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A Tale of Angels
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A Tale of Angels |
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sonjes Senior Member
since 2000-02-18
Posts 564North Carolina |
This is my first post in Prose. Please don't be afraid to give me constructive criticism. It will be muchly appreciated.  A woman of indeterminate age, perhaps twenties (thirties?) sits before me and claims she does not believe in religion. When asked if she is spiritual, she will reply flippantly that she tries not to be. She does not attend a church nor show any desire to do so. In fact, she tells me on an aside; the last time she appeared in a church was at her own wedding, at her family’s insistence. I have questioned her many times as to why she has turned away from her upbringing. For when she was a child, a grandmother strictly enforced church attendance. When she reached the proper age, she was indeed confirmed into that church. Unlike her sisters who contend they had religion “crammed down their throats” as children, she simply states that she has not realized her motives. However, her eyes light up and travel into her clouded past; she recalls her favorite story. Hesitantly, the beautiful, but aged woman tells her tale of angels. When I was very young, five or six years of age, I was intelligent. I had a voracious hunger for knowledge and my imagination was a rainbow. I strove to be the very best at everything and to make everyone around me take notice that I was an exceptional child. Only one other child in my grade level challenged me day to day. He was my neighbor and pal, Michael. From an adult’s jaded point of view, we must have seemed fierce competitors, always trying to outdo one another. However, for a child, it is only a game. It is a wonderful, thrilling game, which will never end as long as one player does not quit. Michael and I were exceptional readers in kindergarten. We would clamor to get the teacher’s attention first, so we could claim to be the first to finish a particular book. Winning little battles, so we could win the entire game. Looking back, I realize that we must have been quite an annoyance among twenty other children, looking to be singled out for a small, yet important achievement. Michael and I would sit together on our bus ride home after school. The other children who claimed we must be boyfriend and girlfriend constantly teased us. We ignored them. Carefully, we would lay our plans to get together and play after school. Unfortunately, it never happened. When you live in the country, as we did, the word neighbor means that your houses are a mile apart. That never stopped us from trying to fool the strict bus driver, Marian, though. One of us would beg and plead with her to let us off at the other’s house, claiming to have lost a mythical permission slip. For some reason, the bus driver was never fooled into believing our highly reasonable tales. One hot summer, I went to visit an aunt who lived about an hour’s distance from my home. Visiting was always a treat due to my younger cousins whom I deemed worthy of my attention. They always wanted to play my games and I suppose they were intelligent enough to warrant my time. She pauses to glance at me. Her hazel eyes are beginning to mist with the recollection of a childhood long ago. “You must find me incredibly conceited.” The slightest of smiles escapes through the sadness as she reaches for a drink of water. “Perhaps I am. You see, I won that particular childhood game. But, I am getting ahead of myself.” Leaning back with a slight sigh, she continued without my saying a word. When I was younger, it seems that I spent a lot of time outside. So much more than children these days do, at least. The day I wish to tell you about was no exception. My cousins and I were in the yard, playing make-believe games that I would weave for them to enjoy, when my aunt called me in, alone. I hoped she was not still mad about the window I had broken in the door during one of our more rambunctious games. Vivid memories are almost unheard of when you are six years old, but I remember well. That day is burned into my memory for eternity. The Aunt was sitting at the kitchen table with a newspaper spread out in front of her. She was wearing green. Funny, I didn’t remember that until now. She turned her attention away from the paper, her eyes seemed tired, and concern slightly shadowed her features. She asked me if I knew a Michael Green and I responded with a wide-eyed yes, being careful to give my full attention when an adult spoke to me. ‘Oh. He was hit by a car while riding a bike. He died.’ After standing for a few moments, uncomfortable under her scrutinizing stare, I asked for permission to return outside. With my wish granted, I turned from her and fled to my games of make-believe. I really did miss Michael in school that next year. My sister later informed me that he had been trying to ride his sister’s ten-speed bike and had been struck by a cruising police car. Silly boy, I thought. Always trying to be the best and achieve things that I could not. Who knows where he thought he was going to go that day? In church, I learned that children are innocent of sin and they go to heaven if they are baptized when they are babies. I thought all babies have to be baptized, so Michael must be in heaven. I loved the New Testament stories about angels coming down to earth as messengers of God. Every Sunday, I saw Michael. I never got a chance to talk to him because I knew it would be rude to speak during church. But, I got to see him. He would enter through the window dressed in a long white gown; his angel wings perched on his back, gloriously for the entire world to see. His golden halo