Hat in the Ring
Lyrical Press has a call for submission for Dystopian romance and since I’ve had a story perking about in my brain from a few years ago, I thought perhaps I might write something up and try and submit it. The very first part of this story was actually a dream I had a few years ago and I sat down that morning and wrote it all out before I forgot it. Reading back over it, it’s not so bad, but it could use some major cleaning up and rewriting. Thankfully I can scrap about half of it and take my time with things.
For those curious to see, I thought I would post the first part I just pitched onto page.
It wasn’t exactly an awakening at first as he slowly roused from a dark and groggy sleep of heavy, clinging clumsiness brought on by a near overdose of sleeping pills. He realized he was aware before he realized it was dark and then it was dark before his eyes finally opened. The area where he was contained was small and composed of rusted metal containing several small boxes, two of which he noted were marked with a red cross on a white background. One had a green label with black that he didn’t recognize.
Realization dawned that he was awake and should look for a way out when the crate began to move.
“Wait, I’m still in here,” he called out, shifting from his kneeling position to a crouch and walk along with the crate as it rolled over and exposed the opening for the door. Although he hadn’t seen him turn around, a large collie-like dog in olive drab sauntered slowly across the rest of the warehouse and headed through a large door.
He hurriedly gathered supplies and crawled out of the box, jogging to catch up so he could follow along.
They walked along in silence, the collie-dog not bothering to look back at him as they moved. The only show that he was concerned at all was his left ear occasionally twitched back to listen for him when his footfalls diminished on the short carpeting. Casting his eyes around, the hall extended probably twenty feet straight up with crossed bars every third wide row of panels, meant as a way for someone to climb to fix things in case something needed repaired. He figured there were probably wiring and ducts toward the top of the ceiling, but the shadows were dark enough he could barely see anything above where the lights hung only a few feet above his head along the walls like a row of steady sentry against the dull, faded rusty orange of the walls.
I’d continued with the story from there, but this was the section from the dream. I was the man in the crate and then I became an outsider looking down on them walking into the halls.
I think I’ll continue this story. Maybe with some polishing and editing I’ll actually have something worthwhile!