A Small Short Story (Feedback would be greatly appreciated)

Heres my story: (would love some feedback)

As she laid the wreath over the door, once again in the end of the year, the middle-aged woman was proud of herself like she was every year before. This year’s wreath was like no other, an individual of its ilk. The thread of thicket was made from the branches of the basswood, and it lay like the fingers of an abominable ghost. The great decoration was, for her, a lying to rest of the great tree that had fallen like a giant so quickly one night. She knew like so much else, these things weren’t permanent. Experience had told her that the future was murky and destructive, much like a storm. Yet as fate would have it, a storm had actually taken down this tree to its final resting place.

Normally she didn’t have so much respect for a thing so fickle as a tree, but this was no tree of ordinary standing. It was the greatest of the trees. Maybe not the biggest or the most broad of flora, it was the tree that both her and her husband used to lay under during the warm nights of Illinois’ plains. So many years they had defined themselves under this tree. They had looked lovingly into each other’s eyes underneath the green foliage. They had had lunches under its expanding branches, and soaked in the sweetness of Georgia style tea below it.

For months after the storm, neither the husband nor his wife had the heart to say anything about cutting it down. Nevertheless, time took its toll as the foul air of the city in which they lived finally started to rot the innards of the tree. In a short time the branches began crumble and the leaves began to brown. After a battle they knew the tree didn’t have the ability to fight, the decision was made to take the tree from its current standing. And so in the middle morning hours of that clear September day, in a somber state for both of the members of that couple, the hands of man took down that great tree with tools of technology. And as the woman saw the world, it was a piece of her being that was taken down, not just a plant

Yet none of that history so great and complicated was to permeate the wreath. As with all great things, only remembrance and the memories were to remain intact, not the great thing itself. But subsequent years after that first, had made this wreath a stable structure of the household, much like the presence of mashed potatoes or creamed corn during Thanksgiving.

Yet as time when on, that great wreath that was laid upon the door began to deteriorate. And the woman herself began to show signs of aging. As did her husband. Age had given her crows’ feet and blindness in both eyes; blindness to many things.

And then, one night late in the autumn, she began to hear the distinct crunching of wood.

Wood that made up her house’s entirety.

The house her and her husband had built so long ago.

So she called the termite inspector and began to replay the years past. She remembered when her husband built the house, and the issues with the foundation. The first try cracked under pressure, yet the second foundation had made a stable and sturdy dwelling. From the beginning, her husband called the residence, “Our Immoveable House,” with an air of confidence.

As the woman stood on the lawn and waited for the sprayer to come, she began to hear distinct cracks and breaks in the wood.

Small at first, then louder and louder still.

Then a crash.

And another.

Then after minutes had passed, she could feel the breaking of her porch and high beams and stairs and windows, slowly but surely.

The entire house fell under the influence of thousands of small brown termites, which scattered and disappeared into the yard like worms.

As the woman stood blind realizing that her house was in shambles, the only thing she saw was the replaying of memories before her blind eyes. Soberly, she proclaimed, “In the end, all immovable houses are taken by age.”

 

QUOTE=wrine420]Heres my story: (would love some feedback)

As she presses her wreath against the door... in creating yet another echo of celebration, celebrating the death throws of yet another end of another year... recalling more than fifty such wreathes... now all brown and some still quiet sleeping along the fence... some gone to compost... she carefully balances this one on the nail...
They always drop on the first try... I wonder why??
She pauses to ponder her task... Not this one! Not this time!...

This middle-aged woman celebrating a life's book of years... while she hangs this year's wreath with all her Being focused... with all what she has left of her former warrior self... This time, this one is Not going to drop!...
This time it gets Wired To the nail the First time!... Ought to do it... for this delicious wreath, like no other on the whole planet... Is Not going to fall off the nail this time, and get all messed up...
Nothing can stifle my Celebration of my last remaining year's ring of lost fantasy, still begging to be given life, and praying for to not lose it... an individual of its ilk, breathing life into death, breathing my fading breaths and dreams into death's second last wreath, to be one day consumed by death's wrenching wretched wrath...
She turns to take candle in hand to light it... and places it in her huge wreath... and pulls her chair closer, and breathes life into the wreath...
till it seems to glow emerald hews...
A dream whispers softly... "if I could only go like the wisp it takes to blow out a flickering candle...




I hear that now days the publishing industry demands more mind in writing... to make it easier for their swarms of staff-writers to script it into the old ways... Problem is that they destroy the original emotions and passions, by effigying originals, just so they can make some more quick money, faster...
The publishing industry seems to have lost its spirit and soul...
Maybe "staff writers" equal "piranha pond"...
Or is more like a "shredder box"...?

I should start a mind school for writers... and show them how to surf what's beyond this new door... You'll see what I mean in occultrush Yahoogroups...

Lesson one is there is nothing in the otherside to fear...
For lesson two yer gonna need suspenders to keep yer socks on...

 

Yeah, its deeper than that. It talks about the USA. The immovable house is the USA ie having two foundations or two constitutions. Those that look over the house ie the people of the USA are being subverted and eventually get destroyed by a thousand little worms that eventually go back into the ground.

 

The point I'm making, is you need to add more mind to each statement...

You may want it to be deep, but it's not read deep until you write it up with lots of deep mind...

You must write all your pain into it... then edit out the pain where it doesn't fit...