I'm going for a bike ride. No, I'm going to ride my bike, but only in order to go somewhere. The destination is what's important, not the means. In the hallway to the door I pull the bike behind me, trying not to bang the walls. I swing the wood door open toward me and the glass one open away from me, guiding the bike through. In the sunlight now, I squint as I rest the bike against the porch railing in order to pull the key out of my pocket and lock the door behind.
Down the steps and I finally mount the bike and begin gliding past houses, trees, and parked cars. Off my quiet street, I pass empty baseball diamonds and a crowded water park. Once the playful cries of children fade out of earshot I stop at a busy traffic light. Its tricky crossing these four-laned freeways. It never ceases to amaze me, the nonstop stream of cars in all directions at all times in all places of the city. All going off on their own separate ways. That's what reminds me of how many people are living around me. And we're all strangers.
I cross the freeway only to have to traverse a stripmall parking lot with people and cars filing in and out, and then cross another highway. Couldn't there be a scenic route? But the worst part of my trip is over for now. I've made it to the bike path that leads me away from the worst of the noise and air pollution. Now I'm only riding along a county road. On the other side of the bike path is a six-foot fence, and on the other side of that is, well, that's what I've come for. First I have to get to the gate.
The cemetery is a bit more crowded than I expected. I'm surprised so many people besides myself wanted to spend a nice day among the dead. Though, I bet the rest all know at least one of these old souls. Not that it really bothers me, I just wanted some privacy. The wind really blows on the face of this hillside. Does it mean anything? Am I upsetting some basic code here that I don't understand? Am I sitting on someone's face? I don't mean to offend anyone here. Quite the opposite, in fact.
Every one of my companions here is old, much older than anyone still on Earth. Even those who died in infancy. Everyone here has gone through something that only happens once, and at that instant, there must be some instant, where the brain sees all. In a single instant, everything becomes clear. It must. Even those infant minds, even that baby beating its breast with its fist, who did for all but nothing, souls that are barely even conscious of their own existence, at that one instant, even they comprehend what it was all for, suddenly, in an instant. Those infant minds certainly comprehend it, them most of all. Their minds aren't yet bogged down with the nonsense that yours and mine are.
The church bells signal the hour and the wind refuses to relent. Its odd being on the face of this hill, looking out over the big city, just a few miles away. The creation of many generations' hard work, where they lived out their lives, only to end up here just the same. To many that city embodies life, activity. And yet, on the face of this Earth, it is just a tiny anthill. Are we all just tiny ants, meaningless, ignorant of anything beyond us? And here I sit surrounded by graves, on top of buried people.
The wind just blew my hat off, who is telling me to leave? Maybe someone is jealous that I am only a visitor here, while everyone else is a permanent resident? I keep asking myself that, I must be feeling self-conscious today. No, I don't mean to offend anyone by visiting here. I simply needed to connect with life, with friends, and I get along much better with the people here, where there's no time left for talking or distractions. Only reflection. I like that.
Does the wind blow this hard in the city? I see so many people there, in the distance, so many cars, so many homes. They all seem so disconnected, unaware of each other. Tiny ants laboring independently for some instinctual purpose, yet unwittingly slaves to the anthill. Don't they know they are all seeking the same thing, independently, when a collective mind would remind us all of our relatedness?
The church bells signal the hour and the wind refuses to relent. Its odd being on the face of this hill, looking out over the big city, just a few miles away. The creation of many generations' hard work, where they lived out their lives, only to end up here just the same. To many that city embodies life, activity. And yet, on the face of this Earth, it is just a tiny anthill. Are we all just tiny ants, meaningless, ignorant of anything beyond us? And here I sit surrounded by graves, on top of buried people.
The wind just blew my hat off, who is telling me to leave? Maybe someone is jealous that I am only a visitor here, while everyone else is a permanent resident? I keep asking myself that, I must be feeling self-conscious today. No, I don't mean to offend anyone by visiting here. I simply needed to connect with life, with friends, and I get along much better with the people here, where there's no time left for talking or distractions. Only reflection. I like that.
Does the wind blow this hard in the city? I see so many people there, in the distance, so many cars, so many homes. They all seem so disconnected, unaware of each other. Tiny ants laboring independently for some instinctual purpose, yet unwittingly slaves to the anthill. Don't they know they are all seeking the same thing, independently, when a collective mind would remind us all of our relatedness?
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I like this idea ALOT. It is simple, but intriguing- a man who goes to a cemetery to think about life. I also like the thematic nature of your piece (clarity of sight within children, our human-connectivity in that we all share three key experiences- birth, life, & death, the importance of life, the importance of death, etc.)
ReplyDeleteHowever, the philosophical nature of the "wind character" seems unclear- is this supposed to be the embodiment of existentialism? Or what?
Also I propose an experiment: Why don't you go online and look up the nearest cemetery to you, and go tomorrow. Bring a notebook and silently take notes and draw pictures relating to your experience. Then come back to this piece and incorporate this tangible experience into your story. I think this will really serve to strengthen the voice of your character, and the intensity of impact his surroundings seems to have on him. (Take notes on all the 5 senses, and make sure to draw a couple of people, gravestones, benches, trees, etc.) ...Maybe if you thought of characterization as a conglomerate of both a literary and theatrical experience, your characters would leap off the pages carrying your message with them (sorry if that was cheesy).
I'm going for a bike ride. No, I'm going to ride my bike, but only in order to go somewhere. The destination is what's important, not the means. In the hallway to the door I pull the bike behind me, trying not to bang the walls. I swing the wood door open toward me and the glass one open away from me, guiding the bike through. In the sunlight now, I squint as I rest the bike against the porch railing in order to pull the key out of my pocket and lock the door behind.
ReplyDeleteDown the steps and I finally mount the bike and begin gliding past houses, trees, and parked cars. Off my quiet street, I pass empty baseball diamonds and a crowded water park. Once the playful cries of children fade out of earshot I stop at a busy traffic light. Its tricky crossing these four-laned freeways. It never ceases to amaze me, the nonstop stream of cars in all directions at all times in all places of the city. All going off on their own separate ways. That's what reminds me of how many people are living around me. And we're all strangers.
^I think this is the BEST part of your entire story. The third paragraph is alright as well, but what I like most about those above is that you are just an observer.
It's like you are just recording what's around you- the world as it is. You seem like a social scientist. You don't make a judgment or an opinion, because these aren't necessary to make your point. It's like I am able to see the world through a clear, more conscious lens (yours). I am able to see the the isolating, soulless nature of our society.
In the first draft, I felt like you were telling me your opinion of society. And as a reader, I was trying to dig into the meaning of your work and decide whether or not I agreed with you. Of course, I do agree with you. However, it is not people like me that you are trying to reach. I already agree...
But in trying to reach out to those who are "unconscious," those who have not yet come to realize the grave lifelessness of our society, your second approach will be HIGHLY effective.
Because you simply SHOW me what you see, it becomes a more objective viewpoint. Instead of trying to figure out whether or not I agree with you, I am simply free to feel what you are feeling- loneliness, emptiness, chaos, etc. I believe in your message, because I can see it, touch it, taste it, smell it, I can feel it physically, mentally, and emotionally.
I REALLY think you have something here. This new section is really STRONG. :)