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The Pen is Mightier than the Sword

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Posted (edited)

(this is fiction)

 

 

 

 

Slow and deliberate you walk down the hall.

Every step is measured. Every breath deliberate.

Nothing seems to register but the white on white wall.

Fear of what you can't fix waits to take away hope.

A sound filters through. The click clack of hurried heels fall.

The end of the corridor comes way too fast.

Turn around, face your fear and time begins to crawl.

There is little compasion on her overtired face.

You try to make smalltalk in an effort to stall.

No use, it's her job she has to tell you the news.

Her perfectly set speach makes you think of a talking doll.

Now you follow her into a room where monitors beep and blink.

On the bed lost in tubes and wires your child looks so small.

Carefully take his hand and tell him he is loved.

How could all this happen? He was just out playing ball.

Edited by WrenWind
Posted

Your ability to place the right amount of weight in words and catch the heart of the reader to make him empathise with your writing never ceases to amaze me.

 

This is another excellent work Wren and I thoroughly enjoyed reading it. I blessed myself afterwards hoping that such a fate will never befall someone I love, and to sympathise with those to whom it has happened, known, and unknown to me.

 

:wolf:

Posted

Like I said when you let me read this: wow

 

The most stunning two lines to me:

 

You try to make smalltalk in an effort to stall.

Her perfectly set speach makes you think of a talking doll.

 

Well written *hug*

Posted

Wow, I really like this one a whole lot; it really gets its point across well, and has a powerful impact on the reader. Reading other comments, I can see I'm not the only one who has that impression

 

That being said, I also want to help you improve, so I'm going to give some constructive criticism:

 

"Slow and deliberate you walk down the hall.

Every step is measured. Every breath deliberate.

Nothing seems to register but the white on white wall.

Fear of what you can't fix waits to take away hope.

A sound filters through. The click clack of hurried heels fall.

The end of the corridor comes way too fast.

Turn around, face your fear and time begins to crawl.

There is little compasion on her overtired face.

You try to make smalltalk in an effort to stall.

No use, it's her job she has to tell you the news.

Her perfectly set speach makes you think of a talking doll.

Now you follow her into a room where monitors beep and blink.

On the bed lost in tubes and wires your child looks so small.

Carefully take his hand and tell him he is loved.

How could all this happen? He was just out playing ball. "

 

I love the image "the click clack of hurried heels fall" - I think it could be clarified further for greater effect. I have this image of an out-of-focus camera and the sound in the background.

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