Exiles at Home (Part 1 of 5)

Nothing ever changes here. Not the gray, empty sky...not the dusty blacktop roads, that still smell a bit like creosote...not the people who live here, who have pale, under-flourescent light complections and empty don't-mess-with-me faces.

The city feels empty, even though people live here. As long as anyone that matters can remember, it's been that way--the barrier of the sky clutching the city like a dead vagrant clasping that last, sweet bottle of escape. It curved around the city like a cage.

Grampa Crickett once told me that there was a feeling of people being here, once. That the sky didn't always curve so close. That was before he passed away, and me, dad, and Buck had to bury him in the cemetary--no one knows who the grave-digger is, or where to find him. He probably moved on, a long time ago. I haven't talked to Grampa since, of course, but I don't really feel like that much is different.

Nothing ever changes here. People take food off the shelves in the store, and after the store closes for the night, someone puts more food on the shelves. Cans of green beans, bags full of bread, ground beef. No food ever comes in on trucks, mind you. It's just kind of there. I asked the man who runs the store near my house once...but he didn't know where it came from. It was just in the store room. I guess there's no reason for the entire process to stop if one little bit breaks down. It makes sense...your car doesn't stop moving if you pop a tire, right?

I used to go to school. Just like I used to go to work at a store that doesn't ever sell anything, or to the church where the priest doesn't ever preach anything...

There's no point, really. No one ever leaves this city. We're too afraid of the edges--where the sky becomes like a gray wall, and the shadows point inward.

I don't know why anyone here does anything. Wouldn't it be simpler just to lay down and not do anything? Grampa Crickett did that--I get the feeling he's happier now than anytime since the people from outside last came. I don't even know why I'm writing this.

...But I am, I guess. Maybe it's because I'm bored. Maybe it's because I've got no one to talk to. Maybe it's because everyone around here feels as alive as Benny's tape player when it's playing Louie Armstrong or "Hey Jude". (Those tapes have to be twenty years old, at least...but Benny still listens to them.)

Anyway, I'm going to go to bed, soon. Greetings from Rivers Crickett, in the City of the Barrier Sky.

---
This is a finished story; It has five parts. I'm just posting it here for feedback, because this isn't like my normal stuff, and I wanted to know if it was passable. If you guys want, I can post more.

Very passable. Very postable. Post more!

Has a kind of "FF7"/FLCL city feel to it. Looking forward to more!

Exiles at Home (Part 2 of 5)

Monday morning (though that could be every day, for all I know. Days run together, and even the nights and days are beginning to look the same) found me sitting on the stoop of our home, for some reason. The barrier sky--that gray, empty sky--holding the city in its grip. I looked up into it, and thought for a moment.

This, in and of itself, is a momentous thing. Like most people that live here, I don't actually think all that much. I just go about my day like a good little worker ant, or robot, or whatever analogy you feel like using today.

I noted that the sky didn't have a texture to it--I'd seen pictures that Grampa Crickett held up for me, when I was real little. It wasn't like an overcast sky. In the City of the Barrier Sky we don't have clouds. It's just this close expanse of gray--not a cloud, and not a dome. More like the blue sky looked, only paler and grayer.

It was at this time that I heard Louie Armstrong's deep scratchy voice singing.

"Giiive Meee a Kiiiiss tooo buuuilld a dreeeammm on, aaaannnndd myyyy imaaaaaginatiiion..."

I turned my head, to see Benny standing there, holding the beat-up old tape recorder he was always listening to--that damn thing was his frickin' opiate. Everyone had one...Mom and Dad had church. The kids had school. Kelly, James, Peter and Lynn had their books (those four were always reading. Passing the same four books between them. It was almost eerie.)

Benny was taller than I was, and rail thin. His hair was never the same color twice, but his eyes were always blue. Today a stocking cap held his brown hair in place.

"Wanna go to the store?" Benny asked.

I got up, and stretched. I don't know why. Probably because that's what I always did when I got up. What just about everyone did.

The store had flourescent lights. Which is too say, it was difficult to tell its inside from its outside, sometimes.

The store was disorienting at times. Row upon row of cans which all presented the picture of a green man in a toga of leaves, proudly proclaiming to be the product of some company somewhere. Upon blinking, they transformed into cola in red-and-white cans. Then they were freezers full of meats. And finally there were bags of bread, stacked one atop the other. Benny and I grabbed colas, as soon as we could see them again. We went to the check-out-lane, and the man behind it ran it over the scanner, and said "Seventy Five cents."

We had tried to give him money, before. He didn't take it. No shop owner did. The funny thing was that, despite this, no one ever took more than they need. (what's the point?) Honestly, when you've got your opiate, why do you need material things. You've just got that one thing that's as meaningless as everything else, but you like anyway.

