- 91
- Posts
- 16
- Years
- Seen Nov 23, 2014
Hi, my first post in this sub - forum. I don't know about you guys, but when writing, my opinion of my my writing cycles. I get an idea- I think it's fantastic. I start to write it... and don't know where to start. I think I suck. Then, I start writing, and the words flow onto paper and I think it's incredible! Then, I go back later and read it... and realize its terrible. After I write something I edit, edit, the re edit what feels like hundreds of times, and my opinions cycle each time. After a while I get to the point where I have no clue what to think... So I need outside opinions, critiques! I hope you take the time to read this!
Notes:
- This work includes no Pokemon :(
- This work is "Part 1" of a short story, but it has a clearly defined beginning and end and can almost act as a story of its own, so I'm sure it abides by the rules
- This work has an "experimental" writing style - I have short sentences, short fragments, hurried thoughts. So please don't critique that for bad writing, its on purpose to set the pace... I think! If there are places where it doesn't work, let me know!
Part 1: Work
I flip the switch. The tube lights flicker for a moment, falter, and then hold steady. I don't blink; my eyes immediately adjust. I can see now. I drop the large black plastic bag by the door and move on.
I walk. My feet sink into sodden muck. My fingers graze coarse concrete. This is my shed now. I found it, abandoned and decaying deep in the wilderness. I don't know who used it or for what. Now, the shed has one purpose. The shed is where I do my work.
Dismembered moonlight filters into the shed through a cracked window. I pause. I look in the broken glass and see a broken man. I look through the broken glass and see a broken world.
I blink. I see more. Painted onto the glass are two figures; a girl and a woman. They smile. They wave. They laugh. Are they a reflection? I look behind me; I see no one. Are they outside? I look ahead; I see no one. I close my eyes. I see theirs. Watching me. Waiting for me. I lift a trembling finger. I want to touch them. Just this once. Before they're gone. Before I miss my chance again.
They fade to black.
My eyes open. It's time to work.
Tools are lined up along the adjacent wall. The tools are necessary for my work. I find and lift the aluminum baseball bat leaning among them. I feel the cool, slick metal as my fingers squeak across its surface. I seize the bat by its handle. I swing, feeling its weight. I hit the concrete, feeling its strength. I relax my grip and let the bat fall.
The chair stands next to my bat. Splintered edges bite into my hands as I slide it towards a corner of the shed. I kneel to inspect the chair. Repeated use has weakened the wooden frame. I drag the chair further to support it with the cement wall.
I return to the large plastic bag. Its irregularly shaped contents barely fit; the bag is stretched and ripped. I kick the bag. The bag rolls forward. I continue kicking the package towards the corner of the shed, my shoes thudding against its contents. Finally, I lift the bag and dump the cargo onto the chair.
I pick up my rope. I drag the thick cord forward to wrap it around the chair. Rope gnaws into my hand as I test the tenacity of my knots. Very tight. Very strong. Very secure. Untying the ropes is impossible. They must be sliced open. I run my fingers along my belt, reassuring myself that the hunting knife is still fastened there.
I glance over my tools. Standing head and shoulders above the rest is my favorite. It hovers above me; a thin, tall specter. Its neck is a dull wooden finish while its head gleams in the moonlight. This tool is always my last tool. This is the tool that finishes my work.
I check my pocket. My cured sample of the Allium canadensevegetable peels in my hands. A few miserly flakes stick to my fingers and glisten in the moonlight. I lick some off, and let the rest drop to the ground.
I scrutinize the shed one final time. Everything is in place.
I look outside. Dawn is approaching.
I retrieve my bat. I walk to the chair. I'm ready to work.
I remove the black sack covering his head.
The drug is wearing off. He awakens, eyes fluttering. He is confused. He tilts his head and looks around. Then, his eyelids burst open. He breathes deeply. He is trapped. He rocks back and forth, trying to move. He is seated in a wooden chair in the corner of a shed, hands and feet bound with rope. Trapped. He twists his arms and legs to try to break free. He fails. Panicking, he moves faster and with more force, gritting his teeth as the rope burns into his flesh. Now, he is terrified. He prepares to scream.
