Autumn: One
Timothy Tang
Despite the arrogant, uninviting, cold weather, nothing would stop Autumn from marching onto the beaches, tossing off her multi-coloured flip flops, and observe the gentle waves smooth the wet sand with tender pats in perfect tempo. She would carry a picnic basket decorated with everyday organics from flora to fuchsia; within the confines were a freshly home-baked loaf of cheese bread and a small 512ml bottle of lemon spritzer. This was all part of a daily ritual which would commence precisely at the dawn (the exact time differing from each day) and would last for the greater portion of the morning. It was not uncommon for her to extend the practice for longer periods of time as she would usually lose herself in the harmony of the sun’s warmth and the ocean’s quench. If she wasn’t running up and down Race Point Beach, Autumn could be found balancing on the rock path high above the parched sand and glistening shallows. In the fall however, rarely would she not be laying in the shelter of one of the many maple trees as they slowly unravelled before her feet. It was during this season that she would spend the light of days describing her thoughts through character, setting, plot and emotion.
One particular morning, a great gallop could be heard from a distance as British redcoats lined in formation just outside her front door. Autumn took no time at all to reach for her journal and jumping down the entire flight of stairs where she soon found herself sitting on the porch recording every minute and detail of the action. Everything from the smoke from the muskets to the barely visible bloodstains on the red jackets made it onto one of the two hundred and thirty pages in Autumn’s periodical.
“Bloody Americans! Every single one of ‘em!” yelled out a British private as Autumn tended to a bullet wound in his left bicep.
“Hold still would you?” She went onto treat the wound.
“I’m sorry my dear, I do not know where my manners have gone,” he smiled awkwardly, trying to make light of the situation. Autumn replied similarly, but only going onto tick the wounded soldier even more. “Curse ‘em all! Curse ‘em all!” He shouted to the heavens as he shrugged her away with a great push.
Autumn was shocked at first, but soon recollected herself, “Sir, if you don’t keep still, it’ll only be a matter of time before you bleed to death, alon-“
Autumn stared at the unfinished word for a moment, realizing the poor man’s fate if she were to leave his side. She felt compassion for everything, including the very characters she created in her work.
“Sir, I do not want another motionless soldier lying on the dirt, neither does your family.” He looked at her with wide open eyes.
“My family... if only...” he struggled to pronounce. He began to weep as did the sky, “let me be girl, let me be...”
Autumn placed down the quill and ink filled pages by her beside, as she slowly revealed her eyes and tears.
Timothy Tang
17
Rockdige Secondery
Jan 13th 1992
[[ The Wishlist ]]
I could use a new set of headphones...
More guitars?
Maybe a grand piano...
and the will power to write my books
If only life was a fantasy story...
A weekend away with my extended family perhaps? (You know who you are) (^_^)
Fantasy of Darkness (A book project of mine)
Da creater
[[ Don't talk crap, it's ****ng rude ]]
Autumn: One
Timothy Tang
Despite the arrogant, uninviting, cold weather, nothing would stop Autumn from marching onto the beaches, tossing off her multi-coloured flip flops, and observe the gentle waves smooth the wet sand with tender pats in perfect tempo. She would carry a picnic basket decorated with everyday organics from flora to fuchsia; within the confines were a freshly home-baked loaf of cheese bread and a small 512ml bottle of lemon spritzer. This was all part of a daily ritual which would commence precisely at the dawn (the exact time differing from each day) and would last for the greater portion of the morning. It was not uncommon for her to extend the practice for longer periods of time as she would usually lose herself in the harmony of the sun’s warmth and the ocean’s quench. If she wasn’t running up and down Race Point Beach, Autumn could be found balancing on the rock path high above the parched sand and glistening shallows. In the fall however, rarely would she not be laying in the shelter of one of the many maple trees as they slowly unravelled before her feet. It was during this season that she would spend the light of days describing her thoughts through character, setting, plot and emotion.
One particular morning, a great gallop could be heard from a distance as British redcoats lined in formation just outside her front door. Autumn took no time at all to reach for her journal and jumping down the entire flight of stairs where she soon found herself sitting on the porch recording every minute and detail of the action. Everything from the smoke from the muskets to the barely visible bloodstains on the red jackets made it onto one of the two hundred and thirty pages in Autumn’s periodical.
“Bloody Americans! Every single one of ‘em!” yelled out a British private as Autumn tended to a bullet wound in his left bicep.
“Hold still would you?” She went onto treat the wound.
“I’m sorry my dear, I do not know where my manners have gone,” he smiled awkwardly, trying to make light of the situation. Autumn replied similarly, but only going onto tick the wounded soldier even more. “Curse ‘em all! Curse ‘em all!” He shouted to the heavens as he shrugged her away with a great push.
Autumn was shocked at first, but soon recollected herself, “Sir, if you don’t keep still, it’ll only be a matter of time before you bleed to death, alon-“
Autumn stared at the unfinished word for a moment, realizing the poor man’s fate if she were to leave his side. She felt compassion for everything, including the very characters she created in her work.
“Sir, I do not want another motionless soldier lying on the dirt, neither does your family.” He looked at her with wide open eyes.
“My family... if only...” he struggled to pronounce. He began to weep as did the sky, “let me be girl, let me be...”
Autumn placed down the quill and ink filled pages by her beside, as she slowly revealed her eyes and tears.