Get Your Claws Out T-f!

[andyroo]

Im writing a story and I wanted to get the genral idea of peoples opinions on the style and storyline, I dont want to reveal too much cos it goes a bit crazy n stuff, but just some feedback on any styles of writing, good or bad, so I dont go off on any bad directions or with any stuff I think sounds good but is an utter bag of wank.

Anyway, heres a bit of it so far, just a taster if you will. Enjoy:

Intro

The rain drummed rhythmically on the roof of the car, reducing the drone of the radio to a mere murmur in the background. The car’s lights chased and played shadows over the rocks along the side of the road, which snaked like a trickle of ink into the murky and foreboding distance.

A glimmer of sun reached up over the hills in the east, bleak and wintry, washing light slowly into the path of Alan’s car.

Alan stared achingly into the new morning, his eyes heavy and bloodshot, his hands tense on the steering wheel. He had been driving all night, adrenaline being all that had kept him awake. His dark black hair was soaked in sweat, and his skin glistened with it also.

The rain eased, and the radio crept into Alan’s attention.

“More than 2 million people have died late last night in what can only be described as the biggest freak of nature Britain has ever seen. Hundreds of earthquakes, measuring at nine on the Richter scale each have torn London apart. Reports say that tremors were felt yesterday in the early afternoon, with the horrific earthquakes following 10 hours after. The earthquakes lasted not more than 20 minutes, but with terrifying consequences. Over 2 million people have died and twice that have been seriously injured. Our deepest sympathies go out to all those who have lost loved ones. We will keep you updated as more information arrives…”

Alan’s mind disengaged from listening, as the light that was now flooding into his car pierced his eyes and seared into his retinas. He slowed the car down and stopped, still clutching the steering wheel as if it were the only thing keeping him alive.

His throat was so dry, swallowing was so difficult. He closed his eyes and leant back, trying to fight the aches and pains and tiredness that came flooding into his numbed body like water onto a parched river bed.

So many confused thoughts tangled themselves around in his mind, each one making less sense than the last, until finally, finally, Alan could not take anymore. His body shut down, his mind went blank, and his hands released the steering wheel and flopped down beside him.

Chapter 1

Alan woke with a start. The sun was now high up in the sky, staring down upon him, alone, deep in the depths of nowhere. He coughed, memories of a dry throat easing their way back into his conscious mind. Around him, fields and rolling hills stretched into the horizon, with beautiful blankets of grass and trees laid on top of them.

Birds sang their sweet melodies with an innocence that betrayed Alan’s mind, and just for a second, all was well for him.

The engine was still running, but the fuel needle was in the red. Alan reached up and twisted the key in the ignition. The ticking of the engine vanished, and all that pierced through the song of the birds was the hiss and drone of the radio.

It hummed in the background as he gathered together his thoughts from deep within his tired mind. As the jigsaw of scattered pieces of memory laid themselves down in his mind he stopped rubbing his eyes and look around sharply, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end, and a shiver of fear creeping down his spine.

He turned back round slowly and focused onto the radio, his hands still held up by the sides of his face, forgotten and frozen.

“The death toll is now five million and counting. Eye witness reports say that as the earthquakes were active, the sky over London became blood red and the moon shone like the sun, for the twenty minutes that the earthquakes took place in.”

The monotonous, distant voice of the newsreader was replaced by sobs of pain and fear;

“…It was horrible… I… I… I saw everything but it was over so fast… it was like the end of the world… I thought I was going to die…”

Silence followed, breached only by strangled gasps for air between sobs.

Alan shivered. He blinked. He remembered.

He remembers seeing his wife’s glazed eyes as he watches her die, holding onto her hand as she clutches their dead baby, feeling the last drop of life in her young body drain away, the ground shaking below him and the sky burning above him, all forgotten in his pain. He sees a dark stain edge its way across his shirt; he had been hit by a piece of falling debris. He remembers scrambling through the debris, screaming for help but without effect, the noise of the buildings collapsing around him way surpassing his voice. Clouds of dust are illuminated by the searing light around him, he stumbles, he falls. He stands up again, turning his head to see his wife being taken into the earth. He chokes and coughs, and staggers along a few paces before his knees buckle, and he vomits. He doesn’t know where to go, he wants to scream at the top of his lungs, he wants it to go away, he wants to wake up. He can’t. With his throat burning from the bile and body aching with bruises, he drags himself out of his front garden, once alive with flowers, now dead and covered in dust and rubble, and collapses once again in the road next to his car. Through the dust and his bleary eyes, he sees two children, a boy and a girl, the next door neighbours kids, swallowed up into the ground as it shears open beneath them.

