The "Creative Writing" forum, which includes Retro Game Reviews, has been archived and is now read-only.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.
A narrow wood-chipped trail led from the dusty cobbled road that circled the hill to the very top, where the factory stood proudly; it looked over the small village of Hallingbury, which was famous for its ancient orchards. Towering trees dotted the side of the hill. At the end of the path was a great metal door, strange twisted images were engraved into it. It was a very grand door, which was gold in colour and trimmed in fine silver, it acted like a beacon to lost travellers when the sun caught its face. In contrast to the impressive door that stood three men tall, was a little lopsided piece of tatty paper than was stuck to the metal. Upon the paper were the words ‘Dr Isaac Giggleworth’s Apple Factory’. It was clear that whoever wrote the note had struggled with naming the building: above the building’s title were previous names that were crudely crossed out, including ‘laboratory’ and ‘study facility’.
Inside came the sound of a panicked voice, noises of pops and bangs could also be heard and they echoed down the hill to the residents below. The factory’s door was clearly a façade because the giant space that was contained within was damp, dingy and dark. The only light source, other than the flashes of small explosions, that was available was a number of small, gently swaying hanging bulbs from the ceiling.
To the left of the factory were rows upon rows of small glass cylinders, all perched on wooden shelves. They contained variations of apples, differing in colours and sizes. On the right hand side of the building sat many machines, each with their own label attached; these were alongside flimsy workbenches, which were stained beyond redemption. In the furthest corner away from the door was a large area cordoned off by metal sheets, this is where all the commotion of the shrill voice with an accompanying orchestra of explosions originated from.
‘Oh dear, oh dear! Maybe if I try…’ a puff of sooty smoke followed a deafening bang. ‘Useless! Absolutely useless, I’m useless!’ squealed the little man, as he rubbed his spectacles clear of the thick sticky black dust. In front of doctor Giggleworth were the remnants of an apple, which had swollen immensely in size and had changed from a traditional luminous green to a bright pink, with blue speckles. He prodded the sloppy mess and licked his finger. He gagged a little.
Although frustrated the doctor chuckled to himself as he examined the apple, which resembled a deflated squid, and brushed off his multicoloured lab coat. ‘Ah well, can’t let this get me down, onwards!’ he said as he scraped the remains into a nearby bin that was overflowing with apple mush and skins. He put a fresh green apple onto the table and stared at it for a second. The doctor then proceeded to prune the leaves off the round fruit. Next he picked up a syringe, after reading the label he approached the apple, he was half expecting it to shake with fear after witnessing what had happened to its comrades.
The needle had just pierced the skin when suddenly there was a knock at the metal door, startled the doctor jabbed the apple, going straight through the core. There was a terrible rumbling noise and the little man tried to flee from the ferocious sounding fruit. The noise increased in intensity and the doctor threw himself under a workbench, knocking over the waste bin, the contents spewing across the floor. The apple was now producing a sound so fierce that the table was shaking. Then the explosion came. The tiniest pop Giggleworth had ever witnessed in his career. A small plume of smoke drifted upwards. His face froze. There was no damage whatsoever except a small scorch on the table. The doctor proceeded to pick himself up and brushed off the dirt collected on his coat.
The entire room now smelt like a cheap cider, Giggleworth muttered to himself as he suddenly remembered what had caused the distraction. ‘The door!’ I’m coming, I’m coming!’ He ran to the door as fast as his little legs would carry him: he was expecting a new delivery of apples from the town’s orchard. Gradually he managed to pry open the door with his dirty fingers, it then swung open with great force.
Outside the door was quiet, besides the ringing in the doctor’s ears from the first explosion. He poked his ears with his finger to make the wailing cease. He looked around but there was no one there, he ran to the path and looked down as it weaved its way back to the road. But still he couldn’t see anyone, he even called out, this was to no avail though. Giggleworth turned around and headed back inside, and then he heard a little chuckle followed by another voice trying to subdue it by shushing.
