Linkin Park
Beginning of my as of yet untitled LP AU. I'd really, really be grateful if someone might skim through it and see if it's interesting enough to keep your interest. Just - does the beginning work? Cause I have no real hook, or anything.
2012
Sixteen floors underneath the sidewalk winds a staircase of steel, spiraling up to the surface like a double-helix, the zenith a white circle of light that promises life like the goodly dead are promised the light of heaven. Chester’s worn boots crunch on shards of glass and scraps of tin foil, waste that gathered on the cold floor from the population above.
He had gotten used to the cold and isolated feeling years ago, but it still doesn’t make things any easier. Every day he is tempted to climb up those stairs and embrace ignorance, turn the other cheek, look the other way. But he can’t, no matter how many times or hard he tries, he fails to make it up past the first few steps. It will take every impulse in his body shutting down and his will cut into a million, tiny pieces before he can forsake everything that used to be.
This is how hard and resilient pain has made his skin, and how bone-bleached the pigment is since the sun no longer provides him with her rays.
He feels like a hollowed out husk, a corpse walking for the sole purpose of feeling alive again. Pretend is fifty percent of it. Hope seems to be like that north star, pointing to you the way home, but you never can quite follow it, unsure if where you are going is true north because the universe is so vast.
But he won’t waste away doing nothing; the memory of Mike burns too deep and too dark behind his eyes for that to happen.
Being down here, in the cold and the grit and the dank dark, is a decision that he made and will not abandon. He hasn’t been fighting for four years for nothing. Quitting isn’t even something he knows how to comprehend anymore, and he will rot down there in the dust before he rejoins humanity. In fact, he stopped considering himself a part of humanity during year 3, when the clones were first released nationwide. It was one hell of an entrance, and it was broad casted on television.
Subtlety clearly wasn’t an issue then.
Chester remembers the shock and immediate terror that had made bile rise in the back of his throat, meaty and thick and sour at the same time, and how Mike’s clone had stared him in the eye and raised a gun to Chester’s head.
2012
Sixteen floors underneath the sidewalk winds a staircase of steel, spiraling up to the surface like a double-helix, the zenith a white circle of light that promises life like the goodly dead are promised the light of heaven. Chester’s worn boots crunch on shards of glass and scraps of tin foil, waste that gathered on the cold floor from the population above.
He had gotten used to the cold and isolated feeling years ago, but it still doesn’t make things any easier. Every day he is tempted to climb up those stairs and embrace ignorance, turn the other cheek, look the other way. But he can’t, no matter how many times or hard he tries, he fails to make it up past the first few steps. It will take every impulse in his body shutting down and his will cut into a million, tiny pieces before he can forsake everything that used to be.
This is how hard and resilient pain has made his skin, and how bone-bleached the pigment is since the sun no longer provides him with her rays.
He feels like a hollowed out husk, a corpse walking for the sole purpose of feeling alive again. Pretend is fifty percent of it. Hope seems to be like that north star, pointing to you the way home, but you never can quite follow it, unsure if where you are going is true north because the universe is so vast.
But he won’t waste away doing nothing; the memory of Mike burns too deep and too dark behind his eyes for that to happen.
Being down here, in the cold and the grit and the dank dark, is a decision that he made and will not abandon. He hasn’t been fighting for four years for nothing. Quitting isn’t even something he knows how to comprehend anymore, and he will rot down there in the dust before he rejoins humanity. In fact, he stopped considering himself a part of humanity during year 3, when the clones were first released nationwide. It was one hell of an entrance, and it was broad casted on television.
Subtlety clearly wasn’t an issue then.
Chester remembers the shock and immediate terror that had made bile rise in the back of his throat, meaty and thick and sour at the same time, and how Mike’s clone had stared him in the eye and raised a gun to Chester’s head.