crowphoenix
Banned
I apologize for the rush job, guys. And for submitting a style of fiction I'm not familiar enough with. I hope you guys enjoy it more than the last one, but it's not my best work. It so wanted to be longer.
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NeoGAF Creative Writing Challenge #15 - "Prescient"
- Thread starter Iceman
- Start date
- Status
crowphoenix
Banned
I tried to keep them down, but I know I blew it. I'm way to wordy.
It's one of those styles I've always really enjoyed without ever delving too deep into it. I'm thinking of trying to fix that.
Cyan said:
It's one of those styles I've always really enjoyed without ever delving too deep into it. I'm thinking of trying to fix that.
A Day in the Life of Natalie, Precognitive Demonspawn (1400 words)
It was as dark as inside a whales belly as Natalie sank into the swivel chair. Her socks skirting the marble floor, she spun about the axis as the chair creaked like a bullfrog. She built speed. She pulled straight her hoodies hem, halves bound by the zipper catch, and zipped and unzipped with fingertips peeping from gray sleeves.
Natalie arched her toes to the floor. She jolted to a stop. Her mind wobbled. She bent forward. Her lips pressed into her cupping hands. She did not remember spinning prompting such queasiness.
She flicked a finger, and fire tongued from candles atop staves in each corner. Since her adoptive father had been gone, his study had become a mausoleum of sorts. Natalie rarely visited, and a morbid stillness hung. The walls were granite, into which were carved alien glyphs and various totemic figures, including six-armed lemurs and grinning gremlins. Where there were no carvings on the wall, ridges like overlapping trilobite fossils were imprinted.
Shelves held vials and jars obscured by emulsified liquids inside. Within a glass globe etched with the constellated sky, a human heart was suspended in ooze. In the middle, a ribcage of pikes extended from the floor and supported a coffin-length marble slab.
She had never seen her father sit in the chair. He had been a whirlwind in the room as he rattled cages, peered into microscopes, and circulated a spectrum of liquids. As a child, Natalie gripped his coattails and marched behind while he paced to coalesce his thoughts. She wore socks to slide on the floor and trace figure eights or any of the eye-catching patterns on the walls. He read his tomes propped with one hand while, with the other, spun her in the chair until her giggles erupted into exhilarating laughs.
Whenever her father would work at the slab, Natalie would press her fingers, like softened butter, against the chair. Her arms pushed toward the slab. Her sundresses freed her legs into exaggerated exertions with each step like a runner bursting from start position. Sometimes her hands slipped, and she fell onto her face. Other times she pushed with such enthusiasm that the chair rebounded against the slab and knocked her onto her bottom.
She had climbed into the chair many times as it neighbored the slab. Peeping over the backrest, she used to survey the subject on the slab as her father sharpened his scalpel. It usually was a mass of flesh, as her father explained. Sometimes it writhed, strained, or clawed. Other times, the subject cooed, growled, or screamed tearful obscenities. And whenever her father made the first cut, Natalie watched with fascination as blood oozed.
The candles flickered. The room seemed to rock as the lattice of shadows followed the light. Natalies thoughts returned to the present. She leaned forward, resting her chin on the slab. She draped her arm across the surface and ran a finger along a crack in the marbles smoothness. Her eyes focused and unfocused, watching her fingernail collect desiccated blood.
The globe gurgled, and the suspended heart beat as Natalie dictated her letter.
Martin concentrated. He tapped the deck. He plucked the facedown card from the top, looked, and drooped his head.
Youre not psychic, Marts, said Natalie, descending the stairs into the basement. She lifted her baseball cap to reveal her eyes. I should know. I am.
Selectively, said Martin. He shuffled and dealt five cards to Natalie and himself. He examined the cards in his hand before laying one face-up next to the deck.
Natalie sat, took her cards, and laid one atop Martins. Selectively, she repeated.
Oh, yeah, said Martin. He picked a card from the deck. Patricks banished you from here.
Again? asked Natalie.
You should come tomorrow and protest. Maybe a sit-in.
Why did Gillian get mad if she wanted to know? Natalie rested an elbow onto the table and then rested her chin into her palm. She stared at Martin as she waited for answer.
Martins eyes dove into his cards, and he mulled for a moment. Maybe you confirmed that the future is never quite as perfect as we think it should be. Its not like the movies. He laid down a card and picked another from the deck.
Is that expected?
Martin shrugged. You know bottle rockets?
Yes, my father and I lit them, said Natalie. She played another card.
Natalie, you see the rocket lying in the grass. Burnt and spent. But you dont know where it started, how it got there, said Martin. But for the rocket, one still flying, it thinks it knows where its going to land.
Natalie reached toward the floor. She uncurled and held a dusty eight of hearts. Do we need this?
Depends. Whatre we playing?
Natalie shrugged. You really think nothing ends like in the movies? she asked.
He tapped the deck. What do I know?
Perhaps nothing is perfect, she said. Perhaps it just is.
It was as dark as inside a whales belly as Natalie sank into the swivel chair. Her socks skirting the marble floor, she spun about the axis as the chair creaked like a bullfrog. She built speed. She pulled straight her hoodies hem, halves bound by the zipper catch, and zipped and unzipped with fingertips peeping from gray sleeves.
Natalie arched her toes to the floor. She jolted to a stop. Her mind wobbled. She bent forward. Her lips pressed into her cupping hands. She did not remember spinning prompting such queasiness.
She flicked a finger, and fire tongued from candles atop staves in each corner. Since her adoptive father had been gone, his study had become a mausoleum of sorts. Natalie rarely visited, and a morbid stillness hung. The walls were granite, into which were carved alien glyphs and various totemic figures, including six-armed lemurs and grinning gremlins. Where there were no carvings on the wall, ridges like overlapping trilobite fossils were imprinted.
Shelves held vials and jars obscured by emulsified liquids inside. Within a glass globe etched with the constellated sky, a human heart was suspended in ooze. In the middle, a ribcage of pikes extended from the floor and supported a coffin-length marble slab.
She had never seen her father sit in the chair. He had been a whirlwind in the room as he rattled cages, peered into microscopes, and circulated a spectrum of liquids. As a child, Natalie gripped his coattails and marched behind while he paced to coalesce his thoughts. She wore socks to slide on the floor and trace figure eights or any of the eye-catching patterns on the walls. He read his tomes propped with one hand while, with the other, spun her in the chair until her giggles erupted into exhilarating laughs.
Whenever her father would work at the slab, Natalie would press her fingers, like softened butter, against the chair. Her arms pushed toward the slab. Her sundresses freed her legs into exaggerated exertions with each step like a runner bursting from start position. Sometimes her hands slipped, and she fell onto her face. Other times she pushed with such enthusiasm that the chair rebounded against the slab and knocked her onto her bottom.
She had climbed into the chair many times as it neighbored the slab. Peeping over the backrest, she used to survey the subject on the slab as her father sharpened his scalpel. It usually was a mass of flesh, as her father explained. Sometimes it writhed, strained, or clawed. Other times, the subject cooed, growled, or screamed tearful obscenities. And whenever her father made the first cut, Natalie watched with fascination as blood oozed.
The candles flickered. The room seemed to rock as the lattice of shadows followed the light. Natalies thoughts returned to the present. She leaned forward, resting her chin on the slab. She draped her arm across the surface and ran a finger along a crack in the marbles smoothness. Her eyes focused and unfocused, watching her fingernail collect desiccated blood.
The globe gurgled, and the suspended heart beat as Natalie dictated her letter.
