The Walk

[Kojak]

Sorry I was unsure if I am meant to post stuff like this into an existing thread or to my blog. I posted this in the lounge but I was really hoping for some criticism. It was just a simple exercise, turn one of the nights I went out drinking into a short narrative. Here it is. I'm kind of starting to like this writing business but I certainly have a lot of work ahead of me before I am where some of you guys are.


The Walk
The rough white lines that marked that scorching stretch of bitchumen road were the only remaining evidence that were going to let me piece together what had happened that night. Rough flashes of distant memories ran through my mind. I couldn't tell what was fabricated and what was not. Any clear memory was immediately chased off by the pounding in my head. The heat did not help my situation. That dam heat was terrible. Pounding onto that stretch of road, it rose up from the ground and consumed me.

Wiping away some of the sweat I tried to concentrate on the chalk outline where once a person had laid, dead to the world. The outlines arms were outstretched in front of it. The legs were tucked into each other at what appeared to have been an awkward angle. It looked like someone had been hit by a car. I knew that not too be true, however. What happened here was much simpler than any of that.
Nausea brought me to my knees as I tried to fight it. It was a bad idea, it only brought me closer to that hot road.

Again memories ran through my mind. People dressed in animal masks, a bucket of something. Someone running away into the night screaming. It made some sense, unlike the message that was scrawled above the chalk outline on the road. Towards the left arm of the outline scrawled in a very similar white chalk was the word 'Crime'. The last letter trailed off as if the person who belonged to the outline had died whilst writing the last letter. They had not died although they wish they had, that much was certain, after all that chalk outline belonged to me. I can remember passing out there.

Alcohol does that sometimes. One second your fine being the life of the party, a minute later your throwing up behind some ferns in the backyard of a house that is completely unfamiliar to you. Nausea welled up inside me trying to escape. I would not let it, not here.

The plan had been simple and spontaneous. I remember when it came to me in the supermarket. It had been almost too perfect, as if I was meant to find that dam bucket of street chalk. There it was just sitting in the discount bin with the words FREE marked on it in cheap permanent marker. No one paid it any attention. Apparently I was the only one captivated by it.

The alcohol had been a necessity however the animal masks had been an afterthought, likely to have been brought about from too many viewings of Clockwork Orange. At any rate the cashier attending the till gave us a cautionary and confused look when the only items we had were the masks, chalk and two liters of Ribina.

Again I tried to wipe away the sweat but it seemed to be attached to me. Maybe it was just part of the hangover. I don't remember what I drank but judging by my current state tequila was going to be an obvious guess. As I looked down the road I saw more destruction. On the pathway was a huge drawing in chalk of a Diplidocus proclaiming its homosexuality. Onwards from that more chalk drawings marked the path that we had taken the night before. The logic of some of the drawings escaped me, however the crudeness of them did not. Still my attention was drawn to the body outline more than anything.

This is where I had fallen down. Just before passing out I had written the word crime for inconceivable reasons. Later someone had outlined me as I was passed out on the road. I raised myself to my feet, trying to put as much distance between me and that road as possible. With the sun beating down on me I began to walk.

Nausea continued to hound me.

It was going to be a long walk home.

[pronounconnoun]

I was kind of wondering the same thing, though there's not too much in this part of the forum. I'm sure they won't mind if we clutter it up a bit with our bits of literary jabbering.

Also, I wasn't sure if you wanted this posted here, but let me know and I'll remove/private message this to you.

I enjoyed how your story starts out as a mystery and becomes a story about a wild night of debauchery. Well played. The pace of the story is good. The simple sentences in the story gives me the feeling of urgency; kind of like the character is scared or disoriented. You have a consistent amount of clues that lead up to the discovery of the drunken night as well as the slow realization of what happened (which feels very real).

This feels like the beginning of a larger story. Like something significant happened that night but the character is unable to remember. It would be interesting if this was expanded.