Tacoman

One of my favorite stories. Still a little rough. Criticisms and feedback would be appreciated.

Buildings stand bloodied and diseased. People lie in pieces, rusted and devoured by the brutal wind. There is no pavement; the ground on which I walk is a mixture of rubble and ash and it smells of piss. The sky is overcast in a dreary grey, dousing the land in pathetic despair. This city has long been abandoned by the living and now holds only the comatose. A few ghosts take shelter in the buildings on either side of this main road. Inquisitively, they creep their heads out makeshift windows but quickly recede as if the sun may break loose at any minute and burn them. A wretched breeze accosts mindless specters littering the street. There is no sound. As if the entire city where engulfed in an airless black hole, no noise pervades the hopelessness.


The metropolis itself is magnificent. A sight for those outside it’s walls but a sore for those in them. It is circular in layout, revolving around the city center. Six main boulevards flood out from the middle and continue in straight paths to the outer wall; as if the spokes of a wheel. From these thoroughfares, hundreds of smaller back roads leak in disproportionate patterns through the extensive ghettos. From an aerial view, one would certainly be astonished by the awesome symmetry of the layout. To it’s inhabitants, the city is a miserable maze of confusion and despair; a brutal tribute to their lives of desolation and despondency. One could easily find himself wandering hopelessly through the shadowed gullies. One thing, however, contributes to the awful feeling of dejection more than the others. No matter where in the city one is, the great iron wall surrounding you is always in sight. A symbol of isolation, the magnificent structure rises ten miles into the clouds. Two miles thick, the wall is constructed of pure steel. There are no doors, no openings, no gaps, no access whatsoever to the city within or to the world outside. It stands simply and indisputably. It is given no fortifications, no guards ever stand duty, no alarms ever ring. The wall itself is infallible by vision alone and no one dares to test it. It has stood since the Dawn, and so it stands.


Up ahead, a small ghost lies in the middle of the road. It is the ghost of a young boy, perhaps nine years old. His skin is pale and diseased. The only color comes from the spidery green veins bulging all over his body. His nose his bent and crooked and his mouth is agape, as if longing for the next breath of air. I notice a small puddle of blood soaking into the dirt around his shaven head. Many small lacerations casually leak shining blood from atop the boy’s skull. Then a sound. A soft whimpering, like a quiet wolf caught in a bear trap. It’s the boy. His chest is moving up and down eagerly. But his face remains expressionless; his eyes cold and impassive. He is moaning now; his mouth open wide and his tiny chest heaving readily. I notice a few phantoms at their windows, overlooking the scene. They too are emotionless; curt. A faint buzzing permeates the air like a slight siren. But it’s not a buzzing; I realize that the child is now screaming. A high pitched squeal of excruciating intensity. I leap to my feet and cover my ears with my hands. Frantically I look about. The phantoms are still at their windows; still unaffected. My body is drenched by the reproachful gleam of seven different flood lights and I wince at the unexpected disturbance. The sky is alight with radiance and noise. I begin to panic; my heartbeat underlies the din outside. Looking around, everything is calm and nothing has changed except for the lights. The boy, however, had disappeared as if into the breeze. The noise, I realize, is only in my head; a nervous buzz emphasized by frantic thoughts brought about by my feeling of panic and terror. But why am I so panic-stricken? In this city of phantoms and ghosts, what horror could befall me? Now I see it; rising above the shattered limbs of the city is some sort of plane or helicopter. A massive and terrible machine that seems to be driven by my misery. As I focus upon this strange new phenomenon the buzzing fades away and the city falls back into quiet alarm. I loosen my gaze on the craft for a second and notice that all the phantoms are out of sight. None stand quietly at their windows or wallowing in the gutters; they too have vanished with the boy. The ship is larger now and even more terrible. It is all white with one horizontal row of blinding lights that perhaps circles the entire body. It’s shape is indescribable; a large elliptically shaped hull with many smaller oddly shaped compartments jutting out in random increments. At the top of it’s main body can be seen a large spherical dome tinted black with a small yet intimidating flashing red light atop it. Closer now, I can make out a sort of insignia painted on the side of the ship. The emblem is composed of some large black bird resembling a raven with it’s wings slightly flexed and it’s beak agape. Above the raven is a clenched fist from which is dripping what looks to be blood. This appalling scene is encompassed by a deep red laurel wreath. As it approaches ever closer I notice that there are no propellers, no wings, no jet engines, and curiously no sound emitting from the vessel. It is as silent and brooding as the rest of the city. I’ve also failed to notice the rapidity at which the ship is moving. It is now nearly overhead as the wind picks up speed and whirls around my body. It giggles as it whips by me as if it knows some tantalizing secret I do not. The ship is now directly overhead and the wind is biting and severe. The wrecked buildings at my flank seem to slowly waver back and forth as if beckoning me. Saturated in harsh blue light I turn my gaze upward and indulge in the magnificence above me. The enormous body has stopped directly over my head and simply hangs in the air. A shining blue beam on the bottom of the ship catches my eye. It begins to blink in rapid succession and then the world is dark.