‘Silly kids, I have work to do!’ he yelled at a tree where he suspected the children were hiding behind, ‘Don’t you know how important this is? This is my quest! If science can do this, the possibilities of genetic modification will be redefined!’
Another giggle was followed by the words, ‘They’re just apples!’ and ‘What’s a ‘factory’ anyway?’
‘Just apples!’ responded the doctor, yelling at the tree, ‘Just apples!’ He tried to sound confident and wanted to say more about his research, but deep down he knew he had a very long way to go yet and so ended up just repeating himself, more quietly this time, ‘Just apples.’ He stood grounded for a moment and reflected on his life for a few seconds.
Suddenly he turned sharply and walked back inside, shutting the door firmly behind him. Smoke was still rising from the cordoned-off area; the doctor wafted his hand around trying to get rid of the smell, which still hadn’t dispersed. Maybe the children were right, the doctor thought. He sat down on a high wooden stall that creaked and sighed.
Determined not to give up after just a little bit of mockery doctor Giggleworth took off his lab coat and headed outside for a break. It was dark now and sky was littered with twinkling stars, a cool mist surrounded the bottom of the hill, it was as if the hill had been lifted above the clouds. The little man took a lamp with him and approached a solitary apple tree at the back of his factory.
He had poured everything into his research; he had only wanted to leave a mark on the earth. He didn’t want to be forgotten. Again he sighed as he placed the burning lamp at the base of the tree, he slumped down next to it, thoughts still rushing of what could have been in his life and how he wanted them to be. The doctor was totally deflated and punched the fat, tough trunk of the tree. He let out a yelp of pain but was determined not to feel it. Giggleworth leant back against the tree staring out across the village of Hallingbury. Little lamps could just be made out in people’s houses’ windows.
Then without warning something hit the slumped doctor on the head. He looked down at the object that had assaulted him. An apple. Just another insult to his research, he thought. He held it in his hand, feeling the smooth texture of the skin with his fingers. Giggleworth looked up at the tree. The branch that was responsible for the attack was still swaying. He looked down at the apple, then back to the branch and then returned his eyes to the apple, then once again to the branch.
It was then that a new route of research revealed itself to the doctor of apples. He threw the apple in the air and caught it, he did this several times, each time thrilled that the apple returned to his hand, just as he predicted. He gave a wide smile and ran inside with the apple still in his grasp. It was time for change, he thought; time to change his research and life entirely. He even wanted to change his name, perhaps not his first name as Isaac had been his father’s name, but his surname certainly had to be changed in his opinion.
Inside came the sound of a panicked voice, noises of pops and bangs could also be heard and they echoed down the hill to the residents below. The factory’s door was clearly a façade because the giant space that was contained within was damp, dingy and dark. The only light source, other than the flashes of small explosions, that was available was a number of small, gently swaying hanging bulbs from the ceiling.
To the left of the factory were rows upon rows of small glass cylinders, all perched on wooden shelves. They contained variations of apples, differing in colours and sizes. On the right hand side of the building sat many machines, each with their own label attached; these were alongside flimsy workbenches, which were stained beyond redemption. In the furthest corner away from the door was a large area cordoned off by metal sheets, this is where all the commotion of the shrill voice with an accompanying orchestra of explosions originated from.
‘Oh dear, oh dear! Maybe if I try…’ a puff of sooty smoke followed a deafening bang. ‘Useless! Absolutely useless, I’m useless!’ squealed the little man, as he rubbed his spectacles clear of the thick sticky black dust. In front of doctor Giggleworth were the remnants of an apple, which had swollen immensely in size and had changed from a traditional luminous green to a bright pink, with blue speckles. He prodded the sloppy mess and licked his finger. He gagged a little.
Although frustrated the doctor chuckled to himself as he examined the apple, which resembled a deflated squid, and brushed off his multicoloured lab coat. ‘Ah well, can’t let this get me down, onwards!’ he said as he scraped the remains into a nearby bin that was overflowing with apple mush and skins. He put a fresh green apple onto the table and stared at it for a second. The doctor then proceeded to prune the leaves off the round fruit. Next he picked up a syringe, after reading the label he approached the apple, he was half expecting it to shake with fear after witnessing what had happened to its comrades.
