[Brensew]

Synopsis: A short narrative about a wife and her ailing husband.



"All We Hail The Cosmic Scales"

Virginia put a wooden spoon to her lips and tasted the soup, checking its temperature. “Still too hot,” she said over her shoulder. Her husband, Andrew, sat behind her at the table, unsmiling. “The old man doesn’t smile anymore,” she thought, “For he has forgotten his own name.” She had decided the soup needed salt, but her hand stopped half way to the shaker. Sighing, she turned about. Andrew was starring at the unpolished top of the dining room table, his moth agape, and his hands curled in his lap. “Ready to eat, Andy?” she asked.

Andy was a seventy-two year old infant, requiring constant care. He was Virginia’s sixth child after the five they had raised together. Everyday was the same. In the mornings she washed his thin, ridged body and prepared his oatmeal. In the afternoons she would feed him mashed vegetables, usually followed by an hour of prayers. Holding his hands in hers, she would quietly ask for an end to his suffering. But the end did not come, and every evening as Virginia stood in her apron, stirring soup, she was bitter and restless. Tonight was no different, and Virginia methodically, raised spoonful after spoonful to her husband’s mouth.

Outside the solid walls of their cottage snow was drifting down lazily, as it had been all day. Eight inches of powder now covered the dead leaves of autumn. Virginia felt relieved by the quietness of the evening. The wind had howled for two days prior, buffeting the windows and leaving drifts on the eastern side of the house. The sound of falling trees and cracking limbs had unsettled Andy to the point that he was visibly distraught, and although this night was quiet, in nature and indoors, Virginia could see that the storm had taken its toll on her husband.

Virginia put the spoon down and smiled at Andy’s solemn features. “Good,” she said. Suddenly there was a crash from outside, and Virginia jumped to her feet. “Another tree?” she asked herself. But this one sounded close. She hesitated only a moment before lighting an oil lamp, putting on her coat and slippers and stepping out the door. The air was sharp with cold, stinging Virginia’s face and hands like a thousand needles. Squinting, she peered though the white moonlit haze, and gasped as she looked in the direction of the big oak.

Behind the tree was her husband’s old workshop, or what was left of it. It appeared to Virginia that part of the roof had collapsed. Hugging herself, she hurried over, leaving small shuffling footprints in the snow. Slowing as she neared, she stopped in front of the structure and tried to gauge its integrity, gazing suspiciously at the damage. With a deep breath she continued forward. The door creaked in protest when she turned the handle and threw her shoulder against it. Only managing to move the door less than a foot, she squeezed through the opening, the lamp in her left hand guiding the way.

As yellow light flooded the room, her heart sank. The interior of the workshop was destroyed. Moving around, she saw tools strewn across the floor, fallen timbers laying at many different angles, and snow falling through the gap overhead mixing with piles of sawdust that had been waiting patiently for a broom that never came. The weight of her emotions hit her, and Virginia sat down on an overturned bucket in the corner and began to cry.

Through her tears she tried to imagine the workshop as she had last seen it, but the image would not come. Then she tried to picture her husband, quickly at work, measuring, marking, studying, cutting, but this vision also escaped her. He was no longer that man. He was broken, just like his workshop, just like her dreams.

Pulling herself together Virginia gathered some of the fallen wood and headed back out into the cold. Once inside, she was relieved to find Andy as she had left him. Silently, she scolded herself for leaving him alone for so long. She added the wood to the fire before helping Andy to a small chair in front of the hearth. Although he no longer made any expression, Virginia knew this was where he was most comfortable. She watched him as she cleared the table and washed the dishes. Finishing, Virginia stirred the coals and sat herself down in the large recliner behind Andy. She attempted to read, but her thoughts kept drifting to the workshop. Putting her book down she studied the hunched figure of her husband, feeling longing instead of pity. Finally, she could bear it no more. Her mind and her body were exhausted. She closed her eyes to think of happier times, and was instantly asleep.

(Tense Change)

The flames cast a warm glow over the face of Andrew Baker, once again giving color to his skin and light to his eyes. He stares not at the fire, but into it, as if he is searching for something. Every night, he sits in the same place, in the same way, with the same look on his face. He could even be mistaken for normal, as we have all quietly watched the flames, our eyes intent on the dancing colors, contemplative. But he is not a normal man, for among other things, he has forgotten his own name. His memories mock him, close, but out of reach. Yet, every so often he will experience brief fleeting sensations; the feel of a soft kiss from a blonde-haired woman, the sticky feeling of deer blood on his fingers, the bitter taste of a blackberry, each remembrance with its own emotion. He does not recognize these feelings, but here in front of warmth of the fire they do not seem so far away.

