"The growth of understanding follows an ascending spiral rather than a straight line." ~Joanna Field

Wednesday, August 10, 2011

Story Fragments

So here's what's happening:
I am cleaning out my old basement room, and have finally decided to do something with that avalanche of paper I have. Burning the depressing crap, organizing the drawings, marveling at my usage of English.
Annnnd typing up story fragments. Those paragraphs and pages of unfinished, unpolished first drafts. So I figure I'll put some up as I get them typed. This seems a better place than my Facebook notes for some reason. If you see a set of three hyphens (---) it means that fragment is done, on to the next.
I make no guarantee to the quality or length, though I will try to keep the ones that are complete crap to myself. If you get frustrated with my past-self for leaving something unfinished you can feel free to go back in time and yell at me. Also, ask me. I probably can give you the jist of the missing stuff.
Here goes:


Fear. Fear. Fear.
Avoid the cities. Danger. Danger abounds in the cities.
Rot, mold, disease. It is all there. But worse, worst of all of it… the people. They stand exactly as they stood for so long. Many had been stripped, the clothing taken for usage long ago, and stood more exposed than any of them would ever have allowed while they were alive. Not that they were dead now. They were just… stopped. But despite the dangers the city exudes, it is where you will find me.
I have lived for far too long, seen far too much, and lost so many to the sea of time. No, not a sea, for the sea is too calm. The storm, the tornado of time.
My life since the Stop has been, in a single word, full. Full and hectic, busy and lonely. Oh, I had many people pass through. And many people stay, for a time. But the dangers and horrors of the city push all on, eventually. And yet I stay.
I made a home in what was once a loblaws, though no one alive today but I would have even the slightest clue what that means. I ate the produce first, and the bread, in the days of my grievance. Then I set to work. I moved the bodies, for I shall ever refer to them as bodies, until, that is, the awakening comes. I moved the bodies outside, using a trolley I found in the hardware section. I was weak then. 150pounds of human flesh were too much for me. I tried to lay them out as well as possible the first day. And then I gave up. I stacked them five high in small pyramids in the parking lot. Then I moved cars. I learned to hotwire on the internet, for in those days the internet was the only connection I had to the world, dead as it was. I set them up in a barricade around the doors, learning to drive as I went.
I was an obsessive apocalypse nut before this all had happened.
I followed the layout in my mind quite subconsciously, using the work to escape my grief. Next were the raids. Still early in the Stop, the other markets had some produce still fresh. That was a treat. I loaded an SUV full of water bottles and trailers hitched ten long to the back. Water was my first concern. Always. Next, every piece of non-perishable food I could lay my hands on. Then I ate through as much fresh food as I could, and started a garden. I had still yet to see any living people. I was scared, scared I was the only human left, until the awakening. I cried every night until finally there were no tears left. The shelves where great for making a room for my bed, my nest.
The world around him started to flash, brilliant colours, monotones, high buildings, open fields. All he could do was keep pushing his dream, or have himself wiped away into oblivion by the tides of the world. He heard a loud cracking noise, like an electrical wire on wet pavement, smelt smoke, and saw a blinding flash of light all at once. Then suddenly, all was white. He felt like he was floating, until he hit the ground. Hard. He tucked his limbs under himself and rolled to a stop. Kneeling, and then standing up, he saw a small group of six or seven men and women in white lab coats standing before him. None of them were smiling, and the large black man in front was positively scowling. Behind himself he heard a large shuffling of feet, and some small sobs and sniffles. Afraid to look away from the ominous group of white clad adults, he turned a half turn and saw behind him

That's what I've got for now, but there will be more. Poems, sentences, plotlines crudely point-formed. Oh, my, why did I save this stuff?
I guess for the same reason I am now typing them up. Preservation of self.

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