(no subject)
Things change too much every day. Feelings are lost, gained and even grounded. Most of the time I don't know where I'm at, but who does really anyway? We all come to the same point at least once in our lives, if time weren't a factor, we'd all be the same person.
“She”
His heart was more like the boulder that sits in his front yard; unconditioned to human touch, and molded after the storms. He often looked out his kitchen window, sharpening his knives, and wondering where her rock rested.
He first saw her in the streets of London. It was one of those nights where the street lights beamed perfectly down on the most virtuous of figures, cementing a vagrant’s boots until the shadow has long drifted away. She radiated under those lights. He couldn’t imagine her during the day; she would be a mere fabrication. The natural lighting would slip across her face, glossing all that exists within her. But these street lights, they showed everything. Her soul poured out and cast its place beneath her, following her every stride. There was a sense of frustration, of lust, of wonder. He wanted to peal her shadow off the ground and take it back home to his cottage, for he knew that was the closest he could ever get to touching her.
She wore a rich blue and ivory dress which softly settled on her waist. He liked that she kept her feminine charm despite the growing fashion of tailored suits. He thought of walking over to her and lifting her train as a kind gesture, but he never left his place in the street. He stared at her as she waited under the lamp post, questioning her ethics as a middle class woman and wondering if she ever hopped the picket fence that enclosed her childhood yard, which so often constrained the youthful souls to tedious study and imperial play. If she was anything like him she had taken many leaps across the way.
She was surely a woman of charitable work for her presence in this mangled section of the city could not otherwise be explained . He had just come around the corner from the public house in an attempt to leave his rural domain behind, and soothe the sore muscles from his daily drudgery. He didn’t know that this small venture would leave his muscles tenser than they had ever been before.
He sensed that she was waiting for something, or someone. He suspected a carriage would pull up soon and a gentlemanly hand would emerge from it and guide her into the back seat. He decided that he would stand there admiring her until the carriage came that would take her away from his life forever.
He bundled his smock up to his chest and adjusted his trousers. He should have changed before he came to the city, but he figured that he would make a mess of himself after a full night of drinking. He was surprised at how well he could stand and wondered how much longer he could keep his balance in fear that she would see him and take him for a drunken predator. His body was heated and he gently lifted his trilby off his head and kept it by his waist. That’s when she noticed him. She was gazing at him, seemingly intrigued by his presence. He couldn’t understand. He looked over his shoulder, suspicious over who stood behind him. When he turned back to look at her a smile crested her face- a smile for him. He was enthralled with fervor. Heat rushed to all parts of his body, his face reddened and he stood with locked knees. She was really looking at him, intrigued by him, so much so that she smiled at him. He couldn’t retain what was going on. A simple motion of the lips which heightened the brows, and squinted the eyes became the essence of all that he longed for. Not only did he see her soul, he felt it. It felt like the steam from a kettle, a blade of grass, lamb’s wool, and even the shears that cut it. She was everything that he ever felt. In all the complexity that was her smile, he took a step forward. She immediately stiffened her body and looked around the street. She was scared. He was confused. He extended his hands out to assure that she was safe but she took a step back and her eyes glowed with fear. The sound of treading horses came abruptly from the distance and they both swiveled their bodies to see the suspected interloper or possible rescuer. He had come. The gentlemanly hand emerged as expected and she earnestly grasped it and entered the carriage, all while looking at him in the most agonizing, and consuming glare. That’s when he knew that he was hers.
