Closing the Seam
Mar. 4th, 2003 01:23 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
eggwardsI've had a little story germinating in my head, and in the last couple of days, I've finally been able to get it out. Read on...
Will was driving his truck. He was riding down Texas 36 at some 70-75 miles per hour. Out here there wasn’t much to see. The road passed underneath him. It seemed more that he and the truck were stationary as the world passed underneath him, mile after mile.
The sun, which had been high above him when he started the journey, now showed it’s 4:00 self. Soon, he would need to put down the visor to keep the rays out of his eyes. Slowly, clouds paced across they sky, few and far between.
Lit by the sun’s rays was a small cardboard box, with a prominent place in the passenger seat. The box, which was about 5x7x5 was closed, the flaps folded over one another to make the seal without tape. Next to it was a role of simple, grey duct tape. The box bore the logo of Amazon.com.
After a few hours, he had passed Abilene and was headed west. The Diet Dr. Pepper he’d purchased earlier was almost gone. Finally he reached his destination. The sign, and there was only one, said simply, Galleywinter.
There wasn’t much left of the town. Even as Will was growing up, the town was dying. He and his brother and two sisters went to school in another town 30 miles away. He turned at the street next to the community store and drove another three blocks to an old, turn of the century Victorian house.
The house was running down. The white paint was chipping and pealing. The grass was overgrown, since his brother hadn’t come out to mow in some time. The for sale sign, which had been up in the yard for some six years after his mother died, was faded. No one wanted to move to this little town.
He got out of the truck, walked around it, and opened the door. First picking up the duct tape, he rested it in his palm, then gently lifted the box from the seat. Holding the box close to his chest with his right arm, he pushed the door closed with his left hand pushing the roll of duct tape into the green pillar. It closed with a thud.
The small gate squeaked. It was smaller than he had remembered. He had pushed it with his knee, rather than putting his hand down to it. He hadn’t grown taller since he was 20, but the memory was still that of a young boy. Up the flight of stairs to the door, kicking away the few leaves that had come off the yard’s only tree. Shifting the box to his left arm, he picked the keys out of his pocket and opened the leaded-glass door.
There was a musty smell that inhabited the house. Much of the furniture was gone. Either taken away by the siblings, or sold in a couple of estate sales in Lubbock a few years ago. Will had a nice bedroom set built in the 1930’s that was sturdier than anything built today.
Climbing up the stairs, there were some creaks as the dry wood was presented with pressure it hadn’t had in some time. There was a light coating of dust that comes into any West Texas house, no matter how well sealed. The door he was looking for was at the top of the stairs, two doors down, on the right, the back corner room that he and his brother shared. The door was half open, letting some of the now fading light into the hall. The boy’s room was on the west side, and always had the last light.
Entering the room, Will walked toward the table. The small occasional table that wasn’t wanted nor bought. The nicks and cuts from the boy’s play kept it from being a family heirloom. He set the box down gently, followed by the roll of tape.
He opened the box, taking time to pull the flaps away, slowly. The fading light only helped so much, as much of the box was filled with shadows. He looked in and saw only one corner of its contents. Still, he knew the contents without actually having to see it.
What was inside was a solitary 3x5 photograph. He reached in to straighten it so the picture was parallel with the box sides. The photo had a single person, smiling back as nothing had ever happened. That person was standing outside of an apartment complex in a shaded alcove on a sunny day. Will’s hand left the box, but he continued to peer into it.
Five tears fell into the shadows of the box. Will didn’t think about it, but each tear had named itself. One was for memory, the second joy, the third sorrow, and the fourth love. The last tear, the one that actually fell into the small corner of the box that was still lit, darkened the cardboard. The last one was for everything left unsaid.
Fighting back more, Will snorted pulling air back into his nose, and closed his eyes. After a moment of composure, Will began closing the box. The light was gone from the interior. The two smaller flaps were put in, and the larger ones met with a seam.
Will kept one hand on the box while grabbing the duct tape. Lifting the other hand, he searched with his fingers for the end of the roll. Pulling it, he separated it from the roll, and placed the end on the small side of the box. Holding that point with his finger of his right hand, he unspooled the tape from right to left over the seam, bringing it down on the other side. Smoothing the tape across the top, he brought his hand across and tore the tape on the left pushing down the flap.
Once again, he gently lifted the box, and moved towards the corner closet. Opening the thin door, he peered in, lifted the box, and placed it on the high shelf, the smile of the Amazon.com logo leering back at him. He closed the closet door.
He left the room, half-closing the door behind him. The stairs were where they should be, but now in the dark, it took a grope to find the banister. Once he found the landing, he walked to the door, opening it. He quietly walked out, closed it and locked it, replacing those keys with the keys to the truck. He walked through the yard, pulled the gate towards him to leave, and went to the truck, tossing the roll of duct tape in the bed. The truck rumbled to life, and he backed out of the driveway.
He left Galleywinter.
Will was driving his truck. He was riding down Texas 36 at some 70-75 miles per hour. Out here there wasn’t much to see. The road passed underneath him. It seemed more that he and the truck were stationary as the world passed underneath him, mile after mile.
