A Lonely Road

[Drizztrocks]

Here is something strait out of my bucket of story starters, that I have recently decided to make into a Campaign Setting. This is my first setting that is Science Fiction/Apocolypse, as I am used to generic fantasy, so this should be a good change. Do what you will with it, throw in some guesses, hope this picks up. Or maybe I was just looking to use the name Marek.




    The trader did not notice the click of Marek's pistol getting ready to fire behind his back. The merchant, a chubby man with missing teeth and a grotesque smile was trying to sell him illegal goods and drugs. It wasn't the Marek minded, or even cared. But he had seen what drugs had done to innocent people, had caused innocent men, women and children to kill their family. And had caused his father to.

  'You want '˜da powder or not man? C'mon, I got a business to run!' The fat merchant chuckled. The drug dealer was good enough at his trade to understand that this man didn't want drugs. He secretly moved his hand to the gun in his back pocket. With a loud sound of a gunshot the drug dealer was dead. Marek put the smoking pistol away. With a look of disgust Marek looked around the small hut. He heard the sound of pouring rain on the thatched weeds roof. The muddy, wet carpet was lying over a layer of sticks and twigs that kept the pathetic home from flooding, a table with a half eaten cake sitting on it and now a dead drug dealer next to it sat in the center of the one room home, and a dusty bed sat in the corner. He hated their kind, trying to better their own lives by destroying other poor bastards. Marek opened the door and stepped out into a puddle of mud, and he was immediately drenched by the rain. A crack of thunder sounded in the distance. Despite the miserable weather, the village's streets were very crowded.  A group of women walked by him with baskets of fruit on their heads, being followed by some energetic young boy calling to one of the women, probably his mother.

   A group of homeless men sat on the side of a building in the mud, while inside the well made clay and bamboo building a rich merchant gained more money by the second. Marek brushed his long, raven black hair out of the way of his eyes. He took one last look at the men, eating leaves, and then pushed through the crowd to the other side of the muddy street. He slapped away a hand reaching for his pocket, and tripped a skuzzy looking man about to grab a woman's behind. The man fell face first with a splash in the mud, and Marek walked over him to the fruit vendor's cart. He looked over the display of fresh mangos, bananas, berries and oranges-oranges, a strange looking fruit imported from far off lands. He was about to reach for one of the oranges when he felt a strong hand grasp his shoulder and pull him around.

  Marek only got a quick glimpse of the muddy, toothless smile before the man punched him across the face with strength that did not look right for such a little man. Marek flew backwards into the cart, snapping it in half and landing him in a splintered heap on the ground. Fruit rolled all about, and people screamed and stepped back. The fallen Marek wiped the blood out of his eyes and stood up out of the cart to face his attacker. It was the man who he had thrown away from the ladies butt. He stood and clenched his fists.

  Marek could have easily stood and killed the man with his gun, but this wasn't some foul drug dealer. He was no doubt an ugly dog, living in the mud and having never gotten close to a shower in his life, but the factors weren't the same. Marek had nothing to gain from killing this man, even if doing so would bring no one sadness or joy, even relieve the pitiful wretch of his horrible life.

       The wretch laughed and pulled out a knife, and was wriggling it around in his grasp. Marek jabbed a fake with his front hand, and the man chopped at it with the knife, but Marek pulled his hand back quickly and spun on his heel, grabbing the wretch's wrist with his back hand. He twisted the man's wrist, and a sharp crack came from it, followed by the sound of the knife falling from his grasp and splashing into the water. For a moment Marek stood, holding onto the man's broken hand with one hand, and his other hand in a fist and ready to throw a punch. The wretch just stared dumbfounded, and Marek sent him wheeling into the mud with a finishing roundhouse kick. Marek bent over and picked up three oranges, and wiped them off on his shirt. He made his way back over to the other side and tossed them to the homeless men. They caught the fruit and laughed with joy, huge toothless grins illuminating their happiness. They then sent thanks and '˜God Blesses' over to Marek, but the man was long gone, disappearing into the crowd.

[Drizztrocks]

No responses? at all? Really?

[Kindling]

This isn't the greatest piece of writing ever, but it's not terrible either. Your combat descriptions are very concise and well-visualised, and your sparing descriptions of people nevertheless manage to paint mental pictures of them.

On the down side, though, I don't really find myself grabbed by the passage, I think mainly because there doesn't seem to be any real reason for what's going on... And not in the good "I'll read on to find out what all this is about" way... I mean, sure, Marek hates drug dealers, but why go so far as to kill one? Personally, I'm not a fan of bankers, but I don't shoot them on principle...

Also, "some foul drug dealer"... I've known a few drug dealers and most of them were fairly personable. Not really a quibble, as I'm sure there are some truly "foul" ones out there too, it just seemed like you were making a bit of a broad generalisation.

[Steerpike]

It's great that you're branching out from classical fantasy.  I have a few criticisms which I hope are helpful and constructive.

