Post by sunkissed on Oct 14, 2003 15:18:14 GMT 7
Ive written the beginning of a short story , probably about 2000 words so far. But i dont know where to go from here or if its worth going anywhere with it from here. So if you can take the time to give it a read and tell me what you think , flaws , comments?
thanks
********************************************
The Sirens Echo With Laughter
By Michael O’Sullivan
The winter wind lashed across the man’s tired and ravaged face as he ran through the dark. The howling sirens echoed in the back of his mind , he felt his pulse throb in his head in rhythm with his heart as he made his way through the alley. His hair dancing across his face as he ran down the stairs towards the abandoned building. Sheets of rain scattered across the cement , puddles erupted as he ran through them with heavy feet. Running past a block of flats , a late night television flickered through the blinds in a distant incomprehensible mutter. A man in his apartment lay sprawled upon his chair , his neck sat back awkwardly , his mouth open, asleep with the remote held loosely in his hand. A Technicolor dream caricatured itself upon the corrupted wall dancing in slow motion.
He did not notice and continued through the cold and lifeless concrete maze of the city, stopping to grip his chest as he bent over to gain breath , ‘not much further’ he thought. The sirens echo of laughter sifted through the inner concrete playground making its way through the piles of scrap and disembodied machinery, chasing after him , hunting him.
The abandoned building read 'Witch Hazel', the sign sat rotten and torn ,askew on the brick wall. Sheets of aluminium and asbestos lay akimbo on the floor , sawdust and metal filings littered the ground. Making his way though a broken window on the far side of the building avoiding the steel drums and planks of wood that pimpled the block of land. Knocking the remaining shards of glass out of the window with his forearm he slowly and quietly made his way through into the building.
The chopper cut at the air behind him ,above him , around him , consuming him. ‘How long had it been?’ he asked himself. ‘too long’, was the bitter reply of his thoughts.
‘You never get wise you only get older’ he thought. He had been a nobody , a number , now it was different , now he was more than just another statistic. Now he was someone, now he was Shaun Bostik not just another numeric.
More than just another man on the run.
The inside of the warehouse was hidden with dust , and forgotten machinery.
Rats ran across the floor weaving in and out of the disposed relics leaving a trail through the metal filings and sawdust that veiled the cold concrete floor, a trail only noticed by Shaun. Shaun was an observer , an outcast. He had known since he was a boy that he was born an outsider. Alien unto himself and the world around him. A stranger.
Things were different now , more different than you or I could ever understand , the least of all being Shaun. For with his ability to observe he paid a price.
He lay with his back propped up against the wall , scratching the slight stubble on his face , a ‘fugitives face’ he whispered.
Clutching his bruised ribs as he laughed silently , ‘maybe even broken’ he thought. He reached across and began to scratch at the brick wall beside him. Crumbling beneath his fingers he watched the pattern form in front of him, the sifting. The power.
A sheet of paper crumpled in his breast pocket as he pulled his hands back to his ribs. ‘The note’ he thought. He had forgotten all about it. Unfolding it he wondered whether or not he was going to ever get to tell his story, the pendulum was swinging , most probably faster than he feared.
It was a letter , poorly scrawled , the handwriting of a frail man , elderly maybe it was signed ‘Dowse’.
Like some sort of ungodly final statement , ‘last words’ Shaun thought ironically. Dowse, Shaun mumbled to himself in slow comprehension.
It was all about Dowse, always had been. But such things did not matter now , Shaun thought.
On the run with nowhere to go and no-one to run to. In the shadows Shaun , completely exhausted , fell asleep with the handwritten note crumpled and held to his chest within his bleeding fists.
He awoke the next morning with a stinging pain in his neck, and leg. He moved slowly , sliding up towards the wall again. He drew breath as he propped himself up against the wall to find a handful of metal filings embedded in his thigh. His neck was scratched , he felt the dry blood and the long and twisting grazes on his neck. He pulled out the filings much like a young child removing a band-aid , assuring himself it wouldn’t hurt . Peeling slowly to shy from the pain when really denying the inevitable. Which was the final tug, the last stand. ‘Am I just denying the inevitable’ he thought. His leg bled through his jeans , it did not matter , he had seen much worse.
