You open with no questions in the air
then let destruction leap out from the bag.
But on we go, with nothing much to fare;
We see our boring selves. It starts to drag.
Then, from the shadows of the middle lines,
we look inside and find unbridled fear.
There is no place for us to cut and run.
No moment’s pause to stop and shed a tear.
The world is joined forever in a flash
as mushroom clouds grab all our train of thought.
It's then we see the sudden wild crash
which spreads before us all at what is wrought.
Your observation in the final line,
needs no beguiling magic to define.
What a delightful tale of two brothers and one which all of us you have brothers can relate to. I remember a time when my older brother talked me into disposing of a glass bottle that had contained an awful tasting medicine. I threw it into a grassy area where later, the sun shining through it started a wildfire. A neighbor told our dad that she saw one of us put it there but didn't know which it was. I learned fifty years later that my brother, to keep me out of trouble, told our dad that he did it.
Surprises come in all flavors. Johnny just thought he had the difficult end of it. We all had a big shock together. But, think about poor Angela, she has yet to get the word and her father is the one to have to tell her. Not only is she pregnant but she's lost Billy in the process and is going to be stuck with this irresponsible Johnny. Or, maybe not. Her dad is not threatening a shotgun wedding. Maybe she can just stay home. or marry Billy, anyway.
There are sure lot of possibilities for this story to go on.
Chapter 14 is the first of this story that I've read so I don't have much of the handle on the storyline but this flows smoothly and I felt as if I was into the story.
I hope I have the time to get back and read the earlier chapters.
Dialog is where you really shine! In fact, I believe it's your writing forte.
As an American, I encountered the phrase "the hump" for the first time. Thanks for the enlightenment.
our development of a villain does give us an opportunity to view how and why the character came to be the way he is. It also lets us consider several aspects of storytelling and how to present them to the reader.
First, consider the formatting. No paragraph breaks make it nearly impossible for the reader to keep the place. The second is the telling style. It may come across as boring to some readers.
The elements are here to convey your message, but, it needs rewritten from an action Point of view to make it more interesting.
There's a lot wrapped up in this short=short article on an important subject. We not only, get examples which will remind us of ourselves, but we also receive an example of a plausible solution. That's just the thing we are all looking for.
We're told money cannot make us happy
but, lack of it sure makes things crappy
We put it away
for that rainy day.
Then find that we're just being sappy.
Now, how does that fit with the world?
The stock market jigs and it twirls.
Living high on the hog
we sleep like a log.
but still have to hock momma's pearls.
The question booms; the answer dooms.
Where are those gods of joy?
The eldest says, their fortune looms
But, is he just a crazy boy?
Dreams arise from decayed wants in life
left screaming in the night for all to hear.
Will turning up the volume end the strife,
or make the coal dust dance as something dear?
The generations pass but not alone.
He takes a load of wealth upon his back.
We hear no feeble cry nor moan and groan.
He's died! Now, who will keep them all on track?
The coal dust settles on the mansion floor,
with memories a wealth that is no more
In few words, you have shown the path quite well
we ponder raindrops and what we should feel
when summer's broiling heat begins to tell
and I Will boldly makes its last appeal.
Reluctantly, there is one thing to say.
If broken into quatrains this verse might
present more like the standard versal play,
and add some to the reader's great delight.
To non-believers like myself, it seems
apparent this condition can not be.
For when the light of understanding beams
we think solution’s there for all to see.
We find conditions such as you describe
as gone when truth exposes where they hide.
There must be more to this distinctive vibe
than something used to conquer and divide.
But slowly, just a bit may spill our way
and we grasp to the slippery sloping fact
that there is really light within the gray
and though we cannot see it’s not an act.
I hope the skills you need are tucked away
within the in-depth look, we see today/
We think of nightingales, but is that right?
with notions everywhere dispensing dread.
Tradition has it they will sing at night,
but can we trust a single word that's said?
One listener placed a hand upon his hip,
grinning, heard them tumbling to the bottom,
His smirk enhanced, he curled his upper lip,
and said, "I think this time we really got 'em."
The birds arose and chased them all back home
then sang for joy while hearers held their heads
then plugged their ears of each of their dome.
but silence is the thing the listener dreads.
We listen through the years for one more sound.
we can't believe a single bit is true.
For those old birds will never come around
to shake our fantasy with what they do.
Another premise muddies up the rules.
A winning strategy, or just more grief?
The author signals all us nodding fools
to jump right in expecting quick relief.
Assumption politics now steals the show
and points the way down still another track
where party handles show we do not know.
Let's throw assumptions in the trash out back.
Another feeble play to fix the blame.
We'll play the NAZI card, without a hitch.
Can broken propaganda win the game?
No? Then toss eugenics squarely in the ditch.
Assumptions of what's true belong in church,
and leave the left's assumers in a lurch.
The gift of love cries out, both loud and clear
though we must read it through to find the why.
So, on we go, with nothing much to cheer.
We see our boring selves and start to sigh.
It's when we see the hostage stake its claim,
we look inside and find a thought to fear.
Love gives no chance for us to cut and run
till sadness claims the right to one last tear.
We see that empty stone along the way.
The sinking POV wants all we know,
depriving life its chance to save the day.
We’re cut off from the final chance to grow.
The life-long search for endless love is fine,
but that's not what those empty stones design.
A fragile hope arrives and we all cheer
The glass heart cracks as we have seen before.
The stone of trust compartment lends an ear
but hears no evil nor new hope for more.
We, clueless optimists, turn down the fear
and send forth shouts of "Broken down again."
It scatters us aside from what we hear,
acknowledging our longing for a win.
The search for beating hearts not shards of glass
shows us that mother nature needs a hand
to plant the flowers and to make them grow
to something so magnificent and grand
You show us of the weak and fragile hope
supported by the strength with which to cope.
To be honest, and this has nothing to do with your writing talent, the first thing I did when I opened your story was wince in shock. No line breaks make it nearly impossible to keep one's place and become engaged with the story. Making your story easy to read is one way to keep your readers interested. Leaving it the way it is will most assuredly make it more difficult to get meaningful feedback. Notice that no line breaks make it difficult for you to tell if said anything worth reading. Good luck, Norbanus
As nature carves the stone both orange and deep
We stand in awe, but cannot see them grow
The wind cries for the parts that we can keep
Irregular and patient is the flow.
When I find poet's words strong and sublime
I wonder at my change of worldly view
A few words turn our thoughts away from time.
These gems not only shine but blossom too
We watch for swirling masses to appear
but never see a speck of all that mess
remember how this happens for a year
and park our current needs as they progress
Those walls grow thin, but we can watch all day,
and never find a single word to say.
Those searching for the backdoor to reverse a sentient robot run amok should pay a visit to this imaginative wordsmith. We have another example of Sci-Fi getting ahead of Sci.
I wish I could find a few opportunities for improvement, but I have no suggestion. You are way ahead of me.
No rescue in sight for this doomed resident of the twilight zone.
We talk a lot about stories that the reader cannot put down. We have one of those in The Remedy of Space. You've made perfect use of the prompt and I want to read more from this delightfully skilled author.
You've managed to perfectly capture the tone of faery lore through this story/poem. You utilize repetition well with "Back in the mists of Ireland" which acts as a refrain for the poem. There's some really nice flow and syntax. it was a joy to read.
The green-eyed monster screams, but we go on
and wonder at the sadness on the news.
I turn my mind to thoughts of being gone
to shuffle off this pain and pay my dues.
The pierced and burning heart seems such a mess
to follow in the lead right to the grave,
and drive apologies and build distress
in places where the muse can still behave.
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