#1
You see nothing but white washed walls, painted at the beginning of time by nobody at all, and a floor polished to a perfect, blinding glare that illuminates everything above it with the reflections of the florescent lights on the chalky ceiling. It burns the very back of your eyes to look at it, so you keep your focus on the lonely, red dotted line in the middle of the floor, and you start walking.


Just follow the line, you tell yourself. Just follow the line. Maybe it will take you to the door at the end of this wretched, ghastly hallway.


For a second, you dare to take your eyes off of the line, and trust your feet to keep following and not get you lost. Just a second, but long enough to realize that you are alone in here. There are no traces of people anywhere. Or...well…anything, for that matter. Nothing but you. You and the sound of the endless Tap Tap Tap of your shoes clicking against the floor and echoing down to wherever this hallway ends. The silence screams at you, piles on top of you and applies pressure from all sides as you try to say something that will assure yourself that you are still alive. It is now understood that speech does not happen here. You haven’t said a single word in the minutes-or hours?-that you have been following this line, and it suddenly seems responsible for all of this.


From seemingly nowhere, someone is whispering to you, laughing at you. It seems to be coming from the line. It is throwing it right in your face that you are depending on a little red line to show you the way. It tells you to stop following it, teasing you. It dares you to try to stray from its path. Says you can’t do it, that you are too weak. It says you couldn’t walk away if you wanted to.


In your rage at this newfound evil emanating from the line you once followed so faithfully, you defiantly close your eyes, and look up. And you keep walking. The sound of the lines devilish snickers and taunts fades, as well as the Tap Tap Tapping of your shoes against the floor. The lights on the ceiling shine through your eyelids and create a milky red-and-purple swirl inside of your head. Every five steps or so, you feel the ice cold draft of an air duct ruffle your hair and tickle the inside of your nose as you breathe in the freezing air.


You are still alone inside your head, but you are aware of new, unfamiliar sensations around you. You feel people brush by you as they walk the other way, and the presence of some people walking in front of or behind you. You hear children playing an all-important game of tag somewhere off in the distance, and up ahead is the sound of a door opening and closing at seemingly random intervals. There is a sense of finality in the air, as if you have reached the end of this place. Yet still, you are afraid to open your eyes out of fear that the line will still be there, waiting for you. It then occurs to you that this is silly. You have no idea how long ago you closed your eyes, how far you have walked, or even in what direction you were going. There’s no way the line could follow you here.

So you open your eyes. You are in the same old hallway, with the same old white washed walls and polished floors. The same old emptiness. And there is no line on the floor. Ahead, about two hundred yards, is a door. You start walking in anticipation of what could be behind it. Perhaps freedom, a way out of this. Thinking of your impending liberty, you start walking faster. And faster. And out of nowhere, the door is right in front of you. You have no idea how it got there that fast, but you don’t care. You just want to get the hell out of this hallway.


Just as you open the door, you take a look back. There is nothing but those white washed walls and gleaming floors. And off in the distance, about five hundred yards away, a little red line streaking across the floor. You can’t help but think that you are a different person than you were five hundred yards ago. That line will never bother you again.


With your newfound sense of confidence and independence, you step boldly through the door to see what sort of heaven awaits you beyond the threshold.


You see nothing but white washed walls, painted at the beginning of time by nobody at all, and a floor polished to a perfect, blinding glare that illuminates everything above it with the reflections of the florescent lights on the chalky ceiling. It burns the very back of your eyes to look at it, so you keep your focus on the lonely, red dotted line in the middle of the floor, and you start walking.


Your ceiling fan is working as hard as it can to dry your sweat-drenched hair, and your arms glisten in the moonlight creeping through your window. You sit up, breathing heavily, and look at your clock. 3:38. It was just a dream. Reassured by this thought, you get up and make your way outside into the freezing night. The piercing cold lines your esophagus with ice as you still try to catch your breath. You walk out onto the street, just to make sure that you can walk in anything but a straight line. You never see the truck coming.



You see nothing but white washed walls, painted at the beginning of time by nobody at all…
Today I feel electric grey
I hope tomorrow, neon black
Last edited by Ganoosh at Aug 18, 2009,
#3
I refuse to believe that. Please, find something wrong with it.


EDIT: Not that I don't appreciate your compliment, I do, but I just don't think I'm at the level of writing yet that can elicit that type of response with absolutely no criticism. I'm a long, long way away from that kind of writing.

Thanks for reading, though.
Today I feel electric grey
I hope tomorrow, neon black
Last edited by Ganoosh at Aug 18, 2009,
#5
I'm going to have a hard time getting people to read this one, much less if it was any longer. I don't see what I would add to make it longer..
Today I feel electric grey
I hope tomorrow, neon black
#6
Wow that is honestly really amazing. Of course, I also think that something that good should be longer but I understand what you're saying about getting people read something this long in the first place.

I'll be honest, I can't believe I read the whole thing. I'm not much of a reader but I got pretty interested in this. Keep at it!!
Username is from years ago, just saying
#7
Wow. Amazing. I am struggling to find something wrong with it, I really am. I read it over around 5 times before I gave up.
Too lazy to come up with a clever or relevant sig.
#8
At first I didn't really want to read it because it was so long, but I decided I might as well just give it a try

I just couldn't stop reading it, it was just that great
#10
i'll wait till dyl's done his voodoo, then do a full crit. some thoughts, however.

I was just about ready to kill you when you ended with "it was just a dream" but you salvaged yourself very well. However, I almost wanted this to be a never ending cycle. per example:

"With your newfound sense of confidence and independence, you step boldly through the door to see what sort of heaven awaits you beyond the threshold.

You see nothing but white washed walls, painted at the beginning of time by nobody at all, and a floor polished to a perfect, blinding glare that illuminates everything above it with the reflections of the florescent lights on the chalky ceiling. It burns the very back of your eyes to look at it, so you keep your focus on the lonely, red dotted line in the middle of the floor, and you start walking.

Just follow the line, you tell yourself. Just follow the line..."

and end it like that. That, to me at least, would've been perfect. This is the only thing I've ever liked from you, you have a knack for prose. Use it. If you're bored between now and then, click "no" in my sig.
#11
Thanks. Yeah, I think I have found that I'm definitely more of a prose guy than poetry. I'll definitely take a look at your piece later tonight.


And yes dylan(Can I call you dylan?), I would love that.
Today I feel electric grey
I hope tomorrow, neon black
#12
Oh my. absolute perfection my friend. nothing wrong with it, i find. Please critique my song as well...."The Deception of a Dream"
#13
Thanks for reading...
Today I feel electric grey
I hope tomorrow, neon black
#14
Hmm. The mechanics here are good, your descriptions of things not too overblown or overly descriptive. The twist at the end was good, because at first (like kyle) I thought you were copping out with the whole "it was a dream" thing.

I hate hate hate "second person" narrative views. I can't really complain that much, as it's just my personal preference, but it did make me enjoy it less. I don't think it was really necessary, and it would have worked fine with a third person view, but again that's your call.
#15
I hate it all! It all sucks!

"Yo, did you even read it?"

"What? Hell no!"
Singer/Songwriter/Guitarist/Bassit/Drummer/Screamer/Marocka Shaker/Flute Tamer/Bio Chemical Robot Lover/Holographic Charizard owner/ Industrial waste polutionier/Stoner