Prologue: Distant Times, Part 2 — Clive Carson: Clive walked home in the cold on the night of his wife’s death. A dozen erratic thoughts and notions churned like a cyclone in his head, but one question dogged him especially.
Oh god, what do I tell Rachel?
He dreaded his impending arrival, contemplating his every step as the ticking of clock. The bustling city activity flowed around him, impersonal but not distant. He stopped at their street and his anxiety amplified to a sickening degree, and he felt like he would throw up again as his lungs seemed to stop inflating. It took him a while to bring his body under control. What was he going to tell her?
Rachel, your mother isn’t coming home.
They had talked about it. But it was just a fear in the back of their minds—something to express then move on from. But it happened. He wasn’t prepared for it, he’d realized horribly—but neither of them were prepared for such an awful thing, and now their daughter was going to be the recipient of the pain caused by it. Though, pain would have been felt no matter their level of preparedness.
They’d discussed the possibility with Rachel, but how much of a concept of death did she really have? Would she really understand? How would she reacted to knowing her baby brother being here meant her mother wasn’t?
Clive stared at his apartment complex ahead of him for a prolonged moment, then sought refuge in his small, red pickup truck parked by the curb not far away. Shutting the door behind him, he felt a mixture of remorse and shame as the night activity outside became muffled.
Would Rachel blame him? Jesus Christ, would she blame her brother? He didn’t know how he could alleviate that kind of resentment, if it took hold.
His fingers tightened around the steering wheel, his arms shook, he felt the sudden urge to scream, and, while nausea took hold, he began to cry.
On the third floor, in apartment 306, a little eight-year-old girl was waiting for her father to come home—waiting for him. She would have picked up bits and pieces from the babysitter, bless that poor woman, and would be desperately looking for an explanation. No matter how he explained it, no matter how soft put, it would hurt her. What could possibly minimize the pain?
Rachel, your mommy died giving life to your little brother, to little Alexander . . . Rachel, please love him for me—
The acknowledgement once again worsened his stability. Now he couldn’t breath. But if their life was crumbling, it was up to him to put the pieces together again—he knew this, deeply, and it stung. He had to hold it together for Rachel...
—for little Alexander, for Melissa, and for her sacrifice.
Prologue: Distant Times, Part 2 — Clive Carson: Clive walked home in the cold on the night of his wife’s death. A dozen erratic thoughts and… more notions churned like a cyclone in his head, but one question dogged him especially.
Oh god, what do I tell Rachel?
He dreaded his impending arrival, contemplating his every step as the ticking of clock. The bustling city activity flowed around him, impersonal but not distant. He stopped at their street and his anxiety amplified to a sickening degree, and he felt like he would throw up again as his lungs seemed to stop inflating. It took him a while to bring his body under control. What was he going to tell her?
Rachel, your mother isn’t coming home.
They had talked about it. But it was just a fear in the back of their minds—something to express then move on from. But it happened. He wasn’t prepared for it, he’d realized horribly—but neither of them were prepared for such an awful thing, and n… [view original content]
Oh god, the feels Poor Clive. Poor Rachel. This really crushes me, not only to know what happened, but to actually see it. I am sort of glad that we got spared Rachel's reaction to it, as I doubt it was pretty. And it really got me hyped even more than I already was to see the three of them together at last in the actual story. Though I wonder if we're going to see kid Rachel and kid Alex as well in future flashbacks, which should serve as a nice contrast to them in the present day. At least Clive hasn't really changed a lot, even if this part gave me a lot more feels than I usually get from him. This really seems to be the lowest point of his life. I am at least glad that Rachel is probably not going to resent her brother for it, but it is clear that Clive is not as strong as she is in this situation.
Anyways, great part, seriously great part! I love this prologue, I love the reboot in general and I am so excited for the future parts of it
Prologue: Distant Times, Part 2 — Clive Carson: Clive walked home in the cold on the night of his wife’s death. A dozen erratic thoughts and… more notions churned like a cyclone in his head, but one question dogged him especially.
Oh god, what do I tell Rachel?
He dreaded his impending arrival, contemplating his every step as the ticking of clock. The bustling city activity flowed around him, impersonal but not distant. He stopped at their street and his anxiety amplified to a sickening degree, and he felt like he would throw up again as his lungs seemed to stop inflating. It took him a while to bring his body under control. What was he going to tell her?
Rachel, your mother isn’t coming home.
They had talked about it. But it was just a fear in the back of their minds—something to express then move on from. But it happened. He wasn’t prepared for it, he’d realized horribly—but neither of them were prepared for such an awful thing, and n… [view original content]
Unfortunately, it's very possibly—a lot of the characters have depressing backstories. However, I'm going to try to insert some levity into the main story because I understand constant dreariness really is a headache. Admittedly, it's not my strong suit, so it might be a little difficult to balance, but I'm hopeful!
Prologue: Distant Times, Part 2 — Clive Carson: Clive walked home in the cold on the night of his wife’s death. A dozen erratic thoughts and… more notions churned like a cyclone in his head, but one question dogged him especially.
Oh god, what do I tell Rachel?
He dreaded his impending arrival, contemplating his every step as the ticking of clock. The bustling city activity flowed around him, impersonal but not distant. He stopped at their street and his anxiety amplified to a sickening degree, and he felt like he would throw up again as his lungs seemed to stop inflating. It took him a while to bring his body under control. What was he going to tell her?
Rachel, your mother isn’t coming home.
They had talked about it. But it was just a fear in the back of their minds—something to express then move on from. But it happened. He wasn’t prepared for it, he’d realized horribly—but neither of them were prepared for such an awful thing, and n… [view original content]
Prologue: Distant Times, Part 2 — Clive Carson: Clive walked home in the cold on the night of his wife’s death. A dozen erratic thoughts and… more notions churned like a cyclone in his head, but one question dogged him especially.
Oh god, what do I tell Rachel?
He dreaded his impending arrival, contemplating his every step as the ticking of clock. The bustling city activity flowed around him, impersonal but not distant. He stopped at their street and his anxiety amplified to a sickening degree, and he felt like he would throw up again as his lungs seemed to stop inflating. It took him a while to bring his body under control. What was he going to tell her?
Rachel, your mother isn’t coming home.
They had talked about it. But it was just a fear in the back of their minds—something to express then move on from. But it happened. He wasn’t prepared for it, he’d realized horribly—but neither of them were prepared for such an awful thing, and n… [view original content]
Yes, there will be choices, just not in the prologue!
If you plan to join, there's a few things I should clarify: First, this is a reboot that begun recently, so disregard everything posted before "Prologue: Distant Times, Part 1 — Tyler Gavins". Second, character submission is always open, so you're welcome to join!
This is all making me so emotional. First Tyler, now Clive and Rachel. This feels even more emotional than Tylers prologue because I liked Clive and Rachel in the first story and already feel with them. If you write something for Thomas backstory too then it will also be sad for me. I cannot wait for more!
Prologue: Distant Times, Part 2 — Clive Carson: Clive walked home in the cold on the night of his wife’s death. A dozen erratic thoughts and… more notions churned like a cyclone in his head, but one question dogged him especially.
Oh god, what do I tell Rachel?
He dreaded his impending arrival, contemplating his every step as the ticking of clock. The bustling city activity flowed around him, impersonal but not distant. He stopped at their street and his anxiety amplified to a sickening degree, and he felt like he would throw up again as his lungs seemed to stop inflating. It took him a while to bring his body under control. What was he going to tell her?
Rachel, your mother isn’t coming home.
They had talked about it. But it was just a fear in the back of their minds—something to express then move on from. But it happened. He wasn’t prepared for it, he’d realized horribly—but neither of them were prepared for such an awful thing, and n… [view original content]
This part is sort of tangential, but I had a large soda during dinner. In hindsight, this wasn't the best decision for my sleep schedule, but in waiting around and trying to get to sleep, I got some new ideas and many others came to fruition. Firstly, though this might be coming a bit late, I figured how to introduce Thomas in the prologue. Previously, it was giving me some problems—given his profession, I was trying and failing to fit it into his section of the prologue. But, in partial thanks to a sugar high and recently reading Pet Semetary (which was really good, by the way—and I'm comfortable revealing the inspiration comes from its obsession with funerals, not reanimation), I figured out what to do. So that's on the horizon. For readers of my other story, Monument will likely continue sooner than Silicon County (and there's probably an announcement forthcoming there as well).
