SkyGinge
Sad Shroom
Hey guys, so this is the first chapter of a short story thing that I started a few monthes ago. I haven't written any more of it since, but intend to now that I've read back over it, tweaked it a bit and actually been happy with my own work for once. I would really love it if you guys could read what I've done so far and give me any critique/feedback, as I'd love to develop my writing further. Cheers!
As a normal writer of fantasy/sci-fi things, this is quite different for me. It does have some sci-fi elements, but usually I like things very grounded, I like things gritty and sensible. Yet this story is quite abstract and a little poetic, and a whole lot more stylised than my normal prose. Or maybe I'm just bigging it up and it's a litle naff. Anyhow, I hope you enjoy!
Like being trapped inside a tape that's stuck on repeat.
That was the expression that sometimes crossed his mind. He hadn't the faintest idea where it had came from, or what it meant, or even what a tape was. In fact, when he thought about it, he didn't really know very much at all. All that he could remember were his name and age; James Hart, 17. And even those sometimes faded into the nothingness of his existence.
When the dancing fog permitted him, he would use certain visible features as anecdotes to help him remember what he had lost in each cycle. To start off with, it had been simple things; the smile of a figure nearby as a reference for emotion, the more yellow patches near the great opening were called light and the tall, slim figure that he was rooted to was apparently his own body, his own form in a previous life. Human. That was the word that sometimes appeared to him.
In his box-shaped playground, he discovered other 'humans', silent and still. He observed them tenuously until he realised that, like himself, they did nothing. Nothing but sit, or stand, frozen stiff. He wondered what their purpose was, why they were in his kingdom. And then he forgot. Like all things, his queries passed into the oblivion.
Each cycle occurred consequently: he would find himself in a dream like state, feeling purposefully passive and tranquil, that he had been like this forever, quietly accepting that he was a lone observer to a world that consisted of only one small room. This was his domain, and things that he stated and imagined would come to stand. He would glance around his expansive kingdom and will the nothingness that danced like a smoking fire away from his all-powerful gaze.
Soon he would notice the object hooked around his 'wrist'.
Time has stopped, he would think.
Then his gaze would dart to the circular object hung upon the far wall.
I will never know why.
He would acknowledge the rest of his world.
This is how things should be.
And then, perhaps after a little more musing, he would find himself at the beginning, eternally content with his obscure existence. In some cycles he would simply reminisce about his past. What kind of a person was I? What did I want? Why did I want it? Sometimes he would conjure up philosophical musings far beyond his years; when thinking is all you can do, naturally you become adept at it. But even these were lost. The hazy, timeless fog, the only moving object in a panorama picture universe, would inevitably devour every thought important or not. And so it was. Nothing could escape it. It's cloudy arrival was inevitable, and nothing could escape its wispy claws.
Apart from her.
At some point, she had appeared to him, and not even the jeering clouds of emptiness could obscure her from his sight. In various passings, he would walk out from his ethereal body to admire her smiling face. He would stroke it softly, without an inkling as to why. She was the perfect anchor that buoyed him steadily in the bay of memories. And as he woke unceremoniously with each cycle, he would recognise her and have a purpose. As he stared, theories of time and existence would crack like balls of mud tossed into a lake. He would defy these unwritten laws. He would remember her.
So as he stared in admiration, he would piece together stories where this wonderfully mysterious object would join him. The slight dimples of her laughing face made her a fun, relaxed companion. Her 13-15 freckles (under the glare of the blinding fog he never could quite tell), scattered across her face like a vague memory of celestial constellations that he had apparently obsessed over, conjured up stories of how they would break out of the timeless world. Her sky-blue jacket, half done up, brought a clumsiness that he found 'cute'. This confused him, but more than that, excited him. And most of all, her wide, warm, beautiful chestnut eyes, kept like diamonds behind wide glasses, outshone the wispy mists and captivated invisible knaves and knights. Even he would bow, an imaginary bow of course, before her beauty and offer her his existence, will her being to take over his purpose. Unexplainable adventures and desires ignited inside him like a collection of fireworks. Or a tornado of butterflies.
In a world of frozen statues and dormant, wandering minds, she had returned to him his humanity.