Alan gives in. He can’t see any point in saving himself. He curls into a ball and tears course down his face. He sobs uncontrollably while his world and everything in it vanishes under the scorching sky. It had been nineteen minutes and twelve seconds since he and his wife had been woken up by the shaking of the house. It had been fifteen minutes and forty-seven seconds since his baby son was killed when the roof collapsed. It had been six minutes and twenty-nine seconds since his wife had died. And it has now been 20 minutes since the horror started. And it stopped.

Alan opens his clenched shut eyes. His mind is blank, his body on adrenaline-powered auto-pilot. He gets up, reaches for his keys in his pocket, climbs into his car and drives.

The stark contrast of this memory and the peacefulness of his surroundings was too much for Alan. He reached down and switched off the radio, fought his aching body and climbed out of the car. It must have been at least mid-day by now. The sun was high in the sky, and its warmth soothed its way around Alan’s body, trickling deep into his skin. He had never known such peace and tranquillity before, it seemed surreal, almost fake. He sat down, resting against the side of his car. Five minutes passed. Ten minutes passed. Alan drifted in and out of consciousness. An hour passed. His lips began to dry and crack in the heat of the sun. Flies buzz around his head, feasting on the salty sweat and dried vomit on his shirt. Two more hours pass. The sun twinkled on the bonnet of a car on the horizon. The car got closer and closer, the noise of its engine become slowly audible. Alan turned slowly to look as the car started to slow down. The car stopped along side him and a middle-aged, greying man stepped out.

“Hey there son, do you need a… Jesus! Are you alright!?” The middle-aged man stumbled over to Alan, carrying his portly figure as fast as he could. Alan opened his mouth slowly to speak, the sores in his lips cracking wide open and oozing liquid, but all he could manage was a whisper before being over taken by shaking fits of heavy coughing. The middle-aged man turned around and ran back to his car, opened the boot and scrabbled about frantically until he found what he was looking for, mumbling under his breath to himself in a panicked voice.

“Jesus Christ… I don’t know what to… how can I help… oh no… Ah ha… Got it…”

He once again hurried over to Alan, carrying a large plastic bottle of water. “Here you go, its only for topping up my radiator in emergencies, it’s been there for months, I hope its ok…” He passed it to Alan who made a feeble attempt to clutch onto it with his shaking hands, but it fell to the ground.

“Here, let me help… that’s it…” the middle-aged man picked up the bottle as it spewed its contents onto the dusty floor, and held it to Alan’s lips. Alan drank deeply, water cascading down his dust covered face, choking as he tried to get the water into him. He drank until the bottle was empty, and when he finished, his body took hold of him again and he started shivering violently, spasms of shock, heatstroke and tiredness wracking their way through his weakened body. He slipped from sitting up onto the floor, landing in a pool of the spilled water. The middle-aged man sat frozen… his shocked expression engraved into his pale face. He looked around for help, knowing there was none, and started to panic. “Erm… er… don’t worry, I’ll get you to a hospital as quick as I can!” He stood up and span round, heading off back to his car to fling the passenger door open. Sweat poured down his red face, and his lungs heaved with the effort. He collapsed back down next to Alan, and scrambled back up again, wrapping his arms round Alan’s waist to try and pick him up. He dragged Alan along the stony road surface and lifted him onto the passenger seat. Alan was still shaking, and his eyes were rolled back into his head. The middle-aged man slammed the door shut and ran round the driver’s side and climbed in. He revved the engine, and took off in a cloud of dust and squealing tyres.

