After some long procrastination I decided to write the first chapter of my story that takes place during a zombie apocalypse. It isn't finished yet. I decided to take the second chapter and put it in with the first... but then decided the ending of it was too weak and I want to re-do it. I was hoping to get some opinions. I can take criticism. Don't sugar-coat anything, I can handle it. I would prefer to know how to improve it then rather be lied to that it's perfectly fine. If you see any spelling mistakes, etc. Point them out, please. Also if you have any suggestions as to what could happen next, suggest them! I'm a little stumped right now. - shot -
Anger driven fists slammed against the horn of the car. She screamed aimlessly into the night and when she finally stopped she wondered if anyone had heard her. She laughed at the thought of someone else being out there. It was such a silly idea. No one could possibly be out there, in the night, in the world anymore. She pressed her foot against the gas pedal trying to make the car move. The dial flicked back and forth repetitively. The tank was empty. She was stranded. Left among what still existed from the world before. The night had consumed the world just as it always did, but there was a more uncomfortable feeling to it now. There was a constant stench of their rotting corpses which consumed the dead city. They dragged themselves across the shattered sidewalks and empty streets. She shivered, it was cold. It was always cold.
Kimberly had two options. She could either get out of the car, which could be dangerous, and then she could try to find other people. The other idea was that she could sit in the car and wait for someone to find her. Both ideas worried her, because what if whatever found her sitting in her car was not human? What could be worse is that it was human. A corrupted, broken human who had been driven mad. What if when she left the car those things came to swarm her? She was terrified of dying, even though she no longer had anything to live for. She pressed her forehead against her wheel and sobbed silently. Her body ached from the nights spent sleeping in her car. She was stuck here until she could think of a different, more possible, idea. Which would probably end up driving her insane and it still didn't change the fact that she was weak, dehydrated, starving and exhausted. Kimberly would sleep, that sounded alright. Her mind could no longer argue with itself. She pulled the arm rest up that was between the two front seats to lie down. Her eyes became heavier than they had been before. She closed them and tried to ignore the growing noise that was coming from the dead city. It haunted her in her dreams.
Kimberly was only twenty-one but she had seen things and experienced pain that no one should ever have to. She remembered when it had happened, there was no way she could ever forget it. Her sister, Elise, came home early from work. Kimberly heard her purse fall to the ground and rose from her usual spot on the couch as Elise's keys scattered across the kitchen floor. She felt a sudden unsettling feeling inside of her. Kimberly knew it was unusual for her sister to be home early, it made her believe that something was wrong. Something was wrong. She entered to kitchen to find her sister clutching her left hand with a look of pain on her face. Blood rushed enthusiastically from her wound.
"Elise? What happened?!" she cried and moved towards her sister to help.
"Kimberly, get upstairs! Hide in the attic!" she sobbed.
"You're hurt! What happened? Tell me please!" Kimberly reached out to take a look at her sister's hand.
"No, there isn't any time! Go in to the attic!" she pulled her bleeding hand away from Kimberly's view.
Kimberly watched her feeling as if she had swallowed her ability to speak. She knew something was terribly wrong. Elise had never spoken to her like this before.
That's when they began to swarm around the front door and windows, violently smudging them with filth. Kimberly watched as more appeared. Her eyes grew wide. They slammed against the door making it tremble. She couldn't breath. She didn't know what they were. They were not human. They couldn't be. Finally the door came crashing down. They rushed into the kitchen. Others broke the windows shredding their rotten flesh. They moaned. They were hungry. Kimberly screamed, her throat began to burn. She rushed up the stairs before she witnessed her sister's death. Her hands trembled as she took a string in to her hands. She pulled. The attic's stairs fell down. She could hear the stairs creaking. Her heart pounded relentlessly in her chest. Their awful stench filled her nostrils. Kimberly climbed up the stairs and in to the attic. Her hands gripped the stairs and brought them up. She could hear them below her. They wanted her. It took three long hours for Elise to rise from the dead. When she did she screamed for her sister. Kimberly began to sob.
The attic was low and narrow, it wasn't much of an attic. Though that's what they had called it all these years. It was more of a crawl space. Kimberly remained in the cramped space for what seemed like forever. She hoped that someone would find her. Once realizing that there was a slim chance of that happening she began to imagine various escape plans. Occasionally she would drift to the window at the front of the house and would look out. For hours she watched the number of the undead grow around her farm house. The overpowering stench from them made her sick and nauseous. Kimberly wanted to open the window and scream at them for trespassing. The thought of that made her laugh. Her eyes fell on to her car, she imagined how she could reach it. She imagined how wonderful the roar of its engine would be.
