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Great Writing - Home > SF > There Are Some Roads That Were Never Meant To Be Trodden [1]
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Science Fiction and Fantasy
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| There Are Some Roads That Were Never Meant To Be Trodden [1] | |
| By Alexxx | ||||
| 05 April 2006 | ||||
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This isn't so much a prologue as the starting words to what I intend to be a larger story, but any comments and criticism, constructive or not, would be greatly appreciated. I'm simply interested in how people think I write, and how I can improve it. Other than that, enjoy, and feel free to post anything you want at all. The granite clouds wept as she passed, rain washing any colour from the disillusioned streets of her home. Granite was cold beneath her bare feet, and crystalline tears did little to offer dignity. Her dress clung to her wet body. It was unwashed and dragged upon her conscience as much as it did her small, yet arduously working legs. Her hair clung to her cheeks, but she did not try to remove it, no, it offered her some small succour knowing those few who saw her would not know her face, her identity. Bruises patterned her body as an elaborate stain on her pearl skin. They deepened it to sorrowful shades of purple, remorseful indigo and sore taupe. Her foot caught in the folds of her dress, and she tripped, her knee striking the hard ground. Like flint on rock blood sparked the air, causing her yet more tears as the pain was given voice. Stained cerise, her dress once again flew behind her. Her feet rhythmically slapped the granite roads of Dorfells, the rain following suit with a vivace beat. Redbrick walls turned grey, and the girl twisted, her target now visible through the wet hair and thick rain. Pebbles laced her feet, and the cold water splashed her legs. Her sides throbbed with fatigue and terror, and a crimson line of fluid parted her shin from the knee down. Already, blossoming like an ecchymosisial rose, the contusion on her leg had swollen. Her lips had tinged cobalt and her breathing became shallow and rapid. The cold air leached warmth from her body like her memories leached the essence from her soul, fists, kicks and gobs of phlegm at a time. Darkness took her vision, and she stumbled for a second time, her thin frame slamming into wall, before the imbalanced figure fell to her bleeding knees. And then it was gone. The pain lifted. She was no longer tied to her body, she was free, she was fine, she was… faint. Darkness returned, and with it; nothingness. Deep copper braziers hung from the ceiling, their tri-pierced napes hooked by thick iron chains, licked by tongues of silver flame with their shadows dancing mockingly upon the shelved wall. Their shadow’s casting ephemeral runes upon the brickwork, before shifting like quicksilver, and once again becoming shadow. The floor was bathed in shadow, the light from the braziers failing to pierce its depth. Curled up in the corner was the girl in the wet dress, her bruises throbbing, a swelling raised afresh on her forehead. Thin ashen fingers stretched out pensively to the light, stopping short of it; that movement stirring her from within; the vulnerable reach for light, and the disappointing fall short of it. A tear rose behind her purple eyes. Broken skin burned, and a long frayed sigh leeched from her lungs into the darkness of the room. Tears spoiled the serenity of her pale bruised face, and her silent composure broke into eclectic sobs of self-remorse and desperation. Once again, un-summoned, darkness came.
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