And as he rediscovered her continuously, he vowed to himself: We will be together in this world.
~
Suddenly, the dancing nothingness intensifies to paint the universe blank. A sudden rush of questions: who am I? What am I? What have I done? A flurry of important memories that canvas the fabric of the world; his first day at school, the day his granddad died, the time he had witnessed a robbery in the city centre. Defining moments piecing together like a celestial jigsaw. He watched as figures and ideas and opinions and glorious emotions took shape around him; his parents, sister, friends, other family. Faces and bodies built up the shadowed bricks of a new foundation, thousands of thoughtful faces furiously flooding into his face.
Fire ignited the crucible brickyard as images of the time he had lost his temper at a bully flashed across the canvas screens. A peaceful stream washed away the ash as moments of familial admiration shone across the ever-building wall, now towering up into a humanoid figure. The last trickles of water evaporated into gleaming bubbles as her face, shining amongst ancient white mists, took its place at the heart of the face-brick figure.
Although he felt his eyes were closed, he could feel space and time rushing past around him. He saw stars explode in unison as the universe recreated to his own beliefs. Knowledge swamped his being like a shower of sand pouring in from every angle. He absorbed it and understood. Until finally, when all the sands of experience had subdued, the lights dispelled and the brick faces became skin. Facts become organs and emotion became being. A newborn smile broke into a grin.
I am James Hart, acknowledged James Hart, and I am alive.
~
...What on Earth has happened to me? thought James as he stared blankly at the whiteboard in front of him. His head hurt, and he felt tired, confused and strangely impassioned. He felt like he had just came out of a hundred years of hibernation. Was I daydreaming? And why here? He couldn't shake the mysterious inkling that he had forgotten something important.
He blinked twice, the familiar action seeming strangely alien. I must have zoned out in the middle of our talk, he decided, wondering what 'our talk' even was. But no. There was something more than that. He sat as still as a statue. For some reason, even pricking his ears to listen felt overpoweringly satisfying. That was until the wall of silence hit him; an eerie vacuum of noise that felt entirely out of place in what he now acknowledged as a classroom of sorts. No, I wasn't daydreaming. Something big has happened.
… “Hello? Anyone?” A tentative female voice filled the air and suddenly memories of a beautiful face shining through a dreamlike fog bounded back to him. Forbidden, otherworldly knowledge filled him with limitless energy, and the unfamiliar world came into focus before him.
Turning, he saw her in reality for the first time. She was stood up next to a single red chair, her wide chestnut eyes tinged with confusion and worry. Her vibrant, tawny hair, shoulder length, splayed over her slender shoulders like pure water gushing from a mountain crevice. She didn't notice him yet, but as he admired the world spread out and made sense. When you've been trapped in an eternal, ageless silence, the first noise you hear is like a breath of the cleanest, healthiest air, the first sounds of birdsong after hibernation. He let the smooth, emotive words reverberate around his head, enjoying them like relishing a fine desert. For now, the real world didn't matter. She was his only focus. Then, refreshed, he stood up.
“James!” she sighed, dropping back into her seat.
“May.” he heard himself reply. Finally she had a name.
“Are you real?” May smiled, relieved.
“I think so.” James replied. “I mean, I hope so. It'd be awfully disappointing to sudden be unreal.” He walked across to her now, taking slow, cautious steps. He felt the secure sensation of foot touching floor and, satisfied, walked across to her. Now he stood in front of her, reminding himself that this time she could see him too. Her wide eyes were almost tingling with emotion. “Are you alright?”
A pause. Then: “Yeah. Are you?”
“I feel like I've been in an ageless coma.”
“Oh yeah, that too.” she nodded, eyes held on his. He liked that. He had spent an age following her hollow gaze and finally he felt noticed. Then, weaker: “What's happening?”
As if spurred on by her request, his brain kicked back into gear and he avidly studied his surroundings. They were inside a small, bare classroom. The room was dotted with similar plastic red chairs, each occupied by another figure, all focused somewhat on the wall in front of them. A long table sat behind them, and further behind that a long window. At the front, a pompous figure with curly straw hair stood pointing, open-mouthed, to the whiteboard behind him where the various teachings of Freud were outlined in a sophisticated scrawl. Not a single figure moved.