Thankfully, before this, I hadn't failed to further Silicon County's development. In addition to a near-finished introductory piece for chapter 1, what can be considered the second part of that chapter is in a finished state. There's always room for revision, of course, so I'll be using the extra time to improve it. I'm feeling incredibly good about all of this, though this might in part be due to being a bit hyper at the moment. Anyway, I'll be making some headway on the third part of chapter 1 between working on Monument and the prologue. I actually got almost one and a half pages worth of notes written down (most, if not all, however, concern things taking place near the beginning of chapter 1, though several important notes carry over to later points.) And I just want to say, since it kind of irks me that I fail a lot of the time to make consequential choices, that the choice present in the second part (that, as I mentioned, is essentially finished) has its paths sufficiently mapped out for once!
Anyway, I don't wanna mislead you, so I feel the need say that I haven't nearly got everything figured out. I might be coming off as over enthusiastic because of my unhealthy choice in beverages, but I have made a lot of great progress tonight, and while most of it is short term, a good portion of it ultimately concerns things happening later in the story. I'm really excited and actually kind of proud of some of the things and moments I've got planned. Alas, I'm gonna try to not become a zombie in the morning. Goodnight, my friends!
PS: There's an update inbound for the main post once I get a map I threw together scanned. Forewarning, it's just meant to put locations and stuff into perspective—it's not really meant to provide detail on the actual layouts of the towns.
PPS, I guess: In addition to that, the towns and the first details about the towns, as well as a few more chapters titles, are going to be posted during that update. Goodnight for real this time.
Before I attempt to hit the hay again,
This part is sort of tangential, but I had a large soda during dinner. In hindsight, this wasn't t… morehe best decision for my sleep schedule, but in waiting around and trying to get to sleep, I got some new ideas and many others came to fruition. Firstly, though this might be coming a bit late, I figured how to introduce Thomas in the prologue. Previously, it was giving me some problems—given his profession, I was trying and failing to fit it into his section of the prologue. But, in partial thanks to a sugar high and recently reading Pet Semetary (which was really good, by the way—and I'm comfortable revealing the inspiration comes from its obsession with funerals, not reanimation), I figured out what to do. So that's on the horizon. For readers of my other story, Monument will likely continue sooner than Silicon County (and there's probably an announcement forthcoming there as well).
Thankfully, befo… [view original content]
Before I attempt to hit the hay again,
This part is sort of tangential, but I had a large soda during dinner. In hindsight, this wasn't t… morehe best decision for my sleep schedule, but in waiting around and trying to get to sleep, I got some new ideas and many others came to fruition. Firstly, though this might be coming a bit late, I figured how to introduce Thomas in the prologue. Previously, it was giving me some problems—given his profession, I was trying and failing to fit it into his section of the prologue. But, in partial thanks to a sugar high and recently reading Pet Semetary (which was really good, by the way—and I'm comfortable revealing the inspiration comes from its obsession with funerals, not reanimation), I figured out what to do. So that's on the horizon. For readers of my other story, Monument will likely continue sooner than Silicon County (and there's probably an announcement forthcoming there as well).
Thankfully, befo… [view original content]
That does sound like a couple of really great stuff! If it makes you excited, it will probably make me excited as well. It definitely makes me even more hyped for the things to come, which means the hype levels are through the roof right now. I can't wait for the next part
Before I attempt to hit the hay again,
This part is sort of tangential, but I had a large soda during dinner. In hindsight, this wasn't t… morehe best decision for my sleep schedule, but in waiting around and trying to get to sleep, I got some new ideas and many others came to fruition. Firstly, though this might be coming a bit late, I figured how to introduce Thomas in the prologue. Previously, it was giving me some problems—given his profession, I was trying and failing to fit it into his section of the prologue. But, in partial thanks to a sugar high and recently reading Pet Semetary (which was really good, by the way—and I'm comfortable revealing the inspiration comes from its obsession with funerals, not reanimation), I figured out what to do. So that's on the horizon. For readers of my other story, Monument will likely continue sooner than Silicon County (and there's probably an announcement forthcoming there as well).
Thankfully, befo… [view original content]
Before I attempt to hit the hay again,
This part is sort of tangential, but I had a large soda during dinner. In hindsight, this wasn't t… morehe best decision for my sleep schedule, but in waiting around and trying to get to sleep, I got some new ideas and many others came to fruition. Firstly, though this might be coming a bit late, I figured how to introduce Thomas in the prologue. Previously, it was giving me some problems—given his profession, I was trying and failing to fit it into his section of the prologue. But, in partial thanks to a sugar high and recently reading Pet Semetary (which was really good, by the way—and I'm comfortable revealing the inspiration comes from its obsession with funerals, not reanimation), I figured out what to do. So that's on the horizon. For readers of my other story, Monument will likely continue sooner than Silicon County (and there's probably an announcement forthcoming there as well).
Thankfully, befo… [view original content]
It's perfectly alright that you haven't read the original story—in fact, I would urge against it. I am curious, however, if you plan to submit a character? I just want to make sure you're aware that submissions are welcomed, but it's entirely at your discretion. I'll understand your decision either way.
If I can come up with an interesting character, then yes. I'd love to.
Also, I was wondering, do we just submit a character, and then you come up with their back story or do we submit a character with their backstory? Sorry if it's a dumb question, I just wanted to make sure.
I'm glad you're enjoying the story!
It's perfectly alright that you haven't read the original story—in fact, I would urge against it. I a… morem curious, however, if you plan to submit a character? I just want to make sure you're aware that submissions are welcomed, but it's entirely at your discretion. I'll understand your decision either way.
If I can come up with an interesting character, then yes. I'd love to.
Also, I was wondering, do we just submit a character, and then you… more come up with their back story or do we submit a character with their backstory? Sorry if it's a dumb question, I just wanted to make sure.
As Agent said, it's not hard at all. For the backstory, you can be as brief or as detailed as you want—if you're brief, I can very easily flesh it out in the story. Once you've got an age in mind, just write about how they got to that point in their life. Let me know if you have any other questions.
If I can come up with an interesting character, then yes. I'd love to.
Also, I was wondering, do we just submit a character, and then you… more come up with their back story or do we submit a character with their backstory? Sorry if it's a dumb question, I just wanted to make sure.
As Agent said, it's not hard at all. For the backstory, you can be as brief or as detailed as you want—if you're brief, I can very easily fl… moreesh it out in the story. Once you've got an age in mind, just write about how they got to that point in their life. Let me know if you have any other questions.
Prologue: Distant Times, Part 3 — Thomas Callahan: “I don’t think anyone really knew my father, knew what was going through his head. Certainly not me, not my mother, nor anyone else knew that he was suffering inside. He’d lost his mind, and proceeded to do a terrible thing. I hate him for it. I hate Mom for not noticing. But somehow I hate himself the most.”
His father’s funeral had a small turnout, but it was much larger than Thomas had expected. There were a little more than twenty people there—there to confront the reality of the situation, there to make peace with his father and themselves, perhaps there out of sense of obligation.
“I was halfway around the world when Dad did what he did,” he continued. “I wonder . . . I wonder what I could have been done to prevent it. I can imagine a thousand different ways I could have attempted to stop it, but I’m always left with the grim reality that it wasn’t stopped, that Dad—” he snapped his fingers without thinking “—snapped, killed Mom, then killed himself, and that nothing will ever change that.”
Thomas remembered spending his summer days at the lakehouse outside of Dayton. Those were once among his most precious memories. Now, they were forbidden in a way, meant to be quarantined, memories that were forever perverted and ruined—thanks to his father and Thomas’s own failures as a son—by the murder-suicide that had taken place there just a week ago . . . while he was in Iraq as a military chaplain, while the cornerstone of his childhood, of his family, suffered and brought that suffering down on others. What good had he done anyway? None, he told himself suddenly and without thought. Absolutely nothing.
He found himself doing the thing he’d swore off: remembering. He recalled waking to those comfortable, warm summer mornings, running down those creaking stairs in worn-out shoes, playing along the banks like it was his backyard—and it was, in a strange way, his-- no, it was theirs. But now it would never be theirs again. His father had forsaken it. He had forsaken it.
“I don’t know how to describe my feelings about my father exactly,” Thomas went on, resting his hands on the podium for stability as he became unsteady. “I loved him. And I’m positive he loved us deeply. I want to hate him, and in some moments, I manage to absolutely despise him, but there’s still that voice that tells me ‘You loved your father once' and I recoil, hesitate in my convictions. It's just... a residual love, I suppose.”
