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Join Date: Jul 2004
Location: New York
Stats: 5'7", 180 lbs
Posts: 3,877
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My Written Story (Looking for opinons, avid writter)
Please only serious responses. This took some effort and I'm looking to eventually have it published. Theres an alternate ending, so if your up to it read both endings and tell me which one you feel fits better.
The heart felt emotions absorbed the surrounding trivial sounds, allowing those which were significant to echo into memory. His foot steps were crisp, however grew soft as the distance continued to become greater. Salt rivers flowed near his freshly shinned leather shoes, and all had turned bittersweet. His parents had argued with him for months on his decesion, but it was his choice not theirs. The thought of how horrific the timming had been braught a chill down the mothers spine, and yet still she knew her son's decesion was herroic. There was no "good bye", though they knew he would never return, no, not during times like these. But rather only a smile that quivered, telling them he would never forget that lifestyle they had given him, a lifestyle he had the privledge to truely call his own. One which had that subtle special feeling, that feeling of comfort, that feeling as if everything thing in your life was "ok". It was that synthetic feeling of warmth, not a burning sensation that a fire would give off but rather that feeling you get while putting on fresh socks that just came out of the drier on a cold Feburary morning. Or perhaps even that feeling you get as a child during the holidays while wearing that imfamous sweater from grandma. Its that special feeling that makes you feel immortal all the while, and he left it, to do what he thought was right, he became mortal for the first time in his life...
He stepped onto the bus with his bag in one hand and a tear in the other. He quickly turned the corner while stareing at the rubber mat that lined the floor, then hesitantly looked up for one last time while bitting his upper lip. Though his vision was now blurry, his eyes locked with theirs, it lasted all but 3 seconds, he slowly closed them, and dropped his head back down, he couldn't take it. He sat down in row seven, he picked the window seat, though he did not dare look out of it. "This was it, no turning back" he thought. His head in his lap, his eyes closed, a tear, as if time had entered a state of slow motion, slapped the floor. He folded his hands, and mumbled what seemed to be prayer. He raised his head and rested it against the cool window, closed his eyes, and gave a deep sigh, he slept through the whole bus ride.
*** *** ***
Years past after that painful day on the bus, it was now only a week left until he would be able to go back to his immortal life style. He couldn't help but grin every time he gave thought of shortly having one of his mother's home cooked meals for the first time in nearly four years. Yet the notion of knowing he must maintain composure drowned out almost every feeling of happiness.
Life changed drastically in the past four years. Everything ran on a specific routine, one that never changed. His clothes were nearly the same everyday, though colors changed depeneding upon the "assignment". His hair had changed, his personality, even his shape. He stood tall, chest out, walked in such a percises manner that gave the sensation of being artifical, perhaps thats what he had become, "artifical".
It was now only two more days until he would be able to return home. He closed his eyes, laid in bed face up, both arms over the musty green blanket they had provided him. "They thought I would never return, even I thought I would never return when I stepped foot onto that bus. Mom and dad are going to be so happy. I'm finally going to be able to return home, I'm going home... I'm actually going home, I made it, I'm going home!" He feel asleep with a grin across his face.
He was rudely awoken early that next morning. Sun had yet to rise, the lound ear peircing ring was relentless. He knew the drill, he jumped out of bed, got dressed with percission that only can be done with years of experience, and ran outside. He got the news, another "assignment". Without stopping to think, he did what was natural, joined his crew and deployed for their "assignment".
It was a long drive, he thought about his family, how he would finally be able to see them tomorrow. Oh what a thought, he smiled. The sun was now peering over the sandy peice of land at their twelve. They reached their target, there were other trucks there too. They all got out and began their assignment. A farmiliar whizzing noise flicked by his ear. The thought of his family vanished in an instant. He dove to the ground, hitting it so hard that it would have knocked the wind out of any normal human, but he was no longer human, he was "artifical". He scurried along the side of the truck, armed and ready. Shouts from every corner, some in languages he couldn't even understand. Loud bangs, hundreds of screeching whizzes, and peircing cries for help. This is what he had been doing for the past four years, this is what he had endeared for 1500 days, this is what had braught tears to his mother and father, this is what had made him artifical, this was the damn sacrifice he was making for his "family". But he needed to survive only one more day, and he would be home free, he would be able to return to his real family. He thought about that special comfort he had been longing for, he thought about this friends he hadn't seen in so long, he thought about mom and dad, he thought about his room and how soft his bed was. He thought about home cooked meals, holidays with the family, hugs from grandma, and kisses from all his aunts.
