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These dark caverns have been open for years now; decades of excavation and still the result was nothing more than a monotone dripping and flicker of shadows as small fires would forever blaze, churning the machinery on, thru the rust struggling to grind any longer. It amazes me that such old technology is still used, and more so that they believe something is down here.
I come down here often, beyond the metal blisters that plague the stark halls and openings, there is a gentle undercurrent. Such peace, no feeling, just an ever lasting numb that leaves your mind paralysed as the large pillars buckle under the heavy stone above. It certainly doesn’t seem safe, but just to know that if, after all this time, you were to be trapped under falling rubble, no one would ever know. It leaves a sort of balance in your conscience, and I can’t help but smile at the thought.
As I wander through the sea of nostalgia that lives in this place, dust slowly leaves the ceiling and comes to rest on the ground; there are secrets that live in this earth, just not what they think. For a public attraction, these dark caves hold a dark past, all the ghosts that haunt these walls and all cries for help lost echoing forever in blinded memories. They blank out what tragedies that have come about thanks to this place, an undying saga for fame. The only fame to be pinned to their names will be death, the families have all moved away, it seems like I’m the only one left to know what has happened in this place.
These machines speak a thousands words with every chug of smoke that escapes them; like an elder of this place, not guilty, just as naïve and innocent as those that lost their lives here, coughing out words of plea in an eternity of their finals hours. Does the pain go away after a constant? I can’t be sure, but the faces painted hold a look of weakened defeat; signed away to the fact that they can do no more.
But I digress, old horror stories need not be recited at any given moment, I accepted the fate of this place a long time ago, your heart need not be caught in the designs of which you cannot fight.
More grains glitter in front of my eyes as they leave the ceiling.
Larger chunks of stone begin to fall, crippling the supports. I just stand in wonderment, the slight hope that I could get lost forever buried in this place. As much as I know I can’t fight what is set in the stone of these very walls, I have not given up; even if the end of my life opens the eyes of just one person.
The ceiling continues to cave in, thundering slightly throughout every corner of this labyrinth. In just a few minutes a hole has formed above me, rubble lying off at an angle as if to invite my arrival to the new opening. The shaking stops and everything is normal once again; no stirring, just a dead silence ringing in my ears and the settling of dirt.
I climb up the pile, already solid, like it had been sitting untouched for years. My eyes are met with a small dome-like room; the walls so perfectly rounded as in a glacier. The room is empty but for a small, disfigured object in the centre of the room. As I get closer, a delirium fills my mind, a fuzz washing over my crystal eyes. I don’t know what is sitting in this place, lost in history, but it fights my senses.
As I get closer, it becomes clearer. Like nothing anyone has ever seen before, a colour that has never passed by these pupils before; the brightest black, a thousand shades plunged into one mass. I would surely fall to my knees if it were not for the awe suspending the moment. As I pick the object from the floor, an odd sensation fills me; a remorse of some sort, but hard to explain, an idiosyncratic response to touching this object.
Its shape is twisted, like a frown locked in solidity. It is where this feeling is emanating from. Such tragedy in beauty, a gift from deep within an unknown, yet locked in such harsh state. I feel the pain within me, almost like a leech clutching to my very mind like the only love it has left, sparkling at me as my eyes try to adjust to what I see before me.
I turn back to the opening. Nothing but the same round encasing meets my sight. I smile and look down at what brought me here; it looks happy too.
I come down here often, beyond the metal blisters that plague the stark halls and openings, there is a gentle undercurrent. Such peace, no feeling, just an ever lasting numb that leaves your mind paralysed as the large pillars buckle under the heavy stone above. It certainly doesn’t seem safe, but just to know that if, after all this time, you were to be trapped under falling rubble, no one would ever know. It leaves a sort of balance in your conscience, and I can’t help but smile at the thought.
As I wander through the sea of nostalgia that lives in this place, dust slowly leaves the ceiling and comes to rest on the ground; there are secrets that live in this earth, just not what they think. For a public attraction, these dark caves hold a dark past, all the ghosts that haunt these walls and all cries for help lost echoing forever in blinded memories. They blank out what tragedies that have come about thanks to this place, an undying saga for fame. The only fame to be pinned to their names will be death, the families have all moved away, it seems like I’m the only one left to know what has happened in this place.
These machines speak a thousands words with every chug of smoke that escapes them; like an elder of this place, not guilty, just as naïve and innocent as those that lost their lives here, coughing out words of plea in an eternity of their finals hours. Does the pain go away after a constant? I can’t be sure, but the faces painted hold a look of weakened defeat; signed away to the fact that they can do no more.
But I digress, old horror stories need not be recited at any given moment, I accepted the fate of this place a long time ago, your heart need not be caught in the designs of which you cannot fight.
More grains glitter in front of my eyes as they leave the ceiling.
