Forums » Creative Corner » Read Thread

Story C:

The streets were teeming with rats as they scurried to and fro across the lanes. From the nooks and crannies behind the fromageries, to the steaming hot and poorly ventilated annexes of the boulangeries situated alongside the Rue de Rivoli, they came frantically scampering, their claws scratching against the Parisian sidewalks, driving passerby helter skelter. As the rats began their exodus, sprinting across the road, cars swerved and people cursed. The serene order that hung in the air like a silky thread, barely maintained by the traffic lights and the patient commuters, who, in a matter of a few hours, would soon be replaced by stressed parents rushing their progeny to school, employees haplessly smashing their car horn as they gesticulate frantically, cursing everything from the forefathers of the driver of the car ahead of them, to the state of Parisian society, broke in the matter of a second. As if a spell hung in the air shattered, scattering thousands of shards of glass, so too did the rats send the streets of Paris into a veritable storm of madness and chaos.


No one quite knew what exactly had caused the rats to act in such an odd and peculiar manner, but as the rats glanced back, although no one could possibly know what exactly was on these frightened rats’ minds, it was clear that something terrible was afoot.


As the horde approached the crossroads of the Rue Saint-Honoré and Rue de Castiglione, demarcating the end of the cats’ territory, the speed of their flight seemed to relax imperceptibility, although they kept their sense of urgency as they continued to navigate the streets. Early morning commuters jumped, dropping their coffees, their morning routines disturbed by this animalian commotion, the rats weaved around the cars, buses, and motos, heading for the opening of a particularly unremarkable manhole, its cover shabbily and hastily placed over the hole, as though the Parisian sewage workers were working on a late night repair and miraculously forgot to close the grate for this particular manhole. A saving grace for our fleeing rats, for though this particular manhole may look unremarkable to the human eye, it actually leads to an extensive network of subterranean tunnels leading directly to where these rats need to go.


Inside the tunnels, the crisp and cool morning air replaced by a dank fog that seems to permeate the very cobblestone walls and moss-covered gravel that comprise the underground itself, the rats stopped for a moment, raising their heads to eagerly sniff the air, searching for clues. As though they all collectively arrive at a decision, the rats unerringly made a sharp left, then right, then right, then north, then left, then left, then beneath the false ceiling, around the stalactite, left again, right, and finally up, skidding across the tiniest cropping of a rock that somewhat resembles a ramp when you think about it, to reach the entrance.


The entrance to the catacombs of Paris, a yawning maw that seemed to loom over the rats, made them pause for a bit. As though they were on the verge of stepping off a cliff, like the human bungee jumper, who makes a leap of faith into the unknown, somehow blindingly trusting that the thin wiry cord would save them, so too did the rats hesitate, their whiskers trembling as the one in the lead tentatively extended a paw into the darkness. And as if he made up his mind, he suddenly jumped, headfirst into the darkness, and broke into a run, the rest of the herd soon following, all thoughts of terror swiftly abandoned by the immediate necessity of flight.


The caverns were damp with moss and lichen, and the rats make their way hesitatingly, as they gaze upon the macabre imagery decorating the caverns. Miles upon miles of human skulls decorate the catacombs, embedded deep within the walls of the entombed tunnels, as though they had existed there since the dawn of time. Finally resting, the rats scattered, migrating in small groups to settle in different tunnels, resting after the mad dash.


Petit Titou, a spotted young ratling, with whiskers that trembled whenever there was a high wind, he found a particularly appetizing block of gruyére cheese, or he was particularly unsettled, which happens more often than not, approached his mother, Lillian, who was busy clearing aside an alcove with particularly grisly neck bones for them to stay in.


“Mama, why did we come here? It’s dark and damp, and I feel strange omens looming over me. I don’t like this place. It feels like the ghost of man haunts each inch of this place.”


“As the prophet foretold, so it shall be, my son. We are the children of the dark, and we follow the one who sees the lights.”


“What are the lights, Mama?”


“They are… well, I can’t exactly describe them, but I assure you, they are very much real.”


“Well, have you seen them before?”


“No.”


“Who is the one who sees the lights?”


“Monsieur Boulangerie.”


“Why?”


“Nobody knows. But it perhaps has something to do with his strange countenance”.


“What… what do you mean by that? I have never laid eyes on him yet?”


“You’ll know him when you see him. He… isn’t exactly like the rest of us. And stop talking to yourself, the other rats already think you’re crazy enough as it is.”


Petit Titou blinked. Before his eyes, the female rat with the spotted brown fur who looked like him vanished, as though his mother had only been a figment of his imagination this whole time.


