the girl in the red coat

God, look at her.

Dark hair white skin red lips. And blue eyes. She looks curvy, on the thinner side of Rubenesque.

All that dark hair. She’s wearing a red coat down to her calves. The girl in the red coat. She’s nineteen, twenty tops.

A girl that young wearing a red coat.

Carrying a cup of coffee from the popular chain store. Eating from the end of a loaf of bread. Rubbing her hands together. She must have forgotten her gloves at home. Walking amidst newspapers in the cold. A girl like that doesn’t belong in the middle of a city.

A girl like this has read too much French literature, and her dreams circle to sea fronts, cigarettes and making love. She needs a thin paper sundress, in which you can see the curve of her breasts, the indent of her waist, and the woman in her hips.

Womanly hips and thighs. Her body’s out of fashion. Even in Europe she’ll never see what she idealizes, antique apartments, croissaints, and cafes. Out of fashion. Her body, her soft face, her dreams. Maybe she doesn’t like female liberation. Maybe she wants to belong to a man. Yes, this girl in a red coat needs to feel safe. She needs to feel safe, feminine, beautiful.

Can she really belong at the school she goes to? Maybe she laughs along with her friends. She fits in on the surface. Flirts with boys. Makes others jealous. Her life is a dramatic spin on kissing and rejection and art. God she must love art. She must see herself and realize she was meant to be painted. A beautiful girl in a red coat must be vain.

She must see her self as drawn by modigliani, bottecelli, and klimt. With her lush thighs and white skin.

God I want to paint her.

This is a girl I would have pose against the cold hard floor, in comparison to her warm, decadent body. She would lean against a chair, maybe smile at me directly, maybe get a little bored and look off to the side. But you’d be able to see thought on her face, youd be able to see her pleasure, naivity, and her quaintness. And her beauty.

I would sketch her for days, paint her for weeks. Her red coat strewn off center, left behind. Several times a week she would come, take off her clothes and lean against that same chair. And she would speak to me as I painted. Her curiosity would be exquisite. She would wish to see the painting, I would refuse.

She would periodically lose her, temper, get into a rage. Her hair would gently be brushing the edges of her areolas. I would be able to see her wondering, why I havent touched her, kissed her.
Her lips would progressively get redder, her cheeks more flushed, and her eyes more inviting. She would be trying to seduce me. Finally one day I would finish the painting.

It would come when she didn’t excpect it, when she would be lost in thought.

I wouldn’t tell her, I would just come to her, kneel down on top of her and, cradling her, moving her to a clear space, perhaps by her red coat.
I would kiss her slowly at first. Red lips. Shushing her protests. I kiss down to her neck, down the breasts and the waist and the thighs I’ve been scrutinizing for weeks. Wandering so close to her labia. I wont shave that day. The stubble will lightly scratch at her, tugging slightly at her delicate skin. God. She’ll push her self up to my kiss, ill move away, come back to her lips. Hungrily, animalisticly taking her as I have claimed her for weeks.

Spiraling her breasts, the inside of her thighs, the small of her back, her shoulders. I would make love to her, I would consume her. We would finish, I would pick her up from the hard cold floor, and carry her into the depth of my bed, kissing her neck.

I would turn the canvas to her, I would show her the girl who I had for weeks desired, agonized for. She would naively search for a compliment. “I don’t look like that,” she would sweetly say. “You are even more beautiful,” I will tell her.

Because this girl, in her red coat, with her coffee and bread, she needs to be overcome by the romanticism of novels, have her life become a love story. Have someone love her, and desire her. She needs to give everything because she loves with all of her heart.
She can love anyone, as long as they love her first.

It is beautiful. I am a tough reader, not compelled by much of what I read. This, this is brilliant. I was engrossed. I almost stopped at a 1 liner break, then felt I had to finish. I had to know. That is the mark of good writing for me. I want to know the end.

yes, is it the ending? i liked it too, very sensitive.

what did you mean by “warm, decadent” body? is the word “warm” connceted with “decadent” or not? in what way decadent? thanks

very nice really enjoyed that.

