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Rain
The wind hit my face with menacing might. I gripped my coat tightly, hoping in vain that it could keep me dry against the rain. I walked as fast as I could following the three men, but with enough caution as to not slip on the wet rocks.
“Sorry to be a bother, but is it going to take much longer before we arrive?” I yell, trying to make myself heard above the roaring sound of waves and howling winds.
“Just a few ways ahead, laddie,” the old man at the front said without looking back.
I was grateful, really. The storm had caught me completely unprepared, and with every hotel in Westray fully booked, the old man had come as a saviour. Mr. MacDermid, as he had introduced himself, informed me that he had a farm just north of town, with plenty of space to spare for the night.
We reached an agreement, and after a few shared pints, we headed for the property alongside his farmhand, a pair of heavy men who went simply by Smith and Murray, before the storm reached its peak. Still, we found ourselves plunged in a heavy downpour, made all the worse by the uneven consistency of the trail that led to the farm.
While I hadn’t been expecting Buckingham, I was still somewhat put off by the rundown appearance of the house. A small, two storey mishap of wood and stone held together by sheer stubbornness by the look of it, but far be from me to criticise when help is being offered so readily, especially when the alternative is sleeping in a park.
I shook the coat off of me as soon as I entered, the garment had been so thoroughly soaked that it eliminated any chance of providing warmth.
“Up for some scran?” Mr. MacDermid said.
I doubted for a moment, trying to make sense of the slang, before nodding. “If it’s not much of an inconvenience, I’d love to eat something before heading to sleep.”
“That’s a cannie lad,” the old man said.
Before long, we found ourselves sharing a modest meal of fruits and sandwiches. Simple but it did the trick. The trio seemed to be nice fellow, and for a moment I was able to ignore the chilling cold that came with the storm.
Just as I downed a slice of pear, the entire structure shook with unabated anger as the storm picked up strength.
“That ain’t well,” Murray said, standing up from the table.
“Easy there, boy,” Mr. MacDermid whispered in a calm tone, but I noticed he too was eyeing the roof with wariness.
“I think it may be for the best if we call it a night,” I suggested, and my partners nodded in approval.
I reached forward to grab one of the sandwiches from the plate. Or at least tried to.
Thunder roared outside, and with it the house itself seemed to quiver in fear. The four of us were frozen in our spots, eyes darting from one to another, expectant of what would happen next.
As if to taunt us further, the house shook once again, and now the walls themselves shook, as did we once dread settled.
“Smith, Murray, hold ‘er still,” the old man yelled, and the younger men immediately ran to opposite sides of the kitchen, pushing their weight against the walls. Mr. MacDermid for his part ran to the door and stood under the frame, sparing nary a thought before ordering me to do the same.
I scrambled to my feet in fear, knowing I didn’t have much of a choice.
“Blast it all!” I scream as I leaned on the fourth wall, “I just wanted a sandwich!”
“Sorry to be a bother, but is it going to take much longer before we arrive?” I yell, trying to make myself heard above the roaring sound of waves and howling winds.
“Just a few ways ahead, laddie,” the old man at the front said without looking back.
I was grateful, really. The storm had caught me completely unprepared, and with every hotel in Westray fully booked, the old man had come as a saviour. Mr. MacDermid, as he had introduced himself, informed me that he had a farm just north of town, with plenty of space to spare for the night.
We reached an agreement, and after a few shared pints, we headed for the property alongside his farmhand, a pair of heavy men who went simply by Smith and Murray, before the storm reached its peak. Still, we found ourselves plunged in a heavy downpour, made all the worse by the uneven consistency of the trail that led to the farm.
While I hadn’t been expecting Buckingham, I was still somewhat put off by the rundown appearance of the house. A small, two storey mishap of wood and stone held together by sheer stubbornness by the look of it, but far be from me to criticise when help is being offered so readily, especially when the alternative is sleeping in a park.
I shook the coat off of me as soon as I entered, the garment had been so thoroughly soaked that it eliminated any chance of providing warmth.
“Up for some scran?” Mr. MacDermid said.
I doubted for a moment, trying to make sense of the slang, before nodding. “If it’s not much of an inconvenience, I’d love to eat something before heading to sleep.”
“That’s a cannie lad,” the old man said.
Before long, we found ourselves sharing a modest meal of fruits and sandwiches. Simple but it did the trick. The trio seemed to be nice fellow, and for a moment I was able to ignore the chilling cold that came with the storm.
Just as I downed a slice of pear, the entire structure shook with unabated anger as the storm picked up strength.
“That ain’t well,” Murray said, standing up from the table.
