Unforgettable Lullaby

This is the short story I wrote in my final Higher School English exam. Now the results are out, I thought I'd share it here.

Unforgettable Lullaby

Not long after he had returned from Sunday Mass, and crossed over the porch of his elegant Dublin town house, there came a shabby knock upon the door. His mind snapped out of a trance of jumbled thoughts, lines creasing their way across his already wrinkled forehead. As he rose slowly to answer he wondered as to who would mark this hour with such slander. He left the velvet and varnished mahogany room with reluctance. As he turned the door, a cool midsummer breeze brushed in across his face. He shivered. A lone figure slouching awkwardly in the immaculate alley, marked with blossoms, nightshade, and dark ravens grating on the pitch slate roofs. And in the moment of it all, a pale blue stole its way across his gaunt countenance, and within him the warmth of summer departed.

The interloper was a diminutive figure, some five feet, no more. Yet he was burly, with shoulders stocky. Certainly an intimidating sight. His face, although hooded with a soot-caked travelling cloak, was dark and blemished, his expression filled with contempt. In a voice gruff and deep, which caused the aging man in the doorway to jump, he said, “’llo James, you goin’ ta let me in, or jus’ freeze out ‘ere on the cobbles?”
“Well… I do say Angus this is a surprise… you at my door and all… err… Can… can I help y-you?” His throat was dry and his bowtie tight. He moved his hand to loosen its grasp on his neck.
“So, goin’ ta let me in then?” demanded Angus.
“Well… I suppose.” James motioned with his arm for Angus to make his entrance. And with that Angus did so, brushing the older man aside. James looked up and down the alley to make certain that this meeting had not been observed. Satisfied, he retreated inside and curtly shut the door behind him.

“Been too long James, ne short of a score years.” Angus paced on his short legs, around the heavily curtained room. His eyes darted from one object to the next, and by chance their two glances met, held for a moment ever so brief, James spoke, “Enough with the small talk Angus, you being here indicates that whatever news you bring is of importance.”
“Al’right, al’right, well you know them days, those dark, dark nights ou’ on tha’ boat…” The rhythms of his voice echoed in the dull tones of the grandfather clock, dragging him into the droning waves, of a past green, a hazy aquamarine.

The sweat rolled down his chin, and flicked off his matted unkempt hair. An icy trickle made its way lazily down the underside of his overalls. Out here, over the harsh North Sea not even the stars dared show their forms for fear of the artic chill. And under the infinite sky lay a single boat, crew toiling against the cold stony mouth and jagged teeth of rolling white-capped waves. In the empty sight of darkness he persevered, straining to counter the constant churning motions of the violent ocean. His feet slid, and he crashed with force upon the deck. He rose and swore, defiant and resolute. The unforgiving night threatened to swallow him up. Yet, they had travelled too far and risked too much to be defeated. Their cargo was all that mattered, and under the cover of the chaotic sea they would make their way ashore, cargo and all.

A flash of fierce light showed a movement off the starboard bow. A low and deathly scream burst up with unfurling wings. He turned to face towards the unearthly noise. On the ragged, sharp-edged rocks lay the wreck of a simple sailing ship. A damp frostiness gripped his heart. Two score helpless souls clung to pieces of sinking wreckage. He grimaced. Turning to his crew he barked his orders. His head jerked back towards the sight of drifting women and children vainly waving their arms. Once more the baby screamed. Its voice hung motionless in the rain smeared air. Yet he would not break the pace. The cargo was all that mattered, and the money it would bring.

With the memory of the baby laid in a bundle on the deck, he once again returned to the peace and security of his living room, with its warm and glowing fire. He looked up. Angus looked most taken aback.
“You al’right James? You look kinda ill,” he remarked, his concern not particularly convincing.
“Yes, of course,” murmured James. It was a simple lie.
“Well al’right then… You know tha’ night we made tha’ big, real big score with the cargo?” asked Angus.
“Of course, how could I not.” James’ stomach churned, his face pale. “Most of what you see in this very room was paid for by the money we made that night.”
With those words, bile forced its way up. He clenched his teeth, and looked down to his shaking hands clasped in his lap. How could money, greed’s siren call have warped him so? Why had he pushed his heart aside that night? Why did he not answer its cries and grasp that simple creature, exposed and vulnerable, to his bosom? He looked up, eyes close to letting what he felt flow freely forth. Angus spoke. “Aye, I know. Bu’ you don’t seem to realise why I’m ‘ere do you?”
“No, but I do believe you’ll explain,” the older man said, his face relaxing and creases easing.
A brief smirk came over Angus’ face, “Well, I don’ know if you realise, but tha’ money weren’t your’s to take. An’ for what ye took you’re wanted dead”

