Probeerseltje

[Ymir]

Ik mag graag spontaan gaan zitten schrijven als ik een bepaald beeld in gedachten krijg, iets waarmee ik een verhaal kan laten onstaan. Meestal hou ik m'n schrijfseltjes voor mezelf, maar ik dacht, ik deel eens wat om te kijken wat men ervan vindt.
Ik schrijf altijd in het engels, aangezien ik daar voor mijn gevoel makkelijker en vloeiender beelden kan verwoorden.
Goed, genoeg geluld, tijd voor waar het om gaat!

[Ymir]

Here I stand, my hands wrapped around her neck.
How it ever came to this, I have no idea. All I know is this beautiful creature I once loved and adored now hangs limp and lifeless in my embrace.
All I want to do is scream and shout, to cry until I can’t cry anymore, to lie down and die…
But I can’t. I feel myself letting her slip.
Her soulless form drops to the floor, a crumpled heap of flesh. My being cries out in pain, but my voice resounds throughout the room, a mocking laugh filling my ears. I hear someone, something, speaking in my voice.
“How does it feel? How does it feel to know you are responsible for her death? Does it hurt? Does it fill you with despair, knowing she is gone and will never return?”
I try to reply, but my voice won’t heed my commands.
“Weakling! I am in control now… And I have plans for you yet.”
Then, darkness.

I wake up to find myself in a small, white room. The walls are padded. Above my head is a large fluorescent lamp, moulded into the ceiling. The light hurts my eyes.
A voice, seemingly out of nowhere: “Ah, you’re awake, excellent excellent! We were starting to get worried about you!”
I try to speak, but my voice fails me, resulting in nothing more than a rasping cough escaping my throat.
“Now now, do be careful! We wouldn’t want you hurting yourself, no we wouldn’t!
You see… we have plans for you yet.”

I wake up to find myself seeking cover behind a pillar inside the remains of a building I can’t recognize. Someone appears to be shouting at me, but I can’t make out his words.
His face contorts as a blade pierces him from behind. The force with which the blade was rammed through his guts sends a spray of blood showering my face. I find myself being strangely devoid of emotion as I see the life drain from his face.
His body slumps to the ground, and I see the… thing… behind the blade. Its insectoid face seems to look at me inquisitively, then turns malignant. It charges at me, chirping something that somehow feels familiar to me. Before it impales me on its blade, my body sidesteps the attack. My arms shoot out and grab the creature by its shoulders. I am aware of the muscles throughout my body tensing as I use the creature’s charge against it, sending it spiraling into a pile of debris. The creature impacts the debris with a telling crunch. A trickle of greenish fluid that can only be blood oozes out from the debris. I’m left wondering what just happened to me, when I suddenly black out again.

“Wake up, number 12.”
My eyes open, and the glare of the fluorescent lamp greets me again. I squint in a feeble attempt to get used to the brightness.
“How good of you to join us, number 12”
The voice sounds sarcastic, irritated. I feel as though this is not the same voice I heard before, but I’m not sure. Before I can gather my thoughts, the voice resounds through my padded chamber again: “So far you’re somewhat disappointing, number 12. I believe it is time for you to prove your worth.”
I open my mouth to speak, but before I can utter a sound darkness overcomes me yet again.

I awake at a table. 3 faces look at me, expectantly. I see plates with loaves of bread on them, glasses of orange juice. I look down and find myself holding a newspaper. For some reason I can’t make out the words. A woman’s voice reaches my ears: “Well?”
The sound of her voice seems to break my spell, and I ask: “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
A small smile crosses her face as she calls me a scatterbrain. I can’t help but grin sheepishly as I remember how she’s called me that ever since we first met, 15 years ago.
“I asked if you wanted another cup of coffee before you go out to work.”
“Coffee? Oh, yes, coffee, please.”
She pours me a cup of coffee. I suddenly get a feeling of deja-vu as the smell of the coffee reaches me. It feels as though my blood turns to ice where I sit as terror grasps me.
“Are you feeling alright dear?” She asks me.
“….run…” I whisper as I suddenly remember why I feel so scared.
She looks at me, fear and wonder trading places on that beautiful face of hers.
The 2 children sitting at the table ask her what’s wrong with daddy.
She doesn’t reply, her eyes locked to mine.
She sees what I see, what is about to happen.
The children pick up on the feeling of dread between the two of us, and start sobbing softly.
I hear her hiss for them to run, now, to go next door to uncle Jim and aunty Elly.
Between sobs the eldest says they don’t want to, they want to stay with us, but she yells at them to go, now!
Crying, he grabs his younger sister’s hand and runs out the door.
I slowly get up from my seat. She mirrors my action, moving slowly and deliberately.
She asks me what’s wrong, but my voice refuses to work.
I throw the table out of the way with both hands. She winces as it crashes violently into the porcelain closet containing the heirlooms given to her by her mother.
I feel myself slowly striding towards her. She just stands there, paralysed in fear. I want to scream at her to run, to flee while she still can, but I’m no longer in control.
My arms rise up. I see my hands surround her thin, swanlike neck. She lets out a muffled sob as my grip tightens. Inside my head, I’m crying along with her, as I find myself slowly squeezing the life out of her… yet again.

[niña]

Ik twijfel een beetje over je cijfergebruik, wanneer het wel en niet in letters moet. Maar in ieder geval Three ipv 3 in de laatste alinea, nooit met een cijfer een zin beginnen.
Verder is het foutloos als ik het zo vluchtig lees. Ik vind het feit dat het een cirkelvertelling is wel tof, vooral omdat je het mooi opbouwt. Maar nu hangt het deel over de vreemdeling die wordt neer gestoken door nog iets vreemders een beetje in de lucht. Je kan natuurlijk aannemen dat het een test is, maar waarom die andere gast? En lezers zijn lui, de meesten willen niks hoeven in te vullen

Zo, even mijn twee centjes

[Ymir]

Klopt, de cijfers moeten worden uitgeschreven en er zijn nog wel meer schoonheidsfoutjes.
Dit is dan ook verder niet proofread oid, geschreven aan een stuk zonder echt terug te lezen en zo gepost

Dat deel met het neersteken en de rare insectoïde wordt nog op verder geborduurd, als ik de smaak van dit verhaal weer te pakken krijg
Het is ook absoluut nog niet af, het is meer even om een sfeer neer te zetten en voor mezelf alvast wat beelden en ideeën neer te pennen die rond spookten.

Bedant voor het commentaar

[niña]

Schetsjes zijn sws vaak wel leuk om te lezen. Is het contemporary of wil je de scifi kant op?

No prob

[Ymir]

Neigt nu al enigszins naar sci-fi met de insectoïde, maar eerlijk gezegd weet ik het nog niet.
Waarschijnlijk wel hedendaags, met flitsen naar verleden, toekomst en andere werkelijkheden als dat zo uitpakt.

Om eerlijk te zijn weet ik van tevoren zelf ook nooit waar het op uitloopt, ik schrijf gewoon wat er in me opkomt
Wellicht post-apocalyptisch/alternate universe sfeertje, of het er een beetje middenin laten zodat de lezer zelf kan invullen ;p