“Darkness is peace, Light is despair.”
“Lies are peace, Truth is despair.”
“Fear is peace, Freedom is despair.”


My eyes bolt open and I quickly sit upright as I am shaken awake as if from some terrible nightmare. Breathing heavily, my body is tense. But I notice that I’m not sweating; in fact I’m freezing. I scan the room as I try to recover my breath. It is small and dark except for a dimly lit monitor on the wall to my left. I carefully try to stand while pushing myself up with my arms. The ground is damp and unnerving. “Darkness is Peace, Light is Despair.” Using the walls as support, I move slowly towards the screen on the far wall. Everything is bitterly chilling. “Lies are peace, Truth is despair.” The monitor is slightly flickering and I can just barely make out the figure of a face. Hard and defined, even with the shaky picture, it strikes my heart. “Fear is peace, Freedom is despair.” The buzzing in my head has returned with increased intensity; a horrible throbbing that seems to resonate my every fear. Frantically, I clutch my skull and fall to my knees in terror. Crying out in pain, tears begin to flood from my eyes and my head smashes into the unforgiving ground. “Fear is Peace, Freedom is Despair.” The sound is grinding, terrifying. It’s frequency resonates through my entire body as I flail violently on the cold hard floor. “FEAR IS PEACE, FREEDOM IS DESPAIR.”


Lights: blinding; flashing. The city, peaceful, races through my head. Images of the people; not ghosts but people. A prosperous time. Beautifully ornate buildings line the roads. Children play in the streets, men barter in the alleys. Flashes of light. A storm cloud; a terrible yet wonderful mass of darkness. Steady rains, stinging winds. Engulfing the city, It reigns supreme. A new order of darkness and deceit. It is not cruel in the normal respect. It is benevolent and passive. Lies are told and propaganda is sold. The capital falls into depression. Some rise up to fight It but are quickly made an example of. No more dare speak out against It for trepidation of the unspeakable Fear. Left in the dark for so long, the people do not die but rather fade away. The streets lie in ruin but the city is at peace. Sorrow is it’s mistress but the city is at peace. A terrible example, the city is at peace.


Once again I am shocked back to life. My eyes flash open but quickly recede back behind their lids, shocked by the intensity of the light. I slowly bring myself to gape upon my surroundings; blinking frantically until my pupils can adjust. The lights, however, are too intense and add a debilitating blur to my vision. From what I can see, the room is round and shaped like a large dome, roughly ten feet in diameter. The light resonates from hundreds of monitors that make up the surrounding wall. Pure, blinding, wonderfully white hot light. All of a sudden, the screen directly opposite my face becomes static. I move closer to try and get a better look. Behind the static, I can make out the same face as before. “You shall not disturb my city.” I can not hear his voice but rather it plays in my head like a song I can’t forget. “You shall suffer the same fate as the other radicals.” A picture in my mind; the boy in the street. He wasn’t a ghost, but he wasn’t human either. Trapped between two worlds, he is an outsider; belonging to neither realm. The son of one of the original rebels, he now suffers because of his father’s life. “The darkness surrounds you, Fear overwhelms you.” One by one, each screen cuts off into blackness. “The darkness surrounds you, Fear overwhelms you.” Starting at the top monitor, the dimness slowly encircles me. “The darkness surrounds you, FEAR overwhelms you.”


