[excerpt] "The give away"

This is the first piece I wrote that's part of the story I'm writing. this scene, or rather the image of it has been stuck in my head for a very long time, and one night where I couldn't sleep, I got fed up with turning in my bed and was gradually getting unnerved. I sat down, lit up the light and decided to put into words this scene I had in mind... It was already almost noon when I finished this, and I felt pleasantly empty after this, and slept verrrrry well afterwards ^___^

Notes :
- There are words that my automatic orthography corrector show me as inexistent, though I had seen them several times in books or articles.... and "some" online dictionaries have them registered...
- I'm not even sure the title is right ^^; but i wanted it that way, so I left it even though I don't know if it's correct English *sigh*
- French and English seem to have differences concerning typology, presentation, punctuation rules.. I tried to respect the English ones by what I had remarked in my readings

========= the give away =========

She was entranced. His eyes were closed, all of him was in offering. A pair of hands was cupping up his face. The woman wasn't hurrying, but merely brushing up the surface of his skin with her lips. She saw the handsome face shiver from expectation. It was a sensual scene, but the most remarkable part of it was the contrast of her cold stare on him, set up close to his serene expression. He was the very image of loving devotion, a prisoner of love...she was the caricature of a dictator, uncompassionately reigning over him.

She knew it was unseeming to observe them like she did, for that was a most intimate scene. But the girl could not find it in herself to look away : she was irrepressibly drawn to it, as if it was of the utmost necessity for her to witness it. She felt like she was in one of these dreams, where you can observe in a detached way as if inexistent, and it seems just natural that your gaze wouldn't budge from the scene, as if it had been the sole purpose of your presence here. It seemed to her that this moment would last forever, that she was stuck between the layers of times, for ever condemned to watch this cruel scene of intimacy, this masquerade of nonreciprocating feelings...this was an unfair game of offering and receiving, with no possible changing of the roles.

She watched his expression, serene yet longing for a touch, slightly tensed at the expectation of it. The woman was still coldly looking at him, his closed eyes showing a firm resolve of daring trust in her, and she looked a bit offended, ready to assault She was playing with him, and he was letting her do so. Her mouth was ever so lightly caressing his forehead, sliding along the line of his nose, pausing above his lips, and this instant seemed to rid all three of them of any breath they had, all waiting, not knowing what to think, as if this decision was to seal their destinies.

Was it the steadiness of her stare that shattered it all? Had she unintentionally thrown uneasiness in the air? The pause became a stop as the woman lifted her face away from his, and ever so slowly, as if knowing she had been there watching them all along, the handsome face turned towards her direction, opening its dazed eyes to lay them upon her.

She was struck awake into reality, and flushing from embarrassment, she turned back to her group of friends, still chatting happily by her side.
'What a fool! What was I doing, staring at them like this, how indecent of me!' she then thought that the most indecent part was actually for them to display their intimacy in public, for they were also seated with their social group. If they hadn't wished to be watched, they shouldn't be indulging in such acts here, in the first place!

To hide the shock and distress of her mind, she engaged in cheerful small talk with the girl sitting across the table, allowing herself to look at the complete opposite direction of them... this way, she could hide her cheeks reddened by both shame and dismay. And as she did so, she knew that he hadn't been fooled though, and her attempt to look unaffected by what she just saw made the truth even more obvious to his sharp eyes. She knew that all too well. She was alarmed, but knew that very awkward frenzy was all the more giving her away every passing second.

The bell rang for them to go to Mass; all parties stood up and strolled across the garden, heading for the Cathedral beyond in their usual buzzy chatting. She went along, following absentmindedly the group of light laughter, of swishing satin gowns.
'Well, now he knows', she commented to herself. 'I'm sure he had already felt it before. However doubt is a luxury he can no longer indulge into'. And as she walked next to her closest friend, she did her best to not look their way, and foolishly, for she was aware it was useless, she placed herself in the' middle of her group, so that the other feminine silhouettes could partly hide her from the couple's sight....if they were to look that way.
Yet, as she passed the tall gate of the cathedral she could not resist the masochistic temptation any longer: she turned her head a little, wondering if he was looking at her, fearing to meet disapproval in his eyes, dreading disgust at her person....but he wasn't, he was simply heading to their own dedicated bench, as if nothing had happened. She thought he looked a bit frowned, but she might have merely imagined it: the restless pounding in her bosom was affecting her logics.

