Threads in the Wind - Comments

Yea for revival! I honestly forgot about this story, how beautiful the words flow. Looking forward to more.

the papers held the memory of the rain, and the memory of the rain held the memory of that one afternoon, and that one afternoon held so much.
That is so beautiful >< In fact, the entire thing is beautiful!
Haha yeah I just realised this got updated XD
But now that I have realised, you should update again ;)

^ There were phones eleven years ago. They were large and boxlike, but they were mobile phones nonetheless.

I’ve been meaning to read your stories for a while, but I either forget or I’m just not in the mood to read. (That’s incredibly impracticable because I’m always in the mood to read, but we’ll just ignore that and brush it off as laziness.) Annnyway. I’m going to read, read away! :cute:

First: The edges tremble and waver like quicksilver, and I want to drink it. That’s beautiful, Sheila. I don’t necessarily get an image in my hand but it’s like you can see something like that happening, you know? I’m getting extremely frustrated because I can’t explain how much I love that sentence and that is just the first [mini] paragraph.

I guess I can't really know if she's a girl or not, but I know she's a girl. I read that sentence about three times over. Simply because I find it to be extremely realistic. It’s nothing fascinating but it doesn’t call for an eye roll. That sounds a tad bit rude; what I mean is that some writers will put something like that into words but it’ll end up more like: “She’s a girl, but no one actually knows she’s a girl, but I know she’s a girl because I just know these things and because I know these things I must be Edward Cullen.” So, I’m complementing you.

I quite enjoyed the little tidbit about the conversation, awaiting and the star. Uh, you’ve made me want to board a train and just go somewhere. Anywhere, really -- it doesn’t matter. Her mind slips easily, I’m guessing? Well, duh, that’s what the sentence portrays. I wonder if there’s something wrong with her... :think:

I quite like the protagonist’s vivid imagination, dreaming or “muses.” Whichever you prefer. Although, I’m not quite impressed with a mermaid (that’s not an insult to your writing, I’ve never been impressed by mermaids. I’ve asked the occasional question about them and I most definitely believe in them [I believe in everything] but I’ve never been impressed by mermaids), I just like what he sees or imaginations. To be quite honest, his musings on a mermaid actually impress me. A lot. Most definitely makes me think more of mermaids. (Sorry, I realize I’m making no sense whatsoever.)

The last sentence killed me. I woke up, and I knew that this girl drowned. Not in a bad way, but in a good way. I loved it. Lots and lots, actually. It’s almost like a deadpan, really and I can see someone saying that. Or at least I can see people I know saying something along those lines.

Waterlogged words? How do you do this? :cheese: Is your brain some kind of magnificent dictionary of words and musings and flowing, whimsical, mellifluous sentence structures?! I’m convinced that it is and this makes me very, very jealous.

Second: You know what is dysphoric? Practically everyone in my family speaks French, understand French and/or is French. I’m French, but I don’t understand a single word of French. I know how to roll the words off my tongue and I know that it’s a language that makes everything and everyone sound beautiful (who doesn’t know that?) but I don’t speak. I’m learning French this summer, but still... it’s stupid.

Anyway, now I know a new word: Une noyée.

Would those scorching tongues shimmer and glow through a shroud of smoke like shining faces would to a bride behind her veil? Where do you live? I live in Palm Coast, Florida and I’d like to be your best friend. I’m not even kidding you, your writing is splendid and I wish I had taken the time to read your works earlier -- I had no idea what I was missing out on!

I once rode on public transportation (of course, when I was younger I’d been on public transportation but I don’t remember and as much as my mom tries to instill the memory we all know that I’ll never actually remember). I was around the age of eight or nine. Wasn’t impressed at all, to be quite honest. I was being dragged along by the arm and it almost got pulled out by the socket. I was mad and it was hot and this demented, aggravating woman was practically pulling my arm out of the socket. I meant interesting people and I remember a lot. I think about them a lot and I wonder where they are a lot. One woman was blonde and had a missing arm, she was smoking even though you weren’t supposed to smoke on public transportation and she was wearing a pink racerback (where I got my obsession with racerbacks). Another man was old and frail looking and he didn’t impress me much, but his words did. I think he influenced me in some kind of odd way. The last person I meant was another woman. She had a baby with her and she was pretty, with this nice hair that I wanted and she spoke Spanish but she didn’t look Hispanic. I didn’t think much about the people I’d met but I think about them a lot these days. I haven’t been on a bus since. I’ve ridden on a lot of subways, of course, but it’s not the same as riding a bus. Anyway, I’m probably making no sense whatsoever and my point is that this -- this -- makes me want to ride a bus.

Third: I wish I could come across lost items. Palm Coast is an amazing community but they’re rather strict when it comes to garbage and the whatnots. You’re not even allowed to have an outside cat (not that anyone here would have an outside cat -- we’re all “animals are family” people). One speck of trash on the sidewalk and they’ll hunt down the person that dropped it and fine them. So, of course, leaving a pile of diaries on the ground is uncalled for and it makes me sad.

I will admit that I do leave little messages in library books, hoping that someone will find them and smile or frown or get pissed off and smoke a cigarette they’d been keeping away from for the past three weeks.

Ooh, he’s such a stalker.

The fragile thread in my chest lifted again, as if by an invisible wind. Except when I examined it closer, I saw that it was really a tiny, intricate braid of shining threads. This is... my God. It should be illegal for someone to be this talented -- it reeeally should be. You just have this way of stringing words together and turning them into something beautiful.

The delicate threads inside of me trembled like a violin string. :cheese: That is all.

I’ve always wanted to work in a vintique or ice cream shop, but I’m such a fashion enthusiast that working in a fabric shop would be beyond amazing and this most definitely settled the deal for me. I would love nothing more than to work in a fabric shop now. Now, now, now.