The sun, which had been high above him when he started the journey, now showed it’s 4:00 self. Soon, he would need to put down the visor to keep the rays out of his eyes. Slowly, clouds paced across they sky, few and far between.
Lit by the sun’s rays was a small cardboard box, with a prominent place in the passenger seat. The box, which was about 5x7x5 was closed, the flaps folded over one another to make the seal without tape. Next to it was a role of simple, grey duct tape. The box bore the logo of Amazon.com.
After a few hours, he had passed Abilene and was headed west. The Diet Dr. Pepper he’d purchased earlier was almost gone. Finally he reached his destination. The sign, and there was only one, said simply, Galleywinter.
There wasn’t much left of the town. Even as Will was growing up, the town was dying. He and his brother and two sisters went to school in another town 30 miles away. He turned at the street next to the community store and drove another three blocks to an old, turn of the century Victorian house.
The house was running down. The white paint was chipping and pealing. The grass was overgrown, since his brother hadn’t come out to mow in some time. The for sale sign, which had been up in the yard for some six years after his mother died, was faded. No one wanted to move to this little town.
He got out of the truck, walked around it, and opened the door. First picking up the duct tape, he rested it in his palm, then gently lifted the box from the seat. Holding the box close to his chest with his right arm, he pushed the door closed with his left hand pushing the roll of duct tape into the green pillar. It closed with a thud.
The small gate squeaked. It was smaller than he had remembered. He had pushed it with his knee, rather than putting his hand down to it. He hadn’t grown taller since he was 20, but the memory was still that of a young boy. Up the flight of stairs to the door, kicking away the few leaves that had come off the yard’s only tree. Shifting the box to his left arm, he picked the keys out of his pocket and opened the leaded-glass door.
There was a musty smell that inhabited the house. Much of the furniture was gone. Either taken away by the siblings, or sold in a couple of estate sales in Lubbock a few years ago. Will had a nice bedroom set built in the 1930’s that was sturdier than anything built today.
Climbing up the stairs, there were some creaks as the dry wood was presented with pressure it hadn’t had in some time. There was a light coating of dust that comes into any West Texas house, no matter how well sealed. The door he was looking for was at the top of the stairs, two doors down, on the right, the back corner room that he and his brother shared. The door was half open, letting some of the now fading light into the hall. The boy’s room was on the west side, and always had the last light.
Entering the room, Will walked toward the table. The small occasional table that wasn’t wanted nor bought. The nicks and cuts from the boy’s play kept it from being a family heirloom. He set the box down gently, followed by the roll of tape.
He opened the box, taking time to pull the flaps away, slowly. The fading light only helped so much, as much of the box was filled with shadows. He looked in and saw only one corner of its contents. Still, he knew the contents without actually having to see it.
What was inside was a solitary 3x5 photograph. He reached in to straighten it so the picture was parallel with the box sides. The photo had a single person, smiling back as nothing had ever happened. That person was standing outside of an apartment complex in a shaded alcove on a sunny day. Will’s hand left the box, but he continued to peer into it.
Five tears fell into the shadows of the box. Will didn’t think about it, but each tear had named itself. One was for memory, the second joy, the third sorrow, and the fourth love. The last tear, the one that actually fell into the small corner of the box that was still lit, darkened the cardboard. The last one was for everything left unsaid.
Fighting back more, Will snorted pulling air back into his nose, and closed his eyes. After a moment of composure, Will began closing the box. The light was gone from the interior. The two smaller flaps were put in, and the larger ones met with a seam.
Will kept one hand on the box while grabbing the duct tape. Lifting the other hand, he searched with his fingers for the end of the roll. Pulling it, he separated it from the roll, and placed the end on the small side of the box. Holding that point with his finger of his right hand, he unspooled the tape from right to left over the seam, bringing it down on the other side. Smoothing the tape across the top, he brought his hand across and tore the tape on the left pushing down the flap.
Once again, he gently lifted the box, and moved towards the corner closet. Opening the thin door, he peered in, lifted the box, and placed it on the high shelf, the smile of the Amazon.com logo leering back at him. He closed the closet door.
He left the room, half-closing the door behind him. The stairs were where they should be, but now in the dark, it took a grope to find the banister. Once he found the landing, he walked to the door, opening it. He quietly walked out, closed it and locked it, replacing those keys with the keys to the truck. He walked through the yard, pulled the gate towards him to leave, and went to the truck, tossing the roll of duct tape in the bed. The truck rumbled to life, and he backed out of the driveway.
He left Galleywinter.
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no subject
Date: 2003-03-10 10:27 pm (UTC)Some issues: you have a tendency to use passive or dull verbs. "Walked," "went," stuff like that could be more active. Also, there are a few verb chains in here, where you're seperating a long sting of subject-verb combinations with commas in one sentence. In a lot of cases, we don't need to know the entire action; shortening the sentence would make the whole piece punchier, and more vivid.
Otherwise, good stuff! I want more from you!
Buzz