Him
By; Nia @SilverthCoder ©2019
Morning again.

So it all started again, like it does everyday. And it will everyday.

He stood outside, playing away like always. Guitar in hand, the other strumming away to the ever-continuing beat.

One - Two - Three - Four - One - Two - Three - Four -

Everything still seemed to stand the same, frozen in time. The old combine, it’s forked tillers and big farm tires. The faded blue pickup truck. Even the grass stood straight, simple, in it’s daily place. He thought of all this, but at the same time didn’t. When someone was in his kind of situation, they could find that it wasn’t so hard not to think all the time. Time eventually all falls together anyhow.

He had thoughts, many good ones, he thought. Thoughts about life, and death. Thoughts about the desert where he resided, the on-going loops of days that he lived. Thoughts about his life before he came here…

He remembered it better than yesterday, he remembered it like it was the now and all he’d ever known. He’d come to know that “before” is one of those Time words, but not like the rest. See, Tomorrow meant the same as Today, and Yesterday was nothing but the past, but the past could only be singled out as a pile of disintegrated dirt. He couldn’t remember the names of the hours anymore, but that didn’t matter cause all of the hours strung into one.

All that really matters is her.

All time moved together in one constant. He remembered both his actions of “Tomorrow” and “Yesterday”, and those were the same as “Today”.

Time isn’t a straight line like everyone thinks. It’s not a circle either. Time doesn’t even exist, really. It’s not even a lonely dot in the middle of nothing, like me. Things are always happening, and having have happened, and going to have happened. Time is a figuratively existing measurement for the people who only see one or two sides of it.
Most people only see one or two sides of it.
Lucky people.

“Before” meant something else. He clung to that word, “before”, and he wouldn’t let it go. True, it was a Time word, and Time didn’t exist, so it shouldn’t mean anything to him, but it did.
“Before” meant a different point in the Constant Have- Will- and Happen -ing of Things. It meant something happy. It meant a different version of him, one who didn’t know what he knew. One who thought Time was anything and something. It meant She was there, and always would be okay.

Who was- or, who is he? That doesn’t matter. It didn’t matter to him, so why should it matter to anyone else? No one knows him anymore anyways, so it doesn’t.

He couldn’t help hoping that who he was mattered to Her. She’d always seemed like she did. Never worried too much about who he was, or who he was going to be, but she still loved whatever that was. Like she already knew who he was wasn’t going to be, but was, amazing. Who he was mattered to her, because he mattered to her. Did he still? She still mattered to him. She mattered so much to him. Maybe she would open the door.

But she never opens it. Why doesn’t she ever open it?

“I’M OUT HERE!”

His cries and calls echoed -echo- across the desert. Across the plains grass. Around the broken combine tractor and the pale blue truck. It had to have rung through the house. Didn’t she hear him?

He sang almost constantly in this point of existence he’d somehow stumbled into. Sun-up to Sun-down, and then before pausing this last-ditch playact, he had what anyone else would define as a “Moment” or a “Tick”, or possibly a “Split Second”. But all of those were Time idioms, and Time didn’t exist for him.

Now and then She’d come to a window and watch, but he saw all of it at once. The hope that maybe she’d heard him never came, because to him she was; looking out the window and closing the blinds, hearing his song but she wasn’t listening, and he already knew she hadn’t and wouldn’t come to the door. Just like always.
He could see small movements from the windows she’d left open. How she carried on so simply and surely. She folded laundry in the small room as soft sunlight filled the windows, but it was still so dark in there. When she’d folded the laundry, she’d take it into the next small room to put away. The house was so big. Tall standing, it’s strong foundation stood sturdy enough, though it’s planks had gotten brittle. But just like everything else around here, it’s pale yellow and white paint was faded. He hadn’t known it was possible for the color white to fade, but that was before. Yes, it was big. But every room was so small. Only four average-length strides could take you to the next room. It was his job to make the rooms bigger. His job to make sure the light came in the windows like how windows were supposed to work.

“I’m here to take care of you, like I always promised! Please open the door!”
Please open the door, let me in, so I might not endure this lonely loop of Now. Always to scream at this shut up house to no reply. Always to watch you walking around inside, alone yourself, needing me.
The worst part is that she needs me, and I’m not here.
But I’M HERE!