Father,
Wherever you may be, I write again though I do not know if you will receive or read this. I apologize for my absence in writing.
My birth mothers voice still roams. Sometimes I talk to her in conversations that I know will never happen. Her voice simply echoes my name in uneven intervals.
I released the animals and have allowed them the garden. However, I had to dispose of the ones that had been crippled by the experiments. Your white raven sits like a snowcap atop the roof. It seems disappointed when I return without you. The other day, I had climbed onto the roof and offered it a tin of sardines. It was not interested. However, it has survived this long. It must be sustaining itself somehow.
I have been reading the books you left me. At least, I have made attempts.
When I am not at home or in my apartment, these days, I visit the basement, as my friends call it. It is simply a gathering place under a house in a secluded cul-de-sac in the city. Their table in the basement reminds me of your workspace. Both go through cycles of activity, theirs with soda cans, comic books, and newspapers while yours with jars, organs, and notebooks. Also, they are loud like your gurgling pumps and chattering animals.
Today started normally in the basement. Martin was sewing his backpack while Patrick was napping. Marts had spent an hour looking for the box of threads and needles kept to mend costumes or capes. I had offered to buy Marts a new backpack, but he said no. Perhaps I should steal his backpack. I could hold it for ransom. And if he wants his old backpack back, he will have to accept a new one from me!
Then Patricks friend Nathan visited the basement and brought his girlfriend, Gillian. Perhaps it was because Gillian looked like those you used to bring home that I granted her request readily. I believe, Father, you would be interested to know that she had mutated blood. Gillian was pregnant and wanted to know if her mutation would be deadly during childbirth.
As you taught me, I locked my eyes onto hers. Out of the corner of my vision, I could see Patrick yelling and flailing his arms. As the basement blurred, I saw Marts shaking his head like the drift of a falling snowflake.
In my precognitions, I have seen gunshots, diseases, and any number of deaths. However, today, I saw a mother and her teenage daughter screaming at one another. I felt their bodies strain as if trying to break from restraints. I felt minds plowing out all thoughts except for verbal daggers to stab into each others hearts. It would be the last time Gillian and her child would speak to one another.
I told Gillian. She slapped me. She called me a liar and a fraud. I wanted to tell her to smash her head into a brick wall. However, I do not think Martin would have approved.
I suppose I write to tell you this, Father, because Gillian said that she would love her child no matter what. I wonder if that is the same for a child toward a parent? I wonder, Father, where are you? Are you truly dead? Will you read this letter? And if I see you again, Father, will I kill you?
Wherever you may be, I write again though I do not know if you will receive or read this. I apologize for my absence in writing.
My birth mothers voice still roams. Sometimes I talk to her in conversations that I know will never happen. Her voice simply echoes my name in uneven intervals.
I released the animals and have allowed them the garden. However, I had to dispose of the ones that had been crippled by the experiments. Your white raven sits like a snowcap atop the roof. It seems disappointed when I return without you. The other day, I had climbed onto the roof and offered it a tin of sardines. It was not interested. However, it has survived this long. It must be sustaining itself somehow.
I have been reading the books you left me. At least, I have made attempts.
When I am not at home or in my apartment, these days, I visit the basement, as my friends call it. It is simply a gathering place under a house in a secluded cul-de-sac in the city. Their table in the basement reminds me of your workspace. Both go through cycles of activity, theirs with soda cans, comic books, and newspapers while yours with jars, organs, and notebooks. Also, they are loud like your gurgling pumps and chattering animals.
Today started normally in the basement. Martin was sewing his backpack while Patrick was napping. Marts had spent an hour looking for the box of threads and needles kept to mend costumes or capes. I had offered to buy Marts a new backpack, but he said no. Perhaps I should steal his backpack. I could hold it for ransom. And if he wants his old backpack back, he will have to accept a new one from me!
Then Patricks friend Nathan visited the basement and brought his girlfriend, Gillian. Perhaps it was because Gillian looked like those you used to bring home that I granted her request readily. I believe, Father, you would be interested to know that she had mutated blood. Gillian was pregnant and wanted to know if her mutation would be deadly during childbirth.
As you taught me, I locked my eyes onto hers. Out of the corner of my vision, I could see Patrick yelling and flailing his arms. As the basement blurred, I saw Marts shaking his head like the drift of a falling snowflake.
In my precognitions, I have seen gunshots, diseases, and any number of deaths. However, today, I saw a mother and her teenage daughter screaming at one another. I felt their bodies strain as if trying to break from restraints. I felt minds plowing out all thoughts except for verbal daggers to stab into each others hearts. It would be the last time Gillian and her child would speak to one another.
I told Gillian. She slapped me. She called me a liar and a fraud. I wanted to tell her to smash her head into a brick wall. However, I do not think Martin would have approved.
I suppose I write to tell you this, Father, because Gillian said that she would love her child no matter what. I wonder if that is the same for a child toward a parent? I wonder, Father, where are you? Are you truly dead? Will you read this letter? And if I see you again, Father, will I kill you?
Martin concentrated. He tapped the deck. He plucked the facedown card from the top, looked, and drooped his head.
Youre not psychic, Marts, said Natalie, descending the stairs into the basement. She lifted her baseball cap to reveal her eyes. I should know. I am.
Selectively, said Martin. He shuffled and dealt five cards to Natalie and himself. He examined the cards in his hand before laying one face-up next to the deck.
Natalie sat, took her cards, and laid one atop Martins. Selectively, she repeated.
Oh, yeah, said Martin. He picked a card from the deck. Patricks banished you from here.
Again? asked Natalie.
You should come tomorrow and protest. Maybe a sit-in.
Why did Gillian get mad if she wanted to know? Natalie rested an elbow onto the table and then rested her chin into her palm. She stared at Martin as she waited for answer.
Martins eyes dove into his cards, and he mulled for a moment. Maybe you confirmed that the future is never quite as perfect as we think it should be. Its not like the movies. He laid down a card and picked another from the deck.
Is that expected?
Martin shrugged. You know bottle rockets?
Yes, my father and I lit them, said Natalie. She played another card.
Natalie, you see the rocket lying in the grass. Burnt and spent. But you dont know where it started, how it got there, said Martin. But for the rocket, one still flying, it thinks it knows where its going to land.
Natalie reached toward the floor. She uncurled and held a dusty eight of hearts. Do we need this?
Depends. Whatre we playing?
Natalie shrugged. You really think nothing ends like in the movies? she asked.
He tapped the deck. What do I know?
Perhaps nothing is perfect, she said. Perhaps it just is.
The number 10
1400 words
Avery Dunn walked into the phone booth at the corner of 3rd and MLK Jr. He slipped quarters into the slot, tapped out a number from memory and waited. Outside, steam poured out of a manhole in the middle of the rain slick street. The morning sun struggled to penetrate the blanket of clouds. Avery was reminded of summers in Kansas, with storm clouds crawling over a never ending patchwork landscape.
"Hello?"
"Hey, angel."
"Dad?"
"I just - can I wish him happy birthday?"
"Are you coming home?"
"Not yet, honey. Soon."
"Did you talk to my friend?"
"Yes."
Emily Blunt walked out of the deli carrying two coffees. She made a beeline for a scruffy, sixty-something year old man. He was wearing a jacket almost as old as he was. She gave him a coffee; he mumbled thanks. They crossed the busy street and entered the park.
He was not a man of many words; the only sounds in the empty park were the crunch of leaves and the battlecries of birds.
"How long have you been in the city?"