“Easy there, boy,” Mr. MacDermid whispered in a calm tone, but I noticed he too was eyeing the roof with wariness.
“I think it may be for the best if we call it a night,” I suggested, and my partners nodded in approval.
I reached forward to grab one of the sandwiches from the plate. Or at least tried to.
Thunder roared outside, and with it the house itself seemed to quiver in fear. The four of us were frozen in our spots, eyes darting from one to another, expectant of what would happen next.
As if to taunt us further, the house shook once again, and now the walls themselves shook, as did we once dread settled.
“Smith, Murray, hold ‘er still,” the old man yelled, and the younger men immediately ran to opposite sides of the kitchen, pushing their weight against the walls. Mr. MacDermid for his part ran to the door and stood under the frame, sparing nary a thought before ordering me to do the same.
I scrambled to my feet in fear, knowing I didn’t have much of a choice.
“Blast it all!” I scream as I leaned on the fourth wall, “I just wanted a sandwich!”
You've got some nice descriptions hidden within the narrative. I particularly liked:
The sense of the storm drawing closer was quite evocative, along with all the cold and wet that comes with it, and you manage to invoke a degree of rising tension within the short word count, so good work there.
I guess, ultimately, I was left feeling unsure as to what the conclusion was trying to say, or where it was intended on heading. If it was literally a case of the protagonist wanting a sandwich, and the storm preventing that, then perhaps it needed a few more references, or him/her being frustrated, at an earlier point. If it was meant to have some other meaning that I failed to pick up on, then I can only apologise, but nothing else was overly clear...
“Blast it all!” I scream as I leaned on the fourth wall, “I just wanted a sandwich!”
Heh. Fair enough.
Thanks for sharing your work.
A small, two storey mishap of wood and stone held together by sheer stubbornness
The sense of the storm drawing closer was quite evocative, along with all the cold and wet that comes with it, and you manage to invoke a degree of rising tension within the short word count, so good work there.
I guess, ultimately, I was left feeling unsure as to what the conclusion was trying to say, or where it was intended on heading. If it was literally a case of the protagonist wanting a sandwich, and the storm preventing that, then perhaps it needed a few more references, or him/her being frustrated, at an earlier point. If it was meant to have some other meaning that I failed to pick up on, then I can only apologise, but nothing else was overly clear...
“Blast it all!” I scream as I leaned on the fourth wall, “I just wanted a sandwich!”
Heh. Fair enough.
Thanks for sharing your work.
Weather opening. And while that's not a huge sin here, since the extreme weather adds an immediate sense of danger, the first sentence really doesn't establish anything important to the story except for the weather, and it's not even the titular rain! I'd look for ways to punch up those first few sentences, establishing some facts about the protagonist or situation that draw us in (like you do in sentence 3 with the men he's following, prompting the question of why).
:facehoof:
Okay, well, uh, that was a thing that derailed. This is pretty much a textbook Shaggy Dog Story, and I wish that the meta punchline had been set up by more than the last few paragraphs of the story, because I felt cheated by the ending. In hindsight, it's pretty clear that the whole storm thing was there to enable the wall-leaning gag, but even in hindsight it makes no sense to me: if the storm is about to rip the roof off, bracing the walls won't accomplish anything. And, well, I know I've appreciated stupid pun endings before, but it's a matter of properly setting expectations: I want the punchline to be something that in hindsight I should have seen coming from the very beginning, as opposed to yanking away all your setup for a prompt drop. (See >>horizon for my opinions on prompt drops.)
Tier: Misaimed
“Blast it all!” I scream as I leaned on the fourth wall, “I just wanted a sandwich!”
:facehoof:
Okay, well, uh, that was a thing that derailed. This is pretty much a textbook Shaggy Dog Story, and I wish that the meta punchline had been set up by more than the last few paragraphs of the story, because I felt cheated by the ending. In hindsight, it's pretty clear that the whole storm thing was there to enable the wall-leaning gag, but even in hindsight it makes no sense to me: if the storm is about to rip the roof off, bracing the walls won't accomplish anything. And, well, I know I've appreciated stupid pun endings before, but it's a matter of properly setting expectations: I want the punchline to be something that in hindsight I should have seen coming from the very beginning, as opposed to yanking away all your setup for a prompt drop. (See >>horizon for my opinions on prompt drops.)
Tier: Misaimed
...I feel like the wall he's leaning on should have crumbled as he spoke. You know, broken?
:/
Anyways, you've got a few mistyped words.
Does this count as a feghoot, I wonder?
:/
Anyways, you've got a few mistyped words.
Does this count as a feghoot, I wonder?
