Story 4: The Appraisal

The way I've written this story is different from my usual style. So, it calls for an explanation so that you, the reader, are not left confused. 

I've experimented - for the first time in my fiction writing - with using what is called the Second Person Narrative or the Second Person Point of View. This is a style of writing that uses the words 'you' to put the reader into the shoes of the narrator. If done right, this technique is supposed to give a richer sensory experience to the reader. 

I'd love to know what kind of an effect it had on you; so, feel free to share your feedback!

           Prompt: Buy or Sell      Word Count: 750 words exactly

We are doomed. No one says it loud, but you know. Heaviness in the air. Your father’s long-drawn sigh. A vacant look in your mother’s eye that tells you she’s done with shedding tears. You hate this hopeless waiting. “Do something,” you cry. But, only in your mind. For, the quiet acceptance of the elders claps fetters on your young voice.

You hear the money-lender threaten your father yet again. “I’m giving you till Thursday. If you don’t pay up, I’ll throw you out on the streets and take over this house,” he warns. You shudder at the possibility. “Find the money from somewhere, Pa,” you scream. But, only in your mind. For, you know there is nowhere left to beg.

The desperate whispers draw you to the kitchen door. “Take this and sell it,” cries your mother. “It’s only a symbol of our bond. As long we’re together, what does this mere token matter?” You can’t see her and yet, you know exactly what she’s offering. Her mangalsutra – the sacred gold string your father clasped around her neck when they were married. “Don’t, Ma. Not that, please, not that,” you wail. But, only in your mind. For, you know it is safe because your father will never see the auspicious string as mere gold.

You sneak into your parents’ bedroom and look longingly at the tiny wooden jewellery box in the cupboard. You know it doesn’t belong to your mother. She found it last year, in a dark corner by the kitchen sink, when you moved into the new home. Perhaps it had been left behind by the previous tenant. “Why can’t we use what’s in this box, Ma?” you plead. But, only in your mind. For, you know your mother would call it stealing, and never touch what belongs to someone else.

On your way back from college, you notice a new word in the signboard of the local jewellery shop. ‘Appraisers.’ You peer in through the glass door, and see an important-looking person sitting in an impressive chair, with the same new word printed on a nameplate on his desk. You hurry home and check the dictionary, and realize an appraiser is someone who values antiques.

All is quiet at home. You pick up the jewellery box from Ma’s cupboard. You rummage blindly under her clothes and find the key. Heart thudding, fingers tingling, you carry the box with its key into your room. 


One smooth turn of the key and the box spills its secrets. Two sets of quaint gold earrings studded with precious stones. A few trinkets that, obviously, are not gold. A dirty yellow envelope, on which you can see faded handwriting in an old-fashioned English font. You look inside and find yellowing paper. A quick read tells you this is a letter from the 1800s from some Britisher to an Indian woman called Reema. He’s been quite vocal about his amorous feelings and reading his words makes you blush. 

But soon, other thoughts take over. Is the gold jewellery antique? Only one way to know. You arrive at the jewellery shop. “Are you really doing this?” you gasp. But, only in your mind. For, you know you’re only here to satisfy your curiosity.

The appraiser notices you hesitate. “Would you like to buy or sell something?” he asks, staring at the box in your hand. You dump the box on his table, mumbling that you’d like him to value what’s inside.

One searching look and he dismisses the trinkets. A thoughtful look at the envelope and he places it aside. “What about these darned gold earrings, are they antiques?” you shout. But, only in your mind. For, you know from the way he’s looking at them, to his experienced eye, they’re trinkets too.

You drag your feet towards the exit. But the appraiser calls you back. He’s excited about something, and is waving the dirty envelope up and down in your face. Slowly, you understand what he’s trying to tell you.

The letter in the envelope is a scandalous one. The family of the British letter-writer has been on the lookout for it since decades. They are willing to pay good money to buy it back.

You rush home with the news. “Ma, Pa, our bad days are over,” you shout with glee. But, not in your mind. You’re yelling out loud. For, you know your parents would do anything to avoid a scandal. Even one that is not of their own making.

Comments

  1. Gone through. Writing could have been more natural. Narration to be more free. Wish you come up with your uniques style.

    ReplyDelete

  2. We as a family feel down and
    doomed. No one says it loud, but my heart says so. I knew by the heaviness around. My father’s long-drawn sigh is a true indicator. A vacant look through my mother’s eye tells me the distress due to poverty. she’s done with shedding tears and whispers of pain. My mind hates the hopeless and endless waiting. “Do something,” I cry myself. Is there no way left, my mind ponders.

    ReplyDelete
  3. You can improve further. But the narrator should remain in first person or third person throughout. Then it will trigger stream of consciousness. Then will carry the reader easily. Go ahead. Wishing all the best.

    ReplyDelete
  4. Thank you. This was only an experiment to see how the 2nd person perspective works.

    ReplyDelete

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