# The Sunken Stone



## Lilly Davidson (Jul 26, 2012)

*The Sunken Stone*​  Sometimes something happens that is as sudden and violent as a stone hurled into the tranquil waters of our lives. The ripples thus created will spread their circles of energy ever outward, fainter and fainter until they disappear.   The stone sinks into oblivion. In time tranquillity returns. Our lives are full of such events, we are by turns stones or ripples.

   One morning at dawn, a human being took a decision to go against nature. He killed his own body. Bravery or cowardice? 

      Me? I am the lorry driver who found him. 5am when I spotted it. The lonely car on a layby with a hosepipe through the window. I saw the stiff figure lying back. I shook my head, switched off the engine and called the law. Made me shiver, still does. What could be so bloody bad eh, to make someone do that?  Saddest sight in the world, to see a young man like that. Could’nt sleep for a few nights thinking of the sheer waste of it all.

    Me? I am his mother but what kind of a mother? I killed him. It was me insisted he marry that girl. Huh, I actually threatened suicide myself if he refused. It’s our culture you see, the right thing to do. He was of age, 25, ready for settling down, to make us proud. Oh he got cold feet but me and his dad told him he must go through with it, no choice. Well, he did make a choice.

     Me? He was my favourite teacher ever. He made us laugh, made chemistry interesting and everyone liked him. When we had a special assembly on our first day back in September, I could not believe it. They said he was dead. I cried and cried, we all did. How could Sir be dead? But he was, he never came back. I will never forget him.    

Me? I was his colleague and I liked him a lot, had a bit of a crush on him actually. He was good looking, tall and sporty. Everyone knew he was going to go far, definitely a headmaster of the future. There was a camping trip once and we got left alone together while the kids and other staff all went out for the afternoon. I wanted him to kiss me but he just refused. It was so embarrassing, I never tried it on again. He just did not want to know, yet I knew he was single. Come to think, I never saw him with another woman ever. Funny that. Anyway, I was horrified when they said he had killed himself. Just goes to show, you never know what goes on in another person’s head.

  Me? I am his youngest brother, the spit of him. People laughed at how alike we were, except I had curly hair. I looked up to him like nobody else. When they asked me to identify the body I was calm, in control. Inside I was broken. I will never get over seeing my brother so dead, so gone from us. How can I forget the screaming and wailing of the women, especially that poor girl he married. She could not even walk she was so shocked. Four days earlier, oh the laughter and smiles at that wedding. We all held hands and danced in a happy circle around the pair of them. I really thought he was happy, he never said a word otherwise. I am strong, but inside my heart there is a feeling that will never go away. I miss him, I want to talk to him, ask his advice. I feel betrayed by him but guilty because I might have been able to help. But he never told him anything.

   Me? I was his new bride. We got married on the Sunday and by Thursday he was gone. The ground just went from under me, the doctor had to sedate me for my own good. I was doing what my parents wanted, marrying who they chose for me. I knew something was wrong but I did not know what to do. I mean four nights we slept in the same bed but he never touched me. I assumed these things take time, that one day he would love me. Next thing I know he just is not there and I had to go back to my parents. I had loved the wedding, the attention, the pretty clothes and jewellery and all. I badly wanted to be called ‘Mrs’ and be someone at last. I even liked him and I did show off a lot about him to my friends. I could see how jealous they were that I got such a man. Then I thought I would go mad.  It was unreal. I saw him in his coffin, smelt the smell of corpse. I mean, how could he do that to me?  

Me? I am the one they mean. I could see no other way out. What a merciful release it was when I went, no more worries, no more pain. I sat alone in the car for a long time first, thinking. I wrote a letter to my parents asking for forgiveness, it was pathetic but it was all I could do. No way could I go back and face my life as it was and nothing could change it. That poor girl I married, I hated doing that to her but I could never have made her happy. In 1982 it was not possible to tell anyone about who and what I really was. I definitely made the right decision. She needed to be set free, it was my mistake. I knew she could find proper happiness with someone else one day. I just could not stay.

    Me? I loved him. But nobody knows. We did not admit it even to each other, nothing had happened after all. We played squash together every week, had the same group of friends. I liked him more and more and I knew he liked me. But he was marrying this girl and the wedding was planned and all. We never spoke about it but I knew how he felt. I mean, in this culture nobody would ever understand or accept if two men loved each other. When I heard he was dead I had nobody to talk to. I just sat on my bed and rocked forwards and backwards. I will never forget him, never. I loved him and I know he loved me, even if he never had a chance to say. Nobody can take that away from us. The world has changed since, for the likes of us, but too late for him.


