A fine film of mist soaked Saul’s skin, glasses, and brown hair as he walked through the gusty alley. Smur was the word his mother used to use to describe this weather. She would say it in a congested way that made it sound as if something was stuck in the back of her throat, and she couldn’t coax it out until she had said the word. Saul massaged his hands through his worn coat pockets, willing them to regain warmth; he would need his hands when he got home.
As Saul walked, he felt each smooth and sturdy brick through the soles of his thin shoes. He focused on a single spot, straight ahead: the place where the gentle curve in the road made the rows of steep, sharp buildings that lined the street seem like they met the sky and road.
As Saul continued, the thin layer of haze he had become accustomed to slid across his left eye, blurring the peaks and stones of the buildings. The grey of everything—the coat of clouds, the stone buildings, the misty air—fogged his mind, and he wondered how much longer he would be able to see anything at all. The entire walk home he continued folding and kneading his thoughts in frustration the way his wife did with a great batch of dough.
When Saul reached his alleyway, night was changing in color and thickness more rapidly than his thoughts, but the light from the streetlamps warmed the narrow passage more than the grey sky had. Saul reached his door where he pulled the metal key out of his pocket and unlocked the door. He pushed it open and stepped into the apartment where weak light, fish and potato casserole, and his youngest daughter greeted him.
“Daddy!” Rebekah said, running to her father who bent over and picked her up. Her deep brown eyes and tiny teeth made him smile as touched his nose to hers and kissed her thin lips.
“And it looks like it’s going to be another chilly week in Edinburgh,” a woman said from the TV screen. “With temperatures remaining in the teens. Don’t expect to see the sun for a while as…”
Saul walked to the tattered cloth couch where his wife and Paul, his ten-year-old son, watched the news. Danny and Eryn, seven and six, played with a jigsaw puzzle on the floor. The green, brown, and bits of purple of his wife’s boggy eyes stared into him with concern only he could see.
“Hey, Dad,” Eryn said without looking up. “Look at how much of the puzzle we’ve done today.”
“Shush,” Paul said. “I want to watch this.”
“Don’t be a git,” Eryn said. “And stop pretending like you’re actually interested in that stuff.”
“Be quiet, the both of you,” his wife said. Her long blonde hair was tied messily behind her head and it brushed along her back as she turned to Saul, saying, “How was your day?”
Saul shrugged, not indifferently but overwhelmingly.
“Well, why don’t we go ahead and have some dinner?” she said. “I just put the rhubarb and strawberry crumble in the oven, and the casserole is on the counter.”
“Aw, Mom,” Rebekah said. “Why do we always have to have fish and potato casserole? It tastes like diapers.”
“Like you can talk,” Danny said. “You’ve only just gotten out of them.”
“Fine, Rebekah. Don’t eat it,” his wife said. “Now come on, all of you. Eryn, help Paul set the table. Danny, get the drinks.”
Saul sat through the dinner unable to experience any of it. Somebody had turned off his feeling capability. No pain, no worry, no happiness, no taste. The dinner and conversation left Saul empty. His wife hurried the children to their bedroom then returned to the table, sitting next to Saul.
In general, I enjoyed the story. The only comment I’d make in addition to the others already made is that, when writing a story set in another country from your own, pay attention to small details that make it authentic. There are several times in the story where American expressions and spellings are frequently used – ‘diapers’ (we use nappies in Britain), referring to the temperature in Edinburgh being in the teens … this would be in farenheit – we use Celsius here and although these points may seem pedantic, they are important in conveying an authenticity. I noticed them so other British readers probably would too. Although written by and American, perhaps, for an American audience, if the setting is in Britain then everything about the story should be ‘British’ in essence.
The story flowed well and had a natural ‘feel’. Feelings and emotions were very much highlighted but I believe the subject matter facilitated this perspective.
First there are a number of typos e.g: but if it’s about something important, I might could make the journey…
Second, it is very obviously written by a lady – too much description based on feelings.
Third, I got caught in the story but wanted to stop reading it a few times. Anyone who has experienced cancer in their families will find this hard to read (most families have).
The writing needs some tightening up, and a lot of proof reading – sorry Megan.
I love this. The hopelessness of the poor man’s situation comes through clearly. A small suggestion. In the line – Saul said his words with care. “I though you could mabye come to Edinburgh….” – I think I’d change ’said’ to ‘chose’.
I kept hoping he’d turn the tables on his rotten brother and actually be betraying him by exposing the plan but alas, that was not to be.
Unfortunately, I must agree with Christine. The first page did not grab me. There was nothing that made me want to read more about this sad man and his sad circumstances. The conflict needs to be apparent sooner in order to interest a reader.
We value your thoughtful comments.What did you like/dislike?What would improve it?
It’s a very good effort. Some nice sentences and evocativ images. But, the writer might consider going over it again to make the writing crisper. Tighter. For example, first line….A fine film of mist soaked Saul’s skin, glasses, and brown hair as he walked through the gusty alley… could perhaps be more immediate to catch the readers attention by writing instead something like: ‘A fine mist enfolded Saul as he walked along the gray alley.’ Author needs to vary pace of story with shorter, more pointed sentences that focus the action. She might consider whether her words are well chosen for the image she is going for. For example, if — a fine film of a mist soaked him… it mustn’t have been fine but rather heavy. If the author would like me to continue to comment, I will, but I am unable to commit to reading a 5 pg story that doesn’t grab me by middle of second page.
This is a great story! Initially, when I saw the length of 5 pages, I thought it would be too long for a good read online. But when I finished page 5 I hoped for page 6. I wanted more.
Good character development of Saul and Bryan. I’m still wondering about the Dad angle, what happened in their youth that set them on separate paths.
I liked everything about this story. Please contribute more.