Post by Someday on Jan 18, 2007 16:53:36 GMT -5
Okay, at my school, every year we have a Literary Arts Magazine, where students send in short stories, poems, and art to be published (my English teacher has assigned this as extra credit, but I'd do it anyway). I came up with this idea for a shortish story, and I want you guys to read, and point out some things that could need help? (Basically, crit it) Point out anything. Vocab, spelling, word placement, blah. Thanks.
One Less Wetland
Everything is still, quiet, peaceful. Whole notes are held, the tempo a steady, slow waltz, calm assurance on the conductor's face. The crickets' chirp floats across the small marsh, mingling with the tiny noises of restless animals. Nearby, a duckling opens its eye and takes a nip at the chilly night sky, then nestles back into its mother's warmth. Fish pass silently through the unmoving water, which gives off a perfect reflection of the gently glowing moon amidst the darkness. All is still.
As the sun slowly crawls the steps to the sky, its shining beams penetrates the clouds and paints a collage of soft pinks, oranges, and yellows of dawn, leading the crescendo after the soft beginning. Birds sing together quietly, an unrehearsed choir singing the songs they learned in the nest. The mother duck stiffly opens her black eyes, admiring her young ones. Fishs' tails wave behind them, creating calm ripples that make the golden sunbeams dance. Dragonflies flick from plant to plant, adding to the waking up of a small marsh's inhabitants. Cattails rustle as a slight breeze passes through. All is gently awakening.
Sounds in the morning become sounds of the afternoon and the lullaby of a small marsh strikes up to a quick, lilting arpeggio, Fate's arms moving faster and faster. Insects and snatched from their hiding places by hungry birds. Crows begin to join the bird's songs with a raucous tune. Ducklings waddle around, their parents watchful of foxes and other hungry predators. The sun's light blazes on the wildly rippling water. All is nature.
As today's time stretches farther into the noon, a light drizzle pats the earth with swift staccato beats, dwindling the melody to a soft, sweet melody. It plunges into the water, creating endless ripples wavering on the surface. It touches the small marsh with a calming finger, allowing for the ducklings to run back to their home, for the frogs' croakings to subside a little, for the insects to hide, live. The sky is a pallet of dull grey streaks. All is calm.
Suddenly.
A violin strikes a sour note. A trumpet follows the wrong repeat. The conductor's face clouds over, worrying. And Man comes forth with destruction in his train, and an uncompromising, merciless expression on his face. The first tree falls. Then another. Loud noises drive away the animals from their homes. The ones who don't leave, or can't, disappear. Huge, metal pets of Man come and shovel away the wet earth, dumping it in a different place. Now the sky cries, dumping its tears onto what used to be the small marsh. The ducks have been driven away. Insects have also gone or fallen victim. The animals have either all left, or disappeared from the earth. The plants die, some after another as they are cleared away to make homes of blocks of red brick and trees for Man.
The concert has now faded into the sun's decline from the sky, its rays slipping into darkness, impossible, now, to restart. A piccolo's high, quiet trill rings, making Fate's shocked face visible once more as he bows. The dark canvas of night falls once more, this time with one less wetland.
Everything is still, quiet, peaceful. Whole notes are held, the tempo a steady, slow waltz, calm assurance on the conductor's face. The crickets' chirp floats across the small marsh, mingling with the tiny noises of restless animals. Nearby, a duckling opens its eye and takes a nip at the chilly night sky, then nestles back into its mother's warmth. Fish pass silently through the unmoving water, which gives off a perfect reflection of the gently glowing moon amidst the darkness. All is still.
As the sun slowly crawls the steps to the sky, its shining beams penetrates the clouds and paints a collage of soft pinks, oranges, and yellows of dawn, leading the crescendo after the soft beginning. Birds sing together quietly, an unrehearsed choir singing the songs they learned in the nest. The mother duck stiffly opens her black eyes, admiring her young ones. Fishs' tails wave behind them, creating calm ripples that make the golden sunbeams dance. Dragonflies flick from plant to plant, adding to the waking up of a small marsh's inhabitants. Cattails rustle as a slight breeze passes through. All is gently awakening.
Sounds in the morning become sounds of the afternoon and the lullaby of a small marsh strikes up to a quick, lilting arpeggio, Fate's arms moving faster and faster. Insects and snatched from their hiding places by hungry birds. Crows begin to join the bird's songs with a raucous tune. Ducklings waddle around, their parents watchful of foxes and other hungry predators. The sun's light blazes on the wildly rippling water. All is nature.
As today's time stretches farther into the noon, a light drizzle pats the earth with swift staccato beats, dwindling the melody to a soft, sweet melody. It plunges into the water, creating endless ripples wavering on the surface. It touches the small marsh with a calming finger, allowing for the ducklings to run back to their home, for the frogs' croakings to subside a little, for the insects to hide, live. The sky is a pallet of dull grey streaks. All is calm.
Suddenly.
A violin strikes a sour note. A trumpet follows the wrong repeat. The conductor's face clouds over, worrying. And Man comes forth with destruction in his train, and an uncompromising, merciless expression on his face. The first tree falls. Then another. Loud noises drive away the animals from their homes. The ones who don't leave, or can't, disappear. Huge, metal pets of Man come and shovel away the wet earth, dumping it in a different place. Now the sky cries, dumping its tears onto what used to be the small marsh. The ducks have been driven away. Insects have also gone or fallen victim. The animals have either all left, or disappeared from the earth. The plants die, some after another as they are cleared away to make homes of blocks of red brick and trees for Man.
The concert has now faded into the sun's decline from the sky, its rays slipping into darkness, impossible, now, to restart. A piccolo's high, quiet trill rings, making Fate's shocked face visible once more as he bows. The dark canvas of night falls once more, this time with one less wetland.
