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"Colours (Short Story)"

Something different here. Not my usual type of stories, and I had no idea what came over me to write it. I think I like it though. Ah well. Give it a read and tell me what you think.









Dan didn’t really know what he was looking for, but he knew that he had nearly found it. He had devoted years of his life to this, trying to find something that didn’t have a name. It was in Dan, in his blood, in his body, in his very soul. And he was lacking some of it, like it wasn’t really whole. He knew from a very early age that it was his destiny to find this material, this object, this state, this thing that was in him. And now he was nearly there. Oh, it hadn’t been easy at the start, in fact it had been very hard. His parents thought he was crazy and had him put away in a home. He couldn’t live there all his life, and so he had escaped, not an easy thing to do either but he had found a way. Knock an attendant over the head hard enough, get his uniform and walk out. That was easier said than done though, and escaping from the police was hardest. Still, he had made it, and he had found an old wooden hunting shed up in these mountains, hidden from view and curious eyes by trees and snow, and he had made this place his home. He was self sufficient, hunting deer with his bow and arrows, gathering firewood and creating water from melted snow. He sometimes needed materials though, so occasionally he would get things from town.
Now however, he was sure he had the mixture right. All the chemicals he needed he had. He didn’t even know the properties and uses for most of them, but it was this thing inside him that directed him to get the right ones. And now it was time. He was sitting outside now, enjoying a cup of coffee and letting the gently wafting steam tickle his frosty nostrils. The mixture was in the hut boiling and stewing, it will nearly be done. Drinking down the last of the coffee, Dan heaved himself up and wandered into the shack. Sure enough, the purple mixture was sitting in the boiling tube ready for him. He poured it all into an earthenware cup, swallowed, preparing himself, and drunk deep.
He could feel the uniqueness of it all the way down his throat to his stomach, a pleasant, warm sensation, like tea or coffee but much longer lasting. Sitting down on a chair, he felt himself loosen up, and become relaxed, carefree and then his eyes fuzz over, and droop, lower, lower, lower until they closed completely. All he could see now was a black screen for a few minutes, and he thought he had failed again in the mixture until bright colour specs began appearing, flashing across the darkness like shooting stars, but leaving trails. So many flashed across the screen until there was no dark left, just a myriad of colours, all different, even colours Dan had never witnessed before. Orange, purple, blues, reds, greens, pinks, magnolias, violets, whites, yellows, burgundies and thousands more littered the screen. Then, all of this faded, until it was dim, and Dan felt himself lift up, like he was floating. Slowly first, and then faster, faster, faster, faster until he stopped dead, and instead of going up started to travel forward, so fast now that he could hear the wind in his ears, and feel his hair ruffling in the wind. But he was not cold, and the air was warm and pleasant, yet not humid or sticky. He slowed down, and came to a stop, then began to ascend down, down, down until he felt his feet on solid earth underneath him. But when Dan opened his eyes, he saw that it was not solid earth at all, but he was on some sort of platform, high up in the sky, looking down on the planet below him. He marvelled at its beauty, of the green forests, the white mountains, the blue oceans, the orange deserts. Dan gave a long satisfied sigh. He was home.

that was a quick way to boost your word count.

