A whispering breeze sighed among the leaves, bringing a blush of chill to his cheeks though the day was warm. The soft sound of the wind and the crisp tumble of the water below the bridge were the only sounds in an otherwise quiet afternoon.
He paused to savor the moment. Listening to the duet of wind and water, he sought to calm the pounding in his ears, the sound of his furious heart raging.
Beside him, his friend stood respectfully waiting. It was unbecoming to make him wait; the man in white robes opened his eyes and walked across the weathered timbers of the bridge.
In the garden where his life would end stood a small table with a simple meal of rice and fish. Seated nearby under a plain pavilion sat a small group of men, their faces neutral.
The man in white walked slowly to the neat mat before the table where he would eat his last meal. He lowered himself carefully to a kneel; his muscles threatened to rebel and loosen, and it would not do for him to fall awkwardly. He arranged his robes and then looked up to take in the vista before him: a wide pond covered with lilies, surrounded by gently arcing willows. Once again he sought to calm the chaos in his mind: so much left undone. So much vengeance unrequited. But now the chance was gone; now he must calm his heart and meet his end with dignity and serenity.
After his meal was eaten his plate was removed and a small wakizashi placed naked on the table except for a wrap of paper around the blade - there to allow him to grasp the blade without cutting his fingers while he opened his belly.
Now: now is the moment. Not to escape, not to move, but to embrace his life - and its end. He closed his eyes and breathed a quiet, calming prayer.
As he opened his eyes and reached for the blade, he felt his friend move into position behind him and heard the katana being drawn.
2 comments:
This is a difficult thing to manage in something that is only one tenth the length of a short story, but I think you gave away the goods too soon. It seemed you were building tension with hardly any effort, the descriptive phrases were good without being distracting, and we knew the man was wrestling with something BIG. I was personally identifying with the character because we've all felt internal turmoil. Contrasting the man's simple meal with so much internal conflict was delicious, but dessert was served before I was done with the entree. If you could have held off until about the third to the last paragraph to reveal that the man was there to kill himself the impact would have been an earthquake for the reader.
Probably true: I think I had an idea for this story from the start that was larger than the format allows.
One thing I do want to try to avoid is the Sixth-Sense, O. Henry-esque "clever" or twist ending. I know that I have a tendency to get hung up on how a story will end; I usually want to come up with some witty conclusion, and I am consciously trying to get away from that in this piece.
My idea, if this gets drawn out to full length, is that he - and the reader - know well in advance what's going on. I really want to avoid any chance that the reader thinks there's going to be a daring last-second rescue or anything; the real conflict is not man vs. his fate, but rather man vs. his own fear of death and inner turmoil. His challenge is to accept his fate and find inner peace before he's gone.
I think in this piece I didn't really know how to tie that in correctly and still keep my intention...
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