"Ten years."
Emily waited for a follow up question. Nothing.
"You were in Vietnam?"
"How did you know?"
"I recognize the jacket."
"Army brat?"
"Just brat." Nothing.
"So why do you still wear it?"
"It fits."
"You still think about it? The war?"
He took a sip and nodded in response. This was going nowhere. Better to just come out with it.
"Is that when the dream started?"
"Look, she can't help me."
"Of course she can, dad. She's a professional. You need to get rid of this obsession with the bus once and for all. Live a normal life. Your grandson talks about you all the time. He needs you here..."
Avery lowered the phone and rested his head on the glass wall.
"I gotta go, The bus is coming."
Avery hung up. He fought the door for a second before it finally relented. The heavy, humid air was laced with a hint of urine and buzzed with the collective activity of a metropolis. Car horns and jackhammers seemed to come from everywhere as the sounds were bounced back and forth by towering stacks of metal and concrete.
A bus screeched to a stop a few yards away. The doors hissed open and a motley cross section of civilization climbed the short steps to their seats. As Avery hobbled over, the bus spat and knelt to the curb. He climbed aboard and slid a pass through the register.
"Morning, Avery," said Sherwood, the driver.
Avery put a hand on Sherwood's shoulder and scanned the seats. There was Rose, with her bundle of plastic bags, in her favorite seat, right behind Sherwood. Trout was seated on the left-hand bench, pretending to be asleep as usual.
"The dream is always the same."
"Can you walk me through it?"
A jogger approached and passed, panting. A path wound in between and through thickets of trees. The path was littered with leaves.
"I'm on a bus. There's this girl."
"Tell me about the girl."
"She's a teenager. She's always dressed in black."
"A goth?"
"Probably. She has tattoos, piercings."
"Your daughter tells me you ride this bus, the number ten, every day."
"You girls talk a lot?"
"Is it true?"
"Yeah."
"Have you ever seen this girl, the goth girl, on that bus?"
The bus slowed to a stop and opened its doors. Someone was yelling loudly. Avery stood up to see the commotion. A girl dressed in black, with spiked, purple hair was looking up at a second story window. An middle-aged woman was pointing at her, screaming, waving at her to return to the house. The girl flipped her the finger and ran onto the bus.
She produced a bunched up ball of dollar bills and stuffed one of them into the register. She looked up and scanned the seats. She parked herself on the bench across from Avery and slapped Trout on the chest.
"Fuck you, Trout. I know you're up."
"Bitch, leave me alone."
The bus pulled away from the curb and sped towards the next stop.
The girl caught Avery eyeing her. "What's up, homo? You wanna fuck me?"
She elbowed Trout. "Trout, who's this queer?"
Trout cracked open an eye and then fell back into a pseudo slumber. "That's Avery. War hero and shit."
The girl leaned close across the aisle. She looked excited. "Hey, you ever killed anyone?"
Avery gave a slight nod.
"Aw shit, Trout. It's fucking Rambo over here. What does it feel like?"
"Language." The whites of Sherwood's eyes filled the rearview mirror. The girl sneared back.
Avery cleared his throat and looked away. "You never forget it."
She rolled her eyes. "That's deep. Pussy. So why are you always staring at me?"
"Yes, she's been on the bus."
"Wow." Emily tried to check her legitimate surprise. "What's she like?"
"She's a bit, rough around the edges."
"So what happens with the girl, in the dream?"
"This boy gets on the bus. The two of them fight."
A young man in a hooded sweatshirt stepped onto the bus. He moved slowly, cautiously. Avery froze. He recognized this boy. Could this be the day, he thought? He had dreamt about this day for as long as he could remember but he never considered it actually coming to pass. It wasn't long before he spotted the girl.
"What? You didn't think I'd find out?" said the boy.
"Calm down." The girl stood up to face him. "I'm doing it for us. That old man thinks I'm in love with him. He's rich," she whispered to him. "He says he's going to buy me a car. We won't have to ride on this piece of shit anymore."
"You think I'm stupid? I know why you're doing this. He's going to get you out of here. Away from your folks. Away from me. No. I'm not letting that happen."
"C'mon, don't be an asshole."
The boy slapped her so hard Trout shot right up. "What the fuck?"
But not before Avery was up. He immediately placed himself between the two.
Avery stopped and doubled over, wincing.
"What's wrong?"
"It's my hip again." He looked over at a nearby bench. "Mind if we..."
Emily helped him over to the bench. A lush tree loomed above them. Unlike all the other trees in the park this one was still full of green leaves.
"Recurring dreams typically begin right after some huge turning point in our lives: a missed opportunity or a wrong choice. If you can pinpoint when the dream started then you might be able find the event that started it all. And from there..."
"Look, I appreciate what you're trying to do. But you really can't help me."
"Why? Why is it so hard for you go back to the beginning?"
"Because I can't do it."
"Try."
"You don't understand. There is no beginning. It's my earliest memory. It's the only dream I've ever had. Since I was a kid I've seen the images of the bus, the girl, the boy, the gun, the..."
"Wait, the gun? What gun?"
It was only a brief flash but the pain was immediate, searing. Avery fell. The bus was in bedlam.
"And then what happens? Do you wake up"
"I'm pretty sure I die. I see the girl getting off of the bus, like nothing's wrong. Then everything goes dark. I feel like I'm... like I'm falling. It stretches for an eternity."
The wind picked up and a small dust devil lifted some leaves and dropped them off a few feet away.
"I know what happened in Vietnam, Avery. Your whole platoon died. Everyone except you. You feel guilty about coming out of it alive. This guilt is so strong now that it has superceded everything else in your life. Your mind has rearranged its memories to make this dream, this guilt, the most important thing in your life. Avery, I want you to come see me at my office next week."
Avery sat and thought for a long time, rubbing at his hip.
"Fine, doc. On one condition. Can you give me some change for a phone call?"
Emily smiled. "Sure."
She dug through her purse, handed over the coins and watched him amble off down the path.
Avery called over his shoulder, "See ya later, doc."
1400 words
Avery Dunn walked into the phone booth at the corner of 3rd and MLK Jr. He slipped quarters into the slot, tapped out a number from memory and waited. Outside, steam poured out of a manhole in the middle of the rain slick street. The morning sun struggled to penetrate the blanket of clouds. Avery was reminded of summers in Kansas, with storm clouds crawling over a never ending patchwork landscape.
"Hello?"
"Hey, angel."
"Dad?"
"I just - can I wish him happy birthday?"
"Are you coming home?"
"Not yet, honey. Soon."
"Did you talk to my friend?"
"Yes."
Emily Blunt walked out of the deli carrying two coffees. She made a beeline for a scruffy, sixty-something year old man. He was wearing a jacket almost as old as he was. She gave him a coffee; he mumbled thanks. They crossed the busy street and entered the park.
He was not a man of many words; the only sounds in the empty park were the crunch of leaves and the battlecries of birds.
"How long have you been in the city?"
"Ten years."
Emily waited for a follow up question. Nothing.
"You were in Vietnam?"
"How did you know?"
"I recognize the jacket."
"Army brat?"
"Just brat." Nothing.
"So why do you still wear it?"
"It fits."
"You still think about it? The war?"
He took a sip and nodded in response. This was going nowhere. Better to just come out with it.
"Is that when the dream started?"
"Look, she can't help me."
"Of course she can, dad. She's a professional. You need to get rid of this obsession with the bus once and for all. Live a normal life. Your grandson talks about you all the time. He needs you here..."
