Well, in an attempt to get back into writing, and to garner some criticism for a story I wrote earlier this year, I decided to begin this writing thread.
Feel free to contribute any stories of your own, cronstructively critcise other people's work, or even just throw ideas out there.
I've decided to start the ball rolling with Wasted, a short (very) story from the earlier writing thread, as well as the Prologue for what will hopefully develop into a larger story.
Wasted, a cautionary tale inspired by a post on this forum.
“Hey Jim, have a gander at this, would you? Looks like some of the Ancient English pictograms on this entry have survived. Any idea what they mean?”
“Didn’t bring my translator with me, but the pictures are reasonably easy to decode. Latest theory on the block is most Ancient Humans were illiterate – the symbols were understood by all of them, so they used them on signs and the like.”
“Whatever, just tell me what they mean!”
“Lessee, here we have their warning symbol – and some other one I’ve never seen before. Lots of pictures of dying humans though – it might be a curse on those who enter, or possibly a depiction of the punishments for unauthorised entry. Either way, not a problem for us.”
I motioned at Jim to move over so I could look at the pictograms myself. Nearly the entire column was covered by pictures of humans dying, wasting away, and sporting all kinds of unnatural deformities. No matter what the pictograms showed, I wasn’t going to turn back now. I’d worked hard on this dig, and if all went well, it may reveal more about mankind’s mysterious ancestors. They seemingly disappeared off the face of the Earth – leaving little of themselves behind. Here was the greatest discovery since the Washington dig, an Ancient Human building set deep inside a mountain. It had taken weeks to uncover the entry, and finally we could go inside.
“Jim, got your flashlight?”
“I’m not totally incompetent you know – I even brought spare cells in case this thing goes in deep.”
“Well then, let’s go!”
The building seemed to be some kind of storage facility. All the walls had the same carvings as those on the entrance pillars, as clear as the day they were chiselled in.
“What do you think this place is, Jim?”
“Temple perhaps? Seems to go in pretty deep, it’s a good thing I brought those spare cells.”
“If this is a temple, I don’t want to meet the gods they were worshipping.”
I motioned at the carvings.
“Is it just me, or are they getting MORE gruesome?”
“No, they’re definitely getting worse. That other symbol is getting repeated more often too. What’s that!”
Jim’s flashlight illuminated a rusted pile of metal, the remains of some kind of machinery still distinguishable amongst the other scraps.
“Dunno, but I bet it’s important. Look at this, will you?”
I walked over to the pile of metal, and right past it, focusing on something else altogether. Strange cylindrical containers loomed out of the darkness, made out of a corrugated metal, badly rusted. There was a strange symbol on the barrel, the same symbol that had been repeated so many times in the carvings, as well as some genuine Ancient English words!
“What do they say?”
“Damnit, why the hell do I always forget my translator? Ok, at least there are only two words. Lessee, D..A..N.. oh, it says Danger! The other word though, I got no idea. I’ll make a copy of it to show to the guys back at the lab, and to see if the translator comes up with anything.”
“Well, hurry, the people back home are gonna want to see this!”
I began the walk to the surface, already making notes to get a tech to get a sample from one of those containers, as Jim sketched out the words on the barrel.
DANGER! RADIOACTIVE!
Making History, a prologue and a foray into a different writing style. Criticism much appreciated.
In a small wordlet, distanced from our dimensions of space and time, an assembly was being held. Few paid attention to the great hall they gathered in, with its massive pillars hewn from starlight and luminous moonbeam roof. The attendees themselves, although not all human, were all inherently magical, and so such displays of power had little interest to them. No, their eyes were fixated on the the Speaker at the front of the hall. Human, or at least humanoid, the Speaker was hidden by a black robe, with all exposed skin wrapped in black gauze, in the fashion of his world. Though he should be blind, his head turned, staring intently at the stragglers as they made their way to their seats. When all were still, and a hush had fallen over the room, the Speaker began. Though quiet, his voice easily carried, amplified by the strange architecture of the hall.
“Greetings.” His voice was cold and unfriendly, but carried a strange authority. He continued, unseen eyes continuing to roam about the room, sometimes stopping on a particular person, who would shuffle uncomfortably. “I do not speak to you as a friend, for, of those few of you that know me, I am more likely to be an enemy than a friend.” A few minute nods of agreement rippled about the Hall at these words, only to halt as the voice grew stronger, more forceful. “But I speak to you as one among many who share a common cause. We are the Historians, the chosen amongst our kind. As you know, I am the Historian of Earth, one of the oldest worlds, and also one of the most violent.”
The Speaker paused, and his voice lost some of its force, becoming almost remorseful. “For this reason, many of you know me as the Keeper of Sorrows. But I'm not the reason you are here. I called you here because a new world has been birthed, and soon will need a Historian.” At this, hushed mutterings broke out across the Hall.
The Speaker looked at each of them in turn, shaming them into silence. “There are those among you who say it is not our job to interfere, that we are called merely to observe. But there are others, those who would use their powers to control events rather than record them, and they must not be allowed to gain control of this new world. We must ensure fate runs its course, and this new Historian takes his rightful place amongst our ranks.”
Finished, the Keeper walked from the stage, as the assembly erupted into life.
“What is this new world?”
“How will we know who the Historian is?”
“How are we meant to protect him?”
Nothing in his voice belied his hidden smile as the Keeper answered their questions. And so it begins...
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Topic: The Writing Thread: Wasted (A Short Story) (Read 1574 times)