For my creative writing class--what do you think, please?

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ESP
Member Elite

since 2000-01-25

Posts 2556
Floating gently on a cloud....

0 posted 2004-04-27 03:24 PM

Portfolio Short Story

Louise rested her elbows on the rondavel balcony, drinking in the beautiful surroundings. A couple of paradise flycatchers called to one another from the leaves of a large mopipi tree and the ant-like staff scurried about their duties, dressed in identical blue overalls and green hats. The sun swam lazily in the hazy blue sky, admiring its reflection in the great Chobe River, whose waters were at their highest since twelve years. This was their final destination. Andrew stood beside her fanning his face and offered Louise a pair of binoculars, gesturing in the direction of the rattling cries.
“They really are fantastic,” he murmured. She had to agree, the burnished orange-red plumage and long flowing tails, glinting in the sunlight as the birds hopped gaily from twig to twig, were magnificent. African birds were so different to their drab cousins back home in the UK, and she found the variety in Chobe Safari Lodge grounds alone amazing.
“What time is our game drive,” she enquired.
“We have to go down to reception at twenty past three,” he replied. A warthog ambled past, not a stones throw from them, drawing a small gasp from Louise. She and Andrew hadn’t been in Africa long, and this was their first visit: Everything was a surprise. They had been at school together, completing their A-Levels in June the previous year, embarking in September on an extended tour of the Middle East and Europe. Louise’s parents had funded her flights, leaving her savings for living expenses. Andrew had been saving up courtesy of a part-time job in their local pub. Neither had left England previously. They had wanted to see more of Africa but money was getting tight and so they had selected only Botswana. Chobe had been picked over Moremi and the Okavango Delta, as the less expensive option.
“Let’s head over now so I can have a quick look at postcards before we go,” Louise told Andrew and off they went, taking care to lock their rondavel behind them, after all, you never know who might try their luck and the two had nothing going spare.

Louise inspected her nails as they sat in the back of the 4x4 awaiting their driver, who was taking the white receipts and blue tickets from an eager group of safari hopefuls. Andrew fiddled with a Canon 5300, his pride and joy, an eighteenth birthday present from his parents.
“So my name is Thebe and I will be your guide for this morning’s drive in Chobe National Park, which will take around about three hours,” a tall, ebony skinned man introduced himself. There were three trucks holding nine people each, and as soon as they were out of the hotel carpark they vied to take the lead, all the way down the tarred road to the entrance gate of Chobe National Park. Eleven thousand sqare kilometres of unspoilt land, “same size as Wales,” Louise had remarked on learning this. Watching the guide jump out she smoothed her hair down, already feeling dishevelled from the ride to the park; what a lot of wind one was battered by in these open trucks! Soon the guide was back behind the wheel and off they went, excitedly clutching binoculars and cameras. For the first half hour they saw nothing.
“…and this is the Mopane forest. As you can see, lots of them have bare trunks; others they are dead. The elephant eat the bark and can often knock the trees down. They spend twenty out of twenty-four hours eating and produce about one thousand tonnes of dung every day…”
“Yes, ok, but where are the elephants??” Louise demanded silently. A muffled “oh…” rippled through the truck as a lone bull elephant emerged through the bush toward them.
“They don’t mind the truck, do they?” Louise asked no one in particular, a little nervous at the proximity of the beast. Andrew snapped half a dozen photographs then leaned back, feeling very pleased with himself. For the next two hours or so they bumped around the rutted tracks through a comparatively small area of the park.
“Well I suppose it’s bound to be small, considering how big the whole place is,” Louise thought to herself soon after wondering why they hadn’t gone further down a long straight track that didn’t seem to go anywhere in particular. Numerous hornbills fluttered about on either side; “hornbill ghetto,” Andrew whispered in her ear.
“…Here is impala,” the guide piped up again, “this is a bachelor herd, only males. How do we tell that these are males? They all have horns. Female impala have no horns.”
“Gay bar,” Andrew said.
“Look!” Louise pointed to a giraffe head peering out over a tall bush.
“The giraffe is one of the most difficult animals for a lion to hunt,” interrupted the guide, “it can kick a lion from here to Jerusalem with its long legs and sharp hooves.”
She smiled. They were gorgeous, such huge velvety eyes and long eye lashes.
“Mascara advertisement” she said to Andrew in a burst of inspiration. They giggled. The sun was dipping low in the sky, dragon-like wisps of cloud breathing its fire. Having watched a troop of baboons, some younger ones swinging about the branches of smallish trees, some checking each other for parasites and one huge, old male acting sentry, the guide started up the vehicle and went progressively faster back along the tracks in the direction of the gate.
“It’s…very hard…to look for animals…at this speed!” Louise gasped in between massive jolts and bounces. Andrew said nothing, hanging grimly on to the side of the truck and his beloved camera.
“Stop,” someone called. They screeched to a halt. Louise was thrown forward in a most ungainly manner.
“A lion…there,” came the hushed voice, accompanied by a keenly pointing finger.
“Where?” she asked looking but seeing absolutely no lion.
“Over there in the bushes,” was the response. She looked again, finally able to make out a pair of yellow eyes set in a large sandy-coloured face that moved up and down at intervals.
“I caught the movement, that’s how I spotted it!” the voice boasted proudly.
“Can we make him move?” Louise asked the guide, who had launched in to a spiel about the behavioural patterns of lion.
“She’ll come running pretty fast if you get out of the truck,” he joked. Louise blushed.
“No. We are not allowed to leave the tracks or upset the animals, as this is a National Park.” The lioness ducked down once and for all, and the viewers moved on, chattering excitedly as they bumped along to the exit.

