Short Story - Come all and criticise please

North of 32

This is a short story I wrote during a burst of 'creativity'. I'm reluctant to give it context because I feel that would bias someone's reading. Plus, if you have to tell someone what a story is "supposed" to mean then that really just defeats the purpose. And I'd prefer to just know if my suspicions are correct and it's simply awful.

It's currently around 350 words long. I'm debating trying to cut that down to 100, or maybe even converting it into a poem. Anyway, cease of the jibber-jabber and read forth the words I arranged.

Poor

He brought his eyes slowly up by body, emanating and reabsorbing the pleasure he felt from the position of powerlessness into which he had forced me. He had lied betrayed and left my family out in the burning wild, the dead wild, among the carcasses of gaping souls with no blood left to bleed and no measure of hope to scratch at. In the time it took him to meet my eyes, the wrathful flames of hatred had speared up inside me. Loathing I thought I had long since banished from my pathetic framework burst through my chest like a battering ram, wrought from wood, iron and revenge.

He stared through my pupils, almost blankly. What he could not see was the anger almost leaking from my ducts. I wanted to reach out, to wrap my hands around his throat. I wanted to press and squeeze until both my arms and his lungs were empty. I wanted to replace that blank look in his eyes with one of deep dread, a look informed by that animalistic instinct that tells a person they are about to die, and there is nothing they can do about it. I wanted to hear the pathetic reaches for a squeal from his poisonous throat. Everything was absolute. This man before me had to die. I would administer the death and my soul would reap the vengeance. I lingered, hesitated. My body shook and my mind trembled.

It took all my weakness to know it. There he stood across from me. I stood in answer in front of the man who had destroyed the lives of my family. It took my vulnerability, the sudden and stark rendering of my feeble body and being, for me to realise my strength. I believed my bitterness knew to measure. I believed my injustice was matchless.

The shattering of a belief led me to the exposition of my flaws. To deal in death and judgement, would be to deal in the currency of those who have sold their humanity to fuel their finances. I turned and walked away. Lost, angry, maimed, but penniless.

Hildred

North of 32 wrote: »

. . . Lost, angry, maimed, penniless.

Lovely piece. I like the style, the way the words flow, and I can feel the emotions. It's well written. IMO its a bit too short for a short story, but to cut it back to a poem might leave it skeletal. Could you flesh it out some more, whilst maintaining the angst?

I think perhaps removing a single word (apart from the typos . . . "my" body on line 1, my bitterness knew "no" measure;) ) the "but" in the last line might give dignity to this proud character.

Also, since you speak of strength and the dawning awareness of flaws, would you consider adding power to the list of things you walk away with/as . . . "Lost, angry, maimed, penniless, but powerful/strong/with renewed purpose/in dignity?"
Good luck and keep up the good work.

North of 32

Hildred wrote: »

Lovely piece. I like the style, the way the words flow, and I can feel the emotions. It's well written. IMO its a bit too short for a short story, but to cut it back to a poem might leave it skeletal. Could you flesh it out some more, whilst maintaining the angst?

I think perhaps removing a single word (apart from the typos . . . "my" body on line 1, my bitterness knew "no" measure;) ) the "but" in the last line might give dignity to this proud character.

Also, since you speak of strength and the dawning awareness of flaws, would you consider adding power to the list of things you walk away with/as . . . "Lost, angry, maimed, penniless, but powerful/strong/with renewed purpose/in dignity?"

Good luck and keep up the good work.

Much appreciated! It's my first attempt at fiction in a long time. I have to say I was completely blind to the typos: I was just reading what I knew should be there.

I'm not sure he does walk away with much power, pride of renewed purpose. His life has been ruined and he's seething with hatred. Really all he has to separate himself from the man across from him is that piece of humanity he clings to. A bit bleak but that's how I thought the story should feel.

femur61

I thought this piece was very good and I didn't notice the typos at all, probably because I always have so many.

It is very short for a story but I suppose it would be enough for a flash fiction piece. Fish publishing have competitions in Flash fiction also do a flash fiction course.