Like a dry, open range suddenly cast ablaze, Ariel streaked toward safety. Its rider gripped tightly, praying that death would not come in this manner, and at this time. Ironically, the ending had to be her choice, at her wish. Sylvia had too little control of too many things, only she should choose the time to die!
Nostrils flared, the horse galloped unimpeded through wooded groves and open field. Sylvia's grip weakened, but she clung to Ariel...and prayed. Soon the horse arrived at the Hughes' home. Sylvia released her grip and fell awkwardly to the ground, frightened, but unharmed.
Nerves heightened, she ran into the house. Eyes wide and penetrating, she shouted for her husband Ted, who looked out of his office door, where he was typing a manuscript. Though familiar with Sylvia's mood swings, he didn't understand them and though he tried, had little patience for them.
"It was frightening, Ted. Ariel got spooked and I began to slip off, he nearly threw me. I thought I was going to fall, that i would die, but I managed to hold on until he brought me home!"
Ted rose from his desk and came to the hallway and stood before Sylvia, "My God, Sylvia, are you okay? Were you hurt? Should I call a doctor? You really must be careful dear, you're always so careless." There was no answer; Sylvia turned and quickly walked to her study, and in a moment, Ted heard the clicking keys of a typewriter.
Stasis in darkness.
Then the substanceless blue
Pour of tor and distances.
Fire and Air
That night, Sylvia had a dream:
Sylvia walked alone along a dimly lit street. She suddenly saw a homeless man in an alley; just an ordinary bum who’d been rolled and left to die. She instinctively grabbed for Ted's hand, but of course he wasn't there. She looked around but did not call out his name. She wished he was with her, and yet....
She walked up to the man and looked down. Unconscious, he breathed slowly. She looked closely, he had a mature, serious face with long, silver, matted hair that hung down upon wore, dirt stained, shabby cloak of rainbow colors that, despite the grime, seemed to flash and glow under the street lamp.
She tentatively bent down and shook the man, he slowly gained consciousness and opened his eyelids. His violet eyes, now wide open, seemed to bear a sorrow that engulfed Sylvia in its gaze.
"Sir, are you okay....can I help you?'
He didn't speak, but nodded to her first question and shook his head to the second.
Not knowing what to do next, all she could think to say was,
"What's your name?"
"Ariel" he spoke in a frail but soothing voice.
Sylvia bent down and put her right hand out. Ariel clasped Sylvia's with both of hers and tried to rise, but was unable. The cloak fell from his shoulders and he slumped to the pavement, his fragile, naked, upper back exposed. Sylvia's attention was drawn to two palm sized extrusions projecting from each side of his shoulder blades. Dried blood covered these apparently amputated appendages, and she instinctively reached to toward them, but stopped, afraid.
Seeing her concern Ariel slowly lifted an arm and she took his hand into hers. A sudden jolt of energy coursed through her. Flashes of images at a rate too fast to completely grasp. Pictures of pain and suffering, of victims and defeat. She pulled her hand away and looked into the eyes of this fallen creature. None of the violence that had flashed before her could be seen; just sorrow and heartache.
She then looked toward heaven, and wanted to cry out, but knew that her words would not be heard…not now.
She looked toward Ariel and asked, "Why?"
He looked up; struggled with his words and replied,
"He did not fall….He walks…among us."
And then he slumped back to the pavement and said no more.
Sylvia then awoke, her heart was beating furiously. Emotions heightened, she shook from the frightfulness of the dream. She remained still, trying to make sense of the dream. She then quietly rose, so as not to wake Ted and went into the study. She began to type furiously, adding to the lines from her dream:
"Godiva, I unpeel ---"
As she continued, words came like a torrent, harsh like the night, where the wind whipped against the shutters creating a ghostly murmur that set the mood for her progress. Everyone said it was going to be a harsh winter and the Hughes’s were not rich; the next few months would not be an easy time. She rose from her sitting position and went to the hall closet for a robe. It was just an old, worn, beige thing that Ted had given her on their first wedding anniversary. For a fleeting moment however, she thought it had sparkled under the dim lighting of the hallway. She put on the robe and walked back into the study. She slowly paced about the room and thought about her ride, the dream and the portent of the howling wind. She was glad that Ted still slept, he just never understood these moments…she preferred being alone.
