Start of a Story
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22 / M / US
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Posted 7/8/17 , edited 7/8/17
Let me state a few things before beginning
--I am not a writer; I am studying engineering and am generally terrible with words
--This story is probably the only thing I would ever write for fun. I love stories, truly, but writing is not my forte. This story in particular has just been stuck in my head since high school
--I actually wrote this opening a while ago. I haven't gone further for a couple of reasons. One is time; I'm involved in a lot of other activities I like as much/more and so come back to this very little. The other is while I know more or less where I want the story to go, the exact next part eludes me. I could write out of order, but I prefer not to. Part of that is that because I already knowing keeping characters straight in my head is going to be a nightmare for me; writing them out of order would be even worse. Regardless, the next part would involve wilderness survival, which neither I nor my character know anything about. Shit, my character doesn't even realize meat comes from animals. How is he going to survive that?

Anyway, feedback is appreciated. Maybe it'll inspire (or piss me off, dependent on what direction it goes) me to write more.
Enjoy (just imagine each paragraph is tabbed 'cuz I'm not going to deal with formatting right now)



My eyes blinked open. I turn my and see the clock on the wall; a big screen with subdued green numbers. 6:27, same as everyday. Official wake up time is 6:30, when the alarm will sound and the clock will brighten. Until then, I lay there and listen to the low noises of those around me. There really isn’t much to do; there never really is. By the time the alarm does sound, I am fully awake and ready for the day. As the horn blares, I get to my feet and begin my morning routine as the others slowly follow suit.

7:30—that’s when were expected to report for work, which means I have 1 hour to clean up and prepare myself. I’d heard stories of places that only give its residents 15 or 30 minutes in the morning. That’s still probably enough to get everything done, but I suppose I should count myself lucky, or maybe it’s just part of their plan.

Now, I could go on and explain exactly how my day went. But the thing is, I actually can’t. Everyday was exactly like the last and the details are lost. Besides, until we reach that point, the details really don’t matter. So I’ll be brief and just make sure you understand the reality of the events that have occurred since.

My name was 356. I lived and worked as a part of The Nation, in one of their places. It might have had a name, but I can’t really remember. Such a thing wouldn’t have been important enough to remember and now, well now there’s nothing much to remember. The place consisted of a few core things: a government building, living quarters, the factory, the field, and the shelter. The layout was simple, a triangle of the three main buildings connected by large hallways, the field being the space in between. The entrance to the shelter sat in the center.

The government building was where all the troops and officials lived. It served other functions, of course, but no one really knew what they all were. Most things the average person never saw and few felt like talking about what they did see.

Next was the living quarters for the residents—sleeping area, dining hall, and baths. All told, 100,000 of us lived there. Again, I guess I should count myself lucky with the way I had it. The food wasn’t good, but it was bearable. Having to make it ourselves meant some actual time was put into making it and all told, some of us were pretty good cooks given what they had to work with. The sleeping area was several large, bare rooms. The floor was a sleeping mat, but it was worn from years of use. And let’s not forget the hygiene. I didn’t realize how good being able to clean myself everyday was until I couldn’t, but more on that story later. Not only could we clean ourselves, we could buy cleaning supplies from the government office for points. We could also buy other basic things; candy, better food for those who like to cook, stuff like that. But put 100,000 people together and they learn pretty quick that group hygiene takes priority. I suppose the last thing I should mention before talking about work is that when I say 100,000 I mean 100,000. Not a single person more or less.

As for what the workers did, most of us had no idea. Apparently, as I learned later, we were in charge of making parts for various machines. Never the parts for a full machine, just a few parts from any given thing. Work started everyday at 7:30 and went to 10:00 with a one hour break at 2:00 for lunch. Thirteen and half hours may seem like a lot, but again I count myself lucky. Most of the other places had a similar schedule, but I’ve learned a lot about how the world was since coming here, and for how great it sounds, there are a few less … pleasant … stories. I suppose the main difference was the people there were seen as replaceable and made to feel that way. We were given just enough to think we mattered. Some of the other places, the people weren’t as lucky. Course, I’ve also heard tell of places even better than what I had. In truth, it don’t make much sense to me, having each of your places work differently. Almost like they did it just to see how people would react.


So now that basics are taken care of, I suppose the story can really begin. Or not. I honestly have no idea what I’m doing, though I think insert character name one here was right; then again, she usually is, at least about this kind of stuff. Enough side-tracking though.

So that day began like any other, with me waking up 3 minutes before the alarm went off. Everything was going along fine when the sirens went off. The clock on the wall—they were pretty much everywhere—read insert time here, sometime late at night when it’s starting to get dark. Since I don’t where I am or what season it is, I have no idea when that would actually be.




Me and the other workers made for the exit. We had emergency drills often enough that most of us assumed this was just another one. Well, I say most of us, but maybe it was just me that felt something was off; probably, considering the outcome. We got to the exit and made our way onto the field. The plan was simple: get to the shelter. Or at least, it would have been simple. The living quarters and government building were in flames, with various bits and pieces strewn everywhere across the field. As order breaks down among the people spilling from the factory, I go weightless. The world spins, I see bright light and hear a loud boom. I crash against a boulder and stop moving, but everything is still spinning. I stand and regain my composure as best I can. I look around and take in the situation. A few things catch my attention. The aircraft overhead, bearing the nation’s symbol on the bottom of its wings. Screams coming from the shelter as guards emerge. No, those aren’t guards; the uniforms are similar, but not the same describe differences, guard versus destroyer . The real guards, or at least some of them, are strewn dead on the field. A few others fought against the new group, but were clearly outmatched. Acting quick as I can, I hide behind the chunk of building I was thrown against. Heart pounding, sweat pouring out of me, I listen. Footsteps, coming toward me. That’s it, I thought, taking what I hoped was a decent fighting stance. The New guy turns the corner and I charge. Beyond that, I honestly don’t what happened; I think I heard a gunshot, but I’m not sure. I all I know is that when it was done, I was behind the guard, sword … yes, sword … in hands and that my body hit the ground about the same time his head did.



In my head, this is always a bit longer, but I always did prefer to be brief.
Bold stuff is I don't have stuff I don't have name for ( because naming things is definitely something I suck at) or haven't fully decided yet.
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