Days passed and she had remained in the attic. Kimberly reached for the window and unlocked it. Her heart pounded in her chest. What if I don't make it?, she thought. The cold glass slipped upwards quietly. She was going to get to her car, she played with her keys in her pocket. She had to try. She couldn't stand another day sitting and waiting for death. She silently began to climb out of the window. All she remembered was running as fast as she could, she felt her heart beating faster than it ever had. As she ran she could hear them coming after her. Thankfully they were much slower. Her hands shook as she unlocked the door. Her stomach was in knots. When she pulled the front door of her car open and climbed in she felt as if she was in a dream. She began to cry hysterically when she started the engine. Then she left, she didn't look back.
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Andrew usually wasn't out so late at night considering the absence of the living and the towering population of the dead. Yet he was told to go out and scavenge for survivors by his friends. He knew the real reason they were sending him out was because they wanted time alone. He respected them enough to do so, but he still didn't appreciate being thrown in to the littered streets in the middle of the night. He clutched his rifle in his hand and prepared himself for anything. He didn't know if those things could hunt in the dark or not, but he wasn't taking any chances. Andrew didn't want to die, he didn't believe in God, and didn't want to find out what happened after death at all. He wandered around for a bit, kicking around useless things and exploring abandoned buildings.
Andrew was used to going out alone. He didn't mind it that much. Sometimes he preferred it because being surrounded by others reminded him of his loss. Andrew had a fiancé, who he swore was the most beautiful woman that he had ever seen. He loved every inch of her body. He loved how passionate she was about life. He loved everything about her. Her smile made his heart melt. He missed her. Sometimes he missed her so much that it hurt. Andrew looked for the nearest building to lean on, he felt as if he was going to vomit. Thinking about the incident made him feel uncomfortable. It made his stomach twist and turn and made his throat burn.
Hope was Andrew's everything. She gave him a reason to live. She supported him and comforted him in times of misfortune. Hope always found a way to make him smile, even when he was suffering. They had been together for two years; life was perfect. He even proposed to Hope and she said yes. Andrew had everything at that point. He had a good paying job that he enjoyed, friends and good neighbors, a good home and a beautiful fiancé. Then something even more wonderful happened. Hope told him that she was pregnant with twin girls. Andrew was so happy he cried. Then everything changed. He lost her. Hope died with the world.
It had happened five months ago, the infection was new and thriving. At first it didn't seem real. Andrew was fascinated by the stories at first, and then was horribly frightened when it got worse. He believed and didn't believe at the same time. It didn't make sense that the dead could come back to life, he thought that the news channels were setting up a massive hoax. As the news reports continued he watched the neighbors around him board up their windows and doors. Andrew finally did the same, concealing himself and Hope in their home. Then the news became consumed with these stories just like the world was slowly consumed by the virus. Eventually the television didn't display anything. Then the radio crackled and refused to speak. Complete communication was cut off from the world. Andrew didn't know if they were the last people alive.
The next few months were very hard on Andrew and Hope. They had decided to remain inside of their home, hidden from the unknown dangers of the outside world. Andrew and Hope had rationed their food and water for weeks before they realized they did not have much left. Andrew had reasoned that they would eat little portions of food because he knew going outside to find edible food was a hopeless idea. The grocery stores would be filled with rotting, decomposing food, just like the world was filled with rotting, decomposing corpses. Due to the lack of water Hope had suggested a simple solution to the problem: A rain bucket. Andrew carefully placed it outside of their upstairs window and once it was full he would quietly bring it into their home. He would boil it then they would drink it. The water was clean, but over time it became clear it was no longer healthy. Debris started to litter their buckets accompanied by other filth that Andrew couldn't identify. Shortly after discovering that the water was unsanitary, Hope fell ill. She was the last person to drink from the bucket before the discovery.
Days passed and Hope showed no signs of getting better. She gradually became worse. Andrew held Hope in his arms as she lay quietly. The months confined to their home had taken their tole on her. She had lost an unhealthy amount of weight. She was pale, weak and bags had formed under her eyes. He watched her silently, knowing how little time he had with her. He knew this would be the last time he could hold her.
"Andrew?" Hope whispered softly, she managed a smile and looked up at him.
Andrew almost began to sob as he spoke. He knew she was suffering. "Yes, Hope?"
"The babies are kicking." She whispered and proceeded to pat her swollen belly, "Right here." She closed her eyes, they remained shut.
