/lit/ - Literature

opine pls

http://pastebin.com/exeezh7s

will critique in next post :-)

excerpt from a short story I'm working on;

Eugene was an old man, and a horribly solitary man. He lived atop a hill on the outskirts of Kansaii Japan. A quiet town full of simple people. It brought the kind of quietness which can bring upon peace and closure. Even when peace and closure are nowhere to be found. The war had left Eugene bitter, brooding, and prone to reclusion. It had done something to him. It had done the thing which war has done too many men before Eugene, and will do to many men after him.

Eugene had moved to Kansaii immediately after being discharged from the war. During his tour, he had passed through Kansaii. And when he passed through the sleepy town, he thought how pleasant it was. How it seemed untouched by the goings on around it. He saw that on the outskirts of the town there was a quiet, soft hill. He looked at this hill and he though to himself, I will build me a house here when this is all over. And so, after “it” was all over, he did. He returned to Kansaii and built himself a small hut atop the small hill outside of the small town. He spent all of his days inside this hut. He fashioned himself into a hermit, he hid away in a bid for peace. A bid for peace of the mind, a bid to quell his rampant thoughts and remembrance of the things he had seen. The hill lay a bit away from the quiet little farming town. The town was serene and silent and gorgeous in its own right. The town was also home to a defunct tiger observatory, it had been defunded and now only housed one tiger, Xiu-Xiu. The townspeople loved Xiu-Xiu as one might love a doll or a favorite bat. They did not respect the tiger, or admire it. They were entertained by it. They found watching it awe inspiring, then after visiting hours were over they returned to their homes and forgot about the magnificent beast.

Eugene lived alone in this hut for 30 years. He left it only to go for his walks, and he only went for his walks when they were absolutely necessary. Such as when his head was full of thoughts which he’d rather not have. Or, when his head was rather un-full. When it felt void and empty, and the hollowness which lay in it pierced him and spread throughout his whole body. Like a mist, or a great fog. As days, months, years went on, the necessity for these walks became more and more frequent.

He would prowl about the quiet town. He would listen to the wind chimes ringing in the distance, their soft sounds sending out vibrations which flittered across the top of his skin and into his ears. He’d clasp his hands behind is aching back and he’d close his eyes and he’d remember simpler times. Times of holding his mother’s hand, his father reading to him, forgotten loves and old friends. He would feel the knots in his joints and the aches in his bones loosen and disappear. He would feel the hairs on his arm stand up, as the cool breeze rolled over his skin.