The pendulum swung vicariously within the rickety old clock, swinging beyond its own control somewhere in the unimaginable distance.
‘No one would ever understand why what had happened had to happen’, Shaun thought. They did not know why it had to be that way. They did not understand now , and probably never would. They would never understand what it was like to be him , to see things through his eyes. ‘If only they could see’ he thought. Shaun was different , he saw things they did not see.
The sun had risen but judging by the dew on the window slowly trickling down to the pane it had not been so for long. From the window he entered he could see nothing , except that was , for the alley. Some wild grass had grown between some steel drums almost encompassing the wood which lay across them. From a barred window on the other side of the room he could see the main street and the houses which dotted the landscape. No people were out at this hour, just aswell he thought, it was not people he was after. The street seemed empty , cold and lifeless. But not to Shaun. He saw things, many things. Some pleasant , the types of things people 'want' to see , and sometimes Shaun saw things people never want to see. Sometimes Shaun saw the worst of things , unimaginably terrifying things.
His head hurt , he could still feel the pulse , the beat , the knowing. He rubbed at his forehead as though trying to erase the pain like a stubborn tattoo. ‘How long have I been wearing these clothes?’. Beneath his armpits a yellow stain had slowly seeped down the white shirt , weeks , years? , he did not know.
His head would always hurt more when they were closer, surely close by now. The pain in his forehead amplified at the idea as though they could hear his thoughts. Making his way across the room with difficulty like a drunken man awkwardly stumbling across the floor gripping his forehead like it was on fire he fell. His head felt like it was imploding, they were inside.
Rolling across the floor Shaun looked like a man set alight, his face stripped of its colour, he looked gaunt. Naked , like an animal. He lay their gasping for breath clawing at his throat in desperation. His world became distorted , the room spun as though on a Ferris wheel. The once steel and lifeless room had transformed into something much more sinister , something so much more alive. But it had always been alive. Shaun had known it to be so.
As Shaun lay there in utter hysteria , his eyes rolled back in his head , the ghastly whites of his eyes rapidly twitching, the walls themselves began to move. They began to breathe. The sawdust and metal filings that once carpeted the floor of the abandoned building began to sift , slowly at first , gaining speed , creating circles and strange pictures , like some sort of poorly scrawled etching a child might make with a stick in the sand.
All the while Shaun lay with his back arched towards the once concrete roof in excruciating pain blood slowly seeping out the now deep scratches emanating from his throat. Harsh breath , and bloody gargles shrieked from his throat, blood and spit flew across the room with each ghastly cough.
Saliva and blood hung from his lip as his petrified eyes still rolled back in his head continued to quiver like a man possessed. Shaun knew that they were close , but not this close, he thought that he would have time , time to run away.
He had not heard them coming , but as he knew well , such is life. They were here , they were inside him. The windows exploded around him in rhythm with his thoughts, shards of glass flew across the room showering Shaun in blades of glass slashing his face. The room erupted into a whirlwind , the metal filings on the floor along with sawdust rose in an unholy dance , swaying viciously through the room up and down the walls , scratching away at the torn and rotten paint.
Disembodied machinery flew from outside through the window slamming themselves against the wall. The bars on the corner window bent inwards and snapped with an ear piercing wail , flying like knives across the room embedding themselves just above Shaun’s face on the wall behind him.
Shaun’s world had transformed with terrifying pace , it was their work. It was because he could see, because he knew , they spoke to him, ever since he was a little boy. But no one would understand that , he had escaped from them , the others would never understand. He would not let them touch him anymore , taint him with their way. They were trying to brainwash him , manipulate his mind. He knew their tricks ,their lies , their un-holiest of holy untruths. He had seen them for what they were , monsters , demons.
