Let me know what you think! Slight... well, not violence, but description of radiation poisoning symptoms...
[align=center]The Sound of Silence
To my sister, who has always hated war.
“We live in the flicker.â€
The Sound of Silence
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Lady Kenshin - Posts: 375
- Joined: Fri Sep 12, 2008 4:16 pm
- Location: Somewhere outside the Gate...
The rest of the story...
********
I wander for hours, days, nights? I am not sure. The clouds make it hard to tell the times of day and night. Occasionally, a blur of movement that seems more solid than the nebulous clouds of who knows what substances flits in the corner of my eye, but when I turn, it is gone. Perhaps I am the most terrifying thing here. That is more frightening than anything else. I am alone, with just me and the silence. The sound, the almost imperceptible buzzing in my ears, has grown to be a comforter, a friend, a buffer between the silence and I. The silence, to me, grows less and less abstract; in a way, it almost seems a person, but not a kind person at all. The silence, to me, presents a figure most solemn and fearful, a ruler who has done and endured countless unspeakable horrors to become as horrible as it is. Why do we fear the silence? I think I may have demonized the silence itself in a manner most undeserved. The longer I wander, the more I realize why the little buzz is so friendly: it lets me pretend, for a moment or two, that I am not alone.
A cry cuts through the quiet like a knife; I suppose I am not alone, after all… or is the silence, angry at my harsh judgment, mocking me in his own way? I am almost unwilling to turn to look, but I suppose I have once more mischaracterized my fleeing companion, for the cries continue. I look up and see her: a tiny child, two at most, barely able to toddle and trapped under her crib. I rise, with the addition of company once more in charge of my own situation, and soon have lifted the awful prison off of her. It is glorious to have someone else, even if she is shrieking with terror at my sudden appearance. I slowly approach her, but she runs from me toward the great pillar of purple that hangs over the deep, lake-sized pit. I know not why she runs that particular way; perhaps it is because of the color… or perhaps it is because that direction is the most direct route away from me.
I run after her immediately, of course; there is nothing that could happen to make me release my only companionship.
********
The burning seems to worsen the further I run. I wonder if that has something to do with my proximity to the crater. Doubtless it does. I see her little legs toddling as fast as they can, but I am more cautious, for I know the probable meaning of a fall. There is so much shrapnel lying around; I have no wish to become acquainted with severe blood loss. I am beginning to grow tired, but it’s no wonder, given the strength of my love for running. It is as if someone, the silence most likely, has put a pin in a balloon containing my strength, and I cannot run any more. She has stopped, and she looks at me. Her face is full of pain, but I cannot get up to reach her. I raise my arm painfully, gesturing her toward me. She is still afraid, but I suppose even she realizes the futility of running at this point. She comes toward me, her face smeared with dirt and blood. Her mouth is dry and cracked; there is not even pus to run from the sores. I hug her to me, and I discover that her diaper is full of dark, runny liquid; its reddish tint tells me she has not much more time to live. I am so thirsty, so thirsty…
Why is fear, after all? Is it…? I cannot think any more. There is only thirst, burning, thirst, burning, pain, burning, diarrhea, burning, gasping for breath… and the silence, mocking me with echoes of a low, comforting buzzing… The horror, the horror!
A/N: As I am sure I do not have to tell you...
This content is ©2009 by me. Infringement will not be tolerated.
I wander for hours, days, nights? I am not sure. The clouds make it hard to tell the times of day and night. Occasionally, a blur of movement that seems more solid than the nebulous clouds of who knows what substances flits in the corner of my eye, but when I turn, it is gone. Perhaps I am the most terrifying thing here. That is more frightening than anything else. I am alone, with just me and the silence. The sound, the almost imperceptible buzzing in my ears, has grown to be a comforter, a friend, a buffer between the silence and I. The silence, to me, grows less and less abstract; in a way, it almost seems a person, but not a kind person at all. The silence, to me, presents a figure most solemn and fearful, a ruler who has done and endured countless unspeakable horrors to become as horrible as it is. Why do we fear the silence? I think I may have demonized the silence itself in a manner most undeserved. The longer I wander, the more I realize why the little buzz is so friendly: it lets me pretend, for a moment or two, that I am not alone.
A cry cuts through the quiet like a knife; I suppose I am not alone, after all… or is the silence, angry at my harsh judgment, mocking me in his own way? I am almost unwilling to turn to look, but I suppose I have once more mischaracterized my fleeing companion, for the cries continue. I look up and see her: a tiny child, two at most, barely able to toddle and trapped under her crib. I rise, with the addition of company once more in charge of my own situation, and soon have lifted the awful prison off of her. It is glorious to have someone else, even if she is shrieking with terror at my sudden appearance. I slowly approach her, but she runs from me toward the great pillar of purple that hangs over the deep, lake-sized pit. I know not why she runs that particular way; perhaps it is because of the color… or perhaps it is because that direction is the most direct route away from me.
I run after her immediately, of course; there is nothing that could happen to make me release my only companionship.
