Originally Posted by MC StikiNicky
I wrote this not long ago. It's a bit long, but I hope you read it and give me some critique.
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The sun had almost reached the end of its daily cycle when Mr. Davis finally looked away from the manuscript that sat idly on his mahogany desk. The room was extremely bare, with the exception of this desk. He had never really noticed how finely built it was, perhaps because it was usually buried under mounds of paperwork. His office was a sparsely decorated cubicle, with one window peering into the street below and a plant that sat in the corner, supposedly to boost moral within the work force.
^^not a huge fan of the subordinate clause... you know the ...supposedly to yada yada... this plant deserves more... give the plant it's own sentence instead of just taggin on the morale thing... it could be... "Ironically it was a sad looking plant that someone had placed in the office to boost morale."
Suddenly, Mr. Davis remembered the dinner meeting that he and his wife had scheduled. It was 10pm and he was more than three hours late, yet he was not in the least bit worried. He and his wife could meet for dinner next month, and besides, they had scheduled an intimate hour for next week. These days, it was quite difficult to meet with your significant other without scheduling such a meeting months ahead of time. Work forces were low, thus people were working all day every day, and the new rules instated by the Board of Directors prevented couples from living in the same house together. Sometimes he would curse these rules, but then he would remember what a nice job he had, and he would soon forget those rebellious thoughts.
^^nice subtle work here... i like the subtext of doublespeak in here... he's kinda been brainwashed or seems to be...
Mr. Davis rose slowly from his chair, stretched his lanky arms to their full extent, left his office, turned back around and returned to his office, grabbed his suitcase (which was almost overflowing with various documents), put his tattered brown bowler hat over top of his extremely pricey gorilla fur toupee, and left.
^^don't use brackets... i know you are trying to have a staccato narrative here.. but it doesn't mean it has to be a run on sentence... "...left his office. Then, he turned back around and returned to his office..." You probably are attached to this waterfall of subordinate clauses one after another... but it is weak writing...
He walked down a seemingly endless flight of stairs, and onto the murky streets of New York City. The stench emanating from the wisps of green air floating about 2 feet above the ground filled Mr. Davis’s slightly angular nose and he began gasping for fresh air instinctively. None came. He choked back a fit of coughing and used his auto-communication headset to call for a taxi.
“5 minutes,” said the serene female voice on the other end of the communication link.
“5 minutes?” exclaimed Mr. Davis, “why that’s preposterous!”
He didn’t have five minutes to spare; curfew was in approximately twenty-five minutes, and he still needed to pick up some anti-perspiration lotion from the drug vender on 3rd street. Mr. Davis was getting impatient, and quickly at that. He leaned on his right foot innocently, then onto his left foot a little less innocently, and then back onto his right foot once more. The movement was almost mesmerizing and Mr. Davis humored himself with the fantasy that he was a pendulum for several seconds, before he realized that it was silly and stopped abruptly. A chill coursed its way through his spine, but it was not caused by the cold current of air that whipped through the streets. The chills were caused by the sudden realization that he was standing completely alone under the looming shadows of several towering skyscrapers. He had been in this position several times before, and each time he was equally uncomfortable with it. Mr. Davis had an extremely demanding job, and sometimes he was forced to work rather late. Since the curfew for citizens under the age of thirty-five was 9:30, and most people over forty were liquidated, it was to be expected that the streets would be void of activity at 10:20.
Suddenly, a decrepit old-style taxi pulled up in front of Mr. Davis and stopped with an ear-piercing screech. Mr. Davis opened the rust-caked door with a mighty tug and sat down in the torn leather back seat eagerly. He was excited to get back to his Wall Street loft (the Director of Law had given it to him after he solved the Lamarr case) so he could watch the ball game in the relative tranquility of his own abode. The Director of Security kept a watchful eye over every citizen in New York, but government workers were given a small amount of privacy at their homesteads. Mr. Davis mumbled the lyrics to a catchy song he had earlier that day.
^^i imagine you missed the word "heard" hear... but otherwise you have really strengthened the structure of the story... the imagery is tops and the new ideas you introduced weren't obtrusive to the story...
“What?” blurted out the cabbie, rather obscenely.
The cabbie was an obese, sweat-drenched, grotesque ox of a man with an unevenly shaved mustache that curled on the left end but not the right. He wore a neon orange-checkered baseball cap that stuck out like a sore thumb, and Mr. Davis noticed a reddish stain on the cabby’s ratty white t-shirt, presumably left by a stray meatball or something of the sort. Mr. Davis had never been so repulsed in his life.
The cabbie suddenly turned around and said, “my name’s Bob, what’s yours?"
Mr. Davis was not inclined to reply immediately, and wanted to avoid conversation with this grotesque man for as long as possible. However, he realized that the avoidance of conversation for the whole ride home was impossible.
