Tag: fiction

#oneaday, Day 53: Freewriting #3, or What The Hell Is Going On In My Head?

[In the absence of any particular inspiration today, I'm going to start that clock for ten minutes once again and just write without editing, except that which happens on "autopilot" as I type. Let's see what happens this time, shall we? Three. Two. One. Go!]

Fire light.

A camp fire.

Figures all around. Standing. Waiting. What are they waiting for?

Who knows. No-one knows, not even the woman standing apart from the group, facing the other way, into the forest. She weeps, for something lost and almost forgotten.

The men chant. No-one knows what they are saying, not even then. It is a dead language, dredged up for this ceremony which no-one is sure of its purpose.

The woman turns. The men continue, seemingly oblivious to her presence. Her face is streaked with tears.

She pulls off the shoulder of her fur top, first one, then the other. The garment falls to the floor. She is naked in the darkness, the red glow of the fire illuminating her skin.

She walks towards the fire. The men still chant. Over and over. She walks. Closer. The heat is on her skin now, making her sweat.

What is this? she thinks. Why am I here? I don't know what this ceremony is about, or what it is that is going to happen next.

A man's attention is distracted. He stumbles over one of the words of the dead language. No-one notices except the woman. She turns, her flaxen hair falling over her bare shoulders. She locks eyes with the man.

One word goes through her mind. Heretic.

Why heretic? Why is he a heretic when I don't understand why any of us are here? she thinks.

The man is panicking, trying his best to find his rhythm and get back with the rest of the group. Still no-one has noticed except the woman, now staring at him, the light of the fire reflected in her widening eyes, still glistening with tears.

The man looks away from her, down at the floor, as he continues to mumble the words, missing things here and there.

Eventually, he can take it no longer, and sinks to his knees, his bare legs striking the dirt on the ground and grazing them. It hurts more than he expected, but in a short while it won't matter.

The woman is filled with sorrow for this man's fate. She doesn't know what it is, but a flash of something – a forgotten memory? A vision? Something blasts through her mind, and it is not a pretty sight. She catches a glimpse of the man's face in her mind's eye, his face contorted with intense torment and pain.

Then she knows. She has to save him. She has to get out of here. She takes a step forward. Towards him. Moving slowly, her bare feet gliding across the dirty floor.

The kneeling man looks up at her with pleading eyes. Her eyes still glisten. Her heart is filled with compassion for this man, this poor man dragged into this situation beyond his control, just like she was. And she knows that it is time. It is time for this to continue no longer.

She takes his hand. The other men chant, over and over in a forgotten, dead language. They are oblivious to what she is doing, and oblivious to the young man's mistakes. In a few short minutes, all that will change, and she knows this. She pulls him up to his feet and nods her head towards the darkness of the forest, away from the angry red glow of the firelight.

Where should we go? she asks herself. I don't know where we are.

Run, he says with his eyes, looking at her, on the verge of tears.

The unspoken communication between the two of them passes quickly, and, hands clasped tightly together, they run into the forest. Plants and branches sting and lacerate their bare legs as they run, but in a few short minutes none of that will matter. In a few short minutes, the ceremony will be over, for better or worse, and all this will cease to matter.

Given our desertion, she thinks, my money is on "worse".

But she doesn't want to stick around to find out. And she's sure he doesn't either.

Where to go? The forest paths seem to lead in every direction.

The only thing they can think of is the direction they cannot go in – back towards the flames. That way lies only suffering and death.

But where to go from here?

[Yeah, I know. Don't ask.]

Meet Dan and Charlotte

So I've been a bit lax on the creative writing front for a while. I thought I'd rectify that with an experimental fiction project I've had in mind for some time.

I present to you Daniel Harris and Charlotte Bristow, two twentysomethings who live in the glamorous city of Southampton. Daniel and Charlotte have the same birthday (29th August) and both studied English at the University of Southampton. In fact, they sat next to each other on a number of occasions. But they don't know each other. They don't even know the other one exists. Not yet, anyway.

They don't have a lot in common. Dan is depressed, lonely and increasingly turning to drink. Charlotte is happy, hopeful and uses the word "party" as a verb. However, both of them enjoyed their study of English and are pedantic to a fault, and they do have a few interests in common. Both of them are struggling to work out what to do with their lives now university is over, and are temping to pay the rent.

This project, which I haven't given a name to yet (working title "Dan and Charlie") is an exercise in improvisatory blogging. I will be playing the role of both Dan and Charlie and improvising their fictional lives, perhaps with a little fact interspersed here and there for local colour. After all, I too live in Southampton and studied English (along with Music) at the University of Southampton, so after all we have a bit in common… conveniently. It will be an interesting exercise in "method acting" (for want of a better description) for me, and an exercise in self-discovery for Dan and Charlie, who are both new to blogging.

If anyone actually reads the blogs, thinks they're real people (so no-one who knows me directly, then) and feels the need to comment or interact with Dan and Charlie (who have their own email addresses and eventually will find their way to at least Twitter and possibly other social networking sites if I can be bothered to "network" that much on behalf of both of them), that may well inspire their independent storylines to develop in particular directions. I have a few "events" in mind for the pair of them and, of course, they will come across each other at some point. What happens from there remains to be seen.

I intend to blog on behalf of the pair of them fairly often. It'll be an interesting exercise in creative characterisation and allow me to keep myself in practice of writing stream-of-consciousness first-person narrative if nothing else – maybe it won't go anywhere, maybe it'll develop in interesting and unexpected directions. Who knows? We shall see.

One rule for those of you reading this: don't let on, at least not on their sites. As far as readers of their sites are concerned, Dan and Charlie are real people, and it'd be cool to have them interacting with strangers and see how that develops their own personal stories. Comments will be moderated and anything "out of character" won't be approved by either Dan or Charlie.

Well, this will either be an interesting exercise or I'll end up with Multiple Personality Disorder. We'll see. I hope you enjoy the mundanity of their everyday lives.