That evening they went to supper, a beautifully laid out open-air buffet. Louise went up to investigate and its service waiters obligingly revealed the secrets concealed within the iron cauldrons and sizzling on the charcoal braai.
“Lentil soup; pap; mashed potato; oxtail potje; kudu potje; impala potje; seswaa; pork chops; roast leg of impala; mopane worms.”
She hurried back to the table where Andrew sat waiting to report the mixture of delights and horrors.
“They eat WORMS!” was the first thing she said, raising an eyebrow suggestively, “what did they call them again? Mopping Worms? Whatever, they are a delicacy—what savages!”. Andrew shrugged.
“Not really, Lou.”
“Impala and kudu as well,” she added, as if to prove her point. They went up again together this time, Louise sticking to the soup and salad end of the long counter. Andrew came back with a plate piled high with a bit of everything.
“Can’t knock it if you don’t try it,” he explained.
“Not the impala or kudu, surely?” Louise asked. “But we’ve been watching them in the park today,” she wailed under her breath at the affirmative response. Not surprisingly, Andrew’s mopane worms spent the evening hibernating under his pap, both spurned after the first mouthful. Once they had finished eating, Louise checked her watch, stifling a yawn.
“8.30,” she laughed, “how can I feel this tired this early?!” It had been a long day, and the culminating game drive had knocked the stuffing out of her, with all those humps and bumps. They soon headed back to their rondavel, passing two security men who advised them to beware the resident hippo. For a full ten minutes after switching her light off, Louise listened out for anything remotely hippo-like, though she had no idea what hippos sounded like either in or out of the water, and then sleep overtook her.