The breath stops in his throat. A sound echoes through the shed. It is the sound of a blunt instrument striking a hard surface. The man pauses, searching for its source.
BANG. BANG. BANG. The sound erupts in slow, metronomic rhythm.
BANG. BANG. BANG. The sound creeps closer, intensifies, and quickens.
BANG. BANG. BANG. The sound is advancing, intimidating, threatening.
BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG. The sound is now rapid fire, inches away from him, vicious and unforgiving. The man cringes. His eyes slide from side to side. It is coming.
BANG. The shed is quiet. Now, silence echoes across the shed. The man senses it. It is here. It has come to punish.
He shivers. Cool metal brushes his cheek. He looks up.
He sees me standing over him, with an aluminum baseball bat in my hand.
His eyes narrow with hatred. His pale face reflects the tube light, flickering along with it. I run my bat along his dusty suit. He smiles at me defiantly. I grip the bat with both hands.
He cocks his head, asking, "Why?"
"You know why"
I swing. Aluminum meets bone. Bone shatters. Blood erupts. The bat vibrates in protest, but I proceed with calculated aggression. After minutes of thrashing my captive in the shins, I pause. I examine the damage. I've broken both ankles. A sanguine pool of blood gathers beneath his feet and streams along his legs amid pieces of bone and flesh. The man had been roaring in pain, but is now subdued to deep, harrowing breaths. My own breath holds steady. My hands are relaxed. My body stands at ease. My eyes are impassive. This is my work.
"Fifteen people lost," I say, circling his chair, "fifteen people are dead." I slam the bat into his back, watching him cough up blood.
"Fifteen this year. Hundreds over decades." I jab the bat into his stomach, listening to his retches.
"No resistance at all." I hammer his shoulders, feeling his arms collapse from their sockets.
I relax my grip on the bat. I kneel. We are face to face. "Your people have leeched on this city without threat. People don't even know you exist."
I run the bat gently down his spine. He suppresses a shiver, then resumes gurgling blood.
"The reputation preceding you would have me believe you were invincible." I lean forward, to whisper, "But everyone feels pain. Everyone dies. Unless you answer my questions, you will face extreme dosages of both."
The pale faced man smiles weakly. His teeth glisten despite the blood streaming through his mouth. "It takes more than pain to break my people."
I rise, nodding thoughtfully. "Yes. You are right. However, I have to try. I hope you understand. Please forgive me if I enjoy this". The pale faced man grits his teeth. I grip the bat tightly once more. I take a depth breath.
I crash the bat into his kneecap, snapping the joint. "How many of you are here?"
He shakes his head, blood and sweat pouring down his face.
I flail the bat against his ribs, piercing his organs with bone. "Who is your leader?"
He wheezes, spitting blood at my feet.
I batter his face, shattering cheekbone and nose. I stab again, snapping teeth. "Where are you hiding?"
A pause. He looks up at me. His broken body is silent. His limbs swing back and forth. His neck twitches from side to side. His jaws mutely opens and closes. Trembling, he finally gathers enough strength to whisper,
"You'll never find us."
"Then I'll have to kill you one by one."
I turn so that I stand perpendicular to the man. I raise the baseball bat. I gently tap the back of his head. His eyes follow my bat as I tee up. One, two, three. I strike. I crash the bat into his head. His body crumples. The chair snaps. Kneeling within the splintered wreckage, I slash the Gordian knots then drop my knife. I lift the man and then lay him face down on the ground, keeping his body straight. I fold down the collar of his shirt and bare his neck. I rise and walk to my tools.
My favorite tool is waiting for me. With relish, I hold my axe by its hilt. I take it to where the man lays. And let the blade fall to his neck.
A waterfall of blood streams upward, splashing me from my waist down. The axe has cut through an inch of skin and sinew. I pause to examine the damage. The man is not dead. His eyes bulge. His mouth silently screams. His body flails.
I twist and lift the axe from within his neck. The uncorked blood pours out. I aim the axe. I let the blade whistle down. I don't wait. I lift and swing again. And again. One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
The head detaches and rolls away from the body.