Fourth: Whenever I think about dreaming in black and white (I’m a fine dreamer. I dream a lot; I daydream, I’m a lucid dream -- anything to get my hands on dreaming. It’s not because I don’t enjoy the real world [I do. Everything disgusting, distorted, beautiful and delicate is so worth living and drinking in] it’s just that dreaming is such a fascinating thing -- anyway) I think of Bonobo. So, of course, when I read that little detail about whether she dreamt in color or black and white Bonobo popped into my head.

Salt in its dips and curves. You’re way too talented, Sheila. :coffee:

No! I’ve been wanting cupcakes all day and that paragraph did not help with my craving. I can just picture the delicate batter and the icing and sprinkles, thus sinking my teeth into the carb-filled delight and falling in love with its unique taste. I shall shank you!

Okay, so this one is a bit short. Not the chapter, just my musings on it. I apologize, ha ha. Not that any of them are seemingly long in length but I’m sure you understand what I mean.

Fifth: I love when words blur. When I was younger I would purposely dampen papers or hold a light under them so the words would blur. I liked watching them merge as one, going from one separate being and meshing into one whole. It fascinated me and to this day it still does. Ever since I can remember I’ve always loved being in a vehicle while it rained because I had the opportunity to stare at the window and watch as the micro-sized sprinkles ran from one another, only bothering to catch up and turn into one large water droplet five seconds later.

And I most definitely understand the beginning, about feeling an odd pain. I always feel uncomfortable getting rid of something and I’ve always felt like everything had feelings -- as lame as that may sound. So, I never got rid of stuffed animals and I always made sure they weren’t teetering on an edge because I was convinced that they had feelings. And I still am. :shifty

Yes, yes, yes! You gave him glasses! No one ever gives anyone glasses in their stories and that frustrates me to no end (I’ve yet to do so). I have glasses, but I’ve always been given the opportunity to have contacts -- I don’t want them, though. I like having glasses and I like the way they make me look (older, much more sophisticated and everything else I might muster into my brain). Although, I might get some contacts so that my eyes will have a purple hue to them...

Monkeys have always been a large part of our family. All of us kids have them and we refer to them as “moneys” (pronounced moan-e). One of my nephews has a monkey that looks exactly like the one you described. Recently, my little brother and I were given these oversized, soft monkeys and I love mine (mine was supposed to be my little brothers but I took it, so my parents bought my little brother one. Ha ha); it’s so comfortable and cuddly. Yes, I’m lame.

After it left, I heard its echoes, shuddering in the air and in my bones. Beautiful way to end the chapter. Extremely, extremely beautiful. I love the description. You can see him and you can feel what he feels, but there’s a numbness that makes it awkward and all so... inequitable.

Extra: I don’t usually leave long comments on more popular stories because it’s stories like this one that deserve them. Your writing deserves praise and so much more than I could give it. You’re honestly this amazing, beautiful writer and I just wish I could make the whole world read what you write, I’m not even kidding you.

There wasn’t a single minute where it lagged or where I got bored. Admittedly, a few moments were a bit choppy but I get the feeling it was like that on purpose and it just makes the whole situation so much more raw and realistic.

You make me feel so pathetic in the literary world! I can’t believe you even like my writing. Your writing is just... beyond words. I know I sound phony and like a kiss ass but this is exactly what I’ve been looking for and here it is -- it’s been hiding here on your page this entire time.

Lastly, not a lot of people can string together words and orchestrate a beautiful symphony of words. Especially not on Mibba -- especially not on Mibba. So far, you’re the second writer I’ve come across on here that can do that and do it beautifully. Actually, I think you’ve turned into number one on here.

And, ugh, I’m going to go bite my tongue off now. You have no idea how much I regret not reading your stuff beforehand, but I’m glad I have now.

I’m extremely sorry for any redundancy and/or grammatical errors.

This is really random and probably very pointless, but in chapter four it says that when Aislin's parents didn't find her, they tried calling her cell...I don't think they had cell phones eleven years ago :p
I could be wong, though :shock:

This is sick as hell.
I really, really, really hope you continue this story.

Whoa.

I've only read the first chapter (I'm a really slow reader, but the rest will happen, I swear), but I mean, seriously.

Whoa.

I like your brain.
I like the way it thinks.

I don't even know where to start, though I'm sure there's no way I can sufficiently express how much I am loving this story. I've read some of your other stuff and this is by far my favorite. it just has this unaffected air of gorgeous simplicity to it that I couldn't even begin to touch

"The delicate threads inside of me trembled like a violin string."
not that it's relevant but this reminds me of that one verse at the beginning of the fall of the house of usher
"Son coeur est un luth suspendu;/Sitot qu'on le touch il resonne".

idk. it's too perfect
it makes me want to throw something
but out of happiness, y'know?

Wow, I want to find out more about her...
Update! haha

The drowning vs. burning thing is fantastic.
I thought it was just amazing.
Haha well it is your story, so you are entitled to change the name :P haha I don't mind.
I loved your description of the girl, btw!

I love your style of writing!
It's beautiful.
Can't wait to read the next chapter *hint hint*

Wow, you just keep shellin'
'em out, don'cha? {imagine
these words with a light,
country accent} :] I wish
I could write as many
stories as you do in such
a short time.

Lovely as always. And your
imagery is to die for. I wish I
could write imagery like that.
Hrmm. I 'spose it's just a night
for wishes.

I'm starting to find that this
comment is pretty much
useless. Sorry about that.
I blame it on the clock blinking
3:08AM at me. It's my
bedtime. G'night.

Is the summary just one big amazing metaphor? If it is, wow! I'm so interested in this. That sounded abit sarcastic, but I assure you it's not. If it wasn't a metaphor, still, wow! Interested, still

:don: