Wonderland

[fruiity toooty]

It was another dreary day in the city, with smog and ominous rain clouds hovering above the peaks of buildings and the sun attempting to stretch its fingers down to Earth to no avail. Everywhere, sidewalks were cluttered with people on their way home from work too impatient to handle the busy traffic congested streets and the ones that would rather deal with ridiculous waiting times than even contemplating walking a single unnecessary step sat in their cars with the heaters cranked up.

Today, traffic was more stalled than usual, with none of the cars having moved a single inch for what, I’m sure, must have seemed like an atrocious long time in their short lived lives—the lucky bastards. It was ironic. Me, who was granted every mortal’s dream of immortality, was envious of their short lives.

As I moved past, a few adventurous heads poked out of their car windows, trying to peer past the line of cars to see what was holding up the flow of traffic. An accident was not uncommon in the slightest in a city as large as this one, but to be there to witness the horrors, or even excitement, as some people may perceive it, was a treat that not many expected when they woke up in the morning. One man, sturdily built and your average American, even got out of his car and stepped directly into my path. I didn’t bother to move, and neither did he; I felt nothing but a mild tingling as I past through him, as if I were a mere hologram.

Angel of Death, the Grim Reaper, or just yours truly, Death—I was them all, but not the only one. Goodness no, with all the crime and freak accidents in the world today I’d be worked to my second death if I were the only one, though I doubt dying again would change anything. When my servitude started, I don’t know, and when it will end, I also don’t know. From brilliant sunrise to gloomy sunset, I flit around with invisible wings dipped in the inky purpose of granting peace to the doomed.

It’s been so long that I’ve lost track of time, of reality. I have a few blurred, slanted memories, but having them is even more agitating. Is what I remember really what happened or a thick lie my subconscious cooked up to comfort itself? Did I really have a life before? Did I once flush pink, exude warmth? Was I even real or was I just the fleeting dream of a being beyond my comprehension? What did I even look like? I had no reflection and the heavy cloak that shrouded me was a weight that could never be lifted—a divine punishment, perhaps, but I won’t even bother to contemplate God right now.

That itself would take a millennium of explanation.

Ahead, I could spot the victim of the minute. 6:12:53, to be exact. She seemed like a young woman, withering at the foot of a swerved, blue Cadillac. Someone was stooped in front of her, panicked and on the phone. I assumed him to be the driver of the empty vehicle. As I got closer, I could see the soft swelling of her belly that struck a contrast with the thinness of her figure. It seems I’d managed to find myself quite a deal—two birds with one stone.

She could see me coming, anyone on the very brink of death could, and she began to softly shake and mutter. I wonder what she saw? Could glimpse up the cloth, see my face? I had the urge to shake her and demand to know what she saw.

In fact, I crept down and reached out for her with my free hand, hope beaming onto my face like a ray of lost sunshine. It was crudely extinguished when my hand vanished within her, sending her into a hysterical screaming fit.

People would say that her body was going into shock, but really it was her mind that was scrambling for an explanation, for something that would rebuke the fact that she was about to climb over the wall of the living onto the lawn of death. She was a pretty blond, delicate and lightly complexioned. Clutching her stomach, she tried to speak, and shaking, she sent me silent, pleading messages. What a shame it was I had lost the ability to pity. Don’t ask me when though. I’d just reply, “I don’t know,” like a dunce sent to sit in the corner.

Her eyes, an oceanic blue, gazed up at me, desperately sending me pleading messages. In her cerulean eyes, I saw the dulled white sky and a pigeon swiftly fluttering across over to a business building that stabbed into the atmosphere.

It was enough to make me curse. Damn you, woman. Damn you.

In a swift motion, the scythe arced down, and I saw a blurred white, formless cloud seep out like vapor from the invisible cut. It lingered a second, as if it were puzzled before rushing up into the sky, perhaps hoping to find its own heaven. A second one raced out after it, and I had a feeling that, if it had hands, it would be reaching for its mother’s soul—the damned soul that refused to show me the horror of myself.

But really, I was the damned one here. Click, click. 6:14:03. Task complete.

And once again, I’m sucked back into Wonderland.



--



Ka-ching. I'm on a roll today. It was a one-shot I wrote based on a friend's picture of a dude with a scythe and robe. Found it in my documents folder screaming, "Edit me!" and I just had to answer, "Ask and you shall receive."

So, anyways, this is the end result: a really quite emo/angsty one shot.

[NewClassic]

Man, what a piece. I haven't seen any non-romantic stories on BlogRing in quite some time. I missed catching a breath of fresh literature from time to time.

But, can't let that stall the gears of critique, so it's time to catch the 1:00 critic train.

First stop, Cursed with Awesome territory. Specifically, the line

... the lucky bastards. It was ironic. Me, who was granted every mortal’s dream of immortality, was envious of their short lives.

Granted, the negative drawbacks of immortality are pretty remarkable, but I've no doubt that after coming to terms with one's fate (aside from the occasional lapse of unhappiness) would then direct them to more positive outlooks on their situation.

On the left, you'll see the passing of the Grammar Nazi Colony of Georgewinstonvillehampshire, New England. Photo Op! Watch as they lynch the Run-On Sentences of the New Zealic Islands. Mostly, read over the sentences aloud as you could perhaps catch the running of sentences. Also, watch for compound-compound sentences, which contain such instances as ,but statements, later arriving at ,or statements.
Most specifically

An accident was not uncommon in the slightest in a city as large as this one, but to be there to witness the horrors, or even excitement, as some people may perceive it, was a treat that not many expected when they woke up in the morning.

Also, keep in mind that describing many things at once will require "and" or "or" more often than it will call for commas. For example, the line

Did I once flush pink, exude warmth?

Also, keep in mind that there are exceptions, which may clutter sentences. One example is

One man, sturdily built and your average American, even got out of his car and stepped directly into my path.

Consider each phrase on its own when editing a piece, then edit for the overall flow. When you fail to edit each line, sometimes you have moments where it sounds kinda right, but still causes snags in the rhythm. Try using:

Did I once flush pink, or exude warmth?

and

One average man, American and sturdily built, even stepped from his car and into my path.

Rewording is always an option to consider, so keep that in mind when you edit a piece.

Also, noun-less run-ons are pretty rampant. They follow the train of thought, but I'll usually only set aside grammar faults if they're in dialog. Your piece sets up for an internal monologue, which calls for some grammar revisions. It's a pretty strong repeat in this piece, so I'll avoid calling out individual lines.

My suggestion for all of the above is to read your piece out loud. This forces your brain to read each word as what it is instead of each sentence. It's probably the strongest editing tool I use.

On our right, as you can see beyond the passing trees, the Emotional Roller Coaster Amusement Park. In this piece, we followed Death through his run-of-the-mill daily slaying. Our problem is we're catching this ride right at the crest of the coaster. All it would take is one breeze, then... WE'RE OFF! Flying down the piece at climax, wind pulling our hair and cheeks back into adrenaline-borne excitement, then with a hydralic hiss, we hop out of car and fade into black. Because of the shortness of the piece, I feel a little exposition was left out. On its own it's not bad, but with more it could really take off. Let us ride the whole coaster, we'll probably enjoy it that much more after the ride.

And, my exit for tonight, is the Sensory Overload junction. You shove so much into the first paragraph that I found myself choking over the sheer sensory detail in the first part. It's not excessive so much as it is inconsistent. You give us so much to play with in the first few paragraphs, then you drop us into the thoughts of one John Q. Death. Now we've got a lot of senses perked up, waiting for the world to create a wonderful painting, aaaaaaand, where did all the surface details go?

Suddenly, Death's head was our world, our plaything. I felt like I went to go watch a movie called "Action Super Kung-Fu Man 7: Segal and Stallone vs. Chuck Norris and the Undead Hordes," and came out of the movie starring Johnny Depp and Meg Ryan called "10 Things to do 150 First Dates with Johnny Roberts, the High School Musical / Hairspray Dramady."

It wasn't a bad change, just left me wondering if I really got what I thought I was getting. Don't be afraid to focus on one or the other, but also don't be afraid to give us both in high amounts. Play with your world, you can delve us into the mind and city without compromising either.

"Well," I told the unassuming man next to me, "you have fun. This is my exit." I got up, and strolled off the train.

[fruiity toooty]

Haha, your critiques are fresh and funny. It's hard to get good review, and much of yours gives me a new outlook on what I've been doing.

Yes, grammar was definitely a sore spot when it came to this one. While going through and editing it I sort of got into a mindset of letting whatever came to mind spill onto the document regardless of rules. After I finished I clocked out and let it be the end of it.

First stop, Cursed with Awesome territory. Specifically, the line

Cursed With Awesome is an interesting read also; never quite thought of it that way. Going through and seeing its takes on various entertainment pieces is pretty interesting. Does make you wonder how much time was put into compiling all of it, though.

Now we've got a lot of senses perked up, waiting for the world to create a wonderful painting, aaaaaaand, where did all the surface details go?

Huh. I suppose I could have played around with it along with peeking into Mr. Emo's mind. I sorta got swept away in the murky depths of angst, it seems.

Exit safely and I claim no responsibility for any items lost or injuries attained.