[Valigarmander]

FictionPress.Com : Dead City

I wrote a story. Actually, I've had it for quite a while now. I'm not sure if this is exactly the right thread to post this thing, but I'm looking for more reviews. You can click the link to begin reading my story (it's not finished quite yet), and tell me what you think. Here's a little sample from the prologue.


The skies finally cleared, the moon and stars that had just earlier been shrouded beneath the dark clouds were at last visible. Arcadia, the so-called City of Peace, lay in ruin, destroyed by its own incessant violence and corruption. The Church was burnt to the earth, the City Hall shot out, and the proud Knudsen Center, once the tallest building in the West, now collapsing while fire fighters try in vain to extinguish the blaze sending a thick pillar of black smoke into the night sky. Every now and then, an explosion would rip the air, roaring deafeningly like the ravenous hounds of Hell.

The streets were devoid of humanity, save the police vehicles navigating the avenues. Businesses and public centers were in lockdown, and people were prevented from leaving their homes. A deep, robotic voice spoke calmly over the city loudspeakers, trying to assure the citizens that the danger would soon be over.

The North Tower, a mile from the city center, was quiet. The rain-plastered windows glistened in the moonlight, while occasionally a person would peek out through the drapes to the burning tower far away. And as the clouds parted in the sky, the moonlight shone down upon the streets beneath the tower to reveal a depressing sight.

Sprawled across the pavement lay the broken and blood-spattered body of a young man who had fallen from the Tower. His eyes were closed solemnly, his left arm held across his reddened chest. No one saw him. No one heard him. Only one person alive knew him. And that person was standing over him.

The woman looked down at the body with a bleak, sullen frown. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she bent over to examine it. Her hand gently stroked the boy’s face, almost lovingly, as though she was saying goodbye. When she brought her hand back, a crumpled note was in its grasp, taken from the boy. She stood up to read it, and as she did, little teardrops fell from her face onto the paper to mix in with the blood.

When she finished reading the letter, she somberly folded it up and placed in her pocket. “Ma’am?” a voice said from behind her. She turned around to face a tired-looking police officer. “You shouldn’t be walking around on the streets right now. It’s very—.” He stopped, glancing over her shoulder at the body lying dead on the sidewalk. “Ah, Christ, not another one.” He turned around and pulled out his radio. “Dispatch, I’ve got another ten-forty on 13th and Kennedy, at the southeast entrance to the North Tower.” The voice on the other end replied, and the officer nodded his head. “Yeah, and there’s a woman here who—.”

He turned around. The woman was gone. She had left no trace behind, no touch, no breath, no sound. She had vanished into the darkness of the night, never to be seen by human eyes ever again, for she had had enough of the city and its wicked inhabitants. She knew she had tried her best to save them, to save those she loved, but all in vain.

And so, as the evening came to a close, so did the criminal municipality of Arcadia. Its buildings crumbled and citizens burned alive, victims of their own iniquity. Not a single life was spared, every evil soul sent hurtling into the Great Beyond. There were no longer any heroes in Arcadia, only villains. And as heroes work only to help others, villains work only to destroy others. It was that never-ending chain which led to the downfall of the city.

The woman stopped. She stood at the edge of the dying metropolis, her long hair blowing in the night breeze. She glanced backwards at the city one last time, then disappeared into the night.


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