This is my weeks entry into Finish the Story Contest hosted by @bananafish.
One of the things I enjoyed while doing the research for this work was the music. I didn't know it would be right up my alley. It is kind of India like but not. It has some classical musical elements, some jazz, blues, and rock; some opera thrown in from time to time. I'll probably be listening to more of this through mixcloud.
A Thousand Windows
by @f3nix
From the Little Ararat’s peak, Vartan "tiger's eye" observed his hometown, Yerevan. In the ample pocket of his tunic, well sheltered from the harsh wind, his squat fingers played with two graceful jade discs, while his steed, foaming with fatigue, seemed suddenly reinvigorated at the sight of home after months of traveling. If it had not been an animal, it would seem that he was moved. In Vartan's eyes, the only veil was that of travel fatigue.
Armenian merchant of precious stones, merchant son of merchants, he did not care how dangerous the journey was, nor how many moons had rotated above the long caravan: his mind was a precision balance that incessantly weighed and estimated without respite Indian emeralds, Burmese rubies, Pakistani aquamarines. This was Vartan's life since the cradle: he made a profit, and he did it surprisingly well.
A brisk early March night, something unexpected happened to him: he had a dream. Being an unusual experience for him, he awoke to throw in a far corner of the room the brocaded bedspread, upset and wet with sweat despite dawn’s breeze. In his family no one used to dream, there was no space for these frivolities. If he reflected well, maybe a couple of times he had dreamed of carving a gem or making a good deal, but he never came across those surreal dreams like a sand mirage in the ocean. After that episode, dreams began to visit him more and more frequently, as the unstoppable progression of pot-bellied drops in an August downpour. Frankly, it was a very unfortunate situation for Vartan, who was soon forced to invent every kind of wild night escapade to justify the increasingly evident dark circles under his eyes.
Then one day, while he was dreaming, the unthinkable happened: he suddenly perceived that he was in the dream. That first experience of dreamlike lucidity did not last long, nothing but an imperceptible beating of wings of awareness before the rules of the dream came back to swallow him and to dictate the story, relegating him to a mere spectator. Night after night, he began to acknowledge the laws that governed that world and how to bend them to his creative power. Thin and rarefied realms could become dense with colors, shapes, and perfumes. The Escheresque geometries of dancing fractals disobeyed space and time. Gradually, Vartan learned to attribute a new meaning and content to the term comprehension. For every new dream he was immersed in, the breath of those universes and his soul were united in one single essence longer and longer. In those dreams, Vartan traveled in the folds of reality, learned the language of angels and played dodges with them in the heart of perennial storms of unknown planets.
Soon, what was happening in Vartan's soul could not remain hidden to the eyes of the family, his friends, and the entire city of Yerevan.
MY ENDING
When Vartem woke up in the morning, he decided he was going to walk to Republic Square. He wanted to mingle among the people to test his new found knowledge out with the many different travelers that came from far and wide to visit the city.
He retrieved his stored away drawing paper and pencils from the chest covered in various jewels, a gift from royalty handed down to him through the ages. He stuffed them in his rook-sack. He, also, took water and food - pilaf, stuffed grape leaves, homemade yogurt, and kharpert kufta - a variety of luxurious food most around him could not afford.
He exited his small, humble home, locked the door, and strolled down the street with a gleam in his eyes. His neighbors sat on their porches eating sunflower seeds, a pile of shells lay between them as they laughed and took in the morning's glory.
Vartem turned down Movses Khorenatsi Street. The shop keeper, Gor, called out, thanking him for the jewel he'd long requested. Vartem maked a heart shape with both of his hands and held his hands above his head.
Rows of apricot trees lined the street. Children picked the families morning breakfast. The smell of baking apricots were carried into Vartem's unusually long nose by the gentle wind. He thanked God for his sense of smell.
A group of men were cutting down trees to stoke their fires with. They yelled out to the Vartem when they saw him in his earthy tunic, thanking him for the tools to keep their families warm with. The genocidal times of which they lived had almost wiped out their spirits and wills to live.
Vartem's throat choked up as he held back the tears of joy it brought to his heart to see the little good he could do for his people.
Narek, who was renowned in the neighborhood for his somber toned voice, practiced singing on the lawn about the things that once entered his most precious jewels - those were taken from him in Bittis along with his family. Two boys with instruments, one with a qanun and the other with a dhol, accompanied his adagio melody that rung in the ears like a singing bowl.
A man driving a four-wheeled carriage pulled up beside Vartem and asked if he'd like a ride to where he was going. Vartem, being a little tired of walking, had agreed.
Vartem sat on the seat next to the driver and shared his food with him. The driver shared with Vartem his drink that he had stored under the skeleton boot. The wine was just the thing that quenched Vartem's thirst.
Vartem saw in the distance the Republic Square, but, as he went to speak of his joy, nothing came out of his vocal cords. He tried to move his body, but that had begun to stiffen up. Soon he couldn't move a muscle.
