The "Creative Writing" forum, which includes Retro Game Reviews, has been archived and is now read-only. You cannot post here or create a new thread or review on this forum.
The train screamed as it surged through the dark tunnel. Choking coal-smoke billowed relentlessly from its ever-pumping high-brimmed funnels and quickly rose onto the bridge, enclosing me in its suffocating white-grey billows. I inhaled deeply and smiled as the thick smoke filled my lungs and led to a short fit of spluttering. As the grey cloud lifted my gaze followed it up into the sky, rising almost majestically in the light spring air, and dissolving amongst the blueness. What intrigued me most was the illusion that the sky was blue, despite all of the black smoke and steam that is released into the air. Not just now, but every day. Trains and coal fires and factories and furnaces, all pumping their filthy blackness up there, but it still stays a glimmering blue.
The sky puts on a brave face and doesn’t show its weaknesses.
The same, I think, can be said of people. Despite all of their troubles and the uttermost negative aspects of their life, they will still put on a happy guise and smile. I know not if this is a good thing, or perhaps merely an inbuilt automatic human function, but is something my observations of humanity have proven to be true.
As I walked slowly across the bridge back towards the village I spied Mr and Mrs Green engaging in polite conversation about the weather with Mr Faherty, the local butcher. Mr Green knew that Mr Faherty was the father of his daughter, though never confronted his wife about it. Partly, I suspected, because he didn’t want anyone to know of his impotency, but mostly due to the fact that the illusion he was happily married to a faithful wife with a beautiful daughter, was much better than living a lonely single life or admitting he was a cuckold hubby. Mrs Green smiled lustfully at Mr Faherty as the couple bade him good day and continued home. Mr Faherty, on the other hand, was fighting a somewhat different battle. He was a stout man in his early forties, though had never married, which was something of an oddity in these times. The reason he never tied the knot with one of the numerous pretty local girls was that he was a homosexual who engaged in weekly raunchy sessions with Reverend Pith of St Marks parish. He convinced himself that if he slept with a woman from time to time it would counterbalance his homosexuality and stop him living sinfully in the eyes of God. Though if he had listened at church instead of gazing longingly at Reverend Pith, he would realise that adultery is addressed in one of the Ten Commandments whilst homosexually isn’t. Whether Mr Faherty was trying to convince the town, or his self, he was heterosexual was a different matter.
I continued in strides up the small hill towards St Marks and took a left towards my cottage. As I opened the door I was greeted by the pleasant, almost delectable scent of my wife. I followed the smell through the empty kitchen and up the stairs into our bedroom where the bedcovers shrouded an obvious lump in the centre. I slowly peeled back the covers to reveal my wife’s elegant skeletal face, her voluptuous rotting breasts and her cavernous stomach that had recently become a maggot’s nest. Her yellowing skin was delicately torn away around yawning flesh wounds and her head lolled back against the mattress, her pupils rolled up into her skull. “You’ve been waiting for me, haven’t you darling” I said softly, before stripping and sliding into bed next to her cold body. “Ooh you’re icy dear, let me warm you up.”
The townsfolk probably knew of my wife’s fate and the fact I hadn’t quite come to terms with losing her yet. Though they got on with their everyday business without mentioning anything, blinded by their own smoke, billowing it out into the atmosphere and making it all look clear and blue. Living harmoniously with one other in our quiet little village.
The sky puts on a brave face and doesn’t show its weaknesses.
The same, I think, can be said of people. Despite all of their troubles and the uttermost negative aspects of their life, they will still put on a happy guise and smile. I know not if this is a good thing, or perhaps merely an inbuilt automatic human function, but is something my observations of humanity have proven to be true.
As I walked slowly across the bridge back towards the village I spied Mr and Mrs Green engaging in polite conversation about the weather with Mr Faherty, the local butcher. Mr Green knew that Mr Faherty was the father of his daughter, though never confronted his wife about it. Partly, I suspected, because he didn’t want anyone to know of his impotency, but mostly due to the fact that the illusion he was happily married to a faithful wife with a beautiful daughter, was much better than living a lonely single life or admitting he was a cuckold hubby. Mrs Green smiled lustfully at Mr Faherty as the couple bade him good day and continued home. Mr Faherty, on the other hand, was fighting a somewhat different battle. He was a stout man in his early forties, though had never married, which was something of an oddity in these times. The reason he never tied the knot with one of the numerous pretty local girls was that he was a homosexual who engaged in weekly raunchy sessions with Reverend Pith of St Marks parish. He convinced himself that if he slept with a woman from time to time it would counterbalance his homosexuality and stop him living sinfully in the eyes of God. Though if he had listened at church instead of gazing longingly at Reverend Pith, he would realise that adultery is addressed in one of the Ten Commandments whilst homosexually isn’t. Whether Mr Faherty was trying to convince the town, or his self, he was heterosexual was a different matter.
