My New Story

Here are the first two pages of a story I have been writing. There is currently a total of six pages, with these two having been fully edited - at least for now - and the other five still undergoing adjustment. I'm hoping to make this a fairly long story, but for now I'm not being too obsessive as I want my first project to be an enjoyable and fairly relaxed affair. I am hoping to have it finished within a couple of months, but I'm not going to be forcing the words out of me, so it may take a while (or a lot) longer.

If you want to leave a comment, then please, feel free! I'm open to criticism.

***

Ok. I can do this I thought to myself. I had the handle of the bat gripped tightly, the surface felt slippery in my sweaty hands. I was distracted by how inappropriate my footwear was as I glared down at the floor - bright orange trainers with strips of luminous green running down the sides. I could see an image in my mind of the trainers soaked with blood, the orange fabric stained a shade darker, the laces strewn over the sides like soggy dreadlocks, red and bloodied.

A sudden feeling of queasiness nearly knocked me on my side as I slowly drew my gaze to meet the landscape in front of me. I was leant against the concrete wall of a single story building, the length running either side of me. Hills and pastures ran into the distance beyond a high fence a few metres opposite the building. My eyes felt like they were floating in my delicate skull, gazing out at the overcast day; everything was starved of beauty in the dull light. At that moment I just wanted to lie down, close my eyes and dream of a quiet room.

I had been standing there for a while. I had to urge the rest of my body forward by pressing my clammy palm against the wall, which ached as the concrete drove into the skin. Finally I was upright, but I didn’t feel any more ready, my thoughts were flooding my mind and halting my body in place. I was thinking of the person I had been up until that point.

I have always enjoyed depictions of violence. I grew up around violent games and films, seeking them out as an alternative to going outside. The joy of staying inside and taking virtual lives soared high above the idea of being with real people. Show me a gory scene on TV and my face would light up, urging the screen to show me more, but if you showed me a party invitation, my stomach would sink; I would beg my computer screen to exonerate me from the agony of social contact.

I stood there behind that building, wondering if that lust for violence could exist in the real world. I imagined what was to come - broken bones, bloody eye sockets and gargled wails for mercy. I felt no excitement though; I really didn’t want to go in there, but I couldn’t give myself a choice. I was one of the people who remembered when everyone else forgot.

~

I never really knew Mary and as far as I was aware, she didn’t even see me – despite having worked in the same building for two years. I had no doubt the only response she could have to me would be repulsion.

One day we spoke briefly, and my brain decided to inject me with a colossal shot of infatuation. After a meeting at work, we were asked to clean the room for the next lot of people – the cleaner was ill. I tried to appear like I was in control of myself by making small talk, but my face betrayed me; my skin felt hot, I thought my whole body had started glowing. I thought about leaving the room; I wanted to make an excuse and return when I had calmed down, but I knew the heat in my face would still be there when I came back. We tidied the room at a fast pace, mostly in silence. When we parted ways I felt we had forged a connection that was beyond words; she seemed to have seen through my outer shell – the tough scales of fear and restraint that isolated me. I thought maybe she had an interpreter who was able to speak the language of my mind - she was sensitive; she knew what it was like to have an identity hidden away.

~

When I entered the building, I would be facing exiles of humanity. I wasn’t unlike them; I too remembered Mary, but they were not nostalgic, they were incensed, twisted and full of disgust. They had slipped too far and could not be reasoned with. They wanted to destroy her; I wanted to help her. I was going to be her saviour.       

My body had gone slack while I was caught up in my memories. I didn’t know how long I had been standing there. My eyes scanned the dots and lines in the distance that made up the city; the wavering hum of traffic whispered through the air, adding an ambience to my thoughts. I was jolted back to reality; my phone started to vibrate against my thigh. A vibrating phone always distressed me - somebody is demanding my attention at that moment, and my privacy is torn away.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone, ‘Dan - Mobile’ the touch-screen read. I pressed answer. The numbers started counting the call time, “0:00… 0:01… 0:02…” I lifted the phone to my ear and listened. He sounded concerned, “How are you doing?” His words seemed to alight something in me, -confusion maybe - my eyes flicked around as if searching for a response. “I’ve just arrived,” I replied after a pause, looking left and right, double checking where I was.

