EXERCISE Weekly Writing challenge (7/11/10)

Discussion in 'REFINING WRITING' started by Vay, Nov 6, 2010.

  1. Welcome to the first in a new series of writing challenges. These will be posted every Sunday and close when the next is posted. These are just for fun and to exercise some creative muscle. There are no rules on length or subject though its recommended to stick to the length of a standard roleplay post and any NSFW part should be hidden behind spoiler tags and marked. So just read this week’s theme and get writing.

    This week’s theme: The old trainyard.

    Have fun, and get ready for the Monthly challenge coming up!
  2. Uh, this piece I wrote is weird as hell, so I'm putting the whole thing into spoiler tags because there's a mention of sex and drugs... It's definitely...different...from what I usually write. XD;

    Show Spoiler

    The old train yard became abandoned and was fated to be demolished. There was no longer a use for it... The entire area was covered with graffiti and rust, all the trains were dead on their tracks. No one used this place like they used to, but it was historical. Ridding of it seemed like a sin... People labored on this train yard from the day it was built to the night of its final use.

    We are the rebels, bringing this ruin back to life. It's a live social scene in the darkness, where we gather to escape the hardships of being an adolescent. We can connect to the spirits of this train yard. No freedom to self expression, no freedom to have fun, no freedom to explore the world. Together, we and the ethereal beings can be whoever we wish to be.

    There's an old warehouse we use to set up a stage and make music dedicated to this place; our second home. Without it, we have no sanctuary. No one ever finds us here and when they do, we're ready to fight back. Our imaginations and ecstasy take us beyond the ruins of this train yard...


    In here, we love one another. There is no ugly, there is no straight. Couples, triples and more will flee to the abandoned trains for a good fucking time. Quite literally... Those who unintentionally--perhaps intentionally--procreate can proudly tell their offspring that their origin is an old train yard, full of history and life.

    Once the sun begins to show itself, everything quietly disappears. We walk along the tracks, singing while we disappear into our homes, one by one. We leave no evidence of our existence in this train yard... If they take it away from us, our singing spirits will meld with those of the laborers. Whatever replaces it will most certainly be haunted and unforgiving.
  3. Although the broken bones in his legs had been tightly impacted under the weight of the collapsed train, Ivan still tried to pull at the severed meat in vain . He was in a frantic rage, a sort of delirious state. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he cried out in pain. His finger nails were torn and ripped from trying to claw at the steel tracks just moments before the shock kicked in and calmed him. Adrenalin surged through his body as his muscles relaxed. For the moment, like a ray of light seen through a shard of shattered glass, he was at peace. Even in the pitch black, laying on the frozen December ground in the train yard, he felt good, like he could have been anywhere. Anywhere his mind could summon, a tropical beach maybe, or perhaps a corn field with the wind slowly blowing through the husks. It was even possible that he was flying at this very moment, above the train yard, above his mangled body, looking down on himself, but…….

    Uprooting Pain Rips through him and Ivan is thrust back into his body.

    Ivan is thrown back into life, revived and awake with pain. Totally unaware of how close he had just come to seeing what lies beyond. He spits up slightly, then again. Wishing for god to take him. By this point it is more than obvious he has only two choices. One, the simple task of dying. Two, crawling away and leaving his legs behind; Withstanding the pain of a life time in hopes that someone will hear his screams. Another rush of adrenaline hit his system and it became clear that his legs were unsalvageable. He pulled with his arms, gripping at anything he could. A root, some dirt, anything that would give him enough leverage to pull apart what little tissue held his body to his broken appendages. Finally, after a superman sized stretch, he managed to get ahold of a rock, not a large one, but one that had a sharp edge. If it isn't clear to him now why he grabbed this particular rock, it will be in a moment. At first, Ivan tried pulling on the rock, but it there was no way it would provided any leverage. He figured his leg was probably being held by a tough piece of tendon. He pulled the rock to his face and looked at the sharp edge, a cutting edge. A rock like this would have been used as a cutting tool by Native Americans maybe? Ivan didn't know and for the first time wish he would have paid more attention in his anthropology classes at the JC, then again, why the hell was he thinking about failed classes at a time like this? He knew why though….anything to keep him from doing what he had to do.