Buildings stand bloodied and diseased. People lie in pieces, rusted and devoured by the brutal wind. The sky is overcast in a dreary grey, dousing the land in pathetic despair. I am neither ghost nor human. I am the remains of a curious individual; the soul of one concerned with the quality of human life. I am an outsider and a reject in this world and the next. I am full of Fear.

nacreous

well, you have talent at description. this is powerful in its own way, but it is hard to read as it is. why not make it a bit easier for the reader to jump in this? maybe some nice dialogue? think of the most important dialogue which could happen in this guy's life. and why not break up the solid blocks into shorter paragraphs, each with its own separate theme or meaning. You have to go back and rethink the process. many words have adjectives which dont really fit - a wretched breeze? do winds giggle? do roads leak? think of more appropriate descriptions.I mean, you could turn this into a serious work here, but you have alot of work to do.
good luck with it.

__________________
nacreous - a type of high-flying cloud which often reflects the setting sun back to the earth long after darkness has fallen on the land.

needmoneyforcollege

well written

Wildcard

I am with Nacreous on this one. You are talented but this piece is hard on the reader. You cant quite jump in cause you cant quite understand it.

__________________
BORN TO BE WILD!!!

alias

Buildings stand bloodied and diseased. People lie in pieces, rusted and devoured by the brutal wind. There is no pavement; the ground on which I walk is a mixture of rubble and ash and it smells of piss. The sky is overcast in a dreary grey, dousing the land in pathetic despair. This city has long been abandoned by the living and now holds (I personally think "holds" is the wrong word to use here) only the comatose. A few ghosts take shelter in the buildings on either side of this main road. Inquisitively, they creep their heads out makeshift windows but quickly recede as if the sun may break loose at any minute and burn them. A wretched breeze accosts mindless specters littering the street. There is no sound. As if the entire city where engulfed in an airless black hole, no noise pervades the hopelessness. This starting paragraph is good, but it feels like it needs to be read twice. Its quite verbose and some of the words seem out of context. But still the general idea is expressed nicely.


The metropolis itself is magnificent. A sight for those outside it’s walls but a sore for those in them. It is circular in layout, revolving around the city center. Six main boulevards flood out from the middle and continue in straight paths to the outer wall; as if the spokes of a wheel. From these thoroughfares, hundreds of smaller back roads leak in disproportionate patterns through the extensive ghettos. From an aerial view, one would certainly be astonished by the awesome symmetry of the layout. To it’s inhabitants, the city is a miserable maze of confusion and despair; a brutal tribute to their lives of desolation and despondency. (<-- Great line!) One could easily find himself wandering hopelessly through the shadowed gullies. One thing, however, contributes to the awful feeling of dejection more than the others. No matter where in the city one is, the great iron wall surrounding you is always in sight. A symbol of isolation, the magnificent structure rises ten miles into the clouds. Two miles thick, the wall is constructed of pure steel. There are no doors, no openings, no gaps, no access whatsoever to the city within or to the world outside. It stands simply and indisputably. It is given no fortifications, no guards ever stand duty, no alarms ever ring. The wall itself is infallible by vision alone and no one dares to test it. It has stood since the Dawn, and so it stands. You seems to strain very hard for the unnessesary metaphore, but the wall is a fantastic one, deserves its own paragraph.