What did the future hold? Some more funeral proceedings, of course. But what would come after? What, he wondered, was left for him to do? To leave? No, that felt running. He’d stay a bit longer, settle more matters, then it would be appropriate to close this door once and for all. After that, he never wanted to come back. Once the door was fully closed, he could open a new one, and travel through that.
Once this door was closed, he could continue living his life somewhere else. Somewhere far away.
I'm really sorry about the delay between this and the previous part. On the plus side, chapter 1 is going to begin in the next few days, and from there, it'll be fairly regular for a bit. For some perspective, my chapters usually run at about 12-16 pages in google docs, and I've already written just over 9 pages. There's a lot more to come! I do want to clarify that writing ahead doesn't mean there are only a few choices, or that they're inconsequential. I've actually adopted an interesting structure for the first chapter (that unfortunately won't travel much beyond it) that's allowed me to write ahead. This has also given the first choice immediate repercussions in addition to the later ones. Sadly, I've almost run out of things that can be written ahead of time, so I gotta get the parts out there! There's a lot of editing to do, but for the introductory part, I'm shooting for Monday, and for the second part, I'm aiming for Wednesday! Wish me luck! :^D
Also, I mentioned to Liquid that I'd dispell some possibilities once the prologue ended, so here it goes: nothing supernatural happened in the prologue. That's it. Anyway, if you have any questions, I'll answer them to the best of my ability.
Prologue: Distant Times, Part 3 — Thomas Callahan: “I don’t think anyone really knew my father, knew what was going through his head. Certai… morenly not me, not my mother, nor anyone else knew that he was suffering inside. He’d lost his mind, and proceeded to do a terrible thing. I hate him for it. I hate Mom for not noticing. But somehow I hate himself the most.”
His father’s funeral had a small turnout, but it was much larger than Thomas had expected. There were a little more than twenty people there—there to confront the reality of the situation, there to make peace with his father and themselves, perhaps there out of sense of obligation.
“I was halfway around the world when Dad did what he did,” he continued. “I wonder . . . I wonder what I could have been done to prevent it. I can imagine a thousand different ways I could have attempted to stop it, but I’m always left with the grim reality that it wasn’t stopped, that Dad—” he snapped h… [view original content]
Post-Prologue Update:
I'm really sorry about the delay between this and the previous part. On the plus side, chapter 1 is going to begin … morein the next few days, and from there, it'll be fairly regular for a bit. For some perspective, my chapters usually run at about 12-16 pages in google docs, and I've already written just over 9 pages. There's a lot more to come! I do want to clarify that writing ahead doesn't mean there are only a few choices, or that they're inconsequential. I've actually adopted an interesting structure for the first chapter (that unfortunately won't travel much beyond it) that's allowed me to write ahead. This has also given the first choice immediate repercussions in addition to the later ones. Sadly, I've almost run out of things that can be written ahead of time, so I gotta get the parts out there! There's a lot of editing to do, but for the introductory part, I'm shooting for Monday, and for the second part, I'm aim… [view original content]
Post-Prologue Update:
I'm really sorry about the delay between this and the previous part. On the plus side, chapter 1 is going to begin … morein the next few days, and from there, it'll be fairly regular for a bit. For some perspective, my chapters usually run at about 12-16 pages in google docs, and I've already written just over 9 pages. There's a lot more to come! I do want to clarify that writing ahead doesn't mean there are only a few choices, or that they're inconsequential. I've actually adopted an interesting structure for the first chapter (that unfortunately won't travel much beyond it) that's allowed me to write ahead. This has also given the first choice immediate repercussions in addition to the later ones. Sadly, I've almost run out of things that can be written ahead of time, so I gotta get the parts out there! There's a lot of editing to do, but for the introductory part, I'm shooting for Monday, and for the second part, I'm aim… [view original content]
It was close to being set during another dark time in Thomas's past, but that never came to fruition (another time, perhaps). It's unlikely to have been set during the murder-suicide because Thomas was overseas at that point.
Yes, news like that travels quickly in small towns. About a quarter of Silicon County's populace heard about it, in varying capacities, before Thomas even knew.
That's great to hear that! I'm glad you enjoyed, and I agree it was dark, but rest assured, I think like I've succeeded in adding a little levity to what I've written ahead of time!
I suppose I should be relieved that you didn't set this part during the murder suicide.
So is it common knowledge what Thomas' father did… more?
Another great but dark part! Can't wait for more. And now the prologues over, I really enjoyed how you did the prologue
Post-Prologue Update:
I'm really sorry about the delay between this and the previous part. On the plus side, chapter 1 is going to begin … morein the next few days, and from there, it'll be fairly regular for a bit. For some perspective, my chapters usually run at about 12-16 pages in google docs, and I've already written just over 9 pages. There's a lot more to come! I do want to clarify that writing ahead doesn't mean there are only a few choices, or that they're inconsequential. I've actually adopted an interesting structure for the first chapter (that unfortunately won't travel much beyond it) that's allowed me to write ahead. This has also given the first choice immediate repercussions in addition to the later ones. Sadly, I've almost run out of things that can be written ahead of time, so I gotta get the parts out there! There's a lot of editing to do, but for the introductory part, I'm shooting for Monday, and for the second part, I'm aim… [view original content]
Prologue: Distant Times, Part 3 — Thomas Callahan: “I don’t think anyone really knew my father, knew what was going through his head. Certai… morenly not me, not my mother, nor anyone else knew that he was suffering inside. He’d lost his mind, and proceeded to do a terrible thing. I hate him for it. I hate Mom for not noticing. But somehow I hate himself the most.”
His father’s funeral had a small turnout, but it was much larger than Thomas had expected. There were a little more than twenty people there—there to confront the reality of the situation, there to make peace with his father and themselves, perhaps there out of sense of obligation.
“I was halfway around the world when Dad did what he did,” he continued. “I wonder . . . I wonder what I could have been done to prevent it. I can imagine a thousand different ways I could have attempted to stop it, but I’m always left with the grim reality that it wasn’t stopped, that Dad—” he snapped h… [view original content]
Agent is absolutely right, I am rather relieved that this prologue was set after Thomas already won a bit more distance to the events that happened. At least that's how I interpret his behaviour here. Anyways, this is another tragic part. Gosh, I am shocked how many characters have super tragic backstories here. Almost makes me wish I would have given the Carsons a more happy one, though it arguably is one thing I enjoy about them and about Tyler and Thomas as well. And I certainly enjoyed this part a lot. I am not really sure, was Thomas' backstory hinted at in the original story? Maybe I have just forgotten something, but I have never thought that he has been through so much bad stuff. And well, I can't wait for more
Prologue: Distant Times, Part 3 — Thomas Callahan: “I don’t think anyone really knew my father, knew what was going through his head. Certai… morenly not me, not my mother, nor anyone else knew that he was suffering inside. He’d lost his mind, and proceeded to do a terrible thing. I hate him for it. I hate Mom for not noticing. But somehow I hate himself the most.”
His father’s funeral had a small turnout, but it was much larger than Thomas had expected. There were a little more than twenty people there—there to confront the reality of the situation, there to make peace with his father and themselves, perhaps there out of sense of obligation.
“I was halfway around the world when Dad did what he did,” he continued. “I wonder . . . I wonder what I could have been done to prevent it. I can imagine a thousand different ways I could have attempted to stop it, but I’m always left with the grim reality that it wasn’t stopped, that Dad—” he snapped h… [view original content]
This sounds so exciting! It's great to hear that a sizeable portion of the chapter is already written. I can't wait to see the direction you're going to take this story in, as I have currently not even the hint of an idea. And I am excited for this interesting structure you have mentioned, I am really curious about it.
Also, I mentioned to Liquid that I'd dispell some possibilities once the prologue ended, so here it goes: nothing supernatural happened in the prologue. That's it. Anyway, if you have any questions, I'll answer them to the best of my ability.
I see, yes, I see. Well, I already expected it when you told me that Tyler's backstory was precisely taken from his submission, but still, it has been an interesting thought XD Considering that the original story had supernatural elements, I am curious to see if some of them will have still survived the transition to the reboot.
