The Mirror In The Corner, A short story...

[Haldur]

Hello all!

The name's Haldur! I haven't posted here on Celtic Radio for a long time but I promise to stay once and for all!

I am starting a short story here, kind of in the spirit of Charles Dickens and his Pickwick Papers writings...I am obviously not as prolific a writer as Dickens (nor as talented!) but I will do my best!

Feel free to add some ideas, suggestions, questions, etc. as I go along! Thank you most graciously!

[Haldur]

*REMOVED PER AUTHOR'S REQUEST*

This post has been edited by Aaediwen on 22-Dec-2004, 05:49 PM

[Haldur]

*REMOVED PER AUTHOR'S REQUEST*

This post has been edited by Aaediwen on 22-Dec-2004, 05:51 PM

[HeatherMarie]

Ooh, that is really good! I love the way you take the time to describe every little detail of a scene. Keep going, I'm curious to find out more about the secret, and why, if the Glass is such a secret thing, the old man would trust a complete stranger with it. Unless Donovan isn't a complete stranger...

Hm....very interesting!

Heather

[Aaediwen]

Perhaps not a secret.... Just something that noone has lived to tell about.

[Haldur]

Heya!!! Thank you for checking out the story...greetings Aaediwen and HeatherMarie! More of the story to come as I juggle a couple of more possible routes for the story to take. It is always a treat to express oneself in prose!

Thank you once again!

[Haldur]

*REMOVED PER AUTHOR'S REQUEST*

This post has been edited by Aaediwen on 22-Dec-2004, 05:52 PM

[Haldur]

There you go folks!

This is actually the first story I have completed in a very long time! To be quite honest, it is my first completed story ever (with the exception of the ones I did in college)...I have to say, I feel I have done a great thing by releasing this story. I love fantastical ideas, science fiction, horror, etc. and I know this is only the beginning.

More will come very soon, perhaps not on this particular thread. I'll have to create a new one once another idea comes along!

Thank you and enjoy!

[HeatherMarie]

Hm...one of those ambiguous stories that give the reader something to ponder at the end. Nice job, congrats on finishing it!

[Haldur]

Thank you for your kind words, HeatherMarie! I appreciate it and yes I'm glad I finished it! It's such a release...I've had bouts with writer's block (or perhaps writer's stubborness) over the past year or so and I can actually say I've finished step one of getting back on the bandwagon, you might say.

I'm thinking of starting a story on this very same thread so as not to take up a totally separate part just to post a short story. I've had several ideas lately; most of them come from dreams, some of them nightmares. The most vivid one is about a man who invents a method of hooking people up to a machine/super-computer that can track a person's "past lives" and enable them to remember bits and pieces of those lives in their day-to-day life.

The cool part is gonna be writing about one instance of the experiment going wrong...don't know quite how to play that one out, but that's half the fun, eh?

Oh by the way, if anyone feels the itch to post a short story, suggestions, or any other tidbit of information about writing, music, etc. feel free! Just think of this as my little cafe!

[Haldur]

Just a quick update...

After careful consideration and some helpful advice from my pal Aaediwen, this story is going to have to be revised in a big way! There are for one, some definite holes in the story that need to be fixed. Granted, I wrote the story on my lonely Saturdays while at work, it needs some retouching. Another fact is that I plan on extending the story and changing some things...

First of all, I think it would be neat if Donovan were some sort of paranormal investigator/mystic who was able to measure and record the events he encounters. That's probably just my wild imagination acting out there, but it's one of the many possibilities. Plus, I don't wanna just stop the story, that was my first mistake!

Thanks again as always and keep coming back for some updates!

[Haldur]

Looking into getting this thread here pulled or deleted so I can begin work on the revised edition! Since being sick with flu-like symptoms have left me little time to work on revisions, it may take a couple weeks or more...thank you.

[Haldur]

As indicated, I've decided to pull this story for editing purposes. Thinking about changing some little details...who knows?

To beat it all, another story had to pop into my head and slow down the process even further. Oh well...work must go on!

[urian]

Well. get it revised
I refuse to read the original.
I'll wait. so hop to it

[Haldur]

I apologize for taking so long to revise "The Mirror in the Corner" but I've had quite a wild ride with writing here lately. Let me just put it this way, I've been having a lot of free-flowing writing occurring...not necessarily a bad thing, but I believe it's only right to give a little appetizer while I have this creative spurt.

This is a brand new piece, just a nibble of it in fact, and I think it's truly going somewhere. I'm also working on a great, big, fat fantasy/adventure story but its at a standstill at the moment due to technical difficulties (namely my imagination for where the rest should go!)

Enjoy!