Up ahead, a small ghost lies in the middle of the road. It is the ghost of a young boy, perhaps nine years old. His skin is pale and diseased. <--Repetition (diseased) The only color comes from the spidery green (green?) veins bulging all over his body. His nose his bent and crooked and his mouth is agape, as if longing for the next breath of air. I notice a small puddle of blood soaking into the dirt around his shaven head.(hes a ghost..?) Many small lacerations casually leak shining blood from atop the boy’s skull. Then a sound. A soft whimpering, like a quiet wolf caught in a bear trap. It’s the boy. His chest is moving up and down eagerly. But his face remains expressionless; his eyes cold and impassive. He is moaning now; his mouth open wide and his tiny chest heaving readily. I notice a few phantoms at their windows, overlooking the scene. They too are emotionless; curt. A faint buzzing permeates the air like a slight siren( i dont like this description, dont know why, maybe its just me). But it’s not a buzzing; I realize that the child is now screaming. A high pitched squeal of excruciating intensity. I leap to my feet and cover my ears with my hands. Frantically I look about. The phantoms are still at their windows; still unaffected. My body is drenched (better word? Maybe go fore somthing simpler like filled, or engorged) by the reproachful gleam of seven different flood lights and I wince at the unexpected disturbance. The sky is alight with radiance and noise. I begin to panic; my heartbeat underlies (This word is OOT) *out of context* the din outside. Looking around, everything is calm and nothing has changed except for the lights. The boy, however, had disappeared as if into the breeze. The noise, I realize, is only in my head; a nervous buzz emphasized by frantic thoughts brought about by my feeling of panic and terror. But why am I so panic-stricken? In this city of phantoms and ghosts, what horror could befall me? Now I see it; rising above the shattered limbs of the city is some sort of plane or helicopter. A massive and terrible machine that seems to be driven by my misery. As I focus upon this strange new phenomenon the buzzing fades away and the city falls back into quiet alarm. I loosen my gaze on the craft for a second and notice that all the phantoms are out of sight. None stand quietly at their windows or wallowing in the gutters; they too have vanished with the boy. The ship is larger now and even more terrible. It is all white with one horizontal row of blinding lights that perhaps circles the entire body. It’s shape is indescribable; (But you just describe it anyway?) a large elliptically shaped hull with many smaller oddly shaped compartments jutting out in random increments. At the top of it’s main body can be seen a large spherical dome tinted black with a small yet intimidating flashing red light atop it. Closer now, I can make out a sort of insignia painted on the side of the ship. The emblem is composed of some large black bird resembling a raven with it’s wings slightly flexed and it’s beak agape. Above the raven is a clenched fist from which is dripping what looks to be blood. This appalling scene is encompassed by a deep red laurel wreath. As it approaches ever closer I notice that there are no propellers, no wings, no jet engines, and curiously no sound emitting from the vessel. It is as silent and brooding as the rest of the city. I’ve also failed to notice the rapidity at which the ship is moving. It is now nearly overhead as the wind picks up speed and whirls around my body. It giggles as it whips by me as if it knows some tantalizing secret I do not. The ship is now directly overhead and the wind is biting and severe. The wrecked buildings at my flank seem to slowly waver back and forth as if beckoning me. Saturated in harsh blue light I turn my gaze upward and indulge in the magnificence above me. The enormous body has stopped directly over my head and simply hangs in the air. A shining blue beam on the bottom of the ship catches my eye. It begins to blink in rapid succession and then the world is dark.

“Darkness is peace, Light is despair.”
“Lies are peace, Truth is despair.”
“Fear is peace, Freedom is despair.”


My eyes bolt open and I quickly sit upright as I am shaken awake as if from some terrible nightmare. Breathing heavily, my body is tense. But I notice that I’m not sweating; in fact I’m freezing. I scan the room as I try to recover my breath. It is small and dark except for a dimly lit monitor on the wall to my left. I carefully try to stand while pushing myself up with my arms. The ground is damp and unnerving. “Darkness is Peace, Light is Despair.” Using the walls as support, I move slowly towards the screen on the far wall. Everything is bitterly chilling. “Lies are peace, Truth is despair.” The monitor is slightly flickering and I can just barely make out the figure of a face. Hard and defined, even with the shaky picture, it strikes my heart. “Fear is peace, Freedom is despair.” The buzzing in my head has returned with increased intensity; a horrible throbbing that seems to resonate my every fear. Frantically, I clutch my skull and fall to my knees in terror. Crying out in pain, tears begin to flood from my eyes and my head smashes into the unforgiving ground. “Fear is Peace, Freedom is Despair.” The sound is grinding, terrifying. It’s frequency resonates through my entire body as I flail violently on the cold hard floor. “FEAR IS PEACE, FREEDOM IS DESPAIR.” (Wonderful writing here)