The needle had just pierced the skin when suddenly there was a knock at the metal door, startled the doctor jabbed the apple, going straight through the core. There was a terrible rumbling noise and the little man tried to flee from the ferocious sounding fruit. The noise increased in intensity and the doctor threw himself under a workbench, knocking over the waste bin, the contents spewing across the floor. The apple was now producing a sound so fierce that the table was shaking. Then the explosion came. The tiniest pop Giggleworth had ever witnessed in his career. A small plume of smoke drifted upwards. His face froze. There was no damage whatsoever except a small scorch on the table. The doctor proceeded to pick himself up and brushed off the dirt collected on his coat.
The entire room now smelt like a cheap cider, Giggleworth muttered to himself as he suddenly remembered what had caused the distraction. ‘The door!’ I’m coming, I’m coming!’ He ran to the door as fast as his little legs would carry him: he was expecting a new delivery of apples from the town’s orchard. Gradually he managed to pry open the door with his dirty fingers, it then swung open with great force.
Outside the door was quiet, besides the ringing in the doctor’s ears from the first explosion. He poked his ears with his finger to make the wailing cease. He looked around but there was no one there, he ran to the path and looked down as it weaved its way back to the road. But still he couldn’t see anyone, he even called out, this was to no avail though. Giggleworth turned around and headed back inside, and then he heard a little chuckle followed by another voice trying to subdue it by shushing.
‘Silly kids, I have work to do!’ he yelled at a tree where he suspected the children were hiding behind, ‘Don’t you know how important this is? This is my quest! If science can do this, the possibilities of genetic modification will be redefined!’
Another giggle was followed by the words, ‘They’re just apples!’ and ‘What’s a ‘factory’ anyway?’
‘Just apples!’ responded the doctor, yelling at the tree, ‘Just apples!’ He tried to sound confident and wanted to say more about his research, but deep down he knew he had a very long way to go yet and so ended up just repeating himself, more quietly this time, ‘Just apples.’ He stood grounded for a moment and reflected on his life for a few seconds.
Suddenly he turned sharply and walked back inside, shutting the door firmly behind him. Smoke was still rising from the cordoned-off area; the doctor wafted his hand around trying to get rid of the smell, which still hadn’t dispersed. Maybe the children were right, the doctor thought. He sat down on a high wooden stall that creaked and sighed.
Determined not to give up after just a little bit of mockery doctor Giggleworth took off his lab coat and headed outside for a break. It was dark now and sky was littered with twinkling stars, a cool mist surrounded the bottom of the hill, it was as if the hill had been lifted above the clouds. The little man took a lamp with him and approached a solitary apple tree at the back of his factory.
He had poured everything into his research; he had only wanted to leave a mark on the earth. He didn’t want to be forgotten. Again he sighed as he placed the burning lamp at the base of the tree, he slumped down next to it, thoughts still rushing of what could have been in his life and how he wanted them to be. The doctor was totally deflated and punched the fat, tough trunk of the tree. He let out a yelp of pain but was determined not to feel it. Giggleworth leant back against the tree staring out across the village of Hallingbury. Little lamps could just be made out in people’s houses’ windows.
Then without warning something hit the slumped doctor on the head. He looked down at the object that had assaulted him. An apple. Just another insult to his research, he thought. He held it in his hand, feeling the smooth texture of the skin with his fingers. Giggleworth looked up at the tree. The branch that was responsible for the attack was still swaying. He looked down at the apple, then back to the branch and then returned his eyes to the apple, then once again to the branch.
It was then that a new route of research revealed itself to the doctor of apples. He threw the apple in the air and caught it, he did this several times, each time thrilled that the apple returned to his hand, just as he predicted. He gave a wide smile and ran inside with the apple still in his grasp. It was time for change, he thought; time to change his research and life entirely. He even wanted to change his name, perhaps not his first name as Isaac had been his father’s name, but his surname certainly had to be changed in his opinion.
Clever - didn't see that coming at the end at all.