Andrew managed a smile and placed his hand on top of hers, "Our beautiful baby girls."
Shortly after speaking Hope had fallen asleep in his arms. Andrew knew she was suffering, he knew what he had to do. He reached into his side drawer silently and pulled out a loaded pistol. The gun clicked as he prepared to end Hope's life. He hesitated, his body felt numb. Andrew brought the tip of the pistol to her forehead and his eyes began to tear up. Could he do it? Could he end her misery? Could he kill the woman he loved?
He pulled the trigger.
Andrew cried next to his fiancé's lifeless body, the pistol dropped from his shaking hand. He placed his head on her stomach and mourned for his unborn children. Andrew didn't understand why this had happened to him. He sounded like a wounded animal as she sobbed. After experiencing so much pain nothing could kill Andrew. He was already dead.
A rifle remained clenched in Andrew's hand as he pushed himself to keep going. His feet felt as heavy as his eyes did. He had been awake for days. His nightmares were eating him alive. If he wasn't dreaming of Hope laughing and smiling, he dreamed of her killing him. Andrew didn't know what he was looking for out here, maybe some sign that the world still had hope. He walked for hours without finding anything.
That's when Andrew finally found it.
A 1989 Caprice was settled in middle of the road. Andrew approached the unknown car with extreme caution. He had not seen this car before, and suspected that there might be some people around. Andrew had encountered other survivors before, some ran away, some came with him only to get lost and some even tried to attack him. Some were cannibals, their hunger had driven them mad. No, the world had done that. Once a ten year old girl tried to stab him for his water, the world had gone to hell. He raised his rifle at the car and got close enough to peer inside. Then he lowered his gun as he saw the girl sleeping inside. The doors were locked and he pressed his face against the driver side window to see if there were any others. Once confirming there weren't any other people he raised his hand to knock on the window. The girl didn't stir. Andrew sighed out of annoyance then slammed his fist against the door. She leaped from her sleep. He motioned her to open the door and she did not move. Andrew stared at her annoyingly. He motioned to her once more and she finally unlocked the door and slid it slightly open.
"Are there any others?" he asked in a cold voice, seemingly impatient. The girl did not answer. "Hey, are there any others?" he placed his free hand on the door handle and opened the door wider to get a good look at her.
"N-no, there aren't, I'm alone" she replied nervously.
"What's your name and how on earth did you fucking get here in this?" he said grinning slightly. He noted that the car looked banged up and he knew that these cars were gas guzzlers.
"Kimberly, I just drove, from my farm-" she flinched slightly when she noticed he was looking her up and down.
"From a farm?" he looked a little shocked.
"Yes, sir" she replied. Kimberly was awfully afraid of him, he was bigger and seemed stronger than her and he held a weapon. She had heard about rape and murder,. Her body stiffined.
"Alright, well, here's the deal" he started and seemed a bit stuck. "You're going to come with me and-"
"No! Please don't!" she screamed and slammed the door shut, she locked it and watched his grin disappear.
"You got to be fucking kidding me!" Andrew groaned.
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Darkness haunted the streets below her feet; she smiled watching the undead walk, they were fun to hunt before bed. It made the nightmares easier knowing that she had killed off a few. It made her feel safer. She leaned in, a cigarette placed between her bruised lips; her sniper rifle was balanced well on the edge of the building. She looked through her scope and began to count how many there were. Her finger pressed against the trigger without hesitation. The shots echoed through the empty city, creating an eruption of noise. Then came the thud afterwards, she felt good.
A man approached her from behind, he was built big and seemed strong, and he was much taller than she was. He smiled down at her, seemingly mesmerized by her appearance. His hand reached out and landed on her right shoulder, he leaned down and placed a soft kiss on her cheek. She looked up from her scope and seemed to be annoyed by the distraction. She lifted a lighter and lit her cigarette, then inhaled.
"You should go to bed soon," he said and smiled at her. "It's getting really late."
"Andrew has not returned yet, I'm waiting for him." She blew out smoke as she spoke.
"Andrew can take care of himself, Elizabeth." He reached out and took the cigarette from between her lips. "Please come spend some time with me."
"If we went out and had not returned yet before curfew, he would be watching for us." She reached out to steal the cigarette back, but he crushed it in his hand. "Why did you do that?"
"It's a nasty habit, you should quit."
"Don't start this with me now, Peter."
"You promised never to smoke again once you had gotten pregnant."
"Well, I'm not pregnant anymore, that was a long time ago!"
"You still promised not to smoke, it's unhealthy."