The pendulum had swung beyond control irrevocably dancing on the edge of assured destruction. He lay there as though born again, in the fetal position gasping for breath , gasping for life.
********************************************
thats all ive written
thanks for getting this far
michael
thanks
********************************************
The Sirens Echo With Laughter
By Michael O’Sullivan
The winter wind lashed across the man’s tired and ravaged face as he ran through the dark. The howling sirens echoed in the back of his mind , he felt his pulse throb in his head in rhythm with his heart as he made his way through the alley. His hair dancing across his face as he ran down the stairs towards the abandoned building. Sheets of rain scattered across the cement , puddles erupted as he ran through them with heavy feet. Running past a block of flats , a late night television flickered through the blinds in a distant incomprehensible mutter. A man in his apartment lay sprawled upon his chair , his neck sat back awkwardly , his mouth open, asleep with the remote held loosely in his hand. A Technicolor dream caricatured itself upon the corrupted wall dancing in slow motion.
He did not notice and continued through the cold and lifeless concrete maze of the city, stopping to grip his chest as he bent over to gain breath , ‘not much further’ he thought. The sirens echo of laughter sifted through the inner concrete playground making its way through the piles of scrap and disembodied machinery, chasing after him , hunting him.
The abandoned building read 'Witch Hazel', the sign sat rotten and torn ,askew on the brick wall. Sheets of aluminium and asbestos lay akimbo on the floor , sawdust and metal filings littered the ground. Making his way though a broken window on the far side of the building avoiding the steel drums and planks of wood that pimpled the block of land. Knocking the remaining shards of glass out of the window with his forearm he slowly and quietly made his way through into the building.
The chopper cut at the air behind him ,above him , around him , consuming him. ‘How long had it been?’ he asked himself. ‘too long’, was the bitter reply of his thoughts.
‘You never get wise you only get older’ he thought. He had been a nobody , a number , now it was different , now he was more than just another statistic. Now he was someone, now he was Shaun Bostik not just another numeric.
More than just another man on the run.
The inside of the warehouse was hidden with dust , and forgotten machinery.
Rats ran across the floor weaving in and out of the disposed relics leaving a trail through the metal filings and sawdust that veiled the cold concrete floor, a trail only noticed by Shaun. Shaun was an observer , an outcast. He had known since he was a boy that he was born an outsider. Alien unto himself and the world around him. A stranger.
Things were different now , more different than you or I could ever understand , the least of all being Shaun. For with his ability to observe he paid a price.
He lay with his back propped up against the wall , scratching the slight stubble on his face , a ‘fugitives face’ he whispered.
Clutching his bruised ribs as he laughed silently , ‘maybe even broken’ he thought. He reached across and began to scratch at the brick wall beside him. Crumbling beneath his fingers he watched the pattern form in front of him, the sifting. The power.
A sheet of paper crumpled in his breast pocket as he pulled his hands back to his ribs. ‘The note’ he thought. He had forgotten all about it. Unfolding it he wondered whether or not he was going to ever get to tell his story, the pendulum was swinging , most probably faster than he feared.
It was a letter , poorly scrawled , the handwriting of a frail man , elderly maybe it was signed ‘Dowse’.
Like some sort of ungodly final statement , ‘last words’ Shaun thought ironically. Dowse, Shaun mumbled to himself in slow comprehension.
It was all about Dowse, always had been. But such things did not matter now , Shaun thought.
On the run with nowhere to go and no-one to run to. In the shadows Shaun , completely exhausted , fell asleep with the handwritten note crumpled and held to his chest within his bleeding fists.
He awoke the next morning with a stinging pain in his neck, and leg. He moved slowly , sliding up towards the wall again. He drew breath as he propped himself up against the wall to find a handful of metal filings embedded in his thigh. His neck was scratched , he felt the dry blood and the long and twisting grazes on his neck. He pulled out the filings much like a young child removing a band-aid , assuring himself it wouldn’t hurt . Peeling slowly to shy from the pain when really denying the inevitable. Which was the final tug, the last stand. ‘Am I just denying the inevitable’ he thought. His leg bled through his jeans , it did not matter , he had seen much worse.
