Creative Writing
September 5, 2014 at 3:29 am
(This post was last modified: September 5, 2014 at 3:29 am by Sejanus.)
Share/critique any creative writing pieces you've written here. I wrote this when I was about 16 or 17 for an English assignment. Reading it now, it seems a bit naive, simplistic, and more than a bit morose, but I'll let you be the judges of that.
Roots, Rats, and Us
A root isn't a beginning. It is the beginning. Roots come in a plethora of shapes and sizes. From the gnarled, titan-tough beginnings of aeons past, to the delicate spring-time-white fledglings, most roots are benign transporters of materials and vessels of life.
Disparity.
But predictably, there exists origins more sinister in nature, more fell of purpose (that is, if roots can be described as purposeful)... This root falls under the latter category, an abomination birthed with hope from the naive and the foolish. It produces nought but strife and decay, degeneration and suppuration in those beguiled by its temptations. It it to human advancement as the strangler fig is to its host; insidiously coiling its roots tighter and tighter...
A rat pads along the dark -oh so dark- alleyways of an unnamed city in the dead of night. An unseen dog vocalises its indignance distantly somewhere in the blackness. The rat pauses a while, considers the implications of this, and then resumes its stealthy shuffle. It comes to a junction and spies a two-legs slumped against a graffiti covered wall. The figure, harshly illuminated by a flickering pool of orange light coughs out a spout of blood and lies still.
Jerry Fletcher wasn't a criminal. He wasn't a druggie, a hoodlum, or even a moderate delinquent. His worst criminal offence to date was an overdue parking ticket. Jerry, an honest family man who always paid his taxes, went down the tubes when he was laid off from his job in the mines. He spent the last of his savings at the roulette table and you guessed it, left with a wallet suffering from a severe case of anorexia. So, with a heavy heart and an even heavier stack of upcoming repayments, Jerry turned to the worst kind of human scum for a quick fix. Unable to repay these veritable sharks, Jerry finds himself dumped in the gutter, his lifeblood seeping slowly from his fractured skull and multiple stab wounds. His blood bubbles up through his punctured (by his three broken ribs, splintered like matchsticks) left lung and is projected forcefully from his mouth. As Jerry fades from this world, his precious red life ebbs out and engulfs the small, shining thing which caught the rat's attention initially.
It is a coin.
The rat breaks from its momentary stupor caused by the reflection of that awful orange glow on Jerry's very last coin and departs this grim scene, but not before the coin abandons Jerry, snatched from that sorry puddle by a crusty arm riddled with syringe holes.
Our rodent friend passes another two alleyways and at the third, the sudden glare of a reflection at the end closest to the street catching its beady eye. That sickly orange shine has bounced off the handbag of the latest lady of the night, 14 year old Samantha Nelson. With both parents behind bars, the street is where she turns to put food on the table for her 5 year old twin brothers.Her first and last customer is preceded by a cloud of noxious black smoke from his tin-can shit-box. A few words, but more importantly, a few notes, are exchanged and the alley is soon quiet and lonely again. The coroner's report, published three weeks from now will read; "Female, 13-16 yrs, 4 broken vertebrae, crushed windpipe (indicative of strangulation). State of decomposition: advanced"
The rat slinks away. It returns to its nest and is debriefed. After much deliberation, after watching the course of this root for only one night, the rats unanimously against forming a currency and carry on with their mundane little lives. I envy them.
Roots, Rats, and Us
A root isn't a beginning. It is the beginning. Roots come in a plethora of shapes and sizes. From the gnarled, titan-tough beginnings of aeons past, to the delicate spring-time-white fledglings, most roots are benign transporters of materials and vessels of life.
Disparity.
But predictably, there exists origins more sinister in nature, more fell of purpose (that is, if roots can be described as purposeful)... This root falls under the latter category, an abomination birthed with hope from the naive and the foolish. It produces nought but strife and decay, degeneration and suppuration in those beguiled by its temptations. It it to human advancement as the strangler fig is to its host; insidiously coiling its roots tighter and tighter...
A rat pads along the dark -oh so dark- alleyways of an unnamed city in the dead of night. An unseen dog vocalises its indignance distantly somewhere in the blackness. The rat pauses a while, considers the implications of this, and then resumes its stealthy shuffle. It comes to a junction and spies a two-legs slumped against a graffiti covered wall. The figure, harshly illuminated by a flickering pool of orange light coughs out a spout of blood and lies still.
Jerry Fletcher wasn't a criminal. He wasn't a druggie, a hoodlum, or even a moderate delinquent. His worst criminal offence to date was an overdue parking ticket. Jerry, an honest family man who always paid his taxes, went down the tubes when he was laid off from his job in the mines. He spent the last of his savings at the roulette table and you guessed it, left with a wallet suffering from a severe case of anorexia. So, with a heavy heart and an even heavier stack of upcoming repayments, Jerry turned to the worst kind of human scum for a quick fix. Unable to repay these veritable sharks, Jerry finds himself dumped in the gutter, his lifeblood seeping slowly from his fractured skull and multiple stab wounds. His blood bubbles up through his punctured (by his three broken ribs, splintered like matchsticks) left lung and is projected forcefully from his mouth. As Jerry fades from this world, his precious red life ebbs out and engulfs the small, shining thing which caught the rat's attention initially.
It is a coin.
The rat breaks from its momentary stupor caused by the reflection of that awful orange glow on Jerry's very last coin and departs this grim scene, but not before the coin abandons Jerry, snatched from that sorry puddle by a crusty arm riddled with syringe holes.
Our rodent friend passes another two alleyways and at the third, the sudden glare of a reflection at the end closest to the street catching its beady eye. That sickly orange shine has bounced off the handbag of the latest lady of the night, 14 year old Samantha Nelson. With both parents behind bars, the street is where she turns to put food on the table for her 5 year old twin brothers.Her first and last customer is preceded by a cloud of noxious black smoke from his tin-can shit-box. A few words, but more importantly, a few notes, are exchanged and the alley is soon quiet and lonely again. The coroner's report, published three weeks from now will read; "Female, 13-16 yrs, 4 broken vertebrae, crushed windpipe (indicative of strangulation). State of decomposition: advanced"
The rat slinks away. It returns to its nest and is debriefed. After much deliberation, after watching the course of this root for only one night, the rats unanimously against forming a currency and carry on with their mundane little lives. I envy them.
![[Image: thfrog.gif]](https://images.weserv.nl/?url=img577.imageshack.us%2Fimg577%2F6942%2Fthfrog.gif)
![[Image: 3qbj.jpg]](https://images.weserv.nl/?url=imagizer.imageshack.us%2Fv2%2F800x600q90%2F191%2F3qbj.jpg)
~1 Corinthians 13:11 When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things.~
~Luke 19:27 "But those mine enemies, which would not that I should reign over them, bring hither, and slay them before me." - Jesus Christ.~