Post-Prologue Update:
I'm really sorry about the delay between this and the previous part. On the plus side, chapter 1 is going to begin … morein the next few days, and from there, it'll be fairly regular for a bit. For some perspective, my chapters usually run at about 12-16 pages in google docs, and I've already written just over 9 pages. There's a lot more to come! I do want to clarify that writing ahead doesn't mean there are only a few choices, or that they're inconsequential. I've actually adopted an interesting structure for the first chapter (that unfortunately won't travel much beyond it) that's allowed me to write ahead. This has also given the first choice immediate repercussions in addition to the later ones. Sadly, I've almost run out of things that can be written ahead of time, so I gotta get the parts out there! There's a lot of editing to do, but for the introductory part, I'm shooting for Monday, and for the second part, I'm aim… [view original content]
The Interloper, 01-01 — Postlude to Fire, 01:The lake’s water encroached on the black roots of skeletal trees, its stagnating surface perfectly reflecting the gray, ash-filled sky, suggesting a lake of molten silver.
The knight stood at the water’s edge within the embrace of the charred forest, a relic in the desolate place. Its armor was in a state of ruin—chips, dents, and deep gashes cut out by gigantic claws, a history of violence embossed on its unsightly steel. The knight stared, perhaps since time immemorial, toward—
The pyramid sitting atop the lake’s mirror surface. It was a large, shed-sized structure. The vestiges of vines clung lifelessly to its battered brick as if it had perished in its slow attempt to climb the tomb.
The knight shifted momentarily, giving the pyramid an inquisitive if blank look before uprooting a heavy boot and beginning its approach. Joints creaked and groaned in defiance, chainmail rustled against itself, and metal plates scraped against one another; all the while, the knight walked upon the mirror, a distorted reflection underfoot that almost seemed to vibrate as the large ripples resonated from its footfalls.
As the knight drew closer, the ripples rebounded off the structure, rolling back into others and canceling each other out and parting a thick layer of ash that had amassed by the pyramid’s base. The waters began to settle once the knight stopped two meters from the bottom layer of bricks. The knight drew its sword—which was in equally poor condition to its own armor—and poised to strike, then—
The water began to boil angrily. A thump resonated from the beneath the water, echoing to the surface and further disturbing the hot froth that was forming. It spread as a ripple, hitting the shore on all sides repeatedly as the surface began to grow more violent. The thumping changed its pitch and, for the lack of a better word, vocalized.
“. . . Turbator . . .” it intoned, its voice a malevolent whisper in the brewing chaos. “. . . Metentis . . . Immemor . . . Libertatis . . .”
As the knight swung its blade, the lake’s temperament suddenly shifted from ominous malcontent to full torrent, erupting and swirling all around the knight, one part storm at sea and another part blizzard of ash. A horrible screech issued from it:
“INTERLOPER!”
Cutting through geysers of water, the knight’s blade struck the pyramid, sending brick and mortar flying. Suddenly, hundreds upon hundreds of colorful orbs burst from the pyramid’s interior, rising into a section of the depressing sky, filling it with color, each a minute window into a deep blueness.
Simultaneously, a monstrous creature broke the water’s surface, rising and climbing into the sky while bellowing in rage until it stood fully, a towering thing. As the monster scooped up the escaped orbs, the knight acted. It snatched eight of the balls—each a tiny peephole into a world full of bare but living trees and a ground covered with a variety of orange, yellow, red and brown leaves—then tossed them into a dilapidated pack on its belt.
The knight began to run. Upon restoring order to its hoard, the towering thing turned and screamed a piercing cry at the fast-moving shadow in the dead forest, then began its pursuit of the interloper.
Agent is absolutely right, I am rather relieved that this prologue was set after Thomas already won a bit more distance to the events that happened. At least that's how I interpret his behaviour here.
Yeah, I know the rule of thumb is "Show, don't tell" and I pretty much did the opposite, but I feel having Thomas become self-analytical during his father's funeral was the right choice. The goal of the prologue was to show them at some of their lowest emotional points so it can contrast with the main story.
Anyways, this is another tragic part. Gosh, I am shocked how many characters have super tragic backstories here. Almost makes me wish I would have given the Carsons a more happy one, though it arguably is one thing I enjoy about them and about Tyler and Thomas as well. And I certainly enjoyed this part a lot.
I understand what you mean. Their traumas, while horrible, shape them as characters. They wouldn't quite be the same without their tragic backstories. A lot of bad things have happened to all of the protagonists.
I am not really sure, was Thomas' backstory hinted at in the original story? Maybe I have just forgotten something, but I have never thought that he has been through so much bad stuff. And well, I can't wait for more
I can't be too sure, but I think it was once mentioned incredibly briefly in the original story and never came up again.
Agent is absolutely right, I am rather relieved that this prologue was set after Thomas already won a bit more distance to the events that h… moreappened. At least that's how I interpret his behaviour here. Anyways, this is another tragic part. Gosh, I am shocked how many characters have super tragic backstories here. Almost makes me wish I would have given the Carsons a more happy one, though it arguably is one thing I enjoy about them and about Tyler and Thomas as well. And I certainly enjoyed this part a lot. I am not really sure, was Thomas' backstory hinted at in the original story? Maybe I have just forgotten something, but I have never thought that he has been through so much bad stuff. And well, I can't wait for more
The Interloper, 01-01 — Postlude to Fire, 01: The lake’s water encroached on the black roots of skeletal trees, its stagnating surface perfe… morectly reflecting the gray, ash-filled sky, suggesting a lake of molten silver.
The knight stood at the water’s edge within the embrace of the charred forest, a relic in the desolate place. Its armor was in a state of ruin—chips, dents, and deep gashes cut out by gigantic claws, a history of violence embossed on its unsightly steel. The knight stared, perhaps since time immemorial, toward—
The pyramid sitting atop the lake’s mirror surface. It was a large, shed-sized structure. The vestiges of vines clung lifelessly to its battered brick as if it had perished in its slow attempt to climb the tomb.
The knight shifted momentarily, giving the pyramid an inquisitive if blank look before uprooting a heavy boot and beginning its approach. Joints creaked and groaned in defiance, chainmail rustled against … [view original content]
The Interloper, 01-01 — Postlude to Fire, 01: The lake’s water encroached on the black roots of skeletal trees, its stagnating surface perfe… morectly reflecting the gray, ash-filled sky, suggesting a lake of molten silver.
The knight stood at the water’s edge within the embrace of the charred forest, a relic in the desolate place. Its armor was in a state of ruin—chips, dents, and deep gashes cut out by gigantic claws, a history of violence embossed on its unsightly steel. The knight stared, perhaps since time immemorial, toward—
The pyramid sitting atop the lake’s mirror surface. It was a large, shed-sized structure. The vestiges of vines clung lifelessly to its battered brick as if it had perished in its slow attempt to climb the tomb.
The knight shifted momentarily, giving the pyramid an inquisitive if blank look before uprooting a heavy boot and beginning its approach. Joints creaked and groaned in defiance, chainmail rustled against … [view original content]
The Interloper, 01-01 — Postlude to Fire, 01: The lake’s water encroached on the black roots of skeletal trees, its stagnating surface perfe… morectly reflecting the gray, ash-filled sky, suggesting a lake of molten silver.
The knight stood at the water’s edge within the embrace of the charred forest, a relic in the desolate place. Its armor was in a state of ruin—chips, dents, and deep gashes cut out by gigantic claws, a history of violence embossed on its unsightly steel. The knight stared, perhaps since time immemorial, toward—
The pyramid sitting atop the lake’s mirror surface. It was a large, shed-sized structure. The vestiges of vines clung lifelessly to its battered brick as if it had perished in its slow attempt to climb the tomb.
The knight shifted momentarily, giving the pyramid an inquisitive if blank look before uprooting a heavy boot and beginning its approach. Joints creaked and groaned in defiance, chainmail rustled against … [view original content]
The Interloper, 01-01 — Postlude to Fire, 01: The lake’s water encroached on the black roots of skeletal trees, its stagnating surface perfe… morectly reflecting the gray, ash-filled sky, suggesting a lake of molten silver.
The knight stood at the water’s edge within the embrace of the charred forest, a relic in the desolate place. Its armor was in a state of ruin—chips, dents, and deep gashes cut out by gigantic claws, a history of violence embossed on its unsightly steel. The knight stared, perhaps since time immemorial, toward—
The pyramid sitting atop the lake’s mirror surface. It was a large, shed-sized structure. The vestiges of vines clung lifelessly to its battered brick as if it had perished in its slow attempt to climb the tomb.
The knight shifted momentarily, giving the pyramid an inquisitive if blank look before uprooting a heavy boot and beginning its approach. Joints creaked and groaned in defiance, chainmail rustled against … [view original content]
This story is going to be a borderline anthology story, with each point of view exploring a variety of themes and genres, while sticking to a single setting. To avoid showing my hand of cards, I can't name them. However, in essence, it's going to be very experimental.