I guess this little notebook is my Opiate. Maybe that's all it is. But whoever decided who got what Opiate screwed up...I've gotta think about what to write down. Isn't that just plain weird?

I get the distinct impression that they're on a ship of some sort. Post more. ^_^

Exiles at Home (Part 3 of 5)

I've taken to walking. Not in the sense that I never walked before, but instead of just sitting on the stoop, I've decided to walk. This has lead me to an interesting discovery...

The other day, when I was coming back from a walk, I saw Benny approach the stoop ("Hey Jude...Don't make it Bad...Take a Sad Song, and make it Better..."), and ask "Hey. Want to go to the store?"

I watched as he talked to nothing and walked away. This city isn't only meaningless, apparently, but we're blinded to it. Everyone is just automata--if I were to die, someone might be sad for a moment, and put me in the ground, but after that, they'd just go about their business like they always have.

This desk, this chair, this book, this pen...How do I know they're still there when I close my eyes? How do I know that this room exists when I'm not in it? After all, doesn't a room exist simply to contain things? Maybe that's what's happened to the world. It's ceased to exist because what's important isn't here any more. Maybe the room of the world is empty, and doesn't exist, because of that...

I found something interesting the other day. I found a car--it was shiny and new, but must've been at least 40 or 50 years old. It was a white behemoth, five long strides in length, with fins near the end. On the front was a nonsense word-- C - A - D - I - L - A - C.

There were bags of things in the back seat, bulging with things. It's like the stuff in the store, but it stays the same when you closed your eyes. The soda is still soda. The cans are still cans. The meat--what little meat there is--is still meat.

It was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. But it made me afraid. It was so real that it hurt my eyes. It was a piece of the thing outside the Barrier Sky. Here was something that mattered.

I ran, after a moment. I didn't even touch it--I was afraid that if I did, I'd disappear. I realize now that that was a very irrational thing to think...but it was a very real fear, to me.

I can't help but feel that someone was watching me. There were eyes following me. I'm going to sleep with my door locked, tonight...there's someone from the Other Side of the Sky...a Thing from the Great Outside.

Just a bit of a suggestion/edit:

The store had flourescent lights. Which is too say, it was difficult to tell its inside from its outside, at times.

The store was disorienting at times.

From Part 2. Used "At times" twice.

Otherwise, lookin good.

I could fix that easy...

"It could be a bit disorienting..."


(I just glanced at this and saw that, so I fired in my two cents.)

It would flow better like this,

"The store had flourescent lights. Which is too say, it was difficult to tell its inside from its outside.

The store was disorienting at times."

Exiles at Home (Part 4 of 5)

I need to write about today. I'm not sure if I have the words to tell about it...but I have to.

Today was the single most important day I can remember--and it was amazing. Besides the events of today, everything else came into focus. It's like a lightbulb went on and everything else was cast into sharp relief.

It started out normally. Or at least as normally as it has for the past week or so. I left home after breakfast and went near the Sky's Edge. I didn't actually get close to it. Maybe a thousand yards, or so. That car wasn't there, anymore. That was new. I had been hoping to see it.

But...that's not it. That's not what's important.

I walked for a while, and then I saw it. That car. And I saw its owner.

Her features were defined. She seemed so real that it hurt to look at her. She had long hair, but I couldn't tell what color it was in the light. It wasn't blond or black, that much I could tell. She didn't even notice me at first, really. But I approached her, my hands in my pockets.

Hearing the gravel crunch beneath my feet, she turned and looked at me. Her eyes were blue. She was about the same height as I was. She looked to be about my age, but I've always had trouble with that.

"Um...hello?" she said to me.

"Hi," I said.

"Are you lucid?" she asked.

I blinked, not quite understanding the question. After a moment, she just turned back to what she was doing--loading something into the car. Arranging the bags of food in the back.

"Um...I don't understand," I said, ashamed.

Shocked, she turned and looked at me.

"What did you say?"

"I don't know what you mean by lucid."

"Oh..." she said, "aware?"

"Ah," I said, after a beat, then nodded.

"Odd. Why's that?"

I shrugged.

"I don't really know. Probably something to do with my journal."

She tilted her head to one side, as if unsure of what I meant.

"Everyone here has something that makes it so they don't have to think. Benny has an old beaten-up tape player...Mom has church...Dad's got the newspaper. I write in a journal, but you have to think after you write just a few days about nothing special."

She crossed her arms under her breasts, and shifted her weight to one side, seeming to relax.

"Interesting," she said.

"This your car?" I asked.

"Yeah. Just came into town to see what was here."