Dan was a good friend. He was the only person I had confided in about Mary, and my infatuation with her. I couldn’t take my feelings seriously and I don’t think Dan could either, but he had never seen me as passionate about anything. I think he was ready to give up on me before I went searching for Mary. A negative attitude spills into the people close to you like poison, and he was beginning to feel my taint.

I stretched my stiffened body like a tired traveller after a long car-journey. Dan’s voice had alleviated me; I felt rekindled, like a hypnotist had snapped his fingers and returned me from my trance.

“I don’t know what do,” I said

, sounding as wrecked as I felt. Dan exhaled hard, the air blasted over the phone’s speaker - he was probably smoking, but I worried he was getting impatient. “What’d you decide? You know she’s in there?” he murmured. I could hear clattering plates and a thin voice in the background – I recognised it to be his mother’s.

“I’m just going to go in, I don’t know.” I waved my hand in dismissal, forgetting he couldn’t see me. I remembered that I hadn’t told Dan my true intentions; he thought I was at her house, planning to confess my enchantment over her – not that I was lurking behind a building in an abandoned air base, holding a steel baseball bat; saying I was ‘just going to go in’ was calling my bluff - I didn’t linger on hiding the fumble, “I’ll see if she’s actually in there first. She might not even be in,” I said, hunching over the phone. He hummed in agreement, “maybe she won’t be, but it’s worth a shot, really, what have you got to lose?” he hesitated before continuing, “don’t just walk right in there though. I don’t think she’d appreciate that.” He had caught my blunder, but took it as just that.

“I know, yeah.” I felt the conversation break-off, like it often did when talking to Dan on the phone – long interludes where neither of us made a peep. I hung up and slipped the phone back in to my jean pocket, instantly feeling guilty for not saying goodbye – I always said goodbye; not saying goodbye is something only American actors do in films. I forgave myself for the breach in etiquette, and returned my mind to the present. I took a deep, shaky breath and turned to look at the door beside me, taking one long step towards my doom.

This was posted on a forum, for a writing game. The challenge was to take a character's name, and create a scene with that character. It could have been whatever you wanted it to be - it didn't have to be as gruesome as I decided to make it!


'He was reaching into the unlikely bulk of leather that was Alison's purse, when he was caught by her brutal gaze, which tore the matter behind his eyes like needlework. She pulled the thief from his hiding place, her long fingers clasped the now-feeble boy's wrist; the perfectly manicured, matte white nails pushing dents into his skin. Her whole body seemed to multiply in size; the air around them grew close; a shadow seemed to form itself under her long face. She took a step forward, the clack of her high-heel shoe piercing the muted world around them. She hunched over the small, quivering shape beneath her, lowering her face downwards steadily until it was almost pressing against the terrified little face; the boy began to decay in size, his body shook spasmodically as his bones began to crack and squeeze together; the force of Alison's hatred twisting the matter from the boy like a brittle sponge. The boy began to shake harder, his screams wavered and weakened. Alison's face grew larger and sunk lower, until the boy was a broken configuration of painful shapes. The tremors weakened until he merely rattled like a leaf in the wind . The boy's face was distorted with mismatch shapes and sizes - features that didn't fit the small head. She dropped the strand of skin and bone which used to be the boy's wrist; straightening her back and relaxing her shoulders, she rose upwards, standing tall with an elegant, impervious posture. The boy now barely reached the hem of her old-fashioned skirt, his body was wrought into what looked like a melted, malnourished garden gnome. She pinched the boy's malformed head with her slender fingers - a nail chipping off a wayward piece of matter that had defied the shrinking - and lifted the boy like a dirty garment, placing him into the purse he once wished to steal from. "Now you are home," she uttered in a shrill whisper. She clicked the lips of her purse together, and sat back down at the long, wooden bench. The world around her bustled with birds' tweets and friendly conversation, as if nothing had ever happened.'

Hello, and welcome to my new blog. This is where I will be posting all of my stories as they are created, with the intention of both storing and displaying my work for others to enjoy.