I have to agree with Kindling.  The writing itself isn't bad, apart from a few typos and awkward constructions ("It wasn't the Marek minded, or even cared" particularly).  In some places the passage suffers from very heavy-handed exposition - "Ha! The police! How funny that phrase seemed in this place. Law was not a substantial thing here, hardly substantial anywhere. Of course, there were the rumors about there being a great '˜Eden' city in the center of all the United States ruins, but they were pure myth on his account."  You should strive to show, not tell.  This part also weirded me out: [blockquote=Drizztrocks]'You want '˜da powder or not man? C'mon, I got a business to run!' The fat merchant chuckled, as the fatty secretly moved his hand to the gun in his back pocket. BANG! The drug dealer was dead.[/blockquote] So, wait the drug dealer was going to attack Marek?  Why exactly?  Isn't he try to sell Marek drugs?  The sentence "The fat merchant chuckled, as the fatty secretly moved his hand to the gun in his back pocket" is very confusing because you seem to be making a distinction between the "fat merchant" and the "fatty," but I think they're supposed to be the same person.  Also the use of "BANG" is kind of cartoonish and incongruous with the gritty atmosphere you've worked hard to establish.

From a less technical standpoint, the passage seems a little bizarre, and not in the strange, outlandish sort of way, more in the "what's going on" sort of way.  Marek has no motivation or real personality apart from an apparent hatred of drug dealers and a vague cynicism.  Really the scene feels like two action sequences without context stapled together, both starting when someone rather randomly assaults someone else, unprovoked. [blockquote=Drizztrocks]tripped a skuzzy looking man about to grab a woman's behind. [/blockquote]Hm.  Earlier you've worked to kind of make Marek out to be this jaded individual.  Is he really such a prude/self-righteous lawbringer that he'd trip someone up for grabbing a woman's ass?  I mean, this is a post-apocalyptic wasteland, right, where law and order have broken down.  Thugs and looters and the like probably do all sorts of heinous things, casual murder and mutilation and torture-just-for-funsies, etc.  Selecting such a petty incident as the source of Marek's wrath just seems so mock-heroic, almost bathetic, unintentionally ridiculous.  I mean, sure, grabbing a woman's ass is objectifying and would be considered harassment or sexual assault in the here and now, but the world you're creating very clearly isn't the here and now.

I did really like the details and the atmosphere in this scene, but it could be much enhanced by working in some kind of plot and editing your prose a bit more thoroughly.  I'm guilty myself of writing fairly pointless and violent vignettes so this is partly the pot calling the kettle black.

[Kindling]

So, wait the drug dealer was going to attack Marek?  Why exactly?  Isn't he try to sell Marek drugs?

I didn't notice that until now, but Steerpike's right. It makes no sense, or at least, with the information you've given us, it doesn't. Maybe you have a perfectly good reason, you just haven't included it in the vignette.

I'd say that this is your main issue, the main thing you should work on. Any other minor technical problems there may be with your work are the kind of thing that any writer ends up doing from time to time, and the only way to sort them out is through rigourous proof-reading and editing.

However, motivation is something that's going on in your head rather than on the page, and while the characters' motivations may be perfectly clear to you, in this piece, at least, you've not done a very good job of communicating them. It seems both me and Steerpike (in other words 100% of the feedback you've got so far :P ) feel very confused about the motivations of... well, just about every character in the story, except maybe the bum-grabber, who we can comfortably assume was acting out of a perfectly natural sense of lechery.

Please don't get me wrong, I'm not trying to knock you for this, I'm just pointing out where you need to improve. Sort out your motivations and I'm sure you'll be able to produce some great writing, and I'm looking forward to (hopefully) seeing you do just that.

[SilvercatMoonpaw]

I agree that it feels like a snippet of something larger, and not necessarily the snippet I'd have chosen to show it off (but then I'm bad at that sort of thing, so I'd probably have done a worse job).  It does suggest some potential to be a an interesting story, but it isn't one yet.

[Drizztrocks]

Thank you everyone for replying, I always need constructive critisism as my mistakes aren't very clear to me at all.                
                           
  As to Marek's personality, he isn't sure about it either. By this I mean he is extremally confused. He isn't the kind of person who just goes with life because "that's the way it is", which is what most people do in this future earth. Not to say they don't think and ponder, but they rarely take action. Marek grew up like the rest of them, living cruel and having to fight and cheat to survive, but he had different views on everything. He is no hero, and he is no villain.

  So to him the drug dealer seemed worthless-but unlike the scuzzy ass grabber Marek had a reason to kill him. And this will be portrayed by the effects of the drugs, of which you will read about in the next chapter.

 The man grabbing the woman's ass was just something kind to the woman, not really any particular offense against the man. Marek does simple people simple favors, because of a small consience inside of him that tells him "that's wrong" where most people would see the incident and say "that's normal"

[Drizztrocks]

Okay, I changed alot and rewrote it, although I didn't change the part about the man grabbing the woman's ass, because I liked how that played out. I gave Marek some sound reasoning for hating drug dealers.

  See how you like it now, I would love constructive critisism, as always.

[Drizztrocks]

Here is my next chapter in my very own little post-apocalyptic world, I hope everyone enjoys this one more then my last. Comments and constructive critisism {or flat out critisism, I can take it} are encouraged and expected.


