Post by The Smurf on Oct 31, 2008 22:03:01 GMT -5
I've been getting back into writing a lot more since my little break after refining Snow Globes, and I just cranked out this little piece today. I'm pretty happy with it. I'd love to hear some opinions on it, though.
Where the Pink Fishes Go [Approx 2000 words]
With a whisper, the wind softly sung a slow rhythm to the raging river. The cloudless sky hung high over the hills on which the white cottage was located, and the breeze blew the bright green leaves of the trees into the clear water as it rushed along. Little Stanley silently sat at the water’s edge, gazing fixedly at the frolicking fishes as they swiftly swam down the stream. Little Stanley loved looking at the pink fishes as they paraded past, and he smiled sweetly as they sailed by. For countless hours he would watch the fishes winding their way through the water, wondering always where they went. One day little Stanley asked his mother where the pink fishes go, but neither she nor his father knew.
Little Stanley lived in the white cottage for five years with his mother and father who loved each other very much. The cottage was on the outskirts of a small neighborhood where the happy people smiled, and even the sad people smiled too when little Stanley talked to them. He would ask, “How are you?” and they would answer “I’m fine,” and he would smile and they would smile and he would walk happily on his way. One day when he came home from playing in the neighborhood he saw his father crying and his mother lying still on the bed. He remembered that his mother had been sick for a long time and she had stopped eating. Little Stanley waited for her to get out of bed, but she never moved. He asked his father why she would not move and he cried some more.
After his mother was buried he lived with his father for a few months. But because his father loved his mother so very much he could not live without her, and he died of a broken heart very shortly after. A nice little family from the neighborhood who knew little Stanley very well took care of him and gave him a home. But soon the father of that family got a new job and they and little Stanley moved away from the hills and the raging river with the pink fishes and got a new house in a city far away. Little Stanley grew up in that city and went to school there, and he was treated very well by his foster family, but every so often he cried when he missed the cottage and the river and the fishes.
As Stanley grew up he began to forget about the cottage and the river and the fishes, but very often he would smell the scent of water and remember his home in the hills. He learned in school that smell was the sense closest tied to memories. He tried not to remember the hills but every time he smelled the water he remembered them. One day he was playing with his foster sister in the street and she asked him if he remembered the old neighborhood but he did not. He only remembered the river and the fishes, and the smell of the water. She said she remembered the neighborhood and that he would walk around and make the sad people happy. He said you can’t make the sad people happy, but she said yes you can and she remembered it. He said she was a liar.
When Stanley graduated from high school he left the city and moved to a small town by himself, where the rent was affordable for someone without a degree. He worked as a laborer and used his hands to nail the wood together so that the houses would not fall down. Working in the sun all day turned his face red and many people asked him if he was Irish. He told them he might be but he did not know where he was from. Stanley passed his days as a laborer for many, many years, and he began to grow hunched from all of the tedious work. One day a mean man saw his deformity and asked him if he would like a bell to ring, but Stanley ignored him and kept to his work.
Stanley never married, but he was very fond of his foster sister who visited him very often. She never married either, and she lived by herself in a town near Stanley’s town. He thought once that maybe he was in love with her, but that was only for a short time. On his birthday one year she gave him a wind chime made of pine cones, and he hung it on his windowsill and every time the wind blew he would hear the delicate sound of the pine cones in the breeze. The sound reminded him of her whenever he was alone.
After a long time of hard work and little spending Stanley saved up enough money to take a vacation. He left his town and enjoyed a week by the ocean, watching the ships and the sailors at the harbor and smelling the fishes and the water in the air. The smell made him recall a memory that had long been buried deep in his mind. He remembered for the first time in years the cottage and the river and the fishes, and a deep yearning to return to the hills pulled at his heart all through his vacation. When he returned to his home and saw his foster sister again he told her that he was going to go back to the cottage. She asked him if he knew where to go and he said no, but he would find his way.
