Dark Fact

Swinging like a pendulum from the rear view mirror was a picture of his wife, Carol. In the next seat over there was a flashlight, a backpack, and his insulin shot. His hands gripped the leather steering wheel lightly but even then his joints ached. Every so often a tremor shook his left hand, and no matter how hard he glared at it, it wouldn’t stop shaking.
He parked at the base of a narrow trail and shut down the engine. The blood red sun was dipping beneath the mountaintops and he estimated he had another thirty minutes of light. Earl got out of the truck and shook his hands out. His face was a tan, worn leather, with the years of his life etched in deep sagging lines. He inhaled. Over his shoulder was a view of the valley below. Lazy clouds rolled endlessly in a sea of fading blue. He walked to the passenger side of the truck, opened the door, and grabbed the backpack and flashlight. He stood there for a long time eyeing his insulin shot. Then he pulled Carol’s picture from the rearview mirror and put it picture in his vest pocket. His hand trailed along the warm surface of truck as he walked to the base of the trail, and once there he looked over his shoulder one last time while his left hand continued shaking.
Earl walked up the trail slowly. He heard the break of a twig, the rustle of leaves, beating wings. He stopped every five minutes to catch his breath. He kept stretching his arms and legs out, and every time he heard the familiar cracking.
“You’re falling apart, old man,” he said.

The sun was out of the sky and only its faint glow held back the oncoming darkness. He swallowed for the first time in what felt like an hour and continued walking until he could no longer see the path and had to click on the flashlight. Its light sliced through the dark, a beam he followed north. The air was cooler now but the picture in his pocket was warm.
“Almost there.”
The trail wasn’t steep, but it was steady. As he walked on he had trouble keeping his balance despite the relatively even ground. He stopped and closed his eyes.
“One, two, three, four…” he focused on his breathing. When he finished counting to ten he bent over and picked up a long, thick piece of wood and used it as a walking stick.

In the distance and glowing through the thicket was an orange light. He clicked the flashlight off and walked toward it. As he got closer he heard the crackling of wood. Once he passed through the thicket and into the clearing he saw the fire burning inside a ring of small rocks. Lying on his back beside it was a middle aged man with his hands behind his head staring up at the sky.
“Evening, Freddy.”
“Evening, old timer.”
Freddy sat up as Earl lowered down into a cross legged sitting position. He took the backpack off and set it beside him. Then he dabbed at his forehead with a handkerchief.
“Tough trail?”
“Yep.”
“At least it’s not raining.”
Freddy was a stout man with a salt and pepper beard. He wore khaki pants and a gray t-shirt with a wolf howling on the front. As Earl situated himself Freddy lifted a pipe carved from a deer antler and stuffed a pinch of marijuana into the bowl.
“You smoking?”
Earl’s gaze was far off.
“You smoking, old timer?”
Earl’s eyes focused, “not tonight.”
Freddy nodded and then took out a blue lighter. He inhaled and held the smoke in, making a deep grunting noise as he tried not to let any smoke escape. Then he blew the smoke out and it plumed into the air and vanished on the breeze. Earl watched Freddy with cloudy brown eyes. A vessel had broken in the right one.
“I’ve got sipping whiskey too.”
Earl frowned.
An owl hooted in the distance. Freddy cupped his hands around his mouth and hooted back, then leaned back with a content look. It was then that he noticed Earl’s left hand shaking.
“You bring it, old timer?”
Earl nodded, “Not yet though.”
It was quiet. Freddy stirred up the fire with a stick and then put another log on it.
“Anyone know we’re here?” Freddy asked.
“Nope.”
Earl uncrossed his legs and stretched them out in front of him with a grimace. His gaze traveled along the outline of the mountain.
“They cleaned out all those hills during the rush, back before your time,” Earl said, his gaze lingering, “brought in the Chinese for it. You’d be lucky to pan a spec out of her now.”
“My old man said the same. Probably the only thing he ever said that was true.”
“Try to forgive him, Freddy. He was a good man before the bottle, but one drink was too many and a hundred was never enough.”
“No use forgiving someone who isn’t here anymore.”
“Not for him – for you.”
There was a long pause. The two men soaked in their surroundings. When Earl spoke next it was in a quiet, reflective tone.
“She couldn’t even remember my name, just had this scared look to her, like she was lost.”
“She was,” Freddy said.
Earl pressed his lips together and scratched the top of his bald head, “she always liked you, Freddy.”
“She watched out for me. Both of you. I’ll never forget you two taking me in.”
“You were a good kid.”
Freddy grabbed the whiskey from his bag and took a swig, then held it out to Earl. Earl took a drink, coughed, and handed it back.
“You never wanted to get remarried?”
“Never got unmarried.”
“But it’s been twenty years.”
“Once you’re married, you’re married.”
They sat staring into the fire, a hush blanketing them. Then, Earl grinned.
“She loved to bake, but she knew how much of a sweet tooth I had, so she started baking sugarless pies,” Earl paused, “they were awful, but I ate them.”
“I remember,” Freddy smiled.
Earl lifted his gaze to the sky. The light from the fire silhouetted his profile. He had a quiet dignity to him, and Freddy felt a swell of pride, and then an ache in his chest.

The darkness gathered around them like wolves, just waiting for the fire to burn out.
“How’s your boy?”
“Thinks he’s got it all figured out. His mother doesn’t let me see him much.”
“Well you figure that out, that’s your blood.”
Freddy took another sip.
“Ah damn it Freddy,” Earl learned forward, “I’m gonna miss it.”
Freddy looked down.
“I’ve got to take a leak.”
Earl grabbed his walking stick and used it to press himself up. He walked towards the nearest tree, but halfway there he lost his balance and fell. Freddy rushed over but Earl motioned him back. He sat up, his face smeared with dirt. Then he lifted himself up and walked behind a tree on rattling old knees.

