Good evening internet.
A year and five months ago I decided I wanted to start writing a book, this book, like many a story created on a whim and badly thought out, never made it passed its twelfth page, and by that twelfth page, more had occurred than should happen in 50.
At the same time however, nothing happened, there was no pull of the story, the power was in its introduction, one that I posted here many moons ago.
(If you can hunt it down and match it correctly to the following I will buy you a drink of your choosing.)
Going over it today it became apparent that my writing ability has actually made a bigger improvement than I had previously thought, just look at the length of the sentences in this thing.
Be prepared for this to be terrible by the way, as I say it was a long time ago, and I promise that I have improved a lot since these days.
‘A deafening crack overtook the air and the acoustics of Cathedral Hall enhanced the sound to an almost painful level as four unfamiliar people became present in this ancient sanctuary. The Hall was all that was left of a once beautiful structure; it had been somewhat converted into a church before its fate had finally been accepted, there was a vast and intimidating organ scaling the whole circular room from the glossy floor to its impossibly high ceiling, glorified with worn paintings of archaic deities and their angels; they once glowed in a marvellous blue hue; but had now faded into the brown of a dying leaf in the last days of autumn. In the middle of the hall lay an altar; pearly white except for the red/brown of blood running from the top down the sides in sinister trickles, this had come far from being the holy place it once was. The organ lay on the north side of the circular room and to the west and east sides there lay confession boxes that were gathering layers and layers of dust. These too, worryingly, were stained with the same blood as the altar; and as June Ashcroft observed this she came to the conclusion that this was not pagan sacrifice; this was a brutal murder.
For June her sudden apparition into Cathedral Hall had been more of a distraction than a shock. She had been deeply immersed in thought; her mind was always endlessly turning from one book she had read to the next, looking for hidden meaning; she had always considered herself an intellectual and in this situation liked to think that the reason she wasn’t surprised with this strange occurrence was due to her vast capability to learn, but deep inside she knew this wasn’t the case. Having lost her grip on reality many years ago when she stopped writing; fictions had become her reality, the ‘real world’ was nothing but a vessel in which these scriptures could be accessed. Cathedral Hall, however, held no such scripture, and as she scanned the room from her place in the pews where she had appeared she observed these scriptures occurring all around her; three others had appeared in the hall; each on the edge of their own story, their expressions revealing their immersion in the life they had forcibly left behind, and their terrified reactions to their sudden apparition spoke volumes about the world June had considered mundane and inert. She stood up and left the pews; unable to ignore her fascination with the new world she had found herself in and half-ran towards the blood stained altar where a neglected Bible lay central to the red pool, still fresh and dripping down the sides of the altar not unlike how her mother’s ponds flowed into each other in the inert world; it was then that she finally took in her living surroundings. As she followed the blood leaving the altar and toward a large skulking figure turning towards her; looking almost demonic with its reptilian skin and spiky appendages; but there was also something very human about the bleeding figure, as it looked at her she spied its crimson eyes and the terror they retained. She doubled back with fear and slipped backwards on the blood trail, landing on her behind and banging her head on a flat side of the altar. She waited for the pain of the collision to cease before opening her eyes but by that time the figure had disappeared and left behind nothing but blood and a slamming door.’
A bit of a mouthful isn’t it? You need to take more breaths than I allowed there and for that I apologise.
For some reason though, that’s not the reason I stopped the story, I stopped writing it because I could tell it was just going to end up being LOST, thinking more and more about the little pieces I had planned they were far too similar to my favourite television show to even consider writing out.
Whereas now, well, I think I have originality on my side at least.