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The Hillside Path
The hillside path has remained mostly unchanged in the last thirty years. The bushes and branches still need to be swept aside for us to pass, the wooden planks we call a staircase still creak with every step, and every time one of us opens our mouths, at least twelve flies get in with no regard for their own well-being. Only the view has changed—now we can see the skyscrapers they’ve erected in the city, across the villages below us.
Marie swats a fly away from her water bottle. It does not leave.
Leigh, Marie, and I often played here when we were young. The hills seemed so much bigger to us back then, ripe with danger and adventure. We would climb trees, play games, and get our clothes dirty from sunrise to sunset. Our mothers would inevitably scold us for making more work for them, and we would inevitably ignore them and do it again the next day.
“Come on, slowpokes!” Leigh would shout. Leigh was a year older than us, so Marie and I considered her the de facto leader of us three, even if Marie didn’t want to admit it.
“We’re not slow,” Marie might have said. “You’re just fast. Slow down, would you?”
I would tail behind Marie closely, nodding along.
We often played hide and seek. The hills were perfect for the game—one could hide in the brush, or up in a tree, or down in a crevice. She who was “it” could be standing right next to a hider and not even know, but the more we played, the more we became accustomed to usual hiding spots. That drove us to find better concealed spots, each more so than the last, and so games could take the entire day.
The last game of hide and seek we played was at the end of summer, thirty years ago. I lost rock-paper-scissors, so I was “it.”
I found Marie first. Marie liked to climb up trees, and when you climbed up a tree, you had no easy way of getting down without hurting yourself. That wasn’t something Marie liked to do, so she did her best to hide in the foliage. Sometimes it worked, and sometimes it didn’t—and it didn’t this time, as I could see the purple in her shirt hiding in the leaves. I climbed up and tagged Marie before noon.
This gave us the rest of the day to find Leigh. We spent a couple of hours looking for her until Marie shouted from below, “I found her! Catch her!” Leigh had hidden in a shrub and darted out the moment she was caught. She climbed around me like a monkey up the hillside path and I gave chase. We crossed into the steeper parts of the hill, where I couldn’t catch her nearly as easily. It was dangerous, but she’d done this before. Today was the end of summer, and Leigh probably wanted one last hurrah before school started.
Sometimes, when I’m taking a long shower, or when I’m in bed at night and can’t sleep, I try to piece together the memories of what happened next in my mind, like a fuzzy jigsaw puzzle.
I was chasing her up the path, and she was so far ahead of me. She didn’t even look back, but I guess she wasn’t really looking forward, either.
Leigh had done this dozens of times. Maybe she was always lucky before. Maybe she was just unlucky now. Maybe a fly flew into her eye and she misjudged the distance to the cliff. Maybe she was just reckless. But regardless of why it happened, it happened—she turned the corner too fast, her foot slipped in the dirt, and Leigh went over the side. She stopped when she hit her head on a tree trunk. Marie was already at a lower elevation, so I told her to help while I ran back to the village.
I asked Marie what happened once, ten years ago. She said that Leigh didn’t say anything afterwards. I didn’t ask her again.
Marie and I reach the slope.
“Leigh would be forty today,” I say. “The big four-oh.”
“Can you really believe it’s been thirty years?”
“Twenty-nine, really.”
“Oh, details. But could you imagine? Leigh, settling down and maybe getting a desk job in Central.”
I look down at the tree. “Who can say?”
Marie swats a fly away from her water bottle. It does not leave.
Leigh, Marie, and I often played here when we were young. The hills seemed so much bigger to us back then, ripe with danger and adventure. We would climb trees, play games, and get our clothes dirty from sunrise to sunset. Our mothers would inevitably scold us for making more work for them, and we would inevitably ignore them and do it again the next day.
“Come on, slowpokes!” Leigh would shout. Leigh was a year older than us, so Marie and I considered her the de facto leader of us three, even if Marie didn’t want to admit it.
“We’re not slow,” Marie might have said. “You’re just fast. Slow down, would you?”
I would tail behind Marie closely, nodding along.
We often played hide and seek. The hills were perfect for the game—one could hide in the brush, or up in a tree, or down in a crevice. She who was “it” could be standing right next to a hider and not even know, but the more we played, the more we became accustomed to usual hiding spots. That drove us to find better concealed spots, each more so than the last, and so games could take the entire day.
