A Timeless Connection
Her wistful eyes were like jagged stones, grey as the shackles tethered around her.
Her breathing quickened as she waved her pallid hand around, the cobwebs billowing from the rafters. They were on the panes of the windows too, obscuring the little light that struggled through them. She ran her fingers over the old corrugated cardboard box, dust clinging on to her as she struggled to recall the last time she was in this room. As each flap unfolded, her heart felt butchered, bleeding her of the humanity she once had. It blanketed every other emotion, tainting all that could bring joy and respite.
Beautiful introduction. Sets the scene, establishes an emotional state quickly, great use of technique and great style.Plumes of dust erupted from the old photograph, giving the air a musty smell. She clutched the feeble wooden frame tight in her hand, able to see an eerie reflection of her face in the thin sheen of glass that covered it. She looked past her own tedious eyes, staring upon the face that was captured in a moment of perfection. She focused in on his eyes; they were gleaming with the scintillate laughter she once loved.
A few sentences starting with the same word there - Not a bad thing, but it creates a sort of rhythmic pulse which could be misinterpreted in a negative light. To fit the style, I feel it should be changed. Now, they laughed at her, a reminder of what she had lost. It was the happiest memory that hurt the worst, lacerating her like shards of glass.
Nice progression - First paragraph was an orientation, now it feels like we are about to head to the rising action.The vibrant colours of a land that was once inextricable with her seeped through the sepia toned photograph.
I reckon this would work well as a flashback. "As she closed her eyes, she could almost see the vibrant colours..." Just so looking at the photograph progresses to something a little more real. The flamboyant attire and lavish dresses on display were no longer remotely similar to her monochromatic wardrobe; and the piquant curries on offer had not touched her palate in an eternity.
Watch for being over verbose. The word choice and structure of that sentence seems a bit over the top for me. The tranquility of the Taj Mahal juxtaposed the bustle of everyday traffic and the crimson sky made everything seem so peaceful. Now, everything was strange, quiet and different. She was a foreigner living in an alien country, still without a sense of home.
Right, so we've got the complication. Cultural difference established through a photograph reminiscence. A tad cliche - But lets see what you do with it.Her mind became a carousel of gyrating fears, each one pushing her into a deeper void. She wanted to run; she needed to freeze. Voices from the past felt present. She was no longer in the body that lay paralysed on the ground.
Her son’s scintillate smile was the last thing she saw before crumpling like a puppet released of its strings...
A bit of a forced simile there - Again, be careful of forcing techniques in. They need to feel natural, every time you use a simile it should be this "AHA" moment of, "Yep, so happy I used that." If you over-use them they lose their power.
***
In the candle lit room stood family and friends, each ready to swear a pledge to how they would support Rita. When she spoke her voice trailed slowly, her words were unwilling to take flight. She swallowed down the pain, wearing a passive face and a tentative smile. A slow religious hymn played in the background as the tens of esteemed relatives cuddled and embraced her.
With this change of scenery, the picture is not set nearly as well as it was in the first scene. I'd do a tad more to establish a sense of place. The taste of sweet home made ladoo filled their mouths, a custom for the longevity of her son’s next life. The ceremony was beautiful beyond measure, not in extravagant flowers or fancy food, but in the sharing of sincere heartfelt emotion. However, Rita knew that no amount comfort would ameliorate what just happened. She had to leave.
So we've got an interesting choice that the name 'Rita' is only being used now. I assume at this stage it is the same person, that we are now in a flashback. But I have no way of knowing that for sure; this creates ambiguity. Not a bad thing - Just where I'm sitting right now as a reader.She had to escape.
Nice use of sentence length to establish a realisation.Rita’s fingers fumbled over the countless crease folds of the tear-stained newspaper for the umpteenth time, its blood red ink barely visible anymore.
Hiran Khan. Number seven on the list of casualties… for the week.
With no warning, total darkness prevailed, turbulent and unforgiving. Rita’s knees stopped working as her stomach churned over.
1947 –the civil war that split everything asunder. India’s darkest blemish.
The inconceivable injustices of poverty and resentment dispersed like a disease. Now, she too felt the agony of loss suffered by the other millions of people.
Rita cried for a minute. Or two. Or ten. As far as she knew, time had stopped completely.
Really like this last sentence here - The uncertainty in the narration carries through brilliantly to the emotional state of the protagonist. Really powerful.
So at this stage I will say that this stage of the narrative, the sequence we just explored, was vague. Not sure what the significance of the ceremony is or exactly who Rita has lost. The ambiguity does make it hard to emotionally invest.***
The lake mirrored the sky above, a shade of blue that was impossible to capture in tourist brochures. Her vivacious red dress glinted in the sun, her skin feeling uneasy against the silk embroidery. She closed her eyes and let the breeze blow her long bangs away from them, bringing colour to her pale cheeks. The moist summer air was fragranced with the jasmine trees that circled the lake, a scent her nose adored for years. The forgotten taste of sweet ladoos danced on her palate, savouring the felicity that salivated her tongue. Boisterous music wafted around, tunes she could never expel caressed her ears.
Better job setting the scene here - Your use of imagery is extremely powerful.The bungalows on either side of the narrow lake had transformed into small industrial houses but she noticed that the cobblestones remained, water drizzling between the cracks and crevices. In her hands were pebbles of different hues and like a cricketer, she sent them hurtling into the water one by one. With each splash she shouted the name of the one her heart still palpitated for.
The skin under her eyes wrinkled as a smile stained upon her lips. Hope beaded her skin like dew on spring grass. She felt him breathing
down on her, watching her.
***
Rita squinted her eyes open as a warm decisive light streamed through. Her mind awoke with a primal surge of adrenaline but her cold, heavy limbs disobeyed. Unable to stand, she stretched out her hand for the photo amongst the shattered glass. His gleaming face radiated his strong personality and for the first time she was able to look at his picture without the agony of loss.
The tears… now of satisfaction.