by Lyle Rosdahl
Just beyond the tree, beyond the fence, close to the grey clouds that hung almost to the earth, a boy sat on another tree's stump. Beneath his crossed legs that he moved up and down rhythmically, under his bright red, Superman shorts, inscribed in the stump, a symbol which we could not see. We reasoned that this boy, hidden behind the hill, past the fence, was some kind of sign for us. The clouds molted clouds. The barren tree stood in our vision and we reasoned that perhaps we could have seen the boy if the tree had not been there.
The boy held in his hands a bird, we thought. A sparrow. The sparrow was frightened but not of the little boy. The boy in the cape looked smaller now. His sandy hair grew into his scalp and we wondered if it hurt. The sparrow grew old faster than the boy grew young and we reasoned that the sparrow was frightened of growing old. We put our arms around one another and watched the clouds molt in the sky.
The boy was then nothing but a pool of blood and perhaps a beating heart on the tree stump and the clouds had multiplied so they covered the entire sky and dipped to the ground shrouding the tree until it looked like a rib cage. We closed our curtains.
1
fav |
1194 views
4 comments |
230 words
All rights reserved. |
This was something I wrote for a blog competition. It was based on the accompanying picture, which you can see here: http://tinyurl.com/whispersphoto
This story has no tags.
I like the subtle unreality, Lyle. Lots of little curiosities (the Superman mythos provides the best reading-in), perhaps too many? Don't know. But definitely come back to this again: the change in viewing distance throws me off. I also think the narrator's abandonment of the boy can be explored further--other than them shying away from unfavorable signs. Good potential here...
It feels as if I am watching a painting transform....I like the landscape turning into body parts...to me this seems to be about looking in at something and looking away from it, and not really knowing it because of the perspective and distance. I'm not sure of the title. It seems a little bit too neat.
I changed my mind. I like the title.
I love the irreal feel of this piece, Lyle. Love this line: "The clouds molted clouds. The barren tree stood in our vision and we reasoned that perhaps we could have seen the boy if the tree had not been there." (I'd omit the second ref to molting clouds, tho.)
I think you can revise this till it sparkles. Decide what the boy is in the end. Either or or neither nor. Something else? The last par beyond the description of the boy is wonderful.