James moved over to the nearest figure, a tanned boy slouched in a dark hoody and skinny jeans. The name Paul returned to him. He held Paul's wrist expectantly. Nothing.
“They're frozen, aren't they?” May said, scanning the room. James merely grunted. “I'm sorry. You probably don't have a clue what's going on either.”
“Well, I have a vague hunch.” he said, returning to her. “No pulse.”
“But they're not dead. They can't be.” She shook her head in desperation, hair jiggling as she moved over to a different figure.
James paused next to the curly haired man. Memories that seemed ancient reminded him that the man had been a rather eccentric psychology lecturer. He had been leading them in a rather monotonous presentation that occurred once a month. James remembered disliking his arrogant tone. A name came back to him; Dr Curlz. That was what we called him. His real name was something really elaborate, so we called him that to annoy him. It was fitting, James thought, that he should be stuck frozen in such a ridiculous pose.
Passing the bedraggled lecturer, James examined the clock on the wall. He tapped it twice in vain, but the stubborn hands refused to budge. They read 3:42. Broken? No. More than that. Hand on chin, he turned to examine the room again. He watched as May pulled desperately at the arm of a female figure. She strained hard, hand clenched tightly on her friend's arm, but the figure didn't budge one bit. May collapsed to the floor, tired. I wonder. Does she remember the void at all? And if so, what did she do in it? Did she just accept her watching state? Or did she explore, like me? Did she long for me too?
“Jules is the same.” she uttered, climbing to her feet once more. “No pulse.” He thought for a second. “What?” He quickly turned away, suddenly aware of where he had been looking.
“Look at the clock.” he said, and she did. They watched in painful silence.
“It's not moving.”
“Correct-a-mundo.” James smiled, stretching his mouth especially broadly. May offered a puzzled frown. “Now watch this.” He strode past his frozen friends, determined, remembering friendships and bonds as he passed. He shook his head, quietly chuckling. It was such a surreal situation.
Turning back to her, he leapt onto the table, crouching dramatically. Smiling, he exclaimed, “Notice anything?” She was silent for a little while, her wide eyes tensed in concentration. “Think science.” he added, before remembering; May was never much of the scientific sort. She was much more into creative things.
She conceded with a shrug. “Can't you just tell me?” she said, a little harsh, before: “Sorry. It's just... I...”
“No no, you're right, I'll tell you properly.” He indicated to the window. “Light travels in straight lines, in waves. Occasionally these waves are refracted and change angle, but that's not the point. Now, the light in this room is coming in solely from this window. What do you notice about the part of the table I'm blocking?”
May blinked, and gawped thoughtfully. “It's lit up. But then...” Her wide eyes widened further, and James told himself that he wasn't grinning just because of that. “The only way that the table could be lit up there would be for these light waves to hit it. Which means...”
“The light waves are frozen in place.” James finished, grin widening. “Now, taking into account our frozen friends and the fact that the clock has shown 3:42 for the last five minutes, the only conclusion to make would be that time has stopped.”
A pause. Then May let out a gasp of both triumph and confusion. Her fresh smile made his grin reach from ear to ear. “But then... how are we... you know? Not stopped.”
James shrugged. “Haven't the foggiest.” Then she laughed, a small titter.
“How can you be so calm?” she questioned, smiling wryly.
His heart screamed Because you're here. His mouth said: “Meh-eh. Just am.” She smiled again, and he relished it.
“Well, I guess I'm glad to be stuck in a frozen world with someone who won't just scream the place down.” Her wry smile blossomed into a wry grin, but then wilted upon glance of Jules again. “What are we going to do?” she muttered.
“I guess we have to try and find out more,” James leapt to his feet, “There's bound to be a cause behind all this. I mean, time doesn't just randomly stop and neither do two people randomly find themselves unaffected. There's more to life than pure chance, after all. We need to see how far the affects of this are, whether there are others like us, and fundamentally try to find a way to save these guys.”
“So play Superman, essentially?” May smiled warmly.
“That's us!” James exclaimed.
