This piece was written in April 2007 and posted on Facebook, as my first serious incursion in the realm of fiction. I intended to follow up on the narrative but real life soon caught up with me and
The Sand may remain unfinished for some time still.
The setting was inspired by Stephen King's Dark Tower (especially Book two, where Roland wakes up on a beach and is attacked by Lobstrosities), as I have a lot of trouble coming up with completely original ideas (part of the reason fiction is very challenging to me)
Please excuse the immaturity of the prose. Still, comments and thought would be appreciated.
Enjoy :)
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Sand. Of very fine texture, velvety to the touch, of the kind that flows freely from the fist to the open palm, golden and smooth. Nice and soft.
But in her eyes. And down her throat.
As the coughing fit seized her, she first realized the dryness of her whole mouth, the crispiness of her parched lips which would part with only the utmost effort. Her tongue felt like a slab of dead meat bent on choking her. The pain shot across her chest, flaring from the inside out, a dolorous stream of sandy breath racing out of her lungs. The first agonizing exhalation brought a discovery. She was alive.
A prickly sensation, somewhere on her body, tentative at first but increasingly persistent.
Strangely enough, she could not locate it precisely; was it on her left palm, her right ankle, the arch of her foot, or maybe in the recesses of her still semiconscious mind? When the sensation crossed the threshold of mere annoyance into the realm of pain and when a warm familiar flow touched her skin, she immediately pinpointed the itch on her right forearm. Luckily enough, her head was already turned the right way. As she glanced down, she came eye to eye with a puzzling creature.
A bird, most definitely: feathers, a sharp bony beak, a luscious tail which lifted the light sand as it moved. A seagull perhaps? She seemed to be on a beach after all, and for some strange reason, it appeared to her that seagulls were to be found along the sea shore. No, a small voice at the back of her mind whispered, that one’s too…exotic. And indeed it was. Its robe was a deep blue rimmed with black along its wings. It was eying her a little warily now as it had sensed the slight movement of her head. It looked interested, and maybe a little amused. A crimson gleam greeted her from the tip of its beak, a hint of blood.
That was when she felt the terror creep in.
The Sand may remain unfinished for some time still.
The setting was inspired by Stephen King's Dark Tower (especially Book two, where Roland wakes up on a beach and is attacked by Lobstrosities), as I have a lot of trouble coming up with completely original ideas (part of the reason fiction is very challenging to me)
Please excuse the immaturity of the prose. Still, comments and thought would be appreciated.
Enjoy :)
----
Sand. Of very fine texture, velvety to the touch, of the kind that flows freely from the fist to the open palm, golden and smooth. Nice and soft.
But in her eyes. And down her throat.
As the coughing fit seized her, she first realized the dryness of her whole mouth, the crispiness of her parched lips which would part with only the utmost effort. Her tongue felt like a slab of dead meat bent on choking her. The pain shot across her chest, flaring from the inside out, a dolorous stream of sandy breath racing out of her lungs. The first agonizing exhalation brought a discovery. She was alive.
A prickly sensation, somewhere on her body, tentative at first but increasingly persistent.
Strangely enough, she could not locate it precisely; was it on her left palm, her right ankle, the arch of her foot, or maybe in the recesses of her still semiconscious mind? When the sensation crossed the threshold of mere annoyance into the realm of pain and when a warm familiar flow touched her skin, she immediately pinpointed the itch on her right forearm. Luckily enough, her head was already turned the right way. As she glanced down, she came eye to eye with a puzzling creature.
A bird, most definitely: feathers, a sharp bony beak, a luscious tail which lifted the light sand as it moved. A seagull perhaps? She seemed to be on a beach after all, and for some strange reason, it appeared to her that seagulls were to be found along the sea shore. No, a small voice at the back of her mind whispered, that one’s too…exotic. And indeed it was. Its robe was a deep blue rimmed with black along its wings. It was eying her a little warily now as it had sensed the slight movement of her head. It looked interested, and maybe a little amused. A crimson gleam greeted her from the tip of its beak, a hint of blood.
That was when she felt the terror creep in.
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