   Pirnute smiled innocently as she pulled the lever that caused the torture contraption to activate. The man on the bed screamed in agony as the spiked chains tightened around him. 'Tell me where the base is,' Pirnute said calmly, the older women fingering the many levers and buttons that would bring pain to the rebel lying on the table. 'You know, women, you are a worthless piece of shit that you're husband does not even dare to lay hands on,' The rebel said through gritted teeth. 'You're insults do not faze me. But what does is blood on this fine dress you see, and if you do not start to talk, I will have to deal with the staining of my dress.' The old women said, her hand moving towards an electric prod sitting next to her chair. 'I rather die then give away my allies!' The prisoner said. 'I would be happy to arrange that for you,' Pirnute said, and flipped on a switch on the electric prod and drove it into the rebel. Electricity coursed through his vines and burnt his flesh, and his hair stood on end. The very light died from his eyes in a matter of seconds. Pirnute called in the guards to dispose of the body.

  Death. It was such a normally occurring thing. Every small child and elderly man knows of it, but no one truly understands it. Maybe it was this fact that kept cold hearted killers, murderers and evil rulers safe from their consciousnesses. Maybe the idea of an afterlife was not the work of one of god's priests, but rather a murderer seeking to justify his actions. This is what Marek pondered on the shores of a lake not far from the town he had left the day before after a fight with a local man. Marek thought about death often, as he often killed. He killed to survive, and sometimes to save others. But he killed. Many people killed other. In bars, one man would smash another man's head through a wall. If the man died, the bartender would only be mad because of the mess that had been made by the death. But Marek thought about something else much more. Life. He thought about the point of life, if death followed it so closely. There had to be something more then sating hunger, lust and basic needs of the body. It seemed, however, that this is what all men and women did with their life. They would steal because they wanted money, they would buy because they wanted an item, and they would marry because of the benefits of marriage, and sometimes because of love, but rarely because of what others wanted. It all seemed so confusing to Marek, so much to do in one day but none of it that mattered in the following day. Marek was awakened from his thoughts by the sounds of screaming from not far away, back towards the road. Marek pulled out his pistol and ran off to follow the noise through the tropical woods, palm trees and ferns making up all the vegetation, with a large boulder here and there. The road suddenly appeared there, and many people running and screaming was what first came to Marek's vision.

   As he closed in, loading his gun, he saw one young man chasing the group of people at amazing speed. He also saw that a knife was protruding from the man's knee. Blood spurted from the wounded knee whenever the young man took another bounding step, but he seemed not to notice. The group of people ran, but not fast enough. 'No,' Marek growled. He had seen this before. He ran, trying to aim at the running man, but was too afraid to shoot the group of running people. 'Damn it!' He snarled. Reasoning soon came to him, as he realized what would become of them if this transformed man attacked one of them was far worse then him accidentally shooting them. He took a shot, aiming for the legs. He missed. He fired again, and hit it in the waist. The man stumbled for a second, but then resumed running full speed, bleeding horribly from his side as blood gushed out and covered his clothes. His last bullet. Marek fired at the knifed leg again, and fired. The man slowed at first, then stumbled and fell. Then the man, not able to walk anymore, started to crawl towards the crowd of frightened people, who scattered into the jungle on either sides of the road. Marek loaded his gun as he closed in on the man, and fired three more shots at the head, blood gushing out all over the road. The man died, drowning in his own pool of blood.
   Marek walked over and checked the man's pockets. He had found what he had expected. Bags and bags of white powder and small black rocks. This fool was on drugs. He had eaten the powder raw instead of smoking it, something the drug dealers advised against. Eating this potent mix of powder and small black sugar cubes {called Jungle Meth} results in horrible hallucinations and fits of violence. Smoking it resulted in minor enhances in strength and fits of rage. This is what the drug dealer he had killed yesterday was trying to sell him. Marek walked away, back towards the town.

  'The filthy rebel wouldn't talk,' Pirnute said to Lachor, the Warlord and acclaimed ruler of this area of Borneo. 'Ah, my dear,' The plump, bald leader purred. 'The rebels will be dealt with accordingly. They pose no major threat. After all, what do they offer to their followers other then war, prison and the promise of living in the mud,' Lachor said while watching the many exotic dancers around him. His throne room was full of gold items. Golden statues of people, extremely perfected down to the last tiny detail, lined the path up to Lachor's throne. 'My lord, the rebels are trying to kill you,' Pirnute said grumpily, not appreciating Lachor's calm temperament. Lachor laughed. 'Everybody's trying to kill me.' Lachor chuckled. 'You see these girls,' He said, motioning to the dancers around them. 'Half of them tried to kill me in bed.' He laughed loudly, and then motioned for one of the dancers to come over to him. She walked over nervously. 'And this one is a rebel in disguise,' Lachor laughed, and before the dancer could try to run, Lachor grabbed her arm and concentrated hard. Within seconds the dancer's body turned to solid gold, her terrified expression caught forever in a mold of gold.