The last game of hide and seek we played was at the end of summer, thirty years ago. I lost rock-paper-scissors, so I was “it.”
I found Marie first. Marie liked to climb up trees, and when you climbed up a tree, you had no easy way of getting down without hurting yourself. That wasn’t something Marie liked to do, so she did her best to hide in the foliage. Sometimes it worked, and sometimes it didn’t—and it didn’t this time, as I could see the purple in her shirt hiding in the leaves. I climbed up and tagged Marie before noon.
This gave us the rest of the day to find Leigh. We spent a couple of hours looking for her until Marie shouted from below, “I found her! Catch her!” Leigh had hidden in a shrub and darted out the moment she was caught. She climbed around me like a monkey up the hillside path and I gave chase. We crossed into the steeper parts of the hill, where I couldn’t catch her nearly as easily. It was dangerous, but she’d done this before. Today was the end of summer, and Leigh probably wanted one last hurrah before school started.
Sometimes, when I’m taking a long shower, or when I’m in bed at night and can’t sleep, I try to piece together the memories of what happened next in my mind, like a fuzzy jigsaw puzzle.
I was chasing her up the path, and she was so far ahead of me. She didn’t even look back, but I guess she wasn’t really looking forward, either.
Leigh had done this dozens of times. Maybe she was always lucky before. Maybe she was just unlucky now. Maybe a fly flew into her eye and she misjudged the distance to the cliff. Maybe she was just reckless. But regardless of why it happened, it happened—she turned the corner too fast, her foot slipped in the dirt, and Leigh went over the side. She stopped when she hit her head on a tree trunk. Marie was already at a lower elevation, so I told her to help while I ran back to the village.
I asked Marie what happened once, ten years ago. She said that Leigh didn’t say anything afterwards. I didn’t ask her again.
Marie and I reach the slope.
“Leigh would be forty today,” I say. “The big four-oh.”
“Can you really believe it’s been thirty years?”
“Twenty-nine, really.”
“Oh, details. But could you imagine? Leigh, settling down and maybe getting a desk job in Central.”
I look down at the tree. “Who can say?”
I really liked this. There is something charming and whimsical in the girls' friendship and watching them play hide and seek. Perhaps the story struck a nostalgic cord in me.
However, I feel that a few decisions sacrificed the impact of Leigh's death, by sort of letting the air out of the balloon too early. You want it to pop instead. Namely, this line:
In the paragraph immediately before this, I had the growing sense of dread that this happy chase scene was about to be ruined, probably rather violently (emotionally jarring, I mean). I felt real suspense. But this line unfortunately ruined that, by letting on that disaster was indeed about to occur.
I think you should get rid of it, and carry on straight into the fateful fall. This would allow us to experience it as the narrator does, far enhancing its power. On that same note, you should axe these lines too, I think:
You could always place them at a later point, like when they're reminiscing over Leigh at the end.
You may disagree, and other readers will supply their own thoughts. But I think you should strive for a sudden, striking effect. Foresight causes me to emotionally distance myself for protection.
As I said though, I really enjoyed the characterizations of the girls, though this being a minific there wasn't to fit in. I particularly liked this line too: "She climbed around me like a monkey up the hillside path and I gave chase."
However, I feel that a few decisions sacrificed the impact of Leigh's death, by sort of letting the air out of the balloon too early. You want it to pop instead. Namely, this line:
Sometimes, when I’m taking a long shower, or when I’m in bed at night and can’t sleep, I try to piece together the memories of what happened next in my mind, like a fuzzy jigsaw puzzle.
In the paragraph immediately before this, I had the growing sense of dread that this happy chase scene was about to be ruined, probably rather violently (emotionally jarring, I mean). I felt real suspense. But this line unfortunately ruined that, by letting on that disaster was indeed about to occur.
I think you should get rid of it, and carry on straight into the fateful fall. This would allow us to experience it as the narrator does, far enhancing its power. On that same note, you should axe these lines too, I think:
Leigh had done this dozens of times. Maybe she was always lucky before. Maybe she was just unlucky now. Maybe a fly flew into her eye and she misjudged the distance to the cliff. Maybe she was just reckless. But regardless of why it happened, it happened
You could always place them at a later point, like when they're reminiscing over Leigh at the end.
You may disagree, and other readers will supply their own thoughts. But I think you should strive for a sudden, striking effect. Foresight causes me to emotionally distance myself for protection.