Strange. Most peculiar. Ever since their mad dash, Titou’s memories had been led astray. As he ran through the tunnels, he saw cavernous jaws hanging agape, the opening to the tunnel entrance a grinning skeletal mouth, its maxilla forming the ceiling, with stalactite-like teeth hanging from above, and mandibles forming the floor of the entrance. As if walking into the mouth of the corpse, Titou saw water that flowed sluggishly along in subterranean rivers, looking like saliva gushing from the mouth. And as the passed through to the maze, he swore he saw a strange epiglottis like structure, a hanging corpse of a man, with the bones slick with dripping calcium carbonate, hardening upon the bones to give a calcified appearance, of spikes jutting outward, forming demonic horns.


His paws began to tremble and he felt sweat form upon his brow. Through the corner of his eye, he saw the bone take root, sprouting as if it were a plant, forming strange geometric fractals that seemed to expand and contract, humming with a strange resonance.


Titou shuddered, snapping off the parasitic growth upon his brow with his right paw only to find that more bone nodules took its place. They jutted outward in jagged spikes, continuing to grow inexorably. He must find Monsieur Boulangerie without delay.


He started forward, and rats who were previously chatting animatedly, discussing their recent flight, matters of foraging, the effect of the dreaded gas and other important subjects. But upon seeing him, and his strange crown, the rats parted the way, and Titou hurried on.


He finally found what he was looking for in the upper east corner of their little collection of caverns.


A bearded man sat meditating, hovering over a strange chalk drawing of a pentagram. The man seemed to be vibrating in and out of existence, his features alternatively shifting in and out of the light. But despite this strange shifting, the gentleman seemed to be perfectly at ease, casually eating a piece of bread as he stared at the drawing. Petit Titou could not possibly discern what it exactly was that he was looking at, but whatever it was seemed to please him greatly. He took a hearty bite out of his piece of bread.


Petit Titou cautiously crept up to the strange man.


“Monsieur Boulangerie?”


The man turned.


“Yes, who’s asking?”


“It’s me, Petit Titou. I was told that you were the one who could see the lights. Is that true?”


Monsieur Boulangerie shrugged.


“Well, it depends on who’s asking”, he said, scratching his head as he did so.


“I was told about you by a voice inside my head. Does that make me special?”


Titou says, a note of uncertainty creeping into his voice. He wasn’t sure exactly why he was confessing this to a total stranger, especially to a human who definitely did not belong in the catacombs, sitting perfectly calmly among a large band of rats. Then again, nothing on this day made much sense, so perhaps this was merely par for the course.


As if he were merely waking up from a long nap, Monsieur Boulangerie descends to the floor with ease, his limbs folding outwards from the lotus position he was in, briefly distorting and extending as if they were rubber bands, only to land heartily on the floor, their dimensions rapidly returning to same measurements they were, as though Monsieur Boulangerie really was the flesh-and-blood man he seemed to be.


He bends down, looming over Petit Titou. He seemed much larger up close.


“As long as you believe it to be true, down to your dying breath.”


“So what do I do now?”


“What do the lights show you?”


Petit Titou closes his eyes. As though they arose unbidden, from the depths of his subconsciousness, he saw visions of shadowy cat-like figures emerging from the shadows of their caverns. Their fangs dripped with blood, and he saw his friends screaming, frantically running just like they did this morning, only this time, they were grabbed by sharp claws, shaken viciously with a fury that seemed to come from the depths of hell. And as his friends gasped, the yellow fangs loomed over them, the last thing they would ever see before their spines were snapped, and the life slowly left their eyes.


Petit Titou gasped. He opened his eyes, and knew what must be done.


It seemed that the Lights moved in accordance to his desires, for as he waved his paws, gesticulating this way and that, shadows emanated from the tips of his claws. Like a wisp of fog emerging from the genie’s lamp, the smoke coalesced into ethereal feline forms, slowly solidifying into eyes that shone like fire, whiskers that seemed to vibrate even when there was no breeze, and strangely, horns of bone jutting out from their eyebrows at the exact same spot as Titou.


The cats charged the crowd and pandemonium ensued.


“Cats!!! Run for your lives!”


The rats that sounded the alarm dashed towards the exits, only for the exits to shimmer and then disappear, reappearing a few feet away. Like Sisyphus on his doomed quest to roll the boulder up the hill, the hapless rats, chased by their phantom foes, ran on, desperately hoping for a reprieve, only for the cycle to repeat itself. And as the mound of rats began to writhe, scratching and clawing among each other, attempting to get far away from the maddening crowd, whiskers began to fly, as the rats scratched the very skin off their backs. Their claws gouged, and as the last rat gasped, bleeding from his eye socket with his claws embedded in the viscera of two other rats, Petit Titou laughed and laughed. With his final breath, he stared at the blinking lights and the shadow cats, which slowly flickered out of existence, carried away by the wind.