The smaller man sprang from his seat, and lurched forward in one swift movement to plunge the dagger his cloak had concealed deep into James’ frail chest. The confused look on James’ face was ended with a grimace, taut muscles and clenched teeth. His body slumped, sliding to the floor with a crunching thud. As his heart rose and fell, slower, slower, and softer still. His mind was clouded with the screams of the dying child. He could feel its simple agony, its dying moments. His vision was hazy, obscured by the shadows of the oncoming waves. The echoing of his heart was only a faint whisper, as slowly, he drowned. He could taste the liquid building and bubbling in his mouth, as it gurgled in his lungs. Oh, how had he led himself to such a gruesome end? He let out one relentless, final, lamenting shriek. And then his eyes rolled and his heart could no longer be heard.

You don't mention the grade it got. I suspect its high:yes:

Bump.

So I've decided recently to rewrite this story. This is what I've done so far --- yay or nay? Better, worse, neutral?

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Sunday Mass. Returning from it still in good spirits was his most troublesome concern of the day. So when his feet crossed that slate gray and moss ridden porch for the second time that morning there was perhaps that distinct slump in posture that overcomes everyone (triggering in the neck muscles, right down to the hips and then feet) that occurs when you are home, alone and in harmless privacy.

I feel odd --- yes I’m narrating to you, but, barging in on a man in his own home is poor manners and my mother would have a go at me for my rudeness. Not to mention, that if he were to know that we are watching him, well he wouldn’t be so relaxed and this story would surely be thwarted by the complete inconsistency of his actual behaviour and what I have only just said previously, that he is completely relaxed. So I do implore you, be quiet!

Actually, excuse me for a moment, an intermission to recount my memories --- they’re fuzzy when it comes to Sundays, a lifetime of hangovers doesn’t do the recollection much good.

Ah, so, passing in the comfort of his own home. An elegant home, with its mossy welcoming porch at the tip of a meandering garden path, making its happy trail between roses and surgically precise lawn. Peering down on this lawn, six windows, evenly spread to the pride of some nameless engineer or architect busy drawing or scrawling somewhere in this town. Two down, both wide and gazing like an astonished child’s eyes --- clean, but not to a critic’s standards. Four up, narrow yet practical. Like every other house in this town this house is old, and laid in even older stone and rock --- capped with slate and a chimney pot.

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Originally Posted by Psychonaut

Bump.

So I've decided recently to rewrite this story. This is what I've done so far --- yay or nay? Better, worse, neutral?

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Captain! There's on object ahead! It reads solid.. but there's nothing there! It's the fourth wall!

Damn the wall, full speed ahead!


You cannot compare breaking fourth wall narrative with a very descriptive and tactile piece. They read so differently its like comparing apples to a jet engine! But for sake of arguement.. I'll try. Personally, i liked the first more. But it read like you were trying to describe absolutely everything and left little to narrative flow. It got caught up on itself a little, but was still a very fun read.

The second, while quick minded, obviously not as serious felt a little too quick. With a little refinement the second might have been more enjoyable than the first - here though (despite the enjoyment given to the reader) it feels a little rushed.

Good work on both accounts. :beam:

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Originally Posted by Monk

You cannot compare breaking fourth wall narrative with a very descriptive and tactile piece. They read so differently its like comparing apples to a jet engine! But for sake of arguement.. I'll try. Personally, i liked the first more. But it read like you were trying to describe absolutely everything and left little to narrative flow. It got caught up on itself a little, but was still a very fun read.

The second, while quick minded, obviously not as serious felt a little too quick. With a little refinement the second might have been more enjoyable than the first - here though (despite the enjoyment given to the reader) it feels a little rushed.

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Thanks for the feedback.

Not sure what Monk was getting at by the "fourth wall narrative" but I liked the first one the most. Not much to say other than it was good :2thumbsup:

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Originally Posted by Decker

Not sure what Monk was getting at by the "fourth wall narrative"

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When the narrator addresses the audience is breaking the fourth wall.

Ahhhh... well that explains a lot :idea2: And Now I see the apples to jet engines analogy. It was quite the difference. I'm not literature expert but the mood in the first was more appealing to me :book: Was there more?