As I said though, I really enjoyed the characterizations of the girls, though this being a minific there wasn't to fit in. I particularly liked this line too: "She climbed around me like a monkey up the hillside path and I gave chase."
Gonna agree:
With everything >>axis_of_rotation says on this. I also wondered what Central refers to at the end: to me, it's an adjective in search of a noun and is an odd little dangling thread at the end of a story that's going right to the top of my ballot.
Mike
With everything >>axis_of_rotation says on this. I also wondered what Central refers to at the end: to me, it's an adjective in search of a noun and is an odd little dangling thread at the end of a story that's going right to the top of my ballot.
Mike
This one's not on my ballot, but I read it after seeing Baal's review. My views are basically in line with the previous comments. Trim the two lines that >>axis_of_rotation mentions, and then you might want to try slightly extending the first scene, making a little more mention of 'both of them'.
Other than that, though, a solid piece.
Other than that, though, a solid piece.
A solid piece that does what it set out to do. Perhaps not quite to my taste, but there's nothing you can do about that.
Like the other commenters, I agree with >>axis_of_rotation. I'm not sure if it was because of the lines axis brought up or just because I've come to expect apparently happy stories to never remain as such (especially with a prompt like this), but I guessed that Leigh would die several paragraphs before it happened.
You should definitely be happy with how this story turned out, author. I would not be surprised to see this in the finals.
Like the other commenters, I agree with >>axis_of_rotation. I'm not sure if it was because of the lines axis brought up or just because I've come to expect apparently happy stories to never remain as such (especially with a prompt like this), but I guessed that Leigh would die several paragraphs before it happened.
You should definitely be happy with how this story turned out, author. I would not be surprised to see this in the finals.
I could see the end coming from the beginning, which isn't necessarily bad, but might indicate you're being too obvious or relying too much on an old Stand By Me sort of trope.
I think you left, "She said that Leigh didn’t say anything afterwards. I didn’t ask her again." a little too ambiguous. It makes it sound like he's a vegetable ten years later, although that's still an odd way to say it, and that doesn't match the more direct implications (he died) at the ending. You need something to help bridge the gap between those two disparate interpretations if they're intended to fit together.
I think you left, "She said that Leigh didn’t say anything afterwards. I didn’t ask her again." a little too ambiguous. It makes it sound like he's a vegetable ten years later, although that's still an odd way to say it, and that doesn't match the more direct implications (he died) at the ending. You need something to help bridge the gap between those two disparate interpretations if they're intended to fit together.
This strikes me as particularly well-written, and does a good job of evoking emotions. I really like this feeling of childhood nostalgia, and then of course there is the twist. I would personally disagree with >>Trick_Question on the ending - to me it was all clear.
The only thing I can think of that might make the story stronger - and this is just a random thought - is actually ditching the part in which the protagonist explains what happened, instead cutting back to the present. Imagine that after
The only thing I can think of that might make the story stronger - and this is just a random thought - is actually ditching the part in which the protagonist explains what happened, instead cutting back to the present. Imagine that after
Leigh probably wanted one last hurrah before school started.it went on with
Marie and I reach the slope.(with maybe an additional sentence to make the transition clearer in this case). I can't say that I know for certain how others would perceive this, but it would get at least me even more.
Those last two paragraphs feel like this story hitting a wordcount wall at full speed, but up until then, this was solid reading. This does something right that's tough to do with minific rounds: it picked an idea that is appropriately sized for the space, and then spent its words focusing on a vivid scene description that leaves this a memorable read rather than trying to cram in a lot of plot that leaves the story reading like a Cliff's Notes version of itself. I'm too often guilty of that myself.
I'm wondering if this might not have been better if it had left the broader narrative arc more vague, actually. The strength of the piece is in its scene-setting and mood and tone; the plot twist that drives the ending is pretty cliché even if you had had the extra words to build up the emotional resonance for it. Soft-selling that more would keep the focus on the memories while still hinting at the wider tragedy.
Tier: Strong
I'm wondering if this might not have been better if it had left the broader narrative arc more vague, actually. The strength of the piece is in its scene-setting and mood and tone; the plot twist that drives the ending is pretty cliché even if you had had the extra words to build up the emotional resonance for it. Soft-selling that more would keep the focus on the memories while still hinting at the wider tragedy.
Tier: Strong