The Running
Oct. 17th, 2006 06:24 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hells_half_acreIt's a little known fact that back in High School I started writing a novel. The last time I wrote something new for it was about 3 years ago, unfortunately, but I do have 15 parts of various lengths saved on my computer. In a fit of boredom today, I read them all again. Some of it is not bad, and I can't help but think I should start working on it again. It's sort of a hard genre though...in that it's a completely ordinary book, save for the fact that I stole a basic idea for it from a Russian science-fiction movie called Stalker. Which makes it a regular old novel, only there's just a small thread of science-fiction running through it. I also have six main characters, only one of which is a girl. Anyway, before I get too sidetracked explaining too much, here is a segment from my unfinished novel Meanwhile Road:
**
Charlie stood at the edge of the woods, eyes closed and waiting. He took his breaths deep and slow. The birds sang to the sun, while insects hurried to make the most of their short lives. Charlie waited. It would come. It always came. He only had to wait. The wind blew softly through the tree tops, and in the silence that followed he heard it,
“Run.”
In that instant Charlie’s eyes flung open, his mind turned off, and all that existed was Running. The voice was never loud or demanding, and it never had any note of urgency. It was always the same. The constant voice from the past, exactly how it had sounded on the cold December night, in the ally behind the Chinese restaurant. The last words of his fallen friend.
He leapt over rocks and fallen trees. It was as though he knew what was coming before he saw it, but it had nothing to do with his mind. His body knew the Impasse, even the parts that he had never seen. He could never remember the way anywhere. After his run he would be left with the images of rock and trees, groves and hills, chasms and rivers, but there would be no memory of how to get to them, or their location in relation to each other. All Charlie knew was the Running. It consumed him and he became the sound of his breath, feet and heart. He was barely Charlie, he was only the Running.
When he ran he felt free, yet somehow chained. Christian was always with him. He was never sure where though. Sometimes it seemed that he was a head of him, as though it was the early days of their time together when Christian knew the streets better, and Charlie still had the urge to look back for the pursuers. Other times it felt as though Christian was running beside him, and there was the times that Christian was behind him, struggling to keep up. It had been like that in the final days. The Running had begun to consume Charlie, and Christian was beginning to falter.
Charlie knew that Christian couldn’t catch up, and all he wanted to do was stop and pretend that he was tired as well, but he couldn’t. It was too risky. Christian became better at hiding to compensate. Charlie would run, and then wait in a safe place for Christian to come out of hiding.
Charlie hated the days that Christian ran behind him, and this day was one of them. Sometimes as he was running in the impasse he could hear Christian running with him. It could be an echo, but Charlie always laughed when he heard it, and Christian would laugh back. The almost giddy laugh of a young boy. It seemed to dance through the thick trees, and for a brief instant Charlie would be free of the chain that held him to Christian. They were young and running, playing not being chased. There would no longer be any urgency or fear. It was times like those when the Running became a freedom, instead of a distraction. It became a pleasure and not just a natural drug.
Charlie slowed down and began to regain control of his body and mind. He started to jog and found that he had once again been returned safely home. He waved when he noticed one of the twins sitting on the back balcony.
**
Charlie stood at the edge of the woods, eyes closed and waiting. He took his breaths deep and slow. The birds sang to the sun, while insects hurried to make the most of their short lives. Charlie waited. It would come. It always came. He only had to wait. The wind blew softly through the tree tops, and in the silence that followed he heard it,
“Run.”
In that instant Charlie’s eyes flung open, his mind turned off, and all that existed was Running. The voice was never loud or demanding, and it never had any note of urgency. It was always the same. The constant voice from the past, exactly how it had sounded on the cold December night, in the ally behind the Chinese restaurant. The last words of his fallen friend.
He leapt over rocks and fallen trees. It was as though he knew what was coming before he saw it, but it had nothing to do with his mind. His body knew the Impasse, even the parts that he had never seen. He could never remember the way anywhere. After his run he would be left with the images of rock and trees, groves and hills, chasms and rivers, but there would be no memory of how to get to them, or their location in relation to each other. All Charlie knew was the Running. It consumed him and he became the sound of his breath, feet and heart. He was barely Charlie, he was only the Running.
When he ran he felt free, yet somehow chained. Christian was always with him. He was never sure where though. Sometimes it seemed that he was a head of him, as though it was the early days of their time together when Christian knew the streets better, and Charlie still had the urge to look back for the pursuers. Other times it felt as though Christian was running beside him, and there was the times that Christian was behind him, struggling to keep up. It had been like that in the final days. The Running had begun to consume Charlie, and Christian was beginning to falter.
Charlie knew that Christian couldn’t catch up, and all he wanted to do was stop and pretend that he was tired as well, but he couldn’t. It was too risky. Christian became better at hiding to compensate. Charlie would run, and then wait in a safe place for Christian to come out of hiding.
Charlie hated the days that Christian ran behind him, and this day was one of them. Sometimes as he was running in the impasse he could hear Christian running with him. It could be an echo, but Charlie always laughed when he heard it, and Christian would laugh back. The almost giddy laugh of a young boy. It seemed to dance through the thick trees, and for a brief instant Charlie would be free of the chain that held him to Christian. They were young and running, playing not being chased. There would no longer be any urgency or fear. It was times like those when the Running became a freedom, instead of a distraction. It became a pleasure and not just a natural drug.
Charlie slowed down and began to regain control of his body and mind. He started to jog and found that he had once again been returned safely home. He waved when he noticed one of the twins sitting on the back balcony.
