Secrets Of The Past

Hemingway

I've posted this before on a different site but nobody seems to comment.I've not edited anything really just left it as it is.The reason for this is really just to see initially what people could notice.





Slender grass swayed majestically in the open field. A brisk wind swooped low under the blades manoeuvring them left and right, commanding them to dance without question. Overhead,filled clouds hastily scurried across the dim dawn skyline,like tourists late for their plane to some remote exotic location. The penetrating sun above cast shadows across the hills portraying the surroundings as a utopia for anyone exposable to claustrophobia. In the adjacent fields cattle grazed. Strolling nonchalently around their vegetated home under high swinging trees. They gaze uncaringly upwards towards the silhouette of some unknown figure materialising beyond the roaming hills.

The mysterious character began their descent,stumbling clumsily down the hillside, tripping over their abnormal gait. Cautiously,the person headed east towards the orange glow of the rising sun. The persons blundery appearance seems futile considering their apparent restive conduct.

Slowly,as the person tranverses across the fields, the surrounding area gradually reaches a state of decay and withering. Befallen trees,withered plants,crumbled wooden fences. An immediate milieu transformation. Suddenly only a select few of the suns rays pierced through the recently arrived cloud cover. Compressing the void between themselves and the land below. The wind became a forceful gale. Ceasing the land in fierce hostility. Although,it appeared innocuous against the persons determination. Despite their bearing handicap.

The newly arrived realm omitted an aura of desolation and solitude. It seemed mysteriously uncanny but fitting. No life or resisistence. Rendered and subdued.Immersed in a shroud of submission. Isolated.

Continuously walking for the past fifteen minutes the person steadily declined in their pace. Now their determined stride instantly became a walk of vigilance and circumspect. The person was now standing upon barren landscape eyeing his destination askance. Gravel and stone filled the earth beneath the feet of the onlooker. It sent an icy shiver slithering ominously up the spine of the solitary audience.

The person had reached their destination.

What lay before the person seemed disastrous. A church.An abandoned church.

The facade was nothing but crumbled cement lying in a dead pile of rubble sprawled out the width out the building. Enough gone to peer bluntly into the interior of the church. Enough to see in but not close enough to register any blurs. The person edged nearer now, creeping up on the decayed establishment as a hyena would to an injured springbok.

Nearing the front threshold the person side-stepped over the conjested rubble. On reaching the spoiled wall the person looped their head in through a windowless recess,scanning the immediate interior. Assured it was empty, the person breached the boundary.

The layout of the church was conventional. A lengthy nave stretching the entirety of the building with a west and east wing attached either side of it closer towards the altar. A common trait depicting the church in the position of a crucifix. Rows of wooden pews lined the inside. Strangely they seemed appropriately fitting being vacant.

A thick mist smogged the surroundings resigning the person to the use of shortsight. Plagued in gloominess,apart from the intermittent streaks of sunlight penetrating the deplorable roof overhead. Ravens perched themselves on wooden supports above. Cawing and cackling relentlessly making the situation no less ominous and nerving. Marble statues depicting religious characters hunched upon raised podiums stared lifelessly on as this unknown being made their way northwards through the church. Heading to the altar.

Steadily creeping nearer, the person stepped into one of the descending glints of light from the roof. Unveiling their identity to the world.

The person was a man. An old man. His skin was wrinkled drooping low under his stubbled chin. His hair was stark white, like a bag of flour that had been sprinkled out skilfully across his ancient head. His shoulders,arms and legs appeared withered but capable of some suspension. He carried a walking stick. A commodity considering the abnormal gait. He was no more than five feet away from the altar when he came to a complete halt.

He stood transfixed upon this position in the context of a trained military figure. Straight and stiffened. He had left his walking stick behind him in the front row of the wooden pews only fifteen feet back. The man paused. In thought. Fixed upon the middle of the nave aisle he turned and faced the wall from which he entered. Again,another pause.

Suddenly.............

"Two feet forward,"the man omitted. "Five feet left,"he spoke again. "Six feet in reverse,"he finally exerted. As the man blurted his murmurings he followed his words like a trail. Carefully stepping in miniature goose step manner enhancing the methodical appearance. He was now placed extremely close to the front row of pews on the eastern section of the desolate edifice. He stopped. Another pause.

He crouched low to the ground sliding his hands across the marble floor. The ground was cold and frigid and riddled with cracks. Again the man paused, this time peering around him to see if his status still remained solitary. It
was. Reaching across the man located a niche in the floor and followed it along drawing his fingers along the line towards himself. He continued the line until it let his fingers rest in a tiny recess in the niche. This was the spot. He peered down. Its only inches away,he thought.

