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Kent Babin
@kentb
Let's play a little fiction writing game. I'll give a prompt, you write the opening paragraph of the story. Character X moves to a new country to escape their past, only to find that their past keeps catching up with them. (You can choose any genre, plot direction, setting, character(s), etc.)
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Tokenized Human
@tokenizedhuman
The taxi had a broken window and a back door held on by orange rope and the driver sat hunched forward against the bitter cold as he drove him silently through cobbled together masses of concrete and wide expanses of abandoned land and heaped up piles of rubbish all drowned in a pallet of washed out blues and greys that made up this forgotten city, his eyes on the foreigner in the back seat for half the journey asking wordlessly what the fuck he thought he was doing there. It shouldn’t have stood at all but it somehow still did, like a stake driven at an angle into the earth deep enough to never topple, the render on the front all but disappeared, a crack the entire length of the brickwork wide enough to fit a fist into, the elevator doors kicked in and used as a toilet, the stairwell blanketed in darkness where the communal lights had long since been shut off, his building the only one of four that still remained.
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Tokenized Human
@tokenizedhuman
The last place on earth someone would think of living. The last place on earth he thought he’d ever be found. He made his way carefully up to the seventh floor where he found the apartment door and drummed a beat with his fist against it that coughed reams of dust off the nearby walls, and echoed like thunderclaps down the stairwell and threatened to topple the entire monstrosity of cement down to the ground in one go and waited with his fingers inside his coat pocket on the cold metal of the pistol for his call to be answered. After this, he was done. After this, he could close the final chapter on a book that had taken twenty years to finish. He heard movement inside, a shuffle of steps come closer. The lock ease back with a metallic thunk. He wrapped his fingers around the handle of the pistol and drew it out in the freezing cold air as the door caught briefly shuddering the frame and spilling months of built up dust before it yawned its way fully open.
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Kent Babin
@kentb
Very atmospheric! Post-apocalyptic noir?
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