I was going through my computer, deleting unwanted stuff when I came across my GCSE Original Writing coursework from last year. Basically, the idea is to write a story, whatever we wanted to write about. So I had a look at it, tweaked it a bit and decided to post it here.
So, what do you guys think? Am I a literary genius? Or should I be banned from the english language forever? Or somewhere between the two?
I'm expecting this to get ripped to shreds so I'll post it overnight and recieve all comments in the morning / after school.
I also spoilered it to avoid the standard "TLDR" and "OMG Wall of Text" responses.
Thanks.
So, what do you guys think? Am I a literary genius? Or should I be banned from the english language forever? Or somewhere between the two?
I'm expecting this to get ripped to shreds so I'll post it overnight and recieve all comments in the morning / after school.
I also spoilered it to avoid the standard "TLDR" and "OMG Wall of Text" responses.
Thanks.
It was a plague town. That was made clear by the hastily dug graves a good distance out of town - The cemetery had been filled already. The streets were filthy; with dirt and fluids of unknown origin covering every inch; and the houses, which had once been white, were now a sickening brown, fading to a foul mustard yellow near the black slate roofs. A thick sludge of a river sluggishly forced itself through the town. The unmistakeable reek of death seemed to be carried along by the impenetrable fog, which slowly choked the town and the dull ring of a battered old clock tower striking three provided the inhabitants with a demoralising and monotonous tune to life.
As the final chime faded, a number of rats scurried out of the shadows, ever fearful of the hungry buzzards circling above. It was then that a man arrived. It was hard to tell if he belonged in the town. He was dirty but there was a certain neatness to his dirtiness, as though it had been put there for a reason and he had not lived in filth for most of his life. He wore a simple, white shirt; now yellowed with age and use. His plain black trousers, which frayed towards the ankles, were held to his body with a burnt leather belt, covered in about half a dozen pouches; the smallest being about the size of two thumbs and the largest being big enough to hold a small knife. It was doubtful if even he knew the original colour of his boots as they certainly appeared older than he did; and were now caked in mud and other, less pleasant, substances. Dark brown, almost black, gloves covered his eight surviving fingers. The missing glove fingers were now sewn up, over the stumps of his left ring and little fingers. Most of this clothing, however, was covered by a long jacket with numerous outside pockets and countless, hidden inside ones.
His scarred face was covered with a crimson bandana around his neck, pulled over his mouth and nose. A shock of bright white hair was also covered, but with a wide brimmed Stetson hat. The nearby townspeople watched him with an equal mix of suspicion and fear. A young child, no older than six, tugged on the hem of the stranger?s jacket.
?What happened to your fingers, mister?? he asked, timidly. The stranger turned around and crouched down low, meeting the child at eye level. His eyes widened as the stranger lowered his bandana and asked him his name.
?It?s D ? Daniel..sir,? stuttered the boy after a moment of awkward, painful silence.
?Well then Daniel,? the stranger said in a hushed voice. ?Do as you?re told and never touch the knives in your kitchen? ?Yes sir, I will? replied Daniel, squirming as he looked desperately for an escape
route.
?Good,? whispered the stranger, as he pulled his bandana back, over his face and walked off down the street. Daniel stood there, shocked, for a moment before returning from where he came from.
A few hours later, the stranger found himself entering the Green Flagon pub, or at least that?s what was legible from the dung streaked and dilapidated sign outside. He sat alone, at a table in the corner, with a half finished pint of beer in front of him. There were others inside the filthy establishment as well; a group of bearded men smoking and playing cards in the opposite corner. It was hard to tell what game they played as they almost never spoke, just picking up and putting down cards silently. There was also a group of roughly twenty, younger patrons; obviously celebrating something but from the miserable state of the town it was hard to tell if anything could be worth celebrating.
Ignoring all of these people, the stranger pushed his way through to the bar and caught the attention of the barman. ?Where might I find the landlord?? the Stranger asked, looking around suspiciously.
