DavidO
01-05-2013, 07:42 PM
Hello,
This is what I guess you could call the opening scene of a story I'm working on. Any feedback at all is most welcome. Thank You.
-----
Light Sweet Crude
“Let me take the plunge for you, my brother."
“What?”
“Let me dive into the depths.”
“Why?”
“Because you are a fragile little boy, but I cannot be broken.”
The unbreakable boy poses naked before Kenneth. His knuckles press against his hips, his bare back taunts the face of the lake and his toes dig into its muddy embankment. Even puffed up he’s not much to look at, but his proclamation benefits from a sharp gust of wind that swallows the cries of the indigobirds and rustles the fingertips of meadow grass. Wild pools of burgundy churn the sunset sky. Kenneth shivers. Breaking eye contact with the boy, he peeks over the “CAUTION” hoarding beside him which is meant to shield him from view while he disrobes, and he scans the hilltops seeking his friends, Naomi and Nwankwo. They are there, two rigid figures planted like statues on a distant hill, watching, waiting for him to emerge from behind the hoarding and dive into the murky water where he will stay submerged for thirty counts. But he can feel their eyes on him, the force of their stare fusing with the amber rays of sunlight and piercing through his flimsy barrier. Surely they can see this brazen, unbreakable boy hiding there behind the hoarding with him. The jig is up.
Moments tick by, however, and neither Naomi nor Nwankwo begin to race down the hill or scream “foul play!” so Kenneth doesn't surrender yet.
“Keep your clothes on,” the boy orders. “This will be easy for me.” He turns now and faces the lake, preparing to jump. He is Kenneth’s exact height and narrow build, their skin shares the same smooth coffee brown hue, and the boy’s hair is similarly trimmed flat over his oval shaped scalp like Kenneth’s. The only difference lies in their faces. The boy’s face is serene; Kenneth’s, perpetually anxious. But who can make that distinction from afar, under the fading of the tropical sun? The plan might work.
“Wait!” hisses Kenneth.
The boy glances back with an eyebrow raised. “Eh?”
“I won’t agree to give you anything in return.”
The boy grins. “And I have not asked you for anything in return. But let me think,” he strokes his chin. “How about a plate of your mother’s chin chin cookies?”
Kenneth frowns at him dubiously. “Is that all?”
“And a prayer of course,” the boy chuckles “…to my god.”
Kenneth says nothing.
“Now, stay crouched behind that sign while I jump in. I will hold my breath underwater for thirty counts and then I will come back up and hide here with you again. After a little while, you will step out fully clothed and go back to your friends and collect your prize.” Kenneth already knows this but he cross-examines the plan for oversights.
“Wait!” he hisses once more. “They won’t believe that I was in the water if my skin is dry!”
But it’s too late. The boy has already dashed off and jumped. In a blink he disappears under the dark veil of the lake with an elegant “ploop” and a series of smooth ripples distend in his wake. Kenneth’s initial reservations evaporate. He glances back towards the hill where he sees Naomi point at the spot the boy has disappeared under and Nwankwo starts making counting gestures with his fingers. They've bought the rouse. Crouched behind the sign Kenneth silently begins to count as well, but he can’t keep the ticks spaced out evenly in his head due to the thudding beat throwing him off in his chest. It’s too rapid. He loses his place until, before he knows it, he’s not counting at all, just bent over with his hands on his knees searching the deep folds of water for the vanished boy.
Time slows. Kenneth estimates that roughly more than thirty counts pass, then he estimates that more than a minute passes, the boy does not emerge. Perspiration builds above his brow. Two minutes lapse and still no sign. The wind whispers calamity, the birds slow their oblong loops across the sky, three minutes now; the ringing of the crickets rises up and crescendos in a chorus of interminable screeches, and the revolving, evolving earth seethes its last muggy breath before twilight. Nothing.
More fateful gaps of jungle music fill the void while the lake neglects to stir, and Kenneth soon realizes he’s growing stiff in his crouched position. He shifts and looks back up to the hill. There, Naomi is pacing back and forth, he can see her wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, and Nwankwo is standing with his arms crossed over his chest.
Suddenly Naomi stamps her foot on the hilltop as if signaling to some ancient being lurking underneath her that she has had enough of its torment. “Kenneth!” she howls. “Come out of the water!”
When Kenneth doesn’t respond, she begins to wheel down the hill towards the embankment followed by Nwankwo a few steps behind. Now, Kenneth thinks, the jig is well and truly up. Only a matter of moments before his doom will be upon him and he remains frozen in place while he waits for it.
