Author Topic: Existers  (Read 1872 times)

Offline 2eyedCyclops

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Existers
« on: August 11, 2006, 05:13:19 PM »
Existers.

The man hung on a rope, his muscles shaking from the strain of his grip, and he was alone. His next move meant falling or making it up a mountain. Just like his every move, it was either a slow, careful step to the top, or one very quick step down the frozen abyss. The man moved forward. He had to.
Earlier, he had run away from a town that hated him; a town he hated back. They had not wanted him. Ironically, he had always liked their dislikes, and would smirk at their disapproving scowls. He was simply not how he was supposed to be—not how the rest of them had been all their lives. Hated because of one simple fact: He was head and shoulders above the rest of them, and always had been.
The town had not wanted him to climb the mountain. They had not wanted him to leave, and they had not wanted him to stay the same. He was meant to obey—to live his life in a tree-lined street with a tree-lined yard, where the green of his lawn was all the really mattered. Grow old and die there. He couldn’t do that.
That was one thing he couldn’t do. He refused to just exist. He would die—again and again—before he would exist—to just be there. That is what the town below had wanted him to do—don’t live, and don’t risk dying. That was what he was there to do.
That is how the man was—always had been—; when the world inhaled, he would exhale, and relished inhaling when they exhaled. When he was supposed to sit down, shut up, grow old and die, he would scream, as loud as he could. Bite me!
That’s how he was.
“Reach the top.” –Every time his hand moved to a rock higher than the last, he would hear those words. Once in a while, his feet would slip, and the voice would change—the message would be different. He was going to reach to top, or hit bottom. Either way, he was going to make some kind of headline.
Whoever hears about the man who slips and falls on the city street?—Or the man who achieves a perfect lawn, the best in his street—what is in that?
He had been climbing, a scratching and bruising, for hours—his body got used to the cold, and his hands learned to find the right spots in the rock, ice or snow. His eyes ignored the frozen wind, looking ahead, seeing a tip on top of the mountain. He wanted that headline.
The sun was setting, the cold was freezing over now, and the cliff got steeper, but his eyes had caught the top, and they would stay there. He would reach the top.
…That, or hit bottom.
He locked his hand on the next opening in the cliff’s surface. It was just another step forward.
The rock sunk. He heard a small crack underneath the surface—every so slight. His eyes turned, they looked at the hand holding the rock.
Crack! It was the sound of rock breaking all around him, and of a heart stopping. It was just one step forward; just one small rock, and the broke off easily. One misstep, and he would fall fast and hit hard. The rope snapped. His body jolted, his hands and feet broke loose.
As he plummeted, he looked up to see the summit he would never reach. He could feel the drop now, down in his gut; and he could feel it dropping fast. His body turned with the wind, and his vision redirected. Downward. He saw the valley below, his town below for just a moment.
He looked at the houses. He could see his tree-lined dream house—or a thousand of them; what he should have had.--The houses of mere existers, by the thousands, doomed and waiting for a calming green, and to die.
He escaped. They would find his body somewhere, smiling--the kind of smile put on to try and break the wind. They would find him somewhere, frozen.
His eyes closed.
They—teachers, pastors, parents, mechanics, the major, the builders of the next house in the bunch—they would all shake their heads in disapproval. Another life, wasted. The world would shake its head.
It was worth it. He had escaped. They would find him somewhere, soon enough, and he would make his headline.

Words count: 752.

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 What do you think guys. This is the first thing I post on here. Not the first I've written. It's not the final draft.

 Gio.

Offline Smiley

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Re: Existers
« Reply #1 on: August 11, 2006, 05:23:03 PM »
Gio, I think its great! Certainly makes the audience think.

You should send it out for publication, I'm sure it would do well.

Keep posting, you are a great writer

Smiley x  :)
Smiles make the world a happier place, share yours with a stranger it could make their day.

Hazel B

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Re: Existers
« Reply #2 on: December 30, 2008, 10:54:01 AM »
 ;D the kind of smile put on to try and break the wind
Got my attention, and a chuckle, brave start
Hazel B

Offline luv2beloved

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Re: Existers
« Reply #3 on: December 30, 2008, 04:58:49 PM »
The man hung on a rope, his muscles shaking from the strain of his grip, and he was alone. His next move meant either falling or making it up a mountain. Just like his every move, it was either a slow, and careful step to the top, or one very quick step down to the frozen abyss. The man moved forward. He had to.

Earlier, he had run away from a town that hated him; a town he hated back. They had not wanted him. Ironically, he had always liked their dislikes, and would smirk at their disapproving scowls. He was simply not how he was supposed to be—not how the rest of them had been all their lives. Hated because of one simple fact: He was head and shoulders above the rest of them, and always had been.
The town had not wanted him to climb the mountain. They had not wanted him to leave, and they had not wanted him to stay the same. He was meant to obey—to live his life in a tree-lined street with a tree-lined yard, where the green of his lawn was all the that really mattered. Grow old and die there. He couldn’t do that.

I think that you are off to a great start, this is my first review and I found a couple of things in the first 2 paragraphs. 
Sara
Write with Passion...
Only for yourself