"And living in this world isn't unhealthy? Look at this place, and you're going after me for smoking fucking cigarettes." She hit him on his chest, he did not flinch.
Sudden movement from the streets made Elizabeth change her focus. Someone was running, their feet embracing the road below them. Her fingers connected with her sniper rifle and she peered into the scope. Two figures were running towards the building they called home. The building they lived in had once been a clinic downstairs and upstairs there were small apartments. They were lucky, supplied with medical necessities. It was boarded up to prevent any other unwanted survivors from getting in. Elizabeth had crafted locks to secure the front and back doors. It wasn't a paradise, but it was better than nothing. They also had each other.
"Is it Andrew?" Peter finally asked, he had begun to watch too but could not see as well.
"I believe it is." She followed them with her eyes, watching carefully.
"Who is he with?"
"I don't know," Her fingers relaxed though she was still on edge. "What is he doing bringing someone here?" She looked up at Peter, waiting for an answer.
Elizabeth sat back in her chair and seemed bothered by the idea of another survivor living here. For months Peter, Andrew and she had been the only survivors living here. They had tried to shelter a pregnant woman a few months ago. One evening Elizabeth caught her stealing their belongings. She had killed her in a struggle to stop her; she was buried in the back of the building. She did not want to relive a moment ever again. Her mind continued to wander before an abrupt pounding at the front door interrupted her. She stood to rush downstairs, Peter stopped her. He wanted to go, he was stronger and if the girl got out of hand he could easily control her. Elizabeth seemed pissed that he stopped her, she felt slightly insulted. She let him go with hesitation, then resumed watching below for the undead. She placed a cigarette between her lips and lit it.
Peter made his way downstairs and was careful not to trip over anything in the process. The floor was littered with broken glass and empty bottles for medication. He groaned out of annoyance, he continued to forget to sweep it all up. He approached the front door, and then searched in the darkness for the flash light they kept near by. Peter slipped the peep hole open and peered in to the darkness. In his hand was the flash light, he raised his hand and light poured out through the peep hole and onto the filthy streets. Light surrounded the face of a young girl, her eyes seeping with tears, next to her was Andrew.
I can read this for you and give feedback -- just not tonight, I have a horrible headache.
I appreciate you putting that disclaimer in, though. I actually wouldn't have volunteered, otherwise. I don't like wasting time reading over something if the person is just going to ignore my comments. I also like knowing which elements you'd like specific feedback on, so you're two-for-two. :)
I'll likely be able to get to it tomorrow.
Cold silence has a tendency
to atrophy any sense of compassion
between supposed lovers.
Between supposed brothers.
Anything, if you think something can be improved or needs to be fixed up or if you think that something is weak, then tell me. Don't be afraid to hurt my feelings or anything. I'm a writer. I have to get my work approved somehow, it's going to be looked at eventually.
I'm not going to ignore your comments. The only reason I won't post is because it would be a triple post or because I'm not online.
I think you misunderstood what I said, I was complaining about what I see people normally do when making threads for their writing on sites. Your opening post was very clear and got my attention.
I'm going to take a look now. :)
Edit: Actually, before I get going, I need to know if this is polished up or just a draft. I tend to want to point out every little grammar tic, but if you already know they need fixing, I won't waste both of our time.
Cold silence has a tendency
to atrophy any sense of compassion
between supposed lovers.
Between supposed brothers.
Okay, first off (I'm going to do this in installments, since it's a bit lengthy) let's talk about showing vs. telling.
What you're doing here in the beginning is exposition. Listing off facts and information to the reader. It comes off as dull, the way it's written, because it isn't conveyed in a dynamic way. You're just catching the reader up on what's going on, at the expense of action (in the general sense, not in the explosion sense. :p)
Imagine this, instead: You skip the info-dump to begin with, and you follow Kimberly's actions. You let the audience learn about the world she exists in as her senses experience it. That way, they both get into the character's perspective, and get important info in slow drips, rather than being force-fed it all at once.
On a similar note, don't write like you're talking to the reader. It looks clumsy. Try to make the story immersive, focus what the character is experiencing, and just show that to the audience. Trust them to figure it out, as long you describe it well enough. This will have the effect of speeding up the pacing of your story and help keep people interested.
Other than that, what I notice mechanics-wise so far is that you're usage of commas is kind of all over the place. You don't use them when you should sometimes, and in other places, you have them where they don't belong. I find the best way to deal with commas if you're having trouble is to read your work aloud, making sure to pause appropriately wherever there's a comma, and if it doesn't sound right, delete it. Likewise, if a sentence seems like it needs to be broken up, put in a comma to separate the clauses.
