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Short Piece - The Pit

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Enamour
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Short Piece - The Pit Aug. 3rd, 2012 @ 02:43 PM Reply

This piece is a short piece. It's rough as I banged it out for posting on NG. It's abstract and I hope not too morbid. I was taught language function in Afrikaans and sometimes mess up when applying to English. I'll sit and refine what I have tomorrow when there's a bit of distance between me and this. Hope you enjoy the read; if you don't... then I have failed and cannot help you. Here we go.

The noise dies down and the world fades into the background.

I crumble inside like dying vines; one strandâEUTMs precarious grip fails and it tumbles to the decrepit dust, its neighbour goes with it and one by one they all fall. Soon the wall is bare and all that is left is for the sterile earth to ineffectually swallow the rotting mass of vegetation. The process seems familiar.

The rain breathes freezing paths of ice between my shoulder blades. Torrential waters flow ineffectually into the corpse strewn pit that had become the grave of my friends and advisers. A loose eyeball swirls in the watery vortex of the insatiable pit. Nothing is ever digested in this world. Broken debris and detritus remain in one recognizable form or another.

I had tried to dispose of Trajan cleanly but as he lies here in this hole before me the compulsion to measure his death overwhelms me but my eyes cannot find the puncture amongst his blood stained robes. Why wonâEUTMt the water dilute the blood?

The dead old man had never made sense when I was a child. He would speak and point me towards kindnesses but to a child kindness is an academic concept only applied in line with wants. I grew older and wiser but I do not know if he grew wiser in the years I had known him; maybe his voice had simply become louder.

He had awoken to find my glinting dagger inching carefully into him. His eyes had almost defeated my resolve when they became a sorrowful mirror of my planned actions. âEUoeAm I the first to die?âEU he had asked. I had nodded stiffly through fat tears.

The tide of his life had ebbed as even his last words had become an act of altruism; âEUoeAn age with a broken spirit is a broken age. Ageless men cannot be broken.âEU

TrajanâEUTMs calm death became the clamour of everyone elseâEUTMs panic as they realized that the end had come. Some took it, some

And beautiful Danny, Danny the Angry, was the hardest to die but the easiest to kill. Unlike Trajan, Danny had never known peace for a single instant since his conception; paranoid, distrustful and supremely destructive; constantly looking over his shoulder. I had not seen any alternative but to be heavy handed with Danny. I had taken his right arm, now cradled almost delicately in his left, from him right at the start. The knife wielding limb had become the instrument of his death as he had continued crawling towards me with all consuming hatred: âEUoeWhat will you be without me!?! Another pussy just waiting for the next hard shaft to penetrate and rape you! Fuck them! Fuck you! They will take and take until there is nothing left of you to take! I am the barrier! I am safety!âEU

I tried to be kind then âEUoeIâEUTMm sorry Danny but that is not true in the sense that you mean.âEU but Danny would not let go; he was young and angry and kept coming at me. I back tracked as he came on and when his strength had finally seemed to reach its end I knelt next to his bleeding form wanting to say a proper good bye. But he would ultimately deny me even the shallowest of moments to express my love for him; for all of them. He was angry and bitter and young.

The worst thing I could imagine was dying face down in the dirt so I dropped his severed arm still clutching his knife and turned him on his back. The wheezing and broken shell had seemed less angry then despite the crimson streaks running like a malicious omen over his face and pooling in the dark hair beneath. Red war paint flowed from his nostrils as less and less blood had flowed from his severed shoulder as his heart grew weaker.

âEUoeDanny?âEU I whispered sorrowfully.

His eyes focused then fluttered around as if searching for a target but they fell on me without rage or resentment and he croaked weakly âEUoeYes?âEU

âEUoeIs there peace?âEU

His pupils had contracted to a point then and he attacked me with his remaining limbs. I had grabbed the nearest weapon, an axe made of his arm and knife. I held the bloody bicep two handed and swung the clutched knife at DannyâEUTMs chest over and over again. I think I had gone mad in those moments as that knife tore him open like an axe bit by meaty bit. When he had gone quiet I had dragged his corpse to the edge of the pit and nudged him in; he did not fall face first mercifully but on his side.

He had died a grotesquery. Danny probably deserved what I did the most if I have to think in terms of entitlement. The hole in Danny haunts me and looking at him there with his face half buried in the mud and the hole in his body I cannot help but wonder if IâEUTMve become a monster in my pursuit to be rid of monsters.

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Response to Short Piece - The Pit Aug. 3rd, 2012 @ 02:47 PM Reply

After Danny there was Maurice, or Maureen, or Maury, or whatever he had decided to be on the day. They were sexy and daring and always encouraged me to enjoy the physicality of sex as much as was possible. I inflicted on them a passionate death and mutilated the genitals until there was no point in trying to identify the gender.

There was the small Asian man who had never given me his name. When I approached him the final time he had stood as tall as he could. He was contemplative like he always was, he had put his palm on my chest then walked away beckoning me to follow. I easily identified the route he was taking; towards the pit. Upon arrival he had climbed in among the ashen faced corpses of his fellows and positioned himself close to Trajan and far from Danny. I hadnâEUTMt gotten it over my heart to lay Trajan and Danny close to one another; it had not seemed right and the small Asian man had chosen the same spot I had chosen for his corpse.

From the pit he beckoned for my weapon which I tossed to him without thinking. He had immediately hiked up his dress and pulled the knife quickly and cleanly across his thigh. Blood had pooled as his feet like that of a distraught toddlerâEUTMs urine. He was calm and sensed my hesitance âEUoeYou have questions.âEU

Conflicted and afraid to lose him I watched him bleed for a time before answering his statement with my question âEUoeWhat are you?âEU

âEUoeI am the realization of what was, is and has to be. I am all and nothing. I am presence and nothingness. I am the truth and the non-truth.âEU When his strength disappeared he sat down and held TrajanâEUTMs cold hand in his own like two children casually expressing affection.

Like the old man, the little manâEUTMs death was hard to bear, harder perhaps than any of the others, I donâEUTMt know. âEUoeWhat is the truth?âEU

âEUoeYou will find us again. Or we will find you again.âEU

âEUoeDo you exist?âEU

âEUoeAs much as you do.âEU

âEUoeCan you tell me anything concrete?âEU

âEUoeMy words are as absolute and accurate as anything in existence. Whether that is the truth or a truth is your responsibility. Everything is everything always. There can be no other way.âEU

His eyes had closed and he had looked peaceful. He still looks peaceful.

After the Asian manâEUTMs death the killing became easier as I grew more proficient with it; more bodies were thrown into the pit as I released myself from these people.

I am alone now standing over this pit and the relentless rain does not fill it, the dirt does not fill it, the bodies do not fill it. There is this pit and I am alone by its edge. I feel the stir of anger, as I realize how completely alone I am. Why do I have to be alone?

The roar of cars floods my ears, sunlight burns my flesh like the filthy air burns my lungs and street IâEUTMm standing in is filled with people whom all appear identical to me. My friend yells from across the street, beckoning me closer. The anger intensifies as I look around me and realize that I hate this place.

DannyâEUTMs eyes flash open in my memory and I remember the small manâEUTMs words.

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Response to Short Piece - The Pit Aug. 3rd, 2012 @ 02:48 PM Reply

O
my
lohd
formatting

Was hoping that using a plain text format would work. But it doesn't. Will fix manually tomorrow. Sorry :S

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Response to Short Piece - The Pit Aug. 3rd, 2012 @ 10:36 PM Reply

I really love your writing. This is so different from your NWA story. Awesome.


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Response to Short Piece - The Pit Aug. 3rd, 2012 @ 10:59 PM Reply

At 8/3/12 10:36 PM, EKublai wrote: I really love your writing. This is so different from your NWA story. Awesome.

I thought it was too purple. Seems more an exposition than a story. Given the nature, however, I guess it's appropriate. Surprisingly well written, however, for a non-native speaker.

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Response to Short Piece - The Pit Aug. 4th, 2012 @ 12:35 AM Reply

At 8/3/12 10:59 PM, Deathcon7 wrote:
At 8/3/12 10:36 PM, EKublai wrote: I really love your writing. This is so different from your NWA story. Awesome.
I thought it was too purple. Seems more an exposition than a story. Given the nature, however, I guess it's appropriate. Surprisingly well written, however, for a non-native speaker.

Oh well, my comment was more focused on the tone. I wasn't really that zeroed in the plot. I'll give a more thorough go-over tomorrow.


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Response to Short Piece - The Pit Aug. 4th, 2012 @ 03:21 AM Reply

At 8/4/12 12:35 AM, EKublai wrote:
At 8/3/12 10:59 PM, Deathcon7 wrote:
At 8/3/12 10:36 PM, EKublai wrote: I really love your writing. This is so different from your NWA story. Awesome.
I thought it was too purple. Seems more an exposition than a story. Given the nature, however, I guess it's appropriate. Surprisingly well written, however, for a non-native speaker.
Oh well, my comment was more focused on the tone. I wasn't really that zeroed in the plot. I'll give a more thorough go-over tomorrow.

There's a basic plot. It's a scene piece and the imagery is almost more important than the exposition since you find the story by noting the images; what are these characters telling him and why. I want to flesh it out a little bit to highlight the punchline more and make it feel less like a simple exposition from an unreliable narrator. Also smoother and clearer transitions from one image to the next.

Also not sure if the temporal aspect is correct. Was it easy enough to discern the past from the present or did I mess that that up?

There was a pattern I wanted to establish concerning the uhh victims. But my friends were yelling at me from the fire last night as I furiously typed out the last of this :" (

Too purple? Sexual? Apart from the Mau- character nothing is supposed to be sexual, affection/love/understanding yes but not sexual. Not sure if that's what you mean but it's probably something that needs fixing.

Thanks for the feedback. :D

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Response to Short Piece - The Pit Aug. 4th, 2012 @ 03:48 PM Reply

At 8/4/12 03:21 AM, Enamour wrote: Too purple? Sexual? Apart from the Mau- character nothing is supposed to be sexual, affection/love/understanding yes but not sexual. Not sure if that's what you mean but it's probably something that needs fixing.

Depends on your objective, but Purple Prose is prose that's florid and overly descriptive. I could understand wanting to develop imagery, and playing off of that, like a written visual montage, but the problem is that you're in a written medium. You need to paint pictures with your words, not simply describe them. In this case it seems like you were transcribing a series of visual images, as opposed to creating them on "paper."

Let me try some more in-depth insight since my contribution so far has been sparse and confusing.

At 8/3/12 02:43 PM, Enamour wrote: I crumble inside like dying vines...

With this intro there's no set up. As a reader I'm not sure what to take from it. Your metaphor causes further confusion. Vines dying, at least to me, doesn't evoke any sense of inner turmoil. So in this sense you've got this image of vines falling down "on screen" but it doesn't add anything to the overall experience.

Nothing is ever digested in this world. Broken debris and detritus remain in one recognizable form or another.

This is much better, but the conclusion you're drawing is something I don't know anyone could relate to. In fact, I'm fairly certain the Lion King has ensured that. You see because all organic material joins the circle of life. So in this sense a lot of things are digested by the world. Unless, of course, you're talking about plastics, glass, polyurethane, etc....

I had tried to dispose of Trajan cleanly but as he lies here in this hole before me the compulsion to measure his death overwhelms me but my eyes cannot find the puncture amongst his blood stained robes. Why won't the water dilute the blood?

I'm assuming "to measure his death" you're referencing the wound, correct? The wound we later learn was his fault? I think this is misleading. I get the sense him having killed these people is supposed to be a "surprise" but you'd get more dramatic effect setting up his closeness to these people, then revealing it was him, then cascading the acts themselves. It generates more curiosity. Also, keep in mind the suspension of disbelief. Is the blood actually not diluting? Could this be some sort of set up for a paranormal apparition? Or is it a metaphor to the character's guilt not being washed away or soothed by the cool, cleansing rain?

The dead old man had never made sense when I was a child...

Describing him as "the dead old man" takes away a lot of the emotional connection between him and the character, and by extension the reader. Remember you want to build that up so the reader is affected by his eventual death. Also, you need to watch your psychological assumptions. I'm fairly certain children understand kindness. Perhaps the old man is trying to gentle him, and having grown up the way he has it's difficult for him. This type of emotional adventure would appeal greatly to the reader and foster sympathy.

... I had nodded stiffly through fat tears.

This comes off as melodramatic because there is not foundation for the MC's emotional response.

