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Kylan
See the cat? See the cradle?
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 Posted: Tue Mar 25, 2008 5:44 pm Post subject: We All Fall Down (Part 1 of 2) |
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Charlotte
Ten minutes.
Charlotte stared at the gun in her hand, wondering how much time had elapsed since the radio bulletin. Not long, she thought. Ten minutes was eternity. Ten minutes was hell.
Seconds teased her like bubbling brimstone.
She tapped her foot.
The lightbulb hanging above her head was naked – raped so many times by the darkness that it's light was dim and sickly. Impure and corrupted. The glow painted shadows across the concrete walls of the basement who twisted themselves into oblique shapes and leered at Charlotte with murderous intent. They whispered to her. They stroked at her chair, her back, her thigh.
Come to us.
Pull the trigger.
Charlotte's heart punched at her ribcage with steel knuckles, squeezing her lungs, constricting her breath. The air was like cigarette smoke. It was like mustard gas. Heavy, deadly, overwhelming.
She inhaled deeply and lifted the gun into better light, studying the grooves and contours of the weapon. There was some kind of perverse beauty in it, she decided. There was something irresistible about the way it stretched itself out in the jaundiced light, hard and chiseled: like a sculpture, loaded, safety off. A long neck, a shapely stock, and intricate chamber with an ingrained thread that even Michaelangelo couldn't have reproduced.
And it was going to kill her.
Beauty.
Throbbing dark purple beauty. Neon.
Ten minutes.
Charlotte was pretty sure the bullet would kill her immediately. She was pretty sure that at the moment she pulled the trigger consciousness would vanish like smoke, and streaks of red would join the painted shadows. That was how she wanted it. No pain, no waiting. She didn't like suspense. Charlotte like instantaneous conclusions, endings that quickly superseded beginnings. Maybe that was why she could never finish reading a novel, she realized. Too much rising action, too much climax, and not enough resolution. The thought made her laugh. Hysterically.
The sweet percussion of a bullet leaving her gun would make a fine conclusion.
Crisp.
Like the end of a concerto.
Charlotte heard violins sobbing as she placed the gun against her head, above the ear and to the right.
Ten minutes was just too long. Ten minutes held too much rising action, too much building tension, too much regret and anger and hopelessness. The sun was going to explode, they told her. In ten minutes the most glorious sunrise in mankind's history would breach the horizon and absorb the night sky in an all-inclusive embrace. And then absorb the cities. And then the houses. And then the people.
You have ten minutes to live.
Ten minutes to rebuild smoldering bridges, to reignite passion, to say goodbye.
And make it quick. Time is running out.
To hell with time! Charlotte couldn't deal with time! For God's sake, why couldn't the bastard sun just get it over with?
Suspense!
One way or another, she was going to die. Either in an apocalyptic explosion or by her own hand. A bullet – a calming, soothing chunk of metal that would shred through her cerebellum and make an exit wound within 0.07 seconds, dragging a trail of blood behind it like a comet's tail.
It didn't matter to her.
She smiled at the shadows.
She closed her eyes.
And she pulled the trigger.
Ryan
Ten minutes.
And a lot of beer.
Ryan wanted to get so smashed that he had alcohol bleeding from his pores like some sort of inebriated Christ. He wanted to saturate his stomach, his brain, his lungs with it. He wanted to die in it.
Engine exhaust and fermented wheat were cocktail mixed by tension.
On the rocks?
Sitting in his truck, idling in the middle of the street, Ryan drank deeply from the bottle of vodka, letting it dribble liberally down his chin, onto his shirt, and into his lap. Choking, laughing, he punched the air with his fist and screamed happiness.
He wondered what would happen if he lit a match at that moment and tossed it on his lap
Spontaneous combustion!
Drunk, flaming, laughing, roaring.
Heavy metal music tore through his speakers and jackknifed across Ryan's eardrums. Ryan tried to sing along. But his mouth wouldn't work right anymore and his words turned to slush as they fell out of his mouth and into the bottle of vodka. Sizzling.
You got ten minutes to burn.
Literally or figuratively, Captain?
Both.
Let's make this a helluva night!
Ryan gunned the engine – which rasped loudly back at him – and thought about the sun for a moment. A big, boiling ball of excess heat and power and fire. It was going to kill him in ten minutes, the authorities had told the world. But he wasn't going to hold a grudge. Forgive and forget, right? Anyway, the damage couldn't be worse than a bad sunburn.
Flaming!
