Monday, October 22, 2007

Anna & Alex: Part One (Fiction)

I'm fascinated by psychology and by resolution of difficult psychological problems. Hence, my short stories tend to center on sad, twisted plot lines. This one is no different and perhaps worse than the others. I wrote about nine pages during the twins' nap time last week and decided it couldn't all go on the blog. Hubby suggested I should serialize it and post a little bit at a time. Why not? Here is a very short installment one. (By the way, my husband said he heard a review of a book or movie or something that uses this basic plot premise which made me really sad! Here we go anyway.)

The names are taken from Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy, which I finally finished last week. ("Anna" from the title character and "Alex" from the two men in her life named Alexey.) I also tried to imitate a touch of his writing style, which I think is a very detached, to-the-point third person narrator. "Anna Karenina" was serialized, too, by the way. But it ended up a touch longer than nine pages.

Just the very beginning right now, because I need to go back and edit the part right after this. :) Happy reading.

Alex & Anna: Part One

Alex and Anna’s marriage was in shambles. The few who knew about it were silently in shock. They gathered in the front room of Anna’s parents’ home to piece together what had happened.

All about them were reminders that this had been a day of celebration until moments earlier, when Anna had burst into the house crying and nearly hysterical. She had looked at the piles of unopened gifts strewn about and kicked violently at one large red box. She missed and kicked the table instead, but nobody would have objected if she had smashed that gift—or any of the others—to pieces. They were her gifts to smash as she liked—wedding gifts from only a few hours earlier when life had seemed fresh and perfect.

~ ~ ~

Alex was still walking quickly away from the hotel where they had planned to spend their wedding night. He was miles away from it now but felt every moment that the troubles he had tried to escape were pressing him more firmly. He began to feel suffocated with rage and jealousy and had to stop for a moment to draw his breath. He pressed his fists firmly against his closed eyes and muttered angrily.

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