The main story is set in a modern day, Midwestern American town—if you submit a character, it should be one that would occupy a reflection of our world.
Silentium is just a facet of the main plot—sort of an offshoot, if you will—and it's basically a very abstract, post-apocalyptic fantasy setting that won't be using any submitted characters.
The Interloper, 01-01 — Postlude to Fire, 01: The lake’s water encroached on the black roots of skeletal trees, its stagnating surface perfe… morectly reflecting the gray, ash-filled sky, suggesting a lake of molten silver.
The knight stood at the water’s edge within the embrace of the charred forest, a relic in the desolate place. Its armor was in a state of ruin—chips, dents, and deep gashes cut out by gigantic claws, a history of violence embossed on its unsightly steel. The knight stared, perhaps since time immemorial, toward—
The pyramid sitting atop the lake’s mirror surface. It was a large, shed-sized structure. The vestiges of vines clung lifelessly to its battered brick as if it had perished in its slow attempt to climb the tomb.
The knight shifted momentarily, giving the pyramid an inquisitive if blank look before uprooting a heavy boot and beginning its approach. Joints creaked and groaned in defiance, chainmail rustled against … [view original content]
Whoa, I... I certainly am confused. Such an outright fantasy scenario was not what I expected here. I got no idea what was going on there and I'm loving that I do have an early theory that this could be linked to one of Clive's books, but I somehow doubt it. No, it seems there's something much stranger going on there. I can't really speculate much for now, but I am sure this is going to give me a lot to speculate about once the proper story will begin. Wednesday is so close, but it can't come soon enough!
The Interloper, 01-01 — Postlude to Fire, 01: The lake’s water encroached on the black roots of skeletal trees, its stagnating surface perfe… morectly reflecting the gray, ash-filled sky, suggesting a lake of molten silver.
The knight stood at the water’s edge within the embrace of the charred forest, a relic in the desolate place. Its armor was in a state of ruin—chips, dents, and deep gashes cut out by gigantic claws, a history of violence embossed on its unsightly steel. The knight stared, perhaps since time immemorial, toward—
The pyramid sitting atop the lake’s mirror surface. It was a large, shed-sized structure. The vestiges of vines clung lifelessly to its battered brick as if it had perished in its slow attempt to climb the tomb.
The knight shifted momentarily, giving the pyramid an inquisitive if blank look before uprooting a heavy boot and beginning its approach. Joints creaked and groaned in defiance, chainmail rustled against … [view original content]
Clive Carson, 01-02: Clive was asleep, dreaming a recurring dream that inflicted a sensation that he strangely associated with a penetrative mercury that would coat or seep into his surroundings, over and inside himself. This was also the only way he could describe it—being enveloped by, or perhaps becoming, mercury.
Within his dream, in a world colored entirely by that churning, liquid metal, Clive stood near the edge of an unfathomable chasm that divided the land’s two halves. There were figures—with faces all-too-familiar, yet undefined and unrecognizable—lined on either side of the divide. Later, Clive would try to recall their total present in this iteration of the dream, but it would always fluctuate somewhere between eight and twelve in each attempt at remembrance.
For now, however, he dreamt. The logic of the dream had imposed itself once again—he had to jump the chasm. The odds of succeeding or plummeting were an even fifty-fifty (a fact which the dream insisted he knew) and he took them without question. As he leaped off the edge of the massive split, the other facet of the feeling became apparent—a sort of disregard, but it wasn’t necessarily suicidal. With it, his submersion in that strange sensation was at its peak, or so he believed.
The coin was still in the air as to whether he would cover the gap, but it didn’t matter, because the unexpected happened—one of the faces across the divide became somewhat distinct amidst the churning metal. She was a woman cast in chrome, young and beautiful, blessed with a different kind of beauty, one that he was unfamiliar with.
A name neared the tip of his molten tongue. Then it was gone, he was slowly falling, and the mercury inside his body was drowning him.
Clive woke up holding his breath and gasped.
He remained in bed a while longer that morning, feeling a tad disturbed. Melissa’s side of course was empty, but it was just as well—had she been here, he would have felt more of an obligation to tell her about the new iteration of the dream. The fuzzy sensation lingered at a mere fraction of its strength, then faded entirely.
That woman, he thought, and his skin crawled unpleasantly. Not once did one of the figures ever gain clarity. It was very discomforting. And his acknowledgement within the dream that she was beautiful—even though he felt absolutely no attraction—added a layer of guilt. Dreams are just dreams, he told himself, then got on with his day. But that film of guilt would tint the coming weeks in much the same way that mercury colored the dream.
Clive clambered to his feet, stopped by the restroom and dressed for the morning. Over breakfast, the cover of The Pyramid caught his attention: Two side-by-side images—one of a house fire in progress, the other of the charred aftermath—were coupled with the caption ‘FEELING THE HEAT—Local authorities pursue arsonist, Interview with Sheriff Mitch Jenkins, page 3’. He turned to the correct page, scanning the piece on last week’s fire. It proffered assurances but not much else; although, Clive noted, Amber Page structured it well enough—now, if only she’d focus on news and stop pestering me about fiction. Returning to page 2, he glanced at the story on last night’s soccer game (SILICON SPARROWS DEFEAT DUSKIN DOGS, 14-10’) before thunder rumbled closely and he folded the newspaper back onto the dining room table.
He grabbed the landline. Prior to getting up that morning, the rain had started to fall. As he stepped onto the enclosed patio, it promptly shifted into a slanted downpour that was beating on the windows. He dialed the school, then pressed a hand against one of the tall panes of glass.
“You’ve reached Silicon County High School,” the secretary answered. “How can I help you?”
“Morning, it’s Clive,” he mumbled, peering into the wooded backyard that stretched for miles.
“Mr. Carson,” she said, in a tone he always found too pleasant. “You need to speak to Melissa?”
“Yes. Thank you.” By looking at the aslant tree that was disappearing into the rain’s veil and using it as a point of reference, he gauged he could see, all told, about forty or forty-five feet before the rain obscured his vision. The line clicked.
“Clive?” Melissa spoke suddenly, and her voice sent an unexpected chill down his spine.
“Yeah.” He paused noticeably. “Well, listen, it just started pouring real badly, and I thought I’d call. How are things there?”
“Fine for now,” she replied curtly, probably peering out one of the windows in her classroom herself. “And back home?”
“Well, I’ll hold down the fort, but it isn’t looking too pretty. And I...” His voice trailed off.
“Yeah?”
“Just want to say I love you, Missy. Stay safe out there.”
“Back atcha, Cliff. I love you, too.”
A final goodbye was said before severing the connection. Clive took a long breath, looking past the water that fell from the roof and watching the forest sway to the wind. There was that guilt again, tightening in his shoulders like a stripped bolt. Who was that damned woman from the dream? Where had he seen her before?
Against the somewhat valid arguments of his conscience, he closed his eyes and pictured her flowing yet solidified face. The odd sensation returned slightly, and he finally made the connection: she looked a great deal like Melissa, but a lot younger. Maybe there would be more of a resemblance in their wedding picture. He opened his eyes—
And he had almost missed the naked man running between the trees. Barely visible to Clive in the fog of rain, the man was cupping his privates as he now darted behind the aslant tree and hunkered down.
Clive was baffled, and a little humored as well, wishing for an instant he’d brought his coffee with him. He forgot about the dream for the moment as he tried to imagine what circumstances led this man to become buck-naked in the woods. But as the man left the tree and began to approach his yard, Clive sobered up, grasping that there might be a precedent for helping naked men during terrible thunderstorms. Storms could be very dangerous—serious harm could befall the man.
The naked man paused at the treeline—hiding poorly because bare flesh did not blend in with bark at all—then entered the clearing, glancing around in a nervous panic as he walked. He went for the shed—perhaps looking for shelter or something to cover himself with—and Clive got a good look at him. The man was in good shape, he seemed tall against the shed door, and his hair appeared a dark brown in the rain, and—
The hair on Clive’s neck bristled. There were bruises all over the man’s body, or it appeared so through the rain’s distortion. All the way across the yard, he could just be seeing mud. But . . . Jeez, if those are bruises . . . he looks like he got shoved into a sack and kicked something fierce.
It took Clive a second to realize that the man was oblivious to his presence. Likely, the light hit the glass in such a way that the inside of the patio couldn’t be seen. If that was the case, it of course wasn’t fool proof. At any moment, the man could turn and, at a different angle, see right on through to Clive. That would be embarrassing for both of them, Clive realized, if he was just standing there watching.