The road ahead was empty and lit timidly by long-necked streetlights that seemed to cluster together and whisper like housewives. Ryan's engine roared again – pumping with testosterone and good one hundred proof alcohol – and he smiled at the street. Stretching on forever. Slumped buildings as an audience. Tires. Gas. One hundred miles an hour on a residential road and not a cop in sight.
Laughing!
With his foot jammed firmly against the gas pedal, Ryan shifted out of park and into gear. The truck shuddered and ruptured the street with burning rubber and wheels like knife sharpeners. Ryan rocked in his seat and yelled into the empty night – at the streetlights – honking his horn as his speedometer danced on a red-notched ballroom floor. Extra bottles of open vodka on the seat beside him tumbled over and bled into the carpet. Ryan inhaled deeply and screamed again as his fender tore through a mailbox – scattering letters like snow. He swerved to his right.
Into the park.
His truck crashed through benches, flinging wood and iron onto the neatly kept lawn, and snapped the necks of saplings.
His tires carved coagulating gashes into the grass.
Seventy miles an hour!
No sirens. No frantic paintings of red and blue against his rear view mirror.
Faster!
Ryan merged out of the park and onto the streets again. His eyes blurred with the fumes and the vodka and the tears of pure, raw ecstasy. The sun was coming! The sun was coming to town!
Screw the sun.
Bring on the heat.
Ryan squinted down the road – eighty-five – and saw a storefront grinning at him two hundred feet away. A right turn and a left turn, but no through-way. He smiled and whooped, jumping in his seat – ninety-five. He could make this turn in his sleep. Avoiding the storefront was going to be child's play.
He was invincible.
Roaring!
One hundred miles an hour.
Ryan tried to turn his steering wheel – wrenching it left. And he did.
But not fast enough.
The truck flipped on it's side – wheels giving out from underneath it – sending a shower of sparks grinding against the metal and asphalt like Fourth of July sparklers, Ryan's truck slammed into the building at the end of the street. Crumpling against it like paper.
Ryan laughed as he ripped through the windshield at a hundred miles an hour.
Swearing at the sun. |
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KJ
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| Posted: Tue Mar 25, 2008 7:03 pm Post subject: |
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Nitpicks first.
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Come to us.
Pull the trigger. |
Would look better in Italics.
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| The thought made her laugh. Hysterically. |
Would be better as: The thought made her laugh hysterically.
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You have ten minutes to live.
Ten minutes to rebuild smoldering bridges, to reignite passion, to say goodbye.
And make it quick. Time is running out. |
Again, Italics would be better.
Overall, I really liked this. It was dark and twisted. Very well-written. I liked the part where Charlotte heard the violins sobbing. That was a cool little detail.
Keep writing. |
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bkwrm
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| Posted: Tue Mar 25, 2008 7:06 pm Post subject: |
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This is good, but I'm just wondering - in part two are your characters less accepting of the fact that they're going to die? Because Charlotte and Ryan just seem to accept it and decide to speed it up, and I know that some people would have that reaction, but I imagine that a lot of people would probably be thinking along the lines of 'it's not true' 'it can be stopped' etc.
Also, in the part about Ryan, when you write about his car it's a little confusing.
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| Ryan gunned the engine – which rasped loudly back at him |
This makes it sound as if Ryan was rasping at the car beforehand, but you don't tell the reader that this happens. Maybe just say which rasped loudly at him?
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| Ryan's engine roared again – pumping with testosterone and good one hundred proof alcohol |
The engine is pumping with testosterone and alcohol?! I assume that you're talking about Ryan, but it comes across as if it were the car.
Other than that, I can't really see anything wrong with it. It's really good as I said.
Keep writing,
Bkwrm  |
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GryphonFledgling
How you've turned my world, you precious thing...
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| Posted: Wed Mar 26, 2008 4:22 pm Post subject: |
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I'm a bit confused. So... the sun is going to come up and kill them all?
The descriptions here blew my mind. Seriously, you have some major talent. I am totally struck speechless and really can't find anything to critique, expect maybe to agree with KJ's note about the italics.
Sheesh. Some great, intense stuff here.
*thumbs up*
Very, very nice job. I await part two eagerly.
~GryphonFledgling |
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Talking_Pinata
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| Posted: Thu Mar 27, 2008 3:29 am Post subject: |
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| Wow. On to part to. That's all I have to say. On to part two. |
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Suzanne
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| Posted: Sat Apr 05, 2008 4:13 pm Post subject: |
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I'm actually here!
