The Ending, Or Maybe Somewhere Else
They exploded into the promise of dawn with bleary eyed anticipation. It was a raw March morning, and the wind was crashing into their path with jocular derision. The car sped north with the top down - the biting air gave them a rush of life and a feeling in their hearts which falls into a gap of language. The cardboard cut-out towns rolled by, each with their unique expectancy if viewed close enough. They didn't look close enough. They hurtled through the docile panorama, indifferent to its disquiet charm. An old R.E.M. CD carved its subtle melody in the background. Finally, Claire broke the rapid stillness with a predictably quirky question.
If you could be a piece of candy, what would you be?
After a darting smile, Londen answered,
I'd be a butterfinger.
Why a butterfinger?
They're gross. I don't think anyone would eat me. How 'bout you?
I'd be a jolly rancher.
Go on...
Well, I like the idea of simultaneous tartness and sweetness.
If there was a way to respond to that without insulting you, I'd definitely do it.
Smartass.
Procrastination/free-association was the name of the drive. Though there lingered that constant in Londen's mind. Escape was futile. There would be a confrontation with himself soon. The campy prattle with Claire was the perfect palate cleanser.
Their car crept further through the playful hills, and the terrain became more enticingly violent. When they were sufficiently engulfed by the fantastic maw of wilderness, they stopped the car and began walking. The unspoiled beauty was a bit of a shock to Londen and he felt a certain admiration and fear for the natural earth. There was a thought of profound intertwinement, though a feeling of being a foreigner in a strange land. Claire ran ahead, and Londen followed. They began climbing just as the sun was touching the peaks with its late morning passion. Neither of them spoke. They scrambled up the range. Visions began darting in and out of Londen's mind. Suddenly, Claire stopped and spoke to him with a look of rare earnestness.
It's strange, isn't it?
Londen didn't question her, only nodded. He felt a singular tenderness for her just then. He knew they were both thinking of the ineluctable expanse - the mysterious, beautiful and strange life that blossomed and struggled all around them and in their souls. They silently walked back to the car as if speaking would disrupt that rare wavelength emitting to and from each other.
The gracious benefactor night returned as they drove home. It came with all its profane magnitude. As men sleep in their glib sentimentality of moonlight, his inner light was lighted disproportionately to the sun. The tide of lunar influence flowed to him like the Nile. Now, he decided what he must do. Bags were to be packed. He must leave and make a life for himself as all men do. Alone.
If you could be a piece of candy, what would you be?
After a darting smile, Londen answered,
I'd be a butterfinger.
Why a butterfinger?
They're gross. I don't think anyone would eat me. How 'bout you?
I'd be a jolly rancher.
Go on...
Well, I like the idea of simultaneous tartness and sweetness.
If there was a way to respond to that without insulting you, I'd definitely do it.
Smartass.
Procrastination/free-association was the name of the drive. Though there lingered that constant in Londen's mind. Escape was futile. There would be a confrontation with himself soon. The campy prattle with Claire was the perfect palate cleanser.
Their car crept further through the playful hills, and the terrain became more enticingly violent. When they were sufficiently engulfed by the fantastic maw of wilderness, they stopped the car and began walking. The unspoiled beauty was a bit of a shock to Londen and he felt a certain admiration and fear for the natural earth. There was a thought of profound intertwinement, though a feeling of being a foreigner in a strange land. Claire ran ahead, and Londen followed. They began climbing just as the sun was touching the peaks with its late morning passion. Neither of them spoke. They scrambled up the range. Visions began darting in and out of Londen's mind. Suddenly, Claire stopped and spoke to him with a look of rare earnestness.
It's strange, isn't it?
Londen didn't question her, only nodded. He felt a singular tenderness for her just then. He knew they were both thinking of the ineluctable expanse - the mysterious, beautiful and strange life that blossomed and struggled all around them and in their souls. They silently walked back to the car as if speaking would disrupt that rare wavelength emitting to and from each other.
The gracious benefactor night returned as they drove home. It came with all its profane magnitude. As men sleep in their glib sentimentality of moonlight, his inner light was lighted disproportionately to the sun. The tide of lunar influence flowed to him like the Nile. Now, he decided what he must do. Bags were to be packed. He must leave and make a life for himself as all men do. Alone.
posted by ... at 11:33 PM
8 Comments:
That's the sketch, tale, character study, or whatever. Done for now, but I'll leave the door open a crack in case I feel like getting back to it. Thanks for bearing with me!
Do- just a little, just in case.
I so want to read more but its perfect as it is. Better than expected. Like a sharp lingering slap on the face which you crave so much from that unnamed thing...
And a new story begins, yes?
inkblot - Thanks for reading. Like a sharp lingering slap - I like that. A lot.
I think a new story is in order. Writing that was rather enjoyable.
I enjoyed the play of Londen and Claires candy conversation. The story as a whole felt like it's going to continue for you. Like it is your journey. In other words it felt real. I'm glad to have had the opportunity to find you and I'll come back again soon to read more of your writings.
boulies - Thanks for stopping by! The story is fiction, though I suppose there's a little of us in everything we create. (Nothing like throwing some truisms out there, eh!)
it works so well BECAUSE it feels real. it feels as though, fictin or not, that you are recounting an ancedote rather than creating a tale, good.
Very nice! A bit deep and heavy, but blame it on my incapability to digest things easily! The interplay of words is good. And I hope you write more such stories where you keep searching. After all, aren't stories meant to be that way?
cocaine jesus - Just trying to experiment with different writing styles. Trying to have a little fun with it, though the fun probably didn't show in this series.
stormy zephyr - I think you're right. I tend to find people's journeys fascinasting. There should never be an end.
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