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Lost sons.
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Lost sons. |
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merc Junior Member
since 2003-10-15
Posts 35 |
This is my first time over in the prose forum although I have spent some considerable time in the ca forum recently. This is a postcard story (under 500 words) that I just recently wrote and am hoping for some more feedback on it. ALL criticism is welcome, if you hate it please do not hesitate to tell me. I only ask that you justify hating it so I may fix the problem. Thx. Lost sons The sun glinted dimly across the windshields and mirrors of thousands of cars, each crossing back and forth on its own uncertain path. Billboards nailed to the sides of buildings overlooked the haphazard journeys of the cars and their occupants, and the overwhelming hammering of city life pounded at any last refuge of silence that might exist. A continual line of souls, each carrying their burdens under bowed backs, flowed like a river along the street, the ever watchful eyes of the billboards falling on their burdens, making them all the heavier. In the midst of all the concrete towers and traffic, the stoic grays and the hurried yellows and reds and browns, was a tarnished incline of white marble steps. At the foot of the cold stone, once marvelous in it's brightness and splendor, sat a solitary man. No one would listen if he spoke, no one would join him where he sat and no one tried to climb his steps. Always he was there, just as the steps themselves were always there, both existing despite their lack of use. The stairs were neighbored by a pet grooming store on the left and a massage parlor on the right and across the street were two billboards. They stood, nailed as they were, screaming like children to be heard but instigating no craned necks in passerby nor 'hmms' or 'hahs' in thoughtful readers. The one that stood across from the groomers was a shiny add for a posh yoga center a little farther down the street. The words “Exercise your body and soul” flowed obediently along the curvature of a woman's spandex clad bum on this fifteen by twenty foot poster. Across from the massage parlor, the Billboard read “Christ is the answer” in faded black print on a weathered white background. Almost entirely covering the message, in a spattering of gold, brown, red and yellow spray paint, was “[edit] the police” in uneven swirly font . The man at the bottom of the stairs took no notice of his voyeurs, he only watched the people walking by, struggling with their burdens. He had all the vigilance of a father waiting for his only son to come home from an arduous journey. And although sometimes a man or a woman would stop and glance up, trying to see what lay atop the stairs, no one ever tried to climb. He never left, night or day; he never slept or took shelter during wind or rain or snow. He just waited, though no one ever came. [This message has been edited by merc (10-21-2003 06:00 PM).] |
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MsSouthernOrchid Member
since 2003-07-12
Posts 192 |
Hi Merc, I think this is really good. I got chills reading it. I get from this a lost society, all wandering in the wrong direction, while God waits and no one pays any attention. I believe you have captured this scene perfectly. |
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