His constant singing didn’t cease through the day, the sun beating down on his arms, back, his soft-wooden tawny guitar. Beads of sweat dripped down his forehead, but no heat was as weighty as his ache for an open door.
He pounded the ground with his feet, his fingers went all numb and white from how hard he played, his voice didn’t stop. He had to be there for her, couldn’t stand to think maybe he hadn’t tried hard enough. But he’d seen the day. The same as every day. She just wouldn’t let him in. He’d promised her everything, and now he stood suspended over the dry dust calling to her to let him do everything he’d promised.
She’d given so much for him, in Before, and he wanted so badly to be able to do the same for her. So even though he saw it was futile, he stayed unyielding. All of the love in his heart went out to her, it wasn’t an option to give up this predetermined on-going task of his; standing out in the sun, calling to her all day. Predetermined. He thought. Because it is fate. It is my life, my version of unapparent Time, now and always. To beckon to a fading light, to sing to a deafening ear, to keep the promise that I’m ultimately breaking.
Now it was nearing the end of day, and he held no surprise. The once-hazy sun set with a surrendering glow, to the purple night approaching across the grassed lands. His voice broke on the last word of his day-long song, a solemnly heartbreaking note. The sun said it’s goodbyes to the world as the Night came to rule, and he fell to the ground in a silent thud.
… what is there to say? Nothing. Nothing…



Morning again.

So it all started again, like it does everyday. And it will everyday.

He stood outside, playing away like always, singing in his chaffed voice. Guitar in hand, the other strumming away to the ever-continuing beat.
But wait-

One - Two - Three - Four - One - Two - Thre-

But he saw- he heard- he knew.

Something happens differently today..?

No, I'm losing- I've a lost mind.

Something he’d thought he would never see, his view of time was changing again. He’d gotten this way at the point soon after he left Before, and never saw himself returning to his naive state. But now here he was. While he stood, tireless, vigilantly strumming; Also he stood in the entryway, the kitchen, even the laundry room. He helped dust the books shelves like he’d done as a child. He fixed the windows, it took a long time, but he did.
His mouth gaped in disbelief of what he was doing. -Would do-
-One- -Two- -Three- -Four-

Everything slowed down, everything paused. At one point, he realised he couldn’t see The Happenings like he saw every day. They faded like the picket-white house’s trim.
He heard the world around him. The dead-bolt door creaked open with a deafening screech as it’s inhabitant capturee waved from the porch.
The door needs oil. He oiled that door- no- he would oil that door. His mind was near confusion, having been since long that he’d experienced The Happe- Time.. since he’d experienced Time this way… But he sat calmly, waiting for what he’d waited- what he’d fought for. His eyes lit up, and he breathed.

Mother…

Man, how do I change my signature…

SilvertheCoder wrote:

Moons how do I change my signature…

Go to the main page for discussion forums, there will be a sign on the bottom left that says ‘edit signature’ or something like that. Click on it and voila
Great story by the way!

Oh, okay! Thank you!

SilvertheCoder wrote:

Oh, okay! Thank you!

No biggie!

Dang this is good. I love it.

I'm so glad you like it! I really appreciate you takin' the time to tell me that!

OH MY GOSHHHH no wonder you won the contest…

I WON!? I've been trying to find the project but didn't see it yet of who did wow this is so exciting!!

Teach me your secrets!

Anybody can learn every word in the dictionary, or memorize grammar and punctuation rules. But you're the only one with your exact experiences and your thoughts about them. So I think some of my best advice would be to (as cheezy as it may sound) write what's in your heart. There's something inside that needs to be shared with the world, (be it political views, philosophy, just a way to deal with difficult emotions or something silly to make someone laugh.) So put it out there! And put it into your writing! ^w^

Edit 2023:
Something I'd add to this: this is not to say that learning grammar rules and writing lessons is not important. In fact, knowing how to write is a very important part of writing that allows you to really say what you mean and communicate your ideas clearly.

Sometimes we get caught up in the rules and it gets us blocked (the infamous writers block! )
So, sometimes you need to forget about some of the rules and just get your words onto the paper (or screen ) but after you've done that, it helps to go back over things and figure out the best way to write it so that the story says what you want it to say clearly.

(“Him” was a bit of a difficult setting for a story, because it was about this guy who was trapped in a time loop where he could see all of time at once and didn't experience it the same way we do. I experimented with capitalization and tenses when writing this story and it was the first time I'd done something like that. Looking back on this story, I see little things here and there that I could've done to make more sense of that complicated situation for the reader; ways I could've perhaps explained or shown what was happening in a more consistent way. But I am still proud of this short story, and I'll always be happy I wrote it. I enjoy looking back and reading it, and remembering that it came from my first time in swc, which was such a special session to me. )

One tip for writing: Never give up - always be willing to learn and adapt. The more you write, the more you learn, the more you'll grow in your ability to communicate ideas and tell those unique stories you want to tell. <3

- Silver

AAHHHHHHHH SO GOOD TELL ME UR TIPS!