Beep beep-beep beep! Beep beep-beep beep!
“S’at?” mumbled Louise in to her pillow. Andrew lay motionless in the next bed.
Beep beep-beep beep!
Looking blearily at the glowing numbers on the small, silver wesclock alarm, Louise eventually made out that it was 5.15am—time to swallow a quick cup of tea before the early morning game drive, for which they had to meet outside reception at ten to six. Suddenly wide awake, as the thought of more encounters with wildlife buzzed through her mind, she threw back the thin blanket, shivering slightly in the pre-dawn cold. Not long after, she and Andrew were dressed in yesterday’s dusty clothes sipping weak Five Roses, warming their hands on the teacups.
“Hurry up,” said  Lou in between swallows, “we musn’t be late.”
“It’s only 5.35, relax,” grumbled Andrew, never one for the early morning. Louise chivvied him regardless and to her relief they made it in good time.
“I’ll just pop in to the kudus,” she told Andrew, plying him with her fleece, binoculars and water bottle. The ‘kudus’ were the toilets, so-called because of the décor. Male and female restrooms in the restaurant/bar area were differentiated  by their door sign of a kudu, one with horns and one without. She got back to reception to find Andrew already in a truck, saving a seat for her. The guide introduced himself in the customary manner, adding that he was new to the job. Louise frowned. The drive started in the same way as that of the previous afternoon except that inside the entrance to the park the guide took at least five minutes to get the truck in to four wheel drive setting. Amid profuse apology they set off. Afterward, Louise referred to the excursion as the game drive from hell, relishing her descriptions of how terribly inept the guide was. They spent half an hour looking for a lion that had blatantly made itself scarce long since, and then fifteen minutes after finally admitting defeat TK stalled the vehicle right in the pathway of the elephant who were going down to the river to drink and bathe, ‘he couldn’t restart the thing; there we were, elephant on one side, water on the other, I thought we were goners for sure!’
The elephant herd milled about, looking questioningly at the lump of metal that blocked the way for them. Andrew told TK to ‘move the bloody truck’ three times, face getting redder and redder as the elephant came closer and closer. By this stage Louise was sitting on top of him, face buried in his armpit, though this of course was left out of her version of the tale, which became a myth in the small Kentish town she called home. TK eventually got the truck moving again, and the game viewers spent the remainder of the drive talking more about what might have been than what actually happened, thus the mythical nature of it by the time it reached the concerned ears of the parental unit.
“Never again!” Lou declared as she climed down from the truck once it had pulled up in the lodge carpark outside reception.
“True,” replied Andrew, “we fly tomorrow morning and this afternoon is the river trip.” They walked past the shop and along the path by the game drive/river trip booking office.
“What a strange morning all in all,” Louise concluded as the two of them walked over the wooden bridge wearily back to their rondavel. It was a mess.
“Why haven’t they made up the room?” Louise demanded, “I put the stupid sign thing on the door handle specially to get them to do it while we were out.” Andrew laughed.
“Twit! You put it the wrong way round, it says ‘Please do not Disturb’!” Louise blushed, “ooops!”

After lunch on the terrace, they decided to walk about the lodge a bit. A troop of monkeys were playing their way across it.
“Are they allowed here?” Louis wanted to know. Andrew shrugged, too busy taking photographs to answer. They watched as a monkey darted in to one of the River Rooms, reappearing seconds later on two legs, clutching several packets of sugar in either paw and one in its mouth. The other monkeys gathered around chattering excitedly. The invader sprang quickly in to a tree to enjoy his feast, occasionally dropping a bit to his audience assembled below.
“Well I never!” said Louise finally. “Cheeky devils!” Growing bored of the monkeys’ antics a roll of film later they left the troop behind, wandering back to the terrace.
“Let’s sunbathe for a while,” suggested Louise. The sun was at its zenith and it wasn’t long before both of them were bright red rather than the desired bronzy brown.
“Africa is just weird,” declared Louise as they returned to their rondavel, “The sun doesn’t tan you, the animals act like they are on a level with people and the people are more like animals—I mean, worms?!”
“Yeah,” Andrew agreed, “it’s not like any other place. I’d love to see more of Africa. I wonder if Botswana is fairly typical?” With a land mass of thirty million, three hundred and two square kilometres you could, of course, safely say that no one country was ‘typical’ of Africa. It would be like saying that Lithuania is typical of Europe. After all, what constitutes typical anyway?

At three o’clock sharp, they were at the steps that led down to the jetty, where five boats of varying sizes were moored. A local lady took their tickets, consulting her list.
“You are on the Fish Eagle,” she announced, “second from the left.” Thanking her, they made their way carefully to the waiting vessel. It was a two-tiered boat, one of the biggest there.
“We must sit on top,” said Louise, ignoring the distinct lack of sun shelter up there. Five minutes after they had settled in the upstairs front row, she asked Andrew if they could move downstairs. Finally the boat was loaded and the driver pushed off from the jetty. They motored out, full throttle, in to the middle of the river.
“How wide it is!” Louise exclaimed loudly, trying to be heard over the roar of the engine.
“Like a sea,” Andrew agreed.
They soon came across one of the many pods of hippo in the Chobe River, this one a maternal herd with a couple of calves.
“How cute!” Louise and a few others cooed. Andrew couldn’t see what all the fuss was about. The big ones were certainly impressive beasts but cute? No, not at all. Not even the small one who opened his mouth wide in an imitation of his mother, or was it his aunty? Perhaps no relation at all. Female hippos group together to raise their young, ensuring that they are kept well away from any dominant males who are otherwise liable to eliminate the potential adversaries.
The bird life on the river was superb. Louise and Andrew were fortunate enough to see four types of kingfisher: the greater, the pied, the malachite and the woodland. The only other type, the pygmy, was only to be found in the Okavango Delta. Like most tourists, this luck was at best taken for granted. The bee-eaters were a pleasure to watch as well, blue-cheeked and white-fronted alike seemed to pose willingly for all the cameras aboard. A pair of fish eagles sat atop a dead tree, their haunting cry sending shivers down Louise’s spine. She had seen the fish eagle call described in a magazine as the sound of wildnerness and indeed it was a noise like no other in the Chobe, carrying for miles and miles as the birds announced their territorial presence.
“Take lots of pictures,” she told Andrew, but she needn’t have worried, his eye had barely left the viewfinder since they had pushed off. They both agreed that the river trip was far better than the game drives, “and there’s even a toilet on board,” Louise said smugly as she went to buy another bottle of beer from the cool box located next to the driver.
In what seemed like very little time, though long enough to view two enormous crocodiles, a leguaan, a kudu mother and faun drinking from the river and plenty of hippo, the sun dipped and the boat  thundered to an open spot for its passengers to enjoy the sunset. The sun fell like a stone into the water, the splashes of fire lighting the sky in its wake giving way to the pink and purple glow of twilight before darkness fell.
“Like someone turned off a light, that’s how quickly it got dark,” Andrew remarked.
When they got back to their rondavel tired but content, their faces tight from the wind on the river, Louise’s wallet was gone.

