I Can Stop When I Want To

Cherry

By h_v_h

Tue, 19 May 2015
  • 1487 reads
6 comments
 

 

A train ride. I am moving in parallel lines. I am half-cut, face-pressed-against-the-glass glad to get out of here. The familiar sights fade, and I am glad to get out, but I strain my neck for a last glimpse, of everything I am. 
 
The heating is on. Offensively, it pushes its way upwards, my cheeks feel hot and crimson. I take off my coat. And there it is, just a white corner of a bombshell protruding from my pocket, a longed for but now unwelcome surprise. I know it's from him. As I turn it over and over in my hand, there is a cacophony of crashes in my head. The train screeches and jolts to a standstill and, for a fleeting moment, I believe that I have made it so with my mind. How absurd, that I might telepathically communicate with this great metal thoroughfare, but not so strange, considering it all. 
 
A few stops later and I am still turning the letter, unread, over in my hands; the muggy air and the heat from my fingers have soiled its dreadful, crisp, whiteness, and it's dog-eared at the corners where I have absent-mindedly folded and unfolded and folded again.  
 
I don't want to know what it says. Or to wonder about it. Maybe my haphazard packing of some half-consumed minis from a hotel room somewhere long-ago and a handful of old cinema ticket stubs, or my wonderfully crafted wordless goodbye did not communicate my message effectively. I wonder how he had the time to write this and slyly slip it into my pocket. Whatever this is. Could be last month's electric bill. Could be a quote from some jumped up, washed out, supposed poet; words that aren't his own. It wouldn't be enough to stop the train. Even if I was telepathic. Even if I wanted to be. And so there is no point in this piece of paper poison. The edges draw paper-cuts across my nerves, down my spine. 
 
I crack open the window and it flutters away. Relieved, I watch it flutter, so gently it flies, so easily, so daintily, so horribly, horribly wrong. 
 
The train screeches again, and this time it is me. It's my white-knuckled,  paper-folding hand around a red handle.
Certificate U
Story
Inspiration Point (work that responds to our weekly writing cue)

Comments

Submitted by Philip Sidney on

We can guess at it - but...beautifully, drawn.  Small but perfectly formed.

Submitted by h_v_h on

Thank you Philip, that's great to hear. 

 

Submitted by love_writing on

This is very well crafted. The train setting is effective to the characters inner thoughts. In particular I liked the character thinking she had stopped the train using her mind! 

 Also ' the edges draw paper- cuts down across my nerves, down my spine' really works and sums up her thoughts on the letter...and it's sender. 

love_writing

Submitted by h_v_h on

Thank you love_writing, it's great to hear which parts had most of an impact. Glad the train setting had its desired effect! 

 

Submitted by Stephen Thom on

hey, this was great, v transportive in thoughts and propulsion. love train settings and it played alongside the thoughts well. really enjoyed some of the original prose moments - the rush of 'I am half-cut, face-pressed-against-the-glass glad to get out of here', the quirky afterthought of 'and, for a fleeting moment, I believe that I have made it so with my mind' and the alliterative spike of 'no point in this piece of paper poison'. also the movement and contrast in so daintily, so horribly, weaving poetic touches into the prose. lots to appreciate here, cracking short piece. :-)

 

Submitted by h_v_h on

Hi Stephen, thank you for such detailed feedback! It's great to hear which parts you found particularly effective, very helpful!