Does this beginning entice you, note this is for mature readers only. Style is a bit Homeric, but that is the intention. What do you think? (sorry about format) NOT CONCERNED ABOUT GRAMMAR, SPELLING ETC, ill go over that later, right now just general focus on writing style, plot, characters etc.
And He Came Knocking At Hell’s Door
Three times he knocked. Pickaxe collides with rock, spluttering chunks. It rises and strikes, it rises; it falls, it rises... a crack ensues followed by the seeping hiss of an enticing snake, drawer of all curiosity.
?“Gas! Gas! Quick boys!” shouts the doomed miner, Alfred Owen, a bearer of incomparable misfortune. His fellow residents snap to attention, they proceed to exit. One by one, left by right. “Everybody out, move!” cries he, our dwindling hero, “Sound the alarm!”?
“Sam, let’s go!” begs Jacob.
?“No, there are others!” shouted our hero, the fool, Samson.?
“No time!” A hand clasps Samson by the arm, the strongest of all of common men. He pursues his valiant friend, considers the miners deep down in the lower levels, and turns his back on them. Unknown to them, there was an open flame beyond the picked rock. Decadent in being; it slurped the oxygen and licked the gas. The miners, Samson included, were a mere thirty yards from the explosion. Death laid its claim on all of them but Samson.
“Awake, Samson”. He stirs, though not in body. He rises and falls; his balance failing him. An eerie whiteness all round. Infinite in magnitude, Samson peers into the white. His feet hold firm on solid ground, though there is no texture, there is only him.
?“Where am I? Oh my God! The mine!” he looks down, a moment of realisation. Burnt skin dribbles into a neat pool of flakes, blood seeps, though not pours, out of newly sprouted orifices. Pain lingers... for a while. He sits and weeps in agony, cradling his burnt limbs like newly born children, though his care will not nurture. A time, seemingly as infinite as this place, passed.?
“No, no, no! Owen! Why God? Why?” he cried, and he cried some more. Given the time, his tears would weep rivers, for all he knew was dead in the mine.
?“Has he ever answered?” came the unknown.
?“Who’s there?” He searches every horizon of nothingness. Nothing. “Show yourself!”
“Appearances are overrated... though for your benefit. I shall.” And out of nothing, came something. A beggar, bent double, hobbled towards him.
?“Nothing comes of nothing! What are you?” Samson demanded.
?“It appears as though Lear’s proclamation is wrong! Welcome Samson!” he greeted coarsely. He took the hand the hand of Samson and spits in it. Rubbing the ointment, skin grows, blood retreats, and all in physical matter is well.
?“What trickery is this? Who are you? Where am I?”
?“I’ll answer all three of your questions, provided there are no more. This trickery is by means of which you are healed, to be ungrateful is to wish it undone, and I am sure that is not what you want, No?”
?“Can a man not ask of the means to his cure?
?“He cannot ask more questions,” the beggar said with a curt smile. “To answer your second, my name is not important,” he sniggers and sneers, “Jack will do I suppose.” He turns the other cheek, a quick snap. “Yes, Jack, call me Jack!” Jack returns his gaze. “To answer your third, you are in a hospital, somewhere insignificant to space and time, that tiny island, that speck, in an endless sea of pointless muck.”?
“You didn’t answer my question... where is this?” Samson indicates the unending blanket of white.
“For I did not think you would be able to comprehend the answer, we are nowhere. Literally. You were brought here, only so that we could speak.”
“Then why aren’t I dead?” Samson inquires, with his back turned. In his disbelief he’d begun to wander the hollow emptiness.?
“Curiosity is one of Man’s many flaws... hold your tongue. Naivety is golden. I am here, merely as a vessel, to pass on a proposal.”?
“Speak.”
?“How would you like to live?” ?
“Need it be asked?”
?“Consider this then, good sir, how badly do you want to live?”
?“Anything to see my family... my daughter again,” Samson replied, a tear was shed.
?“Anything? Then I think we may have a deal!” Jack, the beggar, exclaimed. He jumped and hooted, a mad ape starved of respect and courtesy. “Anything? That is what you said!”
?“Name the price.” The beggar halted, smiling gleefully, extracted a roll of parchment from his inner pocket of his tatty overcoat.
?“Sign here, my good man!” said the beggar joyfully. Samson, the fool, held it, an gazed at the beggar with a look of curiosity and caution. Though his eyes should have examined the parchment than stay fixed on the eyes of a beggar, for in fine print it read, ‘And in return is the price of one. One is immeasurable, and can come at anytime, anywhere, but know this, should thou take this offering, the price will be bestowed upon thee, and shall be enacted within one lifetime.