Thought it was very well written, and as such could visualise it all completely.
Nice one.
Thought it was very well written, and as such could visualise it all completely.
Nice one.
A narrow wood-chipped trail led from the dusty cobbled road that circled the hill to the very top, where the factory stood proudly; it looked over the small village of Hallingbury, which was famous for its ancient orchards. Towering trees dotted the side of the hill. At the end of the path was a great metal door, strange twisted images were engraved into it. It was a very grand door, which was gold in colour and trimmed in fine silver, it acted like a beacon to lost travellers when the sun caught its face. In contrast to the impressive door that stood three men tall, was a little lopsided piece of tatty paper than was stuck to the metal. Upon the paper were the words ‘Dr Isaac Giggleworth’s Apple Factory’. It was clear that whoever wrote the note had struggled with naming the building: above the building’s title were previous names that were crudely crossed out, including ‘laboratory’ and ‘study facility’.
Inside came the sound of a panicked voice, noises of pops and bangs could also be heard and they echoed down the hill to the residents below. The factory’s door was clearly a façade because the giant space that was contained within was damp, dingy and dark. The only light source, other than the flashes of small explosions, that was available was a number of small, gently swaying hanging bulbs from the ceiling.
To the left of the factory were rows upon rows of small glass cylinders, all perched on wooden shelves. They contained variations of apples, differing in colours and sizes. On the right hand side of the building sat many machines, each with their own label attached; these were alongside flimsy workbenches, which were stained beyond redemption. In the furthest corner away from the door was a large area cordoned off by metal sheets, this is where all the commotion of the shrill voice with an accompanying orchestra of explosions originated from.
‘Oh dear, oh dear! Maybe if I try…’ a puff of sooty smoke followed a deafening bang. ‘Useless! Absolutely useless, I’m useless!’ squealed the little man, as he rubbed his spectacles clear of the thick sticky black dust. In front of doctor Giggleworth were the remnants of an apple, which had swollen immensely in size and had changed from a traditional luminous green to a bright pink, with blue speckles. He prodded the sloppy mess and licked his finger. He gagged a little.
Although frustrated the doctor chuckled to himself as he examined the apple, which resembled a deflated squid, and brushed off his multicoloured lab coat. ‘Ah well, can’t let this get me down, onwards!’ he said as he scraped the remains into a nearby bin that was overflowing with apple mush and skins. He put a fresh green apple onto the table and stared at it for a second. The doctor then proceeded to prune the leaves off the round fruit. Next he picked up a syringe, after reading the label he approached the apple, he was half expecting it to shake with fear after witnessing what had happened to its comrades.
The needle had just pierced the skin when suddenly there was a knock at the metal door, startled the doctor jabbed the apple, going straight through the core. There was a terrible rumbling noise and the little man tried to flee from the ferocious sounding fruit. The noise increased in intensity and the doctor threw himself under a workbench, knocking over the waste bin, the contents spewing across the floor. The apple was now producing a sound so fierce that the table was shaking. Then the explosion came. The tiniest pop Giggleworth had ever witnessed in his career. A small plume of smoke drifted upwards. His face froze. There was no damage whatsoever except a small scorch on the table. The doctor proceeded to pick himself up and brushed off the dirt collected on his coat.
The entire room now smelt like a cheap cider, Giggleworth muttered to himself as he suddenly remembered what had caused the distraction. ‘The door!’ I’m coming, I’m coming!’ He ran to the door as fast as his little legs would carry him: he was expecting a new delivery of apples from the town’s orchard. Gradually he managed to pry open the door with his dirty fingers, it then swung open with great force.
Outside the door was quiet, besides the ringing in the doctor’s ears from the first explosion. He poked his ears with his finger to make the wailing cease. He looked around but there was no one there, he ran to the path and looked down as it weaved its way back to the road. But still he couldn’t see anyone, he even called out, this was to no avail though. Giggleworth turned around and headed back inside, and then he heard a little chuckle followed by another voice trying to subdue it by shushing.
