Post by Blobfish on Jul 19, 2007 10:01:15 GMT -5
The other day, I was listening to music, and one of the tracks just sparked something in my head, it gave me inspiration. The rest of the album brought more, and soon I was typing. I've typed up about a page, but after that it was too late and I got tired. I've spent the time since actually making this into a plot, but here's thel ittle page that I've typed up so far:
~
I lay down my gun and sigh. For something made of mere metal, it seems tiring to hold or carry. Far beyond what I expected. It’s not the first time I’ve wanted to let it all go, but I’ve never had the courage before. Hell, maybe I still don’t have the courage. Just putting the **** thing down isn’t enough to break free. It’s true what they say, that guns control people as much as people control the guns. Maybe more so.
It’s been five years since I enrolled, and all I’ve had to look forwards to is getting enough sleep to stay alive. Technically alive, though rumours say we’re not as alive as we used to be, before we joined. Let them say what they will, I’ve still got a life to live, and I want to live it how I choose.
The problem with being one of the elite few is that they’re always so reluctant to let you go. I’ve seen it before, when one of us wants to quit. We’re their pride and joy, and they won’t have us going off and joining the other side. They’d rather kill us than have that. As clichéd as it sounds, it’s the truth.
It’s a break in the combat. We’re not at war all the time, we individuals. They send us out one by one, usually. The rest of us get to wait in out rooms. I pull my feet further beneath me and try to be comfortable on the empty floor. There’s nothing in the way of comfort, really. We don’t need it, apparently. I reach down and tap the gun’s handle, listening intently to the dull click from my fingernail. Ten clicks, and I stop. It can’t hold my interest for that long.
There’s something in my mind. In my head, in my brain, or maybe in my subconscious. I’m not sure what it is. None of us are. We were never told what it was. We weren’t even told it was going to be there until after it had been put in place. We’re pretty sure it dumbs us down, and it helps up stay on top of most fights. Apart from that, we don’t know. It’s too hard to try and think. We can only guess it’s that thing’s fault.
Standing up smoothly, I turn away from the gun, and walk to a corner of the small room. It’s still not far away, but it feels better. It only takes two paces to reach the corner from the centre, and already I’m sat down again, spine trying to press into the cranny between the two walls. I draw my knees up in front of me as a barrier, keeping me safe from the gun. The handle still points at me. Even with my face buried into my legs, I can still see it in my mind’s eye, creeping closer.
We are no longer free. We can no longer avoid the guns. From the second we joined, we were stuck with the guns.
It’s not the killing that makes me want out. It’s not even the fact that I could die from a wound. It’s the fact that more likely that not, I won’t die. I’ll stay here, same as all the others, stuck with the guns.
Despite this, there’s nothing I can do. I can’t just choose to die for a way out. I have to find another way. A way that means I don’t die. They won’t let me die, even if I want to. The problem is that whenever I try to think of how to get out, the fear comes.
The fear is nameless and invisible at first, just being a sense of dread that twists the guts and clouds the eyes. There’s nothing we can do to stop it except for stopping our thoughts. If we continue to think, it increases, and soon enough images for, all around us, putting us back in our worst nightmare. And for all of us, it’s the same.
I remember that once, before I joined the army, I tried acid. Hell, I’d tried everything I could get my hands on. The acid was the worst though. All night long I was screaming for them to take the spiders away. Begging them to get rid of the locusts.
The fear is much worse. That one event, or even a flashback, is scarier than the worst acid trip ever. Spiders and snakes have nothing on that torment.
It’s no wonder that we all lose our courage.
~
Before I mention a few points myself, I'd like useful critisism and comments. Don't feel you have to be nice. What I really need is help about how to become a better writer, so please help out ^_^
~
I lay down my gun and sigh. For something made of mere metal, it seems tiring to hold or carry. Far beyond what I expected. It’s not the first time I’ve wanted to let it all go, but I’ve never had the courage before. Hell, maybe I still don’t have the courage. Just putting the **** thing down isn’t enough to break free. It’s true what they say, that guns control people as much as people control the guns. Maybe more so.
It’s been five years since I enrolled, and all I’ve had to look forwards to is getting enough sleep to stay alive. Technically alive, though rumours say we’re not as alive as we used to be, before we joined. Let them say what they will, I’ve still got a life to live, and I want to live it how I choose.
The problem with being one of the elite few is that they’re always so reluctant to let you go. I’ve seen it before, when one of us wants to quit. We’re their pride and joy, and they won’t have us going off and joining the other side. They’d rather kill us than have that. As clichéd as it sounds, it’s the truth.
It’s a break in the combat. We’re not at war all the time, we individuals. They send us out one by one, usually. The rest of us get to wait in out rooms. I pull my feet further beneath me and try to be comfortable on the empty floor. There’s nothing in the way of comfort, really. We don’t need it, apparently. I reach down and tap the gun’s handle, listening intently to the dull click from my fingernail. Ten clicks, and I stop. It can’t hold my interest for that long.
There’s something in my mind. In my head, in my brain, or maybe in my subconscious. I’m not sure what it is. None of us are. We were never told what it was. We weren’t even told it was going to be there until after it had been put in place. We’re pretty sure it dumbs us down, and it helps up stay on top of most fights. Apart from that, we don’t know. It’s too hard to try and think. We can only guess it’s that thing’s fault.
Standing up smoothly, I turn away from the gun, and walk to a corner of the small room. It’s still not far away, but it feels better. It only takes two paces to reach the corner from the centre, and already I’m sat down again, spine trying to press into the cranny between the two walls. I draw my knees up in front of me as a barrier, keeping me safe from the gun. The handle still points at me. Even with my face buried into my legs, I can still see it in my mind’s eye, creeping closer.
We are no longer free. We can no longer avoid the guns. From the second we joined, we were stuck with the guns.
It’s not the killing that makes me want out. It’s not even the fact that I could die from a wound. It’s the fact that more likely that not, I won’t die. I’ll stay here, same as all the others, stuck with the guns.
Despite this, there’s nothing I can do. I can’t just choose to die for a way out. I have to find another way. A way that means I don’t die. They won’t let me die, even if I want to. The problem is that whenever I try to think of how to get out, the fear comes.
The fear is nameless and invisible at first, just being a sense of dread that twists the guts and clouds the eyes. There’s nothing we can do to stop it except for stopping our thoughts. If we continue to think, it increases, and soon enough images for, all around us, putting us back in our worst nightmare. And for all of us, it’s the same.
I remember that once, before I joined the army, I tried acid. Hell, I’d tried everything I could get my hands on. The acid was the worst though. All night long I was screaming for them to take the spiders away. Begging them to get rid of the locusts.
The fear is much worse. That one event, or even a flashback, is scarier than the worst acid trip ever. Spiders and snakes have nothing on that torment.
It’s no wonder that we all lose our courage.
~
Before I mention a few points myself, I'd like useful critisism and comments. Don't feel you have to be nice. What I really need is help about how to become a better writer, so please help out ^_^
)