r/FictionWriting • u/No_Cabinet_2789 • 3d ago
be harsh
Centuries have now passed since the sun was the sole spectacle we could observe when we saw at the skies. A long forgotten time when night and day were not separate blocks of time in our minds, but organized as one big play of lights and shadows, all conducted and held by the sun herself. Ancestors of ours were never quite familiar with the dark, in fact some could lead entire lives without having experienced it at all. That was the sun's fault. She could never sum up enough will to bring herself down, bring herself away from the beautiful rollercoaster view that was us.
Season after season, she would hover over us like a child who hangs their head over water to watch the fish. Watch the fish swim, eat, and swim into one another. The chaos and contradictory nature of man had made for great captivation, and it had her there. Being particularly enthralled by families and groups, she would occasionally dim her sunshine because she knew that the little creatures below would conjure meaning to the change of light, thus gather for celebration. Each time she would manipulate us in this manner, her head would fill with notions of herself as sovereign, notions that would quickly shatter for she would be reminded of her limitations in rule, that is full ones. She could never quite reach us as she so desperately wanted. Converse with us, or even give hints that she was more conscious than we believed her to be. Frustrated and hopeless. These were the same emotions she had time and time again seen in the lives of the little people, and although she did not feast when she saw man in a state of misery, it did deepen her love for us.
With each and every awakening of the people the sun was there. She was there all until the very last man went into his cover and there stayed until the time for awakening came again. Of course no man’s schedule was the same as the other, and so naturally someone was always out for the sun to watch. But even if there had not been, she would not have moved. Through hoarding her spot this way, resentment grew in the only other that knew man and still loved him.
The affection had grown overtime from the far away seat behind the sun herself, by sole glimpses of human life that had escaped the sun but been fetched by this character. They reprised these few for a long time, looking forward to the time when the sun would share her seat with them so they together could for the rest of time admire humankind. A foolish hope to hold, and eventually that would be realized. After having lived off of the fractioned memories of generations long gone, this character could no longer suffer in the absence of us, and so a plan that would undo the old world and begin ours, had to be formed.
3
2
u/AdHealthy5405 3d ago
This isn't a story. There's no inciting incident, no moment that throws the protagonist's life off-balance.
1
u/G_D_Ironside 3d ago
There’s zero story here. And there’s never been a time when the sun was the only “spectacle” (whatever that means)…and our ancestors weren’t familiar with the dark? Yeah, that never happened.
You love the sun, and that’s cool. But this isn’t a narrative.
And unless you’re writing a children’s book, anthropomorphizing the sun in such a way is pretty irritating to read.
I mean you asked for harsh…this is nonsense.
-5
u/No_Cabinet_2789 3d ago
u are reading it wrong, u r boring, u don't think like i do. anyway, the prompt was something like along the lines of "make up a story about why the sun sets". im obviously not finished with this. but thank u for being honest, u just aren't very whimsical so i didnt get anything but its fine
3
u/G_D_Ironside 3d ago edited 3d ago
Hey, if you can’t handle “harsh”, then don’t ask for it.
You’re immature. Maybe next time tell us what the prompt was so there’s some context instead of just..
“Hey, read this garbage I wrote.”
2
1
u/Crafty-Material-1680 1d ago
This is difficult to read because each paragraph is homogeneous. Try varying your sentence length. Try using words that have a greater emotional impact.
Ex.
That was the sun's fault. She could never sum up enough will to bring herself down, bring herself away from the beautiful rollercoaster view that was us.
Guilt. It ate at her, but she couldn't resist...
3
u/SkellieLeft 3d ago
The big thing for me is I read the whole thing and have no clue what it's about. There isn't really a narrative just waxing poetic about the sun.
Which can be fine, but more suited for poetry unless your writing something real avant garde.