[color="Navy"]Ah, another victim has wandered into CAA’s literary dungeon...
Very well. Here are my thoughts.[/color]
Love the opening. The rich description and meandering slowness of everything works nicely to bring the reader in.
The tattoo idea is very cool. It creates an instant mystery to be unraveled.
She had only been six years old when she'd witnessed the vivid images in a dream. Though she had been required to wait twelve years before she could have those images reproduced onto her skin, the details had remained clear in her mind....
....Few people had clearly seen her tattoos and the only person she had ever told the dream to was her mother who had been busy doing laundry at the time. Leila doubted that her mother would have remembered the dream even a few hours later. The dream wasn't meant to be shared, though. The message was for Leila alone. Fate had two faces and she had seen them both.
Was there more to the dream than just the numbers angel/devil? It sounds like she had some sort of intense, vivid nightmare, some ominous vision of her life that was strong enough for her to etch the dates into her skin. But, we aren’t given any real details of such a traumatic vision. So, I’m left wondering what it as that made her so certain it was prophetic...
Her visit to Perry Lake Park is good (including imagining potential deaths). It serves the purpose of giving background on Leila and drawing out her anxious waiting.
Some people thought there was an afterlife. Leila believed that heaven was a wishful dream to which some people clung, hoping to one day enjoy the life of ease they had never had on earth. To her the concept of hell was a bludgeon that religion used to scare people into compliance. Leila herself viewed death as a dash concluding the writing of one's life story.
From this, I immediately picture an atheist.
To Leila the Christmas spirit was mostly a feeling manufactured by retailers for the purpose of motivating shoppers. The commercialism annoyed her. Even the small rural town of Ashton Heights wasn't immune. She witnessed a mother hurriedly lugging bags packed with action figures and talking plush toys to her minivan, no trace of seasonal joy on her face. Even those people who believed that Christmas spirit meant family time, laughter over homemade dinner, and giving rather than getting didn't retain the feelings after the Christmas tree was lying out at the road and the lights were stripped off the eves.....The Christmas spirit was just a veneer of unfounded happiness that retail stores promoted and the public eagerly embraced to give a splash of colour to their dull lives.
My picture is suddenly less clear. Would the commercialization of Christmas annoy an atheist? Later on, it becomes apparent that she has
some knowledge of the holiday’s religious origins, although the extent of that knowledge and how she came to hold such a negative view is never explained. That she makes no mention of religion here is surprising. She scoffs at joy and simultaneously argues that there’s a lack of it. Then again, there are the sort of people who are always dissatisfied. It certainly says something about her.
It was an ebony headstone of unremarkable design. Leila knelt before it and traced the name with her gloved index finger: Leila Griven. The wind caught up the loosened snow that fell from the polished face. Leila Griven, Born Sep 3, 1979, Died Dec 23, 2003, Memento mori, Memento vivere. She pressed her palm against the cold stone. Her eyes were transfixed by the few words. Her destiny was carved in solid stone. It was so concrete, so unequivocal.
Admittedly, I don’t know much about the process, but I’m surprised that they would have already carved a ‘date of death’ on the stone for an empty grave. Made me a bit skeptical as to how she pulled that off without arousing certain types of interest...like from a social worker.
The noise abruptly died away and Leila could only hear the rustle of wind above the ringing in her ears. She blinked against the bits of rotting bark and splinters fluttering down. To her left she saw a tangle of broken branches that had knocked over her gravestone. Sluggishly she rotated her head to look right. Her spinning vision was drawn to a spray of crimson on the white snow just beside her. Where did such a bright colour come from? she wondered. Oh, it's blood.
Leila tried to change position but her body felt like lead when she attempted to move. Yet when she lay still she felt very light. Nothing seemed to hurt very much though somehow she knew that her fragile body was broken. This is how it ends. The realization came with a sense a relief. At last she could be certain about the event that had been waiting in her future for so many years. Yet while the logical part of her mind told her that she should now feel a sense of peace, another side began to raise questions that tied icy knots in her stomach. Is death really the end, a white wall of peaceful finality? Or could it be a doorway? If so, where will I be once I cross the threshold?
A wave of dizziness washed over her. Her eyes lost focus and her vision began to gray around the periphery. Leila knew she was slipping away. Panic seized her and she fought to stay conscious. Something warm trickled down her cheek but she couldn't tell if it were tears or blood. Her body could resist the physical laws no longer. Fog clouded Leila's terrified mind and the cemetery around her faded into oblivion.
Good. Good action and thought process. She’s having second thoughts as the uncertainty catches up with her.
Now enters Rev. Mason. I notice, you never call him Reverend Mason, or even just Mason, (which for most of the text would be adequate.) I suppose it’s not much different from placing ‘Dr.’ in front of a name but still, are times where Rev. Mason sounds redundant or even pompous, as if we keep needing to be reminded that he’s a Reverend.
Rev. Mason settled back in his chair to keep watch over the wounded stranger lying on his couch. Now that he couldn't do anything further to help and simply had to wait, Rev. Mason found himself feeling quite useless. Minutes ticked passed slowly and he decided he should do something to keep him occupied during his vigil. He left for his study and quickly returned with his Bible, a commentary, and a binder of lined paper. He opened the well-worn book to the marked page and began to read quietly, occasionally consulting the commentary and jotting down notes. Sentence by sentence the draft for his Christmas morning sermon slowly developed.
Maybe it’s just me, but I should think a Reverend would always have a helpful way of waiting--prayer. He doesn’t know how badly this girl is injured. He doesn’t know if she’ll ever wake up. For me, it would be more believable if he spent the time praying/thinking about the girl’s recovery rather than working on his sermon. I know that totally screws up your next section but... *shrugs*
The older man understood that she was trying to speak and offered her a glass of water. She nodded her head faintly and he gave her a small amount of water.
The second ‘of water’ is redundant.
Feeling greatly refreshed Leila was more up to talking and wanted to find out what had transpired.
Refreshed? Really? More awake, more coherent maybe...but refreshed? Hmmm.
She was not much of a conversationalist at the best of times and with her arm throbbing persistently and a feeling of breathlessness after even a few sentences, she just wanted to lie still. Rev. Mason must have sensed her desire and suggested that she might want to get more rest while they waited for the emergency vehicle to arrive. He withdrew to a chair at the far side of the room, taking his books and notes with him. It didn't take long before Leila drifted off into a fitful sleep.
Typically trauma victims are to be kept awake if possible. I should think the 911 dispatcher might have mentioned something about this. Oh, question; does this take place in England, or America? At first I thought it was America, Lincoln Navigator and all, but considering the English spelling of some words and the doting way Mason speaks (like an elderly English parson) I begin to wonder if it is England. It isn’t clear to me. If so, do they use 911 in England?
I like very much that the injury obliterated the death tattoo. Cleverly symbolic and not anticipated.
Over all, the dialog sounded a bit formal, but again if this is England, that would be expected. If it’s America, then even if Leila’s a polite Goth I imagine she would be speak in more condensed sentences and use some slang.
[color="Navy"]There, have I bashed it enough for you?
Sorry, I'm an insatiable critic. Even if I raised my eyebrows at a few things, it
was a good read. There was actuall someone with similar date tattoos, huh? That would be intriguing, and kinda freaky...[/color]