When Alan came round he was no longer in the car. He slowly opened his bleary eyes and stared blankly into space. Deep inside his head, he felt a distant, thumping ache. He felt like he had slept for years. He focused on the view in front of him. All he could see was a white wall, with grey lines cross-hatched over it. He stared and stared… his pain addled brain trying to make sense of the information his eyes were giving him. His eye lids became heavy, and the cross-hatched lines began to swirl around him, swelling and shrinking with the thumping inside his head. He just started to understand what it was he was seeing, before his brain shut all systems down.

Alan woke with a start. It was dark. The air was cool, and smelt fresh. He sat up and yawned. He moved over to the edge of the bed, and, careful not to make too much noise, stood up. He walked out of the bedroom and into the bathroom. He reached the sink, reached up, and turned on the light. He looked into the mirror and stared long and hard at himself. The artificial glow of the light cast shadows into the creases of his face. He looked tired. He turned his head slightly to one side, watching the light play over the greying hairs that were creeping through his once thick black hair. He sighed and blinked, and turned the tap on. He splashed the cool water onto his face, and held his hands there, allowing the refreshing feeling to sink in. He turned the tap off, and grabbed a towel from the rack, but hesitated. He didn’t remember buying pink towels, he hated pink…

He dismissed the thought and rubbed his face dry. He noticed the smell of lavender on the towel… his wife’s favourite.

Alan turned the light off and moved back through into the bedroom. He stepped right over to the wall, because he always used to bang his leg on the… BANG! He banged his leg on the side of the bed... his knee throbbed.

A figure under the covers moved, and sat-up, and her face was caught by the moonlight.

“Are you ok darling?”

Alan froze, his eyes wide open and fixed on the person sitting in his bed.

It was his wife.

Chapter 2

“So after you clubbed your boss to death with your briefcase, what did you do then?”

The doctor’s voice echoed off of the drab grey walls. He turned to his client, who had not responded. He seemed too edgy to answer.

The doctor leaned over the table between them and uttered sternly, “I asked you a question Michael. You want freedom don’t you? You want to be a, ‘free man’ don’t you?”

He sat still for a few seconds more, his eyes piercing into Michael’s. Then he leaned further forward, until their noses were almost touching. He could smell the sweat seeping out of his patient’s skin; he could smell the fear hidden amongst it.

His jaw clenched.

“I’m-trying-to-help-you”

The look on his face said otherwise. He appeared disgusted, as if the man in front of him were no more than a heap of steaming faeces on the table.

Michael was avoiding the piercing glare that was burning through him, but after a few seconds he squeaked, “The man I hit wasn’t my boss,”

“What do you mean he wasn’t your boss!? You are Michael Beecham aren’t you? You did work for Parcel Express didn’t you!?”

A vein in the doctor’s head was pulsing violently; he was having a hard time controlling the urge to punch his patient in the face.

Michael looked sheepishly around, and again squeaked his answer, which was muffled behind his fidgeting hands. The vein in the doctor’s forehead throbbed faster.

“For goodness sake… How am I supposed to hear you if you cover up your mouth?”

“Yes, yeah… yeah, that’s right. I did work there”

The doctor leaned back slowly, clasping his hands together, a sickly grin breaking across his face that unmasked his yellowed teeth.

“That’s better! Now we are getting somewhere! That wasn’t so hard now was it?”

Michael stopped fidgeting, and stared hard into the doctor’s eyes.

“But that man was not my boss.”

The doctor’s grin slid off of his face, replaced by a scowl that could have wakened the dead.

“You, are an idiot Michael. I have as much free time as I want, but you don’t. If you ever wish to see sunlight again, I suggest you had better think again about what you want to tell me, and I mean it, think good and hard. It’s the end of your session now, so I will leave you to think about it. If you don’t, you are going to be in here for a very, very long time.”

He stood up sharply, his chair sliding back with a screech that pierced through the cold air in the cell. He turned on his heel and walked out of the just opened door. It slammed shut behind him with a loud clang, which was left ringing in Michael’s ears.

Michael stood, stuffing his hands into his pockets. He looked up at the high ceiling, which was as grey as the rest of the room. It reminded him of a murky winter’s morning. “Yuck,” he thought. “A perpetual winter’s morning.” A cold shiver crawled down his spine, and he shuddered. He resigned to pacing up and down the barren room, occasionally returning to the centre to tap on the bolted down table with his foot.

