My writting

[The Lost Soul]

I'm looking for advice on style, development, any problems that can be found, and just general advice on my writing.

While I usually have no issues in being able to get a coherent idea on paper, when it comes to certain themes I have trouble. As such, I will admit that I have purposely avoided more 'adult oriented' themes in writing this piece. At the same time, I am still trying to figure out why when I do get into certain texts it feels as if I am purposely coating myself in an oily slime. None of that here, though. That is something for a different time, unless you can give advice on how to get around that.

On to the short piece I wrote up in the last 2 hours; It uses a semi-typical antique-shop transition which may have been seen before on episodes of Twilight Zone or Outer Limits (I can think of one episode it resembles a little bit & loosely that involved a wallet). This is an original story, but probably a not-so-original plot line.

*Short story, no current title*

James’ ride home from school on the bus was typical. The comments behind his back from his classmates, the snickering, the fact that he was one of the only students sitting on the bus alone and not talking to anyone. He was a bit odd, or perhaps it was that he was just so far outside of any stereotype that caused him to be anomalous. Being a little bit overweight did not help, as the jeers from gym class constantly reminded him. Cries of “There’s no cake at the finish line,” and “don’t fall, you’ll cause an earthquake,” were common place. But he was not out of shape; he had muscle and knew how to use it, however the baby fat still clung to him even now that he was seventeen. His sandy brown hair, cut short by the haphazard hand of his mother, and his hazel brown eyes merely emphasized how average he was.

Stepping off the bus at his stop, he heard the usual shouts from other students to their friends; “See you tomorrow,” along with “don’t forget to call me,” and “I love you baby,” from those who had significant others. None of those cries were directed at him. He was alone, as he turned to walk down the street. James was homeward bound for another night of listening to his parents fight, followed by his mother drinking and his father slamming the door as he left for work at 9pm sharp. For James, it seemed, nothing would change, not until he managed to get out of that house on his own. But sometimes things do not go as anyone expects them to.

On his jaunt towards home, James could not help but notice that a new shop had opened in the corner plaza. It was a small shop, tucked back in the corner near the gate from the plaza to the neighborhood gardens, but something about it called to James. Relics and Mysterious Antiques, the sign exclaimed, although from the look of the sign some of the oldest things there were the sputtering lights of the “c” and the “y”. The windows of the shop were blocked off by what appeared to be navy blue poster boards, but the sign on the doorway read “open.” Something in the shop called to James; a whispering voice told him that he needed to go in. What the hell, James thought to himself, might as well take a look.

Pushing open the door, a tinkling bell could be heard throughout the shop. It startled James a little bit, as most stores had moved to a computerized tone instead of leaving a bell hanging by the door. Old and musty were the first words to come to mind as his gaze drifted across the shop, followed by worthless trash. He saw old newspapers behind glass panes, a couple of them dating as far back as the 1800’s, chipped crockery which remarkably resembled the patterns you could find at discount stores, some books that looked like they might fall apart if touched sat a few bookcases, and what looked like a replica of an old middle eastern lamp. To James this looked more like a junk store than an antiques shop.

“Welcome, my young man,” a voice called from somewhere behind looked like a stack of walking sticks jammed into a large vase. “What brings such a young customer to my shop? Most of my customers are four or five times as old, looking for something from their youth.”

“Uh… Hi. This is the first time I saw your shop…” James started, trying to reply.

“Never mind that,” the voice replied, as a young man stepped out from behind the bookshelf next to James.

This man, perhaps Adonis would be a better term for him, stood head and shoulders over James and made him feel like an ugly duckling. The perfect set of his shoulder length blond hair, penetrating blue eyes, smooth muscles concealed beneath his high straight-collared shirt. As this man looked down at him, James could feel himself trying to shrink away from that firm gaze, trying to hide and being unable to turn away from those cold blue eyes. Then, as suddenly as it had started, James could move again and his eyes drifted down to the name tag on the man’s shirt. The name, Stephen, was printed on it in light red lettering.

“So, you’ve come looking for answers. A lot do, but few as young as you. I think I might have just what you are looking for,” Stephen stated, setting his well-groomed hand on James’ shoulder.

“No, no, I just…” James coughed out as the man turned him towards a counter at the back of the shop.

Stephen’s voice took on a brisk tone as he shuffled James towards the counter in the back. “Tut-tut, and none of that from you. No excuses allowed here. There is something here for, or from, everyone. This way.”

James felt almost as if he was being dragged towards that counter. It was steel framed and glass, and had an old-style cash register sitting on it. Within the glass were nick-knacks, ranging from pocket watches to long-stemmed pipes, old knives and jewelry, snow-globes and statuettes. The closer Stephen brought him to it, the more James’ terror seemed to grow. Finally, as they stood before that bastion of relics, James felt a release. There was no more terror, no fear, there was nothing, he had gone completely numb.

Stephen reached across the counter to a shelf behind it, bringing forward an ancient looking mirror. It was wrapped in golden knot work, which had long since tarnished to the color of dull brass, and was just slightly smaller than the average tea tray.

“Now, I think that this is what you came for,” the shopkeeper said to the young man, “I think you will find it is exactly what you are looking for.”

“What?” James asked, confused and looking up at him, his hands now grasping the mirror.

“Just look.” Stephen replied coyly.

With that, James looked into the mirror, and everything seemed to go black for a second. This is wrong, his mind screamed at him. Wake up, his mind bellowed, you need to wake up.

“Are you alright?” James heard a voice say.

“I… yeah… uhhh…. What happened?” James’ voice sounded slightly wrong to his own ears.

“I don’t know,” the voice was that of an old man, ”you just collapsed.”

As James opened his eyes, he saw an old man with white hair and a face with scars that looked as deep as the Grand Canyon. The old man stood with a cane, his pants a little too large but being held up by an old leather belt, and a blue button up shirt. Where is Stephen, his mind asked, who is this man? Then James’ eyes caught the old man’s nametag, Stephen.

James couldn’t deal with what he was seeing, and screamed.

“Oh, be quiet young man!” The new Stephen responded.

“What? You.. Where? How!?” James couldn’t even complete a sentence.

“You passed out, boy, and dropped my mirror… Oh, don’t worry about breaking it. Just get out of here. Go, run along home.” The old man said, poking at James with his cane.

James got to his feet, still feeling a bit woozy. He looked down at himself, he was still the same. The same slightly wide build, the same skin, the same old shoes on his feet; nothing had changed for him. “Thanks… I mean, Thank you sir.” James called as he slipped out of the shop.

The sun hit James as he stepped outside. It seemed brighter out than it had before he went into the shop. Wrong, his mind yelled at him again. There was still the same cloud cover, and still the same slight breeze. He glanced up at the sign above the door; it read simply “Antiquities.” Wrong, his mind drummed out. The sign seemed right, just some new shop for old stuff. Glancing down at his watch, 3:33 pm, he needed to get home.

Dashing through the gate to the neighborhood gardens, James raced through the grass. He was going to be late; his parents were going to yell at him; he was probably going to get grounded again. What had happened to the time? He had stepped into that shop and… This is wrong, his mind shouted at him again.

Huffing and puffing, he reached the door to his house. Taking a second to catch his breath, he then opened the door to the living room and stepped inside. There was no shouting, there was no blathering on and on about him coming straight home from school, the house was quiet. Then time seemed to blur. Going to his room, working on his homework and playing on his computer, it all passed as if it was just some scripted overview from a movie.

“Dinner’s ready!” James heard his mother call from the dining room.

Looking over at the alarm clock by his bed, it read 8:15. Wrong, wrong, wrong, James’ mind repeated over and over again before interjecting, time for dinner. Nothing felt right since he had gone into that shop, but it was all perfectly normal.

“I’m coming!” James called back to his mother.

