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"SSC14: - A Night's Tale"

This story starts on the outskirts of a dusty, aging motorway. The sun bids its day of peace on earth goodbye; flushed out by the light-consuming edge of the night. Not a single star hangs in the heavens, just an endless carpet of shade. Black and white monotones encircle, a thick coat of grey smoke sails across the faces of cars, blemishing an already limited vision for travellers. Everything is encased in a swirling mist, cars are still, it’s almost like nothing does exist.

The nocturnal activities of the car headlights and squirming exhaust pipes, however, tell us otherwise. And whilst life here, in an autonomous gridlock, seems all so controlled, there is something surreal about this setting. Something very surreal indeed. One earth-worn hand equipped with knife, rising up behind a whirring, foggy car, is all it takes; all it takes to send shivers down spines, hearts to mouths. The teetering edges of seats receive a new burden.

Still the smoke fails to reveal the identity of its inhabitant. People sit submerged by it in their cars, cautiously glancing around. They look ill, afraid. Slowly reaching towards her window, one woman presses the lock button for her car doors. Click, click; you’re all safe now dear. No, she tricks herself into thinking it’s a ‘just in case’ action. There’s no ticking time bomb here, waiting to explode in her face, there’s no shadow lurking secret, there’s absolutely no threat. The irony is that she thinks she’s seen it all before.

Her slow plunge into the depths of paranoiac fear is countered only by the logical tick-tocking of her head. All of a sudden, thought is swept away by the timely and bizarre opening of her untouched glove compartment. A heart-squeezed gasp emerges from her lips, her warm breath detecting the chilled air. Once again, eyes flutter into every direction. A sharp burst of clashing thunder from the skies makes sure that everything is motionless; upright like a dart that has protruded it’s target.

Outside things are quite different. Footsteps spill from the smoke. Jittery old boots with frayed laces and scuffed soles slowly explore their surrounds; tingles can be heard with every confrontation between the rubber and the ground. Clumsily, these legs give way upon hitting a lump in the road. One stout body collapses into the freezing metal of a car.

Clang! The sound to push a paranoid woman over the edge. Without even thinking she slams her foot down onto the acceleration pedal. Bracing herself in wait of an explosive boost of life, she clasps her eyes tightly shut. Stretched out from head to the very toe still holding the accelerator in, she loosens. Her car has failed to function. She opens her eyes; only to be met by a disfigured, sun scorched face at her windscreen. Glass fractures from the outside in. A helpless shriek endlessly echoes throughout the night. Crimson blood streams from her knife-seared wounds. The only sound comes from the drip dropping of spilled blood, exiting the car from beneath the door only to meet the pavement. The boots of a murderer walk past approvingly, and into the distance.

“…And cut! That’s it for today, awesome stuff team” exclaims an unusually pleased director. The fool is already under its spell; all is lost. A woman surfaces from the chaos-struck car and drops her blonde wig into the tomato ketchup blood, still dribbling onto the motorway floor. The smoke that plagued this backdrop for so long halts in spewing out of its machinery, and evaporates into nothingness.

Everything evaporates into nothingness.

Top stuff. I liked the richness of it, I'm not going to write anymore because I'd merely be repeating whateveryone else has says.
Oh, and they use corn rye not ketchup, although kethcup is obviously more familiar to the masses.

Thanks for the replies all, and Clazon I haven't read that. In fact I don't read much at all really. Mainly magazines and, well, stories on here. I agree it was very "weird" but not all of my stories are like this. Not at all. Also, if you thought that was written in a more unexpected style, you just wait and see what other stories around here are written like. Hoho.

I enjoyed that.. sorry I was so frank before, I can't even remember commenting the first time

Very, very strange.

To be honest, I've never read anything like it. I mean some of the descriptions seemed to slip away from what they were describing. As I read it, a very strong and instant scenario was set up in my mind, but it wasn't clear to see what was happening. Some very interesting words used at times I would've used a more conventional word, but I think this had a positive effect on the way the story was told. The style is particularly obscure, style in terms of the approach of the narrator to the reader. It reminded me very much of a Native American sitting around a fire.

I try not to use the word surreal, because you yourself used it in the story (which I felt detracted from the style and surrealism). I instead favor the classic word- "weird".
:D

Thanks for the link to this. This story has widened my horizons.

PS. You haven't perchance read Gabriel Garcia Marquez- 100 Years of Solitude? If not I implore you to do so!

Yeah, fine

I liked it.


And the ending.

A nice stylish piece with a lot of atmosphere. More please.

I'm with ST on this one. I also built up my own scenario so much so that when it came to 'cut' I was a bit eh? whats happening?

Liked it muchly :)

Black Glove wrote:
> I like very much. Tasty wordage. Although I don't think the
> "Clang!" is required.

Indeed.
Outside kid's books, I have a slight hatred for Clang! and Pop! and Whizz! it went, it did. And also exclamation marks in general, to be honest - except when used for pain, or the final cry of death.

Wow.

Very very descriptive, I liked it muchly.

Not really much more to say other than I loved the description.

Ky, that was lame.

I really don't see how Ashey's writing is a 'style' of yours.