This is a beautiful story, beautiful for the words, but sad.
It really feels like a fairy tale, the way the words flow, or maybe the order of it all. I don't know, but it just feels right. The fact that he has the name The Walking Man adds to that fairy tale feeling. I absolutely love how your bring everything to life, the fire, the trees, Sleep, just everything in the story is not only full of life and reactions, but they really do seem to keep him company, almost like they're watching over him. It almost feels like the whole world is mourning his loss with him, trying to wrap him in its arms. And it even almost feels like the world, the fire and trees and all, need him just as much as he seems to need them. I don't know. It's just so very beautiful. I especially love the words you chose, the verbs you chose for each of them. Two of my favorites are:
"The fire crackled its sorrow and grief for The Walking Man."
and
"Sleep was tumbling around The Walking Man now, holding him in her ambrosial arms, covering him with her silken kiss."
I absolutely love reading those lines. I can't express the beauty of them.
The length of the sentences really stands out in the story, especially in the beginning. I love how the first few paragraphs are only made of a minimal amount of sentences, and they feel like they just run on and on and on, but in a way that just fits, almost like the winding, endless roads he walks and walks and walks. It also kinda seems like they may match his thoughts and the fact that in his solitude and constant walking, his thoughts wind and wind and wind, one thought falling into another in a never-ending stream because all there is in his world is walking now. And at the same time, towards the end, the reader can notice that the sentences get shorter, choppier, or at least with more pausing punctuation, especially when he's talking, and that gives the reader the feel of Frank remembering that day a year ago, like each memory is just jumping out, quickly flashing and then gone, but always leaving its blinding mark. And that seems to fit, too. It's just so beautiful.
And when reading this story, I kind of get the feel that maybe Frank is talking to the trees and the fire and any objects he passes by in order to not lose sight of reality. Like, if he doesn't keep talking about it, if he doesn't keep talking aloud to someone or something, he'll lose the one thing that keeps his footing on the Earth, on reality. Like he'll lose himself and none of it will mean anything and none of it will be real if he doesn't keep talking and walking. Like, it's his only connection anymore. And there is so much beauty in that, too.
"At night, he spoke to the fire he made, into the glowing embers and cracking knots of wood, watching the yellow sparks and listening to the things they had to say, for they knew many things."
This sentence really stands out to me. I think your word choice is unbelievable here. Using "cracking knots" to describe the wood makes me think of the elderly, or cracking joints and things that go along with aging, and that image fits perfectly with the fact that you make the wood seem wise, "for they knew many things". You know what I mean? It's just the perfect description to go with the sense that the wood has so much to say and it's worth hearing. Incredible word choice there, Vonnbb.
This story is just incredible. I absolutely love it, and I read on your lj that you're going to eventually stretch in different directions for Kingdoms, with this being kind of a beginning, and I can't wait until you get that rolling, because I'd love to read it.
It really feels like a fairy tale, the way the words flow, or maybe the order of it all. I don't know, but it just feels right. The fact that he has the name The Walking Man adds to that fairy tale feeling. I absolutely love how your bring everything to life, the fire, the trees, Sleep, just everything in the story is not only full of life and reactions, but they really do seem to keep him company, almost like they're watching over him. It almost feels like the whole world is mourning his loss with him, trying to wrap him in its arms. And it even almost feels like the world, the fire and trees and all, need him just as much as he seems to need them. I don't know. It's just so very beautiful. I especially love the words you chose, the verbs you chose for each of them. Two of my favorites are:
"The fire crackled its sorrow and grief for The Walking Man."
and
"Sleep was tumbling around The Walking Man now, holding him in her ambrosial arms, covering him with her silken kiss."
The length of the sentences really stands out in the story, especially in the beginning. I love how the first few paragraphs are only made of a minimal amount of sentences, and they feel like they just run on and on and on, but in a way that just fits, almost like the winding, endless roads he walks and walks and walks. It also kinda seems like they may match his thoughts and the fact that in his solitude and constant walking, his thoughts wind and wind and wind, one thought falling into another in a never-ending stream because all there is in his world is walking now. And at the same time, towards the end, the reader can notice that the sentences get shorter, choppier, or at least with more pausing punctuation, especially when he's talking, and that gives the reader the feel of Frank remembering that day a year ago, like each memory is just jumping out, quickly flashing and then gone, but always leaving its blinding mark. And that seems to fit, too. It's just so beautiful.
And when reading this story, I kind of get the feel that maybe Frank is talking to the trees and the fire and any objects he passes by in order to not lose sight of reality. Like, if he doesn't keep talking about it, if he doesn't keep talking aloud to someone or something, he'll lose the one thing that keeps his footing on the Earth, on reality. Like he'll lose himself and none of it will mean anything and none of it will be real if he doesn't keep talking and walking. Like, it's his only connection anymore. And there is so much beauty in that, too.
"At night, he spoke to the fire he made, into the glowing embers and cracking knots of wood, watching the yellow sparks and listening to the things they had to say, for they knew many things."
This sentence really stands out to me. I think your word choice is unbelievable here. Using "cracking knots" to describe the wood makes me think of the elderly, or cracking joints and things that go along with aging, and that image fits perfectly with the fact that you make the wood seem wise, "for they knew many things". You know what I mean? It's just the perfect description to go with the sense that the wood has so much to say and it's worth hearing. Incredible word choice there, Vonnbb.
This story is just incredible. I absolutely love it, and I read on your lj that you're going to eventually stretch in different directions for Kingdoms, with this being kind of a beginning, and I can't wait until you get that rolling, because I'd love to read it.