Tell Me What You Think

Okay, usually I am loathe to place much of my writing out here into the unforgiving land of bloggerdom for who knows who to critique, but I am determined to become more accustomed to hearing criticism from many different points of view, so I will let you have at the piece that follows. I am presently in the Portage Public Library, and while I was sitting here marvelling at the speed of the wireless here in comparison to the dial up I have at home, I saw someone for just an few seconds that set off my literary brain. This is REALLY REALLY a rough draft, so don't freak over grammar and such. I'm more curious as to what you will think of the mood and meaning of the piece. Thanks in advance to any who offer their opinions.

Oh- and the working title might help, but also may corrupt your reading. I have been calling it for the past hour or so "Boy as Death." Enjoy.


She looked up and peering at her from around the corner of the magazine rack was the slightly obese figure of a boy of about 11 or12. His rather large head bore a short buzzed haircut first made common by GI’s on their way to fight in foreign land and popularly adopted by prepubescent males who had grander things on their mind than hygiene. Their mothers ordained that they either needed to wash more, or rid themselves of their oily locks, and the latter was thought to be more preferable by far.

It was not his hair however that attracted her. He wore nondescript brownish clothing over his slightly larger than average girth. A t-shirt emblazoned with the faded name of a band popular six or seven years ago cried out for a cleaning and just barely touched the hem of the worn sweat pants covering surprisingly frail looking legs.

Though there was no snow on the ground, and the rain had halted days ago, each twig of a limb was ensconced within a serviceable black rubber winter boot. That is what had let her know that he was on his way, the bump of each foot hitting the floor as he wandered around the edge of the library shelf, followed by the sound of the inner felt lining striking the faded cotton encircling his legs.

It was not his clothing that drew her to him though. His mouth was unsmiling, and the muscles surrounding his face looked as if they were unaccustomed to that emotion, or at least they had learned to school away any visible signs of that feeling that might strike the boy. His lips were slightly parted and she could hear the faint sounds of his breath drawing in and out and as he halted after rounding the shelf. His lips did not move, but an airy cough escaped and echoed in the cherished silence of the library.

It was the eyes, yes the windows to the soul, that drew her to him-- that let her know that she knew him only too well. Deep set and hooded, the fluorescent lights hanging high above shielded their color and any thoughts that might have been floating around within his mind. The curtain that hung over them was so complete that the light seemed to be pulled inexorably into them like a black hole. Yes she knew this boy.

Taking her time, she read the book that she held in her hands, savoring each line, every turn of phrase that the author had so carefully wrought, seeming to think of her, in this time, in this place, sitting in a blue recliner between Periodicals and Mysteries, and then as a tinny voice informed her that her sanctuary would be closing in just a few minutes. She closed her book, walked back to the shelf where she had taken it from and slowly slid it into place until it was indistinguishable from all of the other books that no one had taken from their place that day. Pulling her coat tight against the breeze that enveloped her as she broke the seal of the doorway, she stepped out into the dark. She turned and nodded at the small figure standing near the entryway as she passed, acknowledging him, and that they would soon be reunited.


(Okay, this is Carrie again, and as I have considered what I have written I'm thinking that I will be a little cautious walking out to my car and driving home this evening. I suppose I've at least managed to affect myself as a reader, whether or not I have any of you. So, realistically nothing will happen to me, but if it does, its been a pleasure serving you. See you on the flip side. :) )