Bastion excerpt

Last November I participated in NaNoWriMo, or National Novel Writing Month. I committed myself to writing at least 50,000 words that month and I pulled it off. I wrote a post-apocalyptic, B-horror movie style story about some blue collar workers. I had a little inspiration from real life and added a lot of imagination. I’ve spent a lot of the time since November working on revisions that seem to keep dragging on and on, but I would like to share a little excerpt with you! Enjoy!

Jack carried a crate of newly bottled oat whiskey towards the store room. He set it down by the door and took out the key. He always kept it on him. The Council had set out a rationing schedule for alcohol and he made sure to lock the door and check it for tampering everyday. A metal clatter behind him made him jump. He thought he was alone in that part of the elevator. He heard a scraping sound.

“Schroeder?” Jack called. He didn’t say it very loudly. He took a step towards the noise. There was a shuffling of boots. Jack followed it. He noticed the lid to one of the pits was left open.

“What the hell? Someone could get hurt.” He stepped over the hole to reach the lid better. A hand shot out and grabbed his ankle. It jerked out from under him. His shin cracked violently against the pit’s metal frame. He fell further into the hole as he clutched at the dust covered floor. Something was yanking him deeper.

Rusty appeared near him.

“What are you doing, Jack?” he asked.

“Help me! Something’s got ahold of me!” Jack reached for Rusty. Rusty held out his hand as Jack was pulled down to his chest with only his head and arms visible. Rusty leapt behind him and slammed the lid on Jack’s head. His hard hat tumbled off. Rusty lifted the lid. Jack looked up dazed with blood running from his nose. He could only groan as his eyes pleaded with Rusty. He slammed the lid again and Jack stopped struggling. He was swiftly pulled into the pit. A key was tossed out; the key to the whiskey store room.

Bob climbed out. He was panting slightly.

“We can let him drain a bit,” he said, “I suppose it’s almost dinner time. We have to go make our appearances.”

He bent over and picked up the key. Rusty grinned.

“Maybe we have time for a drink first,” Bob suggested. They shut the lid of the pit. Rusty kicked some grain dust over the little bit of blood on the frame. Bob nodded his approval and they went back down the hallway.




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