My Latest Piece - Work-in-progress.

[Grimblade]

Hey guys. This piece is something I've been working on for a little while, I'm only posting the prologue to give an idea. I'm looking more for feedback than critique, but if something's pressing enough then by all means hit me with it! It's rather long for a forum post so if you can't be bothered to read through it fair play, but those that can I thank you for your time in advance. And, of course, COPYRIGHTED TO ME!

Prologue

Pressed up against the cubicle door of the men’s room in my local fast-food restaurant, something suddenly occurred to me. The blood-chilling sounds that came from behind the pounding door seemed to leave me and for a moment everything seemed alright in my head.
A few hours previous to this my life had been going pretty well. I was a fairly normal young man, an unemployed, egotistical smoker with delusions of grandeur and an unfair weakness for strong drink and music of the ‘alternative’ persuasion; a rock-star on the verge of it all, about to blossom. Twenty years on the verge, in fact, which would mark me as a veteran in the army of jobseekers? Is that right? Sure, that’ll do. In fact, it won’t, because I didn’t openly seek a job in the conventional sense of the word. I was a crusader for the people though, a martyr, a victim of circumstance and the British educational system.
So there I was, stumbling down the high street trying desperately not to look as drunk as I was after a short warm-up at my local. A man on the edge, trying not to fall. In actual fact I was feeling pretty good about the situation. The plan was: soused, cigarette, tipsy, cigarette, drunk, cigarette and money, buy more cigarettes, get more drunk, cigarette and then begin the nights drinking. I was halfway through executing this remarkable plan, searching for an ATM, despite the fact that I knew where it was. The look on my face told the world that I was happy the way I was, so stop judging me with your eyes. I was very inebriated, to put it bluntly.
Suddenly, as my journey neared its destination, the muscles of my stomach clenched and I felt the contents rise halfway to my throat. Nausea, my fated friend, had heard that my quest was virtually complete and come back to kick me in the teeth. No, I thought, you won’t have me. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? You’d enjoy a fine chuckle if my stomach lining caked my clothes when I got back. No heroes welcome for this poor soul. Well **** you, I won’t let that happen.
A sense of urgency spurred my feet and I burst through the populated double doors of McDonalds, knocking down the children that had tried so meekly to bar my entrance, allies of my torment. I didn’t see the socially acceptable, voiceless outburst from their parents, but I felt it; like hot needles in my back – what had I become? The guilt disappeared as rapidly as it had come, a by product of the ten seconds you lose every minute of that beautiful intoxication, and I found myself crawling the last steps towards the toilets when my treacherous guts squeezed bile and cider into my closed mouth. All I could consciously do was grimace and bear it as I reached the home stretch. I remember muttering something like “..sambuka..” involuntarily, which only served to dribble the disgusting concoction down my chin and into my budding goatee. But when my brain finally managed to comprehend the image in front of me, panic struck – the solitary cubicle was occupied. Fire lit in my eyes.
The balding, middle-aged African man didn’t understand what was happening as I threw my shoulder into the door and it slammed inwards, knocking the newspaper from his hands. I grasped his jacket by both sides of the collar and heaved, sending him flying past me and into a hand dryer, then fell to with reckless abandon, choking incoherently as my gag reflex opened to let the invader past. Pink, half digested chicken rushed against the toilet bowl and it was all I could do to hold on.
I don’t remember how long it took, but eventually the nightmare subsided and I lay there, my head on the vomit stained edge of that holy grail of toilets. My self-esteem had taken a nasty blow and my mind only struggled to find words to keep bruising it: downfall, society, the cause of.
Eventually my legs began to obey me and I managed to stand on unsteady feet. I turned slowly as the events of the last few recollected moments came rushing back to me and grimaced all over again when I found the figure of the enraged man I had evicted from the cubicle staring at me. I anticipated rather than saw the punch before it rocked me backwards, sending me sprawling into the cistern and cracking my head against the ceramic tiles of the wall. My vision blurred and a horrible pain crept into my skull. Darkness closed on me and I realised with horror that I was lying in splashes of my own sick. The last image I had in my head was of a pool of vomit with eyes and a dirty sneer, mocking me. You bastard, Nausea. You total bastard.



