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bortleman
02-11-2011, 03:01 AM
"It was a different kind of day. Ya know, one of those days that just seems off. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. Heh, I remember telling my wife that exact thing. It was early evening, about three hours into my shift. The station was quite and most of the men were busying themselves playing cards and smoking cigars at the small team table. I couldn’t stop looking at the sky. It seemed darker that day. That was when we got the call.

‘Emergency response required for a ten story structure fire.’

“The station exploded with movement. We were all experts at getting ready in a timely manner. We had drilled until we were able to leave the station with sirens blazing in less than two minutes. I was on a ladder crew then and, before I knew it, we were splitting down the streets.

The building swelled into view through the large glass windshield. The roads were cleared before we got there, and we were able to pull our rig around the north face of the building. I remember getting out and staring up at the monolith of fire. They always look so much bigger from the ground level.

I remember telling Jeffery to crank the ladder out to the 7th floor. Then the whole building rattled as the fire blew out of an upper story. Office papers twirled down with the light rain. Then...then...Greg, it was definately Greg. He was tapping my boot, I had stopped moving on the ladder up. I don't remeber climbing up, I just remember thinking 'I have to get to those people'.

We finally got inside.The smoke was as thick as fog. It was like we stepped into an office some one had picked up and set in the middle of a bog. We kicked open the first door, it gave in pretty easy. We searched the whole place, top to bottom. There was nothing there.

I recieved a call on my radio from the chief. We had fifty minutes to get ourselves and anyone else out of that building before the fire would block all alternate escape routes. Ya see, it was a standard operating procdure that we maintain at least two exits. So the long and short of it was we had thirty minutes to find any survivors, giving us a ten to twenty minute cushion, just in case the fire found some better fuel.

We proceeded to check the rest of the rooms. The next room yielded no results. We moved to the next, and it was the same. I don't know how many empty floors we checked. There had to be some one still alive in this building, but we were running out of time. I scoured barren room after barren room. I even checked under desks, behind curtains, and still nothing. I remember burrying my axe in a file cabinet after our last exhaustive search.
Greg was still there, he reminded me that we had done all that we could do, and that we were out of time. Honestly we should have already been on our way back. Just as we turned to leave, I heard the cry for help.
We ascertained the door where our rescue would be conducted. It was the elevator. We generally don't check those things because they have too much potential to cause a sudden shift in pressure that could really f*ck us over in the long run.

We tore at the door with the tools we had on us. It would not budge. The fire had melted metal from the floors above that crept through the double elevator doors and cooled, effectively welding them shut. As we worked more voices joined in the plea for help.

We were beat. There was no way to save these poor b*stards. My chief came over the radio ordering me out. I wish I would've had the courage to ignore that command. I was still working on the door, my useless axe seemed as dull as a butter knife as I beat on the metal. I never felt so weak. Greg was there again pulling me away from my futile task.
I could hear their condemned screams as the heat boiled up under their feet. Then, they just seemed to melt away...

...Greg was always there for me after that day. He never turned me down, no matter what time I called him. He always assured me that we did our best...It's their screams that get me...I can hear it so vividly, like I'm inside there, with them...

...I will never forget Gregory Stummari. May his memory live on. Mrs. Stummari...I'm so sorry."

Jack of Hearts
02-11-2011, 03:37 AM
bortletortle,

Nevermind a critique of this piece (it is strong and continues your trend).

Never has it been more clear that it is time for you to make a leap. One sees an artistic mind at play and much ability- most of it lurking beneath the surface. This reader means that it's time for a process. The pieces you post, this one especially, demand to be taken further and not just in content. They demand the extra thought, consideration, artistic muse... in depth editing, taking away, re-writing, re-evaluation, artistic process.

To make the above comment more clear, the reader will compare writing to a painting. Sketch work is great, maybe minor studies with a few touch ups... but the real work comes from a process of construction. Maybe it's just time and investment. Maybe it's just thinking about it.

But because you are the real deal, your art demands you find your process.




J

paperastronaut
02-11-2011, 03:53 AM
jack is right, this is powerful.

hillwalker
02-11-2011, 09:22 AM
A great piece of writing - but as usual I'm going to be picky.

It would be so much better if the story started at paragraph 2. It introduces the reader to the action without a half-baked reflection that is enough to put him off before it even starts.

The reader doesn't have a clue what to focus on -

a night he will take with him to his grave - something lingering - a skeleton resting its hands on his shoulders - crawling skin and spine - a memory that whispers terrible things - paralysis with fear

None of the above enhances the impact of the story - but it's in danger of blowing it out of the water with over-sensationalism.

H

bortleman
02-11-2011, 12:26 PM
A great piece of writing - but as usual I'm going to be picky.

H

I would expect nothing less.

Jack - say it ain't so. Lol thanks for re-enforcing some thoughts I've been having.

PA - Thanks for the compliment.

bortleman
02-11-2011, 10:06 PM
Editorial note: this is just something I have discovered through artistic work. If you look at your piece in its entirety and you think "Well that used to fit, but it doesn't now" or "I'm not sure about this part" it is best you remove it for sake of the piece. If you are unsure whether something your wrote is still relevant or contributing to the piece, nine times out of ten, it doesn't. For those that have been following along, your readers are key in on things that are out of place like a mustard stain on your shirt. This is purely subjective conjecture based solely on my experience.

everyadventure
02-11-2011, 10:54 PM
Very well done, Bortleman. If I could offer any advice... I can't really FEEL the heat. Make me feel like I'm in there with them, with the sweat and the smoke and the pop and crackle of flames...

Good job on this!