He left his home in the spring when it was warm because he did not want to travel in the snow. He first wanted to return to the city where he grew up, because maybe from there he could remember where the hills were, so he travelled along the roads and even though he walked slowly he still made good time. His age slowed him down some, too, but he trudged forward and fought against the elements holding him back. When he reached the city he saw the familiar streets and houses that he knew from his childhood. He found his foster parents’ house and stayed there for a few days. It was the first time he saw his reflection since leaving, and he was surprised to see the rings growing around his tired eyes and the color leaving his wrinkled face. His foster parents told him that the hills were a long way north, and so he left shortly after and resumed his journey.
One day as he walked up the road he saw a dying phoenix perched on a branch, its burning body leaving a pile of ashes in its wake. He watched as the phoenix burned away, feathers and all, wondering if the death was painful for the bird. When the flames died away there was a soft chirp and Stanley saw an ugly head poke out from the ashes. The baby phoenix stared at Stanley with its bald head cocked to one side, as if trying to recall his face from an old memory. The bird dug itself out of the ash and scampered along, and Stanley smiled at it and continued on his way.
The next day he watched the snake swallow its own tail. It hung limply from the branch as the phoenix did, and it grabbed its tail with its mouth and swallowed it. Stanley stared at the spectacle and wondered how it could be possible that the snake could eat itself but never fully swallow its own body. He thought that maybe the sight was a travesty and wondered if Kekulé was behind it, but he marveled still at the uniqueness of the sight before him. Gazing at the snake he admired the perfect circle that it formed around the branch, a circle so perfect no artist could ever match it. The snake never acknowledged him as he stared, and so he continued onward to the hills.
As the hot summer wore on Stanley grew worried that he would not find the cottage and the river and the fishes. He travelled for days and spent nights in little inns along the roadside but nobody knew of the cottage. He asked each of the innkeepers if he was near a river, but they always said that he was not. He began to give up hope and worried that he would die of old age before reaching the cottage, for his once red face had grown white and the hump on his back had become much more prominent. His pace also slowed and he grew weary much sooner than he used to, and he stopped to rest at least twice as often as before.
It was a day in the middle of August when he noticed the scent of the river filling his nostrils, and he knew it was the right river because smell is tied to memory and he remembered that smell. So he wandered in search of that river for a long time. When he found it he began to follow it north, hoping that the cottage was not already behind him. He followed the river for days and occasionally he peeked into it and saw the pink fishes swimming against the current and he wondered why they would do that when it would be much easier to swim with the current.
On a day at the beginning of September Stanley saw the stones that marked the graves of his mother and father. After all the time that had passed he was surprised that the gravestones had not been disturbed. He felt the breeze blowing his graying hair and heard the wind whispering to the raging river just as he remembered it. Then, into his view came the white cottage and the hills on which it was built, and he saw the spot by the riverbed where he used to watch the fishes. Playing by the riverside were two young children and watching them from the front door of the white cottage was presumably their mother.
After a moment she noticed Stanley and she asked him who he was. He answered that he used to live in this cottage when he was very young and his mother and his father both died here and their graves were further down the riverbed. The woman smiled and Stanley asked if she and the children lived here now and she said yes. He said it was nice to see the children playing by the water like he used to. She invited him inside the cottage and called for her children to come inside for supper.
Stanley saw that the cottage did not change very much from what he remembered, and he was glad about it. The mother told him that he should sup with the family and he did, forgetting how wonderful it was to eat real food, but he did not eat much because he was old and no longer had a big appetite. She asked him if he felt all right and he said he did, but it was a lie. He had been growing weaker by the day and had very little strength left in his body. But he did not want the mother to know that because he did not want her to worry.
After dinner she asked him if he would like to sleep in his old bedroom and Stanley thought that that was a very nice gesture. He slowly climbed the stairs and found his old bedroom, and not much had changed about it despite the passage of time. He lay down on the bed and pulled up the sheets to comfort himself, and he closed his eyes and began to drift off to sleep. The long awaited sleep came almost immediately and his last conscious thought was the realization that, in completing the circle, only the departed know where the pink fishes go.