Crivens, this looks like a story about an old croft in the highlands.
The weather opening, as underlined by Horizon, is underwhelming: either go for a full tempest, describing an apocalyptic weather, or add something to boost the sense of immediate danger.
Tense shifts: the (young) guy speaks in the present and is being answered in the past. It's a bit jarring.
I feel the choice of words is somewhat too formal (‘informed’, ‘We reached an agreement ’, ‘uneven consistency’ – no kidding? – ‘eliminated’, etc.) to echo an inner thought.
This excerpt is a sort of parangon of what’s going on here: the use of ‘mishap’ and, in general, the description of the house is fine, yet this is marred by a sudden shift to present tense as well as a double ‘by’ clause, the last of which you could easily have dispensed with (we know he judged ‘by the look of it’ since he hasn’t entered yet!).
In all, the English sounds clunky in places. Your prose lacks a bit of fluidity.
The end is – well – shoehorned and irrelevant. You keep saying us the guy wanted a shelter for the night, then suddenly he claims he only wanted a sandwich. Even with the reference to the 4th wall, it doesn’t add up, and therefore we get the feeling that all the setup here is only meant to humour the prompt. Not very effective.
The weather opening, as underlined by Horizon, is underwhelming: either go for a full tempest, describing an apocalyptic weather, or add something to boost the sense of immediate danger.
Tense shifts: the (young) guy speaks in the present and is being answered in the past. It's a bit jarring.
I feel the choice of words is somewhat too formal (‘informed’, ‘We reached an agreement ’, ‘uneven consistency’ – no kidding? – ‘eliminated’, etc.) to echo an inner thought.
A small, two storey mishap of wood and stone held together by sheer stubbornness by the look of it, but far be from me to criticise when help is being offered so readily, especially when the alternative is sleeping in a park.
This excerpt is a sort of parangon of what’s going on here: the use of ‘mishap’ and, in general, the description of the house is fine, yet this is marred by a sudden shift to present tense as well as a double ‘by’ clause, the last of which you could easily have dispensed with (we know he judged ‘by the look of it’ since he hasn’t entered yet!).
In all, the English sounds clunky in places. Your prose lacks a bit of fluidity.
The end is – well – shoehorned and irrelevant. You keep saying us the guy wanted a shelter for the night, then suddenly he claims he only wanted a sandwich. Even with the reference to the 4th wall, it doesn’t add up, and therefore we get the feeling that all the setup here is only meant to humour the prompt. Not very effective.
>>Ceffyl_Dwr
>>horizon
>>Monokeras
It's an odd thing. I've skipped out of several writeoffs due to not being able to come up with any viable idea when the prompt comes up. So when this one gets selected, I was more than a bit miffed at myself for immediately thinking of a somewhat interesting story to go with it. Good thing that one still is in the running, otherwise this would be awkward.
So... yeah.
While I'll admit that this is transparently a bit of a rant against the silly prompt we got this round, I still tried to make it a somewhat enjoyable read. I seemed to have at least made some people groan in frustration, so I'll count that as a success. ^ ^
I wish I'd spent more than a cursory glance to edit this before submitting. I originally meant this to be closer to the 400 word mark, so as to better deliver the joke, with less strenuous details, but we all saw how that worked out...
I'd still like to thank everyone for the feedback, I'll be sure to take it to heart. The WriteOff's been a great experience, and I'll be sure to participate more often.
Thanks a bunch, once again. Here's hoping my other story fares better.
>>Not_A_Hat
The reader is never directly addressed. The fourth wall remains unbroken, albeit somewhat battered.
>>horizon
>>Monokeras
It's an odd thing. I've skipped out of several writeoffs due to not being able to come up with any viable idea when the prompt comes up. So when this one gets selected, I was more than a bit miffed at myself for immediately thinking of a somewhat interesting story to go with it. Good thing that one still is in the running, otherwise this would be awkward.
So... yeah.
While I'll admit that this is transparently a bit of a rant against the silly prompt we got this round, I still tried to make it a somewhat enjoyable read. I seemed to have at least made some people groan in frustration, so I'll count that as a success. ^ ^
I wish I'd spent more than a cursory glance to edit this before submitting. I originally meant this to be closer to the 400 word mark, so as to better deliver the joke, with less strenuous details, but we all saw how that worked out...
I'd still like to thank everyone for the feedback, I'll be sure to take it to heart. The WriteOff's been a great experience, and I'll be sure to participate more often.
Thanks a bunch, once again. Here's hoping my other story fares better.
>>Not_A_Hat
The reader is never directly addressed. The fourth wall remains unbroken, albeit somewhat battered.