Bring your bricks and guillotines and vote here!

Stream of thought reviewing: let's go.

A: Some sentences, even within the first few paragraphs, made no sense. I overall just had a difficult time keeping up with this story, although that may also be attributed to my weekend-long migraine. I like the part where the child dies, though. I'm sure there's a great story in this, but my eyes kept glazing over and my head just kept pounding. I'd give this a 4/8.

B: The spacing looks like either a five year old did it, or like I did it when I was twelve. I actually am hooked on this story pretty much immediately. I also get the strong sense that Avo wrote this. But, I have been embarrasingly wrong in guessing who writes which stories in the past, so I'll block it out. About halfway through the story, and I have a VERY strong sense this was Avo, from the attempts to sound mature and the asterisks as paragraph breakers. Nearly finished with the story. If this is anyone OTHER than Avo, you write like a twelve year old girl. There's a lot of lore-dumping and rudimentary ideas that just remind me of Avo during the mafia game or the roleplaying thread, such as pulling signs out of nowhere or naming a concept. For a young writer, this is crucial, and honestly, it's kind of fun to read a story that could have just been written by a younger me. Not saying I'm much better at this point in time or anything- in fact, I'm probably about the same, but it's nice regardless.
...
Sudden plot-twist self insert.
Okay Avo, wrap it up.
For making me cringe so unfathomably hard, I'm deducting 3 points from the score I would've given you. Jesus Christ, I'm in pain. Never in my life have I wanted a time machine to go back and smack my younger self in the head this hard. It hurts so much because had I found CYS at 12, I would've done the same. Did... Did you just, not have enough words to finish, Avo? I'm actively crying.
1/8.

C:
Well, can't be worse than story B.
I actually am hooked on this one.
The usage of random SAT terminology such as 'helter skelter' 'exodus' and 'gesticulate' are fun, but they don't take me out of the writing too much, which I appreciate.
I forgot to actually say anything for most of this, I was so invested. As a French-American, though, I was like "Hey, isn't Boulangerie a bakery?" and after a quick google search, I was correct. That made me google Titou, which I did not recognize, but google said it was a french nickname for Antoine, so in english our MC would be known as 'Little Anthony,' or more likely, "Little Tony.' I just found that adorable, that we have 'Mister Bread-Baker' and 'Little Tony.' Anyway, I loved this story deeply. I docked a point for not following the prompt until the end, but I do think this is one of the best thunderdome stories I've read.
7/8

tl;dr, Story C.

Well, the troll side of me really wants to just vote for Avo's story for the lols, but I guess I should respect the sanctity of the thunderdome a bit more. Here are my thoughts on the stories we have on offer.

STORY A:

Story A begins with a typo (waves -> weaves). Not exactly promising but it doesn't make any egregious SPAG errors going forward so that's nice. The protagonist is a bit passive for my tastes but I guess an underaged kid in a riot doesn't really have a lot of agency in how things go. I feel like this could've been a far more interesting story if we saw it from the POV of the leader of the rebellion. One point I really liked was the way that the author hinted that the gunman shooting into the crowd might have been allied with the leader of the rebellion. It was an association that was subtle and yet obvious enough that it was hard to miss. In conclusion, decent enough writing but I feel like this story would've benefitted by either changing the POV or delving into the reasons why the protagonist was at the riot to begin with. Give us a reason to care, y'know?

STORY B:

Story B was weird. It starts with someone who is seemingly an inmate with a superiority complex but it quickly becomes apparent that they do have some reason for their attitude. The foreshadowing of their working for a greater boss is perfect because it misleads you into thinking that this person might have some mob connection or something and then hits you with the reveal that they're actually a supernatural entity that works for literal Death. I did like all the world building about Death and Science but the author (no I'm not capitalizing this) threw all of that setup away by self-inserting themselves into the story and just saying "Oh yeah, this story is over". This sort of ending is just so unsatisfying to read, and really makes readers wonder why they bothered wasting time reading the story in the first place.

I'd highly recommend the author of Story B to learn story structure. The reason you're having trouble writing endings is because you aren't setting up any conflicts in them. The tl;dr of story structure is basically setup conflict and then resolve conflict in the ending. If there's no conflict, there's no satisfying ending.

