5
Hey guys,
This is my first proper post to my blog since the intro, so I thought I'd open with something rather experimental. The story's called 'Paradise', and it's set in the distant future where global warming has reduced much of the world to a dry, desert-like wasteland. In this world, water is a scarce and precious commodity. The story's an interesting one because I've written it in second person style, using gender-neutral terminology so the reader can really project themselves into the setting. As this is the first story I've posted on the internet outside of RP threads, constructive criticism is much appreciated.
The sun beats down on the dusty plains, slowly scorching the already sparse ground. A few birds soar overhead in the cloudless sky, circling in search for their latest meal. Miniature dust storms swirl across the bleak landscape.
And there, trudging along a crumbling bitumen road through the heart of it all, is you.
Your clothes are tattered and dirty. Your eyes are red and bloodshot as a result of the constant stream of grit the wind kicks into them. You haveno t bathed in weeks and your long, grimy hair constantly hangs in your face. With your canteeno s water rations running dangerously low, youo re not sure how much longer you will survive out here.
It was about a month ago you decided to leave the small town of Suttenburg in search of a better life. The towno s well had finally dried up and any chance at survival went along with it. Anarchy ensued. Neighbour against neighbour, friend against friend, brother against sister o all of them began fighting over the last dregs of water. The small farms dried up, people began to starve. Those who remained resorted to cannibalism.
But some of the townsfolk (you included) were smart enough to flee the horror before it was too late. Stories from passing travellers over the years had set root in your young, impressionable mind. Fantastic tales of lush forests, of oases with all the water you could ever need, visions of a world in which the miseries and woes of Suttenburg were just a distant memory and nothing more. With this vague sense of hope and purpose, this almost fanatical idea that things out there might be better, you packed your things in the dead of night and took to the wastes.
It is now you are starting to see the error in your ways. A few days ago you had traded some of your more valuable possessions to a group of nomads in exchange for re-filling your canteen, but they were unwilling to allow you to stay. Another person in their company would have been a drain on their already dwindling resources. Since then you have not seen a single person, alive or dead. The heat, the dust, the lack of food or water and the isolation is taking its toll. Your feet shuffle along the old road, the monotonous movements a sign of your hopelessness. In the back of your mind a voice tells you to lie down and rest, but you mustno t stop moving lest the circling birds mistake you for a snack.
The wasteland seems to stretch on forever, and yet something deep inside you urges you forward.
You fix your eyes on one particular swirl of dust on the horizon. As you squint your burning eyes, you can make out some faint shapes in the tempest of grit and grime. Tall, spindly shapes topped by a haze of green.
Something clicks in your mind. Long forgotten memories bubble to the surface as your deprived mind tries to make sense of the vision before it. Green... Green... Green means life, and water. Those must be trees! An oasis! Suddenly, your predicament seems to fade away. The few shreds of hope you so desperately cling onto are not in vain after all! You forget about your eyes, your hunger, your thirst, all of it is overrun by the single desire to reach the oasis. You tap into an energy reserve you didno t know you had and began to walk o slowly at first, then you speed up into a jog and before you know it you find yourself sprinting towards your goal.
It was true. Everything they said was true. The green, leafy paradises of the North did exist. You begin to wonder what youo ll do when you arrive. First priority would be to drink your fill, and then maybe you could bathe. Perhaps you could go and introduce yourself to the townsfolk, or maybe find a place to spend the night? Your mind is ablaze with so many thoughts that you dono t notice the dust storm roll in on top of you. Suddenly you cano t see the oasis anymore. Grit is blasted into your eyes and fills your lungs. You stop running and cough violently, taking in deep shuddering lungfuls of air and sand. Your breathing becomes unbearably difficult, and yet you wander aimlessly through the maelstrom o maybe, just maybe, if you could reach the oasis the torture would end.
You lose all track of time. You stumble around in agony for what could be hours or even days. Several times you trip over a rock or a dead root and land face-first on the hard ground, but you dono t let it deter you. You pick yourself up time after time, bleeding and broken, and continue onwards.
Suddenly, a shape looms out of the storm. You turn and move slowly towards it, careful not to lose your footing as the wind blows a gale against you. You reach out and touch its rough, brown surface, feeling each little nook, each tiny natural imperfection. Amidst the torment, you smile o it was a tree! You had made it!
As you start to stagger past the tree, you become aware that the dust storm has begun to calm. Soon it would pass. You decide that the best thing to do would be to sit down against the thick trunk, take what little protection from the elements it provided and wait it out. You close your eyes and drift into state of restless sleep...
You are unsure how long you have been asleep for as you groggily open your tortured eyes. The sun is low in the sky, and the air is beginning to cool. You vaguely remember trekking along the old road, and then leaving it to head towards-
The oasis. You spring to your feet as you suddenly remember where you are. A weak cry of joy passes your burning, cracked lips as you turn around to look at the tree.
But something is wrong. The tree bark is dry and flaky to the touch. You pull off a small section and rub it between your fingers, where it crumbles easily into small fragments. You look up in confusion and see not the lush green leaves you were expecting, but rather long and tattered strips of green cloth tied around many of the branches. You look around your supposed paradise and notice that every tree has similar strips of green cloth tied to them, all of them flapping in the wind. You stare into the middle and notice the depression where there would have once been a pond or a lake. All that remains is an earthy bowl of cracked ground; and at the centre, a human skeleton.
