The lady of the lake grew weary of her days, sloshing about aimlessly under the waves, so she put on her set of dry clothes and stepped out into the air. As she cast her gaze onto her liquid home from outside, the restless waters became still. She took her place by the shore to see what would happen next. A man ambled by on his way to pay homage to hers truly, blind to the lake lady's shoreside presence, to the idea that he might easily have touched her. He dove into the water with visions of surprising her in her fluid chambers - and drowned clutching her knee-high galoshes in his hands, the ones she had left behind.
"Tragic, tragic," she thought in the twinkling of a dewdrop. Then she glanced up, straight into her own eyes. "This is the perfect time for a madcap comedy," she said to the watery reflection standing before her without the means of a mirror.
A look of surprise met her, "But Shakespeare didn't write any madcap comedies."
"Why mention Shakespeare?" she challenged.
"Isn't Shakespeare writing me?"
"I don't think so!" she shot back to herself, nonplussed by the magic of moisture that so easily echoed her appearance. Then softening her expression: "Well, I wouldn't mind being written by Joseph Conrad - 'Heart of the Deep' he might name me..."
"But yes," another likeness cut in - there were several in a semi-circle before her now - "you are decidedly tragic. Look at all those princes dying in the deep because of you."
"But there's enough of me for everyone to drink - they don't have to feed themselves to the fish on my account, though it is flattering."
A variety of sentiments arose in each of the listeners, mused moments of melancholy and pride. The silence lingered.
"Come on, it is upon the time to move on," the liquid femme addressed her identical sisters, "let's stir ourselves together and leave."
The multitude of ladies, as divisible and joinable as splashes of water, flowed back into each other. For one moment she was strongly visible in bright, perceptible colors. Then she evaporated and rained herself into a fairy tale waiting for its midsummer night.
Story #364
All story contributions will be reposted at indeterminacies.blogspot.com, even though I'm a bit behind with the reposting. Thanks to all who contributed. Don't feel that this is closed because I've posted my story. More are welcome!
Happy Independence Day to One and All!
30 comments:
“Jin,” she said, “Like the otter, not like the drink.”
“You’re so boring,” I said.
“Am I? Am I really?” And she laughed like she didn’t believe me.
The noise of construction started – 12:48 – lunchtime over.
She sighed. “You could’ve done more to save the place you know.”
“Look, it’s just some scrubby willows and grasses – hardly on the World Heritage list – some environmental jewel in the crown…”
She cut me off short. “You’ve quoted him a bit too much! There were otters here!”
“Once.”
“They could be here again.”
“That’s just not possible…” She fixed me with one of her looks. “…or at least not very likely. At least, not at the moment…” My voice trailed off. I felt cold and lost, and dammit, now I was missing the otters. I’ve never so much as seen an otter, let alone seen an otter here.
Even the construction noise stopped.
The damp smell of willow leaves enshrouded us. I shivered. “You know what? I wouldn’t be very disappointed if the airport was closed.”
Lynsey, welcome and thanks for your first story contribution here. I thought it was great - it fits right with the picture, and it's an angle I never even thought of. Also I think you captured that look.
When he turned to see Amy's reaction, he felt the breath leave his lungs. Alright, he had expected a little surprise, but surely she had noticed how long he lingered with her goodnight kisses. He wondered how girls could be so dumb about these things. He tried a smile, but still she stood there with a look that made him wither inside.
"How can boys be so dumb aqbout these things?" she asked. "I didn't come out her to have sex with you."
He was still tryng to get his wind back, repeating her words in his head, when he saw she had a knife.
"Oh," was the last word he managed.
What foresight she had to wear a read dress... That was a little dark ;-) But great.
I thought if I could get her away from her mother for just a minute, just long enough for her to have a thought of her own, just long enough for her to remember the real ‘us’, I thought I might have a chance.
We walked for a long time. She followed, saying nothing. I didn’t let on that I had no idea where we were going and when we came to the end of the road, to the water’s edge, I acted as though this is where we were meant to be, where we were meant to stop.
She stood beside me, still quiet. This was my chance to make things right, to explain. I could smell her there next to me, warm spices, flashes of the soft bend of her neck, her smooth shoulders. I could remember her smiling at me, loving me, but when I turned to face her, finally, I knew all of that was gone. I knew it was over.
Without a word we turned away from the water, away from my chance and I walked her back home. Before we got there it started to rain and she said, “It’s a sign.”
“Of what?”
“I don’t know.”
"OK, ok, Esmeralda. $10?"
Amy: That was a great story! Describing her scent really adds a new dimension to the narrative. I enjoyed it. I also think this is your first time by here, so welcome, and always feel free to stop by again!
Doug: Hahaha. They keep getting shorter and shorter. You're going to come up with the one word short story soon.
Oh, that's a challenge. OK, here's my second story:
Brisk.
Your slightly longer one was terrific. I think I'm noticing that now that you're doing this weekly, you're moving around in the story a little. In some ways, you've moved from Cage's Indeterminacy stories to his music.