“It’s been stolen!” she shrieked in rage, “I bet it was one of the staff as well.” They went over to reception to see what could be done.
“I’m terribly sorry, madam. Would you like to fill in a ‘missing items’ form, please? If we manage to retrieve your wallet, we will make every effort to see that it reaches you at any destination just as soon as is possible,” the receptionist, whose name was Lebogang, was most helpful under these trying circumstances; but neither Louise nor Andrew were in the mood to appreciate this, as they were too busy trying to ascertain whose fault everything was. Both swore the other had been in charge of locking up and both swore the door had been locked. Andrew’s biggest concern was whether travel insurance companies covered this sort of thing.
“Do any members of staff have access to the rooms during the afternoon?” he enquired, mentally filling out a claims form in which it was proven that nothing was his fault.
“You will possibly have been given some clean towels,” Lebogang complied, “our staff are all very trustworthy, it is most unusual for something of this nature to occur.”
Louise glared at the poor lady.
“I trust there will be an investigation then” she chipped in
“We will do our best to recover your lost item, of course,” the receptionist assured her. Eventually, having done everything they could, they headed over to the buffet area. Dinner was a subdued affair, their glorious river trip overshadowed by their loss. The conversation revolved around the possible culprits. Louis was certain it was one of the staff, while Andrew had his bets on a conspiracy.
“I think what has happened is this: The cleaning lady who brought us our clean towels probably has a poor brother or sister living in Kasane,” he began, “You know, these African people all have a poor relation somewhere. She left the door unlocked specially so that this impoverished brother could get in and take your wallet. Then she came back round and locked it again to avoid suspicion. If questioned, she will say she simply forgot to lock it the first time around but corrected the mistake soon after.” He looked at Louise smugly, waiting for her to challenge his theory.
“Why didn’t this ‘impoverished relation’ take your wallet as well?” she asked. A frown flickered across his face as he tried to think of a suitable response to this probing question. Since Louise could come up with nothing better, they decided that this is what must have happened, and on their return to England it was the story they told and embellished every time they got to telling anybody about this part of their trip. Louise tried to cancel the cards before they went to bed that night, but the telephone number she had for reporting stolen cards didn’t seem to work from the lodge.