Avery lowered the phone and rested his head on the glass wall.
"I gotta go, The bus is coming."
Avery hung up. He fought the door for a second before it finally relented. The heavy, humid air was laced with a hint of urine and buzzed with the collective activity of a metropolis. Car horns and jackhammers seemed to come from everywhere as the sounds were bounced back and forth by towering stacks of metal and concrete.
A bus screeched to a stop a few yards away. The doors hissed open and a motley cross section of civilization climbed the short steps to their seats. As Avery hobbled over, the bus spat and knelt to the curb. He climbed aboard and slid a pass through the register.
"Morning, Avery," said Sherwood, the driver.
Avery put a hand on Sherwood's shoulder and scanned the seats. There was Rose, with her bundle of plastic bags, in her favorite seat, right behind Sherwood. Trout was seated on the left-hand bench, pretending to be asleep as usual.
"The dream is always the same."
"Can you walk me through it?"
A jogger approached and passed, panting. A path wound in between and through thickets of trees. The path was littered with leaves.
"I'm on a bus. There's this girl."
"Tell me about the girl."
"She's a teenager. She's always dressed in black."
"A goth?"
"Probably. She has tattoos, piercings."
"Your daughter tells me you ride this bus, the number ten, every day."
"You girls talk a lot?"
"Is it true?"
"Yeah."
"Have you ever seen this girl, the goth girl, on that bus?"
The bus slowed to a stop and opened its doors. Someone was yelling loudly. Avery stood up to see the commotion. A girl dressed in black, with spiked, purple hair was looking up at a second story window. An middle-aged woman was pointing at her, screaming, waving at her to return to the house. The girl flipped her the finger and ran onto the bus.
She produced a bunched up ball of dollar bills and stuffed one of them into the register. She looked up and scanned the seats. She parked herself on the bench across from Avery and slapped Trout on the chest.
"Fuck you, Trout. I know you're up."
"Bitch, leave me alone."
The bus pulled away from the curb and sped towards the next stop.
The girl caught Avery eyeing her. "What's up, homo? You wanna fuck me?"
She elbowed Trout. "Trout, who's this queer?"
Trout cracked open an eye and then fell back into a pseudo slumber. "That's Avery. War hero and shit."
The girl leaned close across the aisle. She looked excited. "Hey, you ever killed anyone?"
Avery gave a slight nod.
"Aw shit, Trout. It's fucking Rambo over here. What does it feel like?"
"Language." The whites of Sherwood's eyes filled the rearview mirror. The girl sneared back.
Avery cleared his throat and looked away. "You never forget it."
She rolled her eyes. "That's deep. Pussy. So why are you always staring at me?"
"Yes, she's been on the bus."
"Wow." Emily tried to check her legitimate surprise. "What's she like?"
"She's a bit, rough around the edges."
"So what happens with the girl, in the dream?"
"This boy gets on the bus. The two of them fight."
A young man in a hooded sweatshirt stepped onto the bus. He moved slowly, cautiously. Avery froze. He recognized this boy. Could this be the day, he thought? He had dreamt about this day for as long as he could remember but he never considered it actually coming to pass. It wasn't long before he spotted the girl.
"What? You didn't think I'd find out?" said the boy.
"Calm down." The girl stood up to face him. "I'm doing it for us. That old man thinks I'm in love with him. He's rich," she whispered to him. "He says he's going to buy me a car. We won't have to ride on this piece of shit anymore."
"You think I'm stupid? I know why you're doing this. He's going to get you out of here. Away from your folks. Away from me. No. I'm not letting that happen."
"C'mon, don't be an asshole."
The boy slapped her so hard Trout shot right up. "What the fuck?"
But not before Avery was up. He immediately placed himself between the two.
Avery stopped and doubled over, wincing.
"What's wrong?"
"It's my hip again." He looked over at a nearby bench. "Mind if we..."
Emily helped him over to the bench. A lush tree loomed above them. Unlike all the other trees in the park this one was still full of green leaves.
"Recurring dreams typically begin right after some huge turning point in our lives: a missed opportunity or a wrong choice. If you can pinpoint when the dream started then you might be able find the event that started it all. And from there..."
"Look, I appreciate what you're trying to do. But you really can't help me."
"Why? Why is it so hard for you go back to the beginning?"
"Because I can't do it."
"Try."
"You don't understand. There is no beginning. It's my earliest memory. It's the only dream I've ever had. Since I was a kid I've seen the images of the bus, the girl, the boy, the gun, the..."
"Wait, the gun? What gun?"
It was only a brief flash but the pain was immediate, searing. Avery fell. The bus was in bedlam.
"And then what happens? Do you wake up"
"I'm pretty sure I die. I see the girl getting off of the bus, like nothing's wrong. Then everything goes dark. I feel like I'm... like I'm falling. It stretches for an eternity."
The wind picked up and a small dust devil lifted some leaves and dropped them off a few feet away.
"I know what happened in Vietnam, Avery. Your whole platoon died. Everyone except you. You feel guilty about coming out of it alive. This guilt is so strong now that it has superceded everything else in your life. Your mind has rearranged its memories to make this dream, this guilt, the most important thing in your life. Avery, I want you to come see me at my office next week."
Avery sat and thought for a long time, rubbing at his hip.
"Fine, doc. On one condition. Can you give me some change for a phone call?"
Emily smiled. "Sure."
She dug through her purse, handed over the coins and watched him amble off down the path.
Avery called over his shoulder, "See ya later, doc."
Your official entries (also added to the OP)
Motion Picture Soundtrack - The Fall of Foresight Corp.
Cryptozoologist - I Deserved It
ronito - The Teller of Fortunes
Timedog - The Importance of Inanimate Objects
nitewulf - The Human Element
Aaron - Future Proof
RumpledForeskin - It's Abstract
bbsting120 - Fear of Falling
fulsome - The Mighty Counter
Cyan - Snow
crowphoenix - Listen
DumbNameD - A Day in the Life of Natalie, Precognitive Demonspawn
Iceman - The number 10
Motion Picture Soundtrack - The Fall of Foresight Corp.
Cryptozoologist - I Deserved It
ronito - The Teller of Fortunes
Timedog - The Importance of Inanimate Objects
nitewulf - The Human Element
Aaron - Future Proof
RumpledForeskin - It's Abstract
bbsting120 - Fear of Falling
fulsome - The Mighty Counter
Cyan - Snow
crowphoenix - Listen
DumbNameD - A Day in the Life of Natalie, Precognitive Demonspawn
Iceman - The number 10
crowphoenix
Banned
Cyan said:
Indeed. I was mindful of them as I wrote, but I'd keep pausing, and when I read the previous line or two to remind myself where I was going, there was a modifier.
Right, I don't have a lot of time, so I'm going to keep critiques brief. If I don't mention your story, it just means nothing jumped out at me right away to talk about.
Cryptozoologist- the present tense doesn't quite feel right for this one.
ronito- is this guy a new doctor? Hasn't he seen this sort of thing many times before? Something doesn't quite ring true for me about it.
Timedog- no idea what this is about, or what if anything it has to do with the theme.
nitewulf- I'm not quite sure what happened at the end. It was a bit confusing. The "fucker" felt out of place with the rest of the story. Maybe something like "bastard" would have felt right.
Aaron- interesting idea. The way it's dropped on us at the end kind of hurts the story though. I can't think of a subtler way to do it off the top of my head, but the infodump method doesn't quite work here. Also, a few stray grammar errors in important places.
bbsting- again, could use a little more subtlety. Particularly regarding Tom's dead friend and the very last line of the story.
crowphoenix- I like the scifi take on noir. Some good descriptive stuff here.