Larger chunks of stone begin to fall, crippling the supports. I just stand in wonderment, the slight hope that I could get lost forever buried in this place. As much as I know I can’t fight what is set in the stone of these very walls, I have not given up; even if the end of my life opens the eyes of just one person.
The ceiling continues to cave in, thundering slightly throughout every corner of this labyrinth. In just a few minutes a hole has formed above me, rubble lying off at an angle as if to invite my arrival to the new opening. The shaking stops and everything is normal once again; no stirring, just a dead silence ringing in my ears and the settling of dirt.
I climb up the pile, already solid, like it had been sitting untouched for years. My eyes are met with a small dome-like room; the walls so perfectly rounded as in a glacier. The room is empty but for a small, disfigured object in the centre of the room. As I get closer, a delirium fills my mind, a fuzz washing over my crystal eyes. I don’t know what is sitting in this place, lost in history, but it fights my senses.
As I get closer, it becomes clearer. Like nothing anyone has ever seen before, a colour that has never passed by these pupils before; the brightest black, a thousand shades plunged into one mass. I would surely fall to my knees if it were not for the awe suspending the moment. As I pick the object from the floor, an odd sensation fills me; a remorse of some sort, but hard to explain, an idiosyncratic response to touching this object.
Its shape is twisted, like a frown locked in solidity. It is where this feeling is emanating from. Such tragedy in beauty, a gift from deep within an unknown, yet locked in such harsh state. I feel the pain within me, almost like a leech clutching to my very mind like the only love it has left, sparkling at me as my eyes try to adjust to what I see before me.
I turn back to the opening. Nothing but the same round encasing meets my sight. I smile and look down at what brought me here; it looks happy too.
Ah, Ricky-Rick-Rick. Quality ... phrasing, pacing, story.
<3
<3
Agree with the majority of the replies, very atmospheric, although my concentration span being rather low I found myself losing focus about halfway through. Very curious ending though, which brought me straight back.
EDIT - Got to go bed now, up at bout quarter to 7 again in the morning, so I'll finish judging these tomorrow night, without fail. As long as that's ok with everyone, and FFF doesn't made a sudden return. Night.
EDIT - Got to go bed now, up at bout quarter to 7 again in the morning, so I'll finish judging these tomorrow night, without fail. As long as that's ok with everyone, and FFF doesn't made a sudden return. Night.
I like this one more than most of the ones i have read, theres something about it.
The detail is perfect as it brings a real imagery to the story.
The detail is perfect as it brings a real imagery to the story.
It doesn't suck though - especially if you like it yourself. I did kinda like the ending but not how I got there. However, that's probably just me :)
Didn't know this was here until sleep popped it. I've read it now, though. Agree with Glove about the atmospheric quality being great. I've got no problem with stories where there's not much too them, because they can be good to read too. Erm, I liked it, yeah. When I first saw the topic I thought we'd have quite a few stories in this sort of mould.
Damn, whenever I'm pleased with a story it ends up sucking. D'oh. :D
Cheers for reading, though, you two.
Cheers for reading, though, you two.
Odd. Not one of my favourites of yours, sorry. I feel like I walked in half way through, nipped out for another 5 mins and then wandered back again for the closing line. Struggled to keep it together.
Very atmospheric with some interesting choice of words. Not much to the story, but it had a mysterious quality which I liked.
These dark caverns have been open for years now; decades of excavation and still the result was nothing more than a monotone dripping and flicker of shadows as small fires would forever blaze, churning the machinery on, thru the rust struggling to grind any longer. It amazes me that such old technology is still used, and more so that they believe something is down here.
I come down here often, beyond the metal blisters that plague the stark halls and openings, there is a gentle undercurrent. Such peace, no feeling, just an ever lasting numb that leaves your mind paralysed as the large pillars buckle under the heavy stone above. It certainly doesn’t seem safe, but just to know that if, after all this time, you were to be trapped under falling rubble, no one would ever know. It leaves a sort of balance in your conscience, and I can’t help but smile at the thought.
As I wander through the sea of nostalgia that lives in this place, dust slowly leaves the ceiling and comes to rest on the ground; there are secrets that live in this earth, just not what they think. For a public attraction, these dark caves hold a dark past, all the ghosts that haunt these walls and all cries for help lost echoing forever in blinded memories. They blank out what tragedies that have come about thanks to this place, an undying saga for fame. The only fame to be pinned to their names will be death, the families have all moved away, it seems like I’m the only one left to know what has happened in this place.
These machines speak a thousands words with every chug of smoke that escapes them; like an elder of this place, not guilty, just as naïve and innocent as those that lost their lives here, coughing out words of plea in an eternity of their finals hours. Does the pain go away after a constant? I can’t be sure, but the faces painted hold a look of weakened defeat; signed away to the fact that they can do no more.
But I digress, old horror stories need not be recited at any given moment, I accepted the fate of this place a long time ago, your heart need not be caught in the designs of which you cannot fight.