Taking a final glance around the room, the pair turned and left. Brushing past the bedraggled lecturer, James thought of how much May fulfilled the expectations he had crafted in the void. Expectations forged and built upon over an endless cycle of eternity.
He shook his head. Man, I love her.
As a normal writer of fantasy/sci-fi things, this is quite different for me. It does have some sci-fi elements, but usually I like things very grounded, I like things gritty and sensible. Yet this story is quite abstract and a little poetic, and a whole lot more stylised than my normal prose. Or maybe I'm just bigging it up and it's a litle naff. Anyhow, I hope you enjoy!
Chapter 1
Like being trapped inside a tape that's stuck on repeat.
That was the expression that sometimes crossed his mind. He hadn't the faintest idea where it had came from, or what it meant, or even what a tape was. In fact, when he thought about it, he didn't really know very much at all. All that he could remember were his name and age; James Hart, 17. And even those sometimes faded into the nothingness of his existence.
When the dancing fog permitted him, he would use certain visible features as anecdotes to help him remember what he had lost in each cycle. To start off with, it had been simple things; the smile of a figure nearby as a reference for emotion, the more yellow patches near the great opening were called light and the tall, slim figure that he was rooted to was apparently his own body, his own form in a previous life. Human. That was the word that sometimes appeared to him.
In his box-shaped playground, he discovered other 'humans', silent and still. He observed them tenuously until he realised that, like himself, they did nothing. Nothing but sit, or stand, frozen stiff. He wondered what their purpose was, why they were in his kingdom. And then he forgot. Like all things, his queries passed into the oblivion.
Each cycle occurred consequently: he would find himself in a dream like state, feeling purposefully passive and tranquil, that he had been like this forever, quietly accepting that he was a lone observer to a world that consisted of only one small room. This was his domain, and things that he stated and imagined would come to stand. He would glance around his expansive kingdom and will the nothingness that danced like a smoking fire away from his all-powerful gaze.
Soon he would notice the object hooked around his 'wrist'.
Time has stopped, he would think.
Then his gaze would dart to the circular object hung upon the far wall.
I will never know why.
He would acknowledge the rest of his world.
This is how things should be.
And then, perhaps after a little more musing, he would find himself at the beginning, eternally content with his obscure existence. In some cycles he would simply reminisce about his past. What kind of a person was I? What did I want? Why did I want it? Sometimes he would conjure up philosophical musings far beyond his years; when thinking is all you can do, naturally you become adept at it. But even these were lost. The hazy, timeless fog, the only moving object in a panorama picture universe, would inevitably devour every thought important or not. And so it was. Nothing could escape it. It's cloudy arrival was inevitable, and nothing could escape its wispy claws.
Apart from her.
At some point, she had appeared to him, and not even the jeering clouds of emptiness could obscure her from his sight. In various passings, he would walk out from his ethereal body to admire her smiling face. He would stroke it softly, without an inkling as to why. She was the perfect anchor that buoyed him steadily in the bay of memories. And as he woke unceremoniously with each cycle, he would recognise her and have a purpose. As he stared, theories of time and existence would crack like balls of mud tossed into a lake. He would defy these unwritten laws. He would remember her.
So as he stared in admiration, he would piece together stories where this wonderfully mysterious object would join him. The slight dimples of her laughing face made her a fun, relaxed companion. Her 13-15 freckles (under the glare of the blinding fog he never could quite tell), scattered across her face like a vague memory of celestial constellations that he had apparently obsessed over, conjured up stories of how they would break out of the timeless world. Her sky-blue jacket, half done up, brought a clumsiness that he found 'cute'. This confused him, but more than that, excited him. And most of all, her wide, warm, beautiful chestnut eyes, kept like diamonds behind wide glasses, outshone the wispy mists and captivated invisible knaves and knights. Even he would bow, an imaginary bow of course, before her beauty and offer her his existence, will her being to take over his purpose. Unexplainable adventures and desires ignited inside him like a collection of fireworks. Or a tornado of butterflies.
In a world of frozen statues and dormant, wandering minds, she had returned to him his humanity.
And as he rediscovered her continuously, he vowed to himself: We will be together in this world.
