Luna's Beast

I have been blog-tagged. A writerly sort of tag, in which one drags out an old story snippet. Most of mine aren't on any useful USB, but are actual paper copies, unbound sheets of tatty A4 paper. I considered saying 'No thank you, this looks too difficult,' but then curiosity kicked me firmly in the pants. Paper all over the office now. Reading stuff, avidly, blanching. It is like seeing photographs of yourself with painful teenage hair. Embarrassing, but something to be secretly proud of: proof that you dared to have a go at life.

In this story, I have attempted to describe the artist's outsider status using a mythological fish. It went through many titles, including Luna's Beast; this snippet is from the version named 'St. Pariah.' Formative stuff!

The water was very dark. It looked so deep. I thought that was why I felt so isolated, because the sea was enormous. I swam out to the boat. The waves were behaving strangely; I noticed this, but did not regard it. I gave equal attention to the heat of the noon sun, solid on my shoulders like a gold collar still scorching from the furnace.
I reached the little boat in which my friends lay resting. The white planks looked tall from my water's eye view. I always loved this difference in perspective, so I circled the boat before hauling into it. A greeting was murmured. You can rest for a long time on a blissful day. Even if it gets cold, you don't stir till you've waited a while, in case you break the moment without need. You hear the waves when they're close, not as they fade. All other noise is far away, like a distant fairground. The most important sensation is of your self, connected to the sea and the sun. There are plenty of people on the beach, bustling, not relaxing. They make frequent noise. For us, on a day like this, words were minimal.
He was about to speak: that image more than any other plays in my mind. He didn't say a word because the boat began to shake. We all looked over the side.'

(Maybe one day, when the novel is resting between drafts; or even finished, although I have another two queued up right behind it, and other projects… I will come back to this oddball piece and see what can be made of it.)


Suze said…
Isn't it funny how revisiting something makes you wonder, what if ....

La sirena in me was gripped by this 'oddball' piece.
Lisa Southard said…
Very true, Suze, and strange how self conscious I felt about it- but that's quite good for the soul I think!
The Cranky said…
You've left me hungry for more.
YONKS said…
Left me wanting more. Is something sinister about to happen?
Suze said…
Lils, to comment on the opener before the text, the image of you sifting through these old ghosts was beautiful to me. I close my eyes and see you so clearly, pacing the room with focused intent on the page in your hand, laughing a bit here, giving a little contemplating pout, there.

Really dig it.
Lisa Southard said…
Jacqueline and Di: bad things happen, including some quite awful prose! But the idea is salvageable, so, one day, maybe..!
Suze- Ha! That was me! :-)
Good stuff! It's rather intoxicating to rediscover some of our words written in the past, isn't it?

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