More grains glitter in front of my eyes as they leave the ceiling.
Larger chunks of stone begin to fall, crippling the supports. I just stand in wonderment, the slight hope that I could get lost forever buried in this place. As much as I know I can’t fight what is set in the stone of these very walls, I have not given up; even if the end of my life opens the eyes of just one person.
The ceiling continues to cave in, thundering slightly throughout every corner of this labyrinth. In just a few minutes a hole has formed above me, rubble lying off at an angle as if to invite my arrival to the new opening. The shaking stops and everything is normal once again; no stirring, just a dead silence ringing in my ears and the settling of dirt.
I climb up the pile, already solid, like it had been sitting untouched for years. My eyes are met with a small dome-like room; the walls so perfectly rounded as in a glacier. The room is empty but for a small, disfigured object in the centre of the room. As I get closer, a delirium fills my mind, a fuzz washing over my crystal eyes. I don’t know what is sitting in this place, lost in history, but it fights my senses.
As I get closer, it becomes clearer. Like nothing anyone has ever seen before, a colour that has never passed by these pupils before; the brightest black, a thousand shades plunged into one mass. I would surely fall to my knees if it were not for the awe suspending the moment. As I pick the object from the floor, an odd sensation fills me; a remorse of some sort, but hard to explain, an idiosyncratic response to touching this object.
Its shape is twisted, like a frown locked in solidity. It is where this feeling is emanating from. Such tragedy in beauty, a gift from deep within an unknown, yet locked in such harsh state. I feel the pain within me, almost like a leech clutching to my very mind like the only love it has left, sparkling at me as my eyes try to adjust to what I see before me.
I turn back to the opening. Nothing but the same round encasing meets my sight. I smile and look down at what brought me here; it looks happy too.
I come down here often, beyond the metal blisters that plague the stark halls and openings, there is a gentle undercurrent. Such peace, no feeling, just an ever lasting numb that leaves your mind paralysed as the large pillars buckle under the heavy stone above. It certainly doesn’t seem safe, but just to know that if, after all this time, you were to be trapped under falling rubble, no one would ever know. It leaves a sort of balance in your conscience, and I can’t help but smile at the thought.
As I wander through the sea of nostalgia that lives in this place, dust slowly leaves the ceiling and comes to rest on the ground; there are secrets that live in this earth, just not what they think. For a public attraction, these dark caves hold a dark past, all the ghosts that haunt these walls and all cries for help lost echoing forever in blinded memories. They blank out what tragedies that have come about thanks to this place, an undying saga for fame. The only fame to be pinned to their names will be death, the families have all moved away, it seems like I’m the only one left to know what has happened in this place.
These machines speak a thousands words with every chug of smoke that escapes them; like an elder of this place, not guilty, just as naïve and innocent as those that lost their lives here, coughing out words of plea in an eternity of their finals hours. Does the pain go away after a constant? I can’t be sure, but the faces painted hold a look of weakened defeat; signed away to the fact that they can do no more.
But I digress, old horror stories need not be recited at any given moment, I accepted the fate of this place a long time ago, your heart need not be caught in the designs of which you cannot fight.
More grains glitter in front of my eyes as they leave the ceiling.
Larger chunks of stone begin to fall, crippling the supports. I just stand in wonderment, the slight hope that I could get lost forever buried in this place. As much as I know I can’t fight what is set in the stone of these very walls, I have not given up; even if the end of my life opens the eyes of just one person.
The ceiling continues to cave in, thundering slightly throughout every corner of this labyrinth. In just a few minutes a hole has formed above me, rubble lying off at an angle as if to invite my arrival to the new opening. The shaking stops and everything is normal once again; no stirring, just a dead silence ringing in my ears and the settling of dirt.
I climb up the pile, already solid, like it had been sitting untouched for years. My eyes are met with a small dome-like room; the walls so perfectly rounded as in a glacier. The room is empty but for a small, disfigured object in the centre of the room. As I get closer, a delirium fills my mind, a fuzz washing over my crystal eyes. I don’t know what is sitting in this place, lost in history, but it fights my senses.
As I get closer, it becomes clearer. Like nothing anyone has ever seen before, a colour that has never passed by these pupils before; the brightest black, a thousand shades plunged into one mass. I would surely fall to my knees if it were not for the awe suspending the moment. As I pick the object from the floor, an odd sensation fills me; a remorse of some sort, but hard to explain, an idiosyncratic response to touching this object.
Its shape is twisted, like a frown locked in solidity. It is where this feeling is emanating from. Such tragedy in beauty, a gift from deep within an unknown, yet locked in such harsh state. I feel the pain within me, almost like a leech clutching to my very mind like the only love it has left, sparkling at me as my eyes try to adjust to what I see before me.
I turn back to the opening. Nothing but the same round encasing meets my sight. I smile and look down at what brought me here; it looks happy too.