- Down With People
- Oct 31, 2012
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The child delights in violence.
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Not quite a critique of "Check engine", but that thing set me wondering if there's indeed a niche for so much swearing in published literature.
Hahahaha YES.
Maybe it's just because I cuss a blue streak, but I think swearing is fine to have in your work, especially if it's dealing with blue-collar subject matter like a guy out of his mind on mesc catching a taxi to a festival. It wouldn't fit in everything, though.
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Jan 13, 2013 12:21
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May 13, 2024 23:22
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- Down With People
- Oct 31, 2012
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The child delights in violence.
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The Fixers (997 words)
The Fixers do not have faces, only angled shapeless things, pitch-black like the tongues of long-dead dogs that have lain in the sun for far too long. They are impossibly tall, and thin, with joints and fingers knobbed and gnarled and bare, like the branches of oak trees in autumn. This is very evocative, but it's a little clumsy. In particular, how is something 'impossibly tall'? How tall is a Fixer? Six feet? Seven? A light-year?
They come to what you would think are the safest places of all. In this case a gated community, where the well-to-do sequester themselves and their material things from a harsh and undue world. Can you use undue like this? The Fixers do not pause for any fence, or gate, or wall built by a man, stepping over them as you would a fallen log. To them our cities are forests, our suburbs like meadows and glades, where a million little stupid things mill in and out of makeshift homes of dirt and wood, where they eat and mate and die.
Nobody could tell you why the Fixers came for Cynthia James. Some in their medieval thoughts suppose they eat children like her, which is ludicrous, for they do not only take young people, and we are all someone’s child. The best guess we have is they come to right some wrong. Their place amounts to upkeep, to tweak and shuffle and sweep away the mistakes of a fallible god. This assumes you believe a just creator would abide such creatures as them, and the alternative is a reason as vague as life itself.
The Fixers come in the night, because we are creatures of daylight, and in the dark we are in our homes and not on the streets. No neighbors see them as they come, for a curiosity of their being makes it so. Anytime a late-night driver, or someone having a smoke on the porch or getting a midnight snack might catch a glimpse of them, we are always preoccupied with something for just that moment, and they slip by.
Sometimes the Fixers must only reach inside a window and pluck someone out, but in Cynthia James’ case they had to venture indoors. No lock means a thing to them. There were four of them, and two stepped inside, bending down on knobby knees and brushing their heads and backs on door frame. I got the impression from the previous paragraphs that they could walk through walls and poo poo, so I can't see why they'd need to be bending down to get through doors. They made their way to Mr. and Mrs. James’s bedroom, where one of the Fixers whispered something calm and ground a seed between its palms. It sprinkled the dust across their eyes, and they would have deep and enthralling dreams and no sound would rouse them for at least an hour. They seem to abhor disturbance and distraction above all else.
When Cynthia James awoke to the Fixers looming over her she understandably screamed. Outside, a parked car shrieked its alarm from one end of the neighborhood to the other, ensuring nobody would hear her, as had in the past cacophonies of barking dogs or passing trains or traffic. It is these ways the Fixers use the details of our daily lives to veil themselves as tricks of light, bumps in the night and overheard suspicion. Why didn't they grind up some dream seed into Cynthia's face as well if they don't want distractions?
If you could call it luck that one person did see them take Cynthia James, then feel free to call it that; his name was Henry Mills. A handful of people can see and hear the Fixers at their work, and Henry Mills across the street watched as they went into the James’s house and came back out again. Some people say they walk into the forest, but there are not forests everywhere. Some people say they descend into the earth, and that might be truer. Henry Mills saw them walk on stairs that were not there until they reached the sky.
These people who see them note, while curious or frightened, at first things go as you might expect. Cynthia James’s parents became hysterical, and for a time the streets of this sequestered place teemed with police, and news cameras, and relatives. In this case a man named Joseph Small was convicted of a kidnapping he did not commit. If such motive and evidence could be found to make a judgment of him, perhaps it is better a person like that no longer wanders free.
After a time had passed since the Fixers came, Henry Mills noticed a curious and frightful thing: all trace of Cynthia James seemed to vanish with her. Not just the physical, but the emotional too. The color returned to Mr. and Mrs. James’s faces, and they went about their lives, freer and more purposeful, and if Henry Mills ever asked them how they were, they were as fine as ever; and if he ever asked them about Cynthia, they certainly had no idea who he meant.
