Stormpirate
Sailing the stormy seas..
- Joined
- Sep 8, 2006
- Messages
- 158
I was out riding on a motorcycle one day and saw a hand-lettered sign advertising "dangerous tree removal". I, of course, started wondering what kinds of dangerous trees could be out there.
This is an exerpt from a short story I'm working on. The ultimate goal would be to enter it in the Writer's Digest Popular Fiction contest, but I'm not sure. I've read it so many times that I know it by heart, so I can't see the things that are wrong with it. Not to mention that the contest has a 4000 word limit, so I felt constrained. I'm not going to post all of it, just the part where the workers come up against the dangerous tree. Let me know if the exerpt is too long; I'll make the next one shorter.
It is written from the point of view of a freelance journalist writing an essay for an 'alternative career' magazine. S/he goes along on a ride to take notes for the article. The gender isn't specifically stated in the piece:
----------------------
We reached the house in question about twenty minutes later. Paul and Ethan got out of the truck and I quickly followed, tucking my notepad in the back pocket of my jeans and sticking my pen beside it. I took a hardhat from Ethan and set it on my head. We walked cautiously towards the front door, Ethan and Paul keeping an eye out. Ethan motioned me to stay behind the both of them; I was the liability here. I could see a woman standing behind one of the front windows of the house, pointing to the side yard, which was heavy with trees and undergrowth. It provided a natural screen from the house next door. In normal circumstances, I could imagine a gazebo tucked in the trunks, or even just a table and a few chairs. Perfect for afternoon tea, or just a retreat for a drink and a good book on a hot afternoon.
Ethan and Paul changed courses, angling across the yard. Both scanned constantly, looking up as well as around them, alert for any movement that could signal an attack. I stayed several yards behind them, but even from my vantage point, I caught their tension, the way their backs and shoulders bunched up under their shirts. I’d learned in the short time with these two men that the attacks could be swift and sudden. These trees looked just like all the other trees; their ability to blend in was the main threat. The attacks could come from any level of the tree, and were difficult to predict.
The stillness was so thick and deep it made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. My ears strained to hear even the smallest whisper of the leaves. It was not yet noon, and this wooded area of the yard was still cloaked in shadows, hiding secrets of its own. I rapidly scanned the area, seeing movement in the shadows and not knowing if it were real or just my own imagination. I marveled that they could stand to work like this, day in and day out. The tension would drive me crazy after awhile. I stayed back at the edge of the trees, watching Paul and Ethan fan out.
I jumped out of my skin when Paul spoke. It wasn’t something I was expecting. “You have people trapped in their home. You are violating their rights and you are being asked to cease and desist. Failure to comply will result in removal from the premises.” Paul continued his well-rehearsed speech to the tree. I took out my notepad and began scribbling down what he was saying, writing fast to catch all the words and the stern, commanding tone. It would make an interesting piece to my article, how these workers communicated with the trees.
A green leaf fluttered down and landed on my notepad. So absorbed was I in capturing the mood and tone of Paul’s voice that I barely noticed and flicked it off to spiral lazily to the ground. Mere seconds after the leaf landed on the ground, I was hit with a barrage of dead twigs; some stuck in my hair, others landed on my notepad or fluttered to the ground. I looked up to see Ethan and Paul quickly turn towards the sound and freeze, staring at me with wide eyes. From above me, something cracked, a startling sound in the intense stillness of the morning, and Paul shouted, “Move!” Ethan ran towards me, faster than Paul, and knocked me out of the way an instant before a large, heavy branch fell where I had been standing. I landed on my hip, breath knocked out of me, and laid there dazed. I quickly caught my breath and scrambled out of the way. Ethan landed a few feet away, rolling smoothly back to his feet. There was a roaring sound that I half heard, half felt as I knelt on the ground. It was full of frustration and rage, a guttural snarl that came from no human throat. Something in that grove of trees did not want us there. My heart skipped a few beats.
Ethan yanked me back to my feet and pushed me out of the way. Paul grabbed the coil of rope from Ethan and went deeper into the shadows. The ground shook beneath my feet, and I stumbled, trying to keep my footing. “Get the buckets!” Paul called back. “This is going to be a hard one.”
Ethan ran back to the truck, leaving me standing anxiously out of the way. Paul darted through the trees, carrying the coil of thick rope. I couldn’t tell from my vantage point what he was doing, and I didn’t dare get close enough to find out, article or no. I tried to see deeper into the wooded area, but the tree trunks and shadows wouldn’t allow me to see very far.
Movement in the trees drew my eye, and I looked expecting to see Paul again. But no, this was something much, much larger than Paul. A huge brown mass slipped behind some trees, an almost delicate motion that belied its great size. I lifted a hand and pointed, too shocked to make much more than a high squeaking sound. I had taken this job for the money; freelance writers sometimes have to take what they can to make ends meet. I hadn’t really thought there was such a thing as dangerous trees, sentient trees; I thought it was all made up, that people thought they saw something, and contacted these guys to come and take care of a problem they didn’t really have. I went in with the thought in the back of my mind that I would somehow be uncovering a fake organization.