I gently lean my axe against the wall. I look outside through the dust caked window. Threads of light are snaking their way above the horizon. My work is not finished yet. I must hurry.
I grab the man's head by the hair with my right hand. I hold onto his body by the collar with my left. Leading with my right foot, I drag the body forward through the shed. A thick trail of blood follows. I kick the door open. I toss the head forward, and then use both hands to drop the body to the edge of the river.
The river begins fifteen feet from my shed then flows east into an immense lake many miles away. This river is where my work comes to an end.
I kick the body, rolling it towards the river. It hangs by the edge, and then slips forward. The powerful current immediately carries it away. A pink stream of blood follows closely behind.
I set the head on the ground. I see my own lifeless eyes reflected in his. Because of him, and others like him, my life is over. I now have one purpose. I breathe only for my work.
I close my eyes. I see the girl and the woman. They don't wave. They don't smile. Bitterly, they look directly into me. Waiting. Expecting.
This is the best I can do.
I open my eyes. It's time to finish this. I stand. I lift my foot, then scissor my heel into the man's mouth. The joint snaps. I lift the head. The unhinged jaw loosely opens and closes as the head swings in the wind.
I reach into my pocket and pull out my bulb of Allium canadense. I place the clove into his mouth then snap the jaws shut.
The girl and woman nod their heads approvingly.
I let the head fall into the river. My work is done.
This is how one properly disposes of a vampire.
******************************************
Post- Reading Notes:
- Wow! This looks much shorter than I thought it was when I wrote it on Word...
- What did you think of the (or did you see any) linear progression? I like to think this introduction was like an onion, you kept peeling the layers, as questions are slowly answered (what is the work? what are the tools for? what is the package? what will he do to the man? who is the man? what did the man do? *what* is the man ) ---> also, is the reveal at the end totally lame or cool?
- Flow is one problem I think I might have- was it tightly written? did the progression make sense?
- Were you at all intrigued or entertained... or was this just... blah...
Okay let me know your opinions PC readers! Be as harsh as possible! (maybe try to sneak in a praise though to save my self esteem, haha)
Edit: 55 views and one comment... must be worse than I thought, haha...
I'm currently planning/writing Part 2. I'm incredibly slow so this thread will probably next be updated in a month or so...
Notes:
- This work includes no Pokemon :(
- This work is "Part 1" of a short story, but it has a clearly defined beginning and end and can almost act as a story of its own, so I'm sure it abides by the rules
- This work has an "experimental" writing style - I have short sentences, short fragments, hurried thoughts. So please don't critique that for bad writing, its on purpose to set the pace... I think! If there are places where it doesn't work, let me know!
Part 1: Work
I flip the switch. The tube lights flicker for a moment, falter, and then hold steady. I don't blink; my eyes immediately adjust. I can see now. I drop the large black plastic bag by the door and move on.
I walk. My feet sink into sodden muck. My fingers graze coarse concrete. This is my shed now. I found it, abandoned and decaying deep in the wilderness. I don't know who used it or for what. Now, the shed has one purpose. The shed is where I do my work.
Dismembered moonlight filters into the shed through a cracked window. I pause. I look in the broken glass and see a broken man. I look through the broken glass and see a broken world.
I blink. I see more. Painted onto the glass are two figures; a girl and a woman. They smile. They wave. They laugh. Are they a reflection? I look behind me; I see no one. Are they outside? I look ahead; I see no one. I close my eyes. I see theirs. Watching me. Waiting for me. I lift a trembling finger. I want to touch them. Just this once. Before they're gone. Before I miss my chance again.
They fade to black.
My eyes open. It's time to work.
Tools are lined up along the adjacent wall. The tools are necessary for my work. I find and lift the aluminum baseball bat leaning among them. I feel the cool, slick metal as my fingers squeak across its surface. I seize the bat by its handle. I swing, feeling its weight. I hit the concrete, feeling its strength. I relax my grip and let the bat fall.