DumbNameD- good stuff, but the ending lacks punch. It kind of lets down the rest of the story.
Iceman- nice. Well paced.
Cryptozoologist- the present tense doesn't quite feel right for this one.
ronito- is this guy a new doctor? Hasn't he seen this sort of thing many times before? Something doesn't quite ring true for me about it.
Timedog- no idea what this is about, or what if anything it has to do with the theme.
nitewulf- I'm not quite sure what happened at the end. It was a bit confusing. The "fucker" felt out of place with the rest of the story. Maybe something like "bastard" would have felt right.
Aaron- interesting idea. The way it's dropped on us at the end kind of hurts the story though. I can't think of a subtler way to do it off the top of my head, but the infodump method doesn't quite work here. Also, a few stray grammar errors in important places.
bbsting- again, could use a little more subtlety. Particularly regarding Tom's dead friend and the very last line of the story.
crowphoenix- I like the scifi take on noir. Some good descriptive stuff here.
DumbNameD- good stuff, but the ending lacks punch. It kind of lets down the rest of the story.
Iceman- nice. Well paced.
timedog: Do we have an award for most gratitious use of the F word in an entry?
fulsome: I'm torn about the onomatopoeia use in this piece. I mean in a certain way it adds to the story, but in other ways they feel like reading speedbumps. I really like what you did with the theme. Nice first entry.
Cyan: It feels like youre trying to pack a lot in this one. In the end I didn't feel there was enough motivation for the man to continue on his chosen path after Marta makes him see the light, he continues on the set path, but really I wasn't convinced as to why. I'm being nitpicky, I know. But if I was faced with the same choice I probably wouldn't have continued on so quickly if at all. This sticks out as their so much exposition about everything else and then the crucial decision is made with seemingly little ado.
Crowphoneix: Way, way too much runway. It took you too long just to even get into the building and it didn't really add that much to the story. In the end it felt like it was all runway to me.
DumbNameD: Intrestingly enough I feel exactly the opposite of Cyan. I thought the ending was the best one here, but I did feel the story dragged a bit in the middle.
Iceman: You've really stepped into your own with the past two challenges. I love how well put together it was. I loved the pacing and the introducing of elements as you went along. You did it in a way that it didn't seem like you just decided to throw it in. Very nicely done.
fulsome: I'm torn about the onomatopoeia use in this piece. I mean in a certain way it adds to the story, but in other ways they feel like reading speedbumps. I really like what you did with the theme. Nice first entry.
Cyan: It feels like youre trying to pack a lot in this one. In the end I didn't feel there was enough motivation for the man to continue on his chosen path after Marta makes him see the light, he continues on the set path, but really I wasn't convinced as to why. I'm being nitpicky, I know. But if I was faced with the same choice I probably wouldn't have continued on so quickly if at all. This sticks out as their so much exposition about everything else and then the crucial decision is made with seemingly little ado.
Crowphoneix: Way, way too much runway. It took you too long just to even get into the building and it didn't really add that much to the story. In the end it felt like it was all runway to me.
DumbNameD: Intrestingly enough I feel exactly the opposite of Cyan. I thought the ending was the best one here, but I did feel the story dragged a bit in the middle.
Iceman: You've really stepped into your own with the past two challenges. I love how well put together it was. I loved the pacing and the introducing of elements as you went along. You did it in a way that it didn't seem like you just decided to throw it in. Very nicely done.
My votes:
1 - Iceman: It really came across as well thought out and crafted.
2 - Aaron: Good concept, clever delivery.
3- Fulsome: It's not the first boxing story we've had in these but the idea stuck with me.
Good job all around guys. It is interesting in that when I heard the topic I was worried about cliches overrunning the contest, and while certainly it would've been easy to take up a cliche you guys gave it some good thought and presented it in a new light. Which I thought was really cool.
That being said it seems that most of us had a difficult time in the actual writing of it. I hope we all learned some good lessons.
Ok, let's get those votes in.
1 - Iceman: It really came across as well thought out and crafted.
2 - Aaron: Good concept, clever delivery.
3- Fulsome: It's not the first boxing story we've had in these but the idea stuck with me.
Good job all around guys. It is interesting in that when I heard the topic I was worried about cliches overrunning the contest, and while certainly it would've been easy to take up a cliche you guys gave it some good thought and presented it in a new light. Which I thought was really cool.
That being said it seems that most of us had a difficult time in the actual writing of it. I hope we all learned some good lessons.
Ok, let's get those votes in.
You know I think that was true of many of the entries (including mine) that were entered this time. You could tell that the concept was really great in their heads but it just didn't seem to come out as cleanly for a lot of writers this time around. That's what I was talking about in my previous post.Cyan said:
Cyan said:
yeah...the whole thing is a take on quantum mechanics, often it'd seem that electrons would exist in two different locations simultaneously, if you were to solve the Schrodinger equations for electronic movement/position.
i wanted to describe a technology, using that principle, just evolved to move large armies/weapons around. which made the chaldriyans a very superior race, technologically, as instant transport enabled them to alter battle strategy on the go.
as for the human element, its that sliver of unpredictability, ingenuity, stupidity even, as the hero ran into the attack, hoping that the elite would appear behind him to attack from the back, he basically changed the direction of his attack and swung the sword backwards from a forward momentum. he took a chance, and it paid off. the passionate unpredictability worked against a technologically superior opponent, and enabled him to win, basically ensuring that human ingenuity could cover for our shortcomings.
fucker, well he is a rough guy, not necessarily well mannered. i don't like very well mannered, proper heroes.
Motion Picture Soundtrack
Member
Cryptozoologist - I Deserved It
Why did he think he deserved it? He was being dishonest, but he didn't deserve death.
ronito - The Teller of Fortunes
I enjoyed this. At first I felt like it was a little unrealistic, but it dawned on me that as human beings, we all suffer depression at some point, and that no matter how much they try to distance themselves from it, even doctors are not immune to crippling despair.
Timedog - The Importance of Inanimate Objects
There were times when I felt like I had some inkling of what was going on, but those thoughts quickly vanished by the time I had gotten to the end of the sentence. I really don't know what you were trying to achieve.
nitewulf - The Human Element
I didn't feel like the protagonist was a very interesting character, and as a result didn't care whether he won the battle or not. When you're trying to create an epic battle, it's important that you don't forget about the individual thoughts and feeling of the characters, otherwise it just feels like the people fighting are robots. Admittedly though, it is hard to do such a thing given the low word limit.
Aaron - Future Proof
Nice, but the ending felt a bit cookie cutter. Well written.
RumpledForeskin - It's Abstract
:lol
bbsting120 - Fear of Falling
I don't really get the ending. I understand what happened, but I can't figure out its relevance.
fulsome - The Mighty Counter
Not sure about this one. I don't think a boxer would be this distracted during a fight after training for so long, honestly, it came across as though he were high. And why would a coach kick someone out for losing one fight?
Cyan - Snow
This was great. My only complaint would be that it didn't feel right for Joseph to come out with a speech at the end like that. It would have made more sense if those ideas were narrated as his thoughts, and he said something much simpler, after all, he was talking to his daughter.
crowphoenix - Listen
I'm a bit of a sucker for noir, and this was a good effort. It felt like you didn't really know how to end it, though.