?I?m the landlord,? said the barman impatiently. ?What do you want??
?I am looking for a Mr. Ayak, do you know of him?? said the stranger in a half whisper, still looking around. ?No, I?m sorry, but I do know a Mr. Akai, maybe you were after him,? replied the landlord, winking oddly. ?He?s in the cellar, through the trap door.? He gestured to the dusty, wooden trapdoor next to the bar.
The stranger entered the cellar slowly and carefully, allowing his eyes to adjust to the gloom. A short, bald man with his eyes closed was stood in the centre of the cellar, away from the barrels of beer and racks of wine. He sensed the man?s entry and began to speak.
?Welcome." He spoke in a deep, gravelly voice. ?We both know what you?re here for so I?ll keep it short. Mr. Bröder runs this town, and we all hate him, he?s the reason the town?s in such a state. That?s why you?re here. He lives and works in the big town hall that you must?ve seen on your way here; it?s behind the clock tower. Unfortunately, all visitors are restricted to the first and second floors and he lives on the fourth. But, he does work on the second between eight in the morning and eight at night; also, he only has one guard with him except when moving around.? ?He?s the mark?? asked the stranger, growing tired of his new employer?s rambling.
?Well, yes, if you must put it that way,? said the bald man, annoyed by his employee's forwardness. ?The main entrance and the back entrance are both guarded, but there is another way inside. On the north side of the clock tower there is a sewer grate, only it doesn?t lead to the sewer. It leads to a secret route to the town hall which is used in emergencies. That?s the best way inside? The stranger turned to leave but was interrupted by his employer. ?Don?t forget..? he whispered ?We want his head as well?
As the stranger stumbled outside the pub and along to the town centre, he glanced up to the clock tower. Seven o?clock. There was enough time. He saw the grate as he approached the base of the clock tower. Crouching low, he lifted the heavy, wrought iron grate out of its place and onto the cobbled floor. Lowering himself inside, despite the tunnel containing a stench that would outlive even a vampire; the stranger hoped there weren?t any lurking down here; he began to walk forwards, only to find that the passage had been bricked up. Worried he looked back up to the hole where the grate had been. Instead of a gaping hole he saw the pub's landlord sliding the grate into its setting and another, unknown, man lowering large, heavy rock onto the grate to prevent escape. The men waved and smiled at him before wandering off.
Reaching inside his jacket, the stranger pulled out a match, lit it and dropped it onto the floor, hoping something would catch fire. Something did, and he saw the bones and rotting cadavers of the previous men sent to kill Mr. Bröder. Some were dressed similar to him, in long jackets whereas others were dressed in black outfits, designed to allow the wearer to blend into the shadows. They clearly worked as no one had notied them down here in the freezing, stinking darkness. Sinking to the floor, he pulled a pack of cards from his jacket. and slowly shuffled them as he examined his surroundings. Moss covered every surface and animals had long since deserted the place, knowing a death-trap when the saw one. A card dropped from the pack. It was a joker, its twisted face laughing cruelly at his fate.
? Shit, Serj, what have you got yourself into this time?? he muttered to himself.
?So you DO have a name!? came a voice. Daniel had returned and was peering down the grate, past the rock at Sergei.
?I?d be a bit weird if I didn?t? Serj responded. ?Anyway, why are you here??
?I?m here to get you out!? explained Daniel. He began to push the rock slowly off of the grate and after five, agonisingly long minutes the grate had gone.
Serj jumped, and just caught the edge of the hole. He squeezed both arms outside of his dark hole before removing his body from the dank prison. He looked at the clock. Quarter to Eight. He?d have no chance of completing his assignment if he didn?t hurry.
Abandoning Daniel without a word of thanks Serj rushed into the town hall, past the guard at the door, who tried to tell him that the building would soon close. He leapt up the stairs to the second floor and sprinted around a corner into the hallway. He stopped suddenly. The guard looked up and charged towards him.