-the smurf
Where the Pink Fishes Go [Approx 2000 words]
With a whisper, the wind softly sung a slow rhythm to the raging river. The cloudless sky hung high over the hills on which the white cottage was located, and the breeze blew the bright green leaves of the trees into the clear water as it rushed along. Little Stanley silently sat at the water’s edge, gazing fixedly at the frolicking fishes as they swiftly swam down the stream. Little Stanley loved looking at the pink fishes as they paraded past, and he smiled sweetly as they sailed by. For countless hours he would watch the fishes winding their way through the water, wondering always where they went. One day little Stanley asked his mother where the pink fishes go, but neither she nor his father knew.
Little Stanley lived in the white cottage for five years with his mother and father who loved each other very much. The cottage was on the outskirts of a small neighborhood where the happy people smiled, and even the sad people smiled too when little Stanley talked to them. He would ask, “How are you?” and they would answer “I’m fine,” and he would smile and they would smile and he would walk happily on his way. One day when he came home from playing in the neighborhood he saw his father crying and his mother lying still on the bed. He remembered that his mother had been sick for a long time and she had stopped eating. Little Stanley waited for her to get out of bed, but she never moved. He asked his father why she would not move and he cried some more.
After his mother was buried he lived with his father for a few months. But because his father loved his mother so very much he could not live without her, and he died of a broken heart very shortly after. A nice little family from the neighborhood who knew little Stanley very well took care of him and gave him a home. But soon the father of that family got a new job and they and little Stanley moved away from the hills and the raging river with the pink fishes and got a new house in a city far away. Little Stanley grew up in that city and went to school there, and he was treated very well by his foster family, but every so often he cried when he missed the cottage and the river and the fishes.
As Stanley grew up he began to forget about the cottage and the river and the fishes, but very often he would smell the scent of water and remember his home in the hills. He learned in school that smell was the sense closest tied to memories. He tried not to remember the hills but every time he smelled the water he remembered them. One day he was playing with his foster sister in the street and she asked him if he remembered the old neighborhood but he did not. He only remembered the river and the fishes, and the smell of the water. She said she remembered the neighborhood and that he would walk around and make the sad people happy. He said you can’t make the sad people happy, but she said yes you can and she remembered it. He said she was a liar.
When Stanley graduated from high school he left the city and moved to a small town by himself, where the rent was affordable for someone without a degree. He worked as a laborer and used his hands to nail the wood together so that the houses would not fall down. Working in the sun all day turned his face red and many people asked him if he was Irish. He told them he might be but he did not know where he was from. Stanley passed his days as a laborer for many, many years, and he began to grow hunched from all of the tedious work. One day a mean man saw his deformity and asked him if he would like a bell to ring, but Stanley ignored him and kept to his work.
Stanley never married, but he was very fond of his foster sister who visited him very often. She never married either, and she lived by herself in a town near Stanley’s town. He thought once that maybe he was in love with her, but that was only for a short time. On his birthday one year she gave him a wind chime made of pine cones, and he hung it on his windowsill and every time the wind blew he would hear the delicate sound of the pine cones in the breeze. The sound reminded him of her whenever he was alone.
After a long time of hard work and little spending Stanley saved up enough money to take a vacation. He left his town and enjoyed a week by the ocean, watching the ships and the sailors at the harbor and smelling the fishes and the water in the air. The smell made him recall a memory that had long been buried deep in his mind. He remembered for the first time in years the cottage and the river and the fishes, and a deep yearning to return to the hills pulled at his heart all through his vacation. When he returned to his home and saw his foster sister again he told her that he was going to go back to the cottage. She asked him if he knew where to go and he said no, but he would find his way.
