I'm an okay creative writer and I don't claim to be superb at it. I sometimes have trouble making sense or connecting my sentences so please, feedback is crucial for me on this one because this is going to be published. I won't take it to the heart and will only work on the story to make it better.
What is this narrative about?
The story is about two women who cross paths - one of which is narrating her own life as she lives it and she's also speaking about the woman she met because she admires her.
There are some very significant relationships in the story -that of the narrator to her mother, the father the of the other woman, and the new relationship the narrator is in. One woman has what appears to be the answer to love, while the other one is confused about what it is. She knows she doesn't have the right answer so she's desperately trying to connect with the other woman to get to them - what is love, how to find it, where to get it from, HOW to get it and how they've gotten it so far.
There are intricate details that take place during the narration including meeting spirits and ghosts, sexual encounters, etc. . That's what makes stories good, right??? Gotta have some sex in it!
I am not going to post all of it now, just a few lines from the first chapter. Bear with me...writers usually write the beginning and have an idea of how they are going to end it and everything else are just twists and turns in the story.
My goals is for you, the reader, to identify with one or both characters and to either say - oh no she didn't, or oh shit, that's something I would have done! Oh and wait till the ghost stuff shows up. Fun!
I have posted this on my tumblr. page so please click the link below to follow and read. You can leave comments here or there. Thanks!
Also, if this looks familiar to any other literaly work I promise you I haven't read anything other than HOW to write, my life coaching manual, and other inspirational and self-help books. This is authentic work.
I met this woman long ago. She mourned her father’s presence daily. She lost him twice.
She held herself up high and many people admired her. She often wore a heart pendant to remind herself that love does exist and one day she will find it. The only love she ever knew was that of her father. But she lost him twice.
She often spoke of her father and claims he didn’t leave her with much yet the striking similarities in their facial features, disposition and character lead me to believe he left her with more than she thinks. She loves. She loves hard and perhaps a little too much too soon and too many at once. Her father did also. She inherited his full lips and the shape of his nose. His eyes and caramel skin tone too. She inherited his drive, determination and ambition. But she also inherited the art of deceit. I have witnessed her do it with my own eyes.
Losing someone you need can bring out the very best and worst in a person, and remember, she lost her father twice. Loving a man, any man, without a father around is the cliché thing to say but once I tell you about the stories this woman she shared with me you might change your mind and heart. She truly fascinates me.
She could be in love when she needed to, yet fall out of love when necessary. Getting too close to anyone could risk exposing the person she really is, therefore her identity, all that she is and all that she has, must be protected at all times. Her father would have done the same. In the end, he did as he walked away from it all, including her.
But the last time I saw this woman her eyes were red and mascara had run over her face. Her makeup had been washed off by her tears. She appeared weak, distant and absent-minded. Rough day I assumed.
She seemed so sad yet managed to smile at me as she passed me by. I heard her way of coping was to find comfort in others – which meant men most often than not. I watched her face fade away as we barely exchanged words except that for that forceful smile. I had to walk away and get to my destination. I only hoped she was okay.
Cunt, whore, slut, pig, liar, phony. Love – this was my idea of it.
I met him by chance. His eyes had me mesmerized and I could not forget the second I saw him. I only remember feeling that way almost a decade earlier when I crossed paths with who I thought was my soul mate.
Ever since I’ve been with him I only dreamed of a life that could have been. I dreamed of my wedding day on a sandy beach with his hands tightly grasping mine. I dreamed of a home, a family, and a dog. I dreamed of happily ever after.
I let go of my dreams and my idea of what love was and settled for what I learned love to be. Besides, he cared. He showed me so because he pushed me to do things I would have never done before. I became that type of woman. I became my mother.
My mother was not your typical lady I tell you. She had looks and brains that have caused wars between men…powerful men. Her long, dark as night, curly hair was often pinned back. It was only to be let down and out on special occasions. Her makeup was always perfectly done – just enough to enhance her beautiful features. She taught me to do those things just the same. As a matter of fact, she reinforced it.
My mother has defied laws, traveled untraveled roads and learned the art of healing bodies like a goddess. She had power most women dreamed of having. She was an expert at lying and manipulating and because of it, she had it all. All except love.
I am not sure she knew what love was so she settled for comfort and familiarity. I did too. Mom taught me that.
Those of you who mock us for settling must understand that it is not an easy skill to acquire. We compromise losing ourselves in exchange for financial comfort, deep desires to feel wanted or needed by someone else, or keeping a family together. That’s why I did it. I used to think love involved the act of connecting ourselves metaphysically to another person and being on a whole new level. I thought love meant risking just about anything and everything to prove to that person how much you cared and wanted to be with them. But I learned that otherwise. Ahh love. Cunt, whore, slut, pig, liar, phony. That’s what love turned out to be for me.
That woman I met long ago, she told me she was in love once. I wonder if it looked the same for her as it did for me.