You carefully descend into the centre of the dry lakebed to investigate the skeleton. Although his flesh has been picked clean by the birds, a few tattered scraps of cloth cling resolutely to his bones. In his skeletal hands he clutches a worn leather-bound diary, which you carefully pry from his fingers. The cover, although hard to make out, reads o Maurice Greenvale.o Trembling, you open it and begin to read the yellowing pages.
Entry 15. It has been just over two weeks since I left Yardswood to travel South in search of water. Bandits came after me on their horses, but I managed to hide in the basement of a shack I found. Ito s been a few hours now, they must have left. Nevertheless, Io ll set up camp down here and begin again in the morning.
You flick the worn pages and move to another entry.
Entry 21. Am starting to lose hope. This will be the fourth day without food, and the second without water. Maybe there actually areno t any oases or forests in the South? Perhaps I should have stayed and taken my chances amongst the fighting.
Your hands shake uncontrollably. Fear grips you tightly and refuses to let go. You have an awful feeling about the mano s last entry, but your curiosity gets the better of you and you tentatively flick the pages forward. There, scrawled in barely legible script, lies his final message.
Entry 28. Dying. Abandon all hope. No more water. Oasis dried up long ago. Starving. Dehydrated. Help. Tied green cloth to trees. Someone will see. Please help. Salvation is lost. Not enough energy to-
The entry ends abruptly. You look down at Maurice, his bleached white skull looks back at you in an almost mocking grin. There was never any water in the North, just like there was none in the South. And here Maurice is, a fool to the whimsies of fortune and chance, a man who had abandoned everything in search of a paradise he would have never found.
Just like you.
The weight of your discovery bears down on you, and you collapse next to his bones. You become aware of how heavy your limbs feel o as much as you try to move them, you find yourself unable to. What little energy remains becomes weak, tearless sobs. Everything you had gone through was for absolutely nothing. The pointlessness of it all robs you of the hope you once so resolutely held onto. You feel yourself slipping away, like your soul is slowly rising up to hover over your body.
As you begin to close your eyes for the last time, you glimpse something. A place filled with live trees, their thick green leaves shading you from the warm summer sunlight. A bubbling brook winds its way between them, and thick green grass waves gently in the breeze. Deep down, you know where the place is. You know you will be there soon. And with your last breath, you utter its name:
Paradise.
This is my first proper post to my blog since the intro, so I thought I'd open with something rather experimental. The story's called 'Paradise', and it's set in the distant future where global warming has reduced much of the world to a dry, desert-like wasteland. In this world, water is a scarce and precious commodity. The story's an interesting one because I've written it in second person style, using gender-neutral terminology so the reader can really project themselves into the setting. As this is the first story I've posted on the internet outside of RP threads, constructive criticism is much appreciated.
The sun beats down on the dusty plains, slowly scorching the already sparse ground. A few birds soar overhead in the cloudless sky, circling in search for their latest meal. Miniature dust storms swirl across the bleak landscape.
And there, trudging along a crumbling bitumen road through the heart of it all, is you.
Your clothes are tattered and dirty. Your eyes are red and bloodshot as a result of the constant stream of grit the wind kicks into them. You haveno t bathed in weeks and your long, grimy hair constantly hangs in your face. With your canteeno s water rations running dangerously low, youo re not sure how much longer you will survive out here.
It was about a month ago you decided to leave the small town of Suttenburg in search of a better life. The towno s well had finally dried up and any chance at survival went along with it. Anarchy ensued. Neighbour against neighbour, friend against friend, brother against sister o all of them began fighting over the last dregs of water. The small farms dried up, people began to starve. Those who remained resorted to cannibalism.
But some of the townsfolk (you included) were smart enough to flee the horror before it was too late. Stories from passing travellers over the years had set root in your young, impressionable mind. Fantastic tales of lush forests, of oases with all the water you could ever need, visions of a world in which the miseries and woes of Suttenburg were just a distant memory and nothing more. With this vague sense of hope and purpose, this almost fanatical idea that things out there might be better, you packed your things in the dead of night and took to the wastes.
It is now you are starting to see the error in your ways. A few days ago you had traded some of your more valuable possessions to a group of nomads in exchange for re-filling your canteen, but they were unwilling to allow you to stay. Another person in their company would have been a drain on their already dwindling resources. Since then you have not seen a single person, alive or dead. The heat, the dust, the lack of food or water and the isolation is taking its toll. Your feet shuffle along the old road, the monotonous movements a sign of your hopelessness. In the back of your mind a voice tells you to lie down and rest, but you mustno t stop moving lest the circling birds mistake you for a snack.
The wasteland seems to stretch on forever, and yet something deep inside you urges you forward.
You fix your eyes on one particular swirl of dust on the horizon. As you squint your burning eyes, you can make out some faint shapes in the tempest of grit and grime. Tall, spindly shapes topped by a haze of green.