hovered above his cropped whitish hair. I think I remember his eyes the best. They were cerulean blue. They were bluer than the summer sky on a cloudless day and they twinkled because they had stardust sprinkled in them by God. Michael’s eyes were the eyes of a true angel. Worn out by her tale, she sighs a great sigh of remembrance and sadness. “He was at my wedding. I was eighteen years old and he was still six. Its amazing what a child’s mind can create when they need to.” I understand now why this woman of indeterminate age does not attend church. Her eyes are still lost in a memory of a little angel from her past. I believe that he is still there. The little angel who will always be six is still with God in heaven. If she looks hard enough and openly enough, she will see him again. After all, it is amazing what a child’s imagination can create when it needs to. [This message has been edited by sonjes (edited 09-01-2000).] |
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| © Copyright 2000 Sonje Scharinger - All Rights Reserved | |||
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Christopher
Moderator
Member Rara Avis
since 1999-08-02
Posts 8296Purgatorial Incarceration |
*sigh* This is half beautiful, half sad. You had me going on the arrogance. I was almost mad that she comment that she must seem that way...LOL Because She did!!!  Well done, I enjoyed the tale. Chris |
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Deranger Member
since 2000-05-10
Posts 498Somewhere, between here and there |
Hello! I am also new to the big scary world of Prose! That was a sad story, its strange how we let some seemingly random event in our childhood shape the rest of our lives. Well, this may be miniscule, but its kinda hard to separate the speakers in this piece Other then that, good work! --- Spreading insanity, one post at a time “Writing about darkness comes easily for me. I just close my eyes and write what I |
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Erin Member Elite
since 2000-06-15
Posts 2527~Chicago~ |
Sonjes~~~This is really good, but yet so sad. I enjoyed reading this and I hope that there are more posted here by you. |
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sonjes Senior Member
since 2000-02-18
Posts 564North Carolina |
Chris- Wow! Thanks for the reply...and thanks for the honesty about the main character...I was sitting here typing, thinking to myself, She is WAY too conceited!  Deranger- HI! After I drink my first cup of coffee, I will be plunging into the stories here...Is it difficult to tell the speaker of the story? I was hoping the double paragraph breaks would be enough. Thanks for the help, if you have any suggestions...email me!!! I am always open. Thanks so much! ERIN - I am ecstatic that I have had this many replies. I don't know about more...I take way too long to finish shorties! Your words are very welcome to this struggling writer's ears. |
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Sven
since 1999-11-23
Posts 14937East Lansing, MI USA |
Excellent sonjes, I too thought that it was quite arrogant of the main character to actually stop and say, "You must find me incredibly conceited". That did it for me. . . Well done. . . hope to see more from you here. . . ------------------------------------------------------ That which gives light must endure burning --Victor Frankl |
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Dusk Treader
Moderator
Senior Member
since 1999-06-18
Posts 1187St. Paul, MN |
Mmm, me likes this one much! Great story, you're penned here, I just have a few little suggestions (Since you're looking for constructive criticism.) In the first paragraph you use parantheses, I don't really think they're necessary, they make the opening paragraphy sound a little stilted, and that paragraph is important in gettring reader attention! The only other thing I really have to say is it might make it easier to distinguish the speakers by putting the things the woman says in quotes, as someone else is hearing them. Hope I helped and I enjoy the read! Abrahm Simons "Keep on dreamin' boy 'cause when you stop dreaming it's time to die" - Blind Melon |
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Sudhir Iyer Member Ascendant
since 2000-04-26
Posts 6943Mumbai, India : now in Belgium |
Hi sonjes, This is a wonderful piece of work... you write terrifically well... and now since you asked for constructive dissection, ahem! criticism... let's have some, shall we? I am keeping my eyes closed on what other's said, and am very keen on suggesting improvements for this is a great write in the first place... Can we not have the complete story in the past... I mean if the story was a nararation by the speaker, it would be excellent (acc. to me) ... let's see the start of the first para... My version: "I do not believe in religion", claimed she, the woman of indeterminate age, perhaps in her late twenties or maybe early thirties, as she adjusted herself in the seat in front of me..... (here explain what/who the speaker was and why would the character speak about herself in the first place... maybe say how the speaker cajoles the character to speak...) Introduce quotes to make the conversation absolutely clear. In the paragraph in the centre... where the character pauses etc... use more description to tell what the narrator was also doing ... like ... take notes... or maybe express the condition you imagine the character looked like... etc... I hope you get the trend of what I am saying... or am I too confusing? anyway, I will stop here and see if you find the suggestions interesting, more later... but you don't have to change anything here, for it is a great work already... regards, sudhir |
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