I am, of course, selfish. My cause is lofty, and may even seem noble at first glance, but in truth I do this for no-one but myself. If my motives were more noble, would I have pursued this goal so doggedly? Would I have travelled every world in dream and reality, crossed desert and ocean, and left behind everything I once valued, if what I seek was merely the product of high ideals? Maybe you are a better person than I, for I think I would not. I would even venture to tell you that your motives re as selfish as mine, no matter what they are, for you seek to gratify your soul in one way or another. Ah well, let it lie there. Do not argue the point, for I care not; I have said little of consequence.
What is it I seek? An Angel to love me. Both the loftiness and the selfishness of my quest should now be apparent. This arrogant mortal thinks a heavenly being will deign to love him? I do. Surely the beatific inhabitants of the celestial realms are, more so than anyone, able to find love in as base a creature as me. I cannot believe that Angels are as prejudiced as my human kith. I will continue as I always have; and I will find my Angel.
I first saw her in a storm. Wind lashed the rain into me, tearing at my nerves with icy cold tendrils. The sky was black as night, and the howl of the gale drowned out all voice or thought. I could hear the waves sometimes over the screaming wind, thundering against the shore somewhere out of sight. I saw no-one else. Everyone with any wits about them had long ago bolted themselves inside somewhere. I struggled on, for I had no place to stay, and every reason to go. There was no Angel here I could find, so I must move on. I could only move forward by crawling, so I did so, sometimes taking shelter in the lee of a large building to catch my breath, but then moving on, always moving.
The roar of the wind was so deafening that it began to drown itself out. Gradually, as I crawled forward, all the sound around me faded away. My hands and face were long since numb, and so I no longer felt the stinging darts of rain, or my knuckles on the pavement. My eyes were next to useless, because I had to close them almost completely against the rain. I carried on, almost as if in a dream. I could no longer feel, hear or see the storm. I crawled on, and on.
Then it seemed as though the storm redoubled its efforts to crush me. All of a sudden, the wind roared and the rain cut me to the bone. I tried to force my eyes open, and saw a glow in front of me. Curiosity tugged at me, so I struggled to open my eyes further. There was someone there, standing in front of me, and that person seemed to be the source of the light. As I fought my way closer, I saw the figure was a woman. Flaming red hair whipped itself furiously around her head, and her countenance seemed very stern. It seemed she might have been a little sad, but any tears on her face were lost in rain. I stood up in amazement. How could she stand in the midst of this storm, seemingly untouched by it? I neglected for the moment my own strangely upright situation in my wonderment of hers. I knew, in my gut, what this divine creature before me must be, but having the reality impose itself after so many years of longing was a shock to my soul.
She turned her golden eyes on me, and it was as if the sky had torn apart and I looked into the fury of the fires of the sun. I could not hold that gaze, nor was I able to look away. And then she spoke.
“You are a fool.” Her words flew effortlessly through the storm, like fairies on the backs of elelphants. With that she turned, and walked away, into the storm. The light went with her, and all of a sudden the storm seemed to remember I was there.
The wind knocked me flat on my back. I tried to get up, to go after her, but the wind outmatched me. I could go no further. I found some small amount of shelter in the doorway of a building, and I huddled there, with tears flowing freely down my face. The wind tearing at me could not reach me through the loneliness I felt at that moment. I stayed there, and slowly the gentle scream of the storm lulled me to sleep.
|5 Jan 2002|| Kelsey L. Duncan|
I like the fact that you're short stories are short!! They contain everything that they need. Mine always end up being really short novels of sorts, and then no one wants to read them! I truly like your writing. Its engaging, and on the risk of being repatative, beautifully descriptive. Yay for you!
|1 Apr 2002|| Roseanne Rogers|
Hi, I'm a friend of Judy Derksen! We can't find your art work so please email me firstname.lastname@example.org and tell me where it is!
|7 May 2002|| Siobhan Ball doesn't exist|
Your very good @ giving your stories misleading tittles. Or that could just be my coffee warped mind, I'm not too sure.... Logan Pickup
replies: "Yes. It's your coffee warped mind. My titles are perfect. I mean, *I* know what they mean, so why doesn't everyone else? Well, you've got to be good at something, so misleading titles it be."
|7 May 2002|| Debra L Kilman|
hello! can't say i think the title fits, but that's a minor thing. Your writing is very good. The flow has a nice feel. Choice of words and the groupings is good. (Can you tell, I check out the techinical grammar thing???) As for the story itself, it has "feeling" to it. I felt the storm and the struggle. The technical of time, where, etc. wasn't the point. It was the experience. Nice experience. Logan Pickup
replies: "That's always a good thing, when the reader gets a pleasant experience. Thank you."
|22 Oct 2002|| Lindy 'Shanra' Kuepers|
*picks up her jaw from the floor* You know it's not fair to leave me speechless. I wanna comment on these stories!
*gets a grip on herself* Uhm... yes... sorry bout that.
I know, I know... Mostly everything I'll say has been said before, but commenting is NOT my strong suit, so I'm stuck writing the way I do.
Anyways, I like reading first person pieces. Imo, they're much, much more efficient in capturing the feelings, inner struggles etc etc of the protagonist then the other two perspective forms. I, like Diedra, like the fact that your stories are short (mainly because right now I'm being on about everything I do as it is). But I doubt I'd really notice if your stories were longer, I get caught up in them, this one is no exception.
I also agree with Debra that the important thing in this story is the experience, feeling what the 'I' goes through.
You really know how to capture feelings and have the reader feel them. Logan Pickup
replies: "Life's not fair, so I see no reason why I should be Besides, I like you being speechless. It means you like it, and you manage to say so much when you're speechless I don't mind if commenting isn't your strong suit. I'm bad at it too."
|2 Mar 2003|| Nicole 'Starlight' Lane|
you and your stories always leave me speechless. This is no exception
|10 May 2003|| Suzanne Miduski|
Hey Logan! Well I finally decided to comment on something so here goes...
What can I say? Wow. I really like this story. I don't know much of writing myself but I love your word use and I think it flows nicely. You did a lot with such a short story. But more than mechanics, it has such feeling in it. I really felt for this character, so hopeless and lonely,... left with only himself after such struggles and determination, only to be beaten down again and again for all his hope. Maybe I'm being overly sentimental but it just made me want to go into the story and show him he doesn't need an angel...
|18 Aug 2003|| Emily Grist|
AMAZING! This, like everything else, is SO POWERFUL it just STUNS the reader.
Descriptions are great, and you did so wonderfully in the beginning. That first line is definitely an eye-catcher
|4 Oct 2003|| Shanra|
"motives re as" - I think you're missing a letter there.
As I found out looking at the comment, I already read this work once before. It is still as beautiful and intense as it was that first time, Logan. Magnificent job ^_^
|12 Oct 2003|| Pixiefrog|
The eternal thingy: she comes all that way to insult him. Ha ha ha, and all that.
I think the title's fine.
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