yorelm
Well-Known Member
Intro for an older story that I pulled back out to update. I wanted to know if this revision is coming through the way I'm trying to portray it.
Can you "see" it? Any other observations are welcome also. The narrator is an NYU educated Jamaican, so there's a few odd words here and there, despite his Americanization.
I killed the engine at the lookout on Weatherly, where Fairbanks Luxury Community cut across thirty acres of prime real estate. Usually the place was swimming with high-end rides--buffed Benzes, Maseratis--all the ones that would smirk at my budget. I stopped because something felt off, like that uneasy quiet before a Kingston storm.
The air changed first, feeling heavier and taking on a stale, almost coppery bite. A darkness like no other crept in. Natural darkness filled spaces predictably; this slithered with deliberation. Nothing like sunset, nah—this was hungry in its stealth.
The entrance gate started to...shift. Subtle at first, like somebody adjusting a universal contrast. The gold-plated "Fairbanks" lettering began to dull, tarnish inching across it. Security guard's booth emptied out while I watched, like the man just...dissolved, leaving nothing but an abandoned cup of coffee still steaming on his desk.
Those pruned shrubs—the type the HOA spent more on than my annual salary—started losing their perfect shape. Branch by branch, leaf by leaf, they withered, turning into a weed-choked mess. And the bark of the trees, mostly oaks and elms, peeled away in long strips, like somebody slowly skinning them alive. They twisted, the branches becoming tangled and brittle, ready to break if you looked at them cross-eyed.
The paint of the condos dimmed, and the windows darkened to vacant holes. It wasn’t a luxury community anymore. It was a dead-man’s yard in the making.
"Rahtid!" I sucked in air too fast and forced a few slowed-down breaths to steady my shaking. Logic and rationale usually kept me grounded, but didn't cut it after facing the impossible. I sat there, my hands tight on the wheel, watching paradise turn to purgatory in slow motion. I squeezed my eyes shut and forced a few more slow breaths, then opened them...
No change.
Can you "see" it? Any other observations are welcome also. The narrator is an NYU educated Jamaican, so there's a few odd words here and there, despite his Americanization.
I killed the engine at the lookout on Weatherly, where Fairbanks Luxury Community cut across thirty acres of prime real estate. Usually the place was swimming with high-end rides--buffed Benzes, Maseratis--all the ones that would smirk at my budget. I stopped because something felt off, like that uneasy quiet before a Kingston storm.
The air changed first, feeling heavier and taking on a stale, almost coppery bite. A darkness like no other crept in. Natural darkness filled spaces predictably; this slithered with deliberation. Nothing like sunset, nah—this was hungry in its stealth.
The entrance gate started to...shift. Subtle at first, like somebody adjusting a universal contrast. The gold-plated "Fairbanks" lettering began to dull, tarnish inching across it. Security guard's booth emptied out while I watched, like the man just...dissolved, leaving nothing but an abandoned cup of coffee still steaming on his desk.
Those pruned shrubs—the type the HOA spent more on than my annual salary—started losing their perfect shape. Branch by branch, leaf by leaf, they withered, turning into a weed-choked mess. And the bark of the trees, mostly oaks and elms, peeled away in long strips, like somebody slowly skinning them alive. They twisted, the branches becoming tangled and brittle, ready to break if you looked at them cross-eyed.
The paint of the condos dimmed, and the windows darkened to vacant holes. It wasn’t a luxury community anymore. It was a dead-man’s yard in the making.
"Rahtid!" I sucked in air too fast and forced a few slowed-down breaths to steady my shaking. Logic and rationale usually kept me grounded, but didn't cut it after facing the impossible. I sat there, my hands tight on the wheel, watching paradise turn to purgatory in slow motion. I squeezed my eyes shut and forced a few more slow breaths, then opened them...
No change.