Henry insists he never wanted Cynthia gone, but he is sure there is a way to ‘mark’ one to be Fixed. Though he has looked since, he cannot find anything to suggest it is an occult word or ritual, and concludes the answer may lie in simple superstition. A ‘God drat you’ or ‘Go to Hell’, with the proper intent would work just as well as anything else, and it suits that the way to call the Fixers should be as benign as the ways they use to hide their work; but this is all speculation. So is that how you mark someone or not? How'd Henry figure this out, anyway? I get that you'd have less room for fleshing things out with an article word-length restriction, but these are things to consider even so.
If one can learn anything from Henry it is to consider the tiny ways and places the Fixers show their work, and choose with prudence each word you let escape your lips. But take solace in the fact unless you are very fortunate, should you ever be passed over by the Fixers you will never remember it.
It leaves, however, many questions regarding Joseph Small, a man put in prison for a crime he cannot remember, and which no-one ever brings up. Do you suppose the Fixers will come to fix this end as well? And what exactly is the truth Henry Mills should tell? Ending the story with a bunch of open questions feels a bit weak.
This is pretty good. If you plan on shaving things down some more, I'd recommend either going from the perspective of Henry Rills or Joseph Small rather than mentioning both. I'd certainly be interested in finding out more about Small - what is it about him that made him the prime suspect in a child's disappearance?
Also: how much Slenderman did you consume before writing this?
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Jan 16, 2013 15:11
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- Down With People
- Oct 31, 2012
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The child delights in violence.
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Maybe say that Kalis moved as quick as the heavy pack would allow him?
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Feb 16, 2013 05:43
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- Down With People
- Oct 31, 2012
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The child delights in violence.
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The Spice of Life. 814 words.
First thing: break up your paragraphs more, like so. It does wonders for readability. Second thing: I switched the first paragraphs around so that it runs together more, rather than you interrupting the conversation with exposition.
Mandy and Will had just met earlier that day at a record store over a vinyl copy of The Kill’s “Midnight Boom".and hitting it off They hit it off over tales of what walking clichés tormented their day-to-day lives That just seems like a really clumsy way to say it. It sounds like the cliches are actually things that walk around, tormenting them. Find a new way to say that, or cut out 'walking'. when he mentioned it was his first time in the city. Mandy offered to show him around so he accepted in a way he hoped didn’t betray what little composure he had. They were going to walk to a nice bar nearby when they found themselves in a dilapidated part of town.
Mandy looked over at Will. “Stay here for a second.” she said.
"Sure, what's up?" He asked as he leaned against a bus stop to play inconspicuous. Mandy hinted at man in a muddyCOMMA oversized hoody standing under the arch of a fire exit of the building Don't need that. across the street.
“I’m going to talk to this guy for a second and get some stuff to party with tonight. I’ll be right back.” She said.
Will stayed put, attempting to exert cool and failing. She started across the cracked and broken street. The hooded man had been leaning against an extended horizontal soldier This is a clunky description. Use simpler words. in the building’s brickwork when he noticed Mandy. He looked around as she approached him.
“You carrying?” She asked. The dealer’s eyes looked into hers as if sizing her up. He smirked slightly.
“YeahCOMMA maybe. How much you got?”
Will watched from across the street. He fidgeted nervously and stole a glance at the lady waiting beside him. She had an armful of groceries and thankfully was not paying him any attention. If he had a superpower, that would be it. Checking for traffic from both sides, he didn’t see any. A field in an adjacent lot was overrun weeds and trash. Nervously, he noted he was out of his element and was left hoping this person he known only for a few hours knew what she was doing. Not a great start.
Mandy pulled some crumpled bills out of her pocket and handed them to the hooded manCOMMA who tucked it quickly into his pants. He walked over to a nearby trashcan and reached under the garbage bag in the bin inside to retrieve a black back-pack. Facing Mandy with it in hand, he unzipped it and reached in, pulling out a large freezer bag. Inside was a large amount of green plant matter with slight notes of purple divided into several different quantities in smaller sandwich bags. Look, if you mean weed, just say weed. You're coming off as far too clinical in your attempt to be coy about what's happening.
