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Great story Old Slave, very original and well thought out. It is a haunting tale, and one that I have been thinking about since I read it. I have tried to imagine what I would have done if I came across the girl. That is a sign of a good story, you think about it, long after reading it.
:goodjob:
 
Hondoboot2 said:
Great story Old Slave, very original and well thought out. It is a haunting tale, and one that I have been thinking about since I read it. I have tried to imagine what I would have done if I came across the girl. That is a sign of a good story, you think about it, long after reading it.
:goodjob:
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Thank you Hondo, it's strange how some stories make you think about them, not all on this site do, but when it happens, wow.

I had a plethora of thoughts as the story started to assemble
  • how to do crux in a land with no wood
  • how to comunicate with no language or hands
  • the concept of crime being an infectious disease
  • would a 'brief encounter' colour his life
  • should we trade with an abhorrent regime
maybe too many differing concepts for one story? Would it have been better to have expanded each of these into a story in their own right?

Anyway a short concluding chapter to follow.
 
10​


I never went back.

I eventually found a woman prepared to live with me out in the forest. I can’t say it was love, but we were comfortable with each other, worked well together, and were quite happy just to be together, sitting quietly at night when it was too dark to work, usually smiling when our eyes met. Another pair of hands meant we could make and sell more wares, this made up for the loss of coin from going to that evil town, and the wife could make a tasty meal from very little.

The girl never left my head. I never told the wife about her.

When the wife and I have sex, and we’ve got five kids, it’s the girl I’m making love to, her pleading “Hrund wa” getting me going, her “Frarp” making it all worthwhile. I told the wife if she lies spread-eagled, I will enjoy it more, she seems happy to, it helps me to remember the girl.

My chisels have been put to the stone that number of times they’re nearly worn away.

My faithful old girl can still carry a good load.



END
 
Great story. It has a great balance between the experience of the man with the girl, and trying to figure out the horrors of the town, just out of sight. The horrors in real life always seem to be just out of sight, but there if you really look, too close for comfort.

I wonder if a lot of us remember "that girl", the one where we didn't stay with her, or didn't see the chance until it was gone, but feel that as a missed opportunity, or missed love. I have such a memory, and this story reminded me of the wistful feeling of that.
 
Jollyrei said:
Great story. It has a great balance between the experience of the man with the girl, and trying to figure out the horrors of the town, just out of sight. The horrors in real life always seem to be just out of sight, but there if you really look, too close for comfort.

I wonder if a lot of us remember "that girl", the one where we didn't stay with her, or didn't see the chance until it was gone, but feel that as a missed opportunity, or missed love. I have such a memory, and this story reminded me of the wistful feeling of that.
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Thoughtful comment, Jolly. Yes, I was exactly thinking about what you call 'that girl'...
 
Jollyrei said:
I wonder if a lot of us remember "that girl", the one where we didn't stay with her, or didn't see the chance until it was gone, but feel that as a missed opportunity, or missed love. I have such a memory, and this story reminded me of the wistful feeling of that.
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Yes, been there, regretted it ever since.

It wasn't consciously in my mind when I wrote "It", but who knows what the subconscious can do?
 
old slave said:
I told the wife if she lies spread-eagled, I will enjoy it more, she seems happy to, it helps me to remember the girl.
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I wonder what it helps her to remember? ;) :devil:

great piece of writing, old slave :)
 
old slave said:
maybe too many differing concepts for one story? Would it have been better to have expanded each of these into a story in their own right?
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I think it's right as it is, we can consider the implications and fill out the details in our imagination... and when I get to developing one of the characters in my story some more, people will probably see a similarity to the protagonist here, in his recurring memories and his marital situation ;)
 
old slave said:
Thank you Hondo, it's strange how some stories make you think about them, not all on this site do, but when it happens, wow.

I had a plethora of thoughts as the story started to assemble
  • how to do crux in a land with no wood
  • how to comunicate with no language or hands
  • the concept of crime being an infectious disease
  • would a 'brief encounter' colour his life
  • should we trade with an abhorrent regime
maybe too many differing concepts for one story? Would it have been better to have expanded each of these into a story in their own right?

Anyway a short concluding chapter to follow.
Click to expand...

Old Slave, I think the story has planted seeds. No need to create an in depth investigation of abhorrent regimes, or sign language. The story, and the people, and their interaction is what's important, and through that you leave us with the questions "how would that work?" or "should he have done x instead of y?"

I love the epilogue too. A good man, just wanting to live his life and be happy, not desiring to harm anyone. He loves his wife in a comfortable if not passionate way, and doubtless his children too, but his heart is forever haunted by that girl. His sexual gratification revolves around that memory, that regret. Is this wrong of him? Does this diminish him, or simply reveal his human nature?
 
phlebas said:
A good man, just wanting to live his life and be happy, not desiring to harm anyone.
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I think that was the 'crux' of the story, a man ignoring the cruelties of the world until it hit him where and when he least expected it, in the emotional/love? department. Then it changed his life. And made him think outside his own needs.

Thank you all for the kind words, I feel a little emotionally drained myself now it's finished; a big blank space in my brain where I hope the next story will evolve.
 
old slave said:
3​


As I get closer, I can make out the bodies of the condemned spread-eagled on the ground. I’ve heard tales of a killing called crucifixion, where the man is nailed to an upright wooden cross and left to die struggling to breathe, but this place has no wood so the men are tied staked out on the ground, then long metal spikes driven through their wrists and ankle bones deep into the ground. They say because the men are not hanging there is no trouble breathing, so they last many days, and most go mad from the sun days before they die.

I look away, to the tents and hut where the guards are resting out of the sun, but keeping an eye out for anyone foolish enough to interfere in the killing. I don’t even want to seem as if I’m interested, I want no inference that I know any of the criminals.

A girl’s scream, followed by “Ganta wa”*** There’s something about a girl’s scream which is very hard to ignore so I look in her direction, expecting to see a girl looking at one of the criminals. No-one is standing or kneeling; by all the Gods in the underworld, a girl is staked out!

Against my better judgement and all I’ve promised myself, I stare at her. She’s lying there naked, as all the criminals are, but fixed in a way I hadn’t expected. A man is next to her, and his right wrist is impaled on the same spike as her left. Similarly another spike goes through his right foot and her left. They’ve twisted her feet round so the inside heel faces upwards, forcing her thighs apart and opening her cunt for all to see. Well, living on my own with only a donkey for company, I don’t see cunt very often, so I tie the old girl to a rock and walk across to get a better look. She raises her head to look at me. “Froop, ganta wa”. “Do you speak my tongue?” “Musho”.

This girl was beautiful, and I’m not just talking now about her cunt, though that was just so neat and symmetrical, but her whole body had that certain something that makes a man look and look and look. She was in her twenties, dirty and sweaty and bruised and her hair was tangled and stuck together, but was she beautiful.

I know I have to get to town. I know I do. What is it that tells me I can’t leave this girl? Stupidity, that’s what it is. When I come back this way will she be dead? I want to stay with this girl who is still very much alive. I’ll regret it, you can’t interfere with an execution in this town, I’ll get into trouble.

I walk across the road to the guards.

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***Throughout this story, people talk in a language unknown to the narrator. If my readers are translating from English to your native tongue, this will not translate. An officer speaks the narrators’ language with difficulty, so may not translate well, but the commentary should give the meaning.
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Knowing @old slave it's most probably a language dialect that originates from the upper reaches of Cleckheaton...
 
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