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Short Story: to be reviewed by TCS members

post #1 of 5
Thread Starter 
Since this seems to be the literary forum I thought I'd post this here.

I have a short story that I wrote a few years ago and would love some feedback on. All I've gotten so far is that it "freaks me out" but no indication as to why it does that.

It's a strange story... but I was wondering if I posted it if people would be interested in reading it.... (it doesn't have anything to do with cats).
post #2 of 5
I would like to read it.
post #3 of 5
Me too
post #4 of 5
Thread Starter 
Okay... here it is (I feel really shy about this). Let me know what you think!

Into the Weirwood
Copyright 2005

The weirwood is calling. I creep out of my dreams, and listen. The weirwood is calling.

My covers slip to the floor as I stand up. Beyond my window the newly fallen snow glitters. Flakes cling to my windowsill as lovers do a kiss. I search for my coat. Where is it? The air is a cool caress on my shivering body. I see my breath before my face. Trembling fingers grasp the thick cloth of my jacket. Pulling it to me, I envelop myself in its folds. My shaking ceases. Slowly, so slowly, I make my way to stand before the casement. It is an enchanted world. The full moon pours forth a river of light across the snow. The whisper of a half forgotten cry echos in the heavens. The weirwoods are calling. I must go.

The paint of the window frame flakes under my fingers as I lift it up. The grainy feel of it rouses me. I hesitate. My warm bed beckons to me, inviting, warm.

The weirwoods are calling.

My ankles sink into the soft drifts below my window. The frame softly ka-thunks behind me. There is not other sound. My lungs strain against the bite of air.

The weirwoods are calling.

The distant line of trees is only a smudge as I look at it. My impulse is to turn around, yet I go in. Snow spills over the top of my slippers, my toes turn numb. The evergreens are weighted down with snow, their branches brush me as I go by. My passage is their freedom, their load falls down and they swing up, sentinels in the night. My blood pulses hard, I push on. An owl hoos.

The weirwoods are calling.

A small clearing opens in before me, a circle of sanctity. I fall to my knees. Breathing is somehow loud here. The moon overhead is obscured, but there is no darkness. I lift my head, a unicorn stands before me. I do not breathe for fear of frightening her, but she doesn’t show alarm at my presence. I raise a hand, her delicate nostrils quiver under my touch. I stroke the silver mane.

The weirwoods are silent.

The unicorn bends its slight body, curving it around mine. The wood is peaceful, the owl is still. Time passes. A single star shines through a hole in the canopy, and the unicorn rises. I stroke her muzzle a last time. She shakes her mane, scattering radiance around the weirwood, and is gone. I lower my head and spy a single strand of silver hair, translucent as the moment before a sunrise. Back through the wood and the snow, I drift home.

All is as I left it, as though I had never gone. My covers still cling to the side of bed, enticing me to lie down. Still clutching the silver strand, I take one step, than another. The pillows sink, whispering softly as they embrace my tired head. The strand of hair is curled around my wrist, where it gleams like a sliver of the moon. My eyes begin to close.

The weirwood is calling.

Um, yeah so it's weird... I know.
post #5 of 5
It's actually quite enchanting. There are a few typos, and owls hoot or call (if you want to be accurate) You are good with descriptive phrases and you bring the reader into it as an eye witness by painting the scene. You just want to be careful about being to descriptive sometimes, and allow the reader to use his/her imagination in some spots to really grab them. It is quite lovely. Thanks for sharing
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