I continued in strides up the small hill towards St Marks and took a left towards my cottage. As I opened the door I was greeted by the pleasant, almost delectable scent of my wife. I followed the smell through the empty kitchen and up the stairs into our bedroom where the bedcovers shrouded an obvious lump in the centre. I slowly peeled back the covers to reveal my wife’s elegant skeletal face, her voluptuous rotting breasts and her cavernous stomach that had recently become a maggot’s nest. Her yellowing skin was delicately torn away around yawning flesh wounds and her head lolled back against the mattress, her pupils rolled up into her skull. “You’ve been waiting for me, haven’t you darling” I said softly, before stripping and sliding into bed next to her cold body. “Ooh you’re icy dear, let me warm you up.”
The townsfolk probably knew of my wife’s fate and the fact I hadn’t quite come to terms with losing her yet. Though they got on with their everyday business without mentioning anything, blinded by their own smoke, billowing it out into the atmosphere and making it all look clear and blue. Living harmoniously with one other in our quiet little village.
Page:
Fozz wrote:
> OMG.....I feel so dirty...uuggh. It was fine..until the dead body. I
> wasnt expecting that at all. good, but disturbing twist. aarrgh! I
> want to throw up.
When I read something like that I know it's all worth while.
> OMG.....I feel so dirty...uuggh. It was fine..until the dead body. I
> wasnt expecting that at all. good, but disturbing twist. aarrgh! I
> want to throw up.
When I read something like that I know it's all worth while.
FinalFantasyFanatic wrote:
> Hmmm ... seemed a bit rushed, the jumps between the sections a bit
> hasty. Start was good, end - very, but overall I wasn't too inawed.
I'm not too good with pace, it's far from my strong point when it comes to writing. And now, inawed isn't a word, but I know what you're trying to say.
> Hmmm ... seemed a bit rushed, the jumps between the sections a bit
> hasty. Start was good, end - very, but overall I wasn't too inawed.
I'm not too good with pace, it's far from my strong point when it comes to writing. And now, inawed isn't a word, but I know what you're trying to say.
Sick, very sick. But delightfully so :)
OMG.....I feel so dirty...uuggh. It was fine..until the dead body. I wasnt expecting that at all. good, but disturbing twist. aarrgh! I want to throw up.
Hmmm ... seemed a bit rushed, the jumps between the sections a bit hasty. Start was good, end - very, but overall I wasn't too inawed.
If that's a word.
If that's a word.
It's a really underused word.
I'm fond of it.
I'm fond of it.
I'm glad you included that classic Shakesperian insult, "cuckold".
Brought a smile to my face.
Brought a smile to my face.
Thanks for the feedback, I agree with what you're saying and I've tried to change the first paragraph a bit now. Hopefully it reads smoother.
I think the wording needs to be tidied up a bit - especially in the first paragraph, and the level of detail to the secrets in paragraph four was a little unbelievable; I did question how our main character knew this.
But as it took on a more gossipy tone, it was quite easy to accept, and also a more complex way to lull us into a false sense of security for the final, disturbing and graphically described twist (but simultaneously foreshadow it).
The level of detail you used here was appropriate, and the parallels this enabled us to draw between the main character and townsfolk added complexity to what was, for a short story, an impressively developed community of characters.
Well handled, for the most part :-)
But as it took on a more gossipy tone, it was quite easy to accept, and also a more complex way to lull us into a false sense of security for the final, disturbing and graphically described twist (but simultaneously foreshadow it).
The level of detail you used here was appropriate, and the parallels this enabled us to draw between the main character and townsfolk added complexity to what was, for a short story, an impressively developed community of characters.
Well handled, for the most part :-)
The train screamed as it surged through the dark tunnel. Choking coal-smoke billowed relentlessly from its ever-pumping high-brimmed funnels and quickly rose onto the bridge, enclosing me in its suffocating white-grey billows. I inhaled deeply and smiled as the thick smoke filled my lungs and led to a short fit of spluttering. As the grey cloud lifted my gaze followed it up into the sky, rising almost majestically in the light spring air, and dissolving amongst the blueness. What intrigued me most was the illusion that the sky was blue, despite all of the black smoke and steam that is released into the air. Not just now, but every day. Trains and coal fires and factories and furnaces, all pumping their filthy blackness up there, but it still stays a glimmering blue.
The sky puts on a brave face and doesn’t show its weaknesses.
The same, I think, can be said of people. Despite all of their troubles and the uttermost negative aspects of their life, they will still put on a happy guise and smile. I know not if this is a good thing, or perhaps merely an inbuilt automatic human function, but is something my observations of humanity have proven to be true.