The idea of turning a blind eye and letting someone rummage through his shed certainly didn’t sit well (assuming even he got open—Clive didn’t remember if he locked it yesterday, and the moment of truth was only seconds away), but he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to confront a naked man so early in the morning. Of course, this was all highly suspicious. In fact, he wandered if this might be something one should report to the Sheriff’s Office. Maybe . . . maybe not. That seemed a little extreme. Possibly, the man was just the victim of an unfortunate prank. Involving the authorities could cause problems for a mere victim. But then there were the bruises. The man could be in a serious need for help. Either he was going to help the man, or go back inside for his coffee, turning a blind eye and letting the man take whatever it was he needed to be on his way.
[Offer assistance.]
[Turn a blind eye.]
Post-Part Notes:
I'M AN ADULT NOW.
That's about it. I hope you enjoy this new beginning. Let me know if you have any questions.
Comments
Prologue: Distant Times, Part 2 — Clive Carson: Clive walked home in the cold on the night of his wife’s death. A dozen erratic thoughts and notions churned like a cyclone in his head, but one question dogged him especially.
Oh god, what do I tell Rachel?
He dreaded his impending arrival, contemplating his every step as the ticking of clock. The bustling city activity flowed around him, impersonal but not distant. He stopped at their street and his anxiety amplified to a sickening degree, and he felt like he would throw up again as his lungs seemed to stop inflating. It took him a while to bring his body under control. What was he going to tell her?
Rachel, your mother isn’t coming home.
They had talked about it. But it was just a fear in the back of their minds—something to express then move on from. But it happened. He wasn’t prepared for it, he’d realized horribly—but neither of them were prepared for such an awful thing, and now their daughter was going to be the recipient of the pain caused by it. Though, pain would have been felt no matter their level of preparedness.
They’d discussed the possibility with Rachel, but how much of a concept of death did she really have? Would she really understand? How would she reacted to knowing her baby brother being here meant her mother wasn’t?
Clive stared at his apartment complex ahead of him for a prolonged moment, then sought refuge in his small, red pickup truck parked by the curb not far away. Shutting the door behind him, he felt a mixture of remorse and shame as the night activity outside became muffled.
Would Rachel blame him? Jesus Christ, would she blame her brother? He didn’t know how he could alleviate that kind of resentment, if it took hold.
His fingers tightened around the steering wheel, his arms shook, he felt the sudden urge to scream, and, while nausea took hold, he began to cry.
On the third floor, in apartment 306, a little eight-year-old girl was waiting for her father to come home—waiting for him. She would have picked up bits and pieces from the babysitter, bless that poor woman, and would be desperately looking for an explanation. No matter how he explained it, no matter how soft put, it would hurt her. What could possibly minimize the pain?
Rachel, your mommy died giving life to your little brother, to little Alexander . . . Rachel, please love him for me—
The acknowledgement once again worsened his stability. Now he couldn’t breath. But if their life was crumbling, it was up to him to put the pieces together again—he knew this, deeply, and it stung. He had to hold it together for Rachel...
—for little Alexander, for Melissa, and for her sacrifice.
Are all these backstorys gonna be so sad?
Anyway this was a great part, really like what you're doing with the prologue.
Oh god, the feels
Poor Clive. Poor Rachel. This really crushes me, not only to know what happened, but to actually see it. I am sort of glad that we got spared Rachel's reaction to it, as I doubt it was pretty. And it really got me hyped even more than I already was to see the three of them together at last in the actual story. Though I wonder if we're going to see kid Rachel and kid Alex as well in future flashbacks, which should serve as a nice contrast to them in the present day. At least Clive hasn't really changed a lot, even if this part gave me a lot more feels than I usually get from him. This really seems to be the lowest point of his life. I am at least glad that Rachel is probably not going to resent her brother for it, but it is clear that Clive is not as strong as she is in this situation.
Anyways, great part, seriously great part! I love this prologue, I love the reboot in general and I am so excited for the future parts of it
Unfortunately, it's very possibly—a lot of the characters have depressing backstories. However, I'm going to try to insert some levity into the main story because I understand constant dreariness really is a headache. Admittedly, it's not my strong suit, so it might be a little difficult to balance, but I'm hopeful!
Anyway, I'm glad you enjoyed it!
This is really interesting!
Also, will there be choices? Or is it just a story? Sorry of this is a dumb question.
Nice, pretty interesting and emotional. Cannot wait for the continuation.
Thank you!
Yes, there will be choices, just not in the prologue!
If you plan to join, there's a few things I should clarify: First, this is a reboot that begun recently, so disregard everything posted before "Prologue: Distant Times, Part 1 — Tyler Gavins". Second, character submission is always open, so you're welcome to join!
This is all making me so emotional. First Tyler, now Clive and Rachel. This feels even more emotional than Tylers prologue because I liked Clive and Rachel in the first story and already feel with them. If you write something for Thomas backstory too then it will also be sad for me. I cannot wait for more!
Before I attempt to hit the hay again,
This part is sort of tangential, but I had a large soda during dinner. In hindsight, this wasn't the best decision for my sleep schedule, but in waiting around and trying to get to sleep, I got some new ideas and many others came to fruition. Firstly, though this might be coming a bit late, I figured how to introduce Thomas in the prologue. Previously, it was giving me some problems—given his profession, I was trying and failing to fit it into his section of the prologue. But, in partial thanks to a sugar high and recently reading Pet Semetary (which was really good, by the way—and I'm comfortable revealing the inspiration comes from its obsession with funerals, not reanimation), I figured out what to do. So that's on the horizon. For readers of my other story, Monument will likely continue sooner than Silicon County (and there's probably an announcement forthcoming there as well).
Thankfully, before this, I hadn't failed to further Silicon County's development. In addition to a near-finished introductory piece for chapter 1, what can be considered the second part of that chapter is in a finished state. There's always room for revision, of course, so I'll be using the extra time to improve it. I'm feeling incredibly good about all of this, though this might in part be due to being a bit hyper at the moment. Anyway, I'll be making some headway on the third part of chapter 1 between working on Monument and the prologue. I actually got almost one and a half pages worth of notes written down (most, if not all, however, concern things taking place near the beginning of chapter 1, though several important notes carry over to later points.) And I just want to say, since it kind of irks me that I fail a lot of the time to make consequential choices, that the choice present in the second part (that, as I mentioned, is essentially finished) has its paths sufficiently mapped out for once!
Anyway, I don't wanna mislead you, so I feel the need say that I haven't nearly got everything figured out. I might be coming off as over enthusiastic because of my unhealthy choice in beverages, but I have made a lot of great progress tonight, and while most of it is short term, a good portion of it ultimately concerns things happening later in the story. I'm really excited and actually kind of proud of some of the things and moments I've got planned. Alas, I'm gonna try to not become a zombie in the morning. Goodnight, my friends!
PS: There's an update inbound for the main post once I get a map I threw together scanned. Forewarning, it's just meant to put locations and stuff into perspective—it's not really meant to provide detail on the actual layouts of the towns.
PPS, I guess: In addition to that, the towns and the first details about the towns, as well as a few more chapters titles, are going to be posted during that update. Goodnight for real this time.
I can't wait!
Same as Agent said. This story is gold.
That does sound like a couple of really great stuff! If it makes you excited, it will probably make me excited as well. It definitely makes me even more hyped for the things to come, which means the hype levels are through the roof right now. I can't wait for the next part
I can't wait for the next part!
(Just so you know, I haven't read the original)
I'm glad you're enjoying the story!
It's perfectly alright that you haven't read the original story—in fact, I would urge against it. I am curious, however, if you plan to submit a character? I just want to make sure you're aware that submissions are welcomed, but it's entirely at your discretion. I'll understand your decision either way.
If I can come up with an interesting character, then yes. I'd love to.
Also, I was wondering, do we just submit a character, and then you come up with their back story or do we submit a character with their backstory? Sorry if it's a dumb question, I just wanted to make sure.
Everything you need to know is in the submission form. It's really easy
As Agent said, it's not hard at all. For the backstory, you can be as brief or as detailed as you want—if you're brief, I can very easily flesh it out in the story. Once you've got an age in mind, just write about how they got to that point in their life. Let me know if you have any other questions.
Okay, thanks.
Prologue: Distant Times, Part 3 — Thomas Callahan: “I don’t think anyone really knew my father, knew what was going through his head. Certainly not me, not my mother, nor anyone else knew that he was suffering inside. He’d lost his mind, and proceeded to do a terrible thing. I hate him for it. I hate Mom for not noticing. But somehow I hate himself the most.”
