Thursday, May 20, 2010

Vintage Writing - Through Darkness

I wrote this on April 26th, 2003, according to the little note I left at the bottom of its original post...which I believe was on Pile of Crap back in the day. I'm rather glad I did that...left the note, I mean, since otherwise, I'd have no idea when I'd actually written it.

Anyway, I was reading it over again, and I don't think I would change any of it, awkward phrases included. It's rare that I would say that about a piece of writing of mine, especially one that's as old as this one is.

Other bit of back history...I wrote it before I took any writing classes. I think, in many ways, I was a much better writer back then. I didn't know the rules, and so didn't care if I broke them.

Whatever...hope you like.

Through darkness I strode, in the fullness of a dream, watching wearily the solid black, though I could see nothing. And yet, my steps knew their purpose, and heading, and my legs moved of their own accord, so while even though I could see not a thing, I could walk and be unworried that I would trip.

Wearily still, however, I peered around, hoping that I could discover something that I could see, and perhaps learn of how I came to be in this place, where there is no light. But I could see nothing, hear nothing except a dull echo of my foot steps upon the inky black floor, and could feel nothing except a slight, very slight, breeze from my passing.

And so I walked, into time uncounted, wondering and wandering across a void so profound that even its presence began to weigh heavily on my heart, and my steps - firm until now - faltered, and stopped. I could not move. What had once been a comfortable walk, albeit a weary one, was now sorrow unbound. I felt now tears on my face.

A vision came to me then, in the back of my mind, although I could see nothing through my physical eyes. A vision of a smile, a look, a glint of blonde in weary weather, a laugh and a fond remembrance of a joy long shared, of lying on a hill top and watching clouds drift lazily above, slowly and away, of a hand holding mine...

I remembered now my purpose, to find him on the other side of the darkness. I had forgotten, in my long walk, what it was that I had been looking for, but, now I knew, more deeply than I had ever known, exactly what it was that I had lost. And now had to find.

With a cry that echoed as dully as my footsteps, I lurched forward, breaking into a run. My heart knew now where I had to go, and to that place I ran and never grew weary. Sounds returned to my ears; laughter, tears - waves upon a shore. Feeling returned to my face; a caress, a chaste kiss, hair upon my cheek. Scent returned to me - summer rain and summer fields, and the wind off the ocean. And finally, most wonderfully, sight!

For an instant I was blinded, the deep darkness through which I had come had left my eyes starved for sight, but unused to it. Pain at first, but it was bearable. The brightness faded, and I saw his face, looking down at me from above, and I knew.

Through darkness I had come - and I was Home.



E said...

Not bad. I'm actually pretty impressed. You said this was before you had formal writing training?

Somebody famous whose name slips my mind right now said that with practice and maturity, authors lose the "musicality of prose" that marks earlier work. I'd say this is a pretty good example.

Rhiannon said...

Thanks! >:)

Yeah...well, I had taken OAC Writer's Craft, but it was basically English class, only we got to analyse the lyrics to Stinkfist instead of Robert Frost poems. >:D I suppose, if you squint, it'd be 'formal training'...

I am glad, in some ways, that I did take those writing courses. Definitely helped with the editing side of things. At the same time, I fell like I actually lost my voice while I was there, rather than finding it.

I shall have to look up your slippery named famous dude...sounds like they know their stuff. >:D