drake_johnson
02-07-2008, 08:38 PM
Here is the intro to a story I wrote for English--the rest isn't that good cause I had to rush it, so I'm not posting it. I just want to know if its good enough to continue it in this vein--I've got some good ideas...
A chill mist hung low in the air, nearly scraping the ground. It spread across the floor like a living slime, heavy and unearthly. Slowly filling the chamber with its pale silence, the fog seemed to faintly glow. Its thick tendrils reached along the edges of the roughly hewn granite slabs lining the chamber, licking the rough, dark surfaces stained black with blood. The granite rose up, up, up, leaning menacingly over the fog like many of the cruel dromir had over their charges. The gigantic monolithic blocks were large enough to have each been a mountain in their previous lives, before being ripped from their natural home and forced to bear silent witness to the horrors that took place within the chamber.
There, within the enormous chamber, was one man. Though the man had become such a shell of a human, it was hard to categorize his actions as being. He rather was simply alive because it was the will of his cruel overlords. He lay as though dead, held with chains that were driven into the floor with thick nails, cruel-looking things that looked like instruments of war rather than restraints. A single source of light existed, a lone shaft of light that shone through the remote ceiling and perfectly lit the hollow man, whose sanity had long ago been driven from him. This light shone upon him, never wavering, never decreasing in intensity; it shone on him like a prophetic vision.
The broken man lie sprawled face down, nearly choking on the encroaching fog. He did not rise, or even move, because it would be more painful to attempt to move than it would to slowly drown in the fog. He heard hushed whispering and soft footsteps, quiet avalanches of sound that were muffled by the fog and amplified by the granite, echoing and bouncing so that even several footsteps created a maddening, cacophonic chorus of sound. The sounds of the scrape of cloth on boulder and tension were deafening. It hovered closer and closer to the broken creature, as its owner drifted near. The cloaked figure stopped stooped over the wretched thing, whipping its head around to the black door of the chamber, outlined in the dimmest light in the far-off distance that were the chamber's walls. Its lithe, quick form scooped up the man, the restraints crumbling away like plaster.
The door screamed off in the distance along the outer edges of the chamber, and light shoved the darkness out of the way like an unruly child, destroying the sanctity and security the darkness offered and instead filling it with a burning nakedness that left all questions answered in its wake. A human shadow filled the immense doorway, foreboding, and with it bringing a terror dark and unimaginable, far worse than the light. Its head turned to the circle where the man was kept, but the man was gone, as was the cloaked form; only the shattered remains of the steel remained.
And in his place, lay a single rose petal.
A chill mist hung low in the air, nearly scraping the ground. It spread across the floor like a living slime, heavy and unearthly. Slowly filling the chamber with its pale silence, the fog seemed to faintly glow. Its thick tendrils reached along the edges of the roughly hewn granite slabs lining the chamber, licking the rough, dark surfaces stained black with blood. The granite rose up, up, up, leaning menacingly over the fog like many of the cruel dromir had over their charges. The gigantic monolithic blocks were large enough to have each been a mountain in their previous lives, before being ripped from their natural home and forced to bear silent witness to the horrors that took place within the chamber.
There, within the enormous chamber, was one man. Though the man had become such a shell of a human, it was hard to categorize his actions as being. He rather was simply alive because it was the will of his cruel overlords. He lay as though dead, held with chains that were driven into the floor with thick nails, cruel-looking things that looked like instruments of war rather than restraints. A single source of light existed, a lone shaft of light that shone through the remote ceiling and perfectly lit the hollow man, whose sanity had long ago been driven from him. This light shone upon him, never wavering, never decreasing in intensity; it shone on him like a prophetic vision.
The broken man lie sprawled face down, nearly choking on the encroaching fog. He did not rise, or even move, because it would be more painful to attempt to move than it would to slowly drown in the fog. He heard hushed whispering and soft footsteps, quiet avalanches of sound that were muffled by the fog and amplified by the granite, echoing and bouncing so that even several footsteps created a maddening, cacophonic chorus of sound. The sounds of the scrape of cloth on boulder and tension were deafening. It hovered closer and closer to the broken creature, as its owner drifted near. The cloaked figure stopped stooped over the wretched thing, whipping its head around to the black door of the chamber, outlined in the dimmest light in the far-off distance that were the chamber's walls. Its lithe, quick form scooped up the man, the restraints crumbling away like plaster.
The door screamed off in the distance along the outer edges of the chamber, and light shoved the darkness out of the way like an unruly child, destroying the sanctity and security the darkness offered and instead filling it with a burning nakedness that left all questions answered in its wake. A human shadow filled the immense doorway, foreboding, and with it bringing a terror dark and unimaginable, far worse than the light. Its head turned to the circle where the man was kept, but the man was gone, as was the cloaked form; only the shattered remains of the steel remained.
And in his place, lay a single rose petal.