I stopped writing my NaNoWriMo at 17,796 words on day 8
I only started it for a giggle, I was well on target, but the story just didn’t have the legs for 50,ooo words, in my humble opinion.
Actually, perhaps with time or sufficient motivation I could have done it, but I really do have better things to do.
Anyway, I thought I may as well offer up my efforts so you can have a giggle, at my unpolished pantsing.
‘Don’t look back,’ John thought, ‘just keep running’. He crossed the street and a cab screeched to a halt, the driver waving a fist. John looked back. They were gaining. Crowds; crowds were useful, he was small, with a low centre of gravity. He could twist and turn, disappear into crowds, invisible among tall people in heavy cloaks. A marketplace would be great; redolent of spices from the farthest corners of the empire, or a port! Ports were a good place to lose oneself among travellers. There was the entrance to the underground up ahead. People were entering and leaving in large numbers. He focussed his thoughts on reaching the safety of the crowd and put on an extra spurt. A gust of warm stale air rushed up the stairs as he dived among the harried commuters.
“Hey, watch where you’re goin’ asshole!”
A woman crossed his path dragging a bright red case on wheels. He hurdled it like he was a youth, jumping a bonfire. ‘The onlookers roared with approval as John the minstrel leapt the flames to purify his soul…’ his thoughts were interrupted by a man carrying two bags of groceries clasped to his chest between outstretched arms. There was no way to avoid a collision. He was a big man, the look in his eyes spelled murder, but somehow, despite the speed of the collision, nothing was spilled. John cradled the bags as though he was the saviour and not the cause of the whirlwind of chaos that had briefly engulfed the big man. Smiling cheekily, he said, “My lord, you dance divinely, but I must not tarry, I bid you good-day sir.”
And then after a brief involuntary tango, the two men parted, no better acquainted than when they had met, and John sprinted down into the cavernous dungeon where metal serpents roared through tunnels, spewing sparks. The barriers ahead were no obstacle. He slid under them. Timing was everything. He chanced another glance back, he couldn’t see them, but they would surely follow. Another sprint took him onto the train, and then moving along the carriage, between surly teenagers and elderly couples. A man with a bushy red beard, and amateurish tattoos, looked like he might be a Pictish warrior, although the MP3 player and the little earbuds suggested otherwise.
‘Come on doors. CLOSE!’
The background music was fast and intense in his mind, snare drums featured heavily in the mix, power chords, and… was that mandolin? The rhythm was intensifying, it was keeping time with his heartbeat, which was already too fast, but seemed to be getting fasterer. And there they were, sprinting towards the train where he was either a rat in a trap, or safe and sound. It all depended on the doors closing. ‘NOW!’
There were three of them. Warriors of the Eastern steppes, in leather and high boots, he couldn’t see weapons, but of course, they would be sheathed until combat, the blade sharp enough to cut through chain mail. The doors closed; the barbarians were defeated. The serpent moved forwards, slowly at first, then gaining speed, it roared into the labyrinthine tunnels towards the next valley. He fingered the item in his pocket. It seemed alien, a palm sized rectangle of smooth black obsidian. He touched a raised area on the side and the obsidian surface lit up. He slid his finger across the smooth stone and revealed the news that he had no internet connection. John put the phone back in his pocket and tried to focus on what was real and what was not.
The subway train slowed, and John stepped out onto the platform. In his haste, he had gone in the wrong direction. It didn’t matter, he had nowhere special he needed to be. The barriers were attended though. That was awkward, he would need a diversion. He looked around. The platform was deserted. His heart was beating faster again. He could feel it, bursting from his chest.
‘Run into him. The shock will give you time to escape. There’s nobody else around,’ the internal monologue said.
John shook his head. He had already spent most of the day running away from those other guys. He didn’t need to kick their horses, err, bikes. He didn’t need to call them hairy barbarian scum. But he had done it anyway. There was a rushing noise like another train coming into the station. But there was no train, no serpent, no magical sparks, and there was the royal guard, waiting at the gates to the city. He was an outsider, an interloper, outlawed. There was a price on his head, the King himself would surely oversee the torture, unless he could get past un-noticed.
He ran, only he wasn’t running, he was moving as though through treacle, the rushing noise was deafening now. Another metal serpent curved into the station spitting fire, but the sound was drowned out by the waterfall, the roaring screaming noise of water, falling and slowing him down, and then, there was nothing.
It only takes ONE comment from a reader who wants to read chapter 2, and I will post it up for you.