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bombshell
By ellyb39
05 June 2007
I wrote this for a course I am completing, I think it would benefit from being longer, but probably long enough for this site. elly

     Something odd is happening to me.  Underneath my feet, solid pavement, newly tarmacked.  No bubble gum polluting it, or weeds creeping out of cracks .  Modern homes line the street, Lego brick perfect, crisscrossed by neat fences, tubs of flowers, brick paved drives.  The street calmly sits there like a cat watching, as it licks its’  paws. My house, with straight, uncompromising lines.  The house is like that inside as well, clean, cool, uncluttered.    Everything is the same as always, except for me.
      I look up from my gardening, wrinkled hands digging in flower beds, neatly taking out rodent weeds, and memory sends me into another dream,  again that place, dusky woodland scent,  feel again the trickle of  sun, lacefiltered,  trees towering above my head.    Trembling and clacking, floppy green leaves like fabric , creating curtains, lush and impenetrable.
     Pushing through the tangled brambles, thorns pricking and pulling scratching, young skin.  Debris litters the undergrowth and I trip on a plank, nail still rudely sticking up, waiting to puncture my plimsolls.  I am wearing a blue summer dress that sticks to my back.  Blue socks, hair pulled up tightly in a plait.  My mother pulled it up this morning, band in her teeth, whistling through them both.  My scalp is on fire, hair tortured into the plait. 
     ‘Don’t get into trouble, running round with that boy’

      She watches me run out of the door.  I glance back; her head is already bobbing as she squints in front of the mirror combing her hair, permanently waved fringe dancing above her eyes, she draws cartoon red lips , her disguise for the day.  I am gone, but I know what will come next, a lick with her pink tongue, pick up her bag and out the door, to work in the factory, another day of war work. 
     The ruined walls are appearing through the trees now, cascade of bindweed decorating them like bunting at a fete.  Jagged high walls scarred with blackness, where fire has left its mark.   Intangibly the atmosphere becomes muffled and heavy, our voices are muted, thickness entering our throats, dribbling into silence.  Near the building the rampant undergrowth is domestic, rambling roses strewn over crumbling walls, fennel mad and huge, remnants of a vine snaking around a wall,broken timbers submerged by  stinging nettles, floating in great patches, guarding the entrance from bare legged children. 
     We clamber over all of this into the heart of the building, he leading confidently, into a great cavern of high walls surmounted by the remains of a huge fire place.  Some window frames remain, light lurching over the rubble.   Our voices echo in here and he drags me to the end of the once room.  Invisible boundaries and ceilings fill our minds as we struggle to complete the picture of a finished building.   His hand clutches my arm , sweaty, slippery palm.  He points to a gap and forces me in to a small room.  Dank death smell.
     'That's where I found him... He was hanging, from that beam up there, he had no shirt on either'
     I gaze at the empty space, suitably horrified and he swings me round to face him.
     'It was horrible' he slurs,  staring into my eyes as if trying to push his revulsion into me.  I nod, and hold his hand which has begun to tremble.
     'He's gone now'
     'Yes, they took him away, carried him in a canvas bag through the woods, they gave me a bob'


   Cloud covers the expanse above us, the walls seem to soak up the light.  Panic fills my mind as the images tumble around and mix up with the fire pictures, still vivid from the night the house next door got bombed.  The empty eyes of a neighbour crushed by a falling wall, redlit glimpses,  Mum, arm around me pushing me home.
       Scrabbling out of the building, trying to escape, the brambles catch my dress, nettles nipping bites, unreasonable terror, the terror which makes a mouse skitter, a rabbit transfixed, cat like a hairbrush, and a child scream. 
     Crashing, panting, through the woods and reach the meadow, face down smelling sweet homely  grass, sobbing quietly, as he throws himself down beside me, his face tear streaked and grimy.
      'It was horrible ' he hisses.  
 

     His voice seems to echo down the empty street, and I can feel him standing next to me, a child ghost of a memory.