Back in the Hollow

Earl Wiser was getting too old to plant corn in the back field. It seemed like just yesterday he?d found his son, Jonathan Michael Wiser back home from the First World War. Earl stood a good six foot, though he stood slightly bent over. He had worked in the fields, planting corn, tobacco, and tending to the livestock over on Crane Creek. It had been his life up until six months ago when Dr. Sheffield in Clarksville revived him from a heart attack. Nowadays, he just sat around listening to the radio and smoking cigarettes, hand-rolled and guaranteed to please. He stepped out onto the front porch of the cabin, fished a cigarette from his overall pocket, and lit it. The smoke wafted off into the warm air. He knew it would only be a matter of time before Johnny would stroll up the dirt road, hands dark with mud, hungry for a bite of lunch.

He took a seat in his rocking chair. His grandfather had made it many years before and it still held together pretty good, considering the mending it needed every now and then. The thatched seat gave way to Earl?s weight and the sound of the rockers upon the wood porch sang a melody into the cool breeze. Everything on the ridge was like that. It was Kentucky; full of spirit and heavenly music. Earl hadn?t known that sound for a long time, even though Johnny was always playing the banjo he made years ago. Earl flicked the cigarette ashes upon the porch and watched them roll away, like tiny tumbleweed. He smiled at this thought while he rocked. The sky above was blue, spackled with sparse, white clouds. It was a beautiful day.
Not a moment later, Johnny came walking through the waist-high grass, carrying a rifle. A pipe hung from his mouth and his skin looked parched from the sun. He was not a young man anymore, nearly thirty years old, and walked with a slow, commanding stride. Earl watched as his eyes scanned the tree line just beyond the house, then he flicked his cigarette out into the grassy lawn.

?Why so glum, Johnny?? Earl asked, starting to stand. Johnny motioned for him to stay. Johnny stepped up onto the porch, propped the gun beside the front door, and looked down at this father.
?You?d better stay restin?, dad,? he said, his hand on Earl?s shoulder. ?I?ve drained all the work I could outta that ol? mule!? He reached into a wash basin on the front porch and splashed water all over his hands and face. ?Got half the field planted, the other half plowed down real good.? Earl smiled, rocking with pride.
?Told ya,? he said. ?That mule may be old, but she?s got a few more years in her, yet.? He watched as Johnny dried off his hands and entered the cabin. ?Taters and pork?s on the stove there!? Earl called. ?Bessie Walters came over today, brought them with her!? Johnny came back out on the porch, a long piece of pork in one hand, a plate of cooked potatoes in the other. He ate them quietly, observing the sky between bites, his curly hair giving way to the growing wind.
?Storm?s headed this way, pop,? Johnny said. ?Don?t look to be too big.? He sat on the edge of the porch. Earl exhaled and stood up to face the graying clouds. ?Yep, gonna be a dry summer, I warrant.? He looked out onto part of the hundred acres of land he owned, passed down from his father?s grandfathers, and he saw the ambient sunlight start to wither from the green field bottoms. It hadn?t rained for nearly two weeks and it was not looking very hopeful even though the clouds went gray.

Earl Wiser licked his dry lips, walked over the wash basin, dipped his cupped hands in the cool water, and splashed his face. He felt it trickle down his neck as he dried his face. Johnny finished up his taters and walked into the house to wash up the plate. Earl followed and pulled the screen door shut behind him.
?Let?s keep the door open here, Johnny,? Earl said quietly as he looked out the screen door. ?Your mother always loved to hear the rain.? He gazed out into the countryside with wild wonder, and for a moment, he felt like a young man again. He felt like roving barefoot through the waist-high grass and skipping stones down at the Big Stony River, only to wind up fishing from the bridge on Route 6. As he thought this, rain started pouring gently outside; he heard Johnny shuffle around behind him in his room. ?Shall I play a little?? Johnny asked, holding a mountain dulcimer. Earl turned around and took in the instrument. His face turned from surprise to near anger as he took a seat at the kitchen table.
?Why, where?d the frog?s hair did you get that thing?? Earl asked. Johnny played a lick quietly on the dulcimer, his eyes stuck on the device.
?Well, Harold Razor made it for me, gave it to me at the shindig last night,? Johnny said, plucking louder.
?You mean, you bought it from him??
?No, dad, he made it as payment on account I helped ?em raise tobacco last year.?
?He didn?t give you no pay?? Earl asked.
?Why no, daddy,? Johnny said as he stopped playing. ?The Razor?s didn?t make much on that crop ?cause of the drought and bugs. They got ate up big!?
?I know, but??
The two sat in the silence, all except for the growing pattering of the rainfall upon the tin roof. Johnny reared up and carried the dulcimer back to his room. Earl turned to look through the screen door. A lot had changed. A lot had, unfortunately, changed.