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@catchamber Since you asked for it. Not exactly what I'd use for my writing resume. But I guess I didn't entirely hate it in the moment. <.<'
This is not a submission for voting.
Original plan was to produce a five act story with each separate act being written in a different/unique writing style, expanded from an idea I had in my head. But I figured, I wouldn't have time after how I've been feeling and I changed it around to only be a three act structure (two of the smaller acts mashed together.) So this only a third of story that had already been cut down, but I guess I learned about time management and how you cannot predict your surroundings sometimes.
If you want to read, or even critique. Feel free. (Praise will make me feel better about my doubts, and telling me it's awful will make me feel better for not finishing it. So win-win. Ha ha.) Just noting I didn't get to go through my usual editing process, so it may be more sloppy than my usual work. Didn't finish it because I doubted I could finish it to my standards (or in time for posting.)
His left eye opened, regaining consciousness underneath maroon gassy masses floating a hundred meters upward. Their artificial glow provided dim, albeit sufficient lighting needed to scan his surroundings, not that the place required assistance in tinting its landscape bloody. He remembered three things surviving his plummet into the darkness and then smashing his head into the amalgamation of cold metal and warm corpses, as he tumbled like a rag doll to the bottom. The first was those contraptions had shoved him into this hellhole and his second was his immediate desire to leave. Attempting to stand himself up and instead keeling over onto his stomach with a clang and a splash. Drenching his forehead in a thick sticky substance pooled beneath, hearing the sound of subtle dripping coming from above. Something was wrong with his right foot, flipping on that side and staring up at the long spike sticking up straight, and the lifeless body impaled their upper torso with liquid pouring from their once shrieking mouth. But she looked different from the scrap piles with several fleshy anatomically proportioned limbs, clothed and unmangled. His attention changing to a pierced plated piece pinning his foot, clenching his lower leg and pulling — it out with all his might — wasn’t plausible. Glancing at the large cleaver within his fingers grasp as he stretched out his hand, struggling to grip the handle before picking it up while the sky released a demonic growl. Not hesitating for even a moment, he concentrated and raised the blade high and swung hard — one chop had severed the affected extremity.
Wait, why wasn’t I screaming like everyone else?
A bright flash of light flooded the area, highlighting the vast scale of skewered and broken bodies that had been similarly discarded. Followed by an intense boom and sparking a thousand pairs of glowing crimson lights appear from the wreckage as the graveyard of the soulless regained sentience. He watched arms and legs spouting from throughout the grounds and walls continuously. The clamoring of scraping metal and whistling steam was ceaseless, as a discharged projectile struck with another powerful roar that streaked down from the mass in his sight. Whatever shrouded these skies were creating the loud noises...
He noticed many of these strange beings held up by tall metallic pikes, shared an aesthetic uniformity. Each holding various, hardly visible numbers etched on the middle of their foreheads. Their entire framework began to sway and dance in a singular repetitive motion like marionettes compelled by a twisted higher power. Machines letting out low pitched buzzing that seemed to be beckoning him to remain put. Seeing this triggered a memory inside his obscured mind presenting temporary clarity, yet it felt like skimming the shallows of an endless sea. His inner voice gave a series of unnerved and eminent pleas.
Escape. I must spare them this suffering.
Catching a glimpse of a recognizable flickering pattern of blue beam in the distance, in-between the drastic changes from dull to blinding brightness repeating every couple seconds. Pushing upright using his hands as leverage, able to balance himself up on his foot unwavering, hopping forward but his movement was halted by the hands grabbing his leg. An instant instinctive feeling overtook his next movements, hastily striking them away with the cleaver. His focus shifting to a mechanical foot, it had the perfect measurements to fit, lunging forth and hacking at it and yanking it off. Receiving a stiff kick causing him to stumble and fall on his hindquarters, beginning to sink into the ground being pulled under the surface. He swiftly sat up with his equipment still tightly gripped, reaching for where he had amputated. Thin wires sprung from the object and dug through his flesh like aggressive snakes, completely attaching itself to his leg. Getting up by thrashing about, he ran off toward that strangely familiar blinking signal distinguished among the clutter — what was it?! An S.O.S?