The tide of his life had ebbed as even his last words had become an act of altruism; "An age with a broken spirit is a broken age. Ageless men cannot be broken."

I think you have a certain meaning for the old man's words in your head, but it's not translated onto the page. I'm not sure how his last words were altruistic. Seems defiant.

And beautiful Danny, Danny the Angry, was the hardest to die but the easiest to kill. Unlike Trajan, Danny had never known peace for a single instant since his conception; paranoid, distrustful and supremely destructive; constantly looking over his shoulder.

...

The wheezing and broken shell had seemed less angry then despite the crimson streaks running like a malicious omen over his face and pooling in the dark hair beneath. Red war paint flowed from his nostrils as less and less blood had flowed from his severed shoulder as his heart grew weaker.

For as much detail as you put into describing Danny, he seems to languish under the weight of his own persona. He should at least pose a decent fight. Put a dent into the MC's massacre. And then a simple act of flipping him over seems to sate his riotous emotions.

The hole in Danny haunts me and looking at him there with his face half buried in the mud and the hole in his body I cannot help but wonder if I've become a monster in my pursuit to be rid of monsters.

The MC seems to suffer some sort of existential rift here, which is good, but again, you need a lot more emotionally momentum, a lot more underlying detail, to avoid becoming melodramatic.

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Response to Short Piece - The Pit Aug. 4th, 2012 @ 06:51 PM Reply

The noise dies down and the world fades into the background.

The horizon folds itself around the embers of a dying sun, transforming the heavy rain into punishing sheets of blood pissed out on the landscape by bitter clouds.

Sludge folds around my ankles like icy tendrils slithering into my shoes. The soil wants to consume me like a predator to sate its unquenchable thirst for life.

I remember where I am and how long it has been since I was here last. I crumble inside like dying vines as the earth calls for my life; one strand of me breaks loose and it tumbles to the decrepit mud, its neighbour goes with it and one by one they fall. Soon I will be bare, eaten by this place. All that would be left is for the sterile earth to ineffectually swallow the rotted vegetation.

This process seems familiar. An old concept foregrounds itself in my thoughts as I realize I am the Master in this place. I assert myself forcing the land to let loose the shackles around my ankles. I am close to the final landmark this world has to offer me and that becomes my destination.

Time disappears. The rain and wind push spitefully against me and my stroll becomes a burdensome trek through the dead land; moments do not come and pass but stretch out before me. I push forward, determined to face my past again. There is a lull in the beating weather, quiet descends, and then strike up again in a regular rhythm like mirthful giggling as the world realizes my destination and pushes me towards it spitefully.

My feet fall upon the mud and not in it. The wind becomes an impatient force at my back. Rain impacts around me. The distance becomes minuscule.

An open wound in the earth stretches towards me and becomes more defined as I approach. When I reach the pit I look out over the tiny ocean of corpses I had left here; some of the ashen faces were peaceful, some surprised or confused but most seemed angry; most could not accept my plan. This place is not malicious but its last meals were of rage, betrayal and hurt. This land hates me in their stead.

No musk of rot or decay creeps from the pit and the corpses all seem as intact as I had left them. A loose eyeball swirls in the vortex of the pitâEUTMs watery pupil. Nothing is ever digested here; broken debris and detritus remain in one recognizable form or another.

Trajan the oldest corpse of lay close. The Asian man lay next to him still clasping the old manâEUTMs hand; the first and the last. TrajanâEUTMs wispy mane remains vibrant and untouched and his robe floats unsullied on the rivers of mud draining into the pit.

I had tried to dispose of Trajan cleanly but as he lies here in this hole before me the compulsion to measure his death as I measure my sin against his blood stained robes overwhelms me but my eyes cannot find the puncture in his chest.

The old man hadnâEUTMt always made sense when I was a child. He would speak and point me towards kindnesses and I would listen as well as I could understand. But a child is fickle and sometimes I knew nothing outside of my wants. I donâEUTMt know whether I grew wiser with the years; maybe his voice had simply become more compelling.

I had found him one night by the Greek ruins, asleep amongst the grass and beneath the full moon. The stars were pinpoints of supernovae. He had awoken with a flutter of his tall grey eyelashes to find my dagger inching carefully into him. His eyes had almost defeated my resolve when they became a sorrowful mirror of my planned action. âEUoeAm I the first to die?âEU he had asked. I had nodded stiffly as fat tears formed in my eyes.