Insane Bartender wrote:
> Following an extensive conversation with someone admittedly far wiser
> and more intelligent than myself, I feel I should apologise for
> yesterday's outburst. Lap it up, it won't happen often.
>
> So I'll ignore the fact that even your pre-story note about "not
> being your usual story" and "not knowing where the story
> came from" are perfectly mirrored in my pre-story note of the
> first publishing of my story on www.writewords.org.uk.
>
> I'll ignore that, the general storyline and several other very close
> similarities, and instead of attacking you for copying, offer you a
> little critique.
>
> Firstly, as I noted before, what immediately ruins this story is the
> utter lack of paragraphs. It's a pet-hate of mine anyway, as it makes
> large bodies of text difficult to read, so keep that in mind when
> writing in future. If you're not comfortable putting in paragraphs as
> you write, put them in afterwards at relevant points.
>
>
>
> Dan didn’t really know what he was looking for, but he knew that he
> had nearly found it. He had devoted years of his life to this,
> trying to find something that didn’t have a name. It was in Dan, in
> his blood, in his body, in his very soul. And he was lacking some
> of
> it, like it wasn’t really whole. He knew from a very early age that
> it was his destiny to find this material, this object, this state,
> this thing that was in him. And now he was nearly there.
>
> Not much wrong with this opening para, other than that you mention
> "from an early age". How young? I imagine it's difficult
> for children to properly comprehend the concept of a higher state of
> consciousness, much less actively seek it. How old is Dan now? When
> did he first feel the piece missing?
>
>
>
> Oh, it
> hadn’t been easy at the start, in fact it had been very hard. His
> parents thought he was crazy and had him put away in a home. He
> couldn’t live there all his life, and so he had escaped, not an easy
> thing to do either but he had found a way. Knock an attendant over
> the head hard enough, get his uniform and walk out. That was easier
> said than done though, and escaping from the police was hardest.
> Still, he had made it, and he had found an old wooden hunting shed
> up
> in these mountains, hidden from view and curious eyes by trees and
> snow, and he had made this place his home. He was self sufficient,
> hunting deer with his bow and arrows, gathering firewood and
> creating
> water from melted snow. He sometimes needed materials though, so
> occasionally he would get things from town.
>
> I don't like the idea of being put into mental care for believing in
> this sort of thing. People do believe it, and people are searching
> for it. Some people are still looking for live dinosaurs. Crazy?
> Perhaps, but their efforts have not been entirely fruitless.
> Certainly, these people won't be committed for their beliefs.
> Rejected from society, yes. Mocked and ignored, absolutely, but not
> put into mental care. Unless of course you mean this story to be set
> in some particular period where he may be put away for witchcraft or
> heresy, in which case you should try to creat more of a periodic
> atmosphere. But reading on I don't think this was your intention.
>
> Now however, he was sure he had the mixture right. All the
> chemicals
> he needed he had. He didn’t even know the properties and uses for
> most of them, but it was this thing inside him that directed him to
> get the right ones. And now it was time. He was sitting outside
> now, enjoying a cup of coffee and letting the gently wafting steam
> tickle his frosty nostrils. The mixture was in the hut boiling and
> stewing, it will nearly be done. Drinking down the last of the
> coffee, Dan heaved himself up and wandered into the shack. Sure
> enough, the purple mixture was sitting in the boiling tube ready for
> him. He poured it all into an earthenware cup, swallowed, preparing
> himself, and drunk deep.
>
> Nothing wrong here, other than the fact that it should be a paragraph
> in its own right. But you might want to give more of a feel of
> anticipation before he actually drinks his concoction. He's been
> waiting for years for this, he's going to be excited, no?
>
>
> He could feel the uniqueness of it all the way down his throat to
> his
> stomach, a pleasant, warm sensation, like tea or coffee but much
> longer lasting. Sitting down on a chair, he felt himself loosen up,
> and become relaxed, carefree and then his eyes fuzz over, and droop,
> lower, lower, lower until they closed completely. All he could see
> now was a black screen for a few minutes, and he thought he had
> failed again in the mixture until bright colour specs began
> appearing, flashing across the darkness like shooting stars, but
> leaving trails. So many flashed across the screen until there was
> no
> dark left, just a myriad of colours, all different, even colours Dan
> had never witnessed before. Orange, purple, blues, reds, greens,
> pinks, magnolias, violets, whites, yellows, burgundies and thousands
> more littered the screen.
>
> Nothing wrong here, other than that it is probably easy to relate it
> to tripping on mushrooms or something. BUt is this all he feels at
> this point? Colours behind his eyelids and a warm feeling in his
> stomach? Perhaps you could add more here.
>
> Then, all of this faded, until it was dim,
> and Dan felt himself lift up, like he was floating. Slowly first,
> and then faster, faster, faster, faster until he stopped dead, and
> instead of going up started to travel forward, so fast now that he
> could hear the wind in his ears, and feel his hair ruffling in the
> wind. But he was not cold, and the air was warm and pleasant, yet
> not humid or sticky. He slowed down, and came to a stop, then began
> to ascend down, down, down until he felt his feet on solid earth
> underneath him. But when Dan opened his eyes, he saw that it was
> not solid earth at all, but he was on some sort of platform, high up
> in the sky, looking down on the planet below him. He marvelled at
> its beauty, of the green forests, the white mountains, the blue
> oceans, the orange deserts. Dan gave a long satisfied sigh. He
> was home.
>
> Decent enough ending, and I can't argue with it. But "faster,
> faster until he stopped" should probably read "faster,
> faster until suddenly he stopped", and surely he shouldn't have
> to be moving swiftly through the air to be able to feel the wind in
> his hair and hear it in his ears, he could have felt that back
> outside his hut sipping coffee. Probably worth explaining that a bit
> better.
>
> On the whole though, that last paragraph reminds me of a tune called
> "Mushrooms" by Marshall Jefferson.
>
> "So I waited a minute. I waited a few minutes. And the next
> thing I know, I was walking on clouds! And they were beautiful
> clouds. My girlfriend was talking to me, while I was walking through
> the clouds. Everything felt beautiful, almost like I didn't have any
> feet."
>
> Anyway. End of story.