He wondered what time it was; to him it always felt like dinner time. He was always hungry since he had been taken here. He heard the echo of the doctor’s footsteps fade away, and sighed with relief. He hated that man. He hated the men before him. He didn’t know what was going on.

Michael sat down in the corner of the room, and hugged his knees to his chest.

“I’m going to find out what happened to me if it kills me…” he muttered out loud to himself.

Michael had been arrested for multiple murders. He had beaten his boss to death with a briefcase, and stabbed two policemen in the throat with a pencil. Which was unusual for Michael, he was a high riser, and manager in business, a young go-getter with lots of future prospects. But on the day of the murders, during the night shift, he had started acting strangely; witnesses said he had suffered a memory lapse, he had said he didn’t know how he got to work, or even more strangely, why the building was still there. He flipped, and attacked his boss when he had tried to restrain him and calm him down. Michael’s work colleagues had informed the police that Michael had never got on with his boss due to a personality clash. The truth was, nobody got on very well with his boss.

Michael was deemed by the courts lying about his story, and was having a psychologist come and see him for 4 hours of every day to try and get the truth from him.

His first night in prison was hell for Michael. He screamed until he was sick, he threw himself at the floor and into the walls like a man possessed. He eventually had to be sedated, and kept in a padded cell.

Which is where Michael stayed for eight agonising months. Since then, he had tried the patience of nine psychologists and all the staff of the prison. Each psychologist in turn had found Michael to be completely sane, determined that he had made up his story to cover up what was actually jealousy and anger, rather than criminal insanity. The condition that Michael would be given more privileges and comforts during his time in prison were that he admitted his motives so the case could be closed.

He had now been at the Far Reach High Security Prison compound for two years. He had calmed down a lot since his initial emotional debut, but still stuck to his story as to why he had murdered his boss, and the two policemen. Like the doctor had just told him, he was destined to be there for a long time.

Michael’s mind flickered back to the day of the crime. He remembered how tired he felt, like he had not slept for a week.

He had been jolted awake by his boss, Andy Stevens, dumping a file of papers on his desk.

“Wake up Michael. I don’t have time for people sleeping on the job, I’m a busy man with a job to do, not a wake up call for lazy employees. You really are trying my patience.”

Michael shuddered and blinked, the boss’s words entering his ears but going no further. Andy tutted, turned around sharply, and stormed back into his office, muttering something about, ‘lack of discipline’.

Michael gazed down at himself, and his eyes focused onto his clothes; they were neat and tidy, freshly ironed. His skin was clean and his shoes were shiny.

His eyes widened, and he shot up out of his chair, but his legs wouldn’t support him. Cramp gripped hold of them, like they hadn’t been used in months. He crumpled to the floor, his skull cracking against the desk with a sickening thud. He scrambled unsteadily to his knees; a trickle of blood oozed down his cheek from the fresh wound on his head.

He scrambled to his feet, flailing his arms wildly to catch hold of his desk, but missed and cascaded backwards, sending his chair crashing across the cubicle.

His workmates stared in horror, each frozen to their seats. The man closest to Michael opened his mouth; it hung like that for a second, then he closed it again.

“Someone call an ambulance!” a girl shrieked from the cubicle across from them, she had stood up to see what the noise was about and had seen Michael sprawled on the floor with blood stains down his shirt. Over the corridor, Andy Stevens’ door crashed open, and he emerged red faced and ready to do damage.

“What the hell are you monkeys doing out here? I’ve just about had enough - Oh my God!” He ran over to Michael, who was trying to pick himself up again, the blood pumping fiercely from the gash on the side of his head.

Andy grabbed hold of him to try and stop him getting up.

“You need a doctor, sit down – I said sit down!” Michael struggled against his boss’ grip and shook himself free, causing him to lose his balance and go crashing backwards onto his desk. His hand fell onto his briefcase - an ex-girlfriend had bought that for him – and he turned and reached for the handle.

“Hey Michael, you really need to lie down, it looks like you’ve had a nasty knock,” Andy said as he stepped towards him. Michael grabbed the briefcase.