Through the discomfort of the blade creeping towards his heart he asked âEUoeWhy did you choose me for the first?âEU

I had forced the words through stiff lips âEUoeBecause you are kind and I can not be until this is done.âEU

âEUoeWho is next?âEU

âEUoeDanny.âEU

âEUoeI expected,âEU he had coughed wetly and spat lifeblood âEUoeto be the second.âEU I mistook his sigh for a death rattle and crumbled onto the old man like brittle porcelain. Grief became a raging sea threatening to drown me in its depths but the old man had one final thing to say to the young man with his face buried in his robes âEUoeAn age with a broken spirit breaks men. Never be of the age.âEU

TrajanâEUTMs calm death became the ringing clamour of everyone elseâEUTMs panic as they realized that each time I came to them I brought the End, piece by inexorable piece. This world had become an excited and fey thing then; they became distrustful of one another and aloof. The hunt had become a burdensome thing; they had the desire for life and I lacked the desire to deprive them. Some ran, some hid, some bargained and bribed in vain. I am the master here and in the end their struggling was not stronger than the staunchness of my will.

I leave TrajanâEUTMs corpse in the earth and water and dying light. I notice the red stump of a severed arm cradled to the chest of its victim a ways around the pit; itâEUTMs Danny. Beautiful Danny, Danny the alluring, Danny the Angry; was the hardest to die but the easiest to kill. Unlike Trajan, Danny had never known an instant of peace since his conception; paranoid, distrustful and supremely destructive; constantly looking over his shoulder. When I had taken my eyes off him he would quickly become sadistic.

He had hidden from me in the dungeons underneath his fort. I had known this and knew he would come if called. I called and we met on the battlements. He did not say a word but I saw see the blood in his eyes as he ascended the steps.

There had been no alternative but to be heavy handed. He swung his sword two handed; I deflected easily with my bracer and had then torn his right arm from his body. The sword wielding limb became the instrument of his death as he had continued crawling towards me in the bloodied armor with all consuming hatred and storms of rage fuelling him: âEUoeWhat will you be without me!?!âEU he demanded âEUoeAnother pussy just waiting for the next hard shaft to penetrate and rape you! Fuck them! Fuck you! They will take and take until there is nothing left of you to take!âEU he had become shrill then âEUoeI am the barrier! I am safety!âEU

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Response to Short Piece - The Pit Aug. 4th, 2012 @ 06:54 PM Reply

I wanted to be kind âEUoeIâEUTMm sorry but you are as a cage; keeping me from the good things.âEU but Danny would not let go; he was young and angry and kept coming; clawing noisily across the battlements with all of his considerable intent bent towards ending us both. I moved from him as he came and waited for his strength to ebb.

With his blood nearly spent I had knelt next to his bleeding form wanting to say a proper good bye. But he denied me even the shallowest of moments to express my love for him; for all of them.

The worst thing I could imagine was dying face down so I turned him on his back. The wheezing and broken shell had seemed less angry then despite the crimson flowing from his nostrils. The spray from his shoulder grew thinner as his heart flickered in those final moments.

âEUoeDanny?âEU I whispered sorrowfully.

His eyes focused then flitted around as if searching for a target but they fell on me without rage or resentment as if he had forgotten himself and he croaked weakly âEUoeYes?âEU

âEUoeIs there peace?âEU

His pupils had contracted to a point then and he attacked me with his remaining limbs. I had grabbed the nearest weapon, an axe made of his arm still clutching a sword. I held the bloody bicep two handed and swung at DannyâEUTMs chest over and over again until nothing but a mutilated hole remained. I had never known need and disgust together nor had I expected their weight to be so crushing before or since Danny. I had then taken his corpse to the opposite side of TrajanâEUTMs grave and nudged him in with my toes. Thankfully he had not fallen face-first; a dignity I had reserved for all of them no matter how undignified they had been in life.

He had died a grotesquery. The hole in Danny haunts me and looking at him there with his face half buried in the mud and the hole in his body I cannot help but wonder if IâEUTMve become a more complex monster in my pursuit to be rid of monsters.