If I ever need an editor I'll give you a call then.
:P

You were just lucky that thunderbolt was drawn to that London power station instead of you.

I really need to work on my aim.

I said wiser and more intelligent, not outrageously fictitious.

Yes IB our conversation was interesting.

Following an extensive conversation with someone admittedly far wiser and more intelligent than myself, I feel I should apologise for yesterday's outburst. Lap it up, it won't happen often.

So I'll ignore the fact that even your pre-story note about "not being your usual story" and "not knowing where the story came from" are perfectly mirrored in my pre-story note of the first publishing of my story on www.writewords.org.uk.

I'll ignore that, the general storyline and several other very close similarities, and instead of attacking you for copying, offer you a little critique.

Firstly, as I noted before, what immediately ruins this story is the utter lack of paragraphs. It's a pet-hate of mine anyway, as it makes large bodies of text difficult to read, so keep that in mind when writing in future. If you're not comfortable putting in paragraphs as you write, put them in afterwards at relevant points.



> Dan didn’t really know what he was looking for, but he knew that he
> had nearly found it. He had devoted years of his life to this,
> trying to find something that didn’t have a name. It was in Dan, in
> his blood, in his body, in his very soul. And he was lacking some of
> it, like it wasn’t really whole. He knew from a very early age that
> it was his destiny to find this material, this object, this state,
> this thing that was in him. And now he was nearly there.

Not much wrong with this opening para, other than that you mention "from an early age". How young? I imagine it's difficult for children to properly comprehend the concept of a higher state of consciousness, much less actively seek it. How old is Dan now? When did he first feel the piece missing?



> Oh, it
> hadn’t been easy at the start, in fact it had been very hard. His
> parents thought he was crazy and had him put away in a home. He
> couldn’t live there all his life, and so he had escaped, not an easy
> thing to do either but he had found a way. Knock an attendant over
> the head hard enough, get his uniform and walk out. That was easier
> said than done though, and escaping from the police was hardest.
> Still, he had made it, and he had found an old wooden hunting shed up
> in these mountains, hidden from view and curious eyes by trees and
> snow, and he had made this place his home. He was self sufficient,
> hunting deer with his bow and arrows, gathering firewood and creating
> water from melted snow. He sometimes needed materials though, so
> occasionally he would get things from town.

I don't like the idea of being put into mental care for believing in this sort of thing. People do believe it, and people are searching for it. Some people are still looking for live dinosaurs. Crazy? Perhaps, but their efforts have not been entirely fruitless. Certainly, these people won't be committed for their beliefs. Rejected from society, yes. Mocked and ignored, absolutely, but not put into mental care. Unless of course you mean this story to be set in some particular period where he may be put away for witchcraft or heresy, in which case you should try to creat more of a periodic atmosphere. But reading on I don't think this was your intention.