Wrapping his index finger sturdily into the recess he clasped the interior and raised the marble tile beneath his fingers. The grind of marble upon the stone below it sent a goosebump chill meandering up the mans senile backbone. His pale hands shook frantically as he gazed downward.

Plunging his eyeline down the man glared at his objective. His hands continued to quiver. Staring up at him was complete nostalgic familiarity. Below rested an ornate metallic box. Embedded in the copper cover were spiralled celtic designs protruding out from the face of the box like braille. The rims of the container were still rugged and bent outward making the top wobbly and uneasy upon the apex. Still the same,he recollected. "But how did it get here?,he exclaimed to himself in unabridged bewilderment. Total confusion immersed the man..............

Two weeks earlier..........

"Whiskey,Jack?,"enquired the barman. The old man,now unveiled to be a man named Jack,wheeled and nodded in acquiesce. As Jack intoxicated himself he sat in reminiscence. Thinking of the life that had so painfully crawled by. Observing the plethora of youth surrounding him in the claustrophobic tavern. His eyes darted around, surveying the cultural colloquialism occuring close by. Sitting idle,watching in ferocious hatred, the people innocently mingling. He had no propensity to be gregarious. The flux of smoke gushing through the cavernous chamber in the tavern did not help either. Passive smoke. `What does it matter anyway`,he thought. `I,ll be dead soon.........`

As the ninety one year old Jack sat,absorbing two of the most common killers known to man,a shady character materialised behind him. The man plodded himself onto the adjacent barstool. He signalled to the barman. The barman was hasty in his response wheeling down the counter at the mans bid. "I,ll have what he,s having,"ordered the mysterious man. Turning,Jake,as his name tag said,retrieved the bottle of Jack Daniels from the wall and poured the contents into a glass. Spinning back to him he handed the man the drink and headed back down to the more sociable end of the counter. `How ironic,`Jack considered,`I didnt even realise I was drinking this. Subtle suicide,`he smirked as he drank the brand with his name tied to it.

Now Jack became perceptive of the man next to him. He could not have appeared more formal. He wore striking black shoes. Suave,office like trousers,with a maroon,leather belt at the waist. His shirt was "Kartel" over which went his slender low hanging overcoat which he had just a moment ago taken off and put on the chair one place further down. A Louis Vuitton rolex was atttached to his left wrist. It twinkled blindingly,despite the dim twilight emanating throughout the room. And to top it off the man wore a jet black homberg which he hung loosely down over the front of his face,hiding his identity. At first Jack was apprehensive of the mans prescence. But soon afterwards he dislodged the thought from his mind. More concerned about his own personal thoughts,which currently, he was draining down his gullet, accompanied by the scorch of Jack Daniels.

The unknown figure made relentless attempts of conversation but Jack continuously wandered aimlessly into his personal realm of nostalgic negativity. Increasingly becoming reminiscent. Random memories floating in and out of his mind scanning the eternity that had not so quickly went by. Life.Excruciating life.It had not been a pleasant experience. But at least,he thought,he had endured some level of being.Despite it being a one of overloaded antagonism.

Now Jacks mysterious guest seemed to be gradually becoming impatient. Tapping grimly upon the oak counter. Still he payed no attention. Obviously the man had become resigned to his last alternative option to grasp Jacks attention-because of what he did next.

Hemingway

Succumbed to his conclusive option. The man turned facing directly into Jacks wrinkled face. A last preference. Full scale confrontation. His hat still hung over his face shading himself behind a dim crimson glow. Jack still faced forward. Despite his unveiled face Jack knew the man was as solemn as an army general. Still looking forward. The man leaned ominously closer and began to speak...........

"Have you ever hated anything,?"the man said. A difficult question for some. `What havent I hated,?`thought Jack. The man waited in silence for a response. "What does it matter if I hate anything?". He paused."Im an old man. Me hating anything now is obsolete." He paused again. "An old mans hate means nothing. It bothers nobody. Just a mere trifle in todays world,so permeated with youth." His head still hung behind the hat. "Well thats an interesting theory. But......." Jack intervened. "Its not a theory. Its reality. You might learn that someday,"proclaimed Jack,who now had turned to face the uncanny arrival. The man then slowly reeled his right arm inside his coat pocket ,which he had just retrieved from the other stool. He drew out something small. Something brown. An envelope. He layed it down on the oak counter in front of him and left it there. He stared longingly at it. Jack wondered what was going on? What this guy wanted? Nothing,seemingly. Then,without speaking the man slid the envelope across the counter. Still Jack had no idea what was happening. It sat idle in front of him a brief moment. Glaring up at him almost ready to speak. He picked it up. He scanned the envelope all over. It had no writing or information of any kind. "Whats this?",Jack queried to the man. There was more silence. Jack was still observing the flat package in his hands. "Goodbye,Jack". The characters words came as a murmur to him because of his current confusion. But then it hit him...... "Wai.......t". But as Jack rolled his eyes upward again the man was gone wheeling back into the cold,damp night. Vanished. Like a ghost. Jack sat a moment,cursing that the man had left. He squandered his chance. But the real thought that occupied Jacks mind was much more disturbing. Much more quizzical. The mans last words.`Goodbye Jack,`he thought. At no point ever since the man had arrived and left had Jack told him his name. It struck him hard. An overwhelming wave of paranoia billowed around his body. Again,an icy chill was trickling up his back. Immersed in fear. Had this man been stalking him? Was he an assassin? Who was he?

Pushing the the stupidity of the thought from his mind,Jack wheeled back to the matter at hand. The envelope. It was still in his hands. Tauntingly staring up at him. He pondered what was inside. He had to open it. Jack cautiously peeled the sealing flap from the back of the envelope. Inside was a single sheet of paper with writing on both sides. Jack surveyed the sheet a few moments,half expecting a bomb to be still inside the sheath,considering the mans concluding words. He again pushed the paranoid thought from his mind. He began to read........



Now,vacating the mental thoughts swirling menacingly around him, Jack was back, staring down at the metallic box inside the brooding gloominess of the church interior. This box, Jack thought had been the only thing that had ever offered him any glint of happiness in life. He had kept small plastic figurines inside. Soldiers. He played all day and night imagining warfare scenarios and enacting them into his own world to do battle. Arranging artillery. Forming ranks. It had been his heaven on earth,ironic considering the barbarity of the enactions.

He crouched low on his senile knees retrieving the casing under the floor. Standing back upright he limped slowly over to the front row of pews on the eastern wing. He sat down placing the box next to him. Again his tendency to pause occured. He stripped the cover from the box. Gaping in Jack became swallowed by a cyclone of elation. There standing in the hollow of the box stood all the generals,lieutenants,front liners,canons,tanks. The savoured memories from decades ago came flooding in. Still perfect he beamed glaring into the box. `Too perfect,`he smiled, almost reluctant to peel his hand in and touch the contents. But as his hand descended into the case something else caught the mans attention. There was something resting beneath the army of models. He slid it out from underneath them. `Oh God,` he thought. `Not another one`. It was another sheet of paper. This time it was a much smaller sheet with only one side of script. The thoughts of the letter he received at the bar came rushing in.............

In that letter Jack was ripped into a world of temptation. The letter had proclaimed all about his unwanted past and that it could free him from a world of tormented misery. Reminding him of his meagre life amongst fosterings who, so unwillingly, had taken care of him. It had been what had directed him out to the solitude of his current position,promising not to be disappointing. He would have been happy with a paper free prize.

Now back in a similar situation Jack was apprehensive. He could not have been more happy. But still the paper was there and real. He unfolded it. And for the second time in recent succession he began to read.....

Sitting in the front row Jack became stiff. Unable to think. Unable to move. A statue.Frozen in time. He didnt know what had just happened. Sitting silently for over an hour. The sun had dived in behind the cattle grazed hills. A cool,serene night was after appearing outside. The gale had abated. The sky was dotted with millions of twinkling lights glowing constantly. Tears welled up in his eyes and a gust of eternal tranquility clenched to his body. As this box had so often delivered happiness to Jack throughout the barren emptiness of his youth it turned out it had returned to fulfil its duty one more time. The paper informed him that behind this church lay a graveyard. And in that, were the graves of his biological parents of whom he never knew.

Odaise Gaelach

The plot's good, but I thought that the writing was unnecessarily complex. Simplier is often better, I find, when writing stories.

As an example:

Hemingway wrote:

Again the man paused, this time peering around him to see if his status still remained solitary. It was.

I think that it would have been better as, "Again the man paused, peering around him to make sure that he was still alone. He was."

I don't think that the story's bad, but I think that you should re-write it and make the writing a little simplier, then you'd have a great story on you?

OctavarIan

I agree with Odaise about the complexity of the passage. The first thing that popped into my head when reading it was "This is overkill, the guy is trying too hard." Complex descriptions work best when used somewhat sparsely. They lose their power when used constantly, like you've done. There are some fantastic descriptions in there, but they don't stand out as much as they could.

Apart from that though it's a very interesting piece. I'm looking forward to reading more from you!

Hemingway

Yeah like I said at the top of the posting,my intention was to deliberately leave it as it was from the initial draft.This way I could be pre warned of anything to look out for.Maybe had I of re wrote it myself I may have noticed it.But time is of the essence these days people.Many hands make light work.Thanks for the boost.I'm really just reading at the moment for a while to get the flavour of my genre so that when it actually comes down to writing more large scale pieces I'll know whats needed and how it works.Thanks