^^i think it's a rather small thing but you could have the cabbie say something before asking his name... or just have him say his name... then it seems like the cabbie is fishing for conversation... and plausible that Mr. Davis could ignore him....
Reluctantly, Mr. Davis replied, "My name is Seth. Seth Davis."
“Nice ta meet ya Seth…. care for a cigarette?” asked the cabbie.
In this day and age, cigarette companies were extremely influential in world commerce. So powerful in fact, that they were given permission by the government to inject young children with nicotine booster shots. Now everyone was addicted. Everyone bought cigarettes, and the companies kept raking in money and expanding into even larger corporations. Mr. Davis suddenly became depressed while thinking about this hopeless cycle. He could never get used to the taste of cigarettes, and was still subject to fits of coughing when he inhaled their smoke.
Mr. Davis puffed reluctantly on the cigarette while gazing aimlessly out his window. The streets and buildings that whizzed by seemed unfamiliar to him. He seldomly ever strayed from his normal area of commerce, and even then, it was only for work purposes. He strained his eyes to identify something recognizable, to no avail. Perhaps “Bob” was simply taking a shortcut, but Mr. Davis still felt uneasy.
“This is an odd route,” he said, “are you sure we’re going the right way?” he continued, “because…”
Bob suddenly interrupted his inquiry, and disregarding the question completely, he asked, “So you’re a government worker eh?”. Mr. Davis was befuddled by this seemingly random question; it seemed unnatural to him that a stranger of another profession would care to know anything about any other job than his own. Ever since he could remember, people never really discussed work with anyone outside their own profession. It was simply unprofessional, or so the Board of Directors said.
“Yes, I am a government worker, why do you ask?” said Mr. Davis.
Both men forgot his previous question, and he noticed that the taxi strayed further and further away from his normal route home. The cabbie chuckled, and Mr. Davies noticed that the man’s girth made the laughter have an unsettling gargled undertone.
^^yea you need to control the subject of the sentence... you go from 'both men' to 'he' this makes no sense... you need to either break this into two sentences or change the subject of the sentence so the pronoun agrees... for example... "Both men had forgotten Mr. Davis's previous question. Mr. Davis noticed . . ."
“I’ve been thinking lately,” started the cabby.
Mr. Davis was only half-listening, as he was occupied staring at the blur of colors whizzing by his window. His eyes were fixated in a glacial stare, and they were suddenly overtaken by an overwhelming drowsiness. He shut them for a few seconds. The light radiating from the night-lanterns peppered along the sidewalk hurt his eyes. The cabbie had been talking the whole time, but everything he said simply went right through Mr. Davis’ head relentlessly.
“So that’s why I hate the new brand of electro-vacuum,” finished the cabbie.
Mr. Davis was incredulous at the fact that they hadn’t reached his home yet, and wondered if the cabbie was simply taking a long way in an attempt to pilfer more money from him. A wave of anger splashed over his consciousness, and he wanted to yell at the cabbie until his lunges burst.
“Now listen here you low-life,” started Mr. Davis “why in the hell aren’t we at my house yet? If you’re trying to steal money from me, you’re in for a surprise buddy, NOBODY messes with me!”
The cabbie ignored this verbal assault, shrugged his shoulders innocently, and continued driving onward as if nothing had ever happened. Mr. Davis stared at the back of his head, amazed at the coolness the cabbie had kept after the outburst.
^^ you described his coolness afterwards... maybe make this " . . . had kept during the outburst."
“Do you really want to know why you aren’t at home yet?” asked the cabbie.
“Yes, of course I want to know,” replied Mr. Davis.
“Because you aren’t going home, not for awhile anyways, we’re going to take little ride,” said the cabbie.
Mr. Davis, only realizing now the peril he could be in, decided to gamble his life and jump out of the speeding car. His plans were foiled when he realized that the cabbie had auto-locked the back doors. He cursed his misfortune, and then realized that he had no choice but to stay in the car.
“Don’t worry Seth, I’m not going to hurt you, I just have some questions to ask you. Innocent questions,” said the cabbie. “What do you think of the Board of Directors. Truthfully?” The cabbie continued.
“I think that they are the best thing that’s happened to our world since the automobile was invented, without them, wars would continue being waged and the world would fall into disarray,” said Mr. Davis.
The cabbie chuckled to himself. “Do you really believe that crap? Civilization ran without a hitch for thousands of years before the Board of Directors was established. They’re feeding you lies, and you’re opening your mind to them willingly,” said the cabbie.
Mr. Davis was appalled. He had never heard such blasphemy in his life, and he was actually offended by the cabbie’s words. Emotions flew recklessly through his consciousness. The emotions of anger and confusion clashed against each other, wonder and fear danced around his mind around almost aimlessly. He had never been so confused in his life, he decided. He also decided that he was rather intrigued by this odd man’s political viewpoints.