After Danny there were multitudes to die. Maurice, or Maureen, or Maury, or whatever it had decided to be on the day was another.

We had chuckled when I referred to them as Ms. Mao for the first time and the name had stuck through all their sensuous incarnations. They were sexy and daring of nature and always encouraged me to enjoy the sensuous loss of identity when I found it in sex.

When I arrived at their apartment and the door opened I was greeted by Ms. MaoâEUTMs silhouette as I squinted into the radiance of a golden sun penetrating through the single glass wall. âEUoeCome in.âEU she said and left me in the door.

I had followed awkwardly behind the naked androgynous form down the one and a half steps down from the entrance hall into the recessed living room. A multitude of fine pillars staunched the ceilingâEUTMs collapse on the perimeter.

I had always enjoyed their sense of the theatrical but Ms. Mao knew this and invited me to the couches. And became ever more discomfited as I smelled their perfume; there were no shades of comforting masculine or alluring feminine scents, only musky fear, like sweat, hung in the air.

The fear had been infectious and not for the first time I had considered dying rather than this systematic cleansing of all I held dear.

When we were seated, body to body as was their wont, Ms. Mao lifted a slender finger towards a pink lily in full blossom before us and said âEUoeIs it not beautiful, the way the light refracts from the surface? The sun and the lily come together and forms shape and colour through light and life. DonâEUTMt you find it irresistible?âEU

âEUoeIt is and I do.âEU

âEUoeAm I not like the lily?âEU their face had focused and I could almost perceive the outlines of fine features taking shape; two petit mounds formed on their chest. Their arm slid around my hesitant waist; feminine and desperately sexual. I felt familiar needs, urges and lusts swelling towards high tide.

âEUoeThere is no escaping this.âEU I replied dourly, averting my eyes as I sensed Ms. Mao desperately working to sharpen and define their sexuality.

âEUoeLook at me.âEU I refused. âEUoeLook at me!âEU their desperation baited my eyes.

I did look and Ms. Mao had become locked into a distinctly feminine shape. Her porcelain skin absorbed most of the light and cast only soft hues. The eyes were slanted subtly; the lips full, breasts perfect on the petit frame, hips curvaceous but not bulging. I was entranced and could feel myself slipping towards acceptance.

âEUoeNo.âEU I had said after a long battle âEUoeYou corrupt yourself and my acceptance would corrupt us both. This is not what you are. Change back.âEU

She had left me on the couch then and paced between me and the lily âEUoeYou will not have me? I am not Gregoire nor Danny or any of the others. I am me, I am good and I am yours if you will simply have me.âEU

âEUoeHow could you not be mine? You were all mine. You are, all, mine. Danny could never have been peaceful. Gregoire could never have been happy. You could never be anything other than what you are and I could not love you more. Remember your nature, please Ms. Mao.âEU

âEUoeLily is my name.âEU she corrected in a whisper âEUoeAm I ugly now?âEU

âEUoeYou could never be ugly.âEU I held my hand out and beseeched her âEUoePlease come to me. I brought Belladonna. Do you remember when you grew it all over this place after we saw that painting by Robert Scott Irvine?âEU

âEUoeYes.âEU She had come to me and we had held each other after I had given her the flower to chew.

She spoke about all the joy and accomplishment she had experienced through me but I said very little as we waited. We held each other for a long time and watched the sun set behind the lily. Her breathing had grown shallower and her death had become another painful font of my sorrow.

When the end came I felt compelled to behead her and mutilate the genitals; a naïve but genuine effort on my part to leave her as I had known her.

After Ms. Mao gone the sun had turned red and faded.

The last had been the calm Asian man who had never given me his name. I had to search for him but I knew he wasnâEUTMt hiding. He had always wandered and made the othersâEUTM domains his home for periods of time before wandering again. With no one else left and the world quickly wilting around us we eventually met out on the road.

He stood calmly in his simple loincloth; his face betraying nothing more than a contemplative indifference. His hands were folded over his naked stomach; his left covering his right fist and thumbs forming a pyramid through which you could see his navel.

I approached him slowly and reverently; he placed a palm flat on my chest in greeting. I smiled wanly and he beckoned me to follow him.

