Short Story For English

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I know it is long and evil. But if you can endure it please read and give me help - I have to improve and work on it to hand in on Wednesday, ANY help appreciated:

Edited - updated the story (Now longer and eviler than ever before. I have given it the title 'Forgotten')

Any last changes I should make?

Forgotten

Looking ahead I could see the long grasses on the hills being blown in strange patterns by the wind. It was unusually strong for the spring, like the winter was still continuing its angry influence on the land. I could see shapes in the grass, moving slowly. Probably wild animals trying to find their way to some sort of shelter or place to graze. The wind seemed to pause for breath, looking up the sky was stormy, but I was too far away from anywhere. Nobody would find me here. Nobody was found here. There were once many people here. A whole town destroyed by some unknown cause, nobody noticed it was missing until the traders decided to buy some supplies only to find the town had vanished without a trace, no sign of life, only the land which was barren and the buildings destroyed, they found nobody. Since then the grasses have taken over and the town is almost completely forgotten, nothing recorded about the town, nothing to look back on. Now it only serves as a fairy tale, an old story told to scare troublesome children.

But it isn’t just a story, I know it happened. I remember it well, like it happens every day; I live the last moments over and over again. I can remember there were fires which caught the small wooden houses and burned brightly against the dark skies. I can remember hearing strange sounds from above, the shrieking calls of something unseen against the black skies. I remember hearing the final words of those who tried to flee and the frightened shouts of those who hid, many sought refuge in the temple only to be trapped inside and caught by the inevitable destruction.

I can still see the outlines of buildings and roads if I concentrate on the memories. We had low walls surrounding the town, more decorative than defensive, yet still, it one of the last parts of the town to be destroyed. There were many homes and buildings around, all built out of the strong oak that had been brought from the forests to the east over the rivers and plains centuries ago. The buildings were small and sturdy with thatched roves woven from the long grasses, usually with a some wool underneath to keep the bad weather out. There were little carvings on the doors and walls where generations of people had left their mark on their homes, a certain style or symbol would cover the buildings so you always knew who lived where. It is a shame you cannot see it.

That small hill in the middle was built by my people, I remember it being made; I was only young then, of course. It has a ditch dug around it which was tiled and filled with water that would catch the light in the morning and sparkle like small crystals, but there is no water now - you can’t even see the ditch anymore, not with all the grasses growing over it. It seems strange, I can barely make out the hill in the grass, but I know it is there. I used to walk up it every day, you could see the whole town. I used to watch the people and learnt what people did in their daily lives, I would always know when somebody was ill or upset because I could see when people weren’t where they were supposed to be.

The temple was beautiful, tiled floors and carvings all over the walls – and the statue of Elimine, the goddess of our people, she watched over us and protected us. Yet not even she could protect us from the massacre of this place. I wish to see my temple once more. I want to go to the hill, there must be some sort of ruin on it, there has to be, there must be something to remember of it. I want to find out more, I wish to know what happened! Yet I feel tired and cannot, but something is beckoning me to approach it. Maybe the howling of the wind is calling me. Maybe it isn’t just the foul weather in this place, maybe there is something more here, unseen; invisible to everyone but those who know what to look for.

I can see shapes moving around near the hill, they are dark and move quickly. They seem to be approaching me, I cannot see them clearly from here, but can they see me? Perhaps they are wolves. It is likely, there were many around even when the town was still here. They would wander around and take scraps from people who lived near the gates or people would take pups and train them to watch their homes or the animals while they grazed. Yes, they are wolves, I can hear them howling and I can see them clearer. I should probably move, but I just don’t seem have the energy anymore. I need to get closer to that hill, but the ground is hard to walk on when I’m like this and the weather is getting worse, it will probably rain, and now there are wolves. Is there something that objects to me being here? Is this place unsubtly trying to get rid of me?

The wolves appear to have seen me, yet I must get to that hill! I don’t know why I must – but I know that I must. If I just stand up and walk towards it… what harm would be done? These wolves seem strange somehow, unnatural, they were only interested in me when I was still. Now I am moving they ignore me. Not that I would want wolves following me around, yet the company of another living being would be welcome.

I am near the hill now, there is the trench I must watch out for, barely visible, but there was the ridge of land which was used for the bridge. Yes, here it is, I am finally here. I feel some sort of relief I am here, but also a hollow sadness. It is a strange thing to stand in a place you once called home, only to have the ruins of the building surrounding you. It is like you are home, but it is no longer your own home, like you have no right to be there. Like someone you called a friend had forgotten you yet you remember them as if they were your family.

