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Great Writing - Home > Extended > Drifting - chapter twenty
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Extended Work
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| Drifting - chapter twenty | |
| By Jamie | ||
| 17 August 2008 | ||
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This is the twentieth and final chapter in a long form story. All feedback, negative or positive gratefully received. I am proud of certain aspects, and ruefully aware of other areas of shortcomings and inadequacy. Rather like myself in fact. So constructive criticism or showers of stars - both interestedly received. Blunt, bored, disinterested views will be received likewise. As most of us are, who seemingly ' can't ' write with brevity, I am equally indisposed to attempt a synopsis. But... Girl has self, girl meets boy, girl loses self, girl loses boy, girl tries to find self. Girl finds a different kind of self. This would be fair, but woefully inadequate. More it is an outpouring of thoughts and words, many words along a collection of themes that had been going round and around in my head for a long time. And ultimately a traumatic time in my own life brought these feelings and thoughts rudely, and unbiddenly to the surface. So I wrote them down - a catharsis of sorts, and an interested exploration of the routine, process and 'expected' or 'required' structure of writing in long-form. Thanks for reading and your interest. I repay your time spent with gratitude and humilty. Jamie.
chapter twenty
As the early evening sun hits, it kills the wind. But it’s a little too warm yet in the day for the midges and flies, so all is calm and quiet. Serene. The seawater is merely rippling into Cuil Bay. The views are long and eternal right to the edge of the horizon, away. Away past the one-tree island of Eilean Balnagowan. The low profiles are clear of the isles of Shuna and Lismore, and faintly the hills of Mull. Beyond, out of my sight, there are islands, there are villages, streets and houses. There are towns, there are cities. And all these contain wild places, busy places, quiet corners and many, many - so many people, noises, strife and all the distractions this world contains. But just being here is living, is breathing – and is achieving respite in a world away, a world away from all that. The group of youths were clambering over the seaweed-fast rocks. Laughing amongst themselves, one had cheekily retrieved an empty lobster pot from near the shore, and he was watching the others through its rope-holes. Stones and pebbles they threw and hurled down into the sea, and skimmed across the mini wavelets as they vaulted over the out-running burn and moved erratically and leisurely down to the sands amongst the pebbles of the small beach. The girl was almost through with her cigarette, she could feel the warmth of its glow as it burned down to near its filter. She stretched out her boots in front of her and looked between her feet to see the hardly moving waves far below her high precipitous perch on the rocks above the sea edge. Down she dropped her cigarette, down into the ever moving, ever active, ever-flowing water, stretching out her sun-bronzed arm as she did so. Into the sea that had always been there. Had always moved to and fro. And always, always - until the day when it will freeze again or evaporate away - always will. Then looking up, she ended her thought routine and she suddenly turned her head. She turned her head to view and observe the gang of youths laughing, shouting, playing and running about on the beach below her. All of them foolish, un-planning, un-selfconsciously and spontaneously behaving and existing. All living, breathing and smiling widely and happily. One of them – a tall, wiry youth with cropped, badly bleached hair, put his hands over his eyebrows to shield his vision against the sun. He looked up to the large boulders and rocks rearing up above the beach and the waters edge and he saw the girl sat aloof and viewing them from above. "Lyndsey – hey, LYNDSEY! Come on!" Lyndsey met the youth’s excited shouts and his sun-burned face with her own far-off and private eyes, and she looked up at the blue, blue skies and the wee wispy clouds above her. Then she laughed gaily and scooped up her skirt from underneath her, and tied it casually around her waist and between her cut-off T-shirt and her jeans. Thinking easily and lightly, unthinkingly, she picked up her half-full packet of cigarettes and cast them wildly into a wide arc into the sea. Then she ran down, laughing and shouting to join her friends.
THE END
"We look before and after, And pine for what is not; Our sincerest laughter With some pain is fraught; Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought." Percy Bysshe Shelley "So it’s all coming back round to breaking apart again, Breaking apart like I'm made up of glass again. Making it up behind my back again. Holding my breath for the fear of sleep again, Holding it up behind my head again Cut in deep to the heart of the bone again - round and round and round,And it’s coming apart again, over and over and over." Disintegration Robert Smith
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