So, I'm a Danish guy that tries to convert my story telling into English instead of my native language. I bet there will be a lot of bad grammar and lack of commas. However, I have an urge to tell stories, and I want to submit something to Nifty. I hope you'll enjoy anyway.
I'm planning on making this a line of parts of a greater story. This is the first, which describes Phillip meeting Pierre. In my native language I try to mix a modern, somewhat experimental style with basic storytelling. In these parts of story, I will try and do the same in English. I have no idea if it'll work, but this is my first shot.
One With Glasses, One Without
A pair of glasses reflects sunlight, and this sunlight is deflected by multiple drops of water on the surface. The water is from a nearby fountain, and Phillip is sitting on a bench. He's reading a copy of Dostoyevsky's Crime and Punishment. It's a tough one to read – so much meaning in every single sentence. It sure interests Phillip, yet it really is hard. He wants to expand his knowledge of literature, and this Russian writer seems to be one, you simply can't miss.
This area around of the fountain is one of Phillip's favorite places in this city. It is private with its surrounding hedges, and, however, some broad stairs make a wide entrance from the rest of the park. A few times, Phillip has met other people down here, but now he's by himself and a Russian writer is sitting next to him. He writes literature, and suddenly Phillip is writing literature. He has placed a notebook on top of a closed Dostoyevsky and presses a pen towards the paper. Somebody would laugh at this kind of mockery, if somebody actually was there. Nevertheless, this could also be an image of true inspiration coming from its source.
A guy called Phillip marches through a park with a book and a notebook and a pen in a pair of hands that belongs to him. Interesting how a person called Phillip is able to walk determined without paying attention to his surroundings. Two sets of reality – the one under the bone structure of Phillip's scalp, and the one around him, touching him and demanding him. Interesting how a guy called Phillip is able to bump into another person without really realizing it before lying on ground. Bumping into another person with a shoulder. Right shoulder against left shoulder. A pair of shoulders on a set of persons in a park.
"I'm so sorry! I didn't see you." Another person reaches down to Phillip and pulls him up.
"Guess I was a bit absent. Are you alright?" This other person then introduces himself as Pierre.
"Pierre?" Phillip asks. "Are you French?"
"I suppose you could say that. Or I mean – my dad is. My mom's from around."
Pierre puts his hands in his pockets. He's wearing a pair black jeans and a shirt, sleeves rolled up.
"Are you reading that old Russian bastard?" Pierre asks.
Phillip looks confused at Pierre, but then he gets it and starts studying the book and his hands. He finds Pierre's charisma strangely intimidating. It must be his intelligent eyes, piercing the book and Phillip's hands. Pierre knows every single sentence in the novel and he knows about the anatomy of every single sinew and bone in Phillip's hands.
"Dostoyevsky? Yeah, I am." Phillip makes eye contact with Pierre. His stare is locked somehow, and he's aware of his hands turning the book around several times before he gets some sort of control over this pair of limbs.
"Oh I'm a great fan of him. I read Crime and Punishment some years ago. It's a tough one, isn't it?" Pierre asks and laughs.
"Yeah, I think so. I haven't read much of it just yet, but it seems like he's trying to understand the human nature in every sentence. You know what I mean? It's like he ... like he uses every single sentence to explain something greater than what is shown explicitly. It's almost like Hemingway."
"Really? And how's that?" Pierre seems interested. His eyes appear to have widened a fraction of anything barely visible.
"Uhm ... well – I know Dostoyevsky is way more flamboyant and almost aggressive in his style, but this way of having a greater meaning in every sentence has some similarities to Hemingway's minimalistic style." Phillip glares back at Pierre, who smiles. He's enjoying himself.
"That's interesting. I get your point, but what about all the description of the setting and the way of letting the reader know about the protagonist's feelings towards people and things around him? That doesn't seem very Hemingway to me."
Phillip looks down at his copy one more time, as he realizes that he didn't think of that. Pierre is right about this. "I haven't thought of it that way. You're right."
Pierre thinks for a second and then asks for Phillip's name. They shake each other's hands to get some sort of official manners into this odd and sudden interaction between two complete strangers. They walk away after a polite and automatic thank you for a provocative and stimulating conversation. The distance grows, and Phillip has a feeling that they just might bump into each other again. His shirt is dirty from the gravel.