When I woke up it was with a groan. I felt my stomach rebelling again, this time from the dizziness, and fought it back with the strength of a mostly sober person. I pushed my arms underneath me and cringed as they slipped slightly on the vomit I’d been lying in. Fight through it, man, fight through it. With a heave I managed to sit upright and started the task of blinking away the spots from my vision. Slowly the little collage that rested everywhere I looked receded and I could make out the room. It was empty, at the moment anyway. How many people had come in and seen me in my pathetic state, sprawled in my own waste on the floor of a toilet? It was galling and I was determined to escape this place.
I pulled myself to my feet and washed my hands, splashing water over my face. For a moment I tried to clean the dribbles on my shirt but the poor quality of recycled toilet paper couldn’t hold up to my lack of finesse at the time, so I gave up and headed for the door.
I stopped in my tracks. There was blood on the stairs, a smear of it that led halfway to the toilets but didn’t quite reach the door. I stared at it quizzically for a moment, my mind rolling back over the terrible display earlier and tried to remember if I’d been knocked out before or after I’d climbed the stairs. After, definitely. Besides, the smear didn’t reach the door, so it couldn’t have been me. Did I fight back? Had I chinned that old African guy in a blaze of glory as I fell into unconsciousness? No, I wish, but no. I couldn’t believe he’d knocked me out. My previous experience of old African men had led me to believe that they were pleasant individuals. Kind hearted Mr Toms, etc. Thanks Hollywood, that’s another fine mess you got me into. I suppose I deserved it, but still…
I was snapped out of my inner dialogue by a scream I wish I’d never heard. This scream was the herald of things to come, the dawn of my horrible realisations, and as it ripped up the stairway and into my ears the echo of it made me feel trapped, like I was surrounded by something I couldn’t fight against or get away from. I’d never felt more alone than I did in that moment.
Against my better judgement I rushed forward, my sense of right overpowering that of self-preservation, and in an instant I had resolved to find whatever caused the kind of pain that could cause that scream and deal with it. I dashed down the stairs, my feet slapping against the smear that had become dark red pools on each step, getting deeper and deeper the further down I went. I rounded the corner that opened up my view to the restaurant floor and my breath caught in my throat.
The front windows of the building were smashed inwards and a bitter cold night air was sweeping in from the outside. I could see the blue and yellow flash of emergency services lights but I couldn’t hear any sirens, which just made it creepier. I slowly scanned the floor and forced myself to keep breathing. Blood covered everything, walls and ceiling and tables and chairs and mirrors, half of the lights were smashed and the ones that weren’t were illuminated pink from spatters of the sticky stuff. I gagged as I realised my hand was pushed into a thicker, more fleshy matter on the stair rail. If I threw up I didn’t notice, it would have just poured out of my slack jaw. I couldn’t focus. My brain must have been functioning on some basic motor level though, because I managed to move from the last step on the stairs and into an inch of blood. A ripple moved out from my shoe and my eyes followed it lazily as it rode up along the serene little crimson pond and broke against something lumpy and green. I squinted but in the red light it could have been anything. It seemed to be moving though, so I stepped closer. It was rocking from side to side, slightly at first, then faster and more urgently.
“Hello? Are you ok?” The words came as a whisper; I was scared to break the silence. It didn’t seem to notice and I took another step. It stopped moving altogether as another ripple touched it. A small shaft of light came from an unmarked lamp overhead and I managed to make out a coat of arms. Trentham? It was a school nearby. The green was a school blazer.
“Hey, kid? You alright?” Another step, another ripple. For some reason I remember hearing it this time like a wave washing out from a coastline. My eyes followed it again as it rolled up and over the hands that were crushing the little boys’ dead body to the floor. A head came up and suddenly he was looking up at me, a chunk of torn flesh hanging from his chewing mouth. The scream that came from him was the sound a child in pain makes and with it he burst into movement, his hands crashing against the wet floor and dragging his mangled body and legs towards me at a terrifying speed. I fell backwards and started climbing the stairs in the same motion, not able to turn my head away from him but running at breakneck speed up the slippery steps. He matched me and as I reached the last step he pushed himself off from his hands and leapt onto me, pitching both of us several feet and through the toilet door. I wrapped my hands around his throat and pushed back his biting mouth, turning my head from the putrid mix of blood and flesh and saliva that splashed down to my face. His eyes were turned upwards in his head and he was making a choking sound and shrieking with those same child-like vocal chords. I rolled my body to the right and kicked out, sending him hurtling into the urinals, his head cracking against one and breaking it off. I was on my feet in a heartbeat, running into the cubicle and slamming the door shut behind me. It wasn’t until I got there that I realised there was a space of about a foot from the floor to the beginning of the cubicle walls. No sooner had this hit me than his hands were on my legs and using them to pull himself under. The shriek was all around the confined space and now it had words in it, words like “Mummy…” and “…it’s biting me!” He just kept repeating it, over and over, choking the words out and wailing with the voice of a little boy as he snapped his teeth at my shins. I managed to get one of my feet free and stamped down with all my strength on the back of his neck. The bone gave and snapped out of the front of his throat, sending a spray of diseased looking blood, thick and fleshy, onto the white floor tiles. I sank down onto the toilet seat, panting furiously. My lungs hadn’t worked that hard before and my heart felt like it was about to explode, pounding against my chest at a speed that can only be called unhealthy.
“Mummy! It’s biting me!” I couldn’t shake the words out of my head. The sound it made when it had been choking and groaning came from the vocal chords of a man, but those words… It occurred to me that it had been mimicking a kid. A feeble cry rose up and out of my burning lungs at the thought of what had happened to that little boy. My face contorted in anger and I raised my feet again, stamping down harder and harder on the neck and back and head of this creature, feeling the bones shift and break until finally I couldn’t stand the sight of it anymore and the breaking bones didn’t ease the voice in my head. I kicked the cubicle open and dragged the thing out.
As I grabbed the thing under its arms and turned I opened the toilet door to find myself staring straight into the haunted white eyes of another one. Its face was twisted in a sort of sick smile and I realised staring into that ghoulish, dead face that, unlike my friend here, this one hadn’t had half its legs eaten. In one smooth motion I pulled my head back and threw it forward, square into the bridge of its nose. It fell backwards with a choke and down the first few steps that turned the corner. I didn’t need another opportunity. I was going to be a man. I was going to do what needed to be done.
I ran back into the cubicle.
And so, with my back against the thin plywood door and my legs braced against the now raging creature on the other side, I couldn’t help but wonder what the **** was going on.
My name’s Daniel and I think I’m going to die.

