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Author Topic: Pale beauty literary  (Read 864 times)
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« on: September 16, 2018, 04:25:49 AM »


It was a rare thing, but I decided to sit a bit closer to the water. Most days I rested just outside my tiny home. There, with my back pressed against its aluminum walls and my feet dug into warm, sun drenched sand, I allowed the hours to simply slip away. All while keeping my front yard, the ocean, at a reasonable enough distance. But after feeling particularly anxious, I walked twenty feet across the mellow Havana sand and found a dry enough spot to rest.

I didn’t know why but sitting so low and close to the waters edge calmed me. In truth it shouldn’t. The throbbing sea had an eagerness to it, almost as if it wanted to crush me. Each glossy, blue wave that leapt and fell seemed to reach out with the threat of pulling me closer.

Feeling an unhealthy urge, I turned my head only to jump back from where I sat. Like an explosion, the normally serene, caramel colored beach was ejected below me. Each shimmering speck of sand, that shot up into the sky, seemed to enthusiastically scratch and scrape against my skin. As I clenched the dry earth under me, I was left staring at, and trying to make sense of, a strange woman who appeared out of nowhere.

“Is she a ghost,” I whispered, “come to drag me away into a cold, watery grave?”

I slowly regained my composure after realizing the stranger wasn’t some spirit. She was just some pregnant woman, perhaps no older than nineteen, standing with her naked feet along the oceans crest. Her white dress swayed gently above the surf and her dark skin glowed even though the sun had long begun to settle.

Shaped like the furls of a rose, her black hair fell just past her shoulders. Each sable curl, almost perfectly, repeated as if they were links in a delicate chain. The stranger’s feet should have been tickled by the rushing water, yet, her expression only showed concern. It seemed unnatural for someone who appeared so young to carry so much worry. Her smooth cheeks, not yet worn with wrinkles or scars, vibrated slightly under sad, dark brown eyes.

As her wide, sullen gaze continued to stare off into the water I was reminded of something. For many, peering into the great expanse typically brought terror; especially since so much was grander in the world of the sea. The weight of it would often collapse one’s confidence, eventually leading them to hurry away and return their senses to land.

However, for others, like this one person, the ocean presented a dangerous option; a chance to explore their minds and utilize the blue escape as a canvass. Nothing would be greater for such people than to turn away from the dirt and toil of the land and simply forget the problems that plagued them. I think she wanted to die.

It wouldn’t surprise me. I once heard that this was where things went to die. At least I think I did? Either way, it didn’t matter. Even as I sat along this pristine beach in Havana, just twenty feet from my shanty, aluminum home, I recognized the temptation. How easy a thing it was to be stolen away by the water. 

 To live the remainder of a life at the edge between two points, only to be called one day by some delusion into the wide suffocating ocean. Cleanly and carelessly stolen away. Perhaps to the sea floor or who, except those that were gone, could ever truly know. Leaving all that remained with a sudden and heartless swiftness. Stunned, yet fully convinced that the gods were cruel.

As I looked away from the water, and the young woman, I noticed the portly Canadian, who was remodeling the Rosario hotel, glaring at me from the far-off ridge. He once tried to shoo me away from my corner on this beach only to end up tripping and rolling into the ocean. While I sat and watched his blonde hair and chubby arms thrash in the water, some tourists rushed to help him onto his feet. Perhaps they were worried that the tide would carry him away, but, I knew that it wasn’t strong enough for that yet.

I think I last saw him a week ago or was it a month already…. confused, and disgusted by his presence I turned away.
Just after I decided to ignore him, and her, a car filled with obnoxious laughter streaked across the sand. I recognized the mayor’s son, Ignacio, and his friends as they emptied themselves on to the beach. Per usual, they gleefully yelled and screamed while shoving and tugging at one another.

Not wanting to attract their ire, as I had done in the past, I quickly turned away. Yet, just before, I noticed the mayor’s son staring in my vicinity. Thankfully, however, I was passed over. His focus was instead on the beautiful young woman as he shouted something in her direction.

I was uncertain if it was disgust or fear that led me to not want to pay attention. There were times when a numbness invaded me, and I became devoid of emotion like an empty vessel or like something that was dead. During such instances, trouble all too easily followed whenever I was angry, unready or unfocused.

Those moments often brought unwanted attention upon myself. Especially, when I openly harassed Canadian or European tourists with questions.
However, when more sensible, I did my best to stay away and pretend nothing else existed. I was trying exceptionally hard today as the chorus of laughter and catcalls crept closer like a swirling, frigid wind.

The mayor’s son asked confidently, “Hello beautiful. Want to share a drink?”

She turned with each hand on her belly, perhaps hoping that might answer his question.

“Oh, looks like you got started early,” he smiled, “It’s okay, we can still have some fun.”

Grabbing her by the waist, Ignacio pulled the young woman towards him as she whimpered.

“No! “she fiercely hit him on the chest as he and his gang laughed.

“Look, boss,” one of his goons pointed to me as I also realized that I was staring intently this whole time.

Letting go of the girl, the mayors’ bratty son glared in my direction and slowly walked over to me. His face always seemed stern and now it was colored with a look of disgust as he kicked a plume of sand towards me. The sparkling bits of beach fell lightly over my face and nearly covered my legs completely.

Ignacio knelt before me, “What are you looking at you dirty thing?”

Unsure why, I just continued to stare. Perhaps, I foolishly hoped that my blank expression would lead him to ignore me. Maybe even convince the mayors spoiled son that I was just some fool who didn’t deserve anymore of his attention or effort. Still sneering, he slowly turned his head to discover that the pregnant woman had disappeared.

With a smirk, Ignacio stood back up, only to lean down slightly, as he dropped the nearly empty bottle of liquor.

“It’s okay. We just wanted to see what we had to clean up. Let’s go.”

The gang of misfits laughed all the way back to their car, tossing sand into the sky as they sped off. Alone again, and like a fool, I began to plan my revenge. For I no longer felt like a dead thing, but one that burned alive with rage. Until then, I stared ahead waiting, watching and dreading what each wave might bring.


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« Reply #1 on: October 04, 2018, 09:22:47 AM »

I think that you should write the dialog tag in present tense.  It gives it more punch and a welcome relief from the past tense narrative.

Other wise, nice work. clap
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« Reply #2 on: December 02, 2018, 04:21:25 PM »

I actually like past tense. It's really a personal preference. This is nitpicking, but generally speaking you don't need a comma between two adjectives. (warm sun-drenched)
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« Reply #3 on: December 03, 2018, 07:38:12 AM »

I think that you should write the dialog tag in present tense.  It gives it more punch and a welcome relief from the past tense narrative.

You would mix past and present tenses?... What am I missing here?
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« Reply #4 on: December 03, 2018, 05:10:29 PM »

Never mix. Pick which you like better and stick to it. I like the way you have it. I think BradNewby was saying that most books are written in past-tense and that it would be refreshing to see something different.

« Last Edit: December 03, 2018, 05:37:26 PM by rivergirl » Logged
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