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"Lonely For Them Both" by Ktpoetry

A priest falls in love at first sight with a grieving woman at her husbands funeral.

Category: Short Story

Tags: Lonely, love, priest, funeral, death, guilt, lust

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            He fell in love with her in a graveyard, strange as it may seem,the day before a Valentine’s Day which wold be lonely for them both. Over a mahogany casket strewn with roses wilting fast in the cold, his cast-iron eyes locked with hers; spring green and blood-shot in charcoal smudged hollows. His pulse quickened as his voice rose in prayer over sharp little bell clinks of ice shards shattering from tree-limbs onto the glassy frozen grass.

"For the lot of man and of beast is one lot; the one dies as well as the other. Both have the same life-breath, and man has no advantage over the beast; but all is vanity. Both go to the same place; both were made from the dust, and to the dust they both return…" 

Disconcertingly pale, the glaive throw of loss had hit her hard enough to impose upon her delicate features an expression of winded disorientation, hardening her childlike countenance enough to be perceived as womanly beneath a halo of baby-fine blonde hair. Her hands were clasped in reverent affect of prayer; little pink-nailed fingers ungloved & interlaced as her breath billowed out in rebellioussteaming wisps against the chill air of February in New York.

He furrowed his brow as he bowed his head, the lines of his face chiseling more deeply into his leathery skin. This is a woman grieving, he thought. Your thoughts are inappropriate. Alas, the acorn of temptation had fallen, and from it the sapling had sprung, lanky and tenacious from the impoverished soil of his heart. He fought to still the tremble in his throat and speak again.

"May his soul and the souls of all the faithful departed through the mercy of God rest in peace." His voice was gruff and enervated as he drew the ceremony hastily to a close.

The crowd was small but slow to disperse. He too lingered despite the cold; beneath the stark oak tree which, in the summer it would be a leafy canopy giving solace from the sun. Just now it served poorly at blocking the icy tendrils of the wind whipping in from the West. Still, he lingered, watching as she shrugged off the comforts of her friends and family. So proud, too proud for such a fragile little thing, he decided. The urge to cup her heart shaped face in his hands and brush away the thin trickle of a tear rolling down her swollen cheek made him shudder with revulsion.


He needed a dark bar and a strong drink.


He arrived home many hours later, a little unsteady on his feet, to a house that was empty much as it was on any night. The sunset was rather bland above him, a muddy simmer of grey and deep violet, cloud-muted and unspectacular. As he stuck his key into the lock streetlights flashed to life up and down the street in unison. His skin was burning with windburn and the flush of alcohol, his shoulders sagged more than they had when he had left the house that morning.

How is it, he wondered as he crossed the threshold into his plain and unadorned living room, that the cold fingers of lust and guilt are so adroit as to always find a way to touch us at our weakest, when we lack the burning resolve to stave them off? He took a plain tumbler from the shelf beside his worn easy chair and filled it with amber liquid.

He was taken aback when the phone began to ring. He was a quiet man with a simple life and late evening phone calls were generally not a part of it. He clutched the tumbler in one hand, a thin rivulet of liquor running down his chin as he gaped at the unanswered telephone. Finally, he lifted the phone from the receiver, cradling it in the palm of his hand and raised it hesitantly to his ear.

"Father… I just needed to talk… to someone" her voice was hoarse, tear-ravaged yet still high and sweet as a cherub’s and he knew beyond reason that it was her. The girl from the graveyard.

Words of comfort died in his throat. He hung up the phone. This Valentine’s day would be lonely for them both.


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Category Name: My Thoughts

I did not enjoy this story. I am not even sure what problem the protagonist faced. This story was okay. The story would have been better if the author had introduced the problem differently and made it feel more pressing. I really enjoyed this story. The author did a good job pulling me into the story by introducing an immediate and important problem for the protagonist.

This section is for overall comments and general ideas. The score should reflect how much you enjoyed the story.

Category Name: Character Development

The characters were not dynamic, credible, interesting, memorable or unique. I don’t care about or understand the characters because they were poorly developed. The characters were somewhat dynamic, credible, interesting, memorable and unique. I partially understood the thoughts, feelings, and actions of the characters. I somewhat connected with and care about the characters. The characters were very dynamic, credible, interesting, memorable and unique. I thoroughly understood their thoughts, feelings and actions. I felt connected with and cared about the characters.

This is act of bringing a character to life on the page. It is a combination of the author’s description of the character and the character’s dialog, action, and thoughts. Though all characters should be believable, the protagonist and antagonist are usually the most developed characters.

Category Name: Plot

I finished reading the story so the plot must have unfolded, but I am not sure what the plot was. The characters did not achieve or grow by solving the problems they faced in this story. There were definite wrinkles in the way the plot unfolded leading to the final conflict. The plot was loosely tied to the achievement and growth of the characters. The way the protagonist overcame some of the problems flowed unnaturally with the story. I could see the plot unfolding through a series of escalating problems that lead to the final conflict. The plot helped me understand the achievements and growth of the characters. The way the protagonist overcame the problems flowed naturally with the st

In fiction a plot is all the events in a story, particularly rendered towards the achievement of some particular artistic or emotional effect. In other words it's what mostly happened in the story. The plot draws the reader into the character's lives and helps the reader understand the choices that the characters make.