----------



## garza (Jul 26, 2012)

This is good. There are a few nits, but nothng major. 

There does need to be some indication that there are different voices. I was a bit confused at first, but once I understood the structure everything came clear.


Edit - I just realised this is in non-fiction. It belongs in fiction.


----------



## Divus (Jul 27, 2012)

Lilly, I like the concept.  As with Garza it took a little while for me to cotton on to the format.

There are some grammatical mistakes and I am not sure that ‘Me?’ is correct but, for the life of me,  I can’t suggest some structure which would fit in its place – so if one views your piece as written spoken English, then why not.

However, as a heterosexual male, I have never comprehended fully the emotions of a homo sexual male until now after reading your piece.     I have to ask myself how I would feel locked into a homosexual relationship for the rest of my life.   Well, I wouldn’t tolerate the scenario– regardless of family or cultural pressures.   Thankfully, as an ‘ethnic’ Englishman, born into an agnostic family,  there have been few pressures on me to conform to a proscribed lifestyle – so long as I have not tried to flaunt my preferences.     There is a tolerance in English society – it is not yet quite universal – but a tolerance which allows an individual to live his or her life as he or she  chooses so long as they do not break the law or deliberately cause offence to others of different persuasions.     It is an attitude worth defending whenever the need arises.

Personally, I find it one of the key differences between the English and the British.

PS _ I'd have posted it in non-fiction too.


----------



## Lilly Davidson (Jul 27, 2012)

garza said:


> This is good. There are a few nits, but nothng major.
> 
> There does need to be some indication that there are different voices. I was a bit confused at first, but once I understood the structure everything came clear.
> 
> ...


----------



## Lilly Davidson (Jul 27, 2012)

Hi Divus 
thanks for reading it and for your comments. If I have made you think about what it means to be gay then I am pleased. It is difficult for any young man but surely doubly so within the Asian culture. Back 30 years ago these things were definitely hidden. It has become a more open and kinder society now. I have a gay friend, white, who actually married back in the 1980's and had two children because he wanted to conform so badly. A few years later he felt compelled to leave his young family and be openly who is really is and he is very happy now with his partner. Fortunately because he was always very good and fair to his wife and children, always providing for them financially, he has an excellent relationship with his now grown up kids. His wife never forgave him though, it was something she just could not come to terms with.


----------



## Euripides (Jul 27, 2012)

Some minor grammatical issues. Loved the first and last paragraph. Strengthen the voices of the different narrator to differentiate them more.

In last paragraph I would change 'for the likes of us' to 'for the likes of me'.


----------



## Lilly Davidson (Jul 27, 2012)

Hi Euripides, (love your name!)

I agree, each of the voices could do with more work to bring out their personalities more.


----------



## Divus (Jul 27, 2012)

Lilly, the issues raised in your article : homosexuality, arranged marriage, imposed religious principles and suicide are profound.
The question arises in the reader's mind as to whether your article is merely an expression of your grief, even despair, or whether you really want to discuss the topic.

I wrote a second reply then realised I was treading on sensitive ground so I filed it.      Perhaps it would be best to let the matter rest.   
There is no intention on my part to offend - even innocently.    
But are you actually seeking a discussion?   Or have you just written a piece for review?

This forum - 'non-fiction' in particular- has many roles.  And this is essentially your thread for you to direct.   Sometimes 'bumping' is allowed by management - but the mods will be watching this thread for sure.  

You invite comment - but are we talking style of writing, competence in writing, or opinion on subject matter?

Be aware that your difficulty to face in making that choice is that you have no knowledge of, nor control over, either the readership or the responses.

Much depends on why you wrote the article.   Was it just a cathartic response to a sad memory?

Dv


----------



## Lilly Davidson (Jul 27, 2012)

Hi Divus 

It was indeed a cathartic thing. This week is the 30th anniversary of that event and I always feel so sad about the loss of a young promising life due to such circumstances.

 I thought I could get over it all but I never have. I went on to such a happy life a year after this all happened, but I cannot shake off the feeling of doom that comes upon me every single July ever since. So creating a piece of work to try to encapsulate and make sense of what happened has sure helped me! I had no outlet before I began writing. 

