I hurried to the chicken coop. The door
creaked open, and I looked in. Willow was laying on her side. She was
only a year or so old, yet had such a personality that I had
developed great attachment to her.
And now she was laying on the floor,
dying.
I sat next to her, and desperately
attempted to get her to eat. She refused any sort of food, so I tried
water. She could not get her beak into the water bowl, so I put a
little on a cupped leaf, and set the leaf next to her beak. She did
not drink.
I had a cold, and all this smell of
dust and such was not good for my throat, but I stayed with her.
Normally, my sister takes care of the chickens but I really loved
Willow, how she was more friendly then almost any of the chickens,
how she would push her way to the front and do anything for food.
Now, she stood up, but it was only to
shift over a little ways. She was beginning to convulse, as I stroked
her wing, telling her "Please Willow, don't die, please!" I
was quite distraught by this point, and was reluctant to accept that
she was dead for several minutes. And I was left with the great
memories of her, and sadness at the great life and memories she might
have left.
Tom, I'd argue very strongly that the last two sentences here, which are sentences of exposition and commentary, ought to be dropped. Leave the reader with an image and an emotion.
ReplyDeleteBut what you really want to know is whether I think this is a narrative.... Tom, narratives aren't working for you--surprising in someone who loves them the way I know you do.
Let's accentuate the positive As I said a moment ago, you knock out a heck of a vignette--that's what you've got here.
I think that I will stop while I'm ahead and wait for Vignette Week. Thanks.
ReplyDelete