    Cut what was left of his legs off so he could crawl away from the wreckage. That was it, in a nut shell. He briefly flashed on the movie Saw, wasn't there a similar scene in the first movie? He thought there was. Ivan had never liked Saw. He felt that it blew a cheesy plot with half assed actors. He felt its fame was blown way out of proportion. The next big thing? Hardly. Ivan could have gone the rest of his life without watching another Saw movie and been happy, but wait……

    Back to the task at hand, or leg rather. Ivan began to chop at his limb with steady, solid strokes. Blood flew and sprayed his face and hair. With each fall of the rock he felt his pain elevate to a new level. It was almost like he was setting a new record for his threshold of punishment. The only thing left in his world, and in his life, was the thought that he might be able to crawl to safety before he bled to death.
  4. It didn’t matter that the cage had been dropped in the mud and it didn’t matter that no one seemed to notice. The rain poured down like it always did in this part of town. Something about it called to the storm clouds just begging for a nice bath of toxic water. You see the rain water carried with it hints of chemicals from the local power plants that ever bothered to clean up their act.

    The rank air that hung around the train yard gave it a nice brew of dead fish, oil, and diesel fuel and corroded metal. Long ago someone use to maintain the area but it had been so long ago that even time seemed to stop taking care and this place fell away into the grips of sorrow. Born to a distant mother the poor animal trapped in the cage looked out at her new home and blinked.

    A sudden kick to her only shelter jolted her from the daydream of thinking she was safe.
    “Ha, ha look at this. Some poor cat got dumped here. What should we do to it?” A boy called to his friends. They were just as dirty and ignorant as she was, but also just as scared but tried to hide it.

    “I don’t know. I am hungry” they exchanged glances and laughed.

    “Dude, I’m not eating cat. I don’t care how hungry we are” The finder of the sweet animal took pitty on it and looked at his co-worker and or his partner in crime. They had a laundry list of stupid misdeeds they had done and hiding out at the train yard became there home.

    “Let’s keep it” he said with hope in his tone. His hands were already on the latch of the cage. Inside the scared cat curled up into a ball. She didn’t have the will or the nerve to hiss or scratch.

    “We can’t keep it, what will it eat?” the other asked, he had every right to worry for each night they too suffered the pains of hunger.

    “I don’t know but I want her” The boy opened the cage and reached into it. It was if time stood still, a held breath by all three to see if she would run, bit, claw or hiss at him. When the moment passed that she did neither the boy smiled, dropped the cage and hugged her to him.

    The other boy just stood in amazement. He had never see his rough and tough friend melt so quickly. He had grown soft right before his eyes. The night before they he beaten a mean to near death over eight dollars and a cheap watch. How could this be? He was growing angry. His fingers curled up into a tight fist.

    “You better not turn into some soft bitch now or I’ll kick your ass” He was angry and his tone said everything else that his body might not have stated well enough.

    “Just shut up and hold her” he boy moved to his friend and he put the cat into his arms. The moment between them as a stange dance but the exchange was made.

    “See” the first boy said as he could see the anger, pain, hurt and sorrow lift from his friends face. The two years that they had been on the streets and the horrible nights being beaten up by other gangs slipped off into to mud. He looked up at his friend and smiled.

    “Fine we can keep her but only for tonight. And if you tell anyone about this, I’ll kick your ass” the two exchanged a look and knew that they had something to live for even if they felt like dying in this place, it now had given them a tiny reason bit of hope.
  5. Oh that stale December air, it hurts my chest when the breathing gets to hard now. To many years pissing away my health and here I find myself under a winter moon, back pressed up against the frigid slide of a rail car like a whore pressed to harsh against a sharp edged wall. Damn my tongue sated for a drip of warm whiskey but my bones knew better, I had to keep running as if the Devil himself had come up from that murky cesspool to claim me own. I wouldn't have it, turning tail and getting all my running in for the past thirty slothful years. I made tracks again, sprinting to the next set of rail cards, them ghastly sounds clashing around the brittle air following close behind. My chest sweat against the heat of me cloth, puffs of cold air rushing in as I leap over a railing, my ears numb to the blasted North winds.

