The Drift

[James Guest]

Hi all. Here's something I would like to share. Last week I started a website with the intention of posting at least a little something daily. It's bound to fail soon. But I thought I might put today's offering in front of some eyes.
I'll paste the text below but it comes with a small algorithmic graphic on my site (see signature).

it's short.

Thanks in advance for your time and attention.

---

The Drift

A season was devoured by fever and froze everything overnight. It took days before I could stop shivering. When I was well enough to stand, I helped you take the bedroom door off its hinges. In the muted natural light of the kitchen we placed it on blocks no higher than my elbows, where we sat and ate yellow toads in butter. We have to make this count, you said, but I’d long since run out of things to say. So I sat by the window while you guessed the colours of ladies’ dresses on black and white television.

Outside, grey people in dark overcoats wrapped themselves in their arms and leaned forward like projectiles, cutting through the winter drift. They cursed the elements to ecstatic rhythms of chattering teeth that reverberated inside through clanging radiators. I pressed my face to the window and watched them disappear behind the mist of shallow breaths, until night condensed the world to an inch before my nose.

I slept in rain. It fell in thick streams from rooftops, disrupting blankets of algae and papier mache from windswept tabloids. Rapids filled the gutters between low-rise brownstones, collecting frostbit fingers and cigarettes from party goers and drunken beat cops. I followed until the last of the current died between my feet, when a voice I’d come to know said hope is a dying sun, but we swim in its light.

You walked with me to the station before sunrise. I couldn’t find my papers through the mess in my head, so you rifled through my bag and found them for me. I felt as though I saw you for the first time in years; it took a moment to realize it would be the last.

Later, as the train moved through the wilderness, the sun rose and flickered through the trees that tore a straight line back to you, where I’ll never follow.

[DATo]

After reading the first sentence of this piece my initial compulsion was to chuck it fearing it would be another overly-ambitious effort by some adolescent attempting to sound sophisticated, but as it included no orcs, wizards or vampires I pressed on - I'm glad I did.

Subsequent readings have convinced me that this is a very talented piece of writing, constructed more in the semblance of a prose poem. I think if I knew what the meaning of the yellow toad was I might have the key to this story *LOL*; as it stands, the story remains somewhat enigmatic. I am aware that this is by design and not by neglect on the part of the author, and does not detract from the subliminal, emotional impact of the piece or the haunting imagery it evokes.

A piece like this is rare in this forum. Short stories here tend to be quite literal in their presentation so do not be discouraged if you get a few "????,s".

An intriguing, compelling and thought provoking piece of writing - nicely presented!

Many thanks for sharing.

EDIT: I might rethink the use of the word ecstatic (clashes with cursed). Just a thought.

[James Guest]

Thanks very much DATo, you've made my day! :) I'm quite pleased that you made it past the first line. I'm delighted by how you've read my piece.
To explain the yellow toads, it's two small references: amphibians for water and yellow for sunlight. But the idea came from a common English breakfast I had as a child, an egg in the basket. My family mistakenly called it a toad in the hole, which of course is a sausage dish. Naturally I can hear the whoosh of revelation that results of clarifying this ;-)

Thanks again for your feedback. It's very much appreciated.

[James Guest]

Interesting point on ecstatic. I thought twice about it at the time. It was meant to be the transcendent meaning of the word, as a descriptor for the trans-migration of the rhythm to a different place (the clanging radiator). Maybe that's a lot to expect from a single word ;-)

Thanks again. I appreciate the attention to detail.

[108 fountains]

I agree with DATo's assessment (as usual). It definitely has more of the feel of poetry than prose about it, both in the imagery and in the sense that the goal seems to be to conjure feelings rather than to tell a story. I would guess that most if not all of the unusual imagery, like the yellow toads, have symbolic meaning that may not be easily grasped by the reader. (There must be some personal significance to taking "the bedroom door off its hinges.") This method of presentation worked very well in this short piece. I'm not sure if it would work in a much longer piece, however; readers might not have the patience or inclination to puzzle over the meanings of too many symbolic images. But I did like this a lot and hope to read more from you.

[AuntShecky]

Okay. I get it. I even got the "toad" reference.