That was beautiful.

it makes you sound like a sexual predator… I mean, thats kind of creepy how u were talking about, i mean, u no… like… there’s more to a girl than just… uh! im a 14 year old girl and this grossed me out. u dont post stuff like that on the internet. i mean, people younger than me cold find it… and no one needs to hear it!

i considered not even responding to this, because it seemed so ridiculous, but i might as well, since i can’t deal with ignorance.

the narrator of the story was not a sexual predator. he did not want to take the girl into an ally and rape her. he thought she was beautiful, he could see her insecurity, he could understand her without ever speaking to her.

of course there’s more to a girl than her sexuality. i made that very evident. he fell in love with her at first sight. he understood how much she loved everything, he was entranced by that. sure he thinks about being intimate with her, but sex isnt wrong.

i agree with you that young children should not be exposed to vulgarity. but i did not describe anything distastefully. sex happens. sex consumes people, it’s ignorant of you to deny it. and if anyone was interested in seeing something sexual, the internet is dominated by porn. they wouldnt need to come to a philosophy forum to find it.

you have been brainwashed to fear anything sensual. but tell me, do you think young children would be scarred by classical paitnings that feature nude women? do you think botticelli’s venus or klimt’s danae are indecent?

and, for your information, i’m a female. i did not write a pornographic story about non-consensual sexuality. i wrote about sensuality and romanticism.

i dont know why i’m even bothering to defend myself, but your comment just annoyed me.

I had a feeling it was written by a female…

You have a lot of raw talent, I’ll give you that. I loved reading the story, and in some ways I’m definatly able to relate to it. However, you need a lot of refinement.

Comma usage
Your usage of commas is bordering on excessive. I can see you’re trying to be artsy and deep, but it drives English nazis like me absolutely crazy. Review the basic rules of comma usage. There are plenty of homework help sites that will give you excruciating detail on the correct use of commas. That alone will help the overall work tremendously.

Sentence fragments
Sentence fragments are only, I repeat, ONLY truly acceptable in dialogue. There are instances where your narrator maybe be an uneducated person or a particularly gruff character who would use fragments to narrate. Your narrator sounds like neither. Leave the fragments out. Full sentences will give you more exposition. It will also make sure you understand the rules of grammar. You have to know them perfectly before you are allowed to break them. Also, never use “where” unless you are referring to a location.

Diction
Some of the words you used are wildly incorrect in the context.

Naive-someone who is inexperienced, starry eyed, or otherwise not worldly. Not to be used in place of fishing for compliments as you do at the end. Naivete (with an umlaut over the i and an accent over the 2nd e) is the correct spelling of the adjective.

Quaint-Used to refer to actions and places, not people. A house in the country is quaint. A person would be referred to as droll.

Animalistically-Animalistic is an adjective. Animalistically is an adverb and does not exist in the English lanugage. Therefore, don’t use it. Check a thesaurus to find a better way to say what you’re trying to say.

Decadent-Excellent word, wrong context. Decadent means something that is opulent to the point of inefficiency. Unless your main character is 400 pounds, I don’t think she’s decadent. It refers generally to places and cultures. Watch Underworld for the correct usage of the word.

General Advice
“Can she really belong at the school she goes to?”. This is the most incorrect sentence I found in the work. Really should not be used in narrative. It’s a vague word and you’re trying to have command of what you’re saying. Also avoid words like so, kind of, very, and pretty (as a quantifier). You can’t belong at someplace. You belong in or to a place. You could also use “fit in”. You should also be able to remove the prepositional phrase and the sentence should still make sense. If you remove the one in this sentence, it makes absolutely no sense. In the same vein, you ended the sentence in a preposition. This is a widely accepted grammatical rule. A much better way to write the sentence would be “How could she possibly belong here?” or “Does she really fit in at her school?”.

You don’t have to listen to all that crap, Tristesse. I was very much impressed with your story - in fact, I’ve been impressed with each one you’ve submitted here so far. As far as Somber Angel, it’s always interesting to see people critique and lay down rules when they can’t write fiction worth shit themselves.

I, too, have a problem with over usage of commas, but so near as I can tell, they don’t take down the story too much. It’s all in the ear and internal rhythm of the writer.

Sentence fragments are good at any time. It’s up to the author, and while they should be used sparingly to enforce a sentiment, any rule that says they should only be used in dialogue or with an “uneducated” narrator is full of shit.

Diction: saying something is “wildly” incorrect is horrible use of that adjective right there. Stephen King said: use the first word that pops into your mind. Don’t sit there and think for 20 seconds on what the next word should be, cause then you’re only finding the word that is cousin to the one that your gut instinct said was right. Fiction isn’t about rules or even about using the right words: you can connect with an audience at a more personal level when you speak straight from your heart. And your heart doesn’t need grammar.