His father’s funeral had a small turnout, but it was much larger than Thomas had expected. There were a little more than twenty people there—there to confront the reality of the situation, there to make peace with his father and themselves, perhaps there out of sense of obligation.
“I was halfway around the world when Dad did what he did,” he continued. “I wonder . . . I wonder what I could have been done to prevent it. I can imagine a thousand different ways I could have attempted to stop it, but I’m always left with the grim reality that it wasn’t stopped, that Dad—” he snapped his fingers without thinking “—snapped, killed Mom, then killed himself, and that nothing will ever change that.”
Thomas remembered spending his summer days at the lakehouse outside of Dayton. Those were once among his most precious memories. Now, they were forbidden in a way, meant to be quarantined, memories that were forever perverted and ruined—thanks to his father and Thomas’s own failures as a son—by the murder-suicide that had taken place there just a week ago . . . while he was in Iraq as a military chaplain, while the cornerstone of his childhood, of his family, suffered and brought that suffering down on others. What good had he done anyway? None, he told himself suddenly and without thought. Absolutely nothing.
He found himself doing the thing he’d swore off: remembering. He recalled waking to those comfortable, warm summer mornings, running down those creaking stairs in worn-out shoes, playing along the banks like it was his backyard—and it was, in a strange way, his-- no, it was theirs. But now it would never be theirs again. His father had forsaken it. He had forsaken it.
“I don’t know how to describe my feelings about my father exactly,” Thomas went on, resting his hands on the podium for stability as he became unsteady. “I loved him. And I’m positive he loved us deeply. I want to hate him, and in some moments, I manage to absolutely despise him, but there’s still that voice that tells me ‘You loved your father once' and I recoil, hesitate in my convictions. It's just... a residual love, I suppose.”
What did the future hold? Some more funeral proceedings, of course. But what would come after? What, he wondered, was left for him to do? To leave? No, that felt running. He’d stay a bit longer, settle more matters, then it would be appropriate to close this door once and for all. After that, he never wanted to come back. Once the door was fully closed, he could open a new one, and travel through that.
Once this door was closed, he could continue living his life somewhere else. Somewhere far away.
End of Prologue
Post-Prologue Update:
I'm really sorry about the delay between this and the previous part. On the plus side, chapter 1 is going to begin in the next few days, and from there, it'll be fairly regular for a bit. For some perspective, my chapters usually run at about 12-16 pages in google docs, and I've already written just over 9 pages. There's a lot more to come! I do want to clarify that writing ahead doesn't mean there are only a few choices, or that they're inconsequential. I've actually adopted an interesting structure for the first chapter (that unfortunately won't travel much beyond it) that's allowed me to write ahead. This has also given the first choice immediate repercussions in addition to the later ones. Sadly, I've almost run out of things that can be written ahead of time, so I gotta get the parts out there! There's a lot of editing to do, but for the introductory part, I'm shooting for Monday, and for the second part, I'm aiming for Wednesday! Wish me luck! :^D
Also, I mentioned to Liquid that I'd dispell some possibilities once the prologue ended, so here it goes: nothing supernatural happened in the prologue. That's it. Anyway, if you have any questions, I'll answer them to the best of my ability.
I suppose I should be relieved that you didn't set this part during the murder suicide.
So is it common knowledge what Thomas' father did?
Another great but dark part! Can't wait for more. And now the prologues over, I really enjoyed how you did the prologue
ARGH! I love this story so much and you're getting me hyped!
I can't wait for the next part!!
Your writing is very good.
It was close to being set during another dark time in Thomas's past, but that never came to fruition (another time, perhaps). It's unlikely to have been set during the murder-suicide because Thomas was overseas at that point.
Yes, news like that travels quickly in small towns. About a quarter of Silicon County's populace heard about it, in varying capacities, before Thomas even knew.
That's great to hear that! I'm glad you enjoyed, and I agree it was dark, but rest assured, I think like I've succeeded in adding a little levity to what I've written ahead of time!
Thank you! That's really wonderful to hear!
Don't worry. Take as long as you need, your story is worth it.
Nicely written, hope to see more of this story soon.
Agent is absolutely right, I am rather relieved that this prologue was set after Thomas already won a bit more distance to the events that happened. At least that's how I interpret his behaviour here. Anyways, this is another tragic part. Gosh, I am shocked how many characters have super tragic backstories here. Almost makes me wish I would have given the Carsons a more happy one, though it arguably is one thing I enjoy about them and about Tyler and Thomas as well. And I certainly enjoyed this part a lot. I am not really sure, was Thomas' backstory hinted at in the original story? Maybe I have just forgotten something, but I have never thought that he has been through so much bad stuff. And well, I can't wait for more
This sounds so exciting! It's great to hear that a sizeable portion of the chapter is already written. I can't wait to see the direction you're going to take this story in, as I have currently not even the hint of an idea. And I am excited for this interesting structure you have mentioned, I am really curious about it.
I see, yes, I see. Well, I already expected it when you told me that Tyler's backstory was precisely taken from his submission, but still, it has been an interesting thought XD Considering that the original story had supernatural elements, I am curious to see if some of them will have still survived the transition to the reboot.
The Interloper, 01-01 — Postlude to Fire, 01: The lake’s water encroached on the black roots of skeletal trees, its stagnating surface perfectly reflecting the gray, ash-filled sky, suggesting a lake of molten silver.
The knight stood at the water’s edge within the embrace of the charred forest, a relic in the desolate place. Its armor was in a state of ruin—chips, dents, and deep gashes cut out by gigantic claws, a history of violence embossed on its unsightly steel. The knight stared, perhaps since time immemorial, toward—
The pyramid sitting atop the lake’s mirror surface. It was a large, shed-sized structure. The vestiges of vines clung lifelessly to its battered brick as if it had perished in its slow attempt to climb the tomb.
The knight shifted momentarily, giving the pyramid an inquisitive if blank look before uprooting a heavy boot and beginning its approach. Joints creaked and groaned in defiance, chainmail rustled against itself, and metal plates scraped against one another; all the while, the knight walked upon the mirror, a distorted reflection underfoot that almost seemed to vibrate as the large ripples resonated from its footfalls.
As the knight drew closer, the ripples rebounded off the structure, rolling back into others and canceling each other out and parting a thick layer of ash that had amassed by the pyramid’s base. The waters began to settle once the knight stopped two meters from the bottom layer of bricks. The knight drew its sword—which was in equally poor condition to its own armor—and poised to strike, then—
The water began to boil angrily. A thump resonated from the beneath the water, echoing to the surface and further disturbing the hot froth that was forming. It spread as a ripple, hitting the shore on all sides repeatedly as the surface began to grow more violent. The thumping changed its pitch and, for the lack of a better word, vocalized.
“. . . Turbator . . .” it intoned, its voice a malevolent whisper in the brewing chaos. “. . . Metentis . . . Immemor . . . Libertatis . . .”
As the knight swung its blade, the lake’s temperament suddenly shifted from ominous malcontent to full torrent, erupting and swirling all around the knight, one part storm at sea and another part blizzard of ash. A horrible screech issued from it:
“INTERLOPER!”
Cutting through geysers of water, the knight’s blade struck the pyramid, sending brick and mortar flying. Suddenly, hundreds upon hundreds of colorful orbs burst from the pyramid’s interior, rising into a section of the depressing sky, filling it with color, each a minute window into a deep blueness.
Simultaneously, a monstrous creature broke the water’s surface, rising and climbing into the sky while bellowing in rage until it stood fully, a towering thing. As the monster scooped up the escaped orbs, the knight acted. It snatched eight of the balls—each a tiny peephole into a world full of bare but living trees and a ground covered with a variety of orange, yellow, red and brown leaves—then tossed them into a dilapidated pack on its belt.
The knight began to run. Upon restoring order to its hoard, the towering thing turned and screamed a piercing cry at the fast-moving shadow in the dead forest, then began its pursuit of the interloper.
The story will begin properly on Wednesday . . .
Yeah, I know the rule of thumb is "Show, don't tell" and I pretty much did the opposite, but I feel having Thomas become self-analytical during his father's funeral was the right choice. The goal of the prologue was to show them at some of their lowest emotional points so it can contrast with the main story.
I understand what you mean. Their traumas, while horrible, shape them as characters. They wouldn't quite be the same without their tragic backstories. A lot of bad things have happened to all of the protagonists.