With a “pop,” a lone ember jumps from the hearth and lands at the old man’s feet, and in the darkness of his mind there is a spark. His eyes shift to the dying coal, then to a cast-iron poker, the tapered end glowing red-hot in the bottom of the fire. With a sudden movement, his right hand lunges for the poker, and his fingers grasp its handle. Instantly there is a hissing sound of burning flesh, and the old man screams with what little air his lungs can hold. His heart and his mind are now racing. He feels there is something he should do.

Suddenly he knows. With speed his muscles haven’t known in years, he jumps to his feet and bolts for the door. Throwing it open he collapses onto the porch, his injured hand buried deep in the soothing coolness of the snow. Startled and confused by the commotion, his wife awakes in panic, fearing the worst. As her head clears, she stumbles to the open door finding her husband sprawled in front of her looking all but dead, except for the grin on his face.



Author's Note: "Cosmic scales" refer to a perceived balance some see in the universe. Balance between life and death, darkness and light, good and evil, fire and water, and so on. The wife's role attempts to show that everything is not black and white. That there are grey areas to life. She sees her partner as neither dead or alive. While the husband's role is used to show that if nothing else, we understand these fundamental laws of nature, inherently. Really the first story I ever completed. (about a year ago) Hope you liked it, but dont hold back!

[Venomous Vixen]

I really enjoyed this story. The double side was appealing, first from her point of view with no idea what was going on inside of his mind and then from his, that moment that something almost connected and that smile came out. I find a lot of people have trouble with their ending but I thought yours was perfect.

I think you could beef this up just a bit, but as is it was a very interesting and heartfelt story and I look forward to more from you!

[Venomous Vixen]

Posted now, sorry about that!

[Lubesh]

I likethat touch in ur notes...because with this and varying forms of dementia still a lot is unknown to us..from a writer's perspective, much could be drawn from that source of ignorance make our own interps of what we conceive it to be externally. I enjoyed this clear piece and though short, it showed us a depth of the characters.

One thing, i don't understand why the highlight of a tense change normally id take a row of *** to maybe clarify, make the point of a natural/logical break..could be wrong.

[jerH]

Your descriptions were wonderful and you did a terrific job of setting the scene in the opening part. The collapsed workshop also worked very well as a metaphor. If I have one complaint, it's that the second part seemed rushed. You've got an excellent foundation here, and I think if you applied the same depth to the portion that is from the husband's point of view (and potentially to a further description of the couple, their history, their interplay, etc) this could be even better.

For a first story this is great! Hope to see lots more from you....

[Brensew]

Thanks for the advice guys, I think your right jerH, the second part does need some work.

[jerH]

Originally Posted by Brensew

Thanks for the advice guys, I think your right jerH, the second part does need some work.

I'll look forward to reading it again when you're done! Stick with it....

[veronicataz]

The language was rich and the concept cunning. It had just the right amount of sorrow.

[Peppy]

I liked it. It was wonderful, to tell the truth. It was a simple tale, well, not too simple, it has it extrincates.

The second part plays like a play. Present tense are generally used to make playwrights. But who gives a whazoo, I still didn't mind. I actually enjoyed it--for nostalgic reasons and the two existing characters. The two existing character just seem alone, I guess that's the main reason I liked it. There's a story between the two.

Well, I don't know what else to say. I enjoyed reading it. Goodness.

[ea_blue]

Lovely writing in this. You established characters and the setting almost invisibly. This was easy to read because the sentences and ideas flowed so smoothly.

I thought the destroyed shed acted as a beautiful metaphor for the collapse of Andy's mind. I truly felt for Virginia as she sat down and cried.

I don't think the tense change note should be there. It seems odd and makes the piece feel like a draft rather than a finished piece. I also don't think it's necessary to use a tense change when switching to Andy's perspective. Keep it all in the same tense and I think the piece as a whole will be even stronger.

Nice work! I enjoyed this a lot.

[Vorcla]

Nicely done for a first effort; you have a good foundation here to build on. As Jer mentioned, the second half needs some work.

Only problem is, you seem to have disappeared...

[RENA HANDS]

Just nit picking a bit, but the spacing between your synopsis and first paragraph after your second title posting, should be readjusted.

Should the ‘For’ after your first thought capitalized be capitalized also? It’s the second half of your first thought...‘The old man doesn’t smile anymore,’...‘for her has forgotten his own name.’ (?)

Ah, did you intend (mouth)…his mouth(moth) agape, (?)

If are only two characters involved, then shouldn’t you use ‘she,’ and ‘he?’ Also, to make it more personal what about...‘Ready to eat, sweetie?’ (just a thought of myself.)

I think (through) here...she peered (through) though the white moonlit haze, (?)

In your Author’s Note...the (don’t) of the last sentence is missing the (‘).

You have one MARVELOUS story here. The execution of emotions from both the husband and wife’s perspective...BRILLIANT! I think in some areas that your commas could have been replaced with the ;,nevertheless...a GREAT, GREAT tale. I give a rating of 5/5!