Lights: blinding; flashing. The city, peaceful, races through my head. Images of the people; not ghosts but people. A prosperous time. Beautifully ornate buildings line the roads. Children play in the streets, men barter in the alleys. Flashes of light. A storm cloud; a terrible yet wonderful mass of darkness. Steady rains, stinging winds. Engulfing the city, It reigns supreme. A new order of darkness and deceit. It is not cruel in the normal respect. It is benevolent and passive. Lies are told and propaganda is sold. The capital falls into depression. Some rise up to fight It but are quickly made an example of. No more dare speak out against It for trepidation of the unspeakable Fear. Left in the dark for so long, the people do not die but rather fade away. The streets lie in ruin but the city is at peace. Sorrow is it’s mistress but the city is at peace. A terrible example, the city is at peace. (Once again great)


Once again I am shocked back to life. My eyes flash open but quickly recede back behind their lids, shocked by the intensity of the light. I slowly bring myself to gape upon my surroundings; blinking frantically until my pupils can adjust. The lights, however, are too intense and add a debilitating blur to my vision. From what I can see, the room is round and shaped like a large dome, roughly ten feet in diameter. The light resonates from hundreds of monitors that make up the surrounding wall. Pure, blinding, wonderfully white hot light. All of a sudden, the screen directly opposite my face becomes static. I move closer to try and get a better look. Behind the static, I can make out the same face as before. “You shall not disturb my city.” I can not hear his voice but rather it plays in my head like a song I can’t forget. (Better metaphor than most you use) “You shall suffer the same fate as the other radicals.” A picture in my mind; the boy in the street. He wasn’t a ghost, but he wasn’t human either. Trapped between two worlds, he is an outsider; belonging to neither realm. The son of one of the original rebels, he now suffers because of his father’s life. “The darkness surrounds you, Fear overwhelms you.” One by one, each screen cuts off into blackness. “The darkness surrounds you, Fear overwhelms you.” Starting at the top monitor, the dimness slowly encircles me. “The darkness surrounds you, FEAR overwhelms you.”

Buildings stand bloodied and diseased. People lie in pieces, rusted and devoured by the brutal wind. The sky is overcast in a dreary grey, dousing the land in pathetic despair. I am neither ghost nor human. I am the remains of a curious individual; the soul of one concerned with the quality of human life. I am an outsider and a reject in this world and the next. I am full of Fear.


A god story, the seconds half is better than the first half i think. Also you try too hard to make it wordy, and metaphor/simile filled, simplify it. Thats my 2 $0.01s

Truth-Teller

Buildings stand bloodied and diseased. People lie in pieces, rusted and devoured by the brutal wind. There is no pavement; the ground on which I walk is a mixture of rubble and ash and it smells of piss. The sky is overcast in a dreary grey, dousing the land in pathetic despair. This city has long been abandoned by the living and now holds only the comatose. A few ghosts take shelter in the buildings on either side of this main road. Inquisitively, they creep their heads out makeshift windows but quickly recede as if the sun may break loose at any minute and burn them. A wretched breeze accosts mindless specters littering the street. There is no sound. As if the entire city where engulfed in an airless black hole, no noise pervades the hopelessness.


The metropolis itself is magnificent. A sight for those outside it’s walls but a sore for those in them. It is circular in layout, revolving around the city center. Six main boulevards flood out from the middle and continue in straight paths to the outer wall; as if the spokes of a wheel. From these thoroughfares, hundreds of smaller back roads leak in disproportionate patterns through the extensive ghettos. From an aerial view, one would certainly be astonished by the awesome symmetry of the layout. To it’s inhabitants, the city is a miserable maze of confusion and despair; a brutal tribute to their lives of desolation and despondency. One could easily find himself wandering hopelessly through the shadowed gullies. One thing, however, contributes to the awful feeling of dejection more than the others. No matter where in the city one is, the great iron wall surrounding you is always in sight. A symbol of isolation, the magnificent structure rises ten miles into the clouds. Two miles thick, the wall is constructed of pure steel. There are no doors, no openings, no gaps, no access whatsoever to the city within or to the world outside. It stands simply and indisputably. It is given no fortifications, no guards ever stand duty, no alarms ever ring. The wall itself is infallible by vision alone and no one dares to test it. It has stood since the Dawn, and so it stands.