‘Silly kids, I have work to do!’ he yelled at a tree where he suspected the children were hiding behind, ‘Don’t you know how important this is? This is my quest! If science can do this, the possibilities of genetic modification will be redefined!’
Another giggle was followed by the words, ‘They’re just apples!’ and ‘What’s a ‘factory’ anyway?’
‘Just apples!’ responded the doctor, yelling at the tree, ‘Just apples!’ He tried to sound confident and wanted to say more about his research, but deep down he knew he had a very long way to go yet and so ended up just repeating himself, more quietly this time, ‘Just apples.’ He stood grounded for a moment and reflected on his life for a few seconds.
Suddenly he turned sharply and walked back inside, shutting the door firmly behind him. Smoke was still rising from the cordoned-off area; the doctor wafted his hand around trying to get rid of the smell, which still hadn’t dispersed. Maybe the children were right, the doctor thought. He sat down on a high wooden stall that creaked and sighed.
Determined not to give up after just a little bit of mockery doctor Giggleworth took off his lab coat and headed outside for a break. It was dark now and sky was littered with twinkling stars, a cool mist surrounded the bottom of the hill, it was as if the hill had been lifted above the clouds. The little man took a lamp with him and approached a solitary apple tree at the back of his factory.
He had poured everything into his research; he had only wanted to leave a mark on the earth. He didn’t want to be forgotten. Again he sighed as he placed the burning lamp at the base of the tree, he slumped down next to it, thoughts still rushing of what could have been in his life and how he wanted them to be. The doctor was totally deflated and punched the fat, tough trunk of the tree. He let out a yelp of pain but was determined not to feel it. Giggleworth leant back against the tree staring out across the village of Hallingbury. Little lamps could just be made out in people’s houses’ windows.
Then without warning something hit the slumped doctor on the head. He looked down at the object that had assaulted him. An apple. Just another insult to his research, he thought. He held it in his hand, feeling the smooth texture of the skin with his fingers. Giggleworth looked up at the tree. The branch that was responsible for the attack was still swaying. He looked down at the apple, then back to the branch and then returned his eyes to the apple, then once again to the branch.
It was then that a new route of research revealed itself to the doctor of apples. He threw the apple in the air and caught it, he did this several times, each time thrilled that the apple returned to his hand, just as he predicted. He gave a wide smile and ran inside with the apple still in his grasp. It was time for change, he thought; time to change his research and life entirely. He even wanted to change his name, perhaps not his first name as Isaac had been his father’s name, but his surname certainly had to be changed in his opinion.
Inside came the sound of a panicked voice, noises of pops and bangs could also be heard and they echoed down the hill to the residents below. The factory’s door was clearly a façade because the giant space that was contained within was damp, dingy and dark. The only light source, other than the flashes of small explosions, that was available was a number of small, gently swaying hanging bulbs from the ceiling.
To the left of the factory were rows upon rows of small glass cylinders, all perched on wooden shelves. They contained variations of apples, differing in colours and sizes. On the right hand side of the building sat many machines, each with their own label attached; these were alongside flimsy workbenches, which were stained beyond redemption. In the furthest corner away from the door was a large area cordoned off by metal sheets, this is where all the commotion of the shrill voice with an accompanying orchestra of explosions originated from.
‘Oh dear, oh dear! Maybe if I try…’ a puff of sooty smoke followed a deafening bang. ‘Useless! Absolutely useless, I’m useless!’ squealed the little man, as he rubbed his spectacles clear of the thick sticky black dust. In front of doctor Giggleworth were the remnants of an apple, which had swollen immensely in size and had changed from a traditional luminous green to a bright pink, with blue speckles. He prodded the sloppy mess and licked his finger. He gagged a little.
Although frustrated the doctor chuckled to himself as he examined the apple, which resembled a deflated squid, and brushed off his multicoloured lab coat. ‘Ah well, can’t let this get me down, onwards!’ he said as he scraped the remains into a nearby bin that was overflowing with apple mush and skins. He put a fresh green apple onto the table and stared at it for a second. The doctor then proceeded to prune the leaves off the round fruit. Next he picked up a syringe, after reading the label he approached the apple, he was half expecting it to shake with fear after witnessing what had happened to its comrades.