[Jerico]

I really like it Grim, it's excellently written. I don't know if it's a bit long as a prologue but who cares it was really good. I did consider "quoting" some of the sentences and paragraphs I liked best but dammit man there were too many of them

I loved the way you described his emotions and the descriptive style you used. His POV was brilliant as well.

Credit where credit is due, I couldn't fault it mate. MORE PLEASE!

[Grimblade]

Well thank you very much Jerico, I'm glad you liked it. I didn't really consider the length until you just mentioned it but it works at just over 3 A4 pages which is.. what? 6 in paperback? Hmmm.. It will require a ponder. If I get more feedback regarding it then I guess I know where I stand.

I'm nearing completion of the 1st chapter as we speak so maybe I'll post it up when I'm done. But that WOULD be a big post!

[Jerico]

Dare I ask how you write a drunk person so well?!

[Grimblade]

*hands up* I'm currently mis-spending my youth.

[Jerico]

Hehe, good on you.

[Jimrollson]

Thats brilliant man. Daniel's insights are sharp and entertaining and the transition from drunken cynicism to horror setting is slickly done.

Loved it.

[Grimblade]

Thank you Jim, the transition is one of my main objectives in this project. I'm glad you noticed it, that means I'm on the right track! I appreciate your feedback.

[Grimblade]

It's all about ZOMBIES! READ IT! NEED MORE FEEDBACK!

[chopper]

zombies aren't quite my style, and i've ghad rather too much red wine tonight to be overly coherent, but i'll read it & comment further tomorrow - urm, later today.

meanwhile, re: length of prologue. Wheel of Time & GRRM prologues are almost indistinguishable from normal chapters in length. this one looks roughly like 2000 words, which is circa 8 A4 sides, double spaced in 12 point Courier.

might be wrong about that.

cheers aye

s

[Grimblade]

Fair enough. I appreciate the effort anyway my friend.

Re: Prologue. Well, this one's shorter than my chapters, though I don't know why I feel it should be. Not as short as a Gemmell epilogue, no, but.. I don't know, I just feel it fits.

[chopper]

that's fair enough. i get niggling feelings when i try to extend chapters too far; this one of yours looks nicely self contained.

[Grimblade]

I'm still struggling to finish the first chapter. I've hit "that wall" and it's a total bitch. I wouldn't say I've run out of steam or inspiration or anything but.. it just seems too.. fiddly? Pff. I always was quite articulate.

ZOMBIES!

[Precise Calibre]

It's well done, I really like some of the images to bring to my mind. Well not "like"(liking gore as opposed to appreciating its execution might considered sick :P), but I am impressed by what your words bring to life. I was only confused at two points.

First off, where are the bathrooms within the restaurant? When he initially goes in, it seems like he runs to them directly and goes into them, no big deal. But in the later section, it seems like they are up at least one floor's worth of stairs. Where I live, McDonald's only have one floor, which might be confusing my imagery. Which is correct?

Second, I think the description of the first zombie that is eating the schoolboy could use a smidgen of clarification. I only realized that its lower half was mangled badly after several rereads, and indeed initially thought the zombie was the dead school boy.

Other than those two things, I like this piece and hope to see some more from you. Good luck on busting down that wall.

[Grimblade]

Originally Posted by Grimblade

I found myself crawling the last steps towards the toilets when my treacherous guts squeezed bile and cider into my closed mouth. All I could consciously do was grimace and bear it as I reached the home stretch.

To answer your first point Calibre. Perhaps I could add a little something like 'crawling the last steps at the top of the stairs' to clarify. Do you feel it's required?

But on the second point I do agree with you, you aren't the first one to say it either. I've rewritten that piece a couple of times and it hasn't come out just right yet. I guess I'm just having difficulty finding the balance between the suspense you get from having as little information as possible up until action hits and, obviously, keeping it all clear as day so the story can be followed. I'm definitely working on that.

Thankyou for your feedback, it's definitely needed and appreciated. I'm glad you liked what you could make sense of!