The man pulled the horse's reigns to the left and turned into a vacant alley. He got up, hoisted Vartem up on his shoulders, and threw him into the carriage. "İtaatsizlik için ödeyecek," he said slamming the door shut.
Vartem knew the Turkey phrase well. It had been a common trope for the last couple of years on his travels in and around the war torn cities. You will pay for your disobedience electrified his brain like the Escheresque geometries he'd played with in his dreams.
THE END
Previous | Finish the Story Contest | Entries | ||
---|---|---|---|---|
The Town That Changed | Even the Clouds Smile | The Border | Horror Vacui | |
Black Star | Quitting Life | LER | It Awakens | |
Apocalypse and Pretzels | Metallic Kisses | Curie upvoted The Battle of Bloodneck Valley | Awakening | |
Curie Upvoted Obstinancy | The Last Will and Testament of Geralda Connors | Curie Upvoted Pirate Hunters | Spoon-fed Memories | Lucid Dream |
The Taste of Chicken |
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This is exactly why I didn't submit my story. I couldn't summon the magic you captured in yours. You do have a talent. I know this man now. I see his nose. I experience his village.
A gift, that sends some of us into the shadows :)
I was surprised I didn't struggle to much writing it.
I won't put your writing down. Just because you might think it is crap, other may not (unless it is just total crap LOL). I was surprised when I got a curie upvote for one of my pieces and also surprised others liked it. Take that chance to fall flat on your face. It is scary.
Come to think of it, I ditched out on a story last week for something else. An example of not following what I wrote earlier. It happens. 8-)
You were right the first time. Have to be willing to fall on our faces. I was interested especially in your story because you addressed the Armenian Genocide. My story centered around that. Maybe that's why it didn't come off. You were able to feel the people--I saw it more objectively, as an historic event. Didn't work at all, though it bothers me to kill my character :)
I'll take your advice next time. Thanks.
I'm with Tristan, you've a way in telling stories that feel real, even when they're complete fiction. That's a gift.
(On a personal note, no matter how often I check a story, I never see as many flaws as I do after I've hit the 'post' button. After that, all I see are what I feel are points that could be better, things that I should change. So when someone likes it, I'm floored. Every time.) 🤗
Thank you. I think I'm afflicted with "plain speech" syndrome :) It's a stylistic affliction where I winnow everything down to essentials.
You and Tristan are right about going forward, and being willing to suffer our own imperfections. Can't measure our work by others' achievements...although we can learn from others. Writing is a gift to the author, and, you never know who will be moved, or pleased by what you write.
No wonder you write so well! A lot of people appreciate being able to read a piece that gets down to brass tacks. That's one of the many reasons that I like this contest. The more writers that join in, the more there are varying styles for everyone to enjoy.
I like that, thank you!
Thank you!
As I continue to read the endings, I continue to see how many of these endings could easily be strung together to form a super ending without the need to retcon any major (or many minor) details. With this as the ultimate endings to many of the endings preceding before it. This as the ultimate send-off of the chapter of Vartan’s return and how his return benefitted the Yerevan people. It really is good that yah displayed the communal nature of Vartan as lived through and enforced because of the horrid Armenian Genocide time. He couldn’t, thanks to a ruling class hanging over him, just be a merchant, he had to help secure his community of Armenians, or he’d not be a sane person thereafter to see them suffer even more. So, even with the interests to keep his spot, he was radicalized to help as much as he could or alleviate as mucj suffering as he could just by recognizing and not wanting to contribute to the pain being created in the World. Lovely story,<3
I've noticed the very same thing.
I did enjoy writing in the direction this went. I wanted something a little happy and show the city he was living in along with the era. I'm glad someone of kind heart came through.
I had in mind mind originally to write about a stone heist somewhere in the city.
Thanks for reading 8-)
You spun this well, Tristan! Vartan purpose in journeying being in order to bring back items for his people gave him a lovely depth.
Then, you gave us the heartening journey to the square, witnessing the spark of life that his efforts returned to those who desperately needed it from the atrocities of genocide. (Vartan's heart shape with his hands was a great touch.)
The paragraph with Narek singing after losing his precious family would make a terrific story on it's own. (No pressure!😉)
Your build of Vartan's character, his efforts, kindness and dreams for the betterment of his people, made the gut-punch you delivered at the end all the more painful.
I'm glad I could deliver that gut punch. 8-)
An immersive walk in Yerevan with an unexpected ending. I found the accuracy of your descriptions truly pleasant. Try to pay attention to the present tense/past perfect during the narration. Compliments for making us reflect on a tragedy of contemporary history starting from a fable context.
I'm glad I was able to give some life to my ending.
Thanks for the tense reminders. I miss them when I think I haven't.
Thanks for reading.
I went back and found some of my errors. If I missed what you're talking about, please, point it out - if you have time.
@tristancarax, you've turned this into a realistic story. Almost journalism with the details of a foreign country. Enjoyed reading it.
Journalistic is a compliment. 8-)
Hoist the Bananafish colors! Our 40th Edition is ready and waiting for you, brave storyteller.
@blocktrades - had to give a shout out to you. Thanks for the gracious upvote.