Category Name: Dialog

The dialog seemed like cold words on paper. I had a hard time following it. I didn’t learn very much about the characters through the dialog. Through the dialog I could sometimes see the characters learn and grow while occasionally discovering new facets of their personalities. The dialog was generally consistent with the character. Through the dialog I could see the characters learn and grow while simultaneously discovering new facets of their personalities. The dialog was true to the character and it helped me understand the characters emotions.

Category Name: Setting

The setting created a haze in my mind that detracted from the story. I am lost in time and space because I don’t know when or where this story takes place. The setting was described adequately, but not well enough to bring it to life in my mind. The setting did not add to or detract from the story. I am pretty sure I know when and where the story takes place. The author engaged all of my senses while vividly describing the setting. The setting helped me better understand the setting and plot. I know when and where this story takes place.

The setting is where a story takes place. The choice of setting and its description helps the story come alive in the mind of the reader. Appropriate setting contributes to the plot and mood of the story.

Category Name: Mechanics

The story contained so many mechanical errors that it was hard to follow the plot or understand certain sentences or paragraphs. Occasional mechanical errors were distracting, but these errors did not inhibit me from being able to understand the plot or connect with characters in the story. I rarely if ever noticed mechanical errors. As far as I could tell, the writing was clear and correct.

Mechanics includes sentence structure, verb agreement, grammar, spelling, voice, punctuation and aspects of basic style.

Note: The purpose of ReviewFuse reviews is NOT to provide comprehensive copy editing, but rather to "ignite creativity." Reviewers should not feel obliged to point out every grammar or spelling error (though they certainly can if they wish), but should focus on this area only to the degree that errors make a story hard to follow or understand.

Inline comments are the most helpful and important aspects of your review.

Click on a paragraph or highlight text from the paragraph to provide inline comments. While detailed grammar correction is welcome, the purpose of inline commenting is to spark the author's creativity. This is best done by expressing feelings, questions, and concerns you have about the story while you are reading.

1.             He fell in love with her in a graveyard, strange as it may seem,the day before a Valentine’s Day which wold be lonely for them both. Over a mahogany casket strewn with roses wilting fast in the cold, his cast-iron eyes locked with hers; spring green and blood-shot in charcoal smudged hollows. His pulse quickened as his voice rose in prayer over sharp little bell clinks of ice shards shattering from tree-limbs onto the glassy frozen grass.

2. "For the lot of man and of beast is one lot; the one dies as well as the other. Both have the same life-breath, and man has no advantage over the beast; but all is vanity. Both go to the same place; both were made from the dust, and to the dust they both return…" 

3. Disconcertingly pale, the glaive throw of loss had hit her hard enough to impose upon her delicate features an expression of winded disorientation, hardening her childlike countenance enough to be perceived as womanly beneath a halo of baby-fine blonde hair. Her hands were clasped in reverent affect of prayer; little pink-nailed fingers ungloved & interlaced as her breath billowed out in rebellioussteaming wisps against the chill air of February in New York.

4. He furrowed his brow as he bowed his head, the lines of his face chiseling more deeply into his leathery skin. This is a woman grieving, he thought. Your thoughts are inappropriate. Alas, the acorn of temptation had fallen, and from it the sapling had sprung, lanky and tenacious from the impoverished soil of his heart. He fought to still the tremble in his throat and speak again.

5. "May his soul and the souls of all the faithful departed through the mercy of God rest in peace." His voice was gruff and enervated as he drew the ceremony hastily to a close.

6. The crowd was small but slow to disperse. He too lingered despite the cold; beneath the stark oak tree which, in the summer it would be a leafy canopy giving solace from the sun. Just now it served poorly at blocking the icy tendrils of the wind whipping in from the West. Still, he lingered, watching as she shrugged off the comforts of her friends and family. So proud, too proud for such a fragile little thing, he decided. The urge to cup her heart shaped face in his hands and brush away the thin trickle of a tear rolling down her swollen cheek made him shudder with revulsion.

7.

8. He needed a dark bar and a strong drink.

9.

10. He arrived home many hours later, a little unsteady on his feet, to a house that was empty much as it was on any night. The sunset was rather bland above him, a muddy simmer of grey and deep violet, cloud-muted and unspectacular. As he stuck his key into the lock streetlights flashed to life up and down the street in unison. His skin was burning with windburn and the flush of alcohol, his shoulders sagged more than they had when he had left the house that morning.

11. How is it, he wondered as he crossed the threshold into his plain and unadorned living room, that the cold fingers of lust and guilt are so adroit as to always find a way to touch us at our weakest, when we lack the burning resolve to stave them off? He took a plain tumbler from the shelf beside his worn easy chair and filled it with amber liquid.

12. He was taken aback when the phone began to ring. He was a quiet man with a simple life and late evening phone calls were generally not a part of it. He clutched the tumbler in one hand, a thin rivulet of liquor running down his chin as he gaped at the unanswered telephone. Finally, he lifted the phone from the receiver, cradling it in the palm of his hand and raised it hesitantly to his ear.

13. "Father… I just needed to talk… to someone" her voice was hoarse, tear-ravaged yet still high and sweet as a cherub’s and he knew beyond reason that it was her. The girl from the graveyard.

14. Words of comfort died in his throat. He hung up the phone. This Valentine’s day would be lonely for them both.

15.

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