Okay, so this isn't poetry, but I'd love feedback anyway. I have the beginnings of a novel (ha, only 6 pages or so), and I'm hoping to stick with it considering my usual pasttime of writing SHORT poems. I've included a few segments of these 6 pages, so please let me know what you think and if it would be something you'd be interested in reading.... I'm not used to write lengthy pieces, so I'm not sure what I am doing....

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The softened glow of a street lamp beamed down on the fragile woman walking alone on the empty city street. Although it bathed her in a flattering light, not a single soul was around to appreciate her simplistic beauty. She really hadn’t put much thought into her outfit for the evening, and yet, the olive green dress hung from her body so elegantly that you’d assume it’d been specially tailored. As the breeze picked up and her dress fluttered gracefully, Marjorie noticed a distinct chill in the air, much unlike the comfortable temperature that accompanied the start of her walk several hours earlier. She glanced down at the crumpled piece of paper gripped tightly in her hand. She smoothed it out as best she could against the window pane of the towering building before her. It was quite possibly an old bank, she thought, one from an era of gangsters like Al Capone and Lucky Luciano. Maybe, just maybe, this gigantic building once held stacks of gold bars or perhaps was even robbed, becoming the site of a major shootout. Marjorie had let her imagination get the best of her yet again while time was of the essence.

“One, eight, seven, St, St,—Stark?” She could barely make out the address. “Stark Avenue. Yes, that’s it.”

Her final destination was, unbeknownst to Marjorie, just a few blocks ahead. If only the wind would stop, the journey would be that much easier. The cool breeze had turned into a downright frigid gust. While she pressed onward, droplets streamed down her face as she desperately tried to seal her eyes from the cold.

**********

[I've omitted the scene where she broke her heel]

“Ugh, now how am I going to fix this?” she asked herself. Just as she proposed this impossible question, a tall figure emerged from the darkened alleyway ahead. Although she normally would’ve been alarmed by such a situation, the earlier events of the evening evoked a lethargic, careless attitude within her.

“It looks like you need some help,” the shadowy form said in a deep, husky voice. Marjorie was unclear of how to respond, so she stood silently beneath the street lamp.

“Oh, come on. I won’t bite! I promise,” the man continued. As he stepped into the light, she could finally see his face. Quite shockingly, he had gentle features and was actually very handsome according to today’s standards. His skin was the color of coffee after pouring in two spoonfuls of half-and-half. She guessed at the possible origins of such flawless, gorgeous skin. He was too light to be from a country bombarded with sunlight year-round, but he was definitely dark in comparison to her pale, freckled skin, as she likes to call, the curse of the fiery red-head.

[I've omitted her conversation with this man, Blake, who will show up later in the novel]

**********

She mounted the stairs with as much grace as she could muster, given the broken heel and her expected anxiety. She rapped the brass knocker three times before the butler opened the door. Although the man was of a petite stature, his voice commanded obedience.

“You’re late. Come inside quickly and don’t ask questions. I don’t have time for any asinine questions, so kindly keep your mouth shut.”

Taken aback, Marjorie scooted into the foyer swiftly so as not to upset this tiny, uncouth man. Her eyes took in the enormity of the entrance like a child seeing snow for the first time. She couldn’t believe its size, yet there was a rugged reality in its concrete existence. The chandelier hung from the ceiling with conviction; millions of intricately cut teardrops of glass reflected in Marjorie’s childlike eyes.

“Can I get you something to repair your heel?”

Marjorie whipped around to see Travis, her sister’s husband, standing before her with his usual sideways smirk. Although she hadn’t seen him in ages, she recognized his quiet obsession to lend a helping hand. Even on his wedding day, Travis managed to be Marjorie’s savior. She had developed a particularly stubborn case of food poisoning at the rehearsal dinner. (She wondered why everyone else avoided the lobster—-Marjorie’s allergies prevented her from noticing the awkward odor emanating from the seafood.) While she felt as though she were on her deathbed, Travis held her hair in the church bathroom stall. Unfortunately for the other guests, Travis and Casey were wed in such a tiny chapel that there was only one bathroom.

“Oh, Travis! If only you could find me some superglue, I’d be set! I hate walking around like a pirate with a peg-leg.”

Travis nodded, most likely fighting the urge to exclaim "arrgh matey!" and embarked on his search for superglue.

**********

[I've omitted the short scene where she fixes her heel]

Everyone was huddled around the dining room table, which had seemingly become the center of operations over the past few days, indicated by the dried coffee spills and empty mugs scattered about the room. The business-like phone appeared to be the focal point of everyone’s attention. No one seemed to notice that Marjorie had arrived, though she was quite pleased, never liking to be the sore thumb in the crowd.

While the overall mood was tense, Marjorie couldn’t help but notice that Travis seemed strikingly calm. Every element of his being looked quite composed, much more so than the rest of the group. His tan skin glowed in the faint light, and she felt rather at ease being around him, despite the current circumstances that had brought them together again after six years apart.

[this is the end of the 6 pages so far...]

07/17/2009

Posted on 07/18/2009
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