golden_87

Today’s forecast is unpredictable with a sixty percent chance of tragedy.

Holly set down her blue Dixie cup and stumbled out the front door. She was immediately hit with sharp rays from the sun, causing her eyes to squint, making razor thin slits on a bleached face. Today’s weather is utterly gloomy. The long looping driveway was barren of its usual traffic, making it a one-way, open road to the farm’s office. While standing on the front porch, Holly’s crimson eyes traced the length of the driveway and finally zoomed in on the office. Her legs dragged her toward her destination-autopilot set. As the shop came closer into view the dirt and cracks imbedded into the façade became more apparent. Pieces of paper cluttered the front of the building, along with empty soda cans, the bones and fur of a forgotten feline, rusted tools, oil barrels, and snicker wrappers. Yet the wrenched smell that tainted the air trumpeted any physical flaw of the run down building. Two parallel hog barns lay to the north of the office. The strength of the stench emitted from them could have easily been a product of twenty or more barns, yet only two were in sight. Boards hung motionless on single nails, while torn, frayed, royal blue tarps covered the rectangle holes that were embedded in sides of the barns.
Holly’s feet froze at the office door, “Here I go,” she whispered. She opened the door and rushed to where it had been so many years ago. Nothing. In the laundry room. Nothing. Behind the fridge. Nothing. In the cabinet, in the fridge, behind the coat rack. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. She soon lost interest in actually looking for it and set her mind on destroying everything she saw. She turned over the recliner, swiped the papers off the desk before turning it over too, next came smashing the bottles of bolts along the shelf “Fuccccccck!” Holly screamed while slamming her back against a chew spit stained wall. She slid down and lighted a cigarette, stared straight ahead, her crimson eyes piercing the air. Piercing nothing.

Her search then continued in the hog barns. The first of the two barns was as empty as a church at noon on Sunday. She glided through the walk way starring into the empty pens of the dead. Pen eleven held the only life form in the barn, a petrified hog with all four of its stout legs straighter then arrows, piercing the air. “You are forgotten,” thought Holly. Her tour of barn one turned up nothing but dirt and decay, thus she preceded to barn two. Here, the pens were anything but pens. They instantly reminded her of the boxed in flower beds at the local garden center.

It wasn’t until she walked clear through the building and out the opposite door that the second hog came into view. Unlike the other, its eye lids were wide open. Holly fought the urge and figured it best to not stare into them. The dead should maintain their secrets. Its entrails were sprawled out of its belly and its legs covered in chew marks from the dogs. It laid roughly three feet from the large saw dust pile. “You will be forgotten.” The sewage pond quickly caught her eye. She trotted up the shallow slope and sat in the sewage fertilized grass and lighted a cigarette. “Where could it be,” she thought. The sky had turned violent and comforting since the beginning of her search. A haunting grin formed at her lips as she fell back and shut her eyes.
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Her eyes snapped open to find a cigarette in the fingers, burned down to the filter. The storm had begun dripping tears on her cheeks. Her mind was foggy again, but the urge had subsided. Her sweatshirt and shorts were now navy blue, the grass an emerald green, and the sky a canvas of ebony ribbons. The wind had its own hue too, but one that has never been given a name.


In a blink of an eye, her clothes turned back to their original color, the grass faded to ordinary green, and the sky to blue. Holly stood up and her eyes immediately set tunnel vision on the farm house-autopilot set.The sky was now lit by the harsh painful rays of the sun. She opened the door to the comfort of conformity as the tears poured down her cheeks. She walked down into the basement, grabbed the bottle from under her desk, and plopped on her make shift bed. She refilled her blue Dixie cup and felt… nothing.

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Sometimes it's spelt with one 'L' to save ink.

Rob

If you haven't checked it for errors yet, and if bits are still missing, and if you're not after perfection, then yeah it's fine.

Cheers,
Rob

Mike

It seems catchy enough for commercial fiction.

You've got tense issues here:
Why are Holly's eyes crimson?
The way you are describing some of the perspectives is better suited for a screenplay. I feel weird being so close to Holly's body parts.

Good sentence:Bad sentence:
Among the many passive sentences, I'll point you one that illustrates it best: "Fucccccccck" - one 'c' would work. She sounds like a machine gun otherwise.

That's enough edits for now. It needs work. Try to keep from being redundant. And try to not do so many 'she thoughts.' Her actions could convey her thoughts. I'd cut down all those 'nothings,' too. We know she's frantic.

While I think it's a good way to keep the reader hooked, I don't think we should be kept lingering, wondering what Holly is trying to find. I think you did well with some of the descriptions, but Holly is too dainty in the way she interacts with the environment.

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- Mike

golden_87

thanks for the advise! ill put it too use and see how good i can do with improvements...

__________________
Sometimes it's spelt with one 'L' to save ink.