Up ahead, a small ghost lies in the middle of the road. It is the ghost of a young boy, perhaps nine years old. His skin is pale and diseased. The only color comes from the spidery green veins bulging all over his body. His nose his bent and crooked and his mouth is agape, as if longing for the next breath of air. I notice a small puddle of blood soaking into the dirt around his shaven head. Many small lacerations casually leak shining blood from atop the boy’s skull. Then a sound. A soft whimpering, like a quiet wolf caught in a bear trap. It’s the boy. His chest is moving up and down eagerly. But his face remains expressionless; his eyes cold and impassive. He is moaning now; his mouth open wide and his tiny chest heaving readily, and then he screams. I notice a few phantoms at their windows, overlooking the scene. They too are emotionless; curt. A faint buzzing permeates the air like a slight siren. But it’s not a buzzing; I realize that the child is now screaming. A high pitched squeal of excruciating intensity. I leap to my feet and cover my ears with my hands. Frantically I look about. The phantoms are still at their windows; still unaffected. My body is drenched by the reproachful gleam of seven different flood lights and I wince at the unexpected disturbance. The sky is alight with radiance and noise. I begin to panic; my heartbeat underlies the din outside. Looking around, everything is calm and nothing has changed except for the lights. The boy, however, had disappeared as if into the breeze. The noise, I realize, is only in my head; there is no boy; it was all in my head. a nervous buzz emphasized by frantic thoughts brought about by my feeling of panic and terror. But why am I so panic-stricken? In this city of phantoms and ghosts, what horror could befall me? Now I see it; rising above the shattered limbs of the city is some sort of plane or helicopter. A massive and terrible machine that seems to be driven by my misery. As I focus upon this strange new phenomenon the buzzing fades away and the city falls back into quiet alarm. I loosen my gaze on the craft for a second and notice that all the phantoms are out of sight. None stand quietly at their windows or wallowing in the gutters; they too have vanished with the boy. The ship is larger now and even more terrible. It is all white with one horizontal row of blinding lights that perhaps circles the entire body. It’s shape is indescribable; a large elliptically shaped hull with many smaller oddly shaped compartments jutting out in random increments. At the top of it’s main body can be seen a large spherical dome tinted black with a small yet intimidating flashing red light atop it. Closer now, I can make out a sort of insignia painted on the side of the ship. The emblem is composed of some large black bird resembling a raven with it’s wings slightly flexed and it’s beak agape. Above the raven is a clenched fist from which is dripping what looks to be blood. This appalling scene is encompassed by a deep red laurel wreath. As it approaches ever closer I notice that there are no propellers, no wings, no jet engines, and curiously no sound emitting from the vessel. It is as silent and brooding as the rest of the city. I’ve also failed to notice the rapidity at which the ship is moving. It is now nearly overhead as the wind picks up speed and whirls around my body. It giggles as it whips by me as if it knows some tantalizing secret I do not. The ship is now directly overhead and the wind is biting and severe. The wrecked buildings at my flank seem to slowly waver back and forth as if beckoning me. Saturated in harsh blue light I turn my gaze upward and indulge in the magnificence above me. The enormous body has stopped directly over my head and simply hangs in the air. A shining blue beam on the bottom of the ship catches my eye. It begins to blink in rapid succession and then the world is dark.



Please remove everything I've underlined.

They are all redundant, tell don't show, horrible similes and metaphors, full of overexcessive blown hamfisted prose.

Before you start a story, you need a plot. You can't write a story revolving around an entire metaphor or symbolism, because, if you do, you just write bunch of nothingness like you did here.

You talk too much; you need to learn how to cut trite redundant passages. Omit needless words. Get to the point. Avoid wordiness, because, therein, lies your problem.

Again, you need a plot or conflict. You have non here.