He knew that somebody was alive and seeking help, approaching the target with a full sprint past what he considered crowds of demons digging their nails across his legs. Only heeding his momentum with heavy plodding, skidding to a complete stop. Clenching his hands and taking a single step back, close enough to discover their identity, using a light source from his flashing eyes. It was one of those contraptions!
But his forehead wasn’t detailed with numerals and once he stood beside it, the lights stopped and it remained motionless. He crept closer, it appeared to be wearing a suit of torn apart flesh, yet a gentle touch with his fingertips confirmed it was synthetic. It was slumped against a hill of hands, a pair strangling its neck, having both its arms yanked backward and engulfed into entrapment. It spoke, he flinched and recoiled.
“Cut off my arms — please.” Spoken in a monotone voice that also sounded like they were gargling gravel. He stared at the cleaver with pause, and saw the small rectangular device clamped between its bent knees and snatched it without interference. Pressing the button that resided on the top, as it played a recorded message...
Static. A screech fizzled out all audible words before abruptly ending…
“Free me and I’ll get you out of here.” After that exchange failed to change anything, the atmosphere grew still and silent just as water droplets pelted them. He gawked at the sky in awe.
Freezing. That frigid sensation brought about nostalgic memories kept buried like — the winter snow — weather...
“It’s a weather machine. It created those storm clouds to produce lightning that’s absorbed by all hollowed vessels, and stored as excess energy needed to fuel their generators — the rain is used wash away the smell…” Finally catching his interest, he examined the contraption and lifted the cleaver up to swing.
Eliminate the threat!
An impulse exchanged for perception, he didn’t stop smashing the blade long after the contraption had been freed, slashing at the debris until the cleaver shattered into pieces. The contraptions’ vocal interruption brought him back into reality.
“I’m Rytok-” It explained fusing another replacement arm by shoving it into its dismantled shoulder and affixing its dislocated position with several stiff twists, steam hissing from the cracks. “I can explain the rest — when we’ve left this place. Everything in this facility requires two...including our exit.” Rytok glanced at his forehead. His eyes just noticed the tiny diamond shaped crystal, shimmering blue, embedded inside his mechanical tongue. He pointed at his mouth and glared, feeling his own tongue implant while scraping against his gums. The weather returned forgoing mercy, and the lightning cascaded with flooding water. Rytok pulled his arm, as he unsuccessfully struggled to break his superior powerful grasp as it started dragging him off.
“I didn’t do that to you. Our objectives are identical. Stop hesitating, you’ll only giving our enemies more time.” Despite an inflection that couldn’t change intensity, he didn’t even really understand, but he started running to keep the same pace. The weight of the situation pushed him forth, but gravity seemed to be the final thing keeping Rytok grounded. Crossing the dump and reaching an enormous obsidian wall, a large gate with four levers, which required grabbing the handles, two pairs in a horizontal line beside each other on opposite sides of the door. Opening it by pushing them forward at the same time. His analysis was proven correct, as Rytok grabbed both handles on the west side.
His eyes quickly shifted from the reflective surface of the gate, heading to the east and reluctantly grasping the handles, then looked at Rytok and waited. He expected words immediately after they opened this door, but he received a sentence before Rytok shoved the handles into the door. The sound of churning cogs and wailing screams coming from within the walls in its aftermath.
“If you’ve forgotten your name, I’ll be addressing you by their failed attempt to code you. Ohwo.” He accepted the given title, his original name evaded him, but convinced it existed. Inserting them in, immediately feeling an immense shock that coursed through out his body, an ineffectual execution method.
Ohwo had contemplated more questions, leaving the uproar behind. But few answers on the upheaval that created this misery. Imagining he was in a state of irreparable disrepair, burdens no wider than the gaps of the ascending wall. Their exit creating an entrance, revealing the white glow glimmering from the narrow gates down from a long staircase heading up for an indeterminable length. He followed directly beside Rytok, trying to copy his movements. Though it was apparent cooperation was essential, they couldn’t stop exchanging suspicious glances, paranoid that if either got too far ahead, it meant being kicked back into that wretched graveyard...
Though I expect some interesting and interestingly written stories folks, don't let me down. Best of luck for those who follow through with their submissions.
This is not a submission for voting.