The man in the hoody was too distracted with this to notice Mandy slowly reach into her jacket. Out from her pocket emerged a small canister about the dimensions size of a travel shampoo bottle. The nozzle on top one that was now staring him down from less then six inches away. Her sudden movement pulled his attention away from his drug collection and into how unpleasant his situation had now become. There was a moment of silence.
"Wait--" He began as the can made its countermand. sprayed him. It blasted liquid fire that left an orange streak vertically across his face. The actual sound was an innocuous whisper but it was punctuated with the hooded man’s violent scream. After a few seconds he dropped to the groundCOMMA clutching his face in pain.
Mandy held him in her spicy embrace for a few more moments before stopping. Silently, she slipped the weapon back into its place. She liberated the dollar bills and the bag of weed, stuffed them into the backpack, and walked to Will at a brisk pace. The man in the hoody was still on the ground holding his eyes.
"You fuckin' bitch! I'm goin' to gently caress you up! Get back here!" he yelled, the anger in his voice undermined by coughs and sobs.
"Here, hold this." Mandy said as she tossed the bag to Will. He caught it awkwardly against his chest. holding it like that for a moment. His eyes watered at the overwhelming stench of weapons-grade hot sauce. Even the grocery lady was paying attention now, her eyes darting between them before intently looking away. He felt cold shock run through his fingers and toes. He had never even seen a drug dealer, much less be an accessory to robbing one. He looked back at the man.
"What about him? What if he calls the cops?" He asked with belated hesitation.
Mandy smiled at his nervousness. "gently caress him." She said reassuringly. "What is he going to say? ‘Help police, those teenagers stole the drugs I was trying to sell'?" She glanced back at her victim. He had managed to make it to his knees, hunched over with his face in his arms. He alternated between frenetic coughs and vulgar threats.
"Still, we better cheese it before his friends show up."
Good point, he thought. Slinging the pack over his shoulders, he hooked thumbs under the straps and they calmly walked away from the bus stop.
You need to learn to use commas more. Your language is far too clinical and full of unnecessary poo poo, e.g. countermand, green plant matter. Also, you should decide if this is going to be seen from Will's perspective or Mandy's perspective, rather than cutting between the two.
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Mar 2, 2013 03:57
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- Down With People
- Oct 31, 2012
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The child delights in violence.
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Aquatic (1069 words)
I am a sea creature.
I felt giddy as I approached the sea, hearing the numb roar of the water breaking against the shore. The wind blew my hair into my face, but I could still see the beach, blue on blue on yellow as the sky, surf and sand blended into each other. I stepped onto the sand, digging into its warm grains with my toes.
The thin line where the water met the shore stretched as far as I could see. There were little motley clusters of parents with their children, all of them fascinated by the yard-wide jellyfish that washed up every morning. They didn't surprise me; many creatures stranded themselves on these shores. The jellyfish just happened to do it more than the others. They have one desire, and that is to grow legs and lungs and join us as land creatures.
They can have the land. I only want the sea.
The beach had always been dangerous to creatures of both worlds. Storms were frequent and sudden, often shocking in the scope of their destruction. People were washed away, never to be seen again, claimed by the sea in the same way jellyfish were claimed by the land. And as monstrous waves dragged people away, they would spit out all varieties of fish and crustacean onto the shore. One memorable day, the carcass of a sperm whale found its way onto the shore, its skin dark grey and covered with ring-shaped scars. It grew, and grew, until eventually it exploded, showering everything around it in rotting guts and blubber.
But people are quick to forgive the sea, and I know why. Its draw is irresistible. A day did not go by when I didn't make my way to the beach, barefoot and quiet as a monk. I would nimbly step between mats of seaweed and jagged shell. I would let the water wash around my ankles, then my knees, then my hips, enjoying the feel of the cool green water. I would keep walking, forwards and forwards, until the water washed over my head entirely, and the sunlight was mottled with the pattern of foam from the waves.
I held my breath. I can hold it for a long time.
There are great, soaring vistas that most never see for the sole reason that they lie beneath the water. I was as familiar with these places as I was with the back of my hand. I could sense north by the feel of the current. I picked my way through mazes of coral, little fish darting away. I saw sharks glide above the coral, furtive and hungry, no empathy reflected in their dull eyes. I marvelled at hermit crabs who affixed anemones to their shells, little shrines dedicated to hearth and home. And far above, I could see the clumsy alien shapes of snorkellers, as foreign in the water as jellyfish lying dead on a beach.
