Nostalgia - General - Facepunch Forum

[img]http://i419.photobucket.com/albums/pp280/Ghost_G45/nostalgia1.png[/img] Rusted cars and rubbish from a world forgotten littered the street like a child's playthings. The asphalt was covered in a thin layering of broken glass. Torn electrical wires lay on the ground like slumbering snakes bathing in the artificial light of fiery wreckage. Garbage cluttered the edges of the road, stinking of rotting food and flesh. Mezeker stalked through the ruins of the once-shining metropolis, glass shards cracking under the weight of his black boots. He stopped on a street corner and sat down to eat. Quite the feast: A battered can of tinned salmon and a slice of slightly molded bread. In this time, these foods had become coveted luxuries. Looking around, Mezeker took in the view before him. Decrepit buildings faced outward like stalwart soldiers, all standing in uniform. Dust had gathered on the window sills. Having rotted away from the busy work of a thousand termites, wooden awnings had come crashing down to the street below, leaving sharp splinters of wood scattered about. Everything about the city was silent and unfeeling. The fetid smell that blanketed the streets had become so present that the odor was in Mezeker's sweat, pores, skin, and, at this point, probably in his blood. The buildings were like muted ghosts: Telling a story with their darkened glass eyes and locked wooden mouths. Some looked angry with their cast-iron eyebrows furrowed, glaring at all the few who passed by. Others had a sad look of nostalgia, as if they longed to go back to a time where so many busy men would walk by each morning, so many women would strut through their doors in the late afternoon seeking lunch, and so many children would stare in at the toys and gifts in the windows each holiday night with awed looks of fascination and excitement. Everything about the city was quiet and emotionless. But Mezeker knew better than to believe that the city was as deserted as it seemed in this grayish dusk light. The city was a hive, teeming with thousands of termites of its own kind. Termites that bit and clawed away at the foundation, making their dank homes from the houses of those who came before them. They slowly devoured the city, metaphorically and literally. The aftermath of their devastation was apparent everywhere: In the air, in the dirt, and in the hopeless and dirtied faces of those who were stranded in the destruction of the once great urban utopia. In the city's silence, the paranoia and fear was magnified to an intensity that made a man's ears ring. The silence was when the hive was most dangerous. Silently and unseen, the workers of the colony move about in the darkness, meticulously tightening their grip on the land they have infected. Having finished his meal, Mezeker looked up as he packed away the scraps of his dinner. It was unwise to leave litter in the city: It left a trail. Mezeker saw the last rays of the sun clinging to the edges of the buildings with desperate fingers of faint waxy light. The black shadow of night emerged from the sewers and dark underbelly of the city, biting viciously at the sun's pale and fragile grip. In the city, there was no moon. The night came from below. Time was of the essence, and Mezeker quickly scooped up the last few crumbs. As the night drew closer, the rank smell of the city's waste thickened. Mezeker was pushed onward by the stench of decomposing flesh. As he walked through the center of the street, dodging between rustic automobiles and derelict behemoth tanks, Mezeker could almost hear the beasts scraping and slithering all around him. The hive was awakening as the sun set. The termites were coming to life. That is to say, if life was really what you could classify as their existence. The sun disappeared over the horizon. Darkness enclosed Mezeker, its sleek dark hands wrapping its greasy fingers greedily around him. Mezeker swore angrily to himself about staying out later than he had meant to, and began to walk stiffly. In the city, you didn't run. In the hive, you didn't run. They would hear you. If they heard you, you became a part of the hive. The ringing grew louder. The silence bore down on Mezeker, slamming his ears and making the blood inside of them beat incessantly against his eardrums, matching the tympani-like beating of his heart. Mezeker's eyes swam with water. His breathing was rigid. He couldn't run. He mustn't run. Amidst the chaos of his mind, Mezeker heard the sounds of a city alive once more. Yellow taxis bustled through the thoroughfares, their horns blaring angrily at one another like the bickering ladies who stood nearby at the open markets, arguing over beads and baubles. Brakes screeched. Tires dragged. People spoke in a great clamor. Everything was alive, and Mezeker was in the middle of it all. The nostalgia overwhelmed him. Mezeker opened his eyes. He was sitting. Who had turned off the lights? "Where am I?" The ground was moist, almost oily. The darkness enveloped him. The scratching grew louder, drowning out the ringing silence. Mezeker wasn't sure which was worse. "Mother?" Mezeker called out to the darkness. The scratching drew closer. "Mother, where am I?" The scratching turned into banging. "Where have you gone, mother?" The banging became a blood-curdling scream. "The bug man is here. He's come to kill the termites. You told me he was coming, but I can't find you. Mother?" The air was thick. It was almost too hard to breathe. The screams were deafening. A siren wailed in the distance. With a nauseating pang of realization, reality slammed into Mezeker like a brick wall. Mezeker was inside. He was somewhere, inside the hive. The hive was waking up. The city was no longer sleeping. It was alive. The termites were coming out.

I love it. I was drawn in, and you kept me in. It's written very nicely. I have one and only one qualm -- wherever I see a colon, I want there to be instead a hyphen, but that's more of a preference than anything.

[QUOTE=WastedJamacan;28812245]wherever I see a colon, I want there to be instead a hyphen, but that's more of a preference than anything.[/QUOTE] Hm. Interesting. I generally don't use hyphens, but that's probably because I'm not exactly sure when it's appropriate to employ them.

[QUOTE=GhostG45;28838892]Hm. Interesting. I generally don't use hyphens, but that's probably because I'm not exactly sure when it's appropriate to employ them.[/QUOTE] Actually I meant dashes, not hyphens, but they're essentially the same thing. Colons are sort of a harder stop than a dash, but the only way I learned was from countless grammar excersises last year. [editline]27th March 2011[/editline] [QUOTE=GhostG45;28810085] Quite the feast- a battered can of tinned salmon and a slice of slightly molded bread. The buildings were like muted ghosts, telling a story with their darkened glass eyes and locked wooden mouths. The aftermath of their devastation was apparent everywhere- in the air, in the dirt, and in the hopeless and dirtied faces of those who were stranded in the destruction of the once great urban utopia. It was unwise to leave litter in the city; it left a trail.[/QUOTE] Actually, now that I look back, this is what I would've done.

That was amazing, I loved it.

This sounds like the intro to an amazing, surreal novella. I would so buy it and read it.