I suppose I just want feedback on how well or not it is written, how it makes people feel, how can it be improved - the usual critiquing process. I want to know if it *moves* the reader really.


----------



## Divus (Jul 28, 2012)

Lilly,
Writing can be cathartic in times of stress - undoubtedly.       Authors should always  ask themselves why they are writing, whom they are addressing and what the message is.     One strong reason to  sit down and put pen to paper is a need to put the mind at rest.       In such instances  the emotion in the writer is presented  the more emotionally to the reader.       Figuratively speaking,  sometimes the tears which dribble down the cheeks,  wet the paper on which the words had been written.      *Your story as written, is about a painful period in your life.  Your pain should come across in your words and it does.

*If a writer lacks formal education of the grammar of the English language then it is questionable whether it is appropriate to correct their text in order to comply with the rules of grammar.   In the process the true voice of the author would be distorted or even lost.       The alternative is to write as one speaks, which is rarely grammatically correct, but which can read far more authentically. 

Then there is the question of  your provocative use of :  *‘Me?’          ‘*Me’ has to stay,  and in making that decision  it is appropriate for the article to be in colloquial English. 
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lilly,
Merely as an examples I have attempted to rewrite the first paragraph as I might have  composed it  myself but my words cannot express your emotions.
QUOTE
Sometimes something happens that is as sudden and violent as a stone{_being} _hurled into the  tranquil waters of our lives.  The ripples thus created will spread their circles of energy  ever outwards, becoming fainter and fainter until finally they disappear. The stone sinks into oblivion.   In  time tranquillity (_flat calm_) returns. 
Our lives are full (_filled with_) of such events, we are by  turns (in turn either)  stones or ripples. 

One morning at dawn, (_At dawn one morning_) a human being ( _a man_)  took a _(the_) decision to go against (t_hwart_)  nature.  He killed his own body.(_He took his own life_)           
(_Was that) _bravery or cowardice?
UNQUOTE

*Lilly, I rarely accept  for my own work to be  rewritten - but you did ask for comment.

Usually  having written the work,    it is often better to leave it for a few hours to simmer and then to go back to it and read it again in large type.    Maybe that’s all you need to do.

*
Dv


----------



## Lilly Davidson (Jul 28, 2012)

Hey Divus 

Thank you so much for your feedback and it is so interesting to see how you would write the first paragraph - it definitely does read more smoothly. I can work with that. I did write the voices as if they were speaking, not necessarily gramatically correct. I mean I rarely hear someone say 'My husband and I' - unless they are the Queen! Lol... 

There is plenty of work to be done on this piece and I am absolutely open to all suggestions. All I expected to achieve if possible was a starting point, something with potential. All my work takes a hell of a lot of rewriting as I am sure most people find. The important thing I aim for is that the *essence* of it should come straight from the heart as it is felt.


----------



## Divus (Jul 28, 2012)

Lilly
Back in June I started on WF.com a thread entitled *'Life goes On'*.   In it I posted two articles - the one about the euthanasia of my terrier, the other about the approaching need for the euthanasia of my horse.      At the time of writing a pyschologist would probably have judged me to be clinically depressed and I'd have been given the pills if ever I had asked for them.  

Over the last couple of years most of my writing has been focussed on horses.   However the most recent six months has been a time of despair for me, whilst I was searching for the reason why my beautiful horse was behaving irrationally.      Eventually we found the reason; an incurable form of what is best described as lung cancer.       Inevitably, my mare was put to sleep two months ago.     As a direct result, presently I find it difficult to write about horses.    The words simply will not flow so I have stopped posting even on the horse forum.

But if the responses from readers are to be taken as a gauge of my ability to write, then during that dark period I produced some of my best work.
I am getting better.  The tears have stopped.   I can talk about my horse.   But it will be interesting to see how long it takes me to write about my Irish Draught dapple grey mare again.

DV

PS I now have a terrier bitch whom I rescued from a puppy farm.     She's coping well with nursing an Old Man.


----------



## Lilly Davidson (Jul 28, 2012)

Hi Divus, 
I understand. Horses and dogs are truly man's best friend. They have an affinity that is so deep and strong with us, often better than humans have between each other. The suffering or loss of these special animal companions is usually unbearable. 

I think it is very true that the best writing can come from deep pain. Perhaps because it releases from us in the form of creativity, it leaves us vulnerable and open to sharing our experience, indeed with a need to share. This need comes in ebbs and flows, there are periods where we don't want to talk about it any more.


