Experimental Rhythm
I'd rate it PG-13 as it does contain some suggestive elements
I’ve recently become very intrigued in the idea of storytelling not just for the telling of so-and-so story with narrative and description but also to create a natural beat, a natural rhythm that just flows well with the general, grand scheme of things.
No, I’m not talking poems or songs. I’m talking about a story that takes things to a different level.
The important thing to understand is a story is not necessarily there to tell a story. Writing is an art-form and this is my exercise; to make people appreciate such a thing.
Keep in mind the title Experimental. At the time of writing this I have no idea how it will come out… so wish me luck!
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Melancholy. Sweet, evil, harmless melancholy.
Chance it, that’s what pa-pa used to say, yes, chance it. Well I’m… I was, that is to say: Well I’m… Well I’m chancing it, right now. Yes, yes, what would sweet, evil, harmless pa-pa think of me now. Yes, yes, he wouldn’t… no he wouldn’t… he really wouldn’t like it one bit.
Oh my breath. You can hear my breathing like a drum. Pounding, over and over, again and again. Throom. Throom. Throom. Throom. Over and over. Like a drum. Again and again. Throom. Throom. Throoooom.
And my heart. Oh my hearts. Count my lucky hearts. You can hear it beating like a drum. Pounding, over and over, again and again. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Over and over. Like a drum. Again and again. Boom. Boom. Booooooom.
I’m standing by the riverside now, looking down on the rushing water. Oh! How smooth it rushes. I wish my life had been as smooth as the rushing water of the rushing river flow.
Row! Row! I’m in the boat now, squashed all in. I’m exhausted now, but I’ve decided, I must go on. It will end now, the unfairness of it all. I smile, thinking of pa-pa. Chance it, he used to say, did I say, he used to say, Chance it? And then he would laugh. He has… or had… or has… a booming laugh. A booming laugh he has… or had… or has…
Too late now! The damage is done! I have decided. Decided, I have. The boat is circling, slowly, softly. Seemingly lost in the rush of the river’s flow.
I’m lost… or was… not anymore. I’ve found the answer and I’m chancing it, like pa-pa used to tell me to. No! He tells me too! Things go on, as long as the river’s flow. And I smile; this isn’t the end of the river, it’s the beginning of the ocean herself, the ocean oh-so blue.
And I smile even more, the great ocean herself is beck’ning me! I can hear her call. Shwoom. Shwoom. Shwoom. Shwoom. I can hear her so clearly, as clear as clear can be.
The deed maker’s out now and I **** it’s load. See it? Black against the beautiful sky. Oh how I love the sky… loved the sky… nay! Love the sky. I ne’er did think ‘bout that. I might ne’er see that beautiful blue of that sky itself.
Too late now. Or it was too late. Deed-maker’s ‘gainst my head. ‘Gainst my temple. Head is pounding now. Doom. Doom. Doom. Doom. Hate that noise, make it end. One way too, only way now, was the only way, will always be the only way.
I pull the trigger. Click. Clickety. Click.
Forgot to load! Angry now, I try again, one shell gets put in. It’s all that’s needed now. All that’s needed. I think of pa-pa. This is what he wanted, though, what he wants. For me to chance it, oh-so. See if what’s beyond is better than the sea, the sky, the river, the laugh.
No! Too late for tempting. Was too late for tempting. Decided now, chance it! Chance it! Chance it!
Deed-maker to my head!
CHANCE IT! CHANCE IT!
Pounding now. POUND! POUND! POUND!
TRIGGER! POUND! TRIGGER! POUND! CHANCE IT! CHANCE IT! CHANCE IT!
A bird flutters down, Taillow, I believe. It turns it head sideways, mockingly and degradingly, as if it knows. We stare, for how long, no one knows. It winks at me and flutters off. Against the blue, blue sky. Beautiful it is, the sky and the bird and the river and the --
I’m shocked to find I’m crying. Tears rolling down my face. Head is pounding, heart is beating, breath is breathing. And I want to keep it that where. Chance it? To hell! I drop the deed maker and it sinks oh-so fast
Glub. Glub. Glub. Glub.
Never throw, away, what chance has given to you. And I realise, that life is my gift, life is my life and life has given me a second chance.
All thanks to that little Taillow, fluttering away.