He left his home in the spring when it was warm because he did not want to travel in the snow. He first wanted to return to the city where he grew up, because maybe from there he could remember where the hills were, so he travelled along the roads and even though he walked slowly he still made good time. His age slowed him down some, too, but he trudged forward and fought against the elements holding him back. When he reached the city he saw the familiar streets and houses that he knew from his childhood. He found his foster parents’ house and stayed there for a few days. It was the first time he saw his reflection since leaving, and he was surprised to see the rings growing around his tired eyes and the color leaving his wrinkled face. His foster parents told him that the hills were a long way north, and so he left shortly after and resumed his journey.
One day as he walked up the road he saw a dying phoenix perched on a branch, its burning body leaving a pile of ashes in its wake. He watched as the phoenix burned away, feathers and all, wondering if the death was painful for the bird. When the flames died away there was a soft chirp and Stanley saw an ugly head poke out from the ashes. The baby phoenix stared at Stanley with its bald head cocked to one side, as if trying to recall his face from an old memory. The bird dug itself out of the ash and scampered along, and Stanley smiled at it and continued on his way.
The next day he watched the snake swallow its own tail. It hung limply from the branch as the phoenix did, and it grabbed its tail with its mouth and swallowed it. Stanley stared at the spectacle and wondered how it could be possible that the snake could eat itself but never fully swallow its own body. He thought that maybe the sight was a travesty and wondered if Kekulé was behind it, but he marveled still at the uniqueness of the sight before him. Gazing at the snake he admired the perfect circle that it formed around the branch, a circle so perfect no artist could ever match it. The snake never acknowledged him as he stared, and so he continued onward to the hills.
As the hot summer wore on Stanley grew worried that he would not find the cottage and the river and the fishes. He travelled for days and spent nights in little inns along the roadside but nobody knew of the cottage. He asked each of the innkeepers if he was near a river, but they always said that he was not. He began to give up hope and worried that he would die of old age before reaching the cottage, for his once red face had grown white and the hump on his back had become much more prominent. His pace also slowed and he grew weary much sooner than he used to, and he stopped to rest at least twice as often as before.
It was a day in the middle of August when he noticed the scent of the river filling his nostrils, and he knew it was the right river because smell is tied to memory and he remembered that smell. So he wandered in search of that river for a long time. When he found it he began to follow it north, hoping that the cottage was not already behind him. He followed the river for days and occasionally he peeked into it and saw the pink fishes swimming against the current and he wondered why they would do that when it would be much easier to swim with the current.
On a day at the beginning of September Stanley saw the stones that marked the graves of his mother and father. After all the time that had passed he was surprised that the gravestones had not been disturbed. He felt the breeze blowing his graying hair and heard the wind whispering to the raging river just as he remembered it. Then, into his view came the white cottage and the hills on which it was built, and he saw the spot by the riverbed where he used to watch the fishes. Playing by the riverside were two young children and watching them from the front door of the white cottage was presumably their mother.
After a moment she noticed Stanley and she asked him who he was. He answered that he used to live in this cottage when he was very young and his mother and his father both died here and their graves were further down the riverbed. The woman smiled and Stanley asked if she and the children lived here now and she said yes. He said it was nice to see the children playing by the water like he used to. She invited him inside the cottage and called for her children to come inside for supper.
Stanley saw that the cottage did not change very much from what he remembered, and he was glad about it. The mother told him that he should sup with the family and he did, forgetting how wonderful it was to eat real food, but he did not eat much because he was old and no longer had a big appetite. She asked him if he felt all right and he said he did, but it was a lie. He had been growing weaker by the day and had very little strength left in his body. But he did not want the mother to know that because he did not want her to worry.
After dinner she asked him if he would like to sleep in his old bedroom and Stanley thought that that was a very nice gesture. He slowly climbed the stairs and found his old bedroom, and not much had changed about it despite the passage of time. He lay down on the bed and pulled up the sheets to comfort himself, and he closed his eyes and began to drift off to sleep. The long awaited sleep came almost immediately and his last conscious thought was the realization that, in completing the circle, only the departed know where the pink fishes go.
-the smurf