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Seconds teased her like bubbling brimstone. |
I'm not entirely sure I like this metaphor.
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The glow painted shadows across the concrete walls of the basement who which[?] twisted themselves into oblique shapes and leered at Charlotte with murderous intent. |
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| The air was like cigarette smoke. It was like mustard gas. Heavy, deadly, overwhelming. |
The metaphors are amazing, but I know you can do better than a list of adjectives. Or, at least, pick more unique adjectives.
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| A long neck, a shapely stock, and intricate chamber |
Your first two words in the list have articles [a] but the third doesn't. It throws the line off. Otherwise, I love, love, love the statue metaphor.
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Beauty.
Throbbing dark purple beauty. Neon. |
I understand--perhaps--what you're trying to do here, but I see no point to it. For one....guns are not usually purple, and neon is more often than not considered a shade of green? I just don't understand the description, and "beauty" is a senseless word. It's over used. If you're going to try to throw art at us in fragment, choose your words wisely!
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| Charlotte liked instantaneous conclusions, endings that quickly superseded beginnings. |
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| Maybe that was why she could never finish reading a novel, she realized. |
Honestly, I don't like this.
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| Charlotte heard violins sobbing as she placed the gun against her head |
I know what you're trying to do, but I don't like it. Violins don't sob. I'm all for personification, but it has to make sense. Think of the sounds a violin makes--it isn't something that sounds like a human sob. Violins shriek, scream, growl. I'm not sure what sobs--but to me, a violin doesn't.
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| Ten minutes held too much rising action |
Cut this out entirely. You already said this a few paragraphs above. She doesn't like rising action. Repeating this does nothing, and to be honest, again, some of that paragraph is melodramatic.
I'm not entirely sure what to say about this, other than I think you should cut it. It doesn't work, it doesn't fit, perhaps you were trying to be artistic, but I do not think it works. It's just odd and random and...Rather than shout "suspense!" create it. [I'll talk more about this later.]
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| And she pulled the trigger. |
cut out "And". I know it might seem good there, but the word actually detracts from the power of the line.
On the Charlotte section: I really, really, really feel bad. I fell like I'm ripping your story up by the floor boards and burning them. For your own good, I suppose?
I didn't care what so ever for Charlotte. It took me too long to learn the sun was going to explode. Up until then, I don't know why she is going to kill herself, I do not know who she is. Both of these reasons lead up to a terrible conclusion: I do not care what so ever for her. This means that, no mater how beautiful your writing is [and it is beautiful, though I picked apart many sections above. You can write better than that. I know you can] I don't care that she is going to die, I feel no sympathy for her, no suspense, no worries. I feel nothing but annoyance. I don't care about her so I don't feel like reading on. This is something difficult to fix, because it is a result of your plot. You start at a point where info dumping would be bothersome. I don't want info dumping; I just want to actually care for your character.
The only other way I can think to explain it is this way: it has no conflict. You could say that "Charlotte is going to kill herself" is a conflict. And it is, but it is made null. She's going to kill herself, there is no doubt about it, I don't care about her, so why should I read on? She does fling around a while, trying to decide whether she will kill herself or not, but this goes back to the previous question--why do I care? For the most part this section is all internal dialogue or description, and there is no conflict. I hate, hate to say it, but that makes this all boring. The only redeeming part was that you have some beautiful metaphors and descriptions in place, but that isn't redeeming enough.
On to the next section?
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Ten minutes.
And a lot of beer. |
I think you would do better to make on sentence of this.
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Engine exhaust and fermented wheat were was cocktail mixed by tension. |
Was seems better--I can't think of the actual reason why because I'm trying to figure out if "exhaust and wheat" is the subject, or "cocktail". I think it is cocktail, because if you look at this: they were cocktail mixed by tensions. Makes no sense, right? Of course, they was cocktail makes no sense either. And perhaps it is your lack of an article before cocktail, I'm not sure, but the line is weird anyway.
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| Ryan tried to sing along. But his mouth wouldn't work right anymore and his words turned to slush as they fell out of his mouth and into the bottle of vodka. Sizzling. |
The first two sentences can be put together. I don't see the point of starting that specific sentence with "but" unless you attach it to the previous one. Also, why sizzling? I don't understand that choice.
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| Ryan's engine roared again – pumping with testosterone and good one hundred proof alcohol – and he smiled at the street. |
"Ryan's engine roared again and he smiled at the street." I don't know. The two ideas don't relate to each other, so I'm not entirely sure I like that they are together.