She sighed with relief, but as she did, she also sensed sadness growing inside her, riping the remnants of her bleeding heart. She had wondered how he'd react, but he didn't even look her way.... she had dreaded shock or disgust from him, but far had she been to imagine how being ignored would be just as worse. She shrugged and settled down, but she could not act detached or dignified any longer.

That day, Mass couldn't reach her ears, let alone her heart.

Writing & Rain

Introduction to what I write.
I got fed up with running away and started writing what I want a month ago... pretty recent huh? ^-^
So far, I write two kinds of texts:

On one hand, there's a story I've started, I always write down bits when they come to me through a mental image. Of course I have an overall idea of the story and the characters' development, but I want to leave some freedom to my creations : there are some days where a strong idea comes to mind and at this moment, it feels obvious that the bit will be good for the story, even if it's not always coherent with what I already had in mind.... So I either adjust the rest, or write the idea in a note to decide later, but if I absolutely want to keep it as it came to me, I try writing the scene before I "lose" its atmosphere : this is when the best ideas flow one after another without warning.... editing and fixing the coherence will come after :) I always revise them many times before showing them, so a lot have been done but aren't ready for viewing yet ^__~ They'll be posted with no consideration to their chronological order or whatsoever....

And there's on the other hand, things I wrote, still out of the spur of the moment, but about my own feelings or reflexions. I just feel like writing it down, get it out of me, and why not, keep it as a souvenir ) The piece I'll put below is one off them. I had "my" feeling, "my" reflexion, and I wanted to describe it. I knew how I had to start telling it all, and how I wanted to finish it, but in the middle, i had an idea of how it could fit in my story, how the main character would see it too, so the second paragraph is more viewed from her point of view... but I still wanted to end it as originally planned, so I tried to attach them all together, and this is how we have today's piece ^^

******* * About Rain * *********

This a bit I wrote when I awoke one day and saw it rain drops splatter on my window. Usually, I revise my writings a lot before ever showing it to anyone, but this time, I just put down whatever I wanted and briefly re-read to correct small mistakes (orthography and typings). A native-English speaker forum buddy told me there were awkward parts, but didn't have the time to tell me where yet :) But I decided to put it here nonetheless, so you can see what flaws remain of my writing in English ^_^;


It's raining outside. Could I be really tired? I sense melancholy and blandness filling me up. People are said to sadden on rainy days, but I don't think the phenomenon to be true on me. I had always loved rainy days. From the light misty rain to the heavy pounder of a cloudburst, they've all rung to my ears like misfortune companions, crying alongside you, muttering out your hidden laments, and engulfing you in their strong but warm embrace. Chasing your painful thoughts out of you by their entrancing singing, growing up and buzzing stronger in your head every minute, they rock you back and forth until they leave you laying down feeling empty of unnecessary feelings, finally dull enough to sleep.

In my homeland, rain often pours violently, its wrath making some tremble with fear, others with pleasure. But always, its strength impresses deep feelings into the people, its beauty, one day exalted the other graceful, enchant any artist's eyes and ears. However here, in the grand city of light, only drizzles come down on us, inspiring nothing but a slight annoyance at this meek manifestation of Nature. No beauty, no power oozes from it, and it can only rise boredom inside people's hearts.

This may well be why I feel sad today : this curse of boredom is gaining territory inside of me. I should leave this town soon, lingering any longer could devour me further, little by little it is true, but the changes are undoubtedly real. Watching the drips knocking scarce on my window, I feel like going out, raising my hands high to meet this natural flow and close my eyes upon reaching it, delighting in its presence.

But what's dripping outside isn't the engulfing flow of the downpour I've grown up alongside with, but this meek, weak and colorless drizzle. I'm looking at it with the yearning of someone about to reunite with an old lover, while I know what's waiting outside is not this old friend in which I've so often found comfort, and this, is perhaps what grieves me so today : beyond this glass outside, is no more than the shadow of an old companion.