I'd rate it PG-13 as it does contain some suggestive elements
I’ve recently become very intrigued in the idea of storytelling not just for the telling of so-and-so story with narrative and description but also to create a natural beat, a natural rhythm that just flows well with the general, grand scheme of things.
No, I’m not talking poems or songs. I’m talking about a story that takes things to a different level.
The important thing to understand is a story is not necessarily there to tell a story. Writing is an art-form and this is my exercise; to make people appreciate such a thing.
Keep in mind the title Experimental. At the time of writing this I have no idea how it will come out… so wish me luck!
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Melancholy. Sweet, evil, harmless melancholy.
Chance it, that’s what pa-pa used to say, yes, chance it. Well I’m… I was, that is to say: Well I’m… Well I’m chancing it, right now. Yes, yes, what would sweet, evil, harmless pa-pa think of me now. Yes, yes, he wouldn’t… no he wouldn’t… he really wouldn’t like it one bit.
Oh my breath. You can hear my breathing like a drum. Pounding, over and over, again and again. Throom. Throom. Throom. Throom. Over and over. Like a drum. Again and again. Throom. Throom. Throoooom.
And my heart. Oh my hearts. Count my lucky hearts. You can hear it beating like a drum. Pounding, over and over, again and again. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Over and over. Like a drum. Again and again. Boom. Boom. Booooooom.
I’m standing by the riverside now, looking down on the rushing water. Oh! How smooth it rushes. I wish my life had been as smooth as the rushing water of the rushing river flow.
Row! Row! I’m in the boat now, squashed all in. I’m exhausted now, but I’ve decided, I must go on. It will end now, the unfairness of it all. I smile, thinking of pa-pa. Chance it, he used to say, did I say, he used to say, Chance it? And then he would laugh. He has… or had… or has… a booming laugh. A booming laugh he has… or had… or has…
Too late now! The damage is done! I have decided. Decided, I have. The boat is circling, slowly, softly. Seemingly lost in the rush of the river’s flow.
I’m lost… or was… not anymore. I’ve found the answer and I’m chancing it, like pa-pa used to tell me to. No! He tells me too! Things go on, as long as the river’s flow. And I smile; this isn’t the end of the river, it’s the beginning of the ocean herself, the ocean oh-so blue.
And I smile even more, the great ocean herself is beck’ning me! I can hear her call. Shwoom. Shwoom. Shwoom. Shwoom. I can hear her so clearly, as clear as clear can be.
The deed maker’s out now and I **** it’s load. See it? Black against the beautiful sky. Oh how I love the sky… loved the sky… nay! Love the sky. I ne’er did think ‘bout that. I might ne’er see that beautiful blue of that sky itself.
Too late now. Or it was too late. Deed-maker’s ‘gainst my head. ‘Gainst my temple. Head is pounding now. Doom. Doom. Doom. Doom. Hate that noise, make it end. One way too, only way now, was the only way, will always be the only way.
I pull the trigger. Click. Clickety. Click.
Forgot to load! Angry now, I try again, one shell gets put in. It’s all that’s needed now. All that’s needed. I think of pa-pa. This is what he wanted, though, what he wants. For me to chance it, oh-so. See if what’s beyond is better than the sea, the sky, the river, the laugh.
No! Too late for tempting. Was too late for tempting. Decided now, chance it! Chance it! Chance it!
Deed-maker to my head!
CHANCE IT! CHANCE IT!
Pounding now. POUND! POUND! POUND!
TRIGGER! POUND! TRIGGER! POUND! CHANCE IT! CHANCE IT! CHANCE IT!
A bird flutters down, Taillow, I believe. It turns it head sideways, mockingly and degradingly, as if it knows. We stare, for how long, no one knows. It winks at me and flutters off. Against the blue, blue sky. Beautiful it is, the sky and the bird and the river and the --
I’m shocked to find I’m crying. Tears rolling down my face. Head is pounding, heart is beating, breath is breathing. And I want to keep it that where. Chance it? To hell! I drop the deed maker and it sinks oh-so fast
Glub. Glub. Glub. Glub.
Never throw, away, what chance has given to you. And I realise, that life is my gift, life is my life and life has given me a second chance.
All thanks to that little Taillow, fluttering away.
And I think Pa-pa should be capitalized as it is a name, even if someone calls that person it. It's still a proper noun. ^.^