The Field 18

by Glenn Gillis
(Lévis Quebec Canada)

Original Text: The Field 18


Chapter 2

June 15-1985
The snow accompanied with its cold relentless northern winds had at last receded three weeks ago. Sand and dust still remain in several parts of streets and sidewalks of town. The branches of the trees were already beginning to bud. A spring shower had engendered a fresh scent of verdure into the air. Followed by the shower was a warm breeze coming from the south that offered high hopes for a wonderful summer. In mid afternoon, there was the beginning of an eclipse that attracted the town’s attention. An two hours later, it was over, but not the chatter, for this was something interesting to talk about.
Near the southern edge of town, the gentle wind blows throughout the old abandoned ball-field twisting and turning up tiny tornados of dust. Old graffiti carvings could still be seen on the bleachers. At nine o’clock pm, the northwestern horizon was a bright color of pink as the sun gave off its last appearance.
The ooooh of an owl could be heard in the forest near bye.
At ten o’clock pm, the field is in pitch darkness. At the far end of the field, a faint blue light glimmers. Zooming in closer and closer towards the end of the field, large black eyes are watching, waiting.
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Revised Text:

The snow that came with the cold, relentless northern winds had finally receded three weeks ago. Sand and dust still remained on some of the streets and sidewalks of town. The branches of the trees were already beginning to bud.

A spring shower had brought the fresh scent of verdure into the air. After the shower, a warm breeze coming from the south offered high hopes for a wonderful summer. In mid-afternoon, the beginning of an eclipse attracted the town’s attention. Two hours later it was over, but not the chatter, for this was something interesting to talk about.

Near the southern edge of town, the gentle wind blows through the abandoned ball-field, twisting and turning-up tiny tornadoes of dust. Old graffiti carvings could still be seen on the bleachers.

At nine pm, the northwestern horizon was a bright pink as the sun gave off its last light. The ooooh of an owl could be heard in the forest nearby.

At ten o’clock, the field is in pitch darkness. At the far end of the field, a faint blue light glimmers. Zooming in closer and closer, towards the end of the field, large black eyes can be seen, watching, waiting.

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