With today's blog I thought I'd try something a little different. This is more of an exercise for myself than anything else. The following is a brief piece of fiction written by me specifically for this blog. I didn't "get it" from anywhere else other than the dark, twisted recesses of my mind.
Personally I feel it's good. I feel it's rather vague with the characters which is basically what I wanted. No description is given of them aside from the fact that the main character is referred to as "I" (in the first person). So when "I" am reading it...it is about me (I guess?). If you are reading it...well, I guess you get the point.
I tend to; when I write detail about my characters; mention what they look like, wear, height, hair, etc. The characters you can visualize as that is something I enjoy in other books when I read them. However I feel that I tend to leave out the surroundings in the past, sometimes I'm more aware I'm doing that than others...but not always. So I thought I'd work on that the goings on in and with the environment. As I say it was more of an exercise for myself to see what I could come up with, nothing more. I hope you enjoy it...curious who is standing on the other side of "your" door.
I'm standing in the living room of a small, one roomed log cabin. It's walls are rounded with large wood knots in them. The wood is smooth, cool to the touch and well worn. The lighting is dark, with the exception of a decent fire going in the fireplace, there are no lights. Across the room I can make out the outline of a bed against the wall, with what appears to be a red quilt covering it. At first because it's so dark in the room, I think perhaps there are no windows. However as I turn around to face the door, I realize there are two small windows on either side. They're laden with snow, so it is difficult to see out and only adds to the darkness of the interior.
There is a massive snowstorm going on outside, and the wind is whipping and wailing around the exterior of the cabin. I reach for the door nob which is freezing under my grasp and open the door. I'm expecting someone. I stick my head out into the storm; and even though it is getting close to dark; the snow is blinding. The wailing wind plays a morose tune as it howls. I am concerned, the person I am waiting for has not yet arrived. And they should have...a while ago.
I manage to get the door shut but not without a fight. I'm pushing hard against the door...the wind pushing back just as forcefully. I hear it latch, the lock catches and I relax leaning against the door.
I sit in the dark on the couch by the fire now...warming myself. I hold a mug in my hand, tracing the lip of the mug with lazy circles with my fingertip. I am completely lost in the fire. It crackles, pops and sizzles and I am mesmerized by the flames dance. I slowly move the mug ascloseasthis to my lips but do not drink, my breath causes a ripple effect on the liquid. I can see my breath or perhaps it is the steam from my drink as I break from my reverie.
I sigh heavily. I furrow my brow. 'He should be here by now' I think to myself. Until that moment, I'm unaware that it is a "he" that I've been expecting. Why isn't he here yet? Is he lost in the snow? I grow even more concerned, or more so than I already am. I sigh again.
I'm fidgeting now. Tapping my foot, spinning my ring and chewing on the inside of my cheek. I lean back on the couch momentarily and twirl my hair in my fingertips as the flame does it's seductive dance again trying to captivate my attention. It doesn't work. I stand up once more and attempt to look out the window. It is dark as pitch out now, and yet I think I see movement. My pulse quickens. Is he here? Finally?
I move to the door quickly and open it. A dark shadow; only lit by the fire from behind me; darkens my doorstep.
His back is to the door. The collar of his jacket is up to give him some protection from the elements. He is covered in snow. His dark, thick wool coat is white with snow. The wind blows wildly continuing it's tune of morose, mournful moans. A whole and whistle follow adding their input to the durge-like sound.
Finally he turns around to face me. The snow in his hair begins to melt, making his hair wet, it drips down his face as he smiles at me. Snow blows into the cabin from outside. I am captivated by his smile. And I; like the snow that has gotten too close to the flame; melt.
One Last Glimpse,