> Now however, he was sure he had the mixture right. All the chemicals
> he needed he had. He didn’t even know the properties and uses for
> most of them, but it was this thing inside him that directed him to
> get the right ones. And now it was time. He was sitting outside
> now, enjoying a cup of coffee and letting the gently wafting steam
> tickle his frosty nostrils. The mixture was in the hut boiling and
> stewing, it will nearly be done. Drinking down the last of the
> coffee, Dan heaved himself up and wandered into the shack. Sure
> enough, the purple mixture was sitting in the boiling tube ready for
> him. He poured it all into an earthenware cup, swallowed, preparing
> himself, and drunk deep.

Nothing wrong here, other than the fact that it should be a paragraph in its own right. But you might want to give more of a feel of anticipation before he actually drinks his concoction. He's been waiting for years for this, he's going to be excited, no?


> He could feel the uniqueness of it all the way down his throat to his
> stomach, a pleasant, warm sensation, like tea or coffee but much
> longer lasting. Sitting down on a chair, he felt himself loosen up,
> and become relaxed, carefree and then his eyes fuzz over, and droop,
> lower, lower, lower until they closed completely. All he could see
> now was a black screen for a few minutes, and he thought he had
> failed again in the mixture until bright colour specs began
> appearing, flashing across the darkness like shooting stars, but
> leaving trails. So many flashed across the screen until there was no
> dark left, just a myriad of colours, all different, even colours Dan
> had never witnessed before. Orange, purple, blues, reds, greens,
> pinks, magnolias, violets, whites, yellows, burgundies and thousands
> more littered the screen.

Nothing wrong here, other than that it is probably easy to relate it to tripping on mushrooms or something. BUt is this all he feels at this point? Colours behind his eyelids and a warm feeling in his stomach? Perhaps you could add more here.

> Then, all of this faded, until it was dim,
> and Dan felt himself lift up, like he was floating. Slowly first,
> and then faster, faster, faster, faster until he stopped dead, and
> instead of going up started to travel forward, so fast now that he
> could hear the wind in his ears, and feel his hair ruffling in the
> wind. But he was not cold, and the air was warm and pleasant, yet
> not humid or sticky. He slowed down, and came to a stop, then began
> to ascend down, down, down until he felt his feet on solid earth
> underneath him. But when Dan opened his eyes, he saw that it was
> not solid earth at all, but he was on some sort of platform, high up
> in the sky, looking down on the planet below him. He marvelled at
> its beauty, of the green forests, the white mountains, the blue
> oceans, the orange deserts. Dan gave a long satisfied sigh. He
> was home.

Decent enough ending, and I can't argue with it. But "faster, faster until he stopped" should probably read "faster, faster until suddenly he stopped", and surely he shouldn't have to be moving swiftly through the air to be able to feel the wind in his hair and hear it in his ears, he could have felt that back outside his hut sipping coffee. Probably worth explaining that a bit better.

On the whole though, that last paragraph reminds me of a tune called "Mushrooms" by Marshall Jefferson.

"So I waited a minute. I waited a few minutes. And the next thing I know, I was walking on clouds! And they were beautiful clouds. My girlfriend was talking to me, while I was walking through the clouds. Everything felt beautiful, almost like I didn't have any feet."

Anyway. End of story.

Good story.
I like the use of words. Also, excellent details !

"Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery".

Now stop putting your work into the public domain if you don't want it copied/to become inspiration for someone else's work.

Also are you familiar with the concept of post-modernism and the idea that everything has been done before?

Get off your highhorse IB, go write something and stop being a prat to RoJ.

"Looking for something for long time.
Rejected by family
Thought to be crazy
Isolated on out of the way home
Suddenly found the answer
Sees everything differently
Floats away to the skies."

Jiminy Cricket! I've read COUNTLESS stories exactly like that, I've even done some myself. I very much doubt he said "I know, I'll go find a story by IB, and make it look like my own!"

Stop trying to be the next Stryke/Lord H and grow up.

Lindgren wrote:
> Who the hell gave you the right to insult someone like that IB? Get a
> grip of yourself. Stories can be coincidentally similar. If no two
> stories were ever similar half the books and films in this world
> would not exist.

I don't need someone to give me the right to lash out at whoever I wish. And have you read these two stories? They're almost exactly the same!