Yast3r

I had started a story a short while ago, I usually stick to a Stephen King-ish style of writing but I recently decided to go for the classic Journal type writing. I ended up writing what has yet to grow a name... or a continuation paragraph. If you guys can please read through it a bit--it's not too long as I haven't really developed much. Just tell me if its effective or distracting and tell me if I should continue.

Note; It starts out pointless but grows content, be patient please. Also, I have not proof read, but I generally don't make tons of errors so that shouldn't effect much. :)

Here it is:

No known title yet
Dillon Andrews

December 20th 2007 –
Everyone has a story to tell. Or so I am told anyways. The grinning belligerent jackass handed me a pen and my Christmas present. What curse was placed upon me to have to ‘Secret Santa’ with this guy? I placed the pen aside and gave him a perplexed look as to why he gave me it in the first place. He simply shrugged. Reluctantly I opened the package. It was a book inside the ugly blue wrapping paper with dancing snowmen on it. I flip my finger over its pages, light pours into the crevasses to expose nothing. No black print. No horrible text that I won’t be reading later. I looked to him with disgust but he just smiled as he pushed my present to him aside.
“Everyone has a story to tell” he said. As he talked to me he used a tone similar to one you’d use to address a child. I placed a stern almost sinister mask over my face and stare into his eyes. He played dumb but I saw the intelligence sparkle. I wished I could take my wine back—wine is generally intended for a mature demographic—I wished I could have given this man a punch in the mouth instead. That thought came several times that night, but I resisted.

January 1st 2008 –
It’s the beginning of a new year. I’ve decided that perhaps I have something to tell, or maybe I can just find some details about myself by writing my thoughts down. Either way, I’ve grabbed this empty novel and I’ve decided to fill its pages with the events that unfold. Hopefully I will be able to find some inspiration or at least an interesting thing so that I update it consistently.

January 2nd 2008 –
It’s a nice day outside. I don’t know what to write

January 15th 2008 –
Fuck. I’ve got a song stuck in my head and I can’t seem to remember the name of it. The lyrics are something along the lines of:

“Prancing to the pinnacle,
Destroying the diminutive,
Eliminate the edible,
Protect the poisonous-
Parasites that…”

For the life of me, I cannot remember the rest. Oh well.

January 23rd 2008 –
Goddamn crisp icy air was seeping through the dashboard. It’s a nice smell—fresh and clean—but my face tends to hate my nose for enjoying it. I saw my breath; it matched the fog surrounding the car. Visibility was a level next to zero but I keep my foot at a consistent pressure on the pedal. After all, what will slowing down do? I just strained my eyes a little more and think positive thoughts. If a collision were to occur at these speeds I will disintegrate into the rubble and whatever remains of my car. Slowing down will just mean that I will find myself waking up in a wheelchair—in a piece of shit wheelchair—that’s not how I want to live.
I was finding that as the drive continued, I had not encountered another vehicle for quite some time. As relaxation settled in, my eyes tended to drift up into the cloudy sky. Stars attempted to penetrate through the thin grey blankets but fail. Only the moon shines bright; a beautiful diffused glow is dancing around its spherical body. The stars probably wish they could collaborate and eliminate it.
This is where my memories get hazy. After glancing to the right I saw a light emitting into the air making a vibrant yellow fog that rose up the back side of the hill. Twas’ my first encounter. I switched over to my low beams as to not blind them as they came to the other side of the hill—but I didn’t have to worry about blinding the fellow driver. I reached the climax at the peak of the hump. Nothing. I slowed down a little for the first time in my drive and I glanced to the right to see a metal ship of sorts—no larger than three cars melted together. Lights shot through the air as if I was at a rave.
I closed my eyes as the lights got brighter and more intense. All power to my car died as if the ship sucked up electricity to grow even brighter. A ring overcame both of my ears and a soporific trance followed suit. I was unconscious in a matter of seconds.

