The Autumn Story.

Jan 09, 2009 19:02

So apart from this being half an excuse not to do a proper update I thought it was a good, fun idea since most stories that enter my head nowadays come in spurts and almost never have an ending unless I really make an effort. This is the result of one such inspirational spurt. We knew not where it was going nor where it was headed nor even where it came from, only that it came and here it is. My friend and I (who I'm not sure would wish to be named after this piece of work; If she does she should let me know, it's my pleasure to credit properly, I just do not wish to be the cause of squirming embarrassment on her part and maybe mine [but it's too late for the latter :p]) made this together quite a while ago, via the invention of email. She would write a piece and click "send" and I would follow it on and write a piece back and click "send" and vice versa etc etc. It was fun while it lasted, however life and perhaps lack of inspiration created a barrier between the unfinished product and the finished product.

We all know that these idea's of posted short stories have, I believe, come Danielle and Elizabeth and I think there proper name is "ficlets" even though I am not following suite exactly, it is the similar idea of a quick, short story to post. I may try a 'proper' ficlet sometime soon. Comments are welcome.

Title: Autumn
Fiction
Rating: G
Word count: 855
Prompt: Pure creative outlet

AUTUMN

When the first sign that summer was over began nipping at the soles of their feet, they set about making a plan for the morning. A bag was packed with books and pens and a ratty green blanket, with room left for sandwiches (or so they convinced themselves). The logical, older girl of the pair decided that cushions were needed. Soon enough, the bag had done its usual nasty trick of shrinking, and no matter how long they puzzled over it with hands on hips and teeth chewing lips, there was no way anything else could be squashed in to tote up the hill. So out come the old toy wagon, which had been waiting patiently for them in the cupboard under the stairs. ‘Lovely, lovely,’ chirped the younger, marvelling at the sudden amount of space, faced with the new problem of how to fill it up.

Sleep that night came quickly, in spite of their cold feet.

When they woke the next morning, they twisted their hair up into buns and began their journey with the wagon for company. The op shop was the only stepping block on the way to their destination. There they trawled through the musty, discarded clothing, until they found two ankle-length dresses, their new autumn gowns. The older girl’s dress was a soft, light, green fabric, and when she put it on she was transformed, as they’d intended all along. The younger girl’s was older, simpler, blue, and magnified the intensity of her eyes.

The trip up the hill was not helped by their long autumn gowns. The wagon was also quite troublesome, for such a helpful little thing - every few metres up the steep path a pillow or apple or book would tumble off and begin its journey back along the way they’d come. This just made reaching the top, and the tree, more perfect.

Out comes the blanket, floating down under the shade of the single, solid tree at the top of the hill. Out comes the surviving pillows (the third time one had rolled off, the older girl had had the brilliant idea of letting them have an adventure and just collecting them on the way down). Books are shaken out of their sack, landing in haphazard piles. Both of them pull the bands out of their hair, letting their loose curls free to flirt with the breeze, as blonde and brown mix together on the lush green grass. Finally, notebooks are plucked out of their hiding place at the bottom of the wagon, and as the two sit on their hill in their dresses, a story is born:

“The way the sun sank in that billowing mass of colour and beauty made Evey wish autumn could last all year round. Most people said that in summer time the brilliant sunsets appeared but Evey didn’t believe them. Couldn’t they see that autumn brought along with it the most creative sunsets of all seasons?

As she stood watching, from a limb of the great, ancient oak tree, the vibrant colours slowly changed to deeper shades of pastels and the sun eventually sank behind the performance of fading colour. She took a deep breath of the clear, crisp scent in the air that promised of the coming of autumn. The season she loved best.

Nobody knew it, but it wasn’t only the glorious sunsets of autumn that fed her love for this season. It was more the fact that with autumn came the boy.

He came every autumn mostly, (that one autumn 2 years ago he had not arrived as usual, she thought she might have died from loneliness, literally). She’d never met him of course but he stayed in a small house in the valley below her hill. She loved to come up here after music lessons. Sitting on the strongest limb of her old oak, dangling her feet off the strong wood, feeling the gravity pull at her feet making all the blood run to them was just another one of the many feelings that Evey associated with this great tree and the hours she spent watching the boy at a  distance below her playing his violin for hours on his front porch.

Him playing there felt right. Just right. She liked the way it was raw and the sound that drifted up to her on the breeze was so mournful, like the ending of something sad. Why wouldn’t he ever play something to match the way she felt every time she was sitting there watching him; At peace, perfect, happy, content, like she wanted to be nowhere else at anytime.

But he never did. The tune was always sad and mellow. Yet it was beautiful at the same time. Sometimes so intense was the beauty of the melody that it would pierce her soul, taking her breath away, even at a distance.

She wondered what it would be like to touch his shoulder as he played, feeling the essence of his very soul revealed through the strings he pressed and the tune he played.
She would meet this boy one day, she knew that.”.

Oh P.S I now own my very own Moleskine journal. No,it's not an online post-it blog, it's a real, lovely, touchy, feely journal from Borders and I got it for Christmas. *wide smile*
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