The next morning he woke to the sound of birds. It was an awful exertion from the small flying creatures. His head was pounding, afflicted from the night before, afflicted by the gallon of beer and the inconceivable being that gazed upon his soul and saw the hunger and the thirst that plagued every beat of his heart. He had it in mind to work all day and forget about the woman he met under the street lights. He put on his smock and trousers, tied his leather boots and placed his tribly on his head. He brought his hat back down to his side, wondering if she would appear again and cast her smile one more time. But she never came
So he started his day. He drank beer for breakfast and ate barley loaf with cheese and butter. He headed out to the field where he met his workers to plow the barley. He spent hours under the heated sun and he felt the intense warmth which rushed through his body the night before, once again. He ignored his workers. When they attempted to converse with him he shot a small look their way and grunted. He tried to “cultivate his garden” but the thought of her never left his mind. He had always been alone. Unlike the other farmers of his day he was without a wife or family. Work would be more economical if had the helping hands. Life would be more satisfying if he had someone to love. He never thought he would find such a woman to love as he did. He remembered her hair and the way it flowed below her shoulders. He remembered the initial look on her face under the street lights and the devoted gaze he felt when she left him in the carriage. It was a passionate stare, a passionate stare of fear, of intoxication. It was the only sincere look he has ever felt from a woman before. She had him in all her tenure, as powerful as the force of the sun. She was his gravity. Every step he made depended on her. He would walk back to his cottage and climb the stairs. He would lie in his bed and wait until her force brought him back down where he would cook her mutton and they’d share a pint. Only when he went back to his cottage and laid in his bed for nearly two hours, she didn’t come. He couldn’t understand. He took his own steps back downstairs and looked out his kitchen window. There was a boulder that sat in his front yard. He wished he had dug it up years ago for its existence on his land was unbecoming. He took out his large cooking knife and began to prepare his dinner. He sliced the meat and dropped it into a pot of boiling water. He took out his half eaten loaf of bread and set it on his plate. He lit a candle and placed it on the table. He returned to the window and started sharpening his knives. He looked at the boulder and found something he couldn’t see before. It had always been unbecoming, but he didn’t know why. It was large and mossy and out of place. It stood in the way of everything, and anyone who ever passed it would stop and take another glance. It was a burden. Where are you, he thought to himself. He noticed the sky was getting dark, rain clouds were filling it. He heard a small drop go into a pale and watched the trees off in the distance:
"The rain set early in tonight,
The sullen wind was soon awake,
It tore the elm-tops down for spite,
And did its worst to vex the lake:
I listened with heart fit to break."
He went back over and lit another candle. He took his knife and started to carve something into his table. There was a head and arms, chest and waist. A silhouette soon appeared out of the chiseled pieces of the wood. He became enraptured by this figure. He swiftly stood up and headed towards the window, looking upon his boulder. I’ll find you, he thought. He went back to his carving and stared at it inquiringly. He thought of the woods behind his house and how often he spent in there alone and bewildered. If she was anything like him she would be there. He thought to map out the woods on her body. Naturally the East and West sections complemented her arms and the North and South; her head and feet. Now if only he could find her heart.
It was raining and he could hear the wind gust against his window. This didn’t stop him from venturing out in his leather boots, trousers tucked in, smock to his knees, tribly on his head and a lamp in his hand. He thought of her under the street lamps and wondered if she would appear the same under his weak version of lighting. Oh! How he remembered her radiance, like countless stars. He couldn’t wait to find her. He knew she was in there. She was waiting for him, he knew it. She had him. She had his soul, his heart, his fingers, his chest, his knees. She had him all within her perfect form. He could see himself climbing her hair like vines in a jungle of undiscovered treasures. Fortunes rested within her. He wanted to grab her soul out of her body and swallow it. He couldn’t be closer to her.
He came upon the entrance of the woods and made his way through the first row of bushes. The forest was denser than he remembered. The chestnut trees were sparse, poplars were abundant, and the conifers seemed to take over the whole forest. He went straight into the woods without making any turns. He took long strides, and hovered his back while he extended his lamp with his arm. He breathed long breaths and drunkenly peered through the dark. The rain dropped through the foliage and the forest’s creatures were screeching and bellowing through the storm. He couldn’t hear any of it. His ears were settled on hearing her voice. He wouldn’t let the commotion distract him. He was going to find her. He was going to find her and take her home with him forever. She had him already; it was up to him to let her inside. He traveled through impenetrable underbrush and sank in muddy water. By the time he found her he was on his knees in exhaustion and mercifully stumbled towards her.
“My dear,” he said with teary eyes,” I traveled all this way through dark woods and muddy water in hope of finding you, and here you are.”
He took her hand in his and kissed it. He grazed her palm on his cheek and gazed into her eyes.
“Come back with me, I have so many things to give you,” he said.
She looked past him and out through the trees. He turned to see what she was looking at, it was nothing. He looked back at her and held her face so she would look at him, but she closed her eyes. What was happening? Why wasn’t she looking at him? He remembered that furious look in her eyes the night before and wanted her to look at him the same way again. But she wouldn’t. She just sat there and looked off in the distance, silent.