I can still feel the old power in this place, the gentle energy that radiates and once kept this place alive, yet it is weaker, less focused. Not even the grass hasn’t grown here, it still respects the importance of this site. I can still see the tiles that made the floor of the temple and even part of the wall, weather beaten and worn down, but still here, and a carving, a carving of their deity. My deity. It has broken off the wall and shattered on the ground, eaten away by the weather and eroded by time. I cannot pick it up, I cannot feel the wind but I still hear it roaring, I cannot feel the rain though it is now falling heavily, falling on what remains here and erasing even more of my home. I must just stay here and remember my god that I served with my whole life, and more.

Yet it is just a faint memory, nobody else remembers, only me. Why was it that I alone remained the chained spirit that can never be free? But I will serve my duty for as long as I am here. The wolves can sense my presence once more, and it offends them, they know I am here, yet they cannot see or smell me. But my god liked wolves, so I respect them and avoid upsetting them too much. I feel weaker, as if I am not all there, mostly I am not, but that is beside the point. I am scared that I may one day cease to exist and my town will be completely forgotten, lost to history, lost to the world, yet I know that will happen, it is inevitable. I will not let it be forgotten though. I loved this town, I loved the people, I loved my god and I loved my duty. I shall serve with all my spirit as I did with all my life. One day someone might come this way, maybe they’ll be able to see me and I’ll tell them my tale, describe my town, maybe it will be born anew! It is merely a dream, but the hope is what keeps me here – it is what keeps me existing. The day will come, it must, or I will perish again and my town will also die its second death…

[ March 22, 2004, 18:31: Message edited by: 8people ]

 

For a title, how about the cliched:
Memories

 

Nice story with some effective imagery.

My only comment would be that, unless you are trying to achieve a specific lyrical 'stream of consciousness' type effect, I would suggest breaking up some of your long sentences into more manageable sizes. In other words, there seemed to be too many commas in each sentence. But that is a reasonably minor point.

Good work.

 

Very interesting theme, highly original.
Probably way too late but
Title: Musings of the last Faithful
meh, no big if not acceptable
also, would help if the blocks of text were broken up a bit.

Merely an observation.

 

Thank you everyone who said something

I've handed it in now - hopefully I'll do well!

30/3/04

It's been handed back to me - with lots of pencil scribbles on it Most of which I cannot actually read - but I've tried what is legible - someone tell me what you think of it. I had a strange desire to write 'rebelling vegetation' at one point, don't ask...

Forgotten v1.2

Forgotten

Looking ahead I can see the long grasses on the hills being blown in strange patterns by the wind. It is unusually strong for the spring, like the winter is still continuing its angry influence on the land. There shapes in the grass, moving slowly. Probably wild animals trying to find their way to some sort of shelter or place to graze. The wind seems to pause for breath, looking up the sky is stormy, but this place is far away from anywhere. Nobody would find me here. Nobody was found here.

There were once many people here. A whole town destroyed by some unknown cause, nobody noticed it was missing until the traders decided to buy some supplies only to find the town had vanished without a trace, no sign of life, only the land which was barren and the buildings destroyed, they found nobody. Since then the grasses have taken over and the town is almost completely forgotten, nothing recorded about the town, nothing to look back on. Now it only serves as a fairy tale, an old story told to scare troublesome children.

But it isn’t just a story, I know how it happened. I remember it well, like it happens every day; I live the last moments over and over again. I can remember there were fires which caught the small wooden houses and burned brightly against the dark skies. I can remember hearing strange sounds from above, the shrieking calls of something unseen against the black skies. I remember hearing the final words of those who tried to flee and the frightened shouts of those who hid, many sought refuge in the temple only to be trapped inside and caught by the inevitable destruction. Yet still, after all this years the cause remains a mystery. What could have destroyed this place so easily?

The outlines of buildings and roads are just about visible if I concentrate on the memories. There were low walls surrounding the town, more decorative than defensive, yet still, it one of the last parts of the town to be destroyed. There were many homes and buildings around, all built out of the strong oak that had been brought from the forests to the east over the rivers and plains centuries ago. The buildings were small and sturdy with thatched roves woven from the long grasses, usually with a some wool underneath to keep the bad weather out. There were little carvings on the doors and walls where generations of people had left their mark on their homes, a certain style or symbol would cover the buildings so you always knew who lived where. It is a shame you cannot see it anymore. There would be a house here, where I am now but all that is left is a few ashes or charred fragments the wind and rain have spared.