Sitting down at the dinner table, it was a typical evening. His mother and father were arguing, as usual. From the look of his mother, she had already been dipping into her supply of brandy. His father on the other hand, who was usually a bit more reserved, seemed up for a fight this evening.

“If you would just…”

“Well, maybe you should…”

“Why don’t you…”

“I might have if…”

“That pathetic little thing you call…”

“Maybe if you…”

The fight went back and forth between them, before it dissolved into what could effectively be called just name calling. James hated his parents, a deep loathing that seemed magnified.

“You want me to? Fine!” his father finally shouted at James’ mother, before storming towards the back of the house.

James had missed something. Something that felt vital had whizzed by him while he had attempted to eat the food that was put in front of him. Too late, his mind quipped at him. Glancing up, he saw his mother crying. He could not help wondering, what did I miss?

“May I be excused?” James asked his mother.

She sniffled, and just nodded at her son. James got up from the table, feeling as if he was in a dream, and walked back towards his room. Everything seemed more dream like now, as if he was no longer in control of his own body. He walked what felt like an endless distance down the hall and into his room. Glancing at the clock again, it now read a quarter to nine. Soon his father would be leaving for work, and maybe James could sneak out. This is it, his mind quietly told him. Then James heard footfalls followed by a loud bang, a gunshot. His mind did not register it as a gunshot at first, but some part of him knew. Then there came a light filling his room.

An angel stood before James, the old biblical style angel with white robes, wings, and an androgynous face. Before James could say anything, the angel opened its mouth and James’ head rang like a struck gong. Vision blurring from tears, head feeling like it was about to explode, James’ legs collapsed beneath him.

“Help me,” were the only words James could get out.

The angel smiled at him, its smooth hand brushing against James’ cheek. The boy felt a warmth flow through him, insulating him from the shock that now gripped him. The angel’s smile spoke volumes, as if to say “That is why I am here.”

Then James’ door burst open and he saw a flash, followed by silence.

Blinking, James wiped at his eyes. They had filled with tears for some unexplainable reason. Looking again at what he was holding, he saw a broken mirror. Hundreds of reflections of his eye stared back at him.

“I’m sorry, I think I broke it.” James heard his mouth say.

“Oh, no. No, no, no. I think it’s perfectly fine. Here, let me see it.” Stephen said to James.

It was again the man who resembled Adonis, standing in front of James. Deftly plucking the mirror from the boy’s hands, he held it up to the light. “It’s fine. See here? Not a scratch on it.”

Stephen held the mirror up before James, it was a marvelous piece. This antique had to be easily worth hundreds, if not thousands, of dollars. Two angels stood inlaid in silver on the left and right side of the mirror, while the edges of it were wrapped in a finely polished knot work of golden thread. The brightness of it astounded the young boy.

“See? It’s fine. There is nothing to trouble yourself about.”

James glanced around the shop he stood within. It was dark in here, but everything seemed to have a slight glow about it. There was a preternatural light that hung within the air. The front windows were blocked out, but it did not detract from the beauty of the pieces of art which were hung with care. The books neatly stacked on the shelves, all old but in excellent condition. The exquisite displays of ancient artifacts and forgotten relics gave a feel of life to every corner of the shop.

“I don’t know how I could afford…” James began, before once again being cut off by Stephen.

“Do not trouble yourself… But, by the look of things, you should probably be getting home. I, on the other hand, should be closing up shop.”

James glanced up at an out of place neon blue clock hanging high on the wall. It was after nine o’clock. How did so much time pass?

“Thanks! I’ve gotta go!” James called, dashing out of the shop.

“Take care, young man.” Stephen called back, and then in almost a whisper, “Have a good life.”

Running home, James knew he was going to be in massive trouble. He had no clue how was he going to explain how late he was to his mother. Then he put that entire train of thought out of his mind, she would probably be three sheets to the wind by now. As he came to the street where he lived, his foot falls lagged. There were three police officer’s cars sitting outside of his home.