DumbNameD - A Day in the Life of Natalie, Precognitive Demonspawn
I agree with Cyan, I got to the end and just though "Is that it?" But otherwise well written and interesting.
Iceman - The number 10
This was very good, I can't think of anything to improve upon, really.
Why did he think he deserved it? He was being dishonest, but he didn't deserve death.
ronito - The Teller of Fortunes
I enjoyed this. At first I felt like it was a little unrealistic, but it dawned on me that as human beings, we all suffer depression at some point, and that no matter how much they try to distance themselves from it, even doctors are not immune to crippling despair.
Timedog - The Importance of Inanimate Objects
There were times when I felt like I had some inkling of what was going on, but those thoughts quickly vanished by the time I had gotten to the end of the sentence. I really don't know what you were trying to achieve.
nitewulf - The Human Element
I didn't feel like the protagonist was a very interesting character, and as a result didn't care whether he won the battle or not. When you're trying to create an epic battle, it's important that you don't forget about the individual thoughts and feeling of the characters, otherwise it just feels like the people fighting are robots. Admittedly though, it is hard to do such a thing given the low word limit.
Aaron - Future Proof
Nice, but the ending felt a bit cookie cutter. Well written.
RumpledForeskin - It's Abstract
:lol
bbsting120 - Fear of Falling
I don't really get the ending. I understand what happened, but I can't figure out its relevance.
fulsome - The Mighty Counter
Not sure about this one. I don't think a boxer would be this distracted during a fight after training for so long, honestly, it came across as though he were high. And why would a coach kick someone out for losing one fight?
Cyan - Snow
This was great. My only complaint would be that it didn't feel right for Joseph to come out with a speech at the end like that. It would have made more sense if those ideas were narrated as his thoughts, and he said something much simpler, after all, he was talking to his daughter.
crowphoenix - Listen
I'm a bit of a sucker for noir, and this was a good effort. It felt like you didn't really know how to end it, though.
DumbNameD - A Day in the Life of Natalie, Precognitive Demonspawn
I agree with Cyan, I got to the end and just though "Is that it?" But otherwise well written and interesting.
Iceman - The number 10
This was very good, I can't think of anything to improve upon, really.
Motion Picture Soundtrack
Member
Votes:
1) Iceman "The Number 10"
2) Cyan "Snow"
3) ronito "The Teller of Fortunes"
1) Iceman "The Number 10"
2) Cyan "Snow"
3) ronito "The Teller of Fortunes"
Gotcha. I got what the idea was supposed to be, I just couldn't tell what had actually physically happened.nitewulf said:
And nothing wrong with that. It just didn't come across earlier, so I was a bit surprised by it there.
Good point. I hadn't really thought about it that way. Heh. This is why I like these challenges, you guys make me think more about my writing!Motion Picture Soundtrack said:
No need for that. But you might think about what you're trying to do with your writing.Timedog said:
What was the point of the story? This isn't rhetorical, I am asking an actual question. If you can articulate the point, then there must have been some way to get it across in the text. I'm sure you can find a way to do that without being the same as everyone else.
crowphoenix
Banned
You nailed it. I got to the end of the asylum section and realized I had 130 words left. with only an hour left to edit and trim. My original idea was to emphasis that Sam was usually reckless and didn't plan as well. It was to emphasis, that Cripple's warning caused him to slow down and think about things, but I definitely botched the ending. Very dissatisfied.Motion Picture Soundtrack said:
ronito said:
My main point with the first section was to emphasis the danger of the city. There were other thoughts as to how to do it, but with my procrastination leading to a lack of time, I decided showing the lack of visibility (or attempt to) as well as the corruption of the police force was the best way to do it. It was definitely a piece that needed more words and more tightening to make it hit what I wanted to do.
As to runaway, I fear that may be close to my style, I'm sorry to say. I believe in writing by flow, allowing the work and characters to dictate its direction. It occasionally leads to stories like this, but in the end, I enjoy the style. I will however, try to tighten up the next piece more so as to reduce runaway.
Dear NeoGAF readers,
It's officially fall. Temperatures are dipping. The sun is setting ever earlier. Wouldn't you enjoy relaxing in a comfy chair, warmed by a crackling artificial fire and your dog's favorite sweater in the company of a good book? Well, we have the next best thing: 13 tales of intrigue, humor, shyamalanian type twists, and above all, imagination. Please read them (they're short) and vote on your favorite ones (1, 2 and 3) by midnight Saturday if you can.
Motion Picture Soundtrack - The Fall of Foresight Corp.
Cryptozoologist - I Deserved It
ronito - The Teller of Fortunes
Timedog - The Importance of Inanimate Objects
nitewulf - The Human Element
Aaron - Future Proof
RumpledForeskin - It's Abstract
bbsting120 - Fear of Falling
fulsome - The Mighty Counter
Cyan - Snow
crowphoenix - Listen
DumbNameD - A Day in the Life of Natalie, Precognitive Demonspawn
Iceman - The number 10
It's officially fall. Temperatures are dipping. The sun is setting ever earlier. Wouldn't you enjoy relaxing in a comfy chair, warmed by a crackling artificial fire and your dog's favorite sweater in the company of a good book? Well, we have the next best thing: 13 tales of intrigue, humor, shyamalanian type twists, and above all, imagination. Please read them (they're short) and vote on your favorite ones (1, 2 and 3) by midnight Saturday if you can.
Motion Picture Soundtrack - The Fall of Foresight Corp.
Cryptozoologist - I Deserved It
ronito - The Teller of Fortunes
Timedog - The Importance of Inanimate Objects
nitewulf - The Human Element
Aaron - Future Proof
RumpledForeskin - It's Abstract
bbsting120 - Fear of Falling
fulsome - The Mighty Counter
Cyan - Snow
crowphoenix - Listen
DumbNameD - A Day in the Life of Natalie, Precognitive Demonspawn
Iceman - The number 10
Cyan said:
It's about the main character Malugo finding a man operating heavy machinery and banging the metal scoop arm arbitrarily against some rocks, and Malugo thinking that this man was God. Malugo thought that The Operator banging the machine against rocks He lashes out against The Operator, whom he thinks is God, the one who he has been searching for. He believes that he is "in tune" on a level beyond just the physical, yet he lashes out against this, so there is some dichotomy between what he believes reality is, and what he wants reality to be. There is some technical jargon about synchronized resonances of the same frequency being additive, and the chaos that happens as the two frequencies go out of sync. Malugo feels that The Operator and him are connected on some plane by a specific resonance that was made by The Operator banging the machine against the rocks- that their souls are resonating together. The resonance created by the machine banging the rocks was also creating a new universe.
Then it turns out that The Operator actually is the God of the realm Malugo occupies. As Malugo loses sync with God to such an extent that a harmonic is created. The "clearing" frequency disrupts the continuity of the realm, and slowly matter and reality are dissipated. At the end we find out that this series of events has happened before. Malugo has had many - possibly an infinite - number of chances to appease The Operator. The new universe being created by The Operator was another chance for Malugo to redeem himself with another meeting with God. The Operator created this because he knew that Malugo would fail again. Malugo's meeting God, his failure/the deletion of the universe, and the birth of another universe and another try for Malugo were all created by the same action, by a prescient Operator. Since the "cycle" of Malugo failing and new universes/chances being created continues to repeat and will repeat forever, this could be thought of as another resonance.
Hmm. Here's what I think the problem might be (in terms of people not understanding the story):
1. You present a bizarre universe or world, one that is wildly different from our regular experience, with a god disguised as a crane operator destroying the universe only to rebuild it.