    Almost out, a wee bit further now. Taking shelter in a maintenance car, dilapidating on the tarnished iron rails it once traveled. I fear now I may be joining this car soon enough, them chains of the spectre rattling about, it's fucking with my senses and wandering around every corner it seems. I'm sure it wants me dead, but this won't be my coffin, not some forlorn rail yard forgotten by man and time. Rubbing my numbing fingers against the muck of the glass I peered through. No sign of that dreadful apparition. With a start I bolt now across the loading platform and I feel a sudden vertigo as the world dipped left. A sudden darkness gripped me accompanied by a ringing of sorts.

    A blanket of heavy clouds faded into view, bits of snow clinging to my near freezing skin. With a roll I felt the the hairs and skin of my head peel from the frozen blood which had pooled in my absence of consciousness. A terrible shiver now clings to me like a fever, my every muscle aching and head swelling I find the will to lift to my feet and slowly tread on in what seemed a darker world than the one I'd slipped out of. I don't hear the spectre now, its chains and grizzly groans don't haunt my waking sense. Only the blistering cold hugged me, blinding my direction. But there up ahead I could see the tall chain gates ajar, warning signs fallen off and trapped under winters veil and it's path the million glass shards of the sky.

    With a halt, I cautiously turned my head with prying eyes to gaze upon my near grave. In spite of the cold I felt my every hair rise in fear, my eyes teared up and my chest became light. I cannot say with the words given to me the sight of such a diseased apparition, only the panic and pain of my chest can properly adorn the exquisite horror which cast its gaze upon me. I fall to me knees and mouth gibberish as a small babe, every muscle a twitch and every fiber of my being whimpering like the beaten dog. I cast my hands to my face as I curled to the frigid snow covered Earth, unable to blind myself from such a wretched being. Like a glimmer of Hell washing up through the beaten Earth in these cruel days to taunt my mortal being.

    "Oh please!" In a drooling manner while hardly capable of speaking, much less forming any real words, "Gah! Leave me! Why must you stare with those frightening excuses of eyes!" My tongue forgets itself. I feared a sudden and swift retribution for my words, but it only continued to glare through those soulless windows which I'm sure lead to the very seat of Lucifer, oh I could see it now, the faces of the traitors hanging from the grim ward of a beast with many heads. "Plave lev me! I beg o yeh!" My words were falling into gibberish again, as I could not bare the sight of the creature. Even worse is the feeling of an immense weight pressing on me, threatening to release itself and crush my every bone.

    It's spring now. I can hear the sounds of life creep nearby, but none for me. Still I lay in painful repose, trapped in the venomous gaze of this terrible being. Always nauseated yet I have not eaten for so long. I feel that terrible weight yet now my body wrinkles and contorts. I should have gone so long ago, yet I'm trapped in the prison of my own bone. Now I may only think of the poor sod who lay in a grave but half the rail yard away, the only company I'll have save for this wretched being for some time to come I imagine.
  6. I wish someone had told me ahead of time.
    I was really never close to my family. After I went off to a university in Chicago, I completely lost contact of my folks back in Georgia. Well, it’s not like I didn’t give a damn about them anymore; just need a break. A break from the torture that was my abusive household; my mother slung her empty wine bottles at me when her drunken stupor ate away at her mind. Bruises scattered all over her body thanks to the strength of my bulking father. A former solder that too succumb to the black magic that is PTSD; the nightmares recollecting his hardships of losing his fellow comrades ate away his pride, and the alcoholic nature of my mother worsen his sanity. His father passed in an institution. I can assume why my father’s father was thrust into a friendly prison. Instead of voicing his concerns casually, he pounded my mom with the assistance of his mind. Despite him not wanting to lose her too, his worries killed my mother, both mentally and physically.
    Six months ago, my dad strangled my mom to the point where her depressed heart couldn’t withstand the pressure anymore. Surprised, my father released his hands from the corpse and beamed into the palm of his hands.
    “I’m a monster,” was the last sentence to creep out of his mouth.
    He opened his closet as the shotgun welcomed his next victim. Father slowly lifted the weapon and gently groped his hand against it. He lifted the shotgun to his head, placed his finger on the trigger, and I’m sure you know how the rest followed.

    Why didn’t anyone tell me? My grandparents decided to tell me as soon as I came back from my first semester of college. I did find it weird that my granddad texted me he would pick me up at the airport instead of my father, and he dodged all the questions pertaining to my parents. I was to stay with my grandparents over the summer, and I will find a part time job to assist the billing. I don’t mind lending a helping hand, but I hate that I missed the final goodbye of my parents out of grief.