Original plan was to produce a five act story with each separate act being written in a different/unique writing style, expanded from an idea I had in my head. But I figured, I wouldn't have time after how I've been feeling and I changed it around to only be a three act structure (two of the smaller acts mashed together.) So this only a third of story that had already been cut down, but I guess I learned about time management and how you cannot predict your surroundings sometimes.
If you want to read, or even critique. Feel free. (Praise will make me feel better about my doubts, and telling me it's awful will make me feel better for not finishing it. So win-win. Ha ha.) Just noting I didn't get to go through my usual editing process, so it may be more sloppy than my usual work. Didn't finish it because I doubted I could finish it to my standards (or in time for posting.)
Act 1: Into The Dumps
His left eye opened, regaining consciousness underneath maroon gassy masses floating a hundred meters upward. Their artificial glow provided dim, albeit sufficient lighting needed to scan his surroundings, not that the place required assistance in tinting its landscape bloody. He remembered three things surviving his plummet into the darkness and then smashing his head into the amalgamation of cold metal and warm corpses, as he tumbled like a rag doll to the bottom. The first was those contraptions had shoved him into this hellhole and his second was his immediate desire to leave. Attempting to stand himself up and instead keeling over onto his stomach with a clang and a splash. Drenching his forehead in a thick sticky substance pooled beneath, hearing the sound of subtle dripping coming from above. Something was wrong with his right foot, flipping on that side and staring up at the long spike sticking up straight, and the lifeless body impaled their upper torso with liquid pouring from their once shrieking mouth. But she looked different from the scrap piles with several fleshy anatomically proportioned limbs, clothed and unmangled. His attention changing to a pierced plated piece pinning his foot, clenching his lower leg and pulling — it out with all his might — wasn’t plausible. Glancing at the large cleaver within his fingers grasp as he stretched out his hand, struggling to grip the handle before picking it up while the sky released a demonic growl. Not hesitating for even a moment, he concentrated and raised the blade high and swung hard — one chop had severed the affected extremity.
Wait, why wasn’t I screaming like everyone else?
A bright flash of light flooded the area, highlighting the vast scale of skewered and broken bodies that had been similarly discarded. Followed by an intense boom and sparking a thousand pairs of glowing crimson lights appear from the wreckage as the graveyard of the soulless regained sentience. He watched arms and legs spouting from throughout the grounds and walls continuously. The clamoring of scraping metal and whistling steam was ceaseless, as a discharged projectile struck with another powerful roar that streaked down from the mass in his sight. Whatever shrouded these skies were creating the loud noises...
He noticed many of these strange beings held up by tall metallic pikes, shared an aesthetic uniformity. Each holding various, hardly visible numbers etched on the middle of their foreheads. Their entire framework began to sway and dance in a singular repetitive motion like marionettes compelled by a twisted higher power. Machines letting out low pitched buzzing that seemed to be beckoning him to remain put. Seeing this triggered a memory inside his obscured mind presenting temporary clarity, yet it felt like skimming the shallows of an endless sea. His inner voice gave a series of unnerved and eminent pleas.
Escape. I must spare them this suffering.
Catching a glimpse of a recognizable flickering pattern of blue beam in the distance, in-between the drastic changes from dull to blinding brightness repeating every couple seconds. Pushing upright using his hands as leverage, able to balance himself up on his foot unwavering, hopping forward but his movement was halted by the hands grabbing his leg. An instant instinctive feeling overtook his next movements, hastily striking them away with the cleaver. His focus shifting to a mechanical foot, it had the perfect measurements to fit, lunging forth and hacking at it and yanking it off. Receiving a stiff kick causing him to stumble and fall on his hindquarters, beginning to sink into the ground being pulled under the surface. He swiftly sat up with his equipment still tightly gripped, reaching for where he had amputated. Thin wires sprung from the object and dug through his flesh like aggressive snakes, completely attaching itself to his leg. Getting up by thrashing about, he ran off toward that strangely familiar blinking signal distinguished among the clutter — what was it?! An S.O.S?
He knew that somebody was alive and seeking help, approaching the target with a full sprint past what he considered crowds of demons digging their nails across his legs. Only heeding his momentum with heavy plodding, skidding to a complete stop. Clenching his hands and taking a single step back, close enough to discover their identity, using a light source from his flashing eyes. It was one of those contraptions!