Sure enough Naomi and Nwankwo arrive at the embankment of the lake and gape when they spot him quivering behind the hoarding.
“When did you come out?” Nwankwo says between gasps. “How…how did you do it? We saw you go in but we didn’t see you come out.”
“Oh Kenneth!” wails Naomi. And she flings her arms around him without thinking. “We thought you drowned.”
“It wasn’t me who jumped,” says Kenneth.
“What?”
“It was Casper. Casper was here and he jumped for me.” The confession is liberating. It mobilizes him. He shrugs off Naomi’s clamp and starts stripping down to his underwear.
“What do you mean?” demands Nwankwo. “Casper was here? Where is he?”
Kenneth turns and faces the lake. “Wait here,” his voice trails, and in the midst of their bewilderment he jumps into the lake to retrieve the sunken boy.
Cold water races up to embrace him with the grip of a million chilly arms. He bats them away in hopes of making contact with the boy. But swimming has never been natural for Kenneth so has to improvise his maneuvers. He tucks his chin down, he summersaults, he kicks wildly back at the surface in order to push deeper down towards the bottom.
The depths of the lake are slick and slippery, the water slides through his fingers like…oil. There is a lot of oil in this lake, he begins to understand, much more than they initially thought when they began this calamitous dare, and so filmy. He mistakenly sniffles it. The stinging, utterly alien oil water intrudes his lungs and he chokes and burbles and then flails his arms in a haphazard whirlpool that brings him to the top where he coughs out to his heart’s content.
Vaguely he hears Naomi’s shout. “Kenneth, come out!”
He goes back in, but he seems to cover less ground than the first dip before he has to resurface. The smell is unbearable. After a third even shallower dive and a few desperate swipes at empty water he’s forced to give up. He pulls himself out and rolls his back onto the grass, gasping, spitting and sneezing up more of the oozing oil. Dizziness overcomes him and he feels sick to his stomach. He looks up at the sky and prays feebly to red heavens for the boy to return and for a moment he can see the boy’s face above him, until it morphs to Nkwanko's overcast frown.
“If it was Casper who jumped,” Nwankwo says. “Then he’s drowned.”
Kenneth nods and feels warm wetness blur his vision; tears spilled for the boy who could not be broken, but who could sink as easily as a rock.
This is what I guess you could call the opening scene of a story I'm working on. Any feedback at all is most welcome. Thank You.
-----
Light Sweet Crude
“Let me take the plunge for you, my brother."
“What?”
“Let me dive into the depths.”
“Why?”
“Because you are a fragile little boy, but I cannot be broken.”
The unbreakable boy poses naked before Kenneth. His knuckles press against his hips, his bare back taunts the face of the lake and his toes dig into its muddy embankment. Even puffed up he’s not much to look at, but his proclamation benefits from a sharp gust of wind that swallows the cries of the indigobirds and rustles the fingertips of meadow grass. Wild pools of burgundy churn the sunset sky. Kenneth shivers. Breaking eye contact with the boy, he peeks over the “CAUTION” hoarding beside him which is meant to shield him from view while he disrobes, and he scans the hilltops seeking his friends, Naomi and Nwankwo. They are there, two rigid figures planted like statues on a distant hill, watching, waiting for him to emerge from behind the hoarding and dive into the murky water where he will stay submerged for thirty counts. But he can feel their eyes on him, the force of their stare fusing with the amber rays of sunlight and piercing through his flimsy barrier. Surely they can see this brazen, unbreakable boy hiding there behind the hoarding with him. The jig is up.
Moments tick by, however, and neither Naomi nor Nwankwo begin to race down the hill or scream “foul play!” so Kenneth doesn't surrender yet.
“Keep your clothes on,” the boy orders. “This will be easy for me.” He turns now and faces the lake, preparing to jump. He is Kenneth’s exact height and narrow build, their skin shares the same smooth coffee brown hue, and the boy’s hair is similarly trimmed flat over his oval shaped scalp like Kenneth’s. The only difference lies in their faces. The boy’s face is serene; Kenneth’s, perpetually anxious. But who can make that distinction from afar, under the fading of the tropical sun? The plan might work.
“Wait!” hisses Kenneth.
The boy glances back with an eyebrow raised. “Eh?”
“I won’t agree to give you anything in return.”
The boy grins. “And I have not asked you for anything in return. But let me think,” he strokes his chin. “How about a plate of your mother’s chin chin cookies?”
Kenneth frowns at him dubiously. “Is that all?”