As I walked slowly across the bridge back towards the village I spied Mr and Mrs Green engaging in polite conversation about the weather with Mr Faherty, the local butcher. Mr Green knew that Mr Faherty was the father of his daughter, though never confronted his wife about it. Partly, I suspected, because he didn’t want anyone to know of his impotency, but mostly due to the fact that the illusion he was happily married to a faithful wife with a beautiful daughter, was much better than living a lonely single life or admitting he was a cuckold hubby. Mrs Green smiled lustfully at Mr Faherty as the couple bade him good day and continued home. Mr Faherty, on the other hand, was fighting a somewhat different battle. He was a stout man in his early forties, though had never married, which was something of an oddity in these times. The reason he never tied the knot with one of the numerous pretty local girls was that he was a homosexual who engaged in weekly raunchy sessions with Reverend Pith of St Marks parish. He convinced himself that if he slept with a woman from time to time it would counterbalance his homosexuality and stop him living sinfully in the eyes of God. Though if he had listened at church instead of gazing longingly at Reverend Pith, he would realise that adultery is addressed in one of the Ten Commandments whilst homosexually isn’t. Whether Mr Faherty was trying to convince the town, or his self, he was heterosexual was a different matter.
I continued in strides up the small hill towards St Marks and took a left towards my cottage. As I opened the door I was greeted by the pleasant, almost delectable scent of my wife. I followed the smell through the empty kitchen and up the stairs into our bedroom where the bedcovers shrouded an obvious lump in the centre. I slowly peeled back the covers to reveal my wife’s elegant skeletal face, her voluptuous rotting breasts and her cavernous stomach that had recently become a maggot’s nest. Her yellowing skin was delicately torn away around yawning flesh wounds and her head lolled back against the mattress, her pupils rolled up into her skull. “You’ve been waiting for me, haven’t you darling” I said softly, before stripping and sliding into bed next to her cold body. “Ooh you’re icy dear, let me warm you up.”
The townsfolk probably knew of my wife’s fate and the fact I hadn’t quite come to terms with losing her yet. Though they got on with their everyday business without mentioning anything, blinded by their own smoke, billowing it out into the atmosphere and making it all look clear and blue. Living harmoniously with one other in our quiet little village.
The sky puts on a brave face and doesn’t show its weaknesses.
The same, I think, can be said of people. Despite all of their troubles and the uttermost negative aspects of their life, they will still put on a happy guise and smile. I know not if this is a good thing, or perhaps merely an inbuilt automatic human function, but is something my observations of humanity have proven to be true.
As I walked slowly across the bridge back towards the village I spied Mr and Mrs Green engaging in polite conversation about the weather with Mr Faherty, the local butcher. Mr Green knew that Mr Faherty was the father of his daughter, though never confronted his wife about it. Partly, I suspected, because he didn’t want anyone to know of his impotency, but mostly due to the fact that the illusion he was happily married to a faithful wife with a beautiful daughter, was much better than living a lonely single life or admitting he was a cuckold hubby. Mrs Green smiled lustfully at Mr Faherty as the couple bade him good day and continued home. Mr Faherty, on the other hand, was fighting a somewhat different battle. He was a stout man in his early forties, though had never married, which was something of an oddity in these times. The reason he never tied the knot with one of the numerous pretty local girls was that he was a homosexual who engaged in weekly raunchy sessions with Reverend Pith of St Marks parish. He convinced himself that if he slept with a woman from time to time it would counterbalance his homosexuality and stop him living sinfully in the eyes of God. Though if he had listened at church instead of gazing longingly at Reverend Pith, he would realise that adultery is addressed in one of the Ten Commandments whilst homosexually isn’t. Whether Mr Faherty was trying to convince the town, or his self, he was heterosexual was a different matter.
I continued in strides up the small hill towards St Marks and took a left towards my cottage. As I opened the door I was greeted by the pleasant, almost delectable scent of my wife. I followed the smell through the empty kitchen and up the stairs into our bedroom where the bedcovers shrouded an obvious lump in the centre. I slowly peeled back the covers to reveal my wife’s elegant skeletal face, her voluptuous rotting breasts and her cavernous stomach that had recently become a maggot’s nest. Her yellowing skin was delicately torn away around yawning flesh wounds and her head lolled back against the mattress, her pupils rolled up into her skull. “You’ve been waiting for me, haven’t you darling” I said softly, before stripping and sliding into bed next to her cold body. “Ooh you’re icy dear, let me warm you up.”
The townsfolk probably knew of my wife’s fate and the fact I hadn’t quite come to terms with losing her yet. Though they got on with their everyday business without mentioning anything, blinded by their own smoke, billowing it out into the atmosphere and making it all look clear and blue. Living harmoniously with one other in our quiet little village.
Page: