Writing Pain [A novel little idea. We'll see if it catches.]

[Mitch]

A butterfly flies round the sky, going round and round till it falls down in death.

A creature made of sunshine stands above and watches the butterfly fall down to its death. She catches it in her hand and stares at it. Her hair is made of flowers, the scent of them permeates around in an ulceration that is as vile as it is disgusting. The flowers are rotten and decayed and decadent, emaciated lovelies with small stems and small meaning.

Her flowers move up and down as she moves her head around and glares at the butterfly in different views. She looks at its wings, at its beady little dead eyes, at its smallest features. And just as she caught it she lets it fly down on the ground, and she smushes it with her bare feet, her toenails long and bent, wicked as what she is doing seems.

When she removes her foot, there is nothing on the ground at all, not even the guts of the butterfly. The butterfly is gone, seemingly evaporated with the touch of her foot. For all its pains, this is all it gets; the final realization of non-existence, and then nothing as it dies away without a scream.

So she screams for it as its pain wells in her heart. Things whirr around in her head like weights falling and thunking on the ground hard. She can sense sunlight up above, can picture the large sky, a blue ocean full of gray clouds. She is the butterfly's memories for a momentary elapse, a span of time that ends as soon as it comes. The whole time her mouth is open in pain; it is the utter pain which the butterfly experienced, one that she now experiences. And she too cannot yell, just as the butterfly, but can only feel the pain and feel an unheeded want to scream her pain, and get some help.

She soon walks off in the distance, blood on her hands as she stares off into the sun. Her name is Pain.

[center].....[/center]

All about the Earth she walks. She is in everyone and not in everyone all at once. She holds a feeling of contempt in everything she sees, but even so at times smiles and is happy to kill other things' pains.

She has lived many years, running often through fields of daisies, ashamed of how everything was and is. Her dreams were once as bright as the sun, but now they are liquid blue, as clear and as sad all at once. Often, she can be seen staring into the sun, feeling it die.

The flowers upon Pain's hair once had stems as green as envy. The buds on them used to be the colors of rainbows?multi-faceted, full of color which was atrociously beautiful. Any that would see her would be in awe at her form.

Pain was created when the Earth was first created. The coming together of all its parts, and the seismic as well as volcanic activity created much hurt from the being born Earth. As the Earth was made, she was formed from magma and fire, the burning passion of inflection. Born in fire and flame, her entire body was racked with anguish and burns, some of the scars still lasting at this day, but most of it now gone as it has been healed.

She was born in her own blood. She sat inside the hot and warm Earth, burning and receiving its pains, bleeding fire and her own blood. Her form bled and bled and burned and burned till it was almost dry. During this time, deep in the Earth, she cried often. She would put her flaming hand on the Earth, feeling hurt that was unbearable, and tears would begin to flow from her like a river.

One day her pain was so great from the Earth that she cried all that day, wanting to die and not exist. The entire time she cradled her arms around her, sobbing and crying her tears, trying to lull herself to a painful sleep. It was in this way that the Earth's endless pain of its creation was sated, and the fires momentarily put out. From this oceans grew, large bodies containing Pain's tears.

Pain also escaped from within the Earth in this way, and when she first stepped out into the rapidly developing world, and saw it for the first time, she gazed in glory and awe. She could not believe how beautiful it appeared to be. And even though her form was wasted away, a bleeding wound that ached all over, she managed to smile through raw lips.

[island gurl]

Ugh! That's disgusting. Intriguing though...I can't reallt hink of anything else to say without sounding stupid so...i'll let myself out shall I?

[Mitch]

[size=1] I don't see how it's disgusting, but whatever. People need to lighten up on what they grade as "disgusting." [/size]

[Dagger]

[QUOTE][i]Originally posted by Mitch [/i]
[B]A butterfly flies round the sky, going round and round till it falls down in death.[/b][/quote]

This is a fantastic first line, and reading it immediately compelled me to comment upon your piece. It reminded me strongly of "ring around the rosy," which is particularly fitting when one considers the fact that the seemingly innocuous childrens' rhyme is actually a poem about the Black Death.

[quote][b]A creature made of sunshine stands above and watches the butterfly fall down to its death. She catches it in her hand and stares at it. Her hair is made of flowers, the scent of them permeates around in an ulceration that is as vile as it is disgusting. The flowers are rotten and decayed and decadent, emaciated lovelies with small stems and small meaning.[/b][/quote]

The only problem that I have with the above passage is its opening sentence, which begins by introducing the reader to "a creature made of sunshine." Although this does serve to further develop the idea of warped beauty, a theme which continues throughout the story, it simply doesn't fit with what we later learn about Pain. While her rotting flowers--overripe and cloyingly sweet--are literally too much of a good thing, describing her as being made of sunshine adds very little to the sheer sense of wrongness which is supposed to surround her.

[quote][b]Her flowers move up and down as she moves her head around and glares at the butterfly in different views. She looks at its wings, at its beady little dead eyes, at its smallest features. And just as she caught it she lets it fly down on the ground, and she smushes it with her bare feet, her toenails long and bent, wicked as what she is doing seems.[/b][/quote]

The story's main strength is its imagery, and here it is at its finest.

[quote][b]When she removes her foot, there is nothing on the ground at all, not even the guts of the butterfly. The butterfly is gone, seemingly evaporated with the touch of her foot. For all its pains, this is all it gets; the final realization of non-existence, and then nothing as it dies away without a scream.

