Prologue to Born to Bondage (about 1k words)
Posted: December 8th, 2011, 10:08 am
Hey there, been away a while working on life and writing. Hope to be back for a while and give some feedback of my own.
adult, fantasy
The dream was always the same. Images from Paul’s life flashed before him: getting fired, nights spent in fantasy staring at a glowing computer screen, the arguments with his wife… As the feelings of despair and hopelessness grew, he sensed what was coming and tried to fight it. His efforts were useless. Once more his subconscious dragged him implacably back to the worst moment of his life, when he had known he had finally lost it all.
He stood in the driveway watching the car with his family drive away to their new home. His oldest daughter’s face was a white circle in the rear window as she looked back at him. Once more he felt his heart break, but still he couldn’t move. Despite the distance and the pane of glass, in the dream he could hear his daughter asking him in hurt confusion what she never had in life.
“Why Daddy? Why did you fail us? Don’t you love me?”
His throat clotted with screams of denial, to declare his love for her, but his traitorous body remained mute and still. Helplessly he watched the face grow smaller as the car drove away from him in that impossible drawn-out slowness that only happened in dreams.
Suddenly he discovered his body was free and he began to race after the car. Perversely, it began to speed up in response to his pursuit. Bare feet pounded first on hot asphalt, then on bare ground, while he called hoarsely after them to stop. “I’ll find a way to fix it, to fix everything. Just give me one more chance!” He begged as he raced after the vehicle, ignoring the stones that dug into the soles of his feet.
His cries went unheard, and the white face turned and disappeared. He was dimly aware through the despair that he was now naked and hairless…like some other place he couldn’t put a finger on. He felt a jolt of excitement as a pale face appeared in the rear window once more, which turned to horror as it resolved into Hers. It shot towards him, growing in size as it laughed. The cruel but beautiful features expanded, mouth gaping wide to swallow him as he, unable now to stop running, ran into that monstrous gullet, a shriek of terror echoing around him.
He woke, the scream still ringing in his ears, to see the familiar dirty brown walls of the tent around him. The scores of slaves that shared the tent with Paul were unfazed. Such nightmares were common in the camp, and preferable to the real one that sometimes came during the night.
Paul sat panting, his body dripping with sweat, throat raw from the scream, hearing the growing bustle of the camp waking up. The call to breakfast had woken him just as he was about to…what? The dream was already fading in his mind, leaving behind only one more layer of fear and despair on his heart, like the scum left by dirty dishwater draining from a sink.
As bodies began to stream towards the exit he managed to get to his feet. Swaying at first, he plodded after them and out into the sullen morning air. He looked around, a moment of worry filling his thoughts as he didn’t see what he was looking for…but there!
The haggard features of Lirielle smiled wanly at him as she approached from the direction of her tent. She was not beautiful, and likely had never been. The androgynous figure imposed on her at her arrival to this world hadn’t helped her appearance either. Perhaps half a foot shorter than Paul, her face was pinched with hunger and hardship, the folds of skin that had once hung from her in testament to a horrifically fast weight loss were now gone, absorbed by her starved body. Her hair and breasts had been removed, and the only sign of her femininity were found in the swell of her hips. Aside from that they looked essentially the same, as did the rest of the two thousand humans living, working and dying in the hell of the camp.
Still, to Paul, she was lovely. In an alien world where they were forced to toil endlessly for a Mistress that held them in a grip of utter fear, surrounded by bodies that had once been people and were now reduced to little more than zombies, the ability to smile was a prize beyond compare. Lirielle’s smile was like finding a spring of water in the middle of a desert.
His own smile was brittle with the echo of the dream still weighing on him, but just as sincere. Lirielle was the one friend, the one thing he had found in this godforsaken place that was good. She kept him from retreating into mindlessness to escape the despair and hopelessness that now comprised their existence. More than lovers, more than kin, they each remained the sole touchstone of the other's humanity.
They held their smiles as they came near and walked towards the feeding area, never touching, keeping a barrier of space between them. While the bodies around them jostled and bumped into each other, they kept that distance. For them, this was more intimate than any holding of hands might have been. With the loss of personal space, distance had become the new intimacy.
“I’ve found a couple more people interested in the escape,” she whispered, the hope and excitement in her voice sounding alien in light of their surroundings.
The concern on Paul’s face must have shown, for she hurried to reassure him.
“I’m sure of them,” she said. “I think they are new, so they haven’t gotten the life drained from them yet.”
“Are you sure they aren’t ‘Worshippers?’” Paul inquired. He could feel the fear growing in him the more he thought about others joining in this mad pursuit, even though it was necessary to the plan.
She nodded, the lovely smile spreading across her unlovely face once more.
Further talk was forestalled as they reached the feeding area and the press of bodies forced them apart. They parted with one last exchange of knowing glances.
The first thing that always struck Paul’s awareness was the silence in the slave camp. Thousands of bodies filled the haphazard aisles between the sleeping tents and the area filled with troughs of feed and water where the slaves were fed, but aside from the overseers cursing out instructions, few spoke. Under the shouts only the soft susurrus of four thousand bare feet shuffling along the hard-packed dirt could be heard. The truth was that there was simply nothing to say anymore.
Paul gobbled down as much of the dry tasteless food as his allotted time permitted, took a drink, and made his slow way towards the mines. His mind began to drift into the reverie that allowed him to shield his mind against the monotonous drudgery of the work. As usual, he began to dwell on the life he had had before arriving here. The life and world he had known before he killed himself.