I heard things.
I heard she could read into your soul and gets visits from the dead quite often. They don’t bother her. They rarely speak to her or attempt to communicate with her. They just randomly surround her. I heard this supernatural phenomenon is strongest when she is hurting. I have to ask her about it. Maybe next time I see her I will.
It is said that during her early infant years she would watch two distinct spirits as they circled her crib while she lay down asleep. One of those spirits took on the shape of a mermaid, floating about, going ‘round and ‘round her crib. I heard her distinct memory of these events could bring chills to your spine. She says she felt at peace knowing they were there and she never, even as an infant, feared them. For her, it was one of the few times she felt safe since her father could no longer protect her. She lost him twice. I have to ask her about these things.
I also have to ask her about the other story I heard – the one when her father came for her but she wasn’t ready to go with him just yet. Apparently after that encounter, he began to visit her more often and he found comfort in knowing she was okay. At this point he stopped asking her to go with him and just watched her. I wonder how old she was.
I heard about her mysterious powers. She could stare into someone’s eyes and look past them into their souls. She could sense someone else’s feelings. She could put her soft, small and gentle hands on a person’s body and bring a calming peace no one else could. She also had the ability to get them to do as she pleases with a single touch. I never heard of her abusing her powers and she only resorted to them when absolutely necessary.
I heard she is surrounded by a million people yet she is in constant solitude. How is it possible to have both? She does not let others in easily but she allows them to love her and fall in love with her. I also heard she loves men and women alike – her love sees and feels no gender barriers.
I heard making love to her will make any person lose their mind. It’s because she can lay next to you and make you feel like you are the only one she loves and cares for. But she deceives you. Not by choice, but because she has to protect herself. She knows that the only way to find true love is by getting close enough to it so you so can feel it but then she walks away. She won’t fall in love. She knows she can’t love you and she won’t. But she will make you believe and feel as if she does. She deceives you and I heard these things about her.
I heard she lived her life this way only awaiting the moment her father came for her and she was ready to go with him.
I feel things.
Rage, anger, resentment.
Cunt, whore, slut, pig, liar, phony.
I wake up every morning dreaming of a different life and wondering how the hell I got to be in the one I’m in now. If I ever run into that woman again I have so many things to ask her. I figured maybe one day I could learn from her. How does she do it? How does she fall in love without actually being in love? How does she continue to love and not be hurt by it? Why doesn’t her love look like mine?
Today I feel the rage, anger and resentment settling in. I am walking to the kitchen sink and do what I do every morning I wake up next to him. He hurts me so, to the point where dying looks better than living. It’s the only way out. I open the kitchen drawer and pull out the same knife I’ve pulled out many times. I feel the cool sharp edges and run it through my arm, then my neck, and then I hold it to my stomach. No, I want it in my heart. I feel things. I start to shake and I start to cry. I don’t want him to clean up my blood. He once told me he did not want to be responsible for my death and did not want blood on his hands. But I want him to feel it and see it. I want him to see me drenched in my own blood and in my own pain. I feel things and I want him to feel those things too.
I then worry about the mess. I don’t want to leave one. He would be very angry if I did. I put the knife down and curl into a ball and remain numb for a while. Maybe I need some air. I stare at the four walls surrounding me and I think of how pathetic my life has become. I used to be so full of life but then I began to love. I feel things. I go in the bathroom and get dressed. My energy is low so this takes some effort on my part. Getting dressed used to be fun but it’s no longer so.
Before I get a chance to get out the door I see his large statuesque and sculpted body come out of the bedroom. Damn. My eyes meet his and I already know what I am there for. I must satisfy his craving for I am only called upon when needed. I have to give into his desire and lust otherwise I would be useless around here.
He kisses me like no one else ever has so the pain I felt earlier begins to subside. His hands caress my small body and I begin to tremble with the anticipation of feeling him inside me. I have never felt this love before. I feel things. He tells me he loves me. He positions himself firmly on top of me and enters me with ownership. I am his. For a moment. For this moment. I lay there, moaning and sweating, filled with emotion and satisfaction. Filled with love, his love. He grips my hands the way I pictured he would on our wedding day. But this is no wedding. It’s just our version of being united and loving one another for now. This is the only way he has loved me.
He takes his times and enters me again… and again and again. I moan harder and louder, I breathe into his ear, I kiss him. I love him. I feel things. We are in synch like a drum beat. We don’t stop until we have both climaxed. Then it’s all over. I smile. He smiles back and then walks away. He leaves me to deal with my own life and my own pain because I can no longer share these things with him. I had him for a moment and that was my moment.
Cunt, whore, slut, pig, liar, phony.
I feel things. These are the things he makes me feel. My mother told me she felt like this before. She taught me well.*** Excerpt from narrative by Amanda Eva Cumberbatch, M.Ed.