As we walked towards the pit he said simply âEUoeI was almost surprised when you chose the old man over me. You could have chosen me and let the resulting chaos kill the demons.âEU

âEUoeIt would have defeated the purpose.âEU I replied knowing he did not need the answer as much as I needed the reassurance in my path.

Upon arrival at the pit he had silently sought out Trajan from among the ashen faced corpses and moved towards the old manâEUTMs body. I remained silent.

He knelt by Trajan and smiled for the first time in his existence. âEUoeI liked him the most.âEU he said. I nodded.

From the pit he beckoned for my weapon which I handed to him. He hiked up his loincloth and pulled the blade cleanly across his thigh. Blood ran and pooled at his feet.

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Response to Short Piece - The Pit Aug. 4th, 2012 @ 06:56 PM Reply

He was calm and sensed my hesitance âEUoeYou have questions.âEU

Conflicted and suddenly afraid to lose him I watched him bleed for a time before answering his statement with my question âEUoeWhat are you?âEU

âEUoeI am the realization of what was, is and has to be. I am all and nothing. I am presence and absence. I am the truth and the non-truth. I am the last echo of calmness that entropy brings; fundamentally no different from you or any of these others.âEU

âEUoeWhy did I choose you to be last?âEU

âEUoeThe answer is in this pit. You want to be present, truthful and complete. This difficult road,âEU he motioned towards the corpses âEUoeyou have walked has brought us all on the same path. If I were first you would have broken before you completed this.âEU

His strength had disappeared and he lay down holding TrajanâEUTMs cold hand and awaiting the end.

Like the old man, the little manâEUTMs death was hard to bear, harder perhaps than any of the others, I donâEUTMt know.

âEUoeIf you lose your way you will find us again.âEU

âEUoeYou said we were all on the same path.âEU

âEUoeAs long as you are, we are. If you lose your way then we will not be on the path with you and you will find us again in other places. Whether that is the truth or a truth is your responsibility. Everything is everything always. There can be no other way.âEU

His eyes had closed and he had looked peaceful. He still does.

I am alone now standing over this pit and the relentless rain does not fill it, the dirt does not fill it, the bodies do not fill it. There is this pit and I am alone by its edge. I feel the stir of anger, as I realize how completely alone I am. Why do I have to be alone?

The roar of cars floods my ears, sunlight burns my flesh like the filthy air burns my lungs and the street IâEUTMm standing in is filled with people whom all appear identical and pointless to me. My friend yells from across the street, beckoning me closer. The anger intensifies as I look around me and realize that I hate this place more now than ever.

DannyâEUTMs eyes flash open in my memory and I remember the small manâEUTMs words about losing my way.

Enamour
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Response to Short Piece - The Pit Aug. 4th, 2012 @ 07:12 PM Reply

Oh hey. Thanks for the feedback... however I saw your post 10 mins ago after I'd done some editing. I think the uhh edited piece does address many of your concerns. I think it's slightly more solid now.

Concerning plastics and shit; this is mostly not the real world, which is kind of the point. The MC's approach to telling the story is another clue where this actually played out and that will lead you to the meaning of the piece in its entirety.

As for the visual montage; not happy with it at all but this piece is becoming a balance between my "message" and proper technique. Will keep trying :S

I'm really concerned about the temporal aspect of the language in the piece. I'm not sure if the chronology or tenses are always correct; it reads easily for me but I wrote it...

Also damned formatting. Turned off the smart quote thing, pasted and copied to and from Wordpad. Isn't there an edit or even a remove option on these forums?

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Response to Short Piece - The Pit Aug. 4th, 2012 @ 10:20 PM Reply

Here you go. http://www.newgrounds.com/bbs/topic/1312475


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Enamour
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Response to Short Piece - The Pit Aug. 5th, 2012 @ 06:33 AM Reply

At 8/4/12 10:20 PM, EKublai wrote: Here you go. http://www.newgrounds.com/bbs/topic/1312475

Testing:
âEUoeIt would have defeated the purpose.âEU I replied knowing he did not need the answer as much as I needed the reassurance in my path.

Is there no way to edit a post? This thread is a mess now. C'mon, work damnit. *Click*

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Response to Short Piece - The Pit Aug. 5th, 2012 @ 06:41 AM Reply

And again:
. "Am I the first to die?" he had asked.