****************************
I've rewritten this beginning so many times it's not funny, but would like to get some feedback on it's ability to grab/hold interest and perhaps introduce a surprising twist at the end. I know dream sequences are often frowned on, but how does it actually FEEL? I wasn't going to do one initially, but I think it works better in many ways than my first several versions.
adult, fantasy
The dream was always the same. Images from Paul’s life flashed before him: getting fired, nights spent in fantasy staring at a glowing computer screen, the arguments with his wife… As the feelings of despair and hopelessness grew, he sensed what was coming and tried to fight it. His efforts were useless. Once more his subconscious dragged him implacably back to the worst moment of his life, when he had known he had finally lost it all.
He stood in the driveway watching the car with his family drive away to their new home. His oldest daughter’s face was a white circle in the rear window as she looked back at him. Once more he felt his heart break, but still he couldn’t move. Despite the distance and the pane of glass, in the dream he could hear his daughter asking him in hurt confusion what she never had in life.
“Why Daddy? Why did you fail us? Don’t you love me?”
His throat clotted with screams of denial, to declare his love for her, but his traitorous body remained mute and still. Helplessly he watched the face grow smaller as the car drove away from him in that impossible drawn-out slowness that only happened in dreams.
Suddenly he discovered his body was free and he began to race after the car. Perversely, it began to speed up in response to his pursuit. Bare feet pounded first on hot asphalt, then on bare ground, while he called hoarsely after them to stop. “I’ll find a way to fix it, to fix everything. Just give me one more chance!” He begged as he raced after the vehicle, ignoring the stones that dug into the soles of his feet.
His cries went unheard, and the white face turned and disappeared. He was dimly aware through the despair that he was now naked and hairless…like some other place he couldn’t put a finger on. He felt a jolt of excitement as a pale face appeared in the rear window once more, which turned to horror as it resolved into Hers. It shot towards him, growing in size as it laughed. The cruel but beautiful features expanded, mouth gaping wide to swallow him as he, unable now to stop running, ran into that monstrous gullet, a shriek of terror echoing around him.
He woke, the scream still ringing in his ears, to see the familiar dirty brown walls of the tent around him. The scores of slaves that shared the tent with Paul were unfazed. Such nightmares were common in the camp, and preferable to the real one that sometimes came during the night.
Paul sat panting, his body dripping with sweat, throat raw from the scream, hearing the growing bustle of the camp waking up. The call to breakfast had woken him just as he was about to…what? The dream was already fading in his mind, leaving behind only one more layer of fear and despair on his heart, like the scum left by dirty dishwater draining from a sink.
As bodies began to stream towards the exit he managed to get to his feet. Swaying at first, he plodded after them and out into the sullen morning air. He looked around, a moment of worry filling his thoughts as he didn’t see what he was looking for…but there!
The haggard features of Lirielle smiled wanly at him as she approached from the direction of her tent. She was not beautiful, and likely had never been. The androgynous figure imposed on her at her arrival to this world hadn’t helped her appearance either. Perhaps half a foot shorter than Paul, her face was pinched with hunger and hardship, the folds of skin that had once hung from her in testament to a horrifically fast weight loss were now gone, absorbed by her starved body. Her hair and breasts had been removed, and the only sign of her femininity were found in the swell of her hips. Aside from that they looked essentially the same, as did the rest of the two thousand humans living, working and dying in the hell of the camp.
Still, to Paul, she was lovely. In an alien world where they were forced to toil endlessly for a Mistress that held them in a grip of utter fear, surrounded by bodies that had once been people and were now reduced to little more than zombies, the ability to smile was a prize beyond compare. Lirielle’s smile was like finding a spring of water in the middle of a desert.
His own smile was brittle with the echo of the dream still weighing on him, but just as sincere. Lirielle was the one friend, the one thing he had found in this godforsaken place that was good. She kept him from retreating into mindlessness to escape the despair and hopelessness that now comprised their existence. More than lovers, more than kin, they each remained the sole touchstone of the other's humanity.
They held their smiles as they came near and walked towards the feeding area, never touching, keeping a barrier of space between them. While the bodies around them jostled and bumped into each other, they kept that distance. For them, this was more intimate than any holding of hands might have been. With the loss of personal space, distance had become the new intimacy.
“I’ve found a couple more people interested in the escape,” she whispered, the hope and excitement in her voice sounding alien in light of their surroundings.
The concern on Paul’s face must have shown, for she hurried to reassure him.
“I’m sure of them,” she said. “I think they are new, so they haven’t gotten the life drained from them yet.”
“Are you sure they aren’t ‘Worshippers?’” Paul inquired. He could feel the fear growing in him the more he thought about others joining in this mad pursuit, even though it was necessary to the plan.
She nodded, the lovely smile spreading across her unlovely face once more.
Further talk was forestalled as they reached the feeding area and the press of bodies forced them apart. They parted with one last exchange of knowing glances.
The first thing that always struck Paul’s awareness was the silence in the slave camp. Thousands of bodies filled the haphazard aisles between the sleeping tents and the area filled with troughs of feed and water where the slaves were fed, but aside from the overseers cursing out instructions, few spoke. Under the shouts only the soft susurrus of four thousand bare feet shuffling along the hard-packed dirt could be heard. The truth was that there was simply nothing to say anymore.
Paul gobbled down as much of the dry tasteless food as his allotted time permitted, took a drink, and made his slow way towards the mines. His mind began to drift into the reverie that allowed him to shield his mind against the monotonous drudgery of the work. As usual, he began to dwell on the life he had had before arriving here. The life and world he had known before he killed himself.
****************************
I've rewritten this beginning so many times it's not funny, but would like to get some feedback on it's ability to grab/hold interest and perhaps introduce a surprising twist at the end. I know dream sequences are often frowned on, but how does it actually FEEL? I wasn't going to do one initially, but I think it works better in many ways than my first several versions.
That was encouraging, and reading through your comments, I agree with a lot of them. Also delighted to hear you found it interesting and want to hear more, that's a sign that I'm on the right path at least.