He was enraged.
“I’ll have you,” He yelled,” You will look at me!”
Nothing.
Where was she? She was there, but she wasn’t. He could see her, he could feel her physical form but he couldn’t sense her like before. She had him inside of her and he couldn’t leave her. He wanted to. He wanted to leave her in the forest to decay. He loathed her, why didn’t she look at him?
“You’re coming with me,” he said to her.
He grabbed her hand and pulled it forward. She rose from her place and listlessly followed him. He grabbed the small rock that she was resting on and took it in his other hand. He dragged her through the densest sections of the forest. By the time they were out of it she was filled with scrapes on her arms and face. He took her across his yard and shoved her onto his boulder. He lifted the rock he had been carrying over his head. That’s when she spoke.
“Please, you don’t want to do this,” she begged.
He smashed the rock on her head with such intensity that she fell limply against the boulder. He found it in himself to bring down the rock once more and finish her off. He went back to his kitchen and watched her lay there on his boulder. She was unconscious, maybe even dead. He watched her with such intensity and satisfaction. He wouldn’t have to worry about her ever again. He was content. Although a feeling of regret came over him. She had him within her, and by killing her-
She woke up! He saw her, coughing up blood and shifting her body down the boulder, crawling on the soaked grass, her fingers collecting dirt under her nails, her cries muffled by the rain. She was struggling in the dirt and he saw her reach for a small stick. He saw her- was she writing something in the dirt? He laughed to himself. Whatever she was trying to reveal would soon disappear. He would go there later and smear the letters away with his boots. After she was done writing, she had her final collapse and the light on his table slowly faded away.
The next morning the sounds of birds came again. When the farmer didn’t come out to the fields one of the workers went to the cottage to see if he was there. He knocked on the door but no one answered. He looked through the window and saw no sign of anyone. He was going to head back to the fields when he saw someone near the big boulder that sat in front of the farmer’s yard. It was the farmer. He was dead. A blood stained rock lay resting two yards from his body. The worker saw something written in the dirt. He went closer to the image and found the letters S-H-E drawn in the ground. She, he thought, I wonder who that is.
© Copyright 2007 A. Metzger (FictionPress ID:520828). All rights reserved. Distribution of any kind is prohibited without the written consent of A. Metzger.
“She”
His heart was more like the boulder that sits in his front yard; unconditioned to human touch, and molded after the storms. He often looked out his kitchen window, sharpening his knives, and wondering where her rock rested.
He first saw her in the streets of London. It was one of those nights where the street lights beamed perfectly down on the most virtuous of figures, cementing a vagrant’s boots until the shadow has long drifted away. She radiated under those lights. He couldn’t imagine her during the day; she would be a mere fabrication. The natural lighting would slip across her face, glossing all that exists within her. But these street lights, they showed everything. Her soul poured out and cast its place beneath her, following her every stride. There was a sense of frustration, of lust, of wonder. He wanted to peal her shadow off the ground and take it back home to his cottage, for he knew that was the closest he could ever get to touching her.
She wore a rich blue and ivory dress which softly settled on her waist. He liked that she kept her feminine charm despite the growing fashion of tailored suits. He thought of walking over to her and lifting her train as a kind gesture, but he never left his place in the street. He stared at her as she waited under the lamp post, questioning her ethics as a middle class woman and wondering if she ever hopped the picket fence that enclosed her childhood yard, which so often constrained the youthful souls to tedious study and imperial play. If she was anything like him she had taken many leaps across the way.
She was surely a woman of charitable work for her presence in this mangled section of the city could not otherwise be explained . He had just come around the corner from the public house in an attempt to leave his rural domain behind, and soothe the sore muscles from his daily drudgery. He didn’t know that this small venture would leave his muscles tenser than they had ever been before.
He sensed that she was waiting for something, or someone. He suspected a carriage would pull up soon and a gentlemanly hand would emerge from it and guide her into the back seat. He decided that he would stand there admiring her until the carriage came that would take her away from his life forever.
