The Icefield and the Monk

[Calminaion]

First Draft.

Calminaion was cold. No. Calminaion was freezing, and in fact he was freezing to death. His already pallor skin had long since turned blue, his fingers fiercely frostbitten and his hair collecting ice crystals at the tips in large, matted clumps. Those clumps had in turn stuck to his skin, and only a decent amount of heat would relieve him of the pain of the biting ice.

The darkness did not bother him, but Calminaion had now entered a field bathed in cold, abandoned light. It was a field that looked inviting, save for the glass pane of frozen water that covered the dead acreage set before him. The dormant, leafless trees before him stood as silent sentinels–just testimonials to the death that had preceded Calminaion’s broken, frozen presence. As Calminaion leaned against one of the few bark-shrouded pillars, he heard the limbs crack under his emaciated frame. The nimble limbs would soon give way to the wind, only to be broken down into ash and dust that would coat the dunes to the south.

Calminaion’s ears had long since been jaded to the sound of the rushing wind that sliced along the lobes and over the sides of his cheeks. He pulled the tattered collar of his threadbare robe over his dirtied skin, wiping a tear from his eye as he braced his face against his chest to bear the wind. The shredded monk’s robe was a poor excuse for clothing, and it was certainly not the raiment the merchant had advertised to Calminaion in the bazaar six weeks prior to Calminaion’s excommunication. Before, Calminaion had taken it for granted. Now, the cloth shroud was his salvation from the cold demons that ripped and begged to enter his flesh.

Falling to the ground, Calminaion exhaled sharply as both the cold and the impact of his fall knocked the wind from his crying lungs. The blood on Calminaion’s hands had frozen, as had his own blood that had once flown freely from wounds in his back. Swearing under his breath, the blacklisted clergyman picked himself, only to drop himself again, propped against a bank of ice that had formed over a tree limb long ago.

Calminaion did not know where he was or where he would go...only that he would indeed go. Beyond that, everything was a mystery.

 

[Calminaion]

I realize the draft is extremely short, but critiques are welcome!

 

[RobinOLocksley]

Hi Calminaion An interesting little snapshot of man's struggle and the severity of the natural environment.

By way of critique, I can't quite put my finger on it, but there is something very comfortable about the overall sentence content and structure that makes it feel just right. When I write something, I often have problems with including too much or too little in one sentence- yours feels very natural in that sense.

This is just a rough draft, but I think there are some problems with word usages that break the flow a little. A couple examples: 'already pallor skin'. Pallor is a thing so it can't really be used to describe another thing (skin in this case). You could say 'pale skin' or 'his skin, which always had a pallor, had long since . . .'
'Abandoned light': for light to be abandoned, it must have been owned first, so the reference feels a bit obscure since there is no evident owner. I think something like 'half-light' might sound closer to your intended meaning.

An wise thing to do when writing something is to focus in on the important parts of what you are trying to say. If this were just a snapshot of a man’s losing battle with the elements and his final acceptance of the hopelessness of his situation, then it feels a bit distracting to mention the excommunication or the bazaar. Mentioning things that aren't fully explored in this piece, like his bloody hands and back, makes this seem like a piece of a bigger work and so leaves you wondering. More to come?

If you've written any more, I would be interested in reading it if you care to post

 

[deornie]

It is quite ok... I enjoyed reading... this is a sort of picture in words... to make you 'walk in someones shoes'... keep on posting!