That small hill in the middle was built by my people, I remember it being made; I was only young then, of course. It has a ditch dug around it which was tiled and filled with water that would catch the light in the morning and sparkle like small crystals, but there is no water now - you can’t even see the ditch anymore, not with all the grasses growing over it. It seems strange, the hill is almost hidden amongst in the grass, but you can just see it - I know it is there. I used to walk up it every day, you could see the whole town. I used to watch the people and learnt what they did in their daily lives, I would always know when somebody was ill or upset because I could see when people weren’t where they were supposed to be.

The temple was beautiful, tiled floors and carvings all over the walls – and the statue of Elimine, the goddess of our people, she watched over us and protected us. Yet not even she could protect us from the massacre of this place. If only you could see my temple, it was a very special place to the people, and a wondrous sight. I want to go to the hill, there must be some sort of ruin on it, there has to be, there must be something to remember of it, it takes more than fire and bad weather to destroy a gods’ house. I want to find out more, I wish to know what happened and why! Yet I feel tired and will probably never know, but something is beckoning me to approach it. Maybe the howling of the wind is calling me. Maybe it isn’t just the foul weather in this place, maybe there is something more here, unseen; invisible to everyone but those who know what to look for.

There are shapes moving around near the hill, they are dark and move quickly. They seem to be approaching, they can’t be seen properly from here, but can they see me? Perhaps they are wolves. It is likely, there were many around even when the town was still here. They would wander around and take scraps from people who lived near the gates or people would take pups and train them to watch their homes or the animals while they grazed. Yes, they are wolves, they are howling, can you hear them? I should probably move, but I just don’t seem have the energy anymore. The ground is hard to walk on when I’m like this and the weather is getting worse, it will probably rain, and now there are wolves. Is there something that objects to me being here? Is this place unsubtly trying to get rid of me?

The wolves appear to have seen me, yet I must get to that hill! I don’t know why I must – but I know that I must. If I just stand up and walk towards it… what harm would be done? These wolves seem strange somehow, unnatural, they were only interested in me when I was still. Now I am moving they ignore me. Not that I would want wolves following me around, yet the company of another living being would be welcome.

I am near the hill now, there is the trench I must watch out for, just visible against the rebelling vegetation, but there is a ridge of land which was used for the bridge. Yes, here it is, finally here! There is some sort of relief being here, but also a hollow sadness. It is a strange thing to stand in a place you once called home, only to have the ruins of the building surrounding you. It is like you are home, but it is no longer your own home, like you have no right to be there. Like someone you once called a friend had forgotten you yet you remember them as if they were your family.

There is still the old power in this place, the gentle energy that radiates and once kept this place alive, yet it is weaker, less focused. Not even the grass hasn’t grown here, it still respects the importance of this site. I can still see the tiles that made the floor of the temple and even part of the wall, weather beaten and worn down, but still here, and a carving, a carving of their deity. My deity. It has broken off the wall and shattered on the ground, eaten away by the weather and eroded by time. I cannot pick it up, I cannot feel the wind but I still hear it roaring, I cannot feel the rain though it is now falling heavily, falling on what remains here and erasing even more of my home. I must just stay here and remember my god that I served with my whole life, and more.

Yet it is just a faint memory, nobody else remembers. Only me. Why was it that I alone remained the chained spirit that can never be free? But I will serve my duty for as long as I am here. The wolves can sense my presence once more, and it offends them, they know I am here, yet they cannot see or smell me. But my god liked wolves, so I respect them and avoid upsetting them too much. I feel weaker, as if I am not all there, mostly I am not, but that is beside the point. I am scared that I may one day cease to exist and my town will be completely forgotten, lost to history, lost to the world, yet I know that will happen, it is inevitable. I will not let it be forgotten though. I loved this town, I loved the people, I loved my god and I loved my duty. I shall serve with all my spirit as I did with all my life. One day someone might come this way, maybe they'll be able to see me and I'll tell them my tale, describe my town, maybe it will be born anew! Maybe then my service will be complete and I can meet my god and master It is merely a dream, but the hope is what keeps me here it is what keeps me existing.

It is said ghosts are tormented souls kept in the world of life to warn others of danger, discover the truth of their death, or complete an important task or promise. What keeps me here I may never know, I have no warnings to give or promises to keep, I wish to know what happened, but not enough to keep me here. Maybe my task is to make sure my town is known about. One day my task will be complete, soon I hope, it seems with every morning I get a little weaker and less focused. Yet being bound to the ground where my town once stood hinders this. One day, I will know what happened – and so will the rest of these lands, before both the town and I die our second deaths.

[ March 30, 2004, 18:41: Message edited by: 8people ]