But his forehead wasn’t detailed with numerals and once he stood beside it, the lights stopped and it remained motionless. He crept closer, it appeared to be wearing a suit of torn apart flesh, yet a gentle touch with his fingertips confirmed it was synthetic. It was slumped against a hill of hands, a pair strangling its neck, having both its arms yanked backward and engulfed into entrapment. It spoke, he flinched and recoiled.
“Cut off my arms — please.” Spoken in a monotone voice that also sounded like they were gargling gravel. He stared at the cleaver with pause, and saw the small rectangular device clamped between its bent knees and snatched it without interference. Pressing the button that resided on the top, as it played a recorded message...
Heed my warning. My name is Mikael I. Eden. But you’ll know me better by the pseudonym, Rytok. I’m a leader of a human resistance group. If you’ve recovered this, I’m likely dead. So are hundreds of my followers. Sheer numbers will not intimidate them. Our weapons proved ineffective, and we couldn’t destroy faster than they build. But I’ve discovered their secret! It’s...
Static. A screech fizzled out all audible words before abruptly ending…
“Free me and I’ll get you out of here.” After that exchange failed to change anything, the atmosphere grew still and silent just as water droplets pelted them. He gawked at the sky in awe.
Freezing. That frigid sensation brought about nostalgic memories kept buried like — the winter snow — weather...
“It’s a weather machine. It created those storm clouds to produce lightning that’s absorbed by all hollowed vessels, and stored as excess energy needed to fuel their generators — the rain is used wash away the smell…” Finally catching his interest, he examined the contraption and lifted the cleaver up to swing.
Eliminate the threat!
An impulse exchanged for perception, he didn’t stop smashing the blade long after the contraption had been freed, slashing at the debris until the cleaver shattered into pieces. The contraptions’ vocal interruption brought him back into reality.
“I’m Rytok-” It explained fusing another replacement arm by shoving it into its dismantled shoulder and affixing its dislocated position with several stiff twists, steam hissing from the cracks. “I can explain the rest — when we’ve left this place. Everything in this facility requires two...including our exit.” Rytok glanced at his forehead. His eyes just noticed the tiny diamond shaped crystal, shimmering blue, embedded inside his mechanical tongue. He pointed at his mouth and glared, feeling his own tongue implant while scraping against his gums. The weather returned forgoing mercy, and the lightning cascaded with flooding water. Rytok pulled his arm, as he unsuccessfully struggled to break his superior powerful grasp as it started dragging him off.
“I didn’t do that to you. Our objectives are identical. Stop hesitating, you’ll only giving our enemies more time.” Despite an inflection that couldn’t change intensity, he didn’t even really understand, but he started running to keep the same pace. The weight of the situation pushed him forth, but gravity seemed to be the final thing keeping Rytok grounded. Crossing the dump and reaching an enormous obsidian wall, a large gate with four levers, which required grabbing the handles, two pairs in a horizontal line beside each other on opposite sides of the door. Opening it by pushing them forward at the same time. His analysis was proven correct, as Rytok grabbed both handles on the west side.
His eyes quickly shifted from the reflective surface of the gate, heading to the east and reluctantly grasping the handles, then looked at Rytok and waited. He expected words immediately after they opened this door, but he received a sentence before Rytok shoved the handles into the door. The sound of churning cogs and wailing screams coming from within the walls in its aftermath.
“If you’ve forgotten your name, I’ll be addressing you by their failed attempt to code you. Ohwo.” He accepted the given title, his original name evaded him, but convinced it existed. Inserting them in, immediately feeling an immense shock that coursed through out his body, an ineffectual execution method.
Ohwo had contemplated more questions, leaving the uproar behind. But few answers on the upheaval that created this misery. Imagining he was in a state of irreparable disrepair, burdens no wider than the gaps of the ascending wall. Their exit creating an entrance, revealing the white glow glimmering from the narrow gates down from a long staircase heading up for an indeterminable length. He followed directly beside Rytok, trying to copy his movements. Though it was apparent cooperation was essential, they couldn’t stop exchanging suspicious glances, paranoid that if either got too far ahead, it meant being kicked back into that wretched graveyard...
Though I expect some interesting and interestingly written stories folks, don't let me down. Best of luck for those who follow through with their submissions.