~
Suddenly, the dancing nothingness intensifies to paint the universe blank. A sudden rush of questions: who am I? What am I? What have I done? A flurry of important memories that canvas the fabric of the world; his first day at school, the day his granddad died, the time he had witnessed a robbery in the city centre. Defining moments piecing together like a celestial jigsaw. He watched as figures and ideas and opinions and glorious emotions took shape around him; his parents, sister, friends, other family. Faces and bodies built up the shadowed bricks of a new foundation, thousands of thoughtful faces furiously flooding into his face.
Fire ignited the crucible brickyard as images of the time he had lost his temper at a bully flashed across the canvas screens. A peaceful stream washed away the ash as moments of familial admiration shone across the ever-building wall, now towering up into a humanoid figure. The last trickles of water evaporated into gleaming bubbles as her face, shining amongst ancient white mists, took its place at the heart of the face-brick figure.
Although he felt his eyes were closed, he could feel space and time rushing past around him. He saw stars explode in unison as the universe recreated to his own beliefs. Knowledge swamped his being like a shower of sand pouring in from every angle. He absorbed it and understood. Until finally, when all the sands of experience had subdued, the lights dispelled and the brick faces became skin. Facts become organs and emotion became being. A newborn smile broke into a grin.
I am James Hart, acknowledged James Hart, and I am alive.
~
...What on Earth has happened to me? thought James as he stared blankly at the whiteboard in front of him. His head hurt, and he felt tired, confused and strangely impassioned. He felt like he had just came out of a hundred years of hibernation. Was I daydreaming? And why here? He couldn't shake the mysterious inkling that he had forgotten something important.
He blinked twice, the familiar action seeming strangely alien. I must have zoned out in the middle of our talk, he decided, wondering what 'our talk' even was. But no. There was something more than that. He sat as still as a statue. For some reason, even pricking his ears to listen felt overpoweringly satisfying. That was until the wall of silence hit him; an eerie vacuum of noise that felt entirely out of place in what he now acknowledged as a classroom of sorts. No, I wasn't daydreaming. Something big has happened.
… “Hello? Anyone?” A tentative female voice filled the air and suddenly memories of a beautiful face shining through a dreamlike fog bounded back to him. Forbidden, otherworldly knowledge filled him with limitless energy, and the unfamiliar world came into focus before him.
Turning, he saw her in reality for the first time. She was stood up next to a single red chair, her wide chestnut eyes tinged with confusion and worry. Her vibrant, tawny hair, shoulder length, splayed over her slender shoulders like pure water gushing from a mountain crevice. She didn't notice him yet, but as he admired the world spread out and made sense. When you've been trapped in an eternal, ageless silence, the first noise you hear is like a breath of the cleanest, healthiest air, the first sounds of birdsong after hibernation. He let the smooth, emotive words reverberate around his head, enjoying them like relishing a fine desert. For now, the real world didn't matter. She was his only focus. Then, refreshed, he stood up.
“James!” she sighed, dropping back into her seat.
“May.” he heard himself reply. Finally she had a name.
“Are you real?” May smiled, relieved.
“I think so.” James replied. “I mean, I hope so. It'd be awfully disappointing to sudden be unreal.” He walked across to her now, taking slow, cautious steps. He felt the secure sensation of foot touching floor and, satisfied, walked across to her. Now he stood in front of her, reminding himself that this time she could see him too. Her wide eyes were almost tingling with emotion. “Are you alright?”
A pause. Then: “Yeah. Are you?”
“I feel like I've been in an ageless coma.”
“Oh yeah, that too.” she nodded, eyes held on his. He liked that. He had spent an age following her hollow gaze and finally he felt noticed. Then, weaker: “What's happening?”
As if spurred on by her request, his brain kicked back into gear and he avidly studied his surroundings. They were inside a small, bare classroom. The room was dotted with similar plastic red chairs, each occupied by another figure, all focused somewhat on the wall in front of them. A long table sat behind them, and further behind that a long window. At the front, a pompous figure with curly straw hair stood pointing, open-mouthed, to the whiteboard behind him where the various teachings of Freud were outlined in a sophisticated scrawl. Not a single figure moved.
James moved over to the nearest figure, a tanned boy slouched in a dark hoody and skinny jeans. The name Paul returned to him. He held Paul's wrist expectantly. Nothing.