The chair stands next to my bat. Splintered edges bite into my hands as I slide it towards a corner of the shed. I kneel to inspect the chair. Repeated use has weakened the wooden frame. I drag the chair further to support it with the cement wall.
I return to the large plastic bag. Its irregularly shaped contents barely fit; the bag is stretched and ripped. I kick the bag. The bag rolls forward. I continue kicking the package towards the corner of the shed, my shoes thudding against its contents. Finally, I lift the bag and dump the cargo onto the chair.
I pick up my rope. I drag the thick cord forward to wrap it around the chair. Rope gnaws into my hand as I test the tenacity of my knots. Very tight. Very strong. Very secure. Untying the ropes is impossible. They must be sliced open. I run my fingers along my belt, reassuring myself that the hunting knife is still fastened there.
I glance over my tools. Standing head and shoulders above the rest is my favorite. It hovers above me; a thin, tall specter. Its neck is a dull wooden finish while its head gleams in the moonlight. This tool is always my last tool. This is the tool that finishes my work.
I check my pocket. My cured sample of the Allium canadensevegetable peels in my hands. A few miserly flakes stick to my fingers and glisten in the moonlight. I lick some off, and let the rest drop to the ground.
I scrutinize the shed one final time. Everything is in place.
I look outside. Dawn is approaching.
I retrieve my bat. I walk to the chair. I'm ready to work.
I remove the black sack covering his head.
The drug is wearing off. He awakens, eyes fluttering. He is confused. He tilts his head and looks around. Then, his eyelids burst open. He breathes deeply. He is trapped. He rocks back and forth, trying to move. He is seated in a wooden chair in the corner of a shed, hands and feet bound with rope. Trapped. He twists his arms and legs to try to break free. He fails. Panicking, he moves faster and with more force, gritting his teeth as the rope burns into his flesh. Now, he is terrified. He prepares to scream.
The breath stops in his throat. A sound echoes through the shed. It is the sound of a blunt instrument striking a hard surface. The man pauses, searching for its source.
BANG. BANG. BANG. The sound erupts in slow, metronomic rhythm.
BANG. BANG. BANG. The sound creeps closer, intensifies, and quickens.
BANG. BANG. BANG. The sound is advancing, intimidating, threatening.
BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG. The sound is now rapid fire, inches away from him, vicious and unforgiving. The man cringes. His eyes slide from side to side. It is coming.
BANG. The shed is quiet. Now, silence echoes across the shed. The man senses it. It is here. It has come to punish.
He shivers. Cool metal brushes his cheek. He looks up.
He sees me standing over him, with an aluminum baseball bat in my hand.
His eyes narrow with hatred. His pale face reflects the tube light, flickering along with it. I run my bat along his dusty suit. He smiles at me defiantly. I grip the bat with both hands.
He cocks his head, asking, "Why?"
"You know why"
I swing. Aluminum meets bone. Bone shatters. Blood erupts. The bat vibrates in protest, but I proceed with calculated aggression. After minutes of thrashing my captive in the shins, I pause. I examine the damage. I've broken both ankles. A sanguine pool of blood gathers beneath his feet and streams along his legs amid pieces of bone and flesh. The man had been roaring in pain, but is now subdued to deep, harrowing breaths. My own breath holds steady. My hands are relaxed. My body stands at ease. My eyes are impassive. This is my work.
"Fifteen people lost," I say, circling his chair, "fifteen people are dead." I slam the bat into his back, watching him cough up blood.
"Fifteen this year. Hundreds over decades." I jab the bat into his stomach, listening to his retches.
"No resistance at all." I hammer his shoulders, feeling his arms collapse from their sockets.
I relax my grip on the bat. I kneel. We are face to face. "Your people have leeched on this city without threat. People don't even know you exist."
I run the bat gently down his spine. He suppresses a shiver, then resumes gurgling blood.
"The reputation preceding you would have me believe you were invincible." I lean forward, to whisper, "But everyone feels pain. Everyone dies. Unless you answer my questions, you will face extreme dosages of both."
The pale faced man smiles weakly. His teeth glisten despite the blood streaming through his mouth. "It takes more than pain to break my people."