The word “so,” while I never used to like it, I’ve found to be quit agreeable when used in the right context. Here’s a link to a short story that I think uses that word excellently, (and I am the author, yes):

ilovephilosophy.com/phpbb/vi … p?t=139981

And here’s a link to a song followed by the poem that inspired it - both using the word “so” at its best.

audiostreet.net/artists/005/ … ennan.html

madphilosophers.com/cgi-bin/ … ;start=0#0

thank you basta. i was a little dissapointed by somber angel, because i felt as if she completely left out the meaning of my story and just focused on inconsequential grammer.

as for commas, i’m not “trying to be deep.” i’m one of those people that just writes really impulsivly–i write the way i think and speak. i’m not really one to change something like that–its been doin pretty well for me, i think.

and the diction? i’m aware that i didnt use them in the standard context. and i did it semi-on-purpose–i used adjectives that i associated witht he image i was presenting.

i dont really give a damn about grammer…if you want to tell me what i should elaborate on, what confuses you plot-sturcture-wise, please do.

THAT i would appreciate.

No, you’re absolutely right. It’s about getting an emotion, an expression, across the screen and into the mind of the reader. Grammatically correct structure can all too easily make it sound forced, unnatural, a production, which takes the reader away from the world you are displaying and reminding them that

HEY THIS IS FICTION!

We don’t want that. Let us be swept away. Let the tides of fiction draw our feet into the sand.

That is what we come here for.

tristesse,

This is a beautiful composition. (I am glad that some new comments brought this back up to the top of the list.)

The sensuality of this piece is amazing. I found myself identifying with the point of view character. The worshipful attitude he has toward his beloved girl in red draws me in.

I was curious about the line where the painter says that he would put her down on the cold ground. Was this merely the thought of the moment of was there more to it. It seems a bit cruel and like bit of a power play.

I may be reading into this too much, but there is something a bit fiendish about the figure of the artist mastering the beauty. In paining her he steals a little bit of her for himself. He captures her. He owns a bit of her, but only the superficial part of her.

There is no communication between the lovers. Nothing is shared. She gives him her vulnerability and he gives her his attention. But she is nothing more to him than what he saw the first time. It is dreamy but selfish. He worships her as a beautiful living doll. Delightful to look at, obedient to his Spartan demands, receptive to his sexual advances. She is a pure fantasy, not a real woman. The artist toys with her and plays with her, but he never shares with her.

I use the term “him” for the artist character because it mentions kissing, then him not shaving and her feeling his stubble in the piece.

It it beautiful, but I think that it kind of exposes something a bit dark too. That was my reading of it, but that may not have been what you meant to say.

in a sense, it’s supposed to be dark. at the same time, however, it’s a love story. he really is utterly in love with her from the moment he sees her. i guess what i meant was, that you cant have one without the other, no love story can ever be told without a hint of something sinister or maybe very just mysterious that is completely subterreanean. nothing that’s beautiful between two people can exist without some element of incomprehension that exists within the outside world.
as for the “cold hard ground,” i cant really explain that line exept to say that it was supposed to be a contrast between her body and the floor. i guess i might have been going for brutality in that imagery…some sort of crudity. i cant quite explain what it was referring to.
regardless, i’d like to thank you all for the wonderful comments. i cant tell you how much i appreciate them.

tristesse,

You are welcome for every kind word that I can give to you and your work.

I know what you mean about there being a sinister or secretive element to all love. Love touches the deepest parts of us and stirs up emotions from the bottom of the well that is the subconscious. I think this man who is in love is a bit of a fool. His love is made of pure adoration. There is something beautiful yet totally fragile in this kind of love. He has made his beloved into an idol. A statuesque goddess best worshiped from afar.

I am interested in this element of incomprehension. Does the artist really understand the woman in red? Or does he take only one part, his vision of her, and spin from it a story that may have nothing to do with the woman herself.

Once he has painted her and bedded her, what then? I sense tragedy. Once the magical allure wears thin, can he love the actual woman within the beautiful woman? Or will his passion grow cold. Will familiarity break his adoration, driving him to find new inspiration?

This is wonderful writing that so well reflects our complex human experience of love.