They duly checked out at 11 o’clock the next  morning. Louise’s credit cards and cash had been in the wallet, and she was to have used them to cover her half of the bill. She pointed this out coldly to the receptionist serving them, not noticing that this was a different lady, Boitumelo, who had no idea what she was talking about.  Boitumelo nonetheless apologised to Louise, who must have looked pretty fierce at the time. Andrew volunteered to pay the whole bill, a temporary loan to Louise that she was to pay back as soon as they got home. There was a truck waiting to give them a lift to Kasane airstrip, from which they would fly to Maun and then on to Johannesburg. Johannesburg was their last stop in Africa but all they would see was the departure lounge, of whose shops Louise would greatly approve. The ‘plane was small, a twenty seater of which only five were taken. Louise pressed her nose against the window, her breath making steam pictures, as it pounded down the tarmac. It bumped and jolted once or twice towards the end of the strip, much to her horror, lifting into the air at the last possible moment. Kasane and Chobe Game Reserve grew smaller and smaller while the impression of vastness grew. For an instant she thought she could pick out the rondavels at Chobe Safari Lodge but they were soon out of sight. Unlike the patchwork quilt effect that you get from an aerial view of England, this was miles and miles of untamed land, broken only by rivers and occasional towns and villages. Tears sprang to her eyes as something moved inside her, a realisation of what she was leaving behind.Her spirit had unknowingly touched paradise.  Wallet forgotten, all she could see and feel was the beauty of a country known as the jewel of Africa. Not long after this ephiphany, however, she remembered the wallet once more. Ever since then, she associated Africa with her loss and blamed it for stealing it from her. All impressions of beauty and paradise faded into insignificance besides this incriminating fact.

Meanwhile, back at the lodge a group of monkeys gambolled about the grass and trees. One held a small, brown rectangular object, opening and closing it experimentally. Out came a piece of flat plastic, and another, also rectangular, followed by a couple of silver and gold circular and hexagonal pieces. He chewed cautiously on one of these, quickly throwing it aside in disgust. Noticing that his companions were leaving him behind, he abandoned his prize. It had in any case tasted pretty poor in comparison to the bits of fruit he was sometimes able to get when unwitting guests who kept food in their room left a window open for him. Never mind, there was always that afternoon in which to give it another go; for now it was better to catch up with his companions, who had left him behind a bit, and join in with the fun and games.

"Time has told me not to ask for more, one day our ocean will find its shore" ~Nick Drake

ESP
Member Elite

since 2000-01-25

Posts 2556
Floating gently on a cloud....

1 posted 2004-05-02 07:01 AM

Ok never mind...

"Time has told me not to ask for more, one day our ocean will find its shore" ~Nick Drake

Poet deVine

Administrator

Member Seraphic

since 1999-05-26

Posts 22612
Hurricane Alley

2 posted 2004-05-02 07:31 AM

At first glance, this story seemed daunting for the fact that the paragraphs were not separated...for example:

Louise rested her elbows on the rondavel balcony, drinking in the beautiful surroundings. A couple of paradise flycatchers called to one another from the leaves of a large mopipi tree and the ant-like staff scurried about their duties, dressed in identical blue overalls and green hats. The sun swam lazily in the hazy blue sky, admiring its reflection in the great Chobe River, whose waters were at their highest since twelve years. This was their final destination. Andrew stood beside her fanning his face and offered Louise a pair of binoculars, gesturing in the direction of the rattling cries.

“They really are fantastic,” he murmured.

She had to agree, the burnished orange-red plumage and long flowing tails, glinting in the sunlight as the birds hopped gaily from twig to twig, were magnificent. African birds were so different to their drab cousins back home in the UK, and she found the variety in Chobe Safari Lodge grounds alone amazing.

“What time is our game drive,” she enquired.

***
It just makes the story more readable.

Now, for the critique. It seems a big wordy in some spots. For instance, you say that 'this is the first time' they have been to Africa when by their actions and words, they say that too. That one line is unnecessary.

It was a good story though. Interesting, I felt like I was there with them when they got stuck by the river and the elephant was coming....

I have one suggestion. If you can find it, get this book by Stephen King called "On Writing"...he has a simple 'no nonsense' approach to writing that has helped me a lot!

Good luck on your assignment, let us know what the teacher says...

ESP
Member Elite

since 2000-01-25

Posts 2556
Floating gently on a cloud....

3 posted 2004-05-02 08:35 AM

Thanks Sharon.
My tutor told me to use indents rather than spaces for formatting paragraphs, so it now looks differnt to how it does here but not as how you suggested it. I guess it just depends what the markers are happier to read!! Actually the story has also evolved since I posted it. But I cant edit anymore can I cos its outside 24hr window by now. Its due in on Friday but wont get the marks back till near the end of term. Thanks for the comments though!
Liz xx

"Time has told me not to ask for more, one day our ocean will find its shore" ~Nick Drake

Fisherman
Junior Member

since 2000-04-14

Posts 46

4 posted 2004-05-02 09:42 AM

I would concur with Ms. deVine about tightening up the story. The work obviously took a lot of time and effort, but you could have taken a bit less time making us dislike your main character.

Hope the grade goes well.

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