"You drove through the sky?" I asked, excited.

She looked at me like I had asked if she had flown in by flapping her arms.

"No...I came along the road," she pointed at the street that lead into the sheltering sky.

"But...that's the sky, right there."

"It's mist...the sky's something different."

It was my turn to be confused.

"What is the sky, then?"

"It's like...oh, god...how to explain it? It's like the great, blue ceiling of the world."

I looked down at my feet, thinking.

"Then what's that?" I asked, finally looking upward.

"That's just a cloud. A barrier blocking the sun."

I looked at her.

"So the sky is past the clouds?"

"Yeah."

"And in the sky is the...sun?"

"Not all the time, there's a moon, too," she laughed, seeming to enjoy explaining it to me.

"Sun? Moon?"

"The sun's a ball of gold light, and the moon's a ball of silver light. The sun's up during the day, the moon at night. You have really never seen them?"

I shook my head.

She paused for a moment, not saying anything.

"I've actually got to go home. My car's almost out of petrol. It was nice meeting you...?"

"Rivers," I said.

She nodded.

"Well, Rivers. I'm Andrea...it was nice meeting you."

With that, she climbed into the car, and drove it into what I had thought was the sky.

Exiles at Home (Part 5)

This is it. Everything is spiralling out around me. The gray little world beneath the gray "sky" is crumbling in the worst possible way.

It's staying the same.

I've got to leave, but I'm afraid. I'm strangled here, and by stepping past that final threshold I'm plunging into the outer darkness. I don't know if I dreamt that girl or not...

But a world capable of holding something like her...even if her features were not the most beautiful, she was more real than anything I've ever seen.

I've got to go.

It would mean saying goodbye to this place. It would mean leaving the City of the Sheltering Sky. I would be adrift in a strange and alien world.

I couldn't be more excited, and I couldn't be more afraid. It's difficult to take that first step, but I've got to try.

I sit here, looking at the "sky". And I'm about to leave...leaving behind this dull, gray place. This sanctuary of stagnation.

Goodbye. I'm leaving this book on a shelf in the store. It doesn't change in there...and maybe someone will pick it up. Maybe Benny...Maybe the clerk constantly quoting the price...Maybe mom or dad...Maybe those four reading those old books.

But I'm leaving it here. I'm leaving it as a beacon.

I'm not here, anymore. Maybe one day you all can follow me.

Maybe not...the choice is ultimately up to you. You're the one who's got to walk onward.

Good luck.

--Rivers Crickett

Wow. Just... wow.

Sorry I don't have anything constructive to offer. But this is, indeed, good stuff. Let me absorb it a bit.

<claps> Bravo. ^_^ Short, sweet, excellent.

-Observations/suggestions:
-Upon first reading, the dialoge between Andrea and Rivers seemed a bit odd. Not always sure who was talking in what turn. Might have just been me.
-Saying "Petrol" istead of "gas" leads me to believe some kind of alt/future. Intentional?
-I'm getting the impression that the focus... the journal, church, the tapes ... have more to do with why they're trapped /put there more than what they've latched onto while living there. Could be just reading too much into it.

Over all, you crafted an excellent atmosphere with minimal obvious description. You have a very clear plot, and the character(s) are excellent in their inaction or action.

Write more. ^_^

That was really good. Kinda reminded me of the 'Truman Show', in a sense. Great way to end it, too. All in all, a great short series. Congratulations!

Actually...I was reading "the sun also rises" while writing the dialogue between Andrea and Rivers...a bit of Hemmingway creeped in there.

As for using "petrol" instead of "gas", part of that is simply the fact that most of the people I know use the term "petrol", and I tend to like that term more. Another part is an attempt to imply something foreign, since she is ultimately a stranger to the world that he lives in.

The focus on the why, without an answer: I did that intentionally. The characters exist in a world where the specifics of life are no longer specific, and the reasons have become confused. So, the focus on the "why" produces an ultimately fruitless search--there is no "why" to discover--and there is nothing preventing them from leaving, save their own fear of the unknown.

Augh...double post...damn you, Bill Gates!

W00T! *looks around* W00T YEAH!!!


thats one of the best short story things i've ever read. the dialogue seems fine to me, of course, i have been tainted by Dean Koontz books, but that just me. i like the idea as it follows similar to many of the post apoctiliptical stories i have read. keep up the awesome work.

(i like how it ends, implying that the story continuesand leaves us wanting more. it is a great ending so KUDOS. the use of petrol instead of gas gives it that unique OLD/ANCIENT feel to it. I vote that you should write more in the same universe, bundle them together, and publish them. *looks around to see if anyone is there* W00T YEAH BABY!!!!)