'driven down'- a new short story


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Thread: 'driven down'- a new short story

  1. #1

    'driven down'- a new short story

    The door opens and iím in.

    Back...
    Home...
    Safe...

    I pause. Breath after breath resonates loudly in the room. As it does, I feel my chest rising heavily up and down, moving with the force of my heart. I turn the light to my kitchen on. The white fluorescence illuminates the scene. My pupils retract and hide, frightened by the sudden change. They then move scattily about the illuminated space.

    This room... Itís new to me, altered. Itís not the same kitchen i walked through previous. Now a veil has been removed, the obscurity lessened, and the picture more in focus.

    Now i noticed things.

    This kitchen... well, it was clean, very clean, certainly tidy, even sterile one might say. I notice this immaculate look, every shelf pristine, every surface shinny, not an imperfection in existence. Strange how all the furnishings seemed orientated to compliment one another in some sort of symmetrical unity. Even the miscellaneous books and cookery tools appeared filed away in uniform.
    It hit me... it just ... did.

    I blink. It shakes me out of the stare and i stammer over to the fridge. The door opens and a wave of ice-cool air grips me.

    I sigh as the cold numbs my senses ... Itís momentary and fleeting. Itís lost...

    I grab a full bottle of scotch out of the fridge and slam it on the table adjacent. I then grab the tray of ice cubes and a glass to accompany. Without a pause i collect my friends and iím away out of the room...

    My nose runs. I sniff. I sniff it all back up. It was cold out, a nip in the air. But itís warm now, cosy in here.

    I sit in my comfy chair. They say itís comfy but itís not. Itís not comfy, itís just a chair. I make do, best i can. The TVís on in front of me, a glass of scotch next to me. On the other side is an empty box of Co-Codamol pills. The box says its pain killer. I donít care. I just know it makes you drowsy and I want to be drowsy. I want to sleep.

    I donít think the pills have hit yet, them or the alcohol, iím still waiting. My eyes stare big, blank and hollow at the TV. They look through the white light, blasting out of the TV box, to somewhere else, to something else.

    Iím driving and itís dark, pitch black around. Thereís a country road in front, small and rickety, partially illuminated by my cars lights. Weíre just outside of London and itís quiet, real quiet. Not a sound in the air except for the car. Iíve got my arm out of the window and a fag in my mouth. My attention is straying.

    I blink.

    Iím back in the room. Some blond bimbo bitch chatís shit on the box. Her incest commentary grabs my attention. Iím back here, back where i should be. I down the whisky glass and pour another one. The cool liquid slides down my throat. I turn back to the TV and stare...

    The roads appears in front of me again, that endless black sea of unpredictability. For a moment i take my eyes off the road. I stare up at the bright white ball in the sky. Itís a cloudless night, just the moon, with no obstructions. Iím mesmerised, my attention beguiled.

    The smoke from my cigarette lingers in the air, despite the window being open. It hovers and glides past my eyes. Everythingís so still, so frozen. Itís a preserved picture, a stationary moment in time.

    I blink.

    The TV still blares in front. This time itís a skinny presenter in a suit that barks at me.

    I blink again.

    I sink in my seat. The seat seems comfier than before... this comfy seat, my comfy seat. Thatís what Iím doing, sitting in my comfy seat, sitting in my home.

    I blink again.

    Am i? Am i sitting in my seat at home?
    Or am i sitting in my car down in that country lane?

    I realize iím still driving, still looking at the moon. Iím doing that when a CRASH explodes from out of the peace. It RIPS and TEARS through the silence. Something collides with the front side of the car. It then continues, tumbling and dragging underneath the vehicle, the wheels making a ghastly chewing noise. There is a final bump, the obstruction spat out from below the car, and everything continues like normal.

    I stop the car with a screech.

    My chest pounds.
    My forehead sweats.
    My breath bellows.

    I glance into my rear view mirror but spot nothing. I open the door, and then look back.
    A body lays still and twisted on the road...