********
The burning seems to worsen the further I run. I wonder if that has something to do with my proximity to the crater. Doubtless it does. I see her little legs toddling as fast as they can, but I am more cautious, for I know the probable meaning of a fall. There is so much shrapnel lying around; I have no wish to become acquainted with severe blood loss. I am beginning to grow tired, but it’s no wonder, given the strength of my love for running. It is as if someone, the silence most likely, has put a pin in a balloon containing my strength, and I cannot run any more. She has stopped, and she looks at me. Her face is full of pain, but I cannot get up to reach her. I raise my arm painfully, gesturing her toward me. She is still afraid, but I suppose even she realizes the futility of running at this point. She comes toward me, her face smeared with dirt and blood. Her mouth is dry and cracked; there is not even pus to run from the sores. I hug her to me, and I discover that her diaper is full of dark, runny liquid; its reddish tint tells me she has not much more time to live. I am so thirsty, so thirsty…
Why is fear, after all? Is it…? I cannot think any more. There is only thirst, burning, thirst, burning, pain, burning, diarrhea, burning, gasping for breath… and the silence, mocking me with echoes of a low, comforting buzzing… The horror, the horror!
A/N: As I am sure I do not have to tell you...
This content is ©2009 by me. Infringement will not be tolerated.
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Lady Kenshin - Posts: 375
- Joined: Fri Sep 12, 2008 4:16 pm
- Location: Somewhere outside the Gate...
Esoteric (post: 1296722) wrote:Well, it's certainly depressing. :/ I'm not sure what to say beyond that... Tell me, what were you intending to convey in this story? The pitiable and fearful suffering of the doomed, or something else?
The horrors of war and of being alone. I hope it wasn't too depressing... but at the same time, nuclear disasters aren't hearts and flowers...
Thank you for reading!
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Lady Kenshin - Posts: 375
- Joined: Fri Sep 12, 2008 4:16 pm
- Location: Somewhere outside the Gate...
Ah, I see. Well the horror of dying alone is what really came out. I didn't get the feeling a war was in progress. Yeah, a nuclear blast is vaguely implied, but it needs more clarity. For all we know in the story, the people aren't at war and it might have been an accident...like Cherynobl. It doesn't help that the main character has no idea what's going on or identify it as a bomb. He just says it that it looked liked a giant explosion must have happened. (Small note, nuclear bombs normally don't leave craters if they're dropped from the air.) And for someone who isn't familiar with radiation poisoning, the fact that it was a nuclear blast might even slip by.
So basically, it's good, but if you really want it to be a statement about war, we need to understand a little more about what's going on in this world. Maybe have the man think about how his life was and what he's lost. We don't know anything about this guy except that he spends his last days wandering around philosophically thinking about fear. It's depressing to be sure, but not especially gripping.
So basically, it's good, but if you really want it to be a statement about war, we need to understand a little more about what's going on in this world. Maybe have the man think about how his life was and what he's lost. We don't know anything about this guy except that he spends his last days wandering around philosophically thinking about fear. It's depressing to be sure, but not especially gripping.
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Esoteric - Posts: 1603
- Joined: Sun Aug 22, 2004 1:12 pm
- Location: The Lost Room.
Esoteric (post: 1297231) wrote:Ah, I see. Well the horror of dying alone is what really came out. I didn't get the feeling a war was in progress. Yeah, a nuclear blast is vaguely implied, but it needs more clarity. For all we know in the story, the people aren't at war and it might have been an accident...like Cherynobl. It doesn't help that the main character has no idea what's going on or identify it as a bomb. He just says it that it looked liked a giant explosion must have happened. (Small note, nuclear bombs normally don't leave craters if they're dropped from the air.) And for someone who isn't familiar with radiation poisoning, the fact that it was a nuclear blast might even slip by.
So basically, it's good, but if you really want it to be a statement about war, we need to understand a little more about what's going on in this world. Maybe have the man think about how his life was and what he's lost. We don't know anything about this guy except that he spends his last days wandering around philosophically thinking about fear. It's depressing to be sure, but not especially gripping.
Well, I really don't know if the bomb was dropped from the air... It's supposed to be vague, I guess. It's not really the war that's the focus, anyway, just the aftermath of the disaster, whatever it was. The horror of it all is supposed to be intensified by the fact that he has NO idea what's happening. That, and he's very young. I'm not sure how young. I kept his past vague on purpose, because he's an everyman. A smart guy, but an everyman.
As for what this story says... Looking back at it, I'm not really sure it's primarily a statement about war. I think that it's really about being all alone in an unfamiliar place with only a few warped reminders of what life used to be. Dying all alone, with no one else but a small, frightened child, trying to be strong for her, but finally succumbing to what is truly there... I guess war's not the primary focus after all. I started with that, and the piece evolved as I wrote it, I guess. I get a lot of inspiration from Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness.
Nonetheless, thank you for your thoughts. They will definitely help me in future endeavours!
I have more stuff to put up soon!
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Lady Kenshin - Posts: 375
- Joined: Fri Sep 12, 2008 4:16 pm
- Location: Somewhere outside the Gate...
Looking back at it, I'm not really sure it's primarily a statement about war. I think that it's really about being all alone in an unfamiliar place with only a few warped reminders of what life used to be. Dying all alone, with no one else but a small, frightened child, trying to be strong for her, but finally succumbing to what is truly there... I guess war's not the primary focus after all. I started with that, and the piece evolved as I wrote it, I guess.
Yes, and yes. It's certainly a strong picture of loneliness. Good luck with your future endeavors!
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Esoteric - Posts: 1603
- Joined: Sun Aug 22, 2004 1:12 pm
- Location: The Lost Room.
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