I would emerge much later, unnoticed by the other beach-goers. Already, I would be missing the sea. I have no friends or family down there, but that doesn't bother me. There are entire lifetimes of experience in the solitude of the briny water that cannot be found on land. My time outside of the sea is only half-remembered, something that happened in a dream.
This was my life as a sea creature, and it was beautiful. I could have stayed that way forever. But one day, something had changed.
As I left the water, I saw the new lifeguard post. Concerned for the well-being of the beach's patrons, a whitewashed wooden platform was erected for the lifeguards to stand on. One of them was watching me, a small woman with sandy blonde hair, staring down through her cumbersome binoculars.
“You should swim between the flags,” she stated plainly. After thinking about this, I asked her to explain what she meant.
“We have flags over there and there,” she explained, pointing out two red and gold flags set apart from each other. I noticed that most swimmers milled around in the gap between them.
“That's our field of vision, where it's easiest to see. If you swim outside of that, we can't see you as well. I know you spend a lot of time out there, but you could still get pulled under by the tide. You're not a fish, you know.”
I sensed that this was a joke, but her innocent observation filled me with doubt. Could I really claim any superiority to the jellyfish and their failed attempts at evolution if I was forced to constantly returned to land? It was clear to me that I had a choice to make: either seek true apotheosis with the ocean, or leave it forever and strand myself in the half-dreams of land.
And that was no choice at all.
The day after, I ventured deeper into the water. I abandoned the simple pleasures of coral and sand for the exhilaration of the continental shelf. The sea floor vanished from sight completely, and I was left with only my keen sense of direction to guide me further away from land. In this cyan heaven, other life was rare. I would see a sun fish with its exotic array of fins lumber past me, and then nothing else for hours. Or I would see a school of herring traveling in phalanx, and marvel at their sense of purpose.
I styled myself after the sperm whale, and taught myself to dive, dive, go down into the darker waters where sunlight was a myth. Down here, the water became thick and cold as ice, but I managed to acclimatise. I became a predator, living off of the bizarre organisms that had evolved in these crushing depths. I swam deeper still, surpassing the whale, until I found myself on the floor of the abyssal plain.
I warmed myself by the streams of boiling bubbles from a volcanic vent, and meditated on what I had achieved. I had not left the water in what felt like months. There were no longer any secrets it hid from me. There was only one thing that separated me from the creatures of the sea, and that was my reliance on air from the surface. Surely I had mastered myself enough to be able to take my oxygen from the liquid around me?
I breathed in...
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May 3, 2013 11:07
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- Down With People
- Oct 31, 2012
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The child delights in violence.
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You guys should totally critique each other's work.
I like the way you think, Gochuck.
It's mostly okay, but there's some awkward phrasing in there. A couple of examples:
quote:Then, the story went, when the townspeople came after a few days to take the witch or the innocent man down the body had disappeared, only to be replaced by a gaping hole where the body once was.
You should just say 'the body had been replaced by a gaping hole'.
quote:If they were on the right track they would soon pass where a stone bridge crossed a stream (Which they did) and hopefully wouldn’t have to deal with stray dogs that mysteriously liked to congregate in the area (Which they didn’t).
Just tell us that there's stray dogs. Or not, as the case may be. Whether or not stray dogs mysteriously like congregating is irrelevant. When you proof-read, try reading your sentences aloud. If they sound awkward, change them.
The story works okay, but Christian's reaction is a bit off; three kids just got eaten by a tree monster and all he thinks is, "Wow, what a scoop!" If we're meant to empathise with him, he should have more human reactions to poo poo like that.
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May 8, 2013 10:06
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May 13, 2024 23:22
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- Down With People
- Oct 31, 2012
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The child delights in violence.
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But first let me say that what I've been posting is only an introduction. It is not the whole story. The majority of the story after that is dialogue (through which there is a lot of backstory and some world building), which is interrupted by a "flash-foreward" (more of a "what if" segment), and concluded with a short segment after that. My point being that there is a plot to the overall story, but not as much (in my original iterations) in the introductions that I posted.
Well then, how's about showing us the rest of the story?
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Aug 11, 2013 00:25
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Jan 13, 2013 12:21