Eg: Kid wants to become a knight but he sucks at swordsmanship (the conflict is him sucking and no established knight wanting to train him) -> He eventually finds a weird hermit who teaches him a bizarre yet effective swordsmanship style (kid faces the conflict and takes action to overcome it) -> He enters a tournament and after some narrow victories wins the prize and more importantly the respect of the knights (ending where the initial conflict of him sucking is resolved).

STORY C:

Story C was quite the trip. It immediately set itself apart in terms of individuality by focusing on a riot of rats instead of humans. I also enjoyed the language used in this story (even learned a few new words :] ). Titou's character is a little confusing though. I just thought that he might have been an insane rat but that doesn't exactly explain how he was able to conjure shadow cats to attack his "friends". It really left me with questions of what part of all that was real and what were just the products of Titou's insanity. If that was the author's intention, then it's done really well. The unreliability of the narrator coupled with the excellent writing made this a treat to read.

In conclusion, I shall vote for Story C.

My thoughts on each of the stories!
forgive me if my grammar isn't on point I'm trying to finish this before english class ends 

STORY A: 

    The story start's off with the main character, Jack listening to a speech among many people, I really liked the writing here because I could visualize the scene quite well and it lets you connect the story to some real world events! Another thing I enjoyed was the repetition of  "when it comes to freedom, no price is too great". Having it appear in both the man's speech and the shooter's words to Jack makes it both ironic and memorable. The last thing I've really liked was the topic this story took place on, unless my reading comprehension is fried from lack of sleep this story reminded me of the recent protests happening all around the world. With the poor (they're dressed in rags so I'd assume so) being hungry and cold, ("And I am willing to pay that price if it means no longer having to fear being cold and hungry") and the rich being corrupt and abusing their wealth. The main character also dies at the end, which made me sad but I thought it was a realistic ending!

I give this a 7/8!

STORY B:

  Immediately I'm thrown off a bit by the spacing, but then again CYS does odd things to your spacing when you write in google docs (I'm not sure how it is on other writing sites like word) and copy and paste it over, so it doesn't bother me that much. The story starts off with the main character (?) in a prison cell, passing their time by watching water drip, I liked this detail because it adds some depth to the story and the reader starts to wonder why the character is in jail. One of the things I did not enjoy was, along the way some of the dialogue got corny at times, ie. "but now they’ve pissed me off and no one pisses me off." This made me cringe a bit because it sounds like something a Disney bully would say. The plot twist with the character working with death was actually pretty darn good. I'd assume most readers think they were working in a underground criminal organization so this twist and unexpected for sure! The world building with science and death was also interesting, adding more depth to the story.  One more thing I have qualms about is the ending with the author self insert, I can see what the author where trying to go with it, but it just wasn't executed well and felt a tad bit rushed. To add on the mentions of EndMaster and CYS made me cringe again and kind of foiled the immersion a bit. Overall the story is decent, there is areas for improvement but the general direction and idea was quite creative!

I give this a 4/8!
 

STORY C:

    English class is almost over so I'm going to rush through this a bit! I love the idea that, instead of humans this conflict is between rats and cats, Instantly making it different from the two earlier stories. The story starts off with rats running through the streets of Paris. I really liked the detail in describing the setting and scene, it was very easy to visualize the scene and what the author was trying to portray. Throughout the whole story the focus in the detail was consistent making it an enjoyable and immersive read. The language used in this story was also quite interesting, with me often having to google meaning of words. As you read through the story you realize Petit Titou is a little mad (especially in the ending where he summons the shadow cats to brutally kill his friends) which I find really intriguing. Overall I loved this authors writing style and this was a great short read !

I give this a 7/8! (docked a point because it wasn't exactly on theme)

I enjoyed reading all of these stories but story C really stood out! I give my vote to C!

All three stories got hurt by their endings, but I'm voting for Story A because it matches the prompt best. And because even the ending fit the rest even if it felt unnecessary, it would've made more sense if Jack had protested what he saw happen or threatened to tell. As the story is it's not even obvious he saw anything worth killing him over.

The protagonist of Story B was just too smug and unlikeable even before the ending. And while I thought Story C was written in a fun and interesting way, it's again just too out there and doesn't fit the prompt well. Not really sure all this fantasy stuff from B and C was the best choice at all.

Funny that Stargirl's story from a couple of threads ago would've fit this better than the one she wrote it for.

Story C

I'll be actually reading these later and perhaps changing my vote. But so far A is the clear winner on formatting alone. C has that ugly double spacing and B, yeah let's not talk about story B.

C