Author notes
The poetry segments quoted (in italics) in this story are from Ariel by Sylvia Plath from her collection of the same name.
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Comments
1 - 17 of 17
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The writer's writer you are, imagining the scene behind the scene,
the traumatic experiences that may have led to the words.
And courageous and creative you are to invade Sylvia's mind,
to imagine the events that bought her to tap at those keys.
If she had dreamed of the future and had seen the ease
at which we talp the keys, correct typos, edit and reaarange--
oh, what an unbelievable dream that would have been.
Quite brilliant, Yem.
M-C
See, I haven't read EVERYTHING!
(see IM for fixers)
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Wow, I just looked at this story. Tons of proor writing. I fixed some of it, got bored. I think I'll delete everything and only bring a story back to AP after I've gone over it a few times.
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If she had dreamed of the future and had seen the ease
at which we talp the keys, correct typos, edit and reaarange--
oh, what an unbelievable dream that would have been.
She might not have committed suicide!
Sorry. lol
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Teme travelers might have saved her
to write on for more years!!!!
That hope--that musing---hah!
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Thanks. Fixed. That Jerusalem one must have been a stray word from a sentence I had and then discarded, maybe not deleteting one word. I guess, lol I know there was some angle I was going on there but some of it I had to cut.
Thank you, corrections on grammar and any logical flaws (like a guy who was dead in paragraph one is suddenly, without explanation, alive in paragraph 23, lol) are always welcome.
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Is this a concept that would fire up your brain again,
another author, another verse--or story? Great
putting to work of your knowledge of some
favorite authors with your inventiveness.
Oh, you would make such a great teacher!! -
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I don't remember what angel Jerusalem had. Seems like she mentions it in the poem but maybe not, would have to go back and read. Maybe it's a paragraph I accidentally deleted.
It was for a contest about Plath's poem Ariel. I didn't win, poets hate to read prose. Plus my style, well, there aren't a lot of car chases, teen angst and blood letting in my fiction.
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It had excitement--almost thrown by the horse,
the scary scene with the angel guy!!!! A tale of
what happens here at AP, readers hedging bets
on what the writer is saying and WHY!!! And
dramatized!
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Ah, that reminds me of the characters I left in limbo,
in MA and ME. Is it OK with you if I take the Moxie
afficienados on their continued journey---meeting
themselves as planned in my mind??? They are your
alter egos of sorts!!!
I have to get the dates and all fixed in my mind
so there will be some "logical"--if not also imaginative--
explanation! -
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You may take them where ever you wish...just don't go into the future where Moxie has ceased to exist. I am not ready for such a shocking tale of horror!
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Oh, never--the whole premise from the very first
haiku series was to SAVE MOXIE!!!!
I have a vested interest in saving it for perpetuity!!!
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Like Obama's presidency, might never have happened if Moxie never existed...might take a bit of work to find a reason, but I'd find one.
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A link to Teddy or some part of Camelot, for sure!
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Camelot, there is an idea for your story since Moxie has roots in Massachusetts. Maybe the Kennedy's many tragedies could have been averted by a heavy dose of Moxie every morning.
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Great thought on which to start your day!!
Take care!!! Very good care!!!!
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That would be somewhat counter-productive to get rid of the thing your story is trying to save, lol.
That is an idea...a "It's a Wonderful Life" scenario where Rayne finds out what life would be like without Moxie, add some humor...all the changes (for the worse) that might happen without it.
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Oh, ugh, a shocking tale of horror---maybe a dream!!!!!
He might crawl into a dark cave and never invent again!
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