A pouch on Sergei?s belt was open. There was a knife in his right hand. It glinted in the light of the hallway. Serj launched it at the guard as he raced down the hall. For a moment it seemed to do nothing; but then a red ribbon of blood gushed from the guard?s throat as he slowed to a stop and collapsed slowly to his knees. Serj walked to him, removed the blade and closed the man?s eyes before muttering a short prayer for him. Creeping towards the room that had been guarded, he saw a sign on the door.It said ?Mr. Bröder, Do not Disturb?. Pausing for a moment, Serj opened it, not knowing what to expect.
The room seemed empty except for a large chair, behind a desk, which was facing away, looking through a large window. The chair spun around to reveal the bald man with a smile across his face. ?Well done sir,? he said, almost laughing ?You?ve passed.?
As the final chime faded, a number of rats scurried out of the shadows, ever fearful of the hungry buzzards circling above. It was then that a man arrived. It was hard to tell if he belonged in the town. He was dirty but there was a certain neatness to his dirtiness, as though it had been put there for a reason and he had not lived in filth for most of his life. He wore a simple, white shirt; now yellowed with age and use. His plain black trousers, which frayed towards the ankles, were held to his body with a burnt leather belt, covered in about half a dozen pouches; the smallest being about the size of two thumbs and the largest being big enough to hold a small knife. It was doubtful if even he knew the original colour of his boots as they certainly appeared older than he did; and were now caked in mud and other, less pleasant, substances. Dark brown, almost black, gloves covered his eight surviving fingers. The missing glove fingers were now sewn up, over the stumps of his left ring and little fingers. Most of this clothing, however, was covered by a long jacket with numerous outside pockets and countless, hidden inside ones.
His scarred face was covered with a crimson bandana around his neck, pulled over his mouth and nose. A shock of bright white hair was also covered, but with a wide brimmed Stetson hat. The nearby townspeople watched him with an equal mix of suspicion and fear. A young child, no older than six, tugged on the hem of the stranger?s jacket.
?What happened to your fingers, mister?? he asked, timidly. The stranger turned around and crouched down low, meeting the child at eye level. His eyes widened as the stranger lowered his bandana and asked him his name.
?It?s D ? Daniel..sir,? stuttered the boy after a moment of awkward, painful silence.
?Well then Daniel,? the stranger said in a hushed voice. ?Do as you?re told and never touch the knives in your kitchen? ?Yes sir, I will? replied Daniel, squirming as he looked desperately for an escape
route.
?Good,? whispered the stranger, as he pulled his bandana back, over his face and walked off down the street. Daniel stood there, shocked, for a moment before returning from where he came from.
A few hours later, the stranger found himself entering the Green Flagon pub, or at least that?s what was legible from the dung streaked and dilapidated sign outside. He sat alone, at a table in the corner, with a half finished pint of beer in front of him. There were others inside the filthy establishment as well; a group of bearded men smoking and playing cards in the opposite corner. It was hard to tell what game they played as they almost never spoke, just picking up and putting down cards silently. There was also a group of roughly twenty, younger patrons; obviously celebrating something but from the miserable state of the town it was hard to tell if anything could be worth celebrating.
Ignoring all of these people, the stranger pushed his way through to the bar and caught the attention of the barman. ?Where might I find the landlord?? the Stranger asked, looking around suspiciously.
?I?m the landlord,? said the barman impatiently. ?What do you want??
?I am looking for a Mr. Ayak, do you know of him?? said the stranger in a half whisper, still looking around. ?No, I?m sorry, but I do know a Mr. Akai, maybe you were after him,? replied the landlord, winking oddly. ?He?s in the cellar, through the trap door.? He gestured to the dusty, wooden trapdoor next to the bar.
The stranger entered the cellar slowly and carefully, allowing his eyes to adjust to the gloom. A short, bald man with his eyes closed was stood in the centre of the cellar, away from the barrels of beer and racks of wine. He sensed the man?s entry and began to speak.
