Apologies for the late post! Experiments are like cats. They like knocking your careful plans off tables.
Carin Marais with The Sky at Noon
I liked the way you cast a very old, traditional story of the Sun and Moon's romance here. My favorite part was the description of the Stars--I loved the idea of the Moon who did not--or could not--listen to their song. I also liked that you reversed the traditional genders for this kind of story--it puts an interesting spin on the bright Sun and shy/dimmer Moon. In the second half of the piece I would have liked more tension. While the resolution is impressive for such a short story, the tension falls away with the ease of the tower's collapse. I liked the final image of the Sun and Moon together in the sky, and how that ties in to the title. Great story!
First Runner Up
Sian Brighal with Lunacy
with Moon Watch
I'll admit I'm not usually one for romantic stories or scenes. Nevertheless, this was a beautiful piece. I loved how you wove the prompt in with a larger tale of Catherine's amnesia--yet without any infodumps. Great transition from the subject of the moon to memories. I like the quiet contemplation of the characters, the hope and disappointment. This was a well-executed interaction, very polished and adds tension to an otherwise very calm piece. I LOVE the last line. It perfectly shows how much Catherine still has to regain, and Ethan's unconscious assumptions & hope. Deliciously poignant ending. Excellent job!
She watched the moon from the cracks in the wall. Full! Distant! A mellow-appearing cloud, cumulus, seemed to caress the edge of the rich, yellow globe.
A flutter of wind flitted in the crack. A speck of wind-dust lodged in her eye.
“Damn,” she muttered.
“What?” Ethan asked.
“Nothing. Something is in my eye.”
“I’ll take a look.”
“That’s not necessary. It’ll tear out.”
“Maybe. Let me look, anyways.”
“Okay,” she relented, pleased that he had insisted.
Ethan touched her cheek in the muted light, asked, “Which eye?” and she said,” The left eye.”
He took a piece of tissue from his pocket, moistened it lightly and gently swabbed her left eye.
“Well?” he then asked.
She blinked, said, “Yes, I think so. Thank you.”
He then kissed her and stepped back into the dark reaches of the old Inn.
They were silent for a time. She again looked through the cracks, skyward, towards the moon.
“Look out the window,” he suggested. “It’s a much fuller view.”
“I know,” she said. “But this way, I see streaks, no, slivers of the moon, of the sky. I know it is all there but this way, well, it’s like the way memory often is, you know, when we recall splinters of our life, moments that flash to mind.”
Ethan stepped again into the pale glow of moonlight slicing through the collapsing way-station. “Are you having flashes of memory?” he asked, hoping that some shard of her past was inching up from the depths.
“No,” she sighed. “I know you thought it would help…bringing me to this place.”
“Woods Raven Inn. You grew up here. Until the crash.”
“Yes, he said, “Years of recovery.”
“And still, no memory?”
“It’ll come, Catherine. It’s just taking longer than expected…”
“Catherine?” she whispered.
Many thanks. Writing is a slow, evolutionary process. I very much enjoyed the emotions that carried me into this story.ReplyDelete