2. Your narrator/main character is insane and/or incoherent.
In isolation, neither one of these would be a problem. But the combination of these two things and the lack of context causes your readers to become confused. We have nothing to latch onto. We wonder to ourselves as we read: Is this some sort of bizarre alternate world? Is the narrator crazy? Either one could have made an interesting choice. But with both being true, there is no satisfying resolution that makes us say, "Ah! So it was just insanity all along," or vice versa.
Essentially, we can't trust the narrator. We can't trust our world-knowledge. We can't trust anything about the story, and thus we don't understand it.
1. You present a bizarre universe or world, one that is wildly different from our regular experience, with a god disguised as a crane operator destroying the universe only to rebuild it.
2. Your narrator/main character is insane and/or incoherent.
In isolation, neither one of these would be a problem. But the combination of these two things and the lack of context causes your readers to become confused. We have nothing to latch onto. We wonder to ourselves as we read: Is this some sort of bizarre alternate world? Is the narrator crazy? Either one could have made an interesting choice. But with both being true, there is no satisfying resolution that makes us say, "Ah! So it was just insanity all along," or vice versa.
Essentially, we can't trust the narrator. We can't trust our world-knowledge. We can't trust anything about the story, and thus we don't understand it.
crowphoenix
Banned
Votes:
1) Iceman- Just fantastic. There are no words at the moment. After lunch I will try to offer some critiques.
2) Motion Picture Soundtrack- Wonderful dialogue here, extremely interesting. The only problem I had was the people on the street freaking out. Seems to small a detail for people to know.
3)Cyan- Extremely well written and very interesting. The only thing I saw wrong was that the girls doubt seemed to come from no where.
Honorable Mention:Timedog- I really liked this story. The use of sentence structure and detail really emphasized just how crazy Malugo was. The only thing that seemed off was the Operator.
1) Iceman- Just fantastic. There are no words at the moment. After lunch I will try to offer some critiques.
2) Motion Picture Soundtrack- Wonderful dialogue here, extremely interesting. The only problem I had was the people on the street freaking out. Seems to small a detail for people to know.
3)Cyan- Extremely well written and very interesting. The only thing I saw wrong was that the girls doubt seemed to come from no where.
Honorable Mention:Timedog- I really liked this story. The use of sentence structure and detail really emphasized just how crazy Malugo was. The only thing that seemed off was the Operator.
C'mon, peeps. Get your votes in. I'll have my votes in soon. As proof, here are the first 5 of the 12 critiques I'm writing as collateral.
These are extensive critiques. I tried to touch on absolutely anything and everything that occurred to me while reading your stories. They are going to appear to be quite harsh but most of it is just nitpicking. Some of it may even just be flat wrong, so I hope you'll take from it whatever you think might help you. Otherwise ignore it completely. In no way am I a professional writer by trade or training; this is all IMHO.
Motion Picture Soundtrack - The Fall of Foresight Corp.
It's enjoyable, if light. The secondary character Ted is memorable as the mole-y manager but the secretary is is not so. The imagery of the tennis player scratching his head at the end is evocative; it conjures images of what else would be happening in this world if one guy was derailed from his prearranged plans. Would the fallout be more interesting, like the town coming apart at the seams in the movie The Truman Show than this interaction at the office of Foresight Corp? Probably, but a short story calls for few setting changes so this story choice is apt. The dialogue is snappy and doesn't get boring, good job there. A bit more personality could have been used in the dialogue, though. I agree with has previously been said, the last line should be removed or at least moved to the beginning: a cryptic, foreshadowing statement. The introduction was matter of fact, not entertaining. If you could have found a way to integrate the exposition/background into the scene that would have made the piece stronger. As it is, it takes a while for the setting to come together in my mind: I thought the ramifications of the device did not extend too far outside the walls of the building or Norman's life, but in fact it's a global institution. My thinking is that this knowledge, from the get go, would have lent greater weight to the interaction between Norman, the secretary and Ted.
_________________________________________________________
Cryptozoologist - I Deserved It
Reading your intro (my mistake) I thought it was going to be some self-indulgent kind of autobiography so I was disinterested from the start. However, because of that, and because of how quick the read is, I can honestly say I was caught off guard by the knife attack. Big surprise for me. It reminded me of the stabbing in The Village (say what you will about the rest of the movie, the stabbing scene was really well done.)
I can't help but think that using past-tense would have made it even easier to read. But as it is, the story is quite readable; the sentences are short and to the point. It reads like action descriptions in a screenplay: lean. Personally, this is my kind of writing - I want to develop my screenplay writing - but in free form short stories I've been trying to write more like Aaron who makes each sentence a rich, layered landscape of imagery. Whereas in screenplays each sentence adds a layer of important information (ideally two pieces of information - about action as well as character), in short stories each sentence should almost be a complete story in and of itself. IMO.
I noticed a paucity of metaphor and simile use (except for the ones making the wife out to be some kind of demon). The characters are not immediately likable. Although the situation is relatable, I think you could have added something to make the characters somewhat redeemable. You push a reader away otherwise.
I think you have solid storytelling skills, and a good sense of pacing, but it would be better displayed in a different kind of story: make crap up. If you delve right into a very familiar setting then the reader gets lazy, maybe that's why the genuinely unfamiliar plot point, the stabbing, surprised me. If you slowly met out the details of a rich new fantasy world, you put the reader in unfamiliar territory; they have to work and become more invested in your characters.
The abilty is there. The setting, characters and plotting need to be spiced up.
__________________________________
ronito - The Teller of Fortunes
As always, immediately grabs me. Easy to read. Although for some reason I pictured this occurring just prior to Christmas .. maybe it just suits your story better for me.. so the lines about not seeing the upcoming fall or Christmas jarred me a bit. It wasn't your writing that did that, it was my own imagination taking me somewhere you didn't intend. Fairly morose depiction (maybe that's why I think it suits the holidays) but not overtly depressing. I'm not sure if you were trying to extract any specific emotion from the reader but I know this kind of story resonates or at least touches at something in many people's lives. Certainly you use a less than prominent point of view in this kind of story which is always refreshing. So far this one is the most steeped in the theme of prescience.
You had two bits of dialogue and I'm wondering (not critically) about their choice. What makes these lines so important that they are the only ones uttered in the whole piece? In this kind of setting and mood, this dialogue can be inferred I think. Rather, perhaps using more mundane language or trivial conversation/pleasantries might be able to convey more about the characters than speaking directly to the obvious disease. But writing poignant dialogue using otherwise trite conversation is a masterwork, few can do it effectively (so I've read).
One line I'd change (maybe just a word) : "I gave him the cards of specialists he already knew, but the patient knew the situation was dire."
You used the word "knew" twice. It makes the sentence sound clumsy. Perhaps change the first knew to "had."???
Now I get why I was thinking winter was the setting for the story: reading it over again, you mention the words "winter", "fall", "autumn" and "Christmas" yet nothing related to spring, the season within which this story is told right?
Regarding the medical jargon/terminology: I worked at a hospital for years, in the radiology department, and the x-ray film the doctor was looking at would have revealed a white mass for the tumor against the black background, or gray of the bones and other dense tissue. Also (and this is debatable), the cancer would not be referred to as more "virulent," a word primarily reserved for strains of virus or bacteria, but rather "invasive" which suggests malignancy, or "malignant." It's factually correct usage but not in common use to my knowledge.
The season confusion could be corrected by setting the scene a bit more. Maybe even with just one more sentence or a some alternate word choices?