“And a prayer of course,” the boy chuckles “…to my god.”
Kenneth says nothing.
“Now, stay crouched behind that sign while I jump in. I will hold my breath underwater for thirty counts and then I will come back up and hide here with you again. After a little while, you will step out fully clothed and go back to your friends and collect your prize.” Kenneth already knows this but he cross-examines the plan for oversights.
“Wait!” he hisses once more. “They won’t believe that I was in the water if my skin is dry!”
But it’s too late. The boy has already dashed off and jumped. In a blink he disappears under the dark veil of the lake with an elegant “ploop” and a series of smooth ripples distend in his wake. Kenneth’s initial reservations evaporate. He glances back towards the hill where he sees Naomi point at the spot the boy has disappeared under and Nwankwo starts making counting gestures with his fingers. They've bought the rouse. Crouched behind the sign Kenneth silently begins to count as well, but he can’t keep the ticks spaced out evenly in his head due to the thudding beat throwing him off in his chest. It’s too rapid. He loses his place until, before he knows it, he’s not counting at all, just bent over with his hands on his knees searching the deep folds of water for the vanished boy.
Time slows. Kenneth estimates that roughly more than thirty counts pass, then he estimates that more than a minute passes, the boy does not emerge. Perspiration builds above his brow. Two minutes lapse and still no sign. The wind whispers calamity, the birds slow their oblong loops across the sky, three minutes now; the ringing of the crickets rises up and crescendos in a chorus of interminable screeches, and the revolving, evolving earth seethes its last muggy breath before twilight. Nothing.
More fateful gaps of jungle music fill the void while the lake neglects to stir, and Kenneth soon realizes he’s growing stiff in his crouched position. He shifts and looks back up to the hill. There, Naomi is pacing back and forth, he can see her wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, and Nwankwo is standing with his arms crossed over his chest.
Suddenly Naomi stamps her foot on the hilltop as if signaling to some ancient being lurking underneath her that she has had enough of its torment. “Kenneth!” she howls. “Come out of the water!”
When Kenneth doesn’t respond, she begins to wheel down the hill towards the embankment followed by Nwankwo a few steps behind. Now, Kenneth thinks, the jig is well and truly up. Only a matter of moments before his doom will be upon him and he remains frozen in place while he waits for it.
Sure enough Naomi and Nwankwo arrive at the embankment of the lake and gape when they spot him quivering behind the hoarding.
“When did you come out?” Nwankwo says between gasps. “How…how did you do it? We saw you go in but we didn’t see you come out.”
“Oh Kenneth!” wails Naomi. And she flings her arms around him without thinking. “We thought you drowned.”
“It wasn’t me who jumped,” says Kenneth.
“What?”
“It was Casper. Casper was here and he jumped for me.” The confession is liberating. It mobilizes him. He shrugs off Naomi’s clamp and starts stripping down to his underwear.
“What do you mean?” demands Nwankwo. “Casper was here? Where is he?”
Kenneth turns and faces the lake. “Wait here,” his voice trails, and in the midst of their bewilderment he jumps into the lake to retrieve the sunken boy.
Cold water races up to embrace him with the grip of a million chilly arms. He bats them away in hopes of making contact with the boy. But swimming has never been natural for Kenneth so has to improvise his maneuvers. He tucks his chin down, he summersaults, he kicks wildly back at the surface in order to push deeper down towards the bottom.
The depths of the lake are slick and slippery, the water slides through his fingers like…oil. There is a lot of oil in this lake, he begins to understand, much more than they initially thought when they began this calamitous dare, and so filmy. He mistakenly sniffles it. The stinging, utterly alien oil water intrudes his lungs and he chokes and burbles and then flails his arms in a haphazard whirlpool that brings him to the top where he coughs out to his heart’s content.
Vaguely he hears Naomi’s shout. “Kenneth, come out!”
He goes back in, but he seems to cover less ground than the first dip before he has to resurface. The smell is unbearable. After a third even shallower dive and a few desperate swipes at empty water he’s forced to give up. He pulls himself out and rolls his back onto the grass, gasping, spitting and sneezing up more of the oozing oil. Dizziness overcomes him and he feels sick to his stomach. He looks up at the sky and prays feebly to red heavens for the boy to return and for a moment he can see the boy’s face above him, until it morphs to Nkwanko's overcast frown.
“If it was Casper who jumped,” Nwankwo says. “Then he’s drowned.”
Kenneth nods and feels warm wetness blur his vision; tears spilled for the boy who could not be broken, but who could sink as easily as a rock.