Tecdavid
Verdentia's Gardener
It's that time again! The last time I uploaded my WiP's opening, it took place during a dream-sequence. Well, I've shuffled things around a bit, and now that dream's events take place later (since I was told the dream introduced too many concepts for an opening. A little too heavy). Now, the opening follows an entirely different group of events, and is hopefully a bit simpler.
Since this is the beginning chapter 1, I'm not going to describe the context. I want to make sure this can stand up on its own.
Fingers crossed.
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Jhona clung tight to the rollercoaster’s track, fingers grating against the rust. Down below, the park’s attractions were like colourful little flecks – tiny sprinkles over tarmac.
He could just make out Mark, staring up at him beside the workmen. Was that a thumbs-up he saw?
All was according to plan, then.
The wind whistled past the ride’s steel beams, chilliness chiselling at his fingers. He hoisted himself up, ignoring the crow-like creaking of the metalwork. He could do this, he told himself. No different than clambering up a tree, or across the rooftops back home. He could do this. Sitting himself atop the track, he looked down again to see a truck pull by the coaster. Workmen hurried from it like ants from their hill, while one of them deployed an aerial ladder. Coming to get him, were they?
‘That thing isn’t safe, boy!’ growled a workman’s voice over the park’s tannoy. ‘You wait right where you are, you hear?’
Jhona lifted his gaze from the park – all those flocking workmen were bringing spots to his eyes – and looked ahead, out at the city. All the bustle was distant; streams of cars and buses coursing through the mazy streets, and from here he had the perfect view. Swarms of people in their summer shirts flocked out beyond the park’s walls, and sun shone upon everything from the sidewalks to the skyline. From here, it was all so silent. A good thing the park’s closed today, he thought. Standing up, he considered the track, and stepped forward. The straining metals creaked. Another step. Come on – no time for cold feet. And another. Hey, you might even survive this, if you’re lucky. His thoughts came clearly – that was always a good sign. He started walking across the narrow track. It seems stable enough. He looked ahead, picked up the pace, and started to run. As that ladder stretched up toward the track, Jhona hurried, and scampered across the battered, rusted coaster, the wind rattling him like his footsteps rattled the framework. He could feel it trembling beneath his feet. Voices hollered up from the park, as cutting as the wind whipping through his hair and jacket. Jhona’s view of Mark vanished as he leapt from one splintered track to another. His fingers grazed as he seized the rusty rail, reaching it just barely, and he hung tight as he pulled himself up. He’d better be getting to work, thought Jhona, taking care not to trip. This had been Mark’s idea. Oh, the dangerous ones were always Mark’s ideas, but he never got stuck into the danger himself. Just until he nicks the keys, Jhona reminded himself. Just keep clambering ‘til then. Another jump – here we go. Pushing off from the rickety rail beneath him, something snapped. The wind came rushing at him as he fell, before he grabbed hold of another beam, as rusty as the rest of them. Blood trickled from his finger where a snarl of metal pricked him. A great gasp, and a lot of cursing, fumed up from the workers bellow. He was between the middlemost framework now – the stuff beneath Devil’s Drop, that great big rise that drove so many would-be riders away. Onward and upward, c’mon! Keeping those workmen distracted was all he had to do. Nice and simple. The retired old coaster seemed to sag about him as he perched, rust and cobwebs staining his black jacket. For a moment, he let himself rest. Let himself breathe. That ladder wouldn’t reach him for a minute or two, anyway. His cold, scraped fingers clung fast to the framework, and sweat dripped from his forehead. Cold wind or none, skilled climber or not, that sweat still dripped. The creaking was starting to sound like moaning . . .
Since this is the beginning chapter 1, I'm not going to describe the context. I want to make sure this can stand up on its own.
Fingers crossed.
------
Jhona clung tight to the rollercoaster’s track, fingers grating against the rust. Down below, the park’s attractions were like colourful little flecks – tiny sprinkles over tarmac.
He could just make out Mark, staring up at him beside the workmen. Was that a thumbs-up he saw?
All was according to plan, then.
The wind whistled past the ride’s steel beams, chilliness chiselling at his fingers. He hoisted himself up, ignoring the crow-like creaking of the metalwork. He could do this, he told himself. No different than clambering up a tree, or across the rooftops back home. He could do this. Sitting himself atop the track, he looked down again to see a truck pull by the coaster. Workmen hurried from it like ants from their hill, while one of them deployed an aerial ladder. Coming to get him, were they?
‘That thing isn’t safe, boy!’ growled a workman’s voice over the park’s tannoy. ‘You wait right where you are, you hear?’
Jhona lifted his gaze from the park – all those flocking workmen were bringing spots to his eyes – and looked ahead, out at the city. All the bustle was distant; streams of cars and buses coursing through the mazy streets, and from here he had the perfect view. Swarms of people in their summer shirts flocked out beyond the park’s walls, and sun shone upon everything from the sidewalks to the skyline. From here, it was all so silent. A good thing the park’s closed today, he thought. Standing up, he considered the track, and stepped forward. The straining metals creaked. Another step. Come on – no time for cold feet. And another. Hey, you might even survive this, if you’re lucky. His thoughts came clearly – that was always a good sign. He started walking across the narrow track. It seems stable enough. He looked ahead, picked up the pace, and started to run. As that ladder stretched up toward the track, Jhona hurried, and scampered across the battered, rusted coaster, the wind rattling him like his footsteps rattled the framework. He could feel it trembling beneath his feet. Voices hollered up from the park, as cutting as the wind whipping through his hair and jacket. Jhona’s view of Mark vanished as he leapt from one splintered track to another. His fingers grazed as he seized the rusty rail, reaching it just barely, and he hung tight as he pulled himself up. He’d better be getting to work, thought Jhona, taking care not to trip. This had been Mark’s idea. Oh, the dangerous ones were always Mark’s ideas, but he never got stuck into the danger himself. Just until he nicks the keys, Jhona reminded himself. Just keep clambering ‘til then. Another jump – here we go. Pushing off from the rickety rail beneath him, something snapped. The wind came rushing at him as he fell, before he grabbed hold of another beam, as rusty as the rest of them. Blood trickled from his finger where a snarl of metal pricked him. A great gasp, and a lot of cursing, fumed up from the workers bellow. He was between the middlemost framework now – the stuff beneath Devil’s Drop, that great big rise that drove so many would-be riders away. Onward and upward, c’mon! Keeping those workmen distracted was all he had to do. Nice and simple. The retired old coaster seemed to sag about him as he perched, rust and cobwebs staining his black jacket. For a moment, he let himself rest. Let himself breathe. That ladder wouldn’t reach him for a minute or two, anyway. His cold, scraped fingers clung fast to the framework, and sweat dripped from his forehead. Cold wind or none, skilled climber or not, that sweat still dripped. The creaking was starting to sound like moaning . . .
And Springs, Jhona isn't really worried. He has a head for heights.