“They're frozen, aren't they?” May said, scanning the room. James merely grunted. “I'm sorry. You probably don't have a clue what's going on either.”
“Well, I have a vague hunch.” he said, returning to her. “No pulse.”
“But they're not dead. They can't be.” She shook her head in desperation, hair jiggling as she moved over to a different figure.
James paused next to the curly haired man. Memories that seemed ancient reminded him that the man had been a rather eccentric psychology lecturer. He had been leading them in a rather monotonous presentation that occurred once a month. James remembered disliking his arrogant tone. A name came back to him; Dr Curlz. That was what we called him. His real name was something really elaborate, so we called him that to annoy him. It was fitting, James thought, that he should be stuck frozen in such a ridiculous pose.
Passing the bedraggled lecturer, James examined the clock on the wall. He tapped it twice in vain, but the stubborn hands refused to budge. They read 3:42. Broken? No. More than that. Hand on chin, he turned to examine the room again. He watched as May pulled desperately at the arm of a female figure. She strained hard, hand clenched tightly on her friend's arm, but the figure didn't budge one bit. May collapsed to the floor, tired. I wonder. Does she remember the void at all? And if so, what did she do in it? Did she just accept her watching state? Or did she explore, like me? Did she long for me too?
“Jules is the same.” she uttered, climbing to her feet once more. “No pulse.” He thought for a second. “What?” He quickly turned away, suddenly aware of where he had been looking.
“Look at the clock.” he said, and she did. They watched in painful silence.
“It's not moving.”
“Correct-a-mundo.” James smiled, stretching his mouth especially broadly. May offered a puzzled frown. “Now watch this.” He strode past his frozen friends, determined, remembering friendships and bonds as he passed. He shook his head, quietly chuckling. It was such a surreal situation.
Turning back to her, he leapt onto the table, crouching dramatically. Smiling, he exclaimed, “Notice anything?” She was silent for a little while, her wide eyes tensed in concentration. “Think science.” he added, before remembering; May was never much of the scientific sort. She was much more into creative things.
She conceded with a shrug. “Can't you just tell me?” she said, a little harsh, before: “Sorry. It's just... I...”
“No no, you're right, I'll tell you properly.” He indicated to the window. “Light travels in straight lines, in waves. Occasionally these waves are refracted and change angle, but that's not the point. Now, the light in this room is coming in solely from this window. What do you notice about the part of the table I'm blocking?”
May blinked, and gawped thoughtfully. “It's lit up. But then...” Her wide eyes widened further, and James told himself that he wasn't grinning just because of that. “The only way that the table could be lit up there would be for these light waves to hit it. Which means...”
“The light waves are frozen in place.” James finished, grin widening. “Now, taking into account our frozen friends and the fact that the clock has shown 3:42 for the last five minutes, the only conclusion to make would be that time has stopped.”
A pause. Then May let out a gasp of both triumph and confusion. Her fresh smile made his grin reach from ear to ear. “But then... how are we... you know? Not stopped.”
James shrugged. “Haven't the foggiest.” Then she laughed, a small titter.
“How can you be so calm?” she questioned, smiling wryly.
His heart screamed Because you're here. His mouth said: “Meh-eh. Just am.” She smiled again, and he relished it.
“Well, I guess I'm glad to be stuck in a frozen world with someone who won't just scream the place down.” Her wry smile blossomed into a wry grin, but then wilted upon glance of Jules again. “What are we going to do?” she muttered.
“I guess we have to try and find out more,” James leapt to his feet, “There's bound to be a cause behind all this. I mean, time doesn't just randomly stop and neither do two people randomly find themselves unaffected. There's more to life than pure chance, after all. We need to see how far the affects of this are, whether there are others like us, and fundamentally try to find a way to save these guys.”
“So play Superman, essentially?” May smiled warmly.
“That's us!” James exclaimed.
Taking a final glance around the room, the pair turned and left. Brushing past the bedraggled lecturer, James thought of how much May fulfilled the expectations he had crafted in the void. Expectations forged and built upon over an endless cycle of eternity.
He shook his head. Man, I love her.