Reviews

Written by Lizzy (793 comments posted) 5th June 2007
This sent shivers down my spine and made the hairs stand up on the back of my neck. I thought that it was beautifully written. Your descriptions are very good, comparisons of beauty and ugliness. 
A very good piece. 
Lizzy
Hi ellyb
Written by stevetroster (1549 comments posted) 5th June 2007
This is a very haunting and engaging story full of wonderful imagery, that I enjoyed reading very much. However, it does require a good edit to help it flow. 
It is much better in the latter stages, and it feels as if you rushed through the early part of the story to get to the part that you really wanted to write.  
There are quite a lot of short statements that on their own are either incomplete, or say/add very little. 
Just a few examples: 
‘Underneath my feet, solid pavement, newly tarmacked. (short, sharp statements - why is there a full stop?) No bubble gum polluting it, or weeds creeping out of cracks.’  
Solid pavement with new tarmac doesn’t work for me, it would read much better as; The roads are covered in crisp black tarmac, while beneath my feet the pavement is clean and free of bubble gum, no weeds creeping through the cracks in the stones.  
 
Modern homes line the street, Lego brick perfect, crisscrossed by neat fences, tubs of flowers, brick paved drives (short, sharp statements). The street calmly sits there like a cat watching, as it licks its’ paws (is a strange line, what is the street watching?). My house, with straight, uncompromising lines (sounds as if you forgot to finish the sentence). 
The house is like that inside as well, clean, cool, uncluttered.  
 
You could write; Perfect Lego-brick homes line the street, all flagstone drives and flower tubs, crisscrossed by neat, freshly painted white fences. My house is just the same, four walls of straight uncompromising lines, inside as well as out. It is cool, clean, and uncluttered, everything in its place, everything the same as it has always been, except for me. 
 
A good story, hope this helps, all the best. 
Steve. 

Written by Phil (6713 comments posted) 5th June 2007
Very engaging piece Elly. The contrast of controlled suburban utopia with the wild, overgrown dark places she visits is done very well. This too is reflected in the language. Short, sharp statements at beginning and end, and more descriptive and complete in the middle. While I can see Steve's point, I think this is a really good idea, perhaps just a little over done. 
 
Good stuff. 
 
Phil.

Written by Fledermaus (3281 comments posted) 5th June 2007
The poetic style didn't make it a very easy read, as the lines seemed to go on and on, but on the other hand, that did ensure a careful read. You don't mention whether the two places are the same, but it's something I've thought of while walking through my own neighbourhood. In WW2 it was for the most part destroyed (today they'd call it 'collateral damage') and hundreds of people died. Now there are new houses and new people who live there, but I sometimes wonder what sort of impact it still has.  
They say that a certain woman is still homeless after she turned crazy when here home was destroyed and her family killed more than 60 years ago... :eek  
 
A good story which makes one think.

Written by sam_duke (19 comments posted) 5th June 2007
Personally I like the style, quite Modernist without going too far into with it - though I understand why someone else might not like that. The description through the first paragraph is engaging, vivid and quite imaginative. 
 
The story itself is well-packaged, with everything there in such a short read. 
 
I like it.

Written by gwennypenny (13 comments posted) 5th June 2007
Hi ellyb39 
I liked the style of this piece although I tend to agree with some of the others that maybe it was trying too hard in places.  
 
I think the style worked particularly well when the action involved the children. It gives it an immediacy that is breathlessly childlike. Maybe less would be more - if you know what I mean. 
An enjoyable piece. 
gwennypenny

Written by ellyb39 (79 comments posted) 6th June 2007
Well! Thankyou all for reading this. I think I will rewrite the beginning, will edit this and repost later. When I wrote this I had a word limit and that is why the sentences are disconnected because I had to cut out a lot...probably a good thing!!

Written by Gill21 (566 comments posted) 6th June 2007
A very unnerving piece. I agree with many things that have been said, particularly that the contrast between the neatness of suburbia and the wild, dark places being very effective. Great descriptive writing if perhaps a little too 'wordy' in places. Very evocative. Well done.
Spooky
Written by Asferthecat (834 comments posted) 7th June 2007
A great feeling of menace - a well written and evocative piece.

Written by TwistedTales (548 comments posted) 21st June 2007
Very engaging, powerful and descriptive. But the descriptions did get a lil too much for, coz they sort of distracted from the main storyline. Otherwise it is simply splendid. Very vivid imagery. Was right there with the characters. Beautiful..look forward to more of your work.  
 
Regards, 
TT

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