    I blink.

    I feel something wet on my hands. The TV and my lounge come back into focus. I glance down. My glass of whisky has been spilt, the liquid covering my hands and lap. My face erupts, frustrated and red. I knock the glass off my lap. It smashes into fragments below. I jump up and scream enraged, pacing up and down, up and down, up and down.

    I squeeze my fists till they click in a tight clenched ball, still pacing up and down, up and down. The skin tightens to an excruciation degree and I feel a capillary burst in my knuckle, still pacing up and down, up and down.

    Paranoid propaganda takes president. The what followed by the who? Every possible scenario becomes a potential, becomes a probably truth. Iím still pacing up and down, up and down.
    I stop. I make a decision.

    I down what remains of the whisky bottle.
    I pop a few more pills.
    I exit out of the door.
    I hop back into my car...

    Now iím driving and itís fucking difficult. The wheels keep swerving; sometimes right, sometimes left. Maybe itís the car, maybe, but really i know itís me. My eyes start to see two of everything and my vision blurs. But I think iíll be alright. I think. I think.

    Iím without plan, or any real idea. i just need to go back. I need to check, police present or not, I want an answer. Curiosity lead me with a collar tight around my neck.

    My eyes shut.

    I slap my face and reassert my efforts to concentrate on the road ahead. My eyes strain, as i focus forward, focus forward, focus forward.

    Chevron after chevron emerges out of the blacked unknown. Like a clock keeping time they continue to pass by, pointing me in the right direction. Their presence is hypnotic, one followed by the other, over and over. iím mesmerised, entranced.

    Chevron after Chevron passes.

    I blink, and then I slap myself.

    Keep focus on the road. Remember:
    Focus Forward. Focus Forward.

    But my eye lids tighten. They feel heavily now, really heavy, like weights hang off them.

    Chevron after Chevron passes.

    My head starts to dip as well.

    Chevron after Chevron passes.

    My hands relax around the wheel.

    Chevron after chevron passes.

    And my eyes close...

    ...I finally relax.
    And somewhere far away I can hear a crash.

  2. #2
    It was written well, but to be honest I found that difficult to read.

    The whole idea that this person was switching back and forth between his house and the car was confusing and I didn't understand the reasoning behind that.

    If you re-write it then I would suggest that you re-organise the sections properly so that they aren't constantly jumping back and forth between the house and the car.

    Also, after some of the sentence's you have used three little dots to indicate a pause (...) I don't like them and it can be read easier if you use either a comma or a full stop.

  3. #3
    I guess it all depends on what market you plan to issue this into, but it was confusing to me. Maybe the target audience will understand it. I did notice that the capitalization of "I" seemed random, as in this example. Sometimes it is properly capitalized and sometimes not.
    Without a pause i collect my friends and i’m away out of the room...
    "I ain't no monkey but I know what I like."
    Bob Dylan

  4. #4
    First off, welcome to the forum, it's good to see a new member staight in with a piece of writing, now the crit.

    It’s not the same kitchen i walked through previous
    Previously

    You jump from past to present quite randomly several times

    The capitalisation of I mentioned by the previous poster is quite annoying and distracting

    You start far too many sentences with "I"
    Her incest commentary grabs my attention.
    incestuous would work, but does not seem appropriate.
    my attention beguiled.
    Nothing else could be , just beguiled would be fine.

    Paranoid propaganda takes president.
    Precedent, only it should be precedence.

    Curiosity lead me with a collar tight around my neck.
    I can't say this is wrong exactly but I want it to be "Led by" rather than with.

    It is a bit too fragmented to be an easy read with too many switches of location, and "I hop back in my car" is throw away enough to be missed by a casual reader, at least you have full stops, I don't think there were any in the first piece I put up

    Nothing to do with the writing, but watch those co-codamol, the co bit is paracetamol which gives you permanent liver damage if you take too many, not that I think that is his main worry.

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