______________________________
Timedog - The Importance of Inanimate Objects
This one feels like it should be within reach but each time I read it, it's still over my head. I get that there's a subject and a God. That there is creation and destruction going on and the language of this universe is that of harmonics. However it doesn't come together - the story is still buried under an abstract pile of rubble, so to speak. I think this is why writers tend to use human or at least anthropomorphosed objects and scenes to build their stories - because they are relatable. The characters and the chaos of the scene you've written are hard to get a grasp on, they're not tangible. They're like wave forms: physicists know that all particles have wave functions and properties of waves, the invisible. However, most people are much more comfortable dealing with the solid properties of things - things they can hold in their hand, taste, smash against a wall. What happens when an idea is thrown against the wall and part of it disappears or diffracts like a wave? You get frikken confused.
Another thing I don't get is the angst. Now, funny enough, I created a similar character for my story, someone who is not redeemable: the goth girl on the bus. She's uncouth, selfish and disrespectful. There's a reason for that. But I still tried to make her flesh and blood, something the reader can comprehend.
I think there's a cool story here but I'd rather like to see it played out by human characters in a more familiar setting that's perhaps been turned on its head to better serve your purposes, like a tenement that continuously being bulldozed or an island that keeps getting smashed by tsunamis) to better serve the harmonics angle). Give more of a human voice to your protagonist and antagonist.
You're clearly a good writer and you maintained my attention despite constantly writing over my head, so no problem there. I think you certainly took a chance with a different kind of story and if these challenges are nothing else they are a place to experiment so I can't knock you for that either.
I say keep pushing the boundaries but also try to maintain some kind of balance, or some kind of tether/anchor to traditional perspectives because you can't knock what works.
Marks for trying something different. It's complex. The execution is not bad but too many of your choices went against the grain resulting in a story that was less readable, more puzzling.
_______________________________
nitewulf - The Human Element
Reads like a mix of Troy and Starcraft (I can't be the only one that got charged up by the possibilities). However, I was confused by the concept of the Chaldriyan Elites, specifically in the context of the duel: was the Akadian champion fighting against just one Elite? That part was unclear to me. I was also unclear about the limitations of the mathematician's device? Was it range or did it have to be focused at one certain zone?
The description of the Elites, although informative, distracted me some from the story. You had me trying so hard to put together this picture of your Elite that it was near frustrating. I would have rather you just given me a rough description and perhaps focus on their physical and/or human-like qualities. Where they human-like? I'm sure they were but because they were not described at all created a nebulous/shapeshifting creature in my mind.
The use of the word "fucker" also distracted me. Was this fantasy world so near to ours in space and time that we would use the same pejoratives? The rest of their manner of speaking was more medieval I thought.
The mathematician's device was almost something of a deus ex machina: the Chaldriyan's technology was unheard of and certainly not understood, yet this genius could somehow had already perfected a machine to counter it? Way too convenient for my liking. An alternative that would have made me happy is if (even through exposition) your mathematician would have known about the technology more intimately, perhaps by being a mentor of its designer, for example (sure, it's still convenient, but it's also still on the mathematician to prove that he can measure up to the challenge). I do like the imagery of horses pushing some kind of donkey wheel and a lens comprising the advanced alien technology nullifying machine. I just couldn't comprehend how such rudimentary devices could synergize to have such a powerful effect. I think you may have left way too much for the reader's imagination to fill on this point.
Another thing was the action descriptions. You ask a lot of a reader to keep the characters well positioned in their mind as you take them through complex moves. I've experimented with that and in the end I've always found it better to keep it simple and let the imagination of the reader fill in the little details. There's a good lesson in script writing regarding action descriptions: only keep what is absolutely essential to the plot. If a fight can be described in a thousand different ways but in the end a guy falls down a cliff, for instance, then just say, "they have a brutal fight and character B falls down the cliff to his death." Of course, that's way too lean/terse for even a short story narrative but you get the idea.
I do like the personality of the mathematician. I think it could have been pushed even further though - to make him more memorable.
crowphoenix
Banned
And damn, did he deserve it.Cyan said:
it was a duel of champions, a one on one fight rather than a battle of armies. the device had to be focused at a certain zone, hence lens, and it was focused at the circular battle ground/arena...similar to say the stages from the first virtua fighter.Iceman said:
they are humanoid definitely, the armor describes them as such but i couldn't give a more detailed physical description.
yes this was hard to pull off. the alternate world itself is home to both the races, who are both intelligent races. they both have similar levels of intelligence, even though the Chaldriyans developed the technology first, the humans were not that much behind. i tried to emphasize that when Ramanujan goes on about admiring the Chaldriyans. so even though he wasn't able to develop the technology (yet), he understood it, and crudely counter it. kind of like how germans used tanks in ways never before seen in ww2, but eventually allied forces were able to counter it with anti-tank mines and their own tanks.
yes there were other characters and the mathematician was fleshed out more, but it didnt work within the confines of the story so i had to cut it all out.
FWIW, he was based on Shrinivasa Ramanujan:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Srinivasa_Ramanujan
fantasy stories definitely need a more epic scope, a lot of the backstory was meant to be understood i guess. kind of like dumbnamed's first entry IIRC. i do see potential in writing some longer short stories within the universe i created.
tough choice.. too many I want to mention. And I'm not done with the critiques yet.. but here we go:
1. DumbNameD - A Day in the Life of Natalie, Precognitive Demonspawn
2. Cyan - Snow
3. bbsting120 - Fear of Falling
so many honorable mentions though.
55 minutes left to vote, World.
1. DumbNameD - A Day in the Life of Natalie, Precognitive Demonspawn
2. Cyan - Snow
3. bbsting120 - Fear of Falling
so many honorable mentions though.
55 minutes left to vote, World.
All the votes are in.
By my count, I won a close one with Cyan at second and 4 others in 3rd:
Iceman 16 points
Cyan 10 points
Aaron 3 points
MotionPictureSoundtrack 3 points
Crowphoenix 3 points
DumbNameD 3 points
Thanks for participating, everyone. Please add any suggestions/ideas for the next challenge. I hope to post the new challenge by tomorrow evening.
I like the word limit at 1400 right now. Should we go lower again? Higher? Do you guys want something completely different? I was thinking about doing a picture is a worth a thousand words kind of challenge, where I post an image and it can we can try to write a story around it? Let me know what you think. Otherwise I can certainly come up with another theme.
Man, pressure is on for a three-peat.
By my count, I won a close one with Cyan at second and 4 others in 3rd:
Iceman 16 points
Cyan 10 points
Aaron 3 points
MotionPictureSoundtrack 3 points
Crowphoenix 3 points
DumbNameD 3 points
Thanks for participating, everyone. Please add any suggestions/ideas for the next challenge. I hope to post the new challenge by tomorrow evening.
I like the word limit at 1400 right now. Should we go lower again? Higher? Do you guys want something completely different? I was thinking about doing a picture is a worth a thousand words kind of challenge, where I post an image and it can we can try to write a story around it? Let me know what you think. Otherwise I can certainly come up with another theme.
Man, pressure is on for a three-peat.
crowphoenix
Banned
I think it'd be interesting to try to write something about a picture that looks like the one you posted above, you know, one of those "Sense. it makes none" pictures.
And, I'm predicting the threepeat.
And, I'm predicting the threepeat.
Cauliflower of Love
Banned
Shit, I didn't win?
Booo
urns.
Booo
urns.
- Status