Sunset: The story actually does have a plot... really, I'm not kidding ;-)
It's just that it has a bad habit of wandering off and getting lost, then
slowly meandering back. My apologies, and I'll try to make it clearer as I
go along.
***
Carver turns the card over.
The image is upside down, throwing him off balance for a second or two; he feels as if the world has suddenly tilted underneath him and sent him flying head over heels. The night sky on the card is murky, misted over by clouds--clouds like watered silk shining underneath the stars, veils of shimmering vapours, a myriad of water and silver light so translucent and delicate that it might dissolve into darkness in the next breath of wind. Through the wisps of cloud the bright white face of the moon glimmers palely, a glistening mirror of rippling light.
He sees a strand of dull gray smoke glide by, feels the cool air brush across his cheek like light fingertips... not real, not real, not...
The fortune teller taps her fingers together, making faint, flickering shadows dance on the tablecloth. "The two cards before have signified events and circumstances in your past; now these two shall reveal your present state of being," she says, in her lilting, sing-song accent that he can't quite place. "What have you drawn? Ah-h... the Moon, reversed."
"The Moon symbolizes illusions and dreams, and also fear and bewilderment-- the sense of feeling lost, confused, disoriented, abandoned and alone... in reversal, the energy level is lower, as if these emotions are being blocked, ignored, or denied..."
***
Carver keeps his office well lit at night. He flicks on all the lamps, draws the blinds on the windows, and even switches objects around. He shuts out the shadows in every corner and behind every door, desk, and shelf.
After shuffling his papers together and gathering up his coat and briefcase, he waits until he's in the doorway before flicking off the lights and quickly slamming the door shut behind him. He hurries away a few steps, breathes deeply, and continues to the elevator at a calm, even pace.
When he sits on the couch at home, flipping through the channels on TV or reading a paperback, he keeps the lights on in other rooms and every door open at all times. They stay on all night, and Carver falls asleep in his wide bed to the soft, warm glow of a small lamp on a shelf above him. It's only during the morning, when bright sunlight spills through the windows, that the lights are switched off.
Carver is afraid of the dark.
He's never going to tell anyone, never. A man in his late thirties acting like a little kid--he'd never hear the end of it. He refuses to let it slip, let it show, let anybody know. He'll never tell a soul. Ever.
But in the still, silent hours of the night, he has horrible dreams that leave him first tense and edgy, startled badly by any sudden noise, then dull-eyed and drowsy in the morning.
Every night he falls asleep, and finds himself running through an empty house. The lights are all off and the hallways are full of skulking, stalking shadows. Something is chasing him, something that makes heavy clunking footsteps and hard, harsh growling noises. He wakes up with a strangled yelp, tearing at the sheets and trembling all over; he buries himself deeper in the pillows and dives into sleep again.
Every night he falls asleep, and finds himself driving his car down a deserted highway late at night. All he can see is the pale glare of the headlights glowing ahead, luminous beams of light that pool in bright puddles on the ground. The darkness surrounds him, a swirling, swishing, whispering, breathing thing, alive with the rustling wind and crackling, creaking noises. It clings to the windows, it creeps along the doors, it huddles around his feet and lurks behind him. He wakes up in a panic, terror throttling his throat and clawing at his heart.
Every night he trundles into the bathroom, drains a glass of water, and then stumbles to the couch, where he collapses onto the cushions and falls into a fitful slumber until the break of day.
***
Feedback for an author is like coffee to a college student studying overnight for exams, and... *spots the story wandering off again* Hey, get back here! *chases after it*
***
Carver turns the card over.
The image is upside down, throwing him off balance for a second or two; he feels as if the world has suddenly tilted underneath him and sent him flying head over heels. The night sky on the card is murky, misted over by clouds--clouds like watered silk shining underneath the stars, veils of shimmering vapours, a myriad of water and silver light so translucent and delicate that it might dissolve into darkness in the next breath of wind. Through the wisps of cloud the bright white face of the moon glimmers palely, a glistening mirror of rippling light.
He sees a strand of dull gray smoke glide by, feels the cool air brush across his cheek like light fingertips... not real, not real, not...
The fortune teller taps her fingers together, making faint, flickering shadows dance on the tablecloth. "The two cards before have signified events and circumstances in your past; now these two shall reveal your present state of being," she says, in her lilting, sing-song accent that he can't quite place. "What have you drawn? Ah-h... the Moon, reversed."
"The Moon symbolizes illusions and dreams, and also fear and bewilderment-- the sense of feeling lost, confused, disoriented, abandoned and alone... in reversal, the energy level is lower, as if these emotions are being blocked, ignored, or denied..."
***
Carver keeps his office well lit at night. He flicks on all the lamps, draws the blinds on the windows, and even switches objects around. He shuts out the shadows in every corner and behind every door, desk, and shelf.
After shuffling his papers together and gathering up his coat and briefcase, he waits until he's in the doorway before flicking off the lights and quickly slamming the door shut behind him. He hurries away a few steps, breathes deeply, and continues to the elevator at a calm, even pace.
When he sits on the couch at home, flipping through the channels on TV or reading a paperback, he keeps the lights on in other rooms and every door open at all times. They stay on all night, and Carver falls asleep in his wide bed to the soft, warm glow of a small lamp on a shelf above him. It's only during the morning, when bright sunlight spills through the windows, that the lights are switched off.
Carver is afraid of the dark.
He's never going to tell anyone, never. A man in his late thirties acting like a little kid--he'd never hear the end of it. He refuses to let it slip, let it show, let anybody know. He'll never tell a soul. Ever.
But in the still, silent hours of the night, he has horrible dreams that leave him first tense and edgy, startled badly by any sudden noise, then dull-eyed and drowsy in the morning.
Every night he falls asleep, and finds himself running through an empty house. The lights are all off and the hallways are full of skulking, stalking shadows. Something is chasing him, something that makes heavy clunking footsteps and hard, harsh growling noises. He wakes up with a strangled yelp, tearing at the sheets and trembling all over; he buries himself deeper in the pillows and dives into sleep again.
Every night he falls asleep, and finds himself driving his car down a deserted highway late at night. All he can see is the pale glare of the headlights glowing ahead, luminous beams of light that pool in bright puddles on the ground. The darkness surrounds him, a swirling, swishing, whispering, breathing thing, alive with the rustling wind and crackling, creaking noises. It clings to the windows, it creeps along the doors, it huddles around his feet and lurks behind him. He wakes up in a panic, terror throttling his throat and clawing at his heart.
Every night he trundles into the bathroom, drains a glass of water, and then stumbles to the couch, where he collapses onto the cushions and falls into a fitful slumber until the break of day.
***
Feedback for an author is like coffee to a college student studying overnight for exams, and... *spots the story wandering off again* Hey, get back here! *chases after it*