A loud bang right by his right ear. A lound ringing entered his head. He shook his head violently, "what was this faint buzzing noise? Where had all the background noise gone?" He looked to his left someone was running towards him... his mouth was moving but he couldn't quite hear what he was saying, the buzzing was too loud, it was too poweful. "What was wrong?" he thought.
Ending One:
The next day he had finally returned home. He was finally reunited with his family, he was finally back where he belonged. The buzzing sound was now finally gone, it had left his head. His mother and father had burst into tears at the sight of him, their son was finally home again... but this time he was wrapped in a body bag...
Ending Two:
A simplistic, farmiliar melody rung through the air, igniting the start of a response which seemed routine. The times feel open faced on the round kitchen table, revealing the daily crossword puzzle. Blue pen marks scattered about in randomness, and a brown ring which was once home to a tinted brown coffee cup. Two soft, gentle hands pressed the edge of the table in a delicate manner, assisting the routine and allowing it not to go astray. Three footsteps, which flowed across the linolium floor effortlessly, braught hault to the response's final destination, a box which echoed a symphany.
The melody came to a halt, but a new tone, with a new pitch had now entered the symphany, though it only lasted a mere second. A brief moment of silence which seemed to build the tension, and then emotions swarmed the room, the house seemed to be under attack. A few more tones, a few new pitches and sounds entered the symphany once again, though struggled and different from the last. The toaster sprung up though it did not make a sound, all the insignificant sounds became silent. Nothing mattered now.
Heavy breathing made its daybue, fueld by a panic stircken thumping comming from her chest. Once soft and gentle hands, now turned powerful. Fueld with unreasonable rage and an underlying notion of panic, they grasped the molding which lined the threshold. The symphany seemed to keep repeating the same note over and over, as though it was a prerecorded event playing from a broken record. No, this was live, this was life, this was now. The note, though the same, became more bold, more powerful, louder and angrier each time than the last, it was not a broken record.
The tension saturated the room, anger violated the innosence which once nestled the quaint home, everything seemed to change. Peircing notes, as if cries of hatered, rang through the now stale air; symbols crashed, the piano became louder, the violins faster. Loud deep drumming echoed the heart beat, and the synthetic crystals on her face assisted with the light show.
Her palms now sweaty, her grip on the threshold slipped. The fierce power of the symphany drove her back, she stumbled over her own feet. The symphany was now poisoning her head and she could no longer think of but one thing.
Both hands now on each opposite sides of the wall, steading herself as the symphany pushed her back. Her eyes were wide and her lips slightly pressed. She incoheriently swerved back and forth, looking as though life had been sucked out of her body.
Her heal hit the floor divider to the bathroom and as if time had entered a surreal like state where time became sacred, she feel backwards. Her feet flew up from under her and she soared into the cold room. She did not scream nor say a word. She did not struggle or attempt to gain her balance, but rather flew effortlessly into the air as if it were perfectly planned. At the same time she landed, the symphany came to a hault. No piano, no violins, no notes, beats, patterens, tones, nor even drumming or heavy breathing, nothing. The symphany had stopped, another masterpeice was complete... it was over.
(C) Ole Sandtorv December 2005
*Note: This is a rough draft. My ideas aren't perfectly mapped out. There will be spelling mistakes and gramatical errors seeing as though I do not use word or works but rather wordpad which has no spell check. Please enjoy the story, and if you have any questions feel free to ask away.
-BigNorg-
__________________
"I believe that imagination is stronger than knowledge -- myth is more potent than history -- dreams are more powerful than facts -- hope always triumphs over experience -- laughter is the cure for grief -- love is stronger than death."
Robert Fulghum
He who makes a beast of himself gets rid of the pain of being a man.
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