The pendulum swung vicariously within the rickety old clock, swinging beyond its own control somewhere in the unimaginable distance.
‘No one would ever understand why what had happened had to happen’, Shaun thought. They did not know why it had to be that way. They did not understand now , and probably never would. They would never understand what it was like to be him , to see things through his eyes. ‘If only they could see’ he thought. Shaun was different , he saw things they did not see.
The sun had risen but judging by the dew on the window slowly trickling down to the pane it had not been so for long. From the window he entered he could see nothing , except that was , for the alley. Some wild grass had grown between some steel drums almost encompassing the wood which lay across them. From a barred window on the other side of the room he could see the main street and the houses which dotted the landscape. No people were out at this hour, just aswell he thought, it was not people he was after. The street seemed empty , cold and lifeless. But not to Shaun. He saw things, many things. Some pleasant , the types of things people 'want' to see , and sometimes Shaun saw things people never want to see. Sometimes Shaun saw the worst of things , unimaginably terrifying things.
His head hurt , he could still feel the pulse , the beat , the knowing. He rubbed at his forehead as though trying to erase the pain like a stubborn tattoo. ‘How long have I been wearing these clothes?’. Beneath his armpits a yellow stain had slowly seeped down the white shirt , weeks , years? , he did not know.
His head would always hurt more when they were closer, surely close by now. The pain in his forehead amplified at the idea as though they could hear his thoughts. Making his way across the room with difficulty like a drunken man awkwardly stumbling across the floor gripping his forehead like it was on fire he fell. His head felt like it was imploding, they were inside.
Rolling across the floor Shaun looked like a man set alight, his face stripped of its colour, he looked gaunt. Naked , like an animal. He lay their gasping for breath clawing at his throat in desperation. His world became distorted , the room spun as though on a Ferris wheel. The once steel and lifeless room had transformed into something much more sinister , something so much more alive. But it had always been alive. Shaun had known it to be so.
As Shaun lay there in utter hysteria , his eyes rolled back in his head , the ghastly whites of his eyes rapidly twitching, the walls themselves began to move. They began to breathe. The sawdust and metal filings that once carpeted the floor of the abandoned building began to sift , slowly at first , gaining speed , creating circles and strange pictures , like some sort of poorly scrawled etching a child might make with a stick in the sand.
All the while Shaun lay with his back arched towards the once concrete roof in excruciating pain blood slowly seeping out the now deep scratches emanating from his throat. Harsh breath , and bloody gargles shrieked from his throat, blood and spit flew across the room with each ghastly cough.
Saliva and blood hung from his lip as his petrified eyes still rolled back in his head continued to quiver like a man possessed. Shaun knew that they were close , but not this close, he thought that he would have time , time to run away.
He had not heard them coming , but as he knew well , such is life. They were here , they were inside him. The windows exploded around him in rhythm with his thoughts, shards of glass flew across the room showering Shaun in blades of glass slashing his face. The room erupted into a whirlwind , the metal filings on the floor along with sawdust rose in an unholy dance , swaying viciously through the room up and down the walls , scratching away at the torn and rotten paint.
Disembodied machinery flew from outside through the window slamming themselves against the wall. The bars on the corner window bent inwards and snapped with an ear piercing wail , flying like knives across the room embedding themselves just above Shaun’s face on the wall behind him.
Shaun’s world had transformed with terrifying pace , it was their work. It was because he could see, because he knew , they spoke to him, ever since he was a little boy. But no one would understand that , he had escaped from them , the others would never understand. He would not let them touch him anymore , taint him with their way. They were trying to brainwash him , manipulate his mind. He knew their tricks ,their lies , their un-holiest of holy untruths. He had seen them for what they were , monsters , demons.
The pendulum had swung beyond control irrevocably dancing on the edge of assured destruction. He lay there as though born again, in the fetal position gasping for breath , gasping for life.
********************************************
thats all ive written
thanks for getting this far
michael