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Angstbucket Edgelord Vice Captain
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 Posted: Wed Jan 30, 2013 12:20 pm
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Angstbucket Edgelord Vice Captain
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Posted: Wed Jan 30, 2013 12:32 pm
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Posted: Wed Jan 30, 2013 12:35 pm
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The evening gloom stretched on endlessly into a darkening horizon, broken only by a hurtling glint of metal. With a whirring report, The* sighted its destination - *, dubbed by many as The City of Fireflies. To those on the edge, those on the suburbs of civilization, the city was synonymous with hope, and a brave new future.
In truth, * was a scintillating cluster of shattered promises and scattered pasts, paving a road to progress with shards of memories and fragments of history. Undone, demolished, broken. People came and didn’t leave, and the city’s stuttering heartbeat thrived on the perpetual humming of machines. Times were changing, for better or for worse, and as the train surged forward, the hopes and aspirations of all within mirrored the movement.
All but three.
Alice Ridgley was one such person. To her, the tracks spanned kilometres, seeming ever longer with each trip. Around the bend loomed the spires of *, tauntingly tantalising and increasingly sickening. Fingers tightening convulsively on the brass of a bell-pull, she let her eyes roam the fading wilderness once more before announcing the arrival of * in the station with two sharp tugs. The end of a journey – music to her ears, and the soft silence of a promise. Tomorrow, and many more days to come.
Marc Hindenburg was another. On the edge of escape of a prison and a home, a limousine drew out of the darkness, cutting a swathe through the masses. For a moment, he gazed off into the far distance, watching the train speed off like a streak of tangible starlight and imagined that he could part the sea of faces, then he was just another hopeless, helpless figure who spared only a cursory glance at the glittering skyline.
* was a third. For him, these city lights were no brighter than the last, or the countless others he’d seen before. The air outside did smell danker, though, a testimony to the apathy on the old-timers’ faces mingled with the fickle smiles of the new arrivals. There was the occasional patch of warmth as a station-light flashed by, but the night stretched on for miles into the gaudy brightness. The boy loathed the unsolvable, illogical paradox of ice-cold yet blinding lights.
Sal and Laurel.
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Angstbucket Edgelord Vice Captain
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Angstbucket Edgelord Vice Captain
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Posted: Thu Jan 31, 2013 10:20 am
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The city streaked by, flashing fire.
Of course, there hadn't been anything wrong back then. The stars turned slowly in pitch skies, and the screech of tires seared an imprint in her memory. Neon glows teetered on the thin brink between pain and exhilaration, eddying and swirling as her eyes flicked back and forth. The light followed. Then an afterburn, an icy explosion of red headlights.
The noises ceased.
---
It's all well and good to see those rich velvet sundowns on the flipside of postcards and the fresh dewdrop greens brimming on a veiny leaf, magnified a thousandfold. What she didn't know about was the fury of the sun that day, hot humid atmosphere pressing down. Or the cool whirr of pixelated screens, an artificial rainbow. Hues neatly numbered and ordered. Magenta. Chartreuse. Cyan.
As a city girl, she had often dreamed of rolling hills, running streams. She was Christopher Columbus, piles of foamy sea before her. The horizon was always within reach, infinity just around the corner. It's peculiar in that funny way - when your earth is one gigantic sphere of aqua and terra, the notion of forever in a day lurks in the periphery. And then there is tomorrow. Always tomorrow.
That strange word, she tastes it tingling on the tip of her tongue again. Rolls the syllables around as she stares at the clock. To-mor-row. The hand jumps, executes a pirouette into the unforseeable future. Yes, in twenty-four hours.
Tomorrow, the sunlight will stream in through the glass. Dust motes will sparkle for one magical, fleeting moment. She will wake up and smell the tar and conrete, chase the sound of imaginary birdsong through her mind. In her fabricated soundscape, melodies are always harmonious. God forbid the thought of shrieking birds.
Her attention is drawn by the harsh sounds. Again, she realises it : no alpine winds, no crickets. Sheer mundaneness pushes her further back into the bed like a lead weight.
How many patterns can she find in the half-darkness?
A world forms in the pitted canvas-white of the ceiling. You might not have noticed the presence of those early-morning spectres, but they're there. Unfocus your eyes for a bit. First, they'll blaze golden-white. Then they'll waver through a pastel spectrum.
Personally, I think they're fairies.
Her mind's eye flips open seconds before a ray of sunlight can pierce the beautiful gloom. She smells the room into perspective - sterile, brightly lit, whitewashed halls, and a tightly coiled nervousness snaking indecisively towards herself.
A hospital.
How very hackneyed.
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Posted: Wed Feb 06, 2013 1:15 pm
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Only one critique: the prologue is very heavy on descriptive language, and while that is vital in order to place the reader in the story, adjectives can be overwhelming. Also, while it is vital to try and convey what you are imagining to the reader, to many descriptions can limit what the reader is able to imagine. It can hamper their ability to put themselves in the story; instead they will just be seeing someone else's story that they cannot really interact in.
But besides that, I am intrigued, especially by the first chapter. I was a little lost as to where it could be heading towards but you resolved that very cleverly. You anchored the entire chapter merely by giving it a concrete setting, which I only saw at the end of the chapter was all that it was needing.
And despite my critique of the prologue, I thought it was great. The descriptions you give of the city imply that the setting is as much a character as any persons, along the lines of Akira (did that for Neo-Tokyo,) From Hell (Victorian London,) or Le Samourai (Paris.) It's a tough feat.
And really, the highest praise I can give anything is that I want to read more. And I want to read more.
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Angstbucket Edgelord Vice Captain
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Posted: Wed Feb 06, 2013 1:33 pm
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Gnomes-san Only one critique: the prologue is very heavy on descriptive language, and while that is vital in order to place the reader in the story, adjectives can be overwhelming. Also, while it is vital to try and convey what you are imagining to the reader, to many descriptions can limit what the reader is able to imagine. It can hamper their ability to put themselves in the story; instead they will just be seeing someone else's story that they cannot really interact in. But besides that, I am intrigued, especially by the first chapter. I was a little lost as to where it could be heading towards but you resolved that very cleverly. You anchored the entire chapter merely by giving it a concrete setting, which I only saw at the end of the chapter was all that it was needing. And despite my critique of the prologue, I thought it was great. The descriptions you give of the city imply that the setting is as much a character as any persons, along the lines of Akira (did that for Neo-Tokyo,) From Hell (Victorian London,) or Le Samourai (Paris.) It's a tough feat. And really, the highest praise I can give anything is that I want to read more. And I want to read more.
Thanks so much for the critique! It was really helpful, and were I less lazy and/or otherwise preoccupied, I'd go change it right now. And truthfully, this is a rough draft, or more a collection of scattered pieces I've gathered over my time on Gaia. It could certainly use a lot of revising. |
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