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| One hundred miles an hour on a residential road and not a cop in sight. |
With this, you had me thinking he was going at 100 miles already, then "With his foot jammed firmly against the gas pedal, Ryan shifted out of park and into gear." You can see how the inconsistency--or at least the confusion because I don't know the former is his thoughts, and not an actually action--makes this strange.
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| Extra bottles of open vodka on the seat beside him tumbled over and bled into the carpet. |
I don't understand why he would leave the bottle of vodka's open. Would he want to drink them?
Ryan starts out with the same problems as Charlotte, but it gets better, because at least something is happening. Again, I really don't care, but with something happening I care a little bit more. You also managed to put more characterization into that one. And as I thought more I wondered if that was your problem. You're so focused on "how they act when they will die" you forgot to characterize them. Writing about how someone handles death is great for characterization, but still...I know nothing about Charlotte other than she is a weak, irritating person. What makes her weak? Why can't she stand to die with the sun? Why does Ryan drink? What did they have before now? What were they doing when they heard the announcement?
I'm terribly sorry to have crushed this so much. If it's any consolation, I did like Ryan more than Charlotte. It's still the same basic thing though, so I don't know. I'll have to read part two and think some more. Oh, and I didn't mention them, but some of the single words and weird parts that I complained about in Charlotte, I also didn't like in Ryan--I just didn't feel like repeating myself in such detail.
If you have any questions, you know where to find me! |
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ashleylee
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| Posted: Sun Apr 06, 2008 3:19 am Post subject: |
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Umm....WOW! Your descriptions blew my mind.
*stares with mouth a-gap into the computer screen*
Seriously, you can write! Everything in this was done perfectly.
All I can say is you have some serious talent and that I am on to read part two!
Awesome Work  |
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NewWriter
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| Posted: Mon Apr 07, 2008 11:15 pm Post subject: |
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Yeah, everybody said the stuff I was going to say, so all I can say is...
STAR STAR STAR!!!!!!! Sorry for the very unhelpful (is that a word?) review. |
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dellafiora3395
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| Posted: Tue Apr 08, 2008 8:38 pm Post subject: |
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| I really enjoyed this piece. A couple of the metaphors, like the one involving the violins, were a bit... out of place. Also, in the sentence "And she pulled the trigger." the 'and' seemed to take away from the power of the sentence. I would give it a 9.8 out of 10! |
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CK Lynn
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| Posted: Thu Apr 17, 2008 6:40 pm Post subject: |
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| best story i have read on this site yet!!! fantastic, absolutly fantastic. |
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cmarie159
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| Posted: Fri Apr 18, 2008 12:45 am Post subject: review |
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I don't think the sun is going to literally kill them. Rather, it's the thought of staying in this world another day. They want the easy way out, or rather, need the easy way out.
The descriptions in this piece is spectacular, I'm now a huge fan of this piece =D.
If you have time, can you review "and it was lovely" which is in my portfolio? And be very harsh? Just if you have any time you don't have to, that's not why I'm reviewing your story, haha.
But anyways, love it. |
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Kylan
See the cat? See the cradle?
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| Posted: Fri Apr 18, 2008 10:45 pm Post subject: |
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Thank you all for your comments!
Roughly three weeks ago, I submitted this piece to Shimmer Zine for publication. However, they decided to pass it up and gave me these criticisms. Tell me whether or not you think they're fair assessments.
PS: I changed the title.
Dear Kylan,
Thanks for letting me read "Ashes, Ashes," but I'm going to pass on this one.
At sentence level, I thought there was some nice writing here, but I'mafraid I couldn't quite buy into the main thrust of the plot.
To me, ten minutes seemed too little time from warning to absolute destruction. I thought the scientists should have known earlier that thesun would explode. Perhaps the instantaneous nature of the calamity couldbe foreshadowed in some illuminating way, or a more plausible reason otherthan the age of the sun could be formulated.
I hope you find a good home for "Ashes, Ashes" soon. Thanks for the read!
Best wishes,
Christie Skipper Ritchotte
Associate Editor
www.shimmerzine.com
I actually agree Ms. Ritchotte on this one. It's true, my plot suffers from a little surrealism. But I'll keep trying. I have a really good feeling about this one.
-Kylan |
_________________
There is no reason why good cannot triumph as often as evil. The triumph of anything is a matter of organization. If there are such things as angels, I hope they are organized somewhere along the lines of the Mafia. ~ Kurt Vonnegut
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