This is an exerpt from a short story I'm working on. The ultimate goal would be to enter it in the Writer's Digest Popular Fiction contest, but I'm not sure. I've read it so many times that I know it by heart, so I can't see the things that are wrong with it. Not to mention that the contest has a 4000 word limit, so I felt constrained. I'm not going to post all of it, just the part where the workers come up against the dangerous tree. Let me know if the exerpt is too long; I'll make the next one shorter.
It is written from the point of view of a freelance journalist writing an essay for an 'alternative career' magazine. S/he goes along on a ride to take notes for the article. The gender isn't specifically stated in the piece:
----------------------
We reached the house in question about twenty minutes later. Paul and Ethan got out of the truck and I quickly followed, tucking my notepad in the back pocket of my jeans and sticking my pen beside it. I took a hardhat from Ethan and set it on my head. We walked cautiously towards the front door, Ethan and Paul keeping an eye out. Ethan motioned me to stay behind the both of them; I was the liability here. I could see a woman standing behind one of the front windows of the house, pointing to the side yard, which was heavy with trees and undergrowth. It provided a natural screen from the house next door. In normal circumstances, I could imagine a gazebo tucked in the trunks, or even just a table and a few chairs. Perfect for afternoon tea, or just a retreat for a drink and a good book on a hot afternoon.
Ethan and Paul changed courses, angling across the yard. Both scanned constantly, looking up as well as around them, alert for any movement that could signal an attack. I stayed several yards behind them, but even from my vantage point, I caught their tension, the way their backs and shoulders bunched up under their shirts. I’d learned in the short time with these two men that the attacks could be swift and sudden. These trees looked just like all the other trees; their ability to blend in was the main threat. The attacks could come from any level of the tree, and were difficult to predict.
The stillness was so thick and deep it made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. My ears strained to hear even the smallest whisper of the leaves. It was not yet noon, and this wooded area of the yard was still cloaked in shadows, hiding secrets of its own. I rapidly scanned the area, seeing movement in the shadows and not knowing if it were real or just my own imagination. I marveled that they could stand to work like this, day in and day out. The tension would drive me crazy after awhile. I stayed back at the edge of the trees, watching Paul and Ethan fan out.
I jumped out of my skin when Paul spoke. It wasn’t something I was expecting. “You have people trapped in their home. You are violating their rights and you are being asked to cease and desist. Failure to comply will result in removal from the premises.” Paul continued his well-rehearsed speech to the tree. I took out my notepad and began scribbling down what he was saying, writing fast to catch all the words and the stern, commanding tone. It would make an interesting piece to my article, how these workers communicated with the trees.
A green leaf fluttered down and landed on my notepad. So absorbed was I in capturing the mood and tone of Paul’s voice that I barely noticed and flicked it off to spiral lazily to the ground. Mere seconds after the leaf landed on the ground, I was hit with a barrage of dead twigs; some stuck in my hair, others landed on my notepad or fluttered to the ground. I looked up to see Ethan and Paul quickly turn towards the sound and freeze, staring at me with wide eyes. From above me, something cracked, a startling sound in the intense stillness of the morning, and Paul shouted, “Move!” Ethan ran towards me, faster than Paul, and knocked me out of the way an instant before a large, heavy branch fell where I had been standing. I landed on my hip, breath knocked out of me, and laid there dazed. I quickly caught my breath and scrambled out of the way. Ethan landed a few feet away, rolling smoothly back to his feet. There was a roaring sound that I half heard, half felt as I knelt on the ground. It was full of frustration and rage, a guttural snarl that came from no human throat. Something in that grove of trees did not want us there. My heart skipped a few beats.
Ethan yanked me back to my feet and pushed me out of the way. Paul grabbed the coil of rope from Ethan and went deeper into the shadows. The ground shook beneath my feet, and I stumbled, trying to keep my footing. “Get the buckets!” Paul called back. “This is going to be a hard one.”
Ethan ran back to the truck, leaving me standing anxiously out of the way. Paul darted through the trees, carrying the coil of thick rope. I couldn’t tell from my vantage point what he was doing, and I didn’t dare get close enough to find out, article or no. I tried to see deeper into the wooded area, but the tree trunks and shadows wouldn’t allow me to see very far.
Movement in the trees drew my eye, and I looked expecting to see Paul again. But no, this was something much, much larger than Paul. A huge brown mass slipped behind some trees, an almost delicate motion that belied its great size. I lifted a hand and pointed, too shocked to make much more than a high squeaking sound. I had taken this job for the money; freelance writers sometimes have to take what they can to make ends meet. I hadn’t really thought there was such a thing as dangerous trees, sentient trees; I thought it was all made up, that people thought they saw something, and contacted these guys to come and take care of a problem they didn’t really have. I went in with the thought in the back of my mind that I would somehow be uncovering a fake organization.