I can't be too sure, but I think it was once mentioned incredibly briefly in the original story and never came up again.
Silentium? Awesome!!!!
I have no idea what most of this means, but its Awesome.
BTW for anyone interested I translated the dialogue. It was latin. The translation is :
". . . One who disturbs . . . Harvester . . . Forgetful . . . Releasers (Or 'Release us') . . ."
That was awesome!
I didn't actually know this was a fantasy type story. (Is that what it is?)
I think it's more supernatural. There's a lot we don't know, even for those that read the original.
A very mysterious beginning that I was not expecting. Great part btw!
This story is going to be a borderline anthology story, with each point of view exploring a variety of themes and genres, while sticking to a single setting. To avoid showing my hand of cards, I can't name them. However, in essence, it's going to be very experimental.
The main story is set in a modern day, Midwestern American town—if you submit a character, it should be one that would occupy a reflection of our world.
Silentium is just a facet of the main plot—sort of an offshoot, if you will—and it's basically a very abstract, post-apocalyptic fantasy setting that won't be using any submitted characters.
Hm, interesting! Wednesday is tomorrow... :-D
Whoa, I... I certainly am confused. Such an outright fantasy scenario was not what I expected here. I got no idea what was going on there and I'm loving that
I do have an early theory that this could be linked to one of Clive's books, but I somehow doubt it. No, it seems there's something much stranger going on there. I can't really speculate much for now, but I am sure this is going to give me a lot to speculate about once the proper story will begin. Wednesday is so close, but it can't come soon enough!
Clive Carson, 01-02: Clive was asleep, dreaming a recurring dream that inflicted a sensation that he strangely associated with a penetrative mercury that would coat or seep into his surroundings, over and inside himself. This was also the only way he could describe it—being enveloped by, or perhaps becoming, mercury.
Within his dream, in a world colored entirely by that churning, liquid metal, Clive stood near the edge of an unfathomable chasm that divided the land’s two halves. There were figures—with faces all-too-familiar, yet undefined and unrecognizable—lined on either side of the divide. Later, Clive would try to recall their total present in this iteration of the dream, but it would always fluctuate somewhere between eight and twelve in each attempt at remembrance.
For now, however, he dreamt. The logic of the dream had imposed itself once again—he had to jump the chasm. The odds of succeeding or plummeting were an even fifty-fifty (a fact which the dream insisted he knew) and he took them without question. As he leaped off the edge of the massive split, the other facet of the feeling became apparent—a sort of disregard, but it wasn’t necessarily suicidal. With it, his submersion in that strange sensation was at its peak, or so he believed.
The coin was still in the air as to whether he would cover the gap, but it didn’t matter, because the unexpected happened—one of the faces across the divide became somewhat distinct amidst the churning metal. She was a woman cast in chrome, young and beautiful, blessed with a different kind of beauty, one that he was unfamiliar with.
A name neared the tip of his molten tongue. Then it was gone, he was slowly falling, and the mercury inside his body was drowning him.
Clive woke up holding his breath and gasped.
He remained in bed a while longer that morning, feeling a tad disturbed. Melissa’s side of course was empty, but it was just as well—had she been here, he would have felt more of an obligation to tell her about the new iteration of the dream. The fuzzy sensation lingered at a mere fraction of its strength, then faded entirely.
That woman, he thought, and his skin crawled unpleasantly. Not once did one of the figures ever gain clarity. It was very discomforting. And his acknowledgement within the dream that she was beautiful—even though he felt absolutely no attraction—added a layer of guilt. Dreams are just dreams, he told himself, then got on with his day. But that film of guilt would tint the coming weeks in much the same way that mercury colored the dream.
Clive clambered to his feet, stopped by the restroom and dressed for the morning. Over breakfast, the cover of The Pyramid caught his attention: Two side-by-side images—one of a house fire in progress, the other of the charred aftermath—were coupled with the caption ‘FEELING THE HEAT—Local authorities pursue arsonist, Interview with Sheriff Mitch Jenkins, page 3’. He turned to the correct page, scanning the piece on last week’s fire. It proffered assurances but not much else; although, Clive noted, Amber Page structured it well enough—now, if only she’d focus on news and stop pestering me about fiction. Returning to page 2, he glanced at the story on last night’s soccer game (SILICON SPARROWS DEFEAT DUSKIN DOGS, 14-10’) before thunder rumbled closely and he folded the newspaper back onto the dining room table.
He grabbed the landline. Prior to getting up that morning, the rain had started to fall. As he stepped onto the enclosed patio, it promptly shifted into a slanted downpour that was beating on the windows. He dialed the school, then pressed a hand against one of the tall panes of glass.
“You’ve reached Silicon County High School,” the secretary answered. “How can I help you?”
“Morning, it’s Clive,” he mumbled, peering into the wooded backyard that stretched for miles.
“Mr. Carson,” she said, in a tone he always found too pleasant. “You need to speak to Melissa?”
“Yes. Thank you.” By looking at the aslant tree that was disappearing into the rain’s veil and using it as a point of reference, he gauged he could see, all told, about forty or forty-five feet before the rain obscured his vision. The line clicked.
“Clive?” Melissa spoke suddenly, and her voice sent an unexpected chill down his spine.
“Yeah.” He paused noticeably. “Well, listen, it just started pouring real badly, and I thought I’d call. How are things there?”
“Fine for now,” she replied curtly, probably peering out one of the windows in her classroom herself. “And back home?”
“Well, I’ll hold down the fort, but it isn’t looking too pretty. And I...” His voice trailed off.
“Yeah?”
“Just want to say I love you, Missy. Stay safe out there.”
“Back atcha, Cliff. I love you, too.”
A final goodbye was said before severing the connection. Clive took a long breath, looking past the water that fell from the roof and watching the forest sway to the wind. There was that guilt again, tightening in his shoulders like a stripped bolt. Who was that damned woman from the dream? Where had he seen her before?
Against the somewhat valid arguments of his conscience, he closed his eyes and pictured her flowing yet solidified face. The odd sensation returned slightly, and he finally made the connection: she looked a great deal like Melissa, but a lot younger. Maybe there would be more of a resemblance in their wedding picture. He opened his eyes—
And he had almost missed the naked man running between the trees. Barely visible to Clive in the fog of rain, the man was cupping his privates as he now darted behind the aslant tree and hunkered down.
Clive was baffled, and a little humored as well, wishing for an instant he’d brought his coffee with him. He forgot about the dream for the moment as he tried to imagine what circumstances led this man to become buck-naked in the woods. But as the man left the tree and began to approach his yard, Clive sobered up, grasping that there might be a precedent for helping naked men during terrible thunderstorms. Storms could be very dangerous—serious harm could befall the man.
The naked man paused at the treeline—hiding poorly because bare flesh did not blend in with bark at all—then entered the clearing, glancing around in a nervous panic as he walked. He went for the shed—perhaps looking for shelter or something to cover himself with—and Clive got a good look at him. The man was in good shape, he seemed tall against the shed door, and his hair appeared a dark brown in the rain, and—
The hair on Clive’s neck bristled. There were bruises all over the man’s body, or it appeared so through the rain’s distortion. All the way across the yard, he could just be seeing mud. But . . . Jeez, if those are bruises . . . he looks like he got shoved into a sack and kicked something fierce.
It took Clive a second to realize that the man was oblivious to his presence. Likely, the light hit the glass in such a way that the inside of the patio couldn’t be seen. If that was the case, it of course wasn’t fool proof. At any moment, the man could turn and, at a different angle, see right on through to Clive. That would be embarrassing for both of them, Clive realized, if he was just standing there watching.
The idea of turning a blind eye and letting someone rummage through his shed certainly didn’t sit well (assuming even he got open—Clive didn’t remember if he locked it yesterday, and the moment of truth was only seconds away), but he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to confront a naked man so early in the morning. Of course, this was all highly suspicious. In fact, he wandered if this might be something one should report to the Sheriff’s Office. Maybe . . . maybe not. That seemed a little extreme. Possibly, the man was just the victim of an unfortunate prank. Involving the authorities could cause problems for a mere victim. But then there were the bruises. The man could be in a serious need for help. Either he was going to help the man, or go back inside for his coffee, turning a blind eye and letting the man take whatever it was he needed to be on his way.
[Offer assistance.]
[Turn a blind eye.]
Post-Part Notes:
I'M AN ADULT NOW.
That's about it. I hope you enjoy this new beginning. Let me know if you have any questions.