Your prose reminds me a little of that of Anais Nin and similiar writers once considered avant garde. This piece might still be avant-garde, in the sense that it at least it goes a few steps ahead of the literal, linear, straightforward, and excruciatingly earnest fiction so beloved by mainstream readers.

On the other hand, one has to guard against becoming too abstract, rarefied, and too far beyond the point of recognition of human experience. Additionally, keep in mind T.S. Eliot's advice about self-consciousness in writing. I'm no expert, but I can often detect a young writer's mindset when he approaches his work: "Now I am going to write a Story," instead of letting the story tell itself.

I do hope you cultivate the inner Andre Breton in you and post some more material.

Welcome to the NitLet.

Auntie

[Delta40]

That was a fantastic reading experience and I also agree rare. Write more!

[DATo]

I agree with DATo's assessment (as usual). It definitely has more of the feel of poetry than prose about it, both in the imagery and in the sense that the goal seems to be to conjure feelings rather than to tell a story. I would guess that most if not all of the unusual imagery, like the yellow toads, have symbolic meaning that may not be easily grasped by the reader. (There must be some personal significance to taking "the bedroom door off its hinges.") This method of presentation worked very well in this short piece. I'm not sure if it would work in a much longer piece, however; readers might not have the patience or inclination to puzzle over the meanings of too many symbolic images. But I did like this a lot and hope to read more from you.


108,

I got the impression that the room was bereft of furniture which is somewhat supported by the fact that the individuals are leaving it, perhaps forever.

I was also struck by the word "papers" as opposed to, for instance, "ticket" which seemed to suggest strict or even dystopian governmental control. In addition, the final line seems to suggest a final parting. When all of these things are taken together with the addition of "train" I am led to think of the Holocaust? Don't know of course if this is where the author was going with this story but the pieces seem to fit.

The table coming up to the elbows suggests a child otherwise it might also have meant someone going off to war, though this would not necessarily be supported by the word "bag" which suggests an adult woman.

Many thoughts to ponder, which is what makes this an interesting piece of writing.

Auntie,

You never cease to impress me. YOU KNEW WHAT A YELLOW TOAD WAS ???!!! My yellow toads were always put through a wood chipper when I was a kid (scrambled eggs) so I had never heard the term before. *LOL* It IS my understanding that yellow toads (the amphibian variety) are deadly poisonous and a single toad has enough venom to kill thirty humans. The inclusion of this term may also serve to add a bit of foreshadowing to the story which already has an underlying disquieting and sinister feel to it.

[108 fountains]

I was also struck by the word "papers" as opposed to, for instance, "ticket" which seemed to suggest strict or even dystopian governmental control. In addition, the final line seems to suggest a final parting. When all of these things are taken together with the addition of "train" I am led to think of the Holocaust? Don't know of course if this is where the author was going with this story but the pieces seem to fit.


That's really good, DATo. I hadn't thought about that. The images "Outside, grey people in dark overcoats wrapped themselves in their arms and leaned forward like projectiles, cutting through the winter drift. They cursed the elements to ecstatic rhythms of chattering teeth that reverberated inside through clanging radiators. I pressed my face to the window and watched them disappear behind the mist of shallow breaths" also evokes thoughts of missiles, bullets, machines guns, other noises of war and of soldiers (and civilians) dying. The words "wrapped themselves in their arms" puzzled me, but now I think the word "arms" had a different meaning. Good interpretation. I'd be surprised if you were wrong. Now I like the story even more.

(You were up late last night!)

[AuntShecky]

108,
Auntie,

You never cease to impress me. YOU KNEW WHAT A YELLOW TOAD WAS ???!!! My yellow toads were always put through a wood chipper when I was a kid (scrambled eggs) so I had never heard the term before. *LOL* It IS my understanding that yellow toads (the amphibian variety) are deadly poisonous and a single toad has enough venom to kill thirty humans. The inclusion of this term may also serve to add a bit of foreshadowing to the story which already has an underlying disquieting and sinister feel to it.

I guessed it from the context. When I was little -- back in the Jurassic Park era -- we called the dish "Eggs in the Nest."