“Get away from me!!!” he screamed, and with a mighty swing, he slammed the briefcase hard into the side of Andy’s head. Blood spattered across the briefcase, which Michael raised above his head and brought down again onto Andy’s now unconscious body.

He stood there for what felt like hours, chest heaving, his hoarse gasps of breath penetrating the stunned silence in the room. Some of the staff had stood up during the ordeal, but all of them were now still. Some looked very pale, and one had fainted. Michael looked around at them, and the briefcase dropped from his fingers to the floor. His eyes cast over to Andy’s office, where he could see the secretary sobbing down the phone as quietly as she could. It could only be the police she was talking to. Her eyes met his, and she froze, her eyes wide open, tears streaking her makeup down her face. The phone slid from her grip, and she slumped to the floor, her eyes never breaking away from Michael’s.

This was it. It had been done now; there was nothing Michael could do. He wasn’t meant to be here anymore anyway. “This must be some sort of trap,” he thought, “something like that…” He swayed a little, and then started walking towards the front door of the office, stepping over Andy’s body on the way.

As he approached the door, the people nearest Andy ran over to him to see if he was still alive. The secretary had come out Andy’s office and shrieked after him.

“The police are on their way!!! You can’t escape you b*****d!!!”

The other office members hushed her to be quiet, and Michael, who had turned to see who was shouting, carried on out of the door.

Michael’s memory was a bit hazy from then. He knew he had lost a lot of blood, and he knew there was a scuffle in the lobby of the building; he knew he had been taken here.

His thoughts were broken by the screech of metal against metal as the shutter on the bottom of the door slid open, and a bowl and a cup were pushed through.

He ran over to it and ate from it without even picking it up. It felt so long since his last meal, he knew it had been set up this way to provoke him into telling the psychologists what they wanted to hear. He finished his meal in less than a minute. He picked up the cup, and walked back over to the spot he was sitting on before.

Why would nobody believe him? Sure, his story was an impossibility, but why couldn’t all the scientists with their fancy machines tell that he wasn’t lying?

He drained his cup and threw it across the cell. It clattered along the floor, coming to a rest by the far wall. He stared at it for a long time, asking it in his mind the same question he had asked himself since he had got to this miserable dump.

Why am I here?

[Bucky]

all my own opinion dont hate me or anthing.

great storys (dont know if they get linked later or something )

'woke with a start' used twice in chapter one also i cant remember exactly hwo many times but im sure shear or sheared was used more than once in chapter one.

apart from that i dont see anything wrong with them they are both great storys.

right come on guys ive bothered to read it all and my reply is shite so could someone who knows what they are talking about help andy here.

Edited May 5, 2006 by Bucky

[andyroo]

all my own opinion dont hate me or anthing.

great storys (dont know if they get linked later or something )

'woke with a start' used twice in chapter one also i cant remember exactly hwo many times but im sure shear or sheared was used more than once in chapter one.

apart from that i dont see anything wrong with them they are both great storys.

right come on guys ive bothered to read it all and my reply is shite so could someone who knows what they are talking about help andy here.

They do get linked later, yeah... it all gets kinda brain meltingly confusing soon

Cheers for the input though, thats exactly what i need, stuff that i cant pick up on cos ive read throught the bugger a gazillion times...

Cheers

[andyroo]

If y'all think its cheesy and crap, please PLEASE tell me so I don't waste my life writing it...

[TheCircus]

I think as a storyline it is quite cheesy but that's not a problem, just my opinion.

In terms of writing style I think you need to tone down the descriptions, they help flesh out the action, but as the story continues it begins to feel overabundant and takes away from them as a whole. Perhaps try to tone them down - this would mean that when they are used they become alot more striking.

In terms of errors, ". And it stopped." shouldn't really be a sentence. But that's all I could find on my read-through.

The pace of the story seems to be linear, this is just personal preference, but I like quick and abrupt changes of pace and tension, it makes it much more of a "rollercoaster ride", if I were to describe it shockingly badly.

