'A Very Serious Matter Indeed'

Anto and Moe

'A Very Serious Matter Indeed'

Although her letter was of dire importance, Silvia's attention was, as if by some supernatural force, diverted for a moment to the night sky outside her bedroom window. She watched as dark shapes - bats, she fancied - flitted about in the night sky, as if performing some ancient rite, known only to them and their kind whose practice was forbidden under any light other than that of the full moon.

She soon tired, however, of monitoring these secret rituals and her gaze drifted, like a dying autumn leaf, back to the confines of her own room. She looked down at her writing desk and saw that a sliver of moonlight had slipped through the window whilst she had been distracted and was now running over her own pale fingers, like an enchanted lover desperately trying to grasp her hand. She humoured it for a while, but then withdrew suddenly; for though the light of the moon was softer than that of the sun, it remained of the same breed. No, the external light was a Capulet and she a Montague; the two could never truly be united. The black curtain was therefore pulled tight.

Now that she was in here element, she basked in the darkness as one of the masses might bathe in the sun, poor unenlightened simpletons. But, alas! How the Fates perpetuated her suffering! For her true purpose - to finish her letter - would be near impossible in the darkness, the only state in which she could be truly expressive. She struck a match and brought it over to the wick of her most impressive candle' blood red, with a black inverted crucifix painted on the side. The match and wick met in a fiery kiss igniting the candle. She then shook the flame out of the match, savouring the odour of the smoke curling into her nostrils, before tossing it aside, like a forgotten lover, abandoned, exhausted, its purpose served.

Meanwhile, the candle light flickered about the room, investigating. It found little hospitality on her matt black walls, but slid pleasurably across the black silk sheet that covered her bed. It glinted off her posters, obscuring more than illuminating the handsome face of Captain Jack Sparrow, Legolas, and a frowning, love-sick Spike. She was now ready to continue her letter. She read over what she had already inscribed.

"Dearest Mother,

I should like to begin by thanking you for all the loving care you have bestowed on me over the last thirteen years, but I fear you can never truly understand me. I am therefore leaving home. Please do not try to contact me. I am in love. His name is Mortimus Orlando Elton and he understands me in a way that no one else can. I know that you will disapprove, but you don't know him like I do. He may come across at first as short tempered and feelingless, but...

Here she had paused, distracted by the moonlight, or perhaps turning to it for inspiration; but none had come, so she pressed her pen to the page and continued to write:

".... Underneath he is a caring, gentle man, and I know that I am the one who will make him change. At first I tried to resist it, but he is like a deep well, and I am drowning.

Your Loving Daughter,

Sylvia

Sylvia looked over the letter. She was rather pleased with it. For a moment she regretted that it was to be wasted on a parent, and contemplated bringing it with her. But sense prevailed' and besides, she could always quote the best bits if any opportunity arose to slip it into a conversation without seeming pretentious.

Once she was sure that her bag was packed with all her essentials, she would be able to leave. She looked over its contents: eyeliner pencil; liquid eyeliner; lipstick (black, purple and red); nail varnish (black, purple and red); €25.00. It was all there.

She blew her room an icy kiss goodbye, extinguishing the candle. With some effort, she pushed open her window, her escape rout from the tyranny that had been filing away at her soul for as long as she could remember. She hesitated for a moment; she would certainly miss this room... But then she thought of the adventures that lay ahead, of the castle she was to be mistress of, and peering across infinite forests from its high gothic towers, towers guarded by hideous gargoyles with contorted expressions of stone disgust. Then she thought of Him, of holding her frail white frame against his dark muscularity, and staring deep into his cat-like eyes, and pressing her soft lips against his...

As these thoughts had been flowing through her consciousness, she had been making her way slowly out of her window. She was at this point, however, so intoxicated by them that she over-balanced and. with a tiny shriek, fell from her window edge, followed gradually by the remainder of her long black dress. Fuming, she untangled herself from its lacy intricacies and, brushing herself down, walked boldly and intently into her moonlit kingdom of the night.


- Anto.

[snip- less of the site pimping please. This is not, however, stopping you from posting more. Indeed, feel free. -Sarky]

Da Bounca

What happened next?

Anto and Moe

Well, that's a world of possibilities! I haven't decided what happens next, nor do I intend to. If I find out I'll write another story about it. Maybe she goes home, maybe she lives happily ever after with M, maybe she finds him in the arms of another lover? I don't mind.

MojoMaker

Very indulgent writing and literally riddled with unnecessary similes. A good editor might be able to shape that prose into something entertaining though, so I'd say stick at it, but tone it down a notch. As with most new writers it seems you are trying too hard.

Anto and Moe

Thanks for the constructive crit. very scating though: a "good writer"? Indulgent it admittedly is, but the exagerated 'up itself' language is supposed to reflect the character's personality, I certainly aint being serious with the whole 'like a dying autmn leaf' thing! It's a mockery of the gothic style.
Peace and Love.

Phat Chance

Really liked that, it all just flows. Quite enthralling stuff.

Anto and Moe

Thanking you muchly good Sir!

Shad0r

I liked it and as a representitive sample of a larger work I would definitely be interested in reading more. I love the use of similes in prose when it adds to the image that is being created in my mind. That said if a writer is heavy handed with them it does tend to take away from the imagry being created and thats a shame. In the case of this piece I think you flirted with that line on an occasion or two but over all it didnt annoy me in the slightest. (this may just be due to the length of the piece though...)

That said, Anto I think you've definitely got talent and would love to read more of your stuff. Keep up the good work and I hope you continue to post your stuff up here.

N