I rise, nodding thoughtfully. "Yes. You are right. However, I have to try. I hope you understand. Please forgive me if I enjoy this". The pale faced man grits his teeth. I grip the bat tightly once more. I take a depth breath.
I crash the bat into his kneecap, snapping the joint. "How many of you are here?"
He shakes his head, blood and sweat pouring down his face.
I flail the bat against his ribs, piercing his organs with bone. "Who is your leader?"
He wheezes, spitting blood at my feet.
I batter his face, shattering cheekbone and nose. I stab again, snapping teeth. "Where are you hiding?"
A pause. He looks up at me. His broken body is silent. His limbs swing back and forth. His neck twitches from side to side. His jaws mutely opens and closes. Trembling, he finally gathers enough strength to whisper,
"You'll never find us."
"Then I'll have to kill you one by one."
I turn so that I stand perpendicular to the man. I raise the baseball bat. I gently tap the back of his head. His eyes follow my bat as I tee up. One, two, three. I strike. I crash the bat into his head. His body crumples. The chair snaps. Kneeling within the splintered wreckage, I slash the Gordian knots then drop my knife. I lift the man and then lay him face down on the ground, keeping his body straight. I fold down the collar of his shirt and bare his neck. I rise and walk to my tools.
My favorite tool is waiting for me. With relish, I hold my axe by its hilt. I take it to where the man lays. And let the blade fall to his neck.
A waterfall of blood streams upward, splashing me from my waist down. The axe has cut through an inch of skin and sinew. I pause to examine the damage. The man is not dead. His eyes bulge. His mouth silently screams. His body flails.
I twist and lift the axe from within his neck. The uncorked blood pours out. I aim the axe. I let the blade whistle down. I don't wait. I lift and swing again. And again. One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
The head detaches and rolls away from the body.
I gently lean my axe against the wall. I look outside through the dust caked window. Threads of light are snaking their way above the horizon. My work is not finished yet. I must hurry.
I grab the man's head by the hair with my right hand. I hold onto his body by the collar with my left. Leading with my right foot, I drag the body forward through the shed. A thick trail of blood follows. I kick the door open. I toss the head forward, and then use both hands to drop the body to the edge of the river.
The river begins fifteen feet from my shed then flows east into an immense lake many miles away. This river is where my work comes to an end.
I kick the body, rolling it towards the river. It hangs by the edge, and then slips forward. The powerful current immediately carries it away. A pink stream of blood follows closely behind.
I set the head on the ground. I see my own lifeless eyes reflected in his. Because of him, and others like him, my life is over. I now have one purpose. I breathe only for my work.
I close my eyes. I see the girl and the woman. They don't wave. They don't smile. Bitterly, they look directly into me. Waiting. Expecting.
This is the best I can do.
I open my eyes. It's time to finish this. I stand. I lift my foot, then scissor my heel into the man's mouth. The joint snaps. I lift the head. The unhinged jaw loosely opens and closes as the head swings in the wind.
I reach into my pocket and pull out my bulb of Allium canadense. I place the clove into his mouth then snap the jaws shut.
The girl and woman nod their heads approvingly.
I let the head fall into the river. My work is done.
This is how one properly disposes of a vampire.
******************************************
Post- Reading Notes:
- Wow! This looks much shorter than I thought it was when I wrote it on Word...
- What did you think of the (or did you see any) linear progression? I like to think this introduction was like an onion, you kept peeling the layers, as questions are slowly answered (what is the work? what are the tools for? what is the package? what will he do to the man? who is the man? what did the man do? *what* is the man ) ---> also, is the reveal at the end totally lame or cool?
- Flow is one problem I think I might have- was it tightly written? did the progression make sense?
- Were you at all intrigued or entertained... or was this just... blah...
Okay let me know your opinions PC readers! Be as harsh as possible! (maybe try to sneak in a praise though to save my self esteem, haha)
Edit: 55 views and one comment... must be worse than I thought, haha...
I'm currently planning/writing Part 2. I'm incredibly slow so this thread will probably next be updated in a month or so...
Last edited: