True Reflections [One-Shot?]

[Altαir]

[size=4][color=#222222][font=Arial]A story I came up with on the spot. Spent a few days playing around with it and sprucing it up.[/font][/color][/size] [color=#000000][size=4]Writing this story has got my brain a bit confused.[/size]

[spoiler True Reflections][/color]




[center][color=#000000][size=4][u]True Reflections[/u][/size][/color][/center]

[color=#000000][size=4][font=Arial]Golden are the sunsets that reveal their never-ending conflict. The trees sigh: their cascading, green dresses covered in an unwanted wash of orange light. Brown is the taste of the earth, dry with anticipation, wet with anticipation. The air is crisp with blue, the warm blue of relaxation and ease. It smelled like baked grass, the smell of nature and light dancing. The bells of human creation are ringing so far away that they have no relevance here. Nothing really has relevance, though, in front of the multicolored sun in a semi-cloudy sky. This golden, multicolored scenery invaded that peaceful town with no need of a name. The game is played same with some lame array of rules in this place. No ruckus. Suggested. No big ruckus. Written. No violence. Always written, never followed, and always written. Be the same, with the same house, the same speech, the same life. Such a stereotype. There is no need of a name. People needn't give much to exist, like in that wretched city lightyears away. Even so, it was almost like no one was even there - jobs were finished, rules were followed, and Monday was respected as that holy day of rest. Perfect.[/font]

[font=Arial]There was this gulr who made her presence known in this town by being born some ages ago. Her tanned skin and simple complexion told us she had blonde hair and read storybooks unlike this one. She had some sort of purple t-shirt on, even though purple was expensive. She still has it on, unfortunately. With brown eyes of uninterest, she almost resembles a human being if it isn't for her missing arm. Irrelevant history. As if to mock her, rays of light emnate from behind her body. Trick of the light. Unlike the norm, she was still outside. Oddly enough, she appeared to be searching for something also irrelevant, yet totally lost, like a purple dog in its own backyard.[/font][/size]

[size=4][font=Arial]His wondrous grace beheld us a thick forest to the west of this figure, colored deep with an ominous presence. He also was merciful enough to abstain from interference, even though he had all rights to do so. A bleak gust of unnatural wind came rushing through, with a taste of red, the red of darkness? In the passing of this feeling, the girl lost her desire to lose, and sauntered her way towards this odd forest. All the while, she was mumbling something about the door being too big and her subjugation to fate. On the way something broke my perfect scenery and called out like a banshee with no mouth. How sad.[/font][/size]

[size=4][font=Arial]A passage of hell - I'm sorry, a road extended itself out in front of her. Chances are, if the world had not been cruel enough at that moment, she would've noticed the impossibly black trees with sick colored leaves, and the newfound presence of sound, probably his shrieking. The lack of animals and the plethora of demons also set the mood, squirrels with impossible fangs laughing, deer with impossible horns sneering, leaves with impossible sadness falling. It smelled of death, plain and simple. She, the girl, wandered down the neatly carved passageway, for nothing neatly carved is ever good, until she comes to a crossroad of sorts. The storm grey gravel underneath her foot simply splits, much like her mind at that moment. The forest extends on. The darkness, however, hides their identities. The shrieking finds its source, a black crow perched on a half-eaten signpost juxtaposed between the two splits. Odd, it sounded like human pain. Its mouth is open, but the beak does not move, for it needn't. An ancient, malicious feeling emanates from this bird, but the figure does not notice. Perhaps he continues to shriek because he does not notice her. Perhaps the bird's impossible bloodlust is like the impossiple horns and the impossible fangs, just there to set the mood. But this world is not build on what might be.[/font]

[font=Arial]"You... tell me what your name is." The bird's mouth still does not move.[/font]

[font=Arial]"Such things are irrelevant." The figure murmurs. The God in her head decides to leave through her mouth, rather than her nostrils.[/font]

[font=Arial]The bird suddenly gasps in fright as he squeals, "Don't look behind you!"[/font]

[font=Arial]As the basis of the intricate conglomerate known as human instinct is to disobey direct commands, the figure moves her head a tad bit, but feels an overbearing feeling of regret, and so the devil in her mind decides to enter. Her conscience interrupted, she turns her head to face the red monkey. A slight grin played on his pink face as his paws gripped the signpost tightly. He is also chewing on his nails, almost nervously.[/font]

[font=Arial]After a brief silence, the monkey says with his unwavering mouth, "You... tell me why you are here?”.[/font]

[font=Arial]"Such matters can be held off, yes?" The figure plays in rebuttal. Her eyes sprout deizens so ugly they needn't be named. Like the town.[/font]

[font=Arial]The monkey then yelps as his tailfin stiffens and he cries "Don't look behind you!"[/font]

[font=Arial]Perhaps she's enchanted, because the process repeats itself. Instinct, return, realization. The green snake now coils itself around the sturdy and brittle signpost as it hisses with a smile.[/font]

[font=Arial]Following the pause, the snake bears its fangs while saying, "You... tell me your dimensions?"[/font]

[font=Arial]"Such distractions can be ignored, no?" The figure responds. The mushrooms on her palms are crushed under the pressure. They only grow on dark, moist surfaces, after all.[/font]

[font=Arial]The snake then grips its claws around the signpost as he screams, "Don't look behind you!"[/font]

[font=Arial]Knowing the trick, the figure did not look behind this time. The brown owl then flaps his wings, clasps the signpost, and chuckles.[/font]

[font=Arial]A short intermission ensued, and then the owl curiously asks, "You... tell me your history?"[/font]

[font=Arial]"Such records can be postponed, hm?" The figure answers. Her feet shift as the quicksand below ceases. Not yet.[/font]

[font=Arial]The owl then makes a fist and exclaims, "Don't look behind you!"[/font]

[font=Arial]The figure already braces herself for the run through. She is now determined not to look behind. The white dragon then stomped his foot, shattering the signpost. The beast hiccupped with power, laughing.[/font]

[font=Arial]Breaking the silence, his loud voice booms, "You... tell me your achievements?"[/font]

[font=Arial]"Such items can be pushed off, eh?" The figure claims. Why doesn't her body disintigrate already!?[/font]

[font=Arial]The dragon's fur suddenly jumps as he bellows, "Don't look behind you!"[/font]

[font=Arial]The figure is now absolutely bored with this gimmick, and doesn't even consider the thought of turning around. The man, clad in multicolor, twirls his cane which looks suspiciously like a signpost, and begins to cackle manically.[/font]

[font=Arial]He does not wait for silence. "You... tell me! What is it you want?" The man says. The singpost is pointed at the heart, almost as if it's telling it which way to go. Even if it is half-eaten.[/font]

[font=Arial]"Tell me which road leads to my home?" The figure asks. That light becomes darker. Why not when it should've, many ticks ago?[/font]

[font=Arial]"Oh?" The man tilted his head, breaking into another fit of laughter, which seemed less evil yet more sinister. "Then why don't you just turn around and take the road you took to get here." The cane immediately points behind. The man's mouth, unlike all the other incarnations, actually moved.[/font]

[font=Arial]And so the figure turns around to walk back home. Self-realization did it. And yet it was still sunset, much like that day before...[/font][/size]

[size=4][/spoiler][/size][/color]

[color=#000000][size=4]If you are bothered by the errors so much that it interrupts your reading, all the better.[/size][/color]

[color=#000000][size=4]A giant extended twisted metaphor? Yes, please.[/size][/color] [size=4]Thoughts are greatly appreciated.[/size]

[color=#ffffff][size=2]Is it just me or is this font all off?[/size][/color]

[bury the year]

My thoughts are you can't use tenses consistently.
[quote]The air is [b](present)[/b] crisp with blue, the warm blue of relaxation and ease. It smelled [b](past)[/b] like baked grass, the smell of nature and light dancing.[/quote][quote]Her conscience interrupted, she turns [b](present)[/b] her head to face the red monkey. A slight grin played [b](past)[/b] on his pink face as his paws gripped the signpost tightly.[/quote]
Just two examples. Other than that...? It's just a mess of purple prose that obscures any meaning you're trying to go for. I realize you're trying to set the mood through lots of description, but it becomes so overbearing that I got turned off further reading halfway through.

[Altαir]

The inconsistent tenses were intentional, as the idea was to imply a loss of time. The descriptions listed were out of order, and almost like the speaker didn't know when it actually happened, in the past as a story or in the present as a reality.

To break it all out, the girl mentioned is supposed to represent a piece of prose all messed up and full of errors, like this one. However it does not realize itself that it's all messed up, because it used to live in a place where prose like this is revered as great. So when it enters a different enviroment, it sees things as odd and evil, yet all still prose like her, which is why she ignores it. When she meets the man who changes forms, it is all the critics who berate her because she is not right. One road represents all the "good" pieces of prose, while the other is where all the bad stories end up. Then, the girl looks behind and finds a mirror - and it shows her all of her errors.

It could even be taken into a more general concept - very commonly in life, when you move to a different enviroment, your status changes as well.

There are hints in the story that should help the reader, like the fact that the speaker says, "She had a purple shirt. She still has it on, unfortunately." Also when the speaker says that everyone is supposed to be normal, then in comes a girl with a missing arm.

But a good writer should make his things more... readable, and I must say that I made it less than so. I can strip the description in some parts.

The first example was not intentional, actually. Mistake on my part.

[bury the year]

Problem is that your theme is, once again, utterly incomprehensible. This is no metaphor: it's a [url="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/%27Pataphysics#.27Pataphor"]'pataphor[/url]. It's almost nauseating to read, in that my brain keeps getting whiplash from trying to hold all the disparate details together. Before you try to get all sophisticated and erudite, at least focus on the basic elements of prose. Being all fancy means nothing if you can't spell. [spoiler="My point."][quote]There was this [b]gulr[/b][/quote] [quote]Her eyes sprout [b]deizens[/b][/quote][quote]Why doesn't her body [b]disintigrate[/b] already!?[/quote][/spoiler]

[Altαir]

Hm. The spellings were also intentional. [size=2]Did you really think I misspelled girl as gulr? Have I left such a bad impression on you? D:[/size]

If the theme is obscured because of the details, this is a different story. I can see some confusing and unneeded details, or at least the potential for some things to become difficult. I can fix that. Maybe then it'll be easier to understand.

EDIT: I see it now. Overbearing details that you either remember and it inhibits you, or forget and it doesn't. I have to say, that requires some good memory capacity to hold it all and realize much of it is useless.

[s]I blame my inexperience with really short stories.[/s]

[bury the year]

And also that you try to spin meaning on things that either don't need it or look foolish either way. :3

[Altαir]

[quote name='Rinne' timestamp='1344650735' post='6003572']
And also that you try to spin meaning on things that either don't need it or look foolish either way. :3
[/quote]

I see what you mean, that should be fixed too. I must thank you for your input, I did not have anyone else to tell me how well the story flows, which was probably one of my biggest downfalls. If I alter the plot a bunch and edit some details out, it will be much better, I think.

Again, thanks. At least I got the nervousness of actually posting my stories off of my chest.