sat, remembering. If my grandfather’s mind hadn’t been swallowed by an eternal mist, ripping at his memory, he might still be here, sitting next to me. We would watch the garden around us, the sagging greenhouse, the crying willow and the orchids. They would sway in the breeze, twisting in time with life. But life wasn’t so kind. I sit in the same place he sat, wishing; wishing it had been.


I remember the orchids. I remember their colors, brilliant, framed against supple leaves and their shapes, each flower having its own. Their tall, slender stalks bowed over as they struggled to support the weight of their massive heads. Yet, they had grace. With vibrant petals fanned out like the arched rainbows of a dancer’s fans, the orchids would sway. Among them stood a solitary figure. He toiled in the dirt, nurturing the flowers, keeping them dancing.


The orchids followed him. Even in his home they were ever present. They watched, framed on the walls, painted on the china and printed on the very fabric worn by their caretaker. The flowers had even managed to spread their seeds into the house, as an orchid-inhabited flower pot adorned every table. They became so common that only when they started to wilt were they noticeable.


After the stroke, caring for the house became too much. The house was sold, my grandmother moved to a care home and my grandfather to a relative’s house. Later, he was moved to his own care home. I sit here where he sat, watching as the orchids wilt. Their heads droop down, hovering above the ground until they drop-falling to the ground like fresh corpses, dead weight. With petals separated and stalk stiff, the dancers are paralyzed by the passage of time. The emerald trees which lined the garden, a barrier to the world, used to protect me. Now they shut me in, suffocating me in his passion: the ashes of the orchids. I kneel, taking his place on the earth, letting the spent dirt run through my hands as I sift through the ashes, looking for a part of him, trying to understand.


My grandfather loved these flowers. His whole life was dedicated to researching them, teaching other about them and caring for them. But they were cruel. Now he remains rooted in his room: given an allocated amount of space to spread his roots, living off the sunlight coming through the window. His wrinkled skin withers, eyes growing dull as his head droops forward, dangling off his spine. He has become an orchid, dependent on his caretakers. His petals have fallen and his leaves have withered. Now he waits- waits for the passage of time.


A tribute to my grandfather. Let me know what you think.
Thanks for your time,
Tigermoon

[Steven Hunley]

I think this was absolutely kick-*ss. Great stuff well put.

[G L Wilson]

Magical, Tigermoon, simply magical and quite sad too. It made me cry - truth.

[G L Wilson]

You must go in the competition, you will win for sure. I am still crying about it.

[tigermoon]

Thanks =] I'm glad you liked it. I'll look into the competition.

Are there any places for me to improve? And does it feel like it's finshed?

Edit: I looked at the competition forum and it's too late to submit, but thank you for the thought.

[Jack of Hearts]

This really is a cut above. Very fine work.




J

[hillwalker]

Your grandfather was a lucky man to earn such a touching tribute. I particularly liked the way you put yourself in his shoes and described how he nurturedhis orchids - keeping them dancing.

I would question why you stuck the word 'foreign' at the end of the second sentence. It led me to expect a much darker, ominous story.

But other than that this is a brilliant piece of writing - poignant yet not too self-pitying for those of us who have no personal link with your family to feel we are imposing when being invited to read it.

H

[G L Wilson]

You looked up to your grandfather, Tigermoon, and he looked down and blessed you with story.

[tigermoon]

Thanks again Wilson. I'm really suprised and amazed that it made you cry =]

Hillwalker, I put foreign in there because I felt it expressed an important aspect of both of my grandparents. Neither of them were into kids. I wanted to include that somewhere so I used the house to personify it. So, the footsteps were foreign because usually a child's footsteps wouldn't be heard in their house. Does that make sense, or was I way overthinking it? And thank you for your time and your opinion.

[G L Wilson]

There is love there, Tigermoon, I can feel it.

[hillwalker]

I put foreign in there because I felt it expressed an important aspect of both of my grandparents. Neither of them were into kids. I wanted to include that somewhere so I used the house to personify it. So, the footsteps were foreign because usually a child's footsteps wouldn't be heard in their house. Does that make sense.

It makes complete sense now you explain it - but as it stands no one else who reads this would ever make the association.
Perhaps you need to expand on why the sound was foreign - something like 'intruding upon this space where the sounds of childhood were seldom welcome.'

I'm sure you can improve upon my example, but since this image tells us so much more about your relationship with your grandparents it deserves clarification.

H

[G L Wilson]

The line "But they were cruel" in relation to the orchids is a match for the word "foreign" earlier in the piece. The text is clean as it is now, why mess it up with what is not necessary? She was a little girl after all, it is quite understandable that she would feel some distance from her grandfather. But just as obviously her love for her grandfather is shown, why should we expect it to be pure or clear?

[tigermoon]

Alright, I'll try and expand on that point. I agree with what you said, it deserves clarification.

[hillwalker]

The line "But they were cruel" in relation to the orchids is a match for the word "foreign" earlier in the piece. The text is clean as it is now, why mess it up with what is not necessary? She was a little girl after all, it is quite understandable that she would feel some distance from her grandfather. But just as obviously her love for her grandfather is shown, why should we expect it to be pure or clear?

If this was a reference to my response I'm not sure what you are trying to say here. It's a wonderful piece of writing - no doubt about that - but one word jarred so I don't see how clarification can be considered as messing it up (?).

H

[G L Wilson]

Tigermoon, don't change a bloody thing and that's an order. You're an artist, idiots are not to be listened to. But listen to me, it's perfect - leave it.

[MatthewFarlow]

Hillwalker's not going to be happy when he sees that...

Anyway, I remember this work's relative from a while back, and I liked them both very much. The last paragraph had me coming away from the piece more depressed than the original did, and I assume that was your intention (perhaps your grandfather's condition has worsened), so congratulations for communicating that. In the last paragraph could use the word 'wilted' to describe your grandfather, as that's a word typically used to describe flowers.

I also have to agree with Hillwalker that clarification could benefit the reader's understanding of what the word foreign is used to describe in the footsteps. You could also leave it so that it's more interesting for the people who do get it right away. You are the artist, just make sure that your decisions are thought out.

Glad to have you with us once more. :D

Mister Matthew Farlow.

[tigermoon]

Yeah, this is a revision of the older one. I think it's better, but I'm still not happy with how it ends. My teacher recommended that in the last paragraph I should maybe come back to the present and include both my grandfather and I (instead of just him). Her reasoning was that the piece is not only about him, but about me and that including both of us at the end might balance it out. Do you think that might make for a better end? I don't want it to be super depressing.

Also I think I may use "wilt" instead of wilther because I use it twice in the last paragraph. The word may be to redundant.

And like I said, I like the idea of expanding on that word. The fact that they were not kid people is important (or I think it is).

I know I've been working on this piece for like...ever. I don't really write a lot so when I do write something that I like, I tend to work on it for a long time.

Thank you for reading it again =]

[G L Wilson]

Expand it into a novel if you must do anything to it, Tigermoon. I have belief in your abilities, even if you don't.

[alcala0001]

I enjoyed this very much! :)

[hillwalker]

Tigermoon, don't change a bloody thing and that's an order. You're an artist, idiots are not to be listened to. But listen to me, it's perfect - leave it.

A touch of self-deprecating sarcasm here, I presume.

I uphold any writer's right to stick with what they have written and ignore advice. Tigermoon is intelligent enough to make her own mind up.

H

[G L Wilson]

I uphold any writer's right to stick with what they have written and ignore advice. Tigermoon is intelligent enough to make her own mind up.

H

Tigermoon is only young, she hasn't got a mind of her own. Let love guide you, Tigermoon, it never fails unlike reason.

[zoolane]

Tigermoon is only young, she hasn't got a mind of her own. Let love guide you, Tigermoon, it never fails unlike reason.

How dare you said this about anyone or to anyone. Yes Tigermoon is young but she human being and has mind of her own. It upto Tigermoon to decide what she wants to do with this piece considering it own personal piece.

[hillwalker]

Tigermoon is only young, she hasn't got a mind of her own.

What a fatuous and patronising remark. I hope Tigermoon realises that there are some of us on here who actually recognise and applaud her skill as a writer rather than humour her because of her supposed youth.

H

[tigermoon]

Tigermoon is only young, she hasn't got a mind of her own.


I'm not quite sure how to respond to that. But I'm thinking/hoping you're not insinuating I'm a mindless teenager, enslaved to the whims of her age...And yes, love is good. But I think reason is important also.

[G L Wilson]

Tigermoon, you are not held responsible for your actions at your age by society, why should I think differently? You may go in whatever direction you wish, I wash my hands of the matter.

[hillwalker]

I wash my hands of the matter.

What a shame you hi-jacked this thread. We're here to offer advice on writing - not on lifestyle.

Tigermoon posted a piece on here to be read and commented on. I'm not sure how that led to your taking such a bizarre standpoint as the sole, opinionated voice of adulthood.

I hope your crass reaction hasn't resulted in her, or indeed any other young writers, choosing not to share their work with us on here for fear of being considered unworthy or inferior due to their youth.

Everybody deserves to be treated the same as everyone else on here regardless of age or experience.

H

[Leo Bloom]

What a beautiful writing! Thanks for sharing!

(Nevertheless, before starting to write a story, I would think about generally accepted meaning of orchid. Yes, it signifies perfection or blood of Jesus, for example. And I couldn't say what "orchid" means for inhabitants of North America. As far as I know (or, may be, I feel) for Europeans it associates with women rather than men. But I want to be wrong in my conjecture, so much beautiful your story is. Anyway, wish you great success!)

[G L Wilson]

What a shame you hi-jacked this thread. We're here to offer advice on writing - not on lifestyle.

Tigermoon posted a piece on here to be read and commented on. I'm not sure how that led to your taking such a bizarre standpoint as the sole, opinionated voice of adulthood.

I hope your crass reaction hasn't resulted in her, or indeed any other young writers, choosing not to share their work with us on here for fear of being considered unworthy or inferior due to their youth.

Everybody deserves to be treated the same as everyone else on here regardless of age or experience.

H

Haggis must heat the brain!

[G L Wilson]

The choice that you must make in life, Tigermoon, is between idiots and fools, I choose to be a fool.

[hillwalker]

Haggis must heat the brain!

It might be more polite and productive if you were to start a new thread of your own regarding Scottish cuisine - or indeed your personal philosophy in life - rather than contaminating Tigermoon’s thread.

Her wonderful story does not deserve to be splattered with graffiti this way.

H

[G L Wilson]

You mistake comment for graffiti, hillwalker, what then are we to make of your comments? To me, it is nothing but scrawl written over a perfectly good piece of work. Envy is never a pretty sight, hillwalker, and your stuff sure ain't pretty. I have no contempt for Tigermoon, only you do with your pettiness.

[hillwalker]

How very astute of you.

H

[G L Wilson]

Irony won't save you, hillwalker, nothing will.

[Scheherazade]

R e m i n d e r

Please do not personalise your comments.

If you are unwilling to receive negative feedback as well as the positive ones,

please refrain from sharing your work on a public forum.

[Jack of Hearts]

Tigermoon, did this reader mention what a fine piece of writing this is? There are a lot of readers on this forum who would love to see more of your writing.





J

[G L Wilson]

Nitpicking: the way of madness. Dostoevsky worked that one out, Tigermoon, move onto something bigger and better. You're only young once.