----------



## Divus (Jul 28, 2012)

It so happened that after posting to the forum today the postman delivered an envelope from the insurers of my recently demised  horse.    In the letter was a cheque for £4700 - her full insurance value.       As I opened the envelope and caught a glimpse of what was inside, I burst into tears.          Suddenly  it came home to me that my life with horses is virtually over.  At my age it would be very irresponsible to buy another horse because the animal could well live longer than me.     Horses need in this modern humanised world   the protection which can only be provided by a caring owner.      I am in no position to guarantee indefinitely the safety and well being of a dumb animal such as a horse. 

So, I composed a reply of thanks for emailing to the insurers, but I could not resist asking therein if I could have my horse back instead of the money.

Meanwhile my Rottweiler sensed my mood and came  over and gave me a lick.      '*It's OK Boss,*' he says - _*'you've still got me'*_.

Indeed I have, together with the little Cairn terrier who has suddenly discovered what freedom is all about.  No longer is she confined to a breeder's cage.

As I have written before: '_Life goes on' -_ for a while.

Dv


----------



## Lilly Davidson (Jul 28, 2012)

Dear Dv, 

I understand, bit of a tough day for you. It is a hard thing to come to terms with. Your other animal companions are indeed of great comfort and they need you. Being needed is itself a balm I think. All will be well in time.


----------



## Divus (Jul 29, 2012)

Dear Lilly

I wrote an article entitled ’The Cheque’   myself this morning.    It is a true account of what happened yesterday.     The piece has been posted on ’non fiction’.   Normally I would have posted the article on the horse forum where I am a regular contributor.      I would add the article into a thread which I started a few months back and which has had so far 57 replies and 2084 viewers.      The members of that forum are almost all horse owners  and I am well known as a regular contributor.

The article will not receive anywhere near the same level of  attention  on this forum back in non-fiction, which is largely used by  budding writers whose interests in life lie elsewhere from mine.    To know and recognise one’s market is important for any writer.   As an ageing Englishman who has little interest in ever being published, I  have few compadres on this forum but nevertheless there are one or two who regularly read what I have posted.   To me writing each day is the same as doing the cross word.   Occasionally I shall receive a critique and every now and again, a compliment.   What is the point in writing if no one every reads what has been written?   

Actually I do need to write on a writing forum in order to obtain some idea as to how my work is being received.   Although all I have to go by are the occasional comments, a note of the number of viewers and to see how long it takes for a thread of mine to drop down the charts.

Your article originally caught my eye because the subject matter is attacking the sensitivities of the reader.  You are trying to strike home into the reader’s psyche.        Regardless of how many readers will really feel for you or the young gay man who committed suicide, with luck you might occasionally hit on a memory  filed in the back of the mind of someone who in their own lives experienced something similar.   They might also think back to when they last met and recognised a gay man.       I know I thought of two guys whom  every now and again  I meet because  the brother  of one of them is a very old  and good friend of mine.   Maybe now I would  invite the two gay men to sleep in my house.       

To me, writing is all about conjuring up images in my reader’s head.  It is about making them laugh,  making them smile or making them feel randy or angry.    Guilt, pain and fear are other emotions will can also be pricked and  prodded.     A writer is sharing his/her thoughts and even opinions.       

I find writing comes easier the more I write.     The key exercise is to write regularly and to write as the mood and subject hits you.   Let the words flow.    Then go back later  and read out loud to yourself what you have written.    If you can read it fluently maybe it is grammatically correct or at least grammatical enough for recording prose as spoken  in every day conversation.     Your use of grammar in your piece was inviting criticism so you must make the choice either to improve your grammar or adopt a style of writing where grammar is not quite so important.    There are some small text books on the subject which are specifically addressed at authors.     
You have no excuse for bad spelling - except the occasional lapse.      
Punctuation calls for learning some basic rules.        
The more simple the vocabulary the broader can be the target audience.

With your story I’d be more descriptive and I would aim to shock.   Be blunt and explicit about the effect of prejudice, religious intolerance and suicide.

As for critiques - then constructing the occasional one, will help improve your own style.   So if you fancy a ‘pop‘ then have a go at ‘The Cheque‘.

Dv


----------



## Lilly Davidson (Jul 30, 2012)

Hi Dv, 

What you say is good food for thought. I am touched that you might now invite gay friends to sleep over, just as you would invite other friends. A very positive thing. 

I shall read your piece now.


----------