January 24th 2008 –
I woke up in the morning. My car door was open, a crowd of spectators surrounded my vehicle and an officer was talking on his radio to my left. A murmur spread through the crowd and the officer nodded his head and began walking my way.
“Good morning sleeping beauty.” He shouted with a chuckle. It must have been funny, a chorus of laughter pounded my head like a steel bar being smashed across my face. I must have screamed or grid my teeth as his jolly expression vanished and concern took over.
“Are you alright sir? Have you had too much to drink last night?” Fuck me. I couldn’t even remember if I drank anything—let alone alcoholic beverages. I remembered shaking my head; I don’t know what message he got out of it however, as I still had to take a breathalyzer. “Let’s get you out of there” he said as he pulled me from the front seat.
I took a casual glance down and saw my pants unbuttoned. More importantly my jeans had turned dark blue around the crotch. I looked to my seat to confirm it. I pissed my pants in terror of what I had seen—it wasn’t just a dream. My imagination began to stir up images of the ship as cold hand grasped my spine and squeezed. I convulsed forward and fell to the ground as the officer looked around frantically for help. I was on the ground but I still felt as though something was squeezing my spinal cord. My feet began to shake and a smile graced my face as I rapidly blinked my eyes to a pleasing thunderous scream.
The smile stretched as my eyelids grew heavy. My final thought was that I was going to wake up in the hospital in a piece of shit wheelchair. Oh the irony.

January 26th 2008 –
I’m released from the hospital. What can they do? They’ve searched every section of my body and found nothing wrong. I don’t know what the result of the breathalyzer was, but I still have my wallet and my license—no one came to talk to me about it either.
I’ve had night terrors every night since the contact with whatever it is that I saw. My dreams aren’t of aliens, they are of a field. Fields where roses grow in abundance and I always feel tempted to pick them. When I reach the rose that appeals most to me, there is a strong feeling that I am being watched. I pop my finger into its center and try to pry open its petals only to penetrate my finger through something in its core. I scream, and pull my hand out, blood pouring steadily from the tip of my finger. It’s not my blood. I wipe my hand on my jeans—which quirkily enough are piss stained.
Taking a moment to catch my breath, I sit down and tilt my head to look inside the eccentric rose. I begin feeling nauseous as I see that in the center of the blossom is an eye. In its dying moment the flower erects itself into a perfectly vertical tower. A ring fills my ears; the whole field gets blown to my direction by a gust of wind that dies when all the roses are pointing to my sweat covered self. Their petals open, it’s nothing but a field of eyes staring a hole into me. I wake up but the feeling doesn’t go away. I’m still being watched.

January 27th 2008 –
I’m feeling healthy and well enough for work—just in time too. Winter vacation has come to an end (I’d call it Christmas Vacation but I was advised against it at a board meeting so that we aren’t to offend others). Everyone flocked back to their offices as though they missed their caffeine and ever growing case of carpal tunnel syndrome.
Me? I sat at my chair with my hands on my knees. They were sweating and the hairs on the back of my neck were standing proud like soldiers saluting their flag. Who or what they were saluting was beyond me, symbolism never really did it for me. My cubicle was empty—I was only being checked out by the February calendar babe. I will miss the way my eyes would gravitate to her bosoms resting on the handlebars of that bike. I’ve been told on several occasions not to flip a calendar ahead a page before the month has gone. Tis’ bad luck they say, but I find it too much of a hassle scheduling next weeks appointments with my clients so I take a chance anyways and put a tack defiantly through Mrs. March’s temple.


And thats where his tale ends for now--or possibly forever.

infinitee

i thought it was great. reminded me a lot of stephen king's writing. i really think you should continue. its good so far, and i think that it could turn out to be magnifiscent.

__________________
"You are, and shall be, set in obsidian obelisk.
Those scars, these memories, will see you through"

Yast3r

Thanks Infinitee, I'll keep that in mind. :)