^^granted this is a short story.. but Mr. Davis is put to ponder a little quickly here...
Mr. Davis finally came to a conclusion. “Go on,” he said.
This statement caught the cabby rather off guard. He did not expect a government drone to actually have enough self-will to withstand such a statement. The cabby continued on with minute details about his hatred for the Board of Directors, as well as extremely far-fetched fantasies about how he planned to overthrow the Board of Directors single-handedly.
In the meantime, Mr. Davis was having his first taste of rebellion, and he rather liked it. He had never imagined an opportunity where he would even think about opposing the will of the Board of Directors, and yet here he was, listening to the outlandish opinions of this mere taxi driver.
“So anyways, how’d ya like to join my rag-tag party of renegades” said the cabby, half-serious, half-jokingly.
^^preferable to stay away from the cabby's mind set... i mean that the reader should stay in Mr. Davis's shoes.. and that means they don't know if the cabby is "half-serious, half-jokingly." saying anything... you have to make it come off like that .... you do fine in the upcoming sentence so just find a way to replace this altogether...
At first, Mr. Davis thought the cabbie was joking, but then he realized that he was dead serious. He was still very confused, and had never had to deal with the possibility of defecting from the government before, it was an extremely abstract concept to him, and he had only associated with it while reading fantasy novels. The defector always died a horrible death in those novels. Mr. Davis’ stomach turned. He thought of his wife, who he loved dearly. However, he was still unconvinced about the whole situation. It seemed rather uncompromising to him, and there was no real reason for him to leave his current prosperity behind in exchange for a meaningless ticket into the front seat of a lost cause.
“What’s in it for me?” asked Mr. Davis.
“Frankly, nothing. Well, except for the satisfaction of knowing that you aren’t just a government sheep. That you have a mind of your own and are capable of generating something other than piles of paperwork to be filed into brown folders that will never been opened again,” said the cabby.
“But I have a wife. I have more money then I need. I have a swanky Wall Street loft, and job security that most regular people could only dream of,” replied Mr. Davis.
“Fine then. Do what you wish. I won’t force you to join me. Think about it for a few minutes though. Think about what you would be leaving behind: material goods, and what you would earn in return: freedom. The United States of America were once based on the idea that everyone should be free, do you want to remain trapped under the finger of a few corporate bigwigs for the rest of your life? Think about it,” replied the cabbie.
“I still don’t see why I should join you, it would just put my life in danger,” replied Mr. Davis.
“Hmmm…. I was once like you. I believed that the Board of Directors was the best thing to happen to Earth. I also believed that while I was under their command, I was immune from any kind of physical or mental damage. Then they liquidated my wife. I was a government official, so they didn’t liquidate me when I reached the age of 40. But she was only a housewife, so they didn’t feel that she was beneficial to society. That was when I came to the realization that it was better off to be in constant danger, but be in total control of my life, rather than be a government drone that could be liquidated at the press of a button. You see, this state of invincibility that you are so in love with makes you more vulnerable to a life filled with anguish than anything else. It’s time that you realized this and set yourself free,” the cabbie said.
^^oooh... you were on a roll till "the cabbie said." that was boring... try description instead... "the cabby's voice had raised and he was becoming more animated with each word."
“Well, I’ve come to my decision,” said Mr. Davis. The cabby licked his lips eagerly; unsure of what Mr. Davis would say. “I want to join you, I’m sick of being forced to smoke cigarettes,” said Mr. Davis. The cabby let out a thundering guffaw, turned around, and gave Mr. Davis a bear hug. Mr. Davis was surprised that he made such a large decision, based on such a small reason.
“So the cigarettes pushed you over the edge, eh Seth?” said the Cabby.
Mr. Davis chuckled to himself, and said, “Yes, I suppose they did. I hated the damn things since day one though.”
Mr. Davis had never felt so alive before. He stretched his lanky arms to their full extent and yelled at the top of his lungs “I’m FREE.” The cabby turned around and joined him, leaving the steering wheel to lead it’s own course. The car started to swerve a bit. Then it started to swerve a lot. The cabby yelled, and spun around, attempting to grab the steering wheel and right the car. It was too late. Everything went black, and for what seemed like eternity, everything remained black.
5 hours later, a man awoke to the blinding light of the early morning sunrise. He shielded his eyes, and tried to focus them. Everything was a blur. For some reason, he was standing in the middle of a desert. Everything was a mystery to him: his name, his location, and his existence. He sluggishly looked down at the ground, and saw the corpse of an extremely odd looking man. He was very fat, and had an uneven mustache that curled at the left end but not the right. He looked in the ditch and saw the wreckage of what was presumably a taxicab. Everything was a mystery to him. He started slowly drudging in the direction that the nearby road sign said led to New York. He reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a cigarette, put it in his mouth, and took a long, deep puff. It had been forever since he had had one.
