Ok so I'm not gonna lie, it's been a a stressful set of weeks. A lot of things have been going in my personal life and it's been draining my mental health and, more importantly, my muse. So to preserve the former I'm gonna challenge myself to post a short story here at least once a week, to work out my creative writing muscle while also fishing for critiques and opinions. To accelerate this and challenge myself I'll also be fishing for prompts. That's where you guys come in! I want your prompts and your opinions.
So in short, I'll be posting a short essay here, about once a week, based off prompts you guys toss at me. To start things off I decided to pick up a prompt I've worked with before; describe a series of events surrounding a 'space elevator,' no more than five paragraphs. My twisted mind turned it into the charred notes of someone who survived the sabotaging of said device and was worse for it.
So in short, I'll be posting a short essay here, about once a week, based off prompts you guys toss at me. To start things off I decided to pick up a prompt I've worked with before; describe a series of events surrounding a 'space elevator,' no more than five paragraphs. My twisted mind turned it into the charred notes of someone who survived the sabotaging of said device and was worse for it.
I write these notes hoping to keep my, ever fragmenting, thoughts in order. I find it hard to differentiate between my internal monologue and the unending whispers, save for when I put pen to paper. Perhaps it’s the focus, or whatever parasite has taken root in my soul manipulating my reprieve to leave bread crumbs for the next round of victims for that hole to hell, that cursed space elevator. I don’t care anymore. These notes are the closest thing I have to any form of calm.
Looking back on things piques my curiosity but shatters my sense of self. Every one of my memories trickles in between thoughts, visions, feelings that were alien to me at one point. A small child screeches out for their mother; the Gellar field around platform A of the elevator flickers. An older gentleman wonders, hopes, that this is all part of the show; a wash of colors sweeps us into the void beyond as the Gellar field ruptures. A being, primordial and twisted, it’s thoughts like an unending machine, reaches out; I feel my form being ripped apart, molecule by molecule. Mitchell works at opening the maintenance shaft to platform B; the eldritch beast, an avian mass adorned with steel, melds cogs into my shattering form. Mitchell starts to artificially stress the power couplings to the Gellar field; my fingers reform, slowly wrapping around Mitchell’s neck. Another of Lovecraft’s nightmares, its mind is a torrent of rage and spite, gazes through the veil of stars as I further humanity’s encroachment into its kingdom; a thousand tiny voices cheer on the death of the vexed god’s pawn.
Everything beyond that is still a cavalcade of shouted instructions from whispered voices, flashes of memory from beyond the other victims on elevator platform A. I swore I was a member of the Mongol hordes while I was crawling through the air ducts, a victorian footpad as I ran down the city streets, and, for just a moment, I was the eldritch avian. My savior, my master, my slave driver. I was that cog slinging raven, for just a second as I looked down at the city from the roof of my apartment.
If anyone were to find these notes, know that I wish I could feel sorry for what I may come to do. Know that there is something waiting for us beyond the stars, elder beings with varying agendas; one who sees humanity as a nuisance, one who plots for and of humanity, and further still are more that are unknown to me, the whispers only tell me that they will further interfere. Know that even me writing these notes are all part of the raven’s plot. Humanity will seed the stars; the raven will feast on the carrion. The space elevator steered mankind to this path and the angered beast sealed their fate.
Looking back on things piques my curiosity but shatters my sense of self. Every one of my memories trickles in between thoughts, visions, feelings that were alien to me at one point. A small child screeches out for their mother; the Gellar field around platform A of the elevator flickers. An older gentleman wonders, hopes, that this is all part of the show; a wash of colors sweeps us into the void beyond as the Gellar field ruptures. A being, primordial and twisted, it’s thoughts like an unending machine, reaches out; I feel my form being ripped apart, molecule by molecule. Mitchell works at opening the maintenance shaft to platform B; the eldritch beast, an avian mass adorned with steel, melds cogs into my shattering form. Mitchell starts to artificially stress the power couplings to the Gellar field; my fingers reform, slowly wrapping around Mitchell’s neck. Another of Lovecraft’s nightmares, its mind is a torrent of rage and spite, gazes through the veil of stars as I further humanity’s encroachment into its kingdom; a thousand tiny voices cheer on the death of the vexed god’s pawn.
Everything beyond that is still a cavalcade of shouted instructions from whispered voices, flashes of memory from beyond the other victims on elevator platform A. I swore I was a member of the Mongol hordes while I was crawling through the air ducts, a victorian footpad as I ran down the city streets, and, for just a moment, I was the eldritch avian. My savior, my master, my slave driver. I was that cog slinging raven, for just a second as I looked down at the city from the roof of my apartment.
If anyone were to find these notes, know that I wish I could feel sorry for what I may come to do. Know that there is something waiting for us beyond the stars, elder beings with varying agendas; one who sees humanity as a nuisance, one who plots for and of humanity, and further still are more that are unknown to me, the whispers only tell me that they will further interfere. Know that even me writing these notes are all part of the raven’s plot. Humanity will seed the stars; the raven will feast on the carrion. The space elevator steered mankind to this path and the angered beast sealed their fate.
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