He bundled his smock up to his chest and adjusted his trousers. He should have changed before he came to the city, but he figured that he would make a mess of himself after a full night of drinking. He was surprised at how well he could stand and wondered how much longer he could keep his balance in fear that she would see him and take him for a drunken predator. His body was heated and he gently lifted his trilby off his head and kept it by his waist. That’s when she noticed him. She was gazing at him, seemingly intrigued by his presence. He couldn’t understand. He looked over his shoulder, suspicious over who stood behind him. When he turned back to look at her a smile crested her face- a smile for him. He was enthralled with fervor. Heat rushed to all parts of his body, his face reddened and he stood with locked knees. She was really looking at him, intrigued by him, so much so that she smiled at him. He couldn’t retain what was going on. A simple motion of the lips which heightened the brows, and squinted the eyes became the essence of all that he longed for. Not only did he see her soul, he felt it. It felt like the steam from a kettle, a blade of grass, lamb’s wool, and even the shears that cut it. She was everything that he ever felt. In all the complexity that was her smile, he took a step forward. She immediately stiffened her body and looked around the street. She was scared. He was confused. He extended his hands out to assure that she was safe but she took a step back and her eyes glowed with fear. The sound of treading horses came abruptly from the distance and they both swiveled their bodies to see the suspected interloper or possible rescuer. He had come. The gentlemanly hand emerged as expected and she earnestly grasped it and entered the carriage, all while looking at him in the most agonizing, and consuming glare. That’s when he knew that he was hers.
The next morning he woke to the sound of birds. It was an awful exertion from the small flying creatures. His head was pounding, afflicted from the night before, afflicted by the gallon of beer and the inconceivable being that gazed upon his soul and saw the hunger and the thirst that plagued every beat of his heart. He had it in mind to work all day and forget about the woman he met under the street lights. He put on his smock and trousers, tied his leather boots and placed his tribly on his head. He brought his hat back down to his side, wondering if she would appear again and cast her smile one more time. But she never came
So he started his day. He drank beer for breakfast and ate barley loaf with cheese and butter. He headed out to the field where he met his workers to plow the barley. He spent hours under the heated sun and he felt the intense warmth which rushed through his body the night before, once again. He ignored his workers. When they attempted to converse with him he shot a small look their way and grunted. He tried to “cultivate his garden” but the thought of her never left his mind. He had always been alone. Unlike the other farmers of his day he was without a wife or family. Work would be more economical if had the helping hands. Life would be more satisfying if he had someone to love. He never thought he would find such a woman to love as he did. He remembered her hair and the way it flowed below her shoulders. He remembered the initial look on her face under the street lights and the devoted gaze he felt when she left him in the carriage. It was a passionate stare, a passionate stare of fear, of intoxication. It was the only sincere look he has ever felt from a woman before. She had him in all her tenure, as powerful as the force of the sun. She was his gravity. Every step he made depended on her. He would walk back to his cottage and climb the stairs. He would lie in his bed and wait until her force brought him back down where he would cook her mutton and they’d share a pint. Only when he went back to his cottage and laid in his bed for nearly two hours, she didn’t come. He couldn’t understand. He took his own steps back downstairs and looked out his kitchen window. There was a boulder that sat in his front yard. He wished he had dug it up years ago for its existence on his land was unbecoming. He took out his large cooking knife and began to prepare his dinner. He sliced the meat and dropped it into a pot of boiling water. He took out his half eaten loaf of bread and set it on his plate. He lit a candle and placed it on the table. He returned to the window and started sharpening his knives. He looked at the boulder and found something he couldn’t see before. It had always been unbecoming, but he didn’t know why. It was large and mossy and out of place. It stood in the way of everything, and anyone who ever passed it would stop and take another glance. It was a burden. Where are you, he thought to himself. He noticed the sky was getting dark, rain clouds were filling it. He heard a small drop go into a pale and watched the trees off in the distance:
"The rain set early in tonight,
The sullen wind was soon awake,
It tore the elm-tops down for spite,
And did its worst to vex the lake:
I listened with heart fit to break."
He went back over and lit another candle. He took his knife and started to carve something into his table. There was a head and arms, chest and waist. A silhouette soon appeared out of the chiseled pieces of the wood. He became enraptured by this figure. He swiftly stood up and headed towards the window, looking upon his boulder. I’ll find you, he thought. He went back to his carving and stared at it inquiringly. He thought of the woods behind his house and how often he spent in there alone and bewildered. If she was anything like him she would be there. He thought to map out the woods on her body. Naturally the East and West sections complemented her arms and the North and South; her head and feet. Now if only he could find her heart.