Thanks for that feedback - it's very helpful to me to know how a reader perceives these stories (even if it's not good). I do feel I have more time now to think of what I am writing - and in this case I had the basic story Friday, and all the weekend to mull it over. I wound up adding a lot of nuances, and changing it from the first draft. But this is all a two-sided sword. The more I think about what I write, the greater the chance that I mess it up. Before, if the stories were bad, at least they were spontaneous. Now they are less so.
Brisk: The new after-shave for men in a hurry.
Now you're free to explore the realms of abbreviations as literature.
Er, ahem. My one word story:
Soigne.
Ok, Readers' Digest, condense that!
Hmm. I wonder if it's fair using a foreign language - some of them combine several words into one. IN Polish, for example, one word sometimes does the work of three! ;-)
But if that's what everyone wants, OK. Here's my one word story:
Thirst.
At least the punctuation is easier. No more problems with commas.
The lady of the lake came out of the water with makeup on. Where's the Estee Lauder counter??
Jamie: really laughing now. What do you know about makeup? You won't need to use makeup until you're 70.
She's pouting because she can't find the makeup counter!
nice story Indie :-)
Indie: It's funny that you mentioned in the post that this picture was less surreal than last week's -- because your story seems just as much, if not more so. Hurray for tripping Shakespeare (not the band in this case, but as a descriptor). happy Fourth you expatriot.
Doug: I loved your one-worder.
Also: Yeah, I did get dark this time. Didn't mean to, but then it went that way, so I let it. Besides, that girl creeped me out.
Kyahgirl: LOL I guess the way for guy to get to a girls heart is to show up with makeup at the right time and place. ( Thanks for the *nice story*)
Mutha: No matter what I try, I can't do realism or naturalism. It never works. It always comes out unreal. It serves the girl right for creeping you out.
Wow Indie! That was beautiful and oh so magical! Mesmerizing! This bohemianis impressed indeed!
One question... do you mind if the stories (well, if it gets to that for just one attempt does not many make!) I play with here I post at my new place with the pic you use that it corresponds to? Well, I am sure my words being reposted are ok but I wanted to see if the pic is ok to use too... of course, a link back to you would always be in order!
I am still in awe at the magic you saw in this picture! You are a talented man indeed!
Miz Bohemia: Forget the photo. Take me instead! Seriously, thanks for making my day, and so late at that (it's 10PM). Flattery works really well with me so I'll send you the original photo (I think blogger changes it somehow) and you can do whatever you like with it.
Indie, that was great, I could have sworn I read this the other day, but I guess I missed it.
It is so hard to keep up with prolific writers.
I have two brains. They are paired to think in two separate terms. They often work simultaneously. But it really starts getting difficult when thoughts start jumbling up. These are times when I must surrender.
In my leaving memories, there used to be a river. It kept flowing. Incessantly. Untiring.
In my other memory that refused to leave, there used to be a girl beside its bank. She kept sitting. Incessantly. Untiring.
I could swear that these two memories were unrelated. But they were inseparable. I remember walking to the girl for the first time and asking her -
"why are you always sitting over here?"
"Need it have a reason?", she looked back at me.
"A question can never be an answer to another question."
"I don't believe in answers.", she answered, indifferently.
Since then at the beginning of some uncertain dusks, I went and sat beside her. We never spoke. Just watched the water flowing. Listened to its music.
I don't remember when I stopped visiting her. Perhaps, the day I died. Perhaps, the day she did. Perhaps, the day we all do.
The only thing I remember now is that the river was a part of my leaving memories whereas the girl wasn't. Therefore, the river slowly stared fading out. And when the river was no more I watched the girl sitting in front of a defying blankness. Staring at nothing over the horizons. Without the flowing river time no longer moved for her. She sat trapped in a single unending moment .... within one unending heartbeat resided her life. And the sound of that heartbeat was becoming loud. Shrill. Unbearable.
And there was nothing beyond the unbearable. Only a never-ending stretch of endlessness. No more was to be the music of the river. Years later I learnt the scientific name of my guilt that took the river out of her life.
By then, my schizophrenia had already taken her life.
[This story is posted from my own Blog "Frenzy". I called it "Fade" Thought it fits with the picture, Somehow. Anyways, I crashed on your blog today and I must say you're doing a great job. Kudos to you. Smile.]
OH what fun this is!
Happy 4th (from afar) hahaha!
Amy
Cooper: You still think I'm prolific - tell that to my employer. Better yet, let me work for you!
Clown: That's an amazing story and you're right it does fit well with the photo (you're welcome to use the photo at your site if you wish). Thank you very much for sharing this. I'm going to link back to you, OK?
Amy: Isn't it? It was overwhelming for me to wake up this morning and find the new set of comments.
THanks again, everyone!
Thanks for wanting to link back to me... Actually, I was going to take your permission for the same, soon. Well, if you've visited my blogs you'd have seen that I use a small quote from the blog that I've linked to, to go with it. I could go ahead only if you'd let me use a small paragraph or so from your blog to go with the link to your blogs. Looking forward to your approval. Thanks, in advance. Smile.
Thanks for dropping by the pink Indie! It was great to see you there!
Well thank YOU. I felt really in the pink over there.
Madcap comedies?
This is the stuff I miss because I study business.
Durante Vita: If you look at the world of business with a sense of humor, I think you will find it is quite an absurd comedy, especially the larger corporations.
Master!
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