?Welcome." He spoke in a deep, gravelly voice. ?We both know what you?re here for so I?ll keep it short. Mr. Bröder runs this town, and we all hate him, he?s the reason the town?s in such a state. That?s why you?re here. He lives and works in the big town hall that you must?ve seen on your way here; it?s behind the clock tower. Unfortunately, all visitors are restricted to the first and second floors and he lives on the fourth. But, he does work on the second between eight in the morning and eight at night; also, he only has one guard with him except when moving around.? ?He?s the mark?? asked the stranger, growing tired of his new employer?s rambling.
?Well, yes, if you must put it that way,? said the bald man, annoyed by his employee's forwardness. ?The main entrance and the back entrance are both guarded, but there is another way inside. On the north side of the clock tower there is a sewer grate, only it doesn?t lead to the sewer. It leads to a secret route to the town hall which is used in emergencies. That?s the best way inside? The stranger turned to leave but was interrupted by his employer. ?Don?t forget..? he whispered ?We want his head as well?
As the stranger stumbled outside the pub and along to the town centre, he glanced up to the clock tower. Seven o?clock. There was enough time. He saw the grate as he approached the base of the clock tower. Crouching low, he lifted the heavy, wrought iron grate out of its place and onto the cobbled floor. Lowering himself inside, despite the tunnel containing a stench that would outlive even a vampire; the stranger hoped there weren?t any lurking down here; he began to walk forwards, only to find that the passage had been bricked up. Worried he looked back up to the hole where the grate had been. Instead of a gaping hole he saw the pub's landlord sliding the grate into its setting and another, unknown, man lowering large, heavy rock onto the grate to prevent escape. The men waved and smiled at him before wandering off.
Reaching inside his jacket, the stranger pulled out a match, lit it and dropped it onto the floor, hoping something would catch fire. Something did, and he saw the bones and rotting cadavers of the previous men sent to kill Mr. Bröder. Some were dressed similar to him, in long jackets whereas others were dressed in black outfits, designed to allow the wearer to blend into the shadows. They clearly worked as no one had notied them down here in the freezing, stinking darkness. Sinking to the floor, he pulled a pack of cards from his jacket. and slowly shuffled them as he examined his surroundings. Moss covered every surface and animals had long since deserted the place, knowing a death-trap when the saw one. A card dropped from the pack. It was a joker, its twisted face laughing cruelly at his fate.
? Shit, Serj, what have you got yourself into this time?? he muttered to himself.
?So you DO have a name!? came a voice. Daniel had returned and was peering down the grate, past the rock at Sergei.
?I?d be a bit weird if I didn?t? Serj responded. ?Anyway, why are you here??
?I?m here to get you out!? explained Daniel. He began to push the rock slowly off of the grate and after five, agonisingly long minutes the grate had gone.
Serj jumped, and just caught the edge of the hole. He squeezed both arms outside of his dark hole before removing his body from the dank prison. He looked at the clock. Quarter to Eight. He?d have no chance of completing his assignment if he didn?t hurry.
Abandoning Daniel without a word of thanks Serj rushed into the town hall, past the guard at the door, who tried to tell him that the building would soon close. He leapt up the stairs to the second floor and sprinted around a corner into the hallway. He stopped suddenly. The guard looked up and charged towards him.
A pouch on Sergei?s belt was open. There was a knife in his right hand. It glinted in the light of the hallway. Serj launched it at the guard as he raced down the hall. For a moment it seemed to do nothing; but then a red ribbon of blood gushed from the guard?s throat as he slowed to a stop and collapsed slowly to his knees. Serj walked to him, removed the blade and closed the man?s eyes before muttering a short prayer for him. Creeping towards the room that had been guarded, he saw a sign on the door.It said ?Mr. Bröder, Do not Disturb?. Pausing for a moment, Serj opened it, not knowing what to expect.
The room seemed empty except for a large chair, behind a desk, which was facing away, looking through a large window. The chair spun around to reveal the bald man with a smile across his face. ?Well done sir,? he said, almost laughing ?You?ve passed.?