Something clicks in your mind. Long forgotten memories bubble to the surface as your deprived mind tries to make sense of the vision before it. Green... Green... Green means life, and water. Those must be trees! An oasis! Suddenly, your predicament seems to fade away. The few shreds of hope you so desperately cling onto are not in vain after all! You forget about your eyes, your hunger, your thirst, all of it is overrun by the single desire to reach the oasis. You tap into an energy reserve you didno t know you had and began to walk o slowly at first, then you speed up into a jog and before you know it you find yourself sprinting towards your goal.
It was true. Everything they said was true. The green, leafy paradises of the North did exist. You begin to wonder what youo ll do when you arrive. First priority would be to drink your fill, and then maybe you could bathe. Perhaps you could go and introduce yourself to the townsfolk, or maybe find a place to spend the night? Your mind is ablaze with so many thoughts that you dono t notice the dust storm roll in on top of you. Suddenly you cano t see the oasis anymore. Grit is blasted into your eyes and fills your lungs. You stop running and cough violently, taking in deep shuddering lungfuls of air and sand. Your breathing becomes unbearably difficult, and yet you wander aimlessly through the maelstrom o maybe, just maybe, if you could reach the oasis the torture would end.
You lose all track of time. You stumble around in agony for what could be hours or even days. Several times you trip over a rock or a dead root and land face-first on the hard ground, but you dono t let it deter you. You pick yourself up time after time, bleeding and broken, and continue onwards.
Suddenly, a shape looms out of the storm. You turn and move slowly towards it, careful not to lose your footing as the wind blows a gale against you. You reach out and touch its rough, brown surface, feeling each little nook, each tiny natural imperfection. Amidst the torment, you smile o it was a tree! You had made it!
As you start to stagger past the tree, you become aware that the dust storm has begun to calm. Soon it would pass. You decide that the best thing to do would be to sit down against the thick trunk, take what little protection from the elements it provided and wait it out. You close your eyes and drift into state of restless sleep...
You are unsure how long you have been asleep for as you groggily open your tortured eyes. The sun is low in the sky, and the air is beginning to cool. You vaguely remember trekking along the old road, and then leaving it to head towards-
The oasis. You spring to your feet as you suddenly remember where you are. A weak cry of joy passes your burning, cracked lips as you turn around to look at the tree.
But something is wrong. The tree bark is dry and flaky to the touch. You pull off a small section and rub it between your fingers, where it crumbles easily into small fragments. You look up in confusion and see not the lush green leaves you were expecting, but rather long and tattered strips of green cloth tied around many of the branches. You look around your supposed paradise and notice that every tree has similar strips of green cloth tied to them, all of them flapping in the wind. You stare into the middle and notice the depression where there would have once been a pond or a lake. All that remains is an earthy bowl of cracked ground; and at the centre, a human skeleton.
You carefully descend into the centre of the dry lakebed to investigate the skeleton. Although his flesh has been picked clean by the birds, a few tattered scraps of cloth cling resolutely to his bones. In his skeletal hands he clutches a worn leather-bound diary, which you carefully pry from his fingers. The cover, although hard to make out, reads o Maurice Greenvale.o Trembling, you open it and begin to read the yellowing pages.
Entry 15. It has been just over two weeks since I left Yardswood to travel South in search of water. Bandits came after me on their horses, but I managed to hide in the basement of a shack I found. Ito s been a few hours now, they must have left. Nevertheless, Io ll set up camp down here and begin again in the morning.
You flick the worn pages and move to another entry.
Entry 21. Am starting to lose hope. This will be the fourth day without food, and the second without water. Maybe there actually areno t any oases or forests in the South? Perhaps I should have stayed and taken my chances amongst the fighting.
Your hands shake uncontrollably. Fear grips you tightly and refuses to let go. You have an awful feeling about the mano s last entry, but your curiosity gets the better of you and you tentatively flick the pages forward. There, scrawled in barely legible script, lies his final message.
Entry 28. Dying. Abandon all hope. No more water. Oasis dried up long ago. Starving. Dehydrated. Help. Tied green cloth to trees. Someone will see. Please help. Salvation is lost. Not enough energy to-
The entry ends abruptly. You look down at Maurice, his bleached white skull looks back at you in an almost mocking grin. There was never any water in the North, just like there was none in the South. And here Maurice is, a fool to the whimsies of fortune and chance, a man who had abandoned everything in search of a paradise he would have never found.
Just like you.
The weight of your discovery bears down on you, and you collapse next to his bones. You become aware of how heavy your limbs feel o as much as you try to move them, you find yourself unable to. What little energy remains becomes weak, tearless sobs. Everything you had gone through was for absolutely nothing. The pointlessness of it all robs you of the hope you once so resolutely held onto. You feel yourself slipping away, like your soul is slowly rising up to hover over your body.
As you begin to close your eyes for the last time, you glimpse something. A place filled with live trees, their thick green leaves shading you from the warm summer sunlight. A bubbling brook winds its way between them, and thick green grass waves gently in the breeze. Deep down, you know where the place is. You know you will be there soon. And with your last breath, you utter its name:
Paradise.
| Credit | StarScythe7 for the inspiration ^_^ |
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