It was raining and he could hear the wind gust against his window. This didn’t stop him from venturing out in his leather boots, trousers tucked in, smock to his knees, tribly on his head and a lamp in his hand. He thought of her under the street lamps and wondered if she would appear the same under his weak version of lighting. Oh! How he remembered her radiance, like countless stars. He couldn’t wait to find her. He knew she was in there. She was waiting for him, he knew it. She had him. She had his soul, his heart, his fingers, his chest, his knees. She had him all within her perfect form. He could see himself climbing her hair like vines in a jungle of undiscovered treasures. Fortunes rested within her. He wanted to grab her soul out of her body and swallow it. He couldn’t be closer to her.
He came upon the entrance of the woods and made his way through the first row of bushes. The forest was denser than he remembered. The chestnut trees were sparse, poplars were abundant, and the conifers seemed to take over the whole forest. He went straight into the woods without making any turns. He took long strides, and hovered his back while he extended his lamp with his arm. He breathed long breaths and drunkenly peered through the dark. The rain dropped through the foliage and the forest’s creatures were screeching and bellowing through the storm. He couldn’t hear any of it. His ears were settled on hearing her voice. He wouldn’t let the commotion distract him. He was going to find her. He was going to find her and take her home with him forever. She had him already; it was up to him to let her inside. He traveled through impenetrable underbrush and sank in muddy water. By the time he found her he was on his knees in exhaustion and mercifully stumbled towards her.
“My dear,” he said with teary eyes,” I traveled all this way through dark woods and muddy water in hope of finding you, and here you are.”
He took her hand in his and kissed it. He grazed her palm on his cheek and gazed into her eyes.
“Come back with me, I have so many things to give you,” he said.
She looked past him and out through the trees. He turned to see what she was looking at, it was nothing. He looked back at her and held her face so she would look at him, but she closed her eyes. What was happening? Why wasn’t she looking at him? He remembered that furious look in her eyes the night before and wanted her to look at him the same way again. But she wouldn’t. She just sat there and looked off in the distance, silent.
He was enraged.
“I’ll have you,” He yelled,” You will look at me!”
Nothing.
Where was she? She was there, but she wasn’t. He could see her, he could feel her physical form but he couldn’t sense her like before. She had him inside of her and he couldn’t leave her. He wanted to. He wanted to leave her in the forest to decay. He loathed her, why didn’t she look at him?
“You’re coming with me,” he said to her.
He grabbed her hand and pulled it forward. She rose from her place and listlessly followed him. He grabbed the small rock that she was resting on and took it in his other hand. He dragged her through the densest sections of the forest. By the time they were out of it she was filled with scrapes on her arms and face. He took her across his yard and shoved her onto his boulder. He lifted the rock he had been carrying over his head. That’s when she spoke.
“Please, you don’t want to do this,” she begged.
He smashed the rock on her head with such intensity that she fell limply against the boulder. He found it in himself to bring down the rock once more and finish her off. He went back to his kitchen and watched her lay there on his boulder. She was unconscious, maybe even dead. He watched her with such intensity and satisfaction. He wouldn’t have to worry about her ever again. He was content. Although a feeling of regret came over him. She had him within her, and by killing her-
She woke up! He saw her, coughing up blood and shifting her body down the boulder, crawling on the soaked grass, her fingers collecting dirt under her nails, her cries muffled by the rain. She was struggling in the dirt and he saw her reach for a small stick. He saw her- was she writing something in the dirt? He laughed to himself. Whatever she was trying to reveal would soon disappear. He would go there later and smear the letters away with his boots. After she was done writing, she had her final collapse and the light on his table slowly faded away.
The next morning the sounds of birds came again. When the farmer didn’t come out to the fields one of the workers went to the cottage to see if he was there. He knocked on the door but no one answered. He looked through the window and saw no sign of anyone. He was going to head back to the fields when he saw someone near the big boulder that sat in front of the farmer’s yard. It was the farmer. He was dead. A blood stained rock lay resting two yards from his body. The worker saw something written in the dirt. He went closer to the image and found the letters S-H-E drawn in the ground. She, he thought, I wonder who that is.
© Copyright 2007 A. Metzger (FictionPress ID:520828). All rights reserved. Distribution of any kind is prohibited without the written consent of A. Metzger.