And He Came Knocking At Hell’s Door
Three times he knocked. Pickaxe collides with rock, spluttering chunks. It rises and strikes, it rises; it falls, it rises... a crack ensues followed by the seeping hiss of an enticing snake, drawer of all curiosity.
?“Gas! Gas! Quick boys!” shouts the doomed miner, Alfred Owen, a bearer of incomparable misfortune. His fellow residents snap to attention, they proceed to exit. One by one, left by right. “Everybody out, move!” cries he, our dwindling hero, “Sound the alarm!”?
“Sam, let’s go!” begs Jacob.
?“No, there are others!” shouted our hero, the fool, Samson.?
“No time!” A hand clasps Samson by the arm, the strongest of all of common men. He pursues his valiant friend, considers the miners deep down in the lower levels, and turns his back on them. Unknown to them, there was an open flame beyond the picked rock. Decadent in being; it slurped the oxygen and licked the gas. The miners, Samson included, were a mere thirty yards from the explosion. Death laid its claim on all of them but Samson.
“Awake, Samson”. He stirs, though not in body. He rises and falls; his balance failing him. An eerie whiteness all round. Infinite in magnitude, Samson peers into the white. His feet hold firm on solid ground, though there is no texture, there is only him.
?“Where am I? Oh my God! The mine!” he looks down, a moment of realisation. Burnt skin dribbles into a neat pool of flakes, blood seeps, though not pours, out of newly sprouted orifices. Pain lingers... for a while. He sits and weeps in agony, cradling his burnt limbs like newly born children, though his care will not nurture. A time, seemingly as infinite as this place, passed.?
“No, no, no! Owen! Why God? Why?” he cried, and he cried some more. Given the time, his tears would weep rivers, for all he knew was dead in the mine.
?“Has he ever answered?” came the unknown.
?“Who’s there?” He searches every horizon of nothingness. Nothing. “Show yourself!”
“Appearances are overrated... though for your benefit. I shall.” And out of nothing, came something. A beggar, bent double, hobbled towards him.
?“Nothing comes of nothing! What are you?” Samson demanded.
?“It appears as though Lear’s proclamation is wrong! Welcome Samson!” he greeted coarsely. He took the hand the hand of Samson and spits in it. Rubbing the ointment, skin grows, blood retreats, and all in physical matter is well.
?“What trickery is this? Who are you? Where am I?”
?“I’ll answer all three of your questions, provided there are no more. This trickery is by means of which you are healed, to be ungrateful is to wish it undone, and I am sure that is not what you want, No?”
?“Can a man not ask of the means to his cure?
?“He cannot ask more questions,” the beggar said with a curt smile. “To answer your second, my name is not important,” he sniggers and sneers, “Jack will do I suppose.” He turns the other cheek, a quick snap. “Yes, Jack, call me Jack!” Jack returns his gaze. “To answer your third, you are in a hospital, somewhere insignificant to space and time, that tiny island, that speck, in an endless sea of pointless muck.”?
“You didn’t answer my question... where is this?” Samson indicates the unending blanket of white.
“For I did not think you would be able to comprehend the answer, we are nowhere. Literally. You were brought here, only so that we could speak.”
“Then why aren’t I dead?” Samson inquires, with his back turned. In his disbelief he’d begun to wander the hollow emptiness.?
“Curiosity is one of Man’s many flaws... hold your tongue. Naivety is golden. I am here, merely as a vessel, to pass on a proposal.”?
“Speak.”
?“How would you like to live?” ?
“Need it be asked?”
?“Consider this then, good sir, how badly do you want to live?”
?“Anything to see my family... my daughter again,” Samson replied, a tear was shed.
?“Anything? Then I think we may have a deal!” Jack, the beggar, exclaimed. He jumped and hooted, a mad ape starved of respect and courtesy. “Anything? That is what you said!”
?“Name the price.” The beggar halted, smiling gleefully, extracted a roll of parchment from his inner pocket of his tatty overcoat.
?“Sign here, my good man!” said the beggar joyfully. Samson, the fool, held it, an gazed at the beggar with a look of curiosity and caution. Though his eyes should have examined the parchment than stay fixed on the eyes of a beggar, for in fine print it read, ‘And in return is the price of one. One is immeasurable, and can come at anytime, anywhere, but know this, should thou take this offering, the price will be bestowed upon thee, and shall be enacted within one lifetime.