Also, as a final note, I find the name Alan hilarious, it's just so boring (no offense all the Alan's out there). I always find if trying to write a passage where you want a particular feeling portrayed, listen to a piece of music which makes you feel like this, then start writing, it will make your passages much more self contained and add to the story as a whole by having the feeling of each passage being there for a reason, some part's seem to trail off and not have an encompassing theme.

Anyway, that's all the criticism I could think of, I think you have done a pretty good job, keep working on it.

EDIT: - Short Story Here is a short story a friend of mine wrote, I think it's pretty good, quite different, but maybe it could spark some ideas or something.

Edited May 5, 2006 by TheCircus

[Ben Cox]

i thought that was quite good, seems ive missed south park whilst reading it as i was engrosed in reading

Ben

Hook me up with a copy when your done dude?

[Bucky]

EDIT: - Short Story Here is a short story a friend of mine wrote, I think it's pretty good, quite different, but maybe it could spark some ideas or something.

having recently split up with my gf and being a bit upset about it ive read that cos ive got f**k all to do and its awesome.

just really good not too easy going or hard going just about right and the last paragragh totally turns the whole thing around just like its supposed to.

[andyroo]

Cheers for the input... I'll post some more possibly as the story takes shape thing to hopefully wean you all from thinking that its one of those "and then he woke up" stories...

Good idea with the music... thats exactly what I do!

I wanted quite a descriptive introductory peice, i was trying to quite a fast pace to start off with, then in chapter three it become very light hearted, alan dismissises his "dream" and life for him is brilliant. But things get rather dark from then on as things come back to haunt him and more people are discovered to have these weird "dreams" they form a conspiricy thing about and so on and so forth. dont wanna give too much away cos your all theives

Cheers for all the input!

Any other names rather than Alan then that would be appropriate? Maybe Cedric?

[andyroo]

243 views and three comments? Come on, I need some ego boosting here

[Heatsink]

Above average writing with some strong descriptions. To be honest I found my attention going about halfway down because the pace was slow, so I started skipping bits and reading the odd lines to get a gist of the story direction. I can't really comment on whether the story was good as a result, but be aware of the old cliche which gets lazy story writers out of a story line cul de sac - And then I woke up! If you can put clues in the first part which are there for the reader to read back when informed of the plot outcome and make sense on this second read, then that would be clever.

When I was reading about the continual references to huge earth quakes happening in the present, I couldn't help doubting whether they were happening because no matter where he was in the UK, surely he would still feel some tremors. Maybe you should add this, saying that the lead character perceives that he is feeling more tremors (rather than there actually being some), something which could be also just the car engine (so that the real situation is backed up). Maybe something along the lines of, as he starts the car at that very moment he was sure that he experiences a minor tremor, cue flash back.

Try not to get entrenched into these continual descriptions maybe, some sudden changes of pace as suggested earlier to keep people's attention.

There are a few clumsy sentences that could be tweaked e.g:

Michael was deemed by the courts [to be] lying about his story, - But even then deemed isn't a strong enough word for a legal judgement.

His dark black hair was soaked in sweat, and his skin glistened with it also. - Could you avoid the clumsy "with it also" somehow so you only mention sweat once?

Watch out for repetitions such as references to his mind in very similar language.

I don't know how much effort you've put into planning the story, but maybe you could make a scene bullet point list based on the original story, and note the aspects you think it could be worth changing or adding (change of pace, truncation of description, insert new scene etc.)

Steve

[andyroo]

Above average writing...

I have sort of a story outline written out, I'm not sure if I want to post it up just yet though! I'd like to think where the story goes is pretty original and is definately not a "and then he woke up" kind of affair.

Cheers for your comments, it seems that the sudden rush of confusion I was aiming for to start off with is actual not very fast paced at all...

The idea that I'm looking at doesnt see the main character revisting what happened then for quite a while, but when he does he has a bit more involvment in that he might have previouly thought...

The idea with the earthquakes is that the start and stop very suddenly. once he gets into the car, they have stopped completely. the story goes on later to reveal that the earthquakes arent any sort of natural occurance, so its all to add to the intitial confusion.

[Simpson]

Woo can i post my eng. cw an have a mini storys thread and then some sad ass could open up a poetry thread lol nice work though man!!!