Highest Angel

Story written by Bambi on Thursday 5, July 2007

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Description
A journey of discovery - What Lies Beneath?

Overall Rating: 97%

This writing has been rated by 4 members, resulting in a rating of 97% overall. Below is a breakdown of these results:

Concept/Plot:95.75%
Imagery:97.25%
Spelling & Grammar:98.25%
Flow/Rhythm:99.5%
Vocabulary:94.25%
Highest Angel Child standing alone Often going unnoticed Wolf watching his prey Seraphine looked at what she had written; a haiku. She contemplated the traditional verse written by the Japanese masters. She appreciated the flowing lines and continuous movement of her script. People didn't care about handwriting anymore. It was no longer a sacred art known to the privileged few. It was no longer a symbol of wealth or status. Words have become common. Language has become consumed with technology, computers and mass publishing. Is literature no longer an art? Seraphine laughed derisively as she perused the form of her writing. Traditional Japanese haiku was written on one line. Westerners have corrupted this subtle art and shaped even the simplest form of poetry to their liking. It seemed malformed. She rewrote her poem. Child standing alone - often going unnoticed, wolf watching his prey It looked better now. No one noticed her. She was sitting in a crowded coffee shop. The café was busy, but it always was. Seraphine liked it because you could watch the passers by, the drones of the inner city. Office workers, cars and delivery vehicles traverse blindly with no definite direction. The city was an amalgamation of people from all walks of life. In the café people lined up to get their takeaway coffees, some people sat in groups others sat alone with a book or the paper pretending they were not by themselves. The wait staff were busy behind the counter and there was the smell of freshly ground coffee beans wafting through the warm interior. No one noticed her. The wait staff were dealing with the breakfast rush. A hot breakfast is popular on a cold winter's day. The smell warmed the tumultuous space. Seraphine was on her second drink, a regular patron, but at seventeen she hadn't decided on her drink of choice. She liked to vary them. It kept the wait staff on their toes. Seraphine didn't like people becoming complacent. Today she'd had a mocha, and a chai latte, the powdered kind not the syrup. Seraphine sipped her latte, it was overly sweet. She grimaced. Perusing the other patrons with a sardonic eye she noticed people going no where, some familiar faces. She was invisible, they looked right through her. What was she today? Seraphine asked herself. The child or the wolf? Seraphine watched the people, calculated the people. She interpreted the expressions, the body language and translated all that was unsaid. Seraphine watched the eyes of a young boy. He was talking to a girl. His eyes moved in a triangle, eye to eye to lips and then back to her eyes again. He liked her. There was a woman, she was with an older man. Unconsciously she was mirroring his body movements. When he moved his foot she did, when he moved his head she did likewise. Seraphine almost laughed, wondering what the lady would do if her friend decided to jump up and down and do cartwheels. What was the lady's relationship to the man? A co-worker? A colleague? People were funny. It was like the world was her orchestra and she was the conductor. Wolf or child? Wolf or child? Seen and unseen, heard and unheard, noticed and passed over. Seraphine thought it was an amazing and complex duality. She watched, hunted and observed. She was inturn seen, but overlooked. Seraphine was not an unattractive girl, but she was not a girl that would ever be called beautiful. At best, maybe pretty. Few would look twice. Did she want to be beautiful, seen, noticed? She was not sure. There is comfort in invisibility. Being noticed meant you were remembered. Seraphine wasn't sure if she wanted to be remembered, uneasy with the feeling of living in some else's memory. At school, Seraphine had had the same science teacher for two years and he still didn't know her name. How did she feel about that? In that moment, Seraphine was the child, lost and hurt, wanting desperately to be noticed. Someone, anyone. No! She was the wolf! She would be strong, solitary and independent. Invisibility is not a curse. Camouflaged, she would hunt. She would prey upon the ignorant, the laughable. Seraphine recognised a child's weakness in her. She would transcend. Surely it takes a strong person to admit weakness. Another coffee arrived at the table, a caffeinated latte this time. Seraphine looked up from her writing and smiled her thanks at the waitress. She was as gracious and as appreciative as anyone else. It was doubtful that she would be noticed or remembered. More drawings and words came to her as she carefully and dutifully recorded her observations and people watching. Her pen painstakingly drew human forms carefully and accurately as if she were in a Renaissance anatomy class. Such masters as Durer and Da Vinci would admire the finesse and grace of her drawings. Seraphine compared her memoirs and writing to Poe and her art to Blake, people she understood and thought understood her. They were strong, human aware people. She perceived and mocked her human weakness. Yes, she was becoming the wolf. A friendly greeting from across the room and a tall bubbly red-headed girl came into sight. Looking up from her dark savant pages Seraphine transformed. The wolf closed the enigmatic entry and the child re-emerged.
   

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Comments

    Hi all,
    Just a note on the above story. I'm not particularly happy with it nd I feel that this narrative has lost its way. It is not as dynamic and as rich as I'd hoped. Please, help and comments would be appreciated!
    I enjoyed it. I love the pace and rhythm of your writing and the pace of ideas.

    Actually it was very thought-provoking and opened my mind up as a reader to be able to anticipate a number of different possibilities. My fiction is mainly off the board of regimented reality so I immediately visualized, with the closing line, a literal transformation, or a foreshadowing to one later... Also the character's internal dialogue as delivered by the prose seems almost more intelligent or wise than a seventeen-year-old character might strike me as, which made me wonder what she really might be.. (Seraphine angel ref?) Or perhaps someone who puts this intelligence to good use... Sorry anyway my mind wanders, WHICH i think is proof this is a good one. It leaves me wanting to know what happens next, to see both sides or the prevailing one come into a better light.
    I feel that in this story that you/the character may be primarily a voyeur of everyday culture. Good insight into the commonality of a coffee shop mixed with the inner workings of someone who is cerebral.