The needle had just pierced the skin when suddenly there was a knock at the metal door, startled the doctor jabbed the apple, going straight through the core. There was a terrible rumbling noise and the little man tried to flee from the ferocious sounding fruit. The noise increased in intensity and the doctor threw himself under a workbench, knocking over the waste bin, the contents spewing across the floor. The apple was now producing a sound so fierce that the table was shaking. Then the explosion came. The tiniest pop Giggleworth had ever witnessed in his career. A small plume of smoke drifted upwards. His face froze. There was no damage whatsoever except a small scorch on the table. The doctor proceeded to pick himself up and brushed off the dirt collected on his coat.
The entire room now smelt like a cheap cider, Giggleworth muttered to himself as he suddenly remembered what had caused the distraction. ‘The door!’ I’m coming, I’m coming!’ He ran to the door as fast as his little legs would carry him: he was expecting a new delivery of apples from the town’s orchard. Gradually he managed to pry open the door with his dirty fingers, it then swung open with great force.
Outside the door was quiet, besides the ringing in the doctor’s ears from the first explosion. He poked his ears with his finger to make the wailing cease. He looked around but there was no one there, he ran to the path and looked down as it weaved its way back to the road. But still he couldn’t see anyone, he even called out, this was to no avail though. Giggleworth turned around and headed back inside, and then he heard a little chuckle followed by another voice trying to subdue it by shushing.
‘Silly kids, I have work to do!’ he yelled at a tree where he suspected the children were hiding behind, ‘Don’t you know how important this is? This is my quest! If science can do this, the possibilities of genetic modification will be redefined!’
Another giggle was followed by the words, ‘They’re just apples!’ and ‘What’s a ‘factory’ anyway?’
‘Just apples!’ responded the doctor, yelling at the tree, ‘Just apples!’ He tried to sound confident and wanted to say more about his research, but deep down he knew he had a very long way to go yet and so ended up just repeating himself, more quietly this time, ‘Just apples.’ He stood grounded for a moment and reflected on his life for a few seconds.
Suddenly he turned sharply and walked back inside, shutting the door firmly behind him. Smoke was still rising from the cordoned-off area; the doctor wafted his hand around trying to get rid of the smell, which still hadn’t dispersed. Maybe the children were right, the doctor thought. He sat down on a high wooden stall that creaked and sighed.
Determined not to give up after just a little bit of mockery doctor Giggleworth took off his lab coat and headed outside for a break. It was dark now and sky was littered with twinkling stars, a cool mist surrounded the bottom of the hill, it was as if the hill had been lifted above the clouds. The little man took a lamp with him and approached a solitary apple tree at the back of his factory.
He had poured everything into his research; he had only wanted to leave a mark on the earth. He didn’t want to be forgotten. Again he sighed as he placed the burning lamp at the base of the tree, he slumped down next to it, thoughts still rushing of what could have been in his life and how he wanted them to be. The doctor was totally deflated and punched the fat, tough trunk of the tree. He let out a yelp of pain but was determined not to feel it. Giggleworth leant back against the tree staring out across the village of Hallingbury. Little lamps could just be made out in people’s houses’ windows.
Then without warning something hit the slumped doctor on the head. He looked down at the object that had assaulted him. An apple. Just another insult to his research, he thought. He held it in his hand, feeling the smooth texture of the skin with his fingers. Giggleworth looked up at the tree. The branch that was responsible for the attack was still swaying. He looked down at the apple, then back to the branch and then returned his eyes to the apple, then once again to the branch.
It was then that a new route of research revealed itself to the doctor of apples. He threw the apple in the air and caught it, he did this several times, each time thrilled that the apple returned to his hand, just as he predicted. He gave a wide smile and ran inside with the apple still in his grasp. It was time for change, he thought; time to change his research and life entirely. He even wanted to change his name, perhaps not his first name as Isaac had been his father’s name, but his surname certainly had to be changed in his opinion.