Cold silence has a tendency
to atrophy any sense of compassion
between supposed lovers.
Between supposed brothers.
So! I should perhaps skip the whole flashback/dream about what had happened to her? Allow the story to go on and during the entire story the readers find out more about her instead of finding out all about it at once? Should I perhaps keep the whole hint that something horrible has happened to her, but not reveal it? I think that would make someone want to read more to find out, right?
Thank you for the information.
I'm going to fix it up a bit then, the whole comma situation. No one has told me that yet and I really appreciate it. I never knew. Sometimes I do get worried that a sentence can be too long or short... so I get a bit mixed up!
Yes, that sounds like it would make for a much more dynamic and engaging opening to the story. It's always best to keep readers guessing early on, to spark their interest, but it's also a fine line. You don't want to leave them bewildered. It should be a gradual unfolding of detail, though, not all at once.
Cold silence has a tendency
to atrophy any sense of compassion
between supposed lovers.
Between supposed brothers.
Alright, should I do the same for Andrew?
I can just remove those parts and write more to fill the emptiness that they will make. I can even just put those parts to the side and use them elsewhere.
Kimberly was only twenty-one but she had seen things and experienced pain that no one should ever have to. She remembered when it had happened, there was no way she could ever forget it. Her sister, Elise, came home early from work. Kimberly heard her purse fall to the ground and rose from her usual spot on the couch as Elise's keys scattered across the kitchen floor. She felt a sudden unsettling feeling inside of her. Kimberly knew it was unusual for her sister to be home early, it made her believe that something was wrong. Something was wrong. She entered to kitchen to find her sister clutching her left hand with a look of pain on her face. Blood rushed enthusiastically from her wound.
"Elise? What happened?!" she cried and moved towards her sister to help.
"Kimberly, get upstairs! Hide in the attic!" she sobbed.
"You're hurt! What happened? Tell me please!" Kimberly reached out to take a look at her sister's hand.
"No, there isn't any time! Go in to the attic!" she pulled her bleeding hand away from Kimberly's view.
Kimberly watched her feeling as if she had swallowed her ability to speak. She knew something was terribly wrong. Elise had never spoken to her like this before.
That's when they began to swarm around the front door and windows, violently smudging them with filth. Kimberly watched as more appeared. Her eyes grew wide. They slammed against the door making it tremble. She couldn't breath. She didn't know what they were. They were not human. They couldn't be. Finally the door came crashing down. They rushed into the kitchen. Others broke the windows shredding their rotten flesh. They moaned. They were hungry. Kimberly screamed, her throat began to burn. She rushed up the stairs before she witnessed her sister's death. Her hands trembled as she took a string in to her hands. She pulled. The attic's stairs fell down. She could hear the stairs creaking. Her heart pounded relentlessly in her chest. Their awful stench filled her nostrils. Kimberly climbed up the stairs and in to the attic. Her hands gripped the stairs and brought them up. She could hear them below her. They wanted her. It took three long hours for Elise to rise from the dead. When she did she screamed for her sister. Kimberly began to sob.
The attic was low and narrow, it wasn't much of an attic. Though that's what they had called it all these years. It was more of a crawl space. Kimberly remained in the cramped space for what seemed like forever. She hoped that someone would find her. Once realizing that there was a slim chance of that happening she began to imagine various escape plans. Occasionally she would drift to the window at the front of the house and would look out. For hours she watched the number of the undead grow around her farm house. The overpowering stench from them made her sick and nauseous. Kimberly wanted to open the window and scream at them for trespassing. The thought of that made her laugh. Her eyes fell on to her car, she imagined how she could reach it. She imagined how wonderful the roar of its engine would be.
Days passed and she had remained in the attic. Kimberly reached for the window and unlocked it. Her heart pounded in her chest. What if I don't make it?, she thought. The cold glass slipped upwards quietly. She was going to get to her car, she played with her keys in her pocket. She had to try. She couldn't stand another day sitting and waiting for death. She silently began to climb out of the window. All she remembered was running as fast as she could, she felt her heart beating faster than it ever had. As she ran she could hear them coming after her. Thankfully they were much slower. Her hands shook as she unlocked the door. Her stomach was in knots. When she pulled the front door of her car open and climbed in she felt as if she was in a dream. She began to cry hysterically when she started the engine. Then she left, she didn't look back.
Apart of another chapter. - nods -
Further in the book.
Trisphee
