#1
Meh, I wrote this as I typed it

It wasn't raining outside when she said it.
It wasn't on a cold windy night,
with the atmosphere laid prone with drama so tight that sparks shook out when you churned the air with your arms.
The clouds weren't dark and rumbling. They weren't even there.
The moon wasn't full, the planets weren't in alignment with the earth, nor the sun with the center of the universe.

It was seven o'clock on a July night in San Antonio.
It was hot, it was humid, and the day time gave way to the twilight that gives everyone that forgets to wear their glasses headaches.
But despite the weather, we were having such a wonderful time at the park when she said,
"I know who you are."
It sounded funny, coming from a girl to whom I had never given my real name. I had told her Terrel, or Kyle, or something like that. I told her I had just turned seventeen so she wouldn't think I was too old for her. Of course, I had plenty of cover stories for why I already had an apartment and why I was in college; all as far-fetched as Nintendo claiming that Mario Bros. wasn't based on psilocybin mushrooms, but she believed every word that came out of my mouth, so long as I didn't tell her she was beautiful, that she wasn't fat, that I loved her. I always tricked her by saying it in Spanish, or whipping out some of the more romantic French phrases I've learned.
Voulez-vous danser avec moi ?
Vous êtes mon soulmate.
J'ai envie de toi desesperement.
C'etait formidable! Pourrais-tu defaire les attaches, s'il te plait ?

She didn't know my real name. I had never told her where I was from. She didn't know I had beaten up the guy at the party that called her fat and made her cry. I never told her a damn thing about me that would give her the information she would need to know who I am. What makes her think she's so special that she can just claim the answers she makes up in her head while she's daydreaming, holding my hand on the bench and feeling the humidity bubble into her skin ?

It wasn't in an angry, powerful, demanding, manly voice, but with a playful tone that I said "Then tell me, who am I ?"
So many existentialist would call this an unanswerable question. Religions have been founded to explain it. Half of them consider understanding the question to be the path to enlightenment. Philosophers waste their lives pondering it, along with the recursive "Why ?", of course. Civilizations have waged war and burned down economies to find the first son of a bitch that ever asked it.

They would all fall to their knees before her answer.

She laid her head down on my shoulder and whispered "You're mine."
Last edited by greyeyedfire at Jul 22, 2010,
#2
I d'aaaaaaaaaaaaaaawed so much. that made me happy man. Especially right now.

The second block felt just a bit long but that's just me. I liked.
The playground of the world
#3
The turn at the end was very favorable. A departure from your previous works, but i like this piece still. it has a directness that is engaging.
#4
This is good. Only bit I didn't like was the

"So many existentialist would call this an unanswerable question. Religions have been founded to explain it. Half of them consider understanding the question to be the path to enlightenment. Philosophers waste their lives pondering it, along with the recursive "Why ?", of course. Civilizations have waged war and burned down economies to find the first son of a bitch that ever asked it."

It seemed to stretch on and also give the narrator a bit of an obnoxiousness. If he's there with the girl on the bench, stay with the girl on the bench, don't let his head run to the banalities of philosophy. Otherwise, I feel as if you are getting close to some damned strong writing on "love" and it's meaning. For comparison to what I'm talking about, check a passage from a nice bit of a French Novella, The Little Prince.

"Of course an ordinary passerby would think my rose looked just like you. But my rose, all on her own, is more important than you altogether, since she's the one I've watered. Since she's the one I put under glass. Since she's the one I sheltered behind a screen. Since she's the one for whom I killed the caterpillars (except for two or three for butterflies). Since's she the one I listened to when she complained, or when she boasted, or even sometimes when she said nothing at all. Since she's my rose."
#5
It was really sweet at the end, but I disliked the vocabulary that you used for the most part. It was analytical and made it a bit bland to read, particularly the part about existentialism. I don't exactly know the user above me, but he's very right about that part - it's obnoxious and I really couldn't enjoy it much.

I dunno, dude. I like your other pieces a lot more than this one, that's all.