[Fiction] Pathways

[dark1110]

Hồi trước tớ có thấy box này, nhưng thấy không ai post nên không dám đưa bài viết vào. Nay thấy có nhiều bạn viết, tớ cũng bon chen post để mọi người góp ý. Đây là một truyện Tiếng Anh tớ viết thử. ^_^

Summary: There are so many pathways in life that one has to consider carefully before choosing. It’s not just about the others, but also him or her.

PATHWAYS

He was strolling down the pitiful road, with half-withered flowers and dead branches scatters on the ground. He cut through that unhappy scenery by the top of his old brown boots. It was not a lovely day, but that cloudy to wait for a rain. He was not waiting for a rain. He was not waiting for anything.

He was alone.

He sat down on the bench downhill, wondered what the hell was he doing here. Wind brushed the dead leaves under his feet.

He did not feel cold. Or maybe he just did not feel cold anymore. He did not suffer. Not even a bit.

He stared at his feet, tried to move it around in order to feel his existence. His limbs did not seem to work at their best. Despite his effort, they only shuddered slightly. He gripped his right knee tightly. That was a feeling which remained unknown to him: wordlessly and irrevocably. He felt wind blowing by just like some soft voice with full of hypnotism.
__

He saw his past also walking downhill and passing by. It may or may not notice him at first.

But then it suddenly turned around, smiled and looked at him straight in the eyes without fear. He struggled to face it and to smile back.

It was a long time since his last speaking with a quiet and deep voice just like an unfathomable chasm. He laughed:

- So, you came.
__

It was five minutes before his death. Not long after the sunset.

Nobody knew if he was actually conscious about it or not. It was fast and sudden, just like a punch into the face in a boxing match. He might have died more peacefully than that.

Others had found him soon right after there was a report of a smiling man, who sat still at one place for hours without moving or changing his facial expressions. He was discovered by a girl who tried to call him loudly and came up to check for his pulse.

She found nothing.

He was transferred into a local hospital and finally to the mortuary.

He was finally announced as dead at 7:15 pm in an unknown day of January, when the light streets were turned on and made any star’s existence to become pointless.
__

It was his fiftieth birthday. His wife, Bella, brought down a small cake. She came downstairs together with his 20-year-old son, Peter, who just came home for summer break from Colorado. He could remember his last wish right before cutting that cake up into small pieces. The radio was on at the 65.5 Channel and played Canon in D. It rained outside.

The day had not been fully ended yet, but the rain had stopped light to reach that little white house. He was grumbling about his work and how retarded the boss was. He yelled at Bella and tumbled the cake over the carpet.

It was a nice cake with little white flowers on the top and a little phrase said “happy birthday” in red. He could also tell that there were plums inside by its distinct scent.

The radio suddenly stopped at 7:15 p.m. There was a gunshot at the main door at first. The glasses from the windows shattered and broke the sound barrier.

And suddenly he found himself lying on the hospital bed. It was uneasy at first. The pain was then alleviated by some kind of medical treatment given. And he fell asleep again.

When he woke up, the doctors came and talked with him for a while. He felt a tight knot in his stomach. He did not make a move while listening to that doctor chewed and spit the words out with a steady and plain voice.

When he was lying down on the white bed and observed the ceiling, he dubiously had a strange idea that the flow of time might have been interrupted at that moment. Even though he knew that it was totally against any scientific statements, he still kept that idea in mind.

He saw his 5-year-old self running on the playground near his house, moving towards his parents with arms opened. His mother wore a little polka dot dress and leather shoes. His father was smiling in a white shirt and regular black trousers.

And he saw the first time he met Bella during a university service project in the year of 1960. They told orphans stories, laughed, walked home together and exchanged letters during the time he was in London looking for another kind of work. He still kept those letters carefully packed inside a steel box on the second shelf of the left cupboard in his bedroom.

He also remembered how Peter looked like while jumping joyfully in front of the new house. Peter wore a red t-shirt with his favorite hero on the front, shorts and brown big trainers with a left loose shoelace. He forgot to tell his son about that. But it was not such a big deal.

And he heard the doctor’s voice recalled time after time. And he understood how strong and hurtful words could be. It was similar to a pierce going under his skin. That pierce had been deepened every second he moved.
__

It was a crowded but quiet event. The whole room was arranged neatly as he requested. There was no music, no dazzling decorations. It was simply the atmosphere made it looked like a funeral. There was neither anything hung up on the ceiling, nor a single flower on the coffin. They allowed very little soft light from outside, where a black curtain was raised.

There was a soft and thin white cloth covered the body, which made the scenery looked strange and distant. People could hardly hear anything but soft murmurs from the crowd, from the ones who felt sorry for the dead.

- What a short and lonely life. At the very last minute of his life, he was still alone. How pitiful.

Everyone in that funeral stared at the body, hoped that they would be able to see a ghost or an angel coming out from it, but then soon insisted not to see a thing.

The funeral took place about 2 hours long and ended also in quiet. A girl stepped inside the church, brought with her a bunch of sunflowers and placed it on the coffin. Someone saw her whispering.

The church’s bells started to sing a lively melody. Birds flew out from their nests.

[Susuri Yuyuki]

are you the writter ?

[nguchet]

uhm thanks

[dark1110]

@Yuyuki: I am the writer.
@nguchet: you're very welcome.

[PantherSon]

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Bạn có vẻ thích viết nên mình có 1 góp ý nhỏ nhỏ:

Nguyên văn bởi dark1110

It was not a lovely day, but that cloudy to wait for a rain. He was not waiting for a rain. He was not waiting for anything.

He did not feel cold. Or maybe he just did not feel cold anymore. He did not suffer. Not even a bit.

Đoạn trên rất chuẩn nếu như viết academic. Nhưng viết truyện thì có vấn đề. Trong tiếng Anh nó có 1 khái niệm gọi là rhythm, và khi viết cần phải chú ý đến rhythm của câu khi người ta đọc. Người Anh nói với rhythm như thế nào thì người ta sẽ đọc như thế. Viết câu giống với rhythm khi nói sẽ giúp người ta đọc qua các câu trơn tru hơn, chứ ko bị vấp vấp.

Đoạn trên nếu sửa thành wasn't... và didn't... thì đẹp