Notes of Jasmine

A short story about a character I am in the process of meeting.

By the centre of the far wall in the musty attic, lit only by the last of the magenta twilight and a lone candle, sat a figure. Wisps of steam from a freshly brewed tea could be seen creating an elaborate pattern of swirls, as they rose above the head of silver curls visible atop the ornate chairs back. Fragrant notes of jasmine and citrus wafted out the cracked door, and down the spiral stairs. The decaying wooden chair groaned sadly as the occupant shifted her weight.

Sudden movement through the condensation coating the solitary window drew attention to the appearance of a queer muddle of blues and browns. The true shape masked by the bluebells planted in the garden behind, though it looked as much like a man as a blur could. A quick, surprised intake of breath - a gasp of recognition, echoed in the empty space. Could it possibly be?

There came the hollow sound of a heavy leather-bound book dropping to the timber floor. Delicate, parchment hands rose to the glass, rubbing the water drops and years of accumulated grime obscuring the owner’s vision away from the surface in a frantic fashion.  Alas, the woman’s haste was not enough. By the time a spot in the window was wiped clear, the blur had moved on, leaving her drowning in a deep, unexpected, sea of loss.

Author's Note

I welcome opinions, though I request that you be honest in your critique without being rude.

Reviews

[Sesame]

Hello Jazmin,

Thanks for entering the competition. Alas not a winner this time. I do not have the time to provide a detailed critique on all the submissions, but a few remarks:

- you use lots - maybe too much adjectives
- your sentences are quite long sentences, try alternating short and long ones
- I would be more empathic with the character if there was more known about what she is waiting for

I enjoyed reading this nevertheless. Keep writing!


Regards,

Sesame

@followsesame on Twitter

www.themagiccave.com

[emmajoy]

There's a sense of long past in this story, a mythical atmosphere where indeed, the sound of a heavy leather-bound book dropping to the timber floor... and, ' The decaying wooden chair groaned sadly as the occupant shifted her weight. ' makes for academic phrasing rather than today's looser style. The way in which the 'blur' appears here and there is spookily inviting, tis a lure, a beckoning, that makes for more and more disclosure, please!

Hope things go well with the meeting. ..