So she screams for it as its pain wells in her heart. Things whirr around in her head like weights falling and thunking on the ground hard. She can sense sunlight up above, can picture the large sky, a blue ocean full of gray clouds. She is the butterfly's memories for a momentary elapse, a span of time that ends as soon as it comes. The whole time her mouth is open in pain; it is the utter pain which the butterfly experienced, one that she now experiences. And she too cannot yell, just as the butterfly, but can only feel the pain and feel an unheeded want to scream her pain, and get some help.[/b][/quote]

The phrase "get some help" just doesn't fit with the remainder of the sentence that contains it. I'd recommend cutting it. If you really want to express that idea, you'll need to elaborate further and make its importance more clear.

[quote][b]She soon walks off in the distance, blood on her hands as she stares off into the sun. Her name is Pain.

[center].....[/center]

All about the Earth she walks. She is in everyone and not in everyone all at once. She holds a feeling of contempt in everything she sees, but even so at times smiles and is happy to kill other things' pains.

She has lived many years, running often through fields of daisies, ashamed of how everything was and is. Her dreams were once as bright as the sun, but now they are liquid blue, as clear and as sad all at once. Often, she can be seen staring into the sun, feeling it die.

The flowers upon Pain's hair once had stems as green as envy. The buds on them used to be the colors of rainbows?multi-faceted, full of color which was atrociously beautiful. Any that would see her would be in awe at her form.

Pain was created when the Earth was first created. The coming together of all its parts, and the seismic as well as volcanic activity created much hurt from the being born Earth. As the Earth was made, she was formed from magma and fire, the burning passion of inflection. Born in fire and flame, her entire body was racked with anguish and burns, some of the scars still lasting at this day, but most of it now gone as it has been healed.

She was born in her own blood. She sat inside the hot and warm Earth, burning and receiving its pains, bleeding fire and her own blood. Her form bled and bled and burned and burned till it was almost dry. During this time, deep in the Earth, she cried often. She would put her flaming hand on the Earth, feeling hurt that was unbearable, and tears would begin to flow from her like a river.[/b][/quote]

The last paragraph in this selection is a little too abstract for my tastes (and is far more difficult to visualize than the more concrete imagery seen earlier). It works nicely when taken on its own, but here it contrasts too greatly with the previous descriptive passages, nearly all of which incorporate some mention of color. I don't think you should drop that motif so easily.

[quote][b]One day her pain was so great from the Earth that she cried all that day, wanting to die and not exist. The entire time she cradled her arms around her, sobbing and crying her tears, trying to lull herself to a painful sleep. It was in this way that the Earth's endless pain of its creation was sated, and the fires momentarily put out. From this oceans grew, large bodies containing Pain's tears.

Pain also escaped from within the Earth in this way, and when she first stepped out into the rapidly developing world, and saw it for the first time, she gazed in glory and awe. She could not believe how beautiful it appeared to be. And even though her form was wasted away, a bleeding wound that ached all over, she managed to smile through raw lips.[/B][/QUOTE]

I like the first half of this piece far better than the second--it's more tightly written and provides a superior sense of closure. The second half is inherently different; its tone shifts from that of a surreal and darkly ironic personification to that which one might find in a creation myth. It just doesn't measure up to the high standards which you've set for yourself. The two parts, though deliberately divided, should still be designed to complement one another.

~Dagger~

[Mitch]

[size=1] Thanks Dagger, it's always nice to get some feedback. I liked the first part over all, and I do believe I'm just going to leave it at its first part, for I think it is at its best there, and I feel that was when I was truly inspired to some extent when writing it.

This thing itself was written quickly, especially the second part, so I didn't inted for it to be too amazing as is. But the first part did turn out well, I think.

Again, thanks.[/size]

[Ashley_the_blr]

Quite interesting, I'd add more but dagger pretty much said everything.

[KarmaOfChaos]

[color=deeppink]
What a delightful twist on the story of Mother Nature.

The imagery in this little short story was amazing Mitch. You well live-up to your reputation. The eloquence of your words paints a stunning movie inside my head, almost as if you had drawn them in there yourself.

[/color][quote][size=1]
"Her flowers move up and down as she moves her head around and glares at the butterfly in different views. She looks at its wings, at its beady little dead eyes, at its smallest features. And just as she caught it she lets it fly down on the ground, and she smushes it with her bare feet, her toenails long and bent, wicked as what she is doing seems."[/size][/quote][color=deeppink]
This part really stood out. I could see the girl, with her rotted flowers as her head tilts about in sick curiousity. The expression on her face, of interested, and then spitefully happy, letting the butterfly be crushed. Especially the expressions. With very few words, you manage to convey a range of emotion and detail not many can master.

The idea of this story is, in and of itself, quite interesting. So many times we hear these happy tales of how Earth was created with loving hands, tender and gentle. But here, it is turned arounded completly, presenting the idea that the world was born not of love but of pain, a terrible aching that was suffered to achieve such beauty. And if truly thought about, this idea seems to make more sense then the happy fairytales we were told as children. With so much pain in the world, it's existance being incorporated into the very soul of our being and fueling our core thoughts, emotions, and desires, would it not make sense that the Earth, where it all started, was also created through pain?

Unique train of thought, as always.
[/color][quote][size=1]"Pain also escaped from within the Earth in this way, and when she first stepped out into the rapidly developing world, and saw it for the first time, she gazed in glory and awe. She could not believe how beautiful it appeared to be. And even though her form was wasted away, a bleeding wound that ached all over, she managed to smile through raw lips. "[/size][/quote][color=deeppink]
This is a forceful, impacting ending. Not only is the imagery harsh and raw, but the thought is powerful as well. Even through all the pain, the suffering she had to endure to create this beautiful world, she was still smiling, if but for the already doomed world.

Truly excellent.

-Karma

PS: I wrote this at like...3 AM on Wordpad two days ago. o.o;;
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