The lifeless moon hovered above, looking down on the two indifferently, and even the stars seemed to dim. Earl ran his hands atop the blades of soft grass.
“Doc says I shouldn’t live alone anymore.”
“Should you?”
“Hell with him,” Earl said.
“Ornery old timer.”
“Ornery nothing.”
Earl stretched out his hands and looked at the callused surfaces. Then he turned them over and studied the protruding veins, the brown discoloration, the dirty fingernails. His left hand shook, and he massaged it with his right hand.
“Unzip this thing won’t you.”
Freddy grabbed the backpack from Earl’s lap. He unzipped it and took out a large zip lock bag filled with cookies, chocolate bars and gummy bears.
“Set them here.”
Freddy lined them up beside Earl and then took back his spot on the opposite side of the fire.
“If you don’t mind I would like to sit here and think for a little while, Freddy. Is that ok?”
“That’s ok, old timer.”
As Earl sat there staring into the fire Freddy excused himself. He walked into the foliage until he was out of hearing distance. He stood there with his hands on his hips and his head bent forward. There was a clicking sound in his throat, and he pressed his hand against the nearest tree to steady himself. He sniffed and cleared his throat and then took another drink.
Freddy walked back into the fire’s light. Earl hadn’t moved, but there was a line of drool dribbling down his chin. Freddy didn’t say anything. The fire was nothing more than embers now. Earl grabbed a cookie from the bag and took a bite. It was chocolate chip.
“Earl –“Freddy’s throat tightened.

It was quiet. Freddy sat beside Earl, who was lying down and using the backpack as a pillow. His breathing was slow. The corners of his mouth were stained with melted chocolate.
“Come here, son,” Earl said softly.
Freddy leaned down.
Earl reached into his vest pocket and took out an envelope.
“It’s not much.”
Freddy looked away abruptly and there was another clicking sound in his throat.
Earl closed his eyes, “You’ll be ok.”
“I don’t know if I can do this.”
“Let an old man end it on his own terms.”

In the waning hours of night the last of the embers faded into ash.

Freddy hiked down the trail as the first light of dawn washed over the horizon. When he reached the bottom he slid into the driver’s seat of Earl’s truck and opened the envelope. Inside of it was seven thousand dollars in cash, and a little note that read: Life was beautiful and I can call it good. That’s all anyone can ask for.

__________________
The only way to learn how to write is to write.

Dark Fact

ttt

Some feedback, please.

__________________
The only way to learn how to write is to write.

nineteen

well, according to your profile you do a creative writing major. i'm not sure what this means (being from scotland) but i assume this mean you read and write a lot. so - and i don't mean to insult you - i won't dumb it down so much.

surely you can see why the first paragraph is a bit of a mess. there are three sentences and each one deals with a totally different subject. it's too jittery.

i don't like the second paragraph much more tbh. it suffers from the same thing. there is not elaboration and no - helpful or relevant - description. you are accually using incorrect grammar in place, by which i mean you are over-using full stops. you skip from one subject to another too easily.

no, no, no. i was expecting something from this when i saw you profile (the creative writing bit) but this is really amateurish. this feels like a sketchy first draft, at best. it would benefit from a great deal of revision in my opinion.

__________________
(Please don't take my advice too seriously)

Oh Vanity, thy number is 19.

nineteen

oh and i know the short storied forum isn't very busy now-a-days.

__________________
(Please don't take my advice too seriously)

Oh Vanity, thy number is 19.

ablelaz

Hi Dark fact----I believe you show a good deal of talent, especially in story development. Your presentation is little bare bones, meaning you need to relax and have some fun with your story. For example your first sentence, leaves the reader wondering why you wrote that, it’s almost like an incomplete thought.

I will rewrite your first two paragraphs, in an effort to demonstrate the changes, in your style that needs to occur, in my humble opinion.

Example. --- [Swinging like a pendulum from the rear view mirror was a picture of his wife Carol. It was in Earl’s mind, a place of honor which she had commanded; her presents in this spot far exceeded the life of this truck, in fact it had out lasted three previous trucks. On the seat beside him there was a flashlight, backpack and his insulin shot, all things he considered necessary in the completion of his self appointed task. He griped the leather covered steering wheel lightly, but it did little to ease the pain that had slowly, permeated every joint in his body. Every so often a tremor shook his left hand, no matter how hard he tried to control it, the hand wouldn’t stop shaking.

He parked at the base of a narrow trail leading up the mountain and shut the engine off. The blood red sun was dipping beneath the mountaintops and he estimated, another thirty minutes of light. Earl got out of the truck stretched his hands, arms and legs trying to at least reduce the pain and stiffness. His face was the color of tanned leather, worn and etched with the lines, years of a life offered as the badge of age. Over his shoulder was a view of the valley below, lazy clouds rolled endlessly in a sea of fading blue. Walking to the passenger side of the truck he opened the door, grabbed the backpack and flashlight. The insulin shot held him spellbound, but just for a moment, what the hell for; he reached past it for Carol’s photo, tucking it in his vest pocket. His hand trailed along the warm surface of truck as he walked to the base of the trail, once there he looked over his shoulder one last time while his left hand continued its uncontrollable shaking.

What I have tried to do is interject so romance into otherwise short flat sentences; some like [He inhaled.] are not even sentences.

I think your story could be a reel winner, but you need to work at it. I think an adjustment in style would work wonders.

Talk to you soon---ablelaz.