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A short story based on a sleep-deprived induced hallucination.

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Old 05-27-2013, 04:00 PM
drew67 (Offline)
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Default A short story based on a sleep-deprived induced hallucination.


LANGUAGE WARNING
If there's any mistakes in this post, or I'm not following the rules exactly, apologies. I'm still getting to grips with it all.
This is a story I wrote a year or so ago about a hallucination I had when I was 48 hours sleep deprived. Any feedback is welcome.

-

Dead autumn leaves rustled along the pavement, carried by the mild wind. The trees cast shadows that were elongating in what seemed like minutes, and the sunlight was so dim that I didn’t feel the burn at the back of my eyes when I looked directly at it. The town was quiet and I was late. People closed their curtains for the night, their lights set to full brightness. In one particular house, a man stared at me before drawing his curtains, a sorrowful and grave look in his eye. I remember wishing that I were on the other side of the world at that moment. Night swiftly approached little England.



I had to start moving. I had to get home. No person would offer the charity of their home at this time. I got on my bike and started riding, carefully maneuvering myself to stay in the yellow light of the sun. I could feel my heartbeat in my throat and I decided to concentrate on my breathing, but the way it shook as I exhaled frightened me further. I had an hour before I got home, if I cycled fast. Why couldn’t it be summer? Why did I not leave earlier? Why could it not have been an hour earlier? My mind raced, thoughts flashing into my head and leaving to only make room for another. The sun dipped below the tree line; the day became grey.



To the right of me, trees stood tall, and at the bottom of the trees, it was pitch black. I must not look right, I told myself. I must not look right. I must not look right. I glanced right. Momentarily, everything around me turned black. I saw in the darkness shifting figures, and oh, how I desired to see what they were. They spiraled and swirled, in lines and shapes both straight and curved at the same time. The lines moved sleekly and jerkily. They interlinked with each other like locks of hair, and they fell apart and swirled away before locking with another line and swirling together. They were seductive. The long fingers stretched themselves out to me, pulling me in. Anything my conscious mind was saying was disregarded and dissolved into a haze of dreams. The figures soon surrounded the periphery of my vision, and the only thing left to look at was the dark hole in front of me. I looked into it. The immensity of the pull was staggering, the figures shifting rapidly, and I could not concentrate for they were passing me by like snow in a fast moving vehicle. No longer were they beckoning me. A high-pitched noise broke the air, and I could feel myself being pulled into this black hole, the figures that had once enticed me now fading at the borders. I did only what I knew, and covered my hands with my face.



The sky, the trees and the ground merged together in a collage of different yet dull colours. I felt my nose crack as my hip hit the curb. It was over instantaneously, and I stared at the sky whilst my vision shook heavily. Soon, everything straightened and a feeling of horrible warmness took over. I rolled over onto my hands and knees and threw up, a puddle of blood forming from my nose. I stood and threw up again, before settling my breathing and assessing my injuries. My nose was broken, but I could not be sure how bad it was. My hip was bruised but I could walk, and my hands were grazed and cut. My bike lay ahead of me, the back wheel spinning. ‘Babysteps,’ I thought to myself as I walked over. It had all happened so fast that I had forgotten about the impeding danger that was the night and the nightlings, and it was only when the moon caught my eye that everything clicked into place. ‘Shit,’ I said out loud. Blood bubbled at the bridge of my nose as I spoke and I instantly coughed it up. With only the fear of the nightlings to drive me, I climbed back onto my bike and began to ride again, as the moon rose further and further into the dark depths of the black sky.

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Old 05-27-2013, 04:13 PM
Essam Eldin (Offline)
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So... hallucinations are really interesting. the most interesting and haunting and consuming thing about hallucinations is that no one can feel them but you, it's your own personal experience. good job man, keep up with that sleep deprivation plan, you would write intensely, but careful! insomnia leads to madness in the end.
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Old 05-27-2013, 04:41 PM
drew67 (Offline)
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Originally Posted by Essam Eldin View Post
So... hallucinations are really interesting. the most interesting and haunting and consuming thing about hallucinations is that no one can feel them but you, it's your own personal experience. good job man, keep up with that sleep deprivation plan, you would write intensely, but careful! insomnia leads to madness in the end.
Thank you. Hallucinations are very interesting indeed, and I would like to, but it turns out I'm far too lazy to stay up. This 48 hours without sleep was just a strange occasion in which my brain didn't allow me to sleep. Haha, at least madness would create some interesting pieces of writing.
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Old 05-27-2013, 04:50 PM
Essam Eldin (Offline)
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You got that right! but hey! isn't writing is something really mad? can't you see we live in a mad world. Only an open minded writer would know some sense in nonsense and mental illness. Well, my friend I would like you to read my short stories they're not that long they're "Insidious", and "The Salvation Company". You seem to have an interesting talent please share your ideas with me and check my writings. Nice to meet you. Write your comments and I'll read and learn.
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Old 05-28-2013, 04:38 PM
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Originally Posted by drew67 View Post
LANGUAGE WARNING
If there's any mistakes in this post, or I'm not following the rules exactly, apologies. I'm still getting to grips with it all.
This is a story I wrote a year or so ago about a hallucination I had when I was 48 hours sleep deprived. Any feedback is welcome.

-

Dead autumn leaves rustled along the pavement, carried by the mild wind. The trees cast shadows that were elongating in what seemed like minutes, and the sunlight was so dim that I didn’t feel the burn nice at the back of my eyes when I looked directly at it. The town was quiet and I was late. You're pregnant! Congrats! People closed their curtains for the night, their lights set to full brightness. In one particular house, a man stared at me before drawing his curtains, a sorrowful and grave look in his eye. I remember wishing that I were on the other side of the world at that moment. Night swiftly approached little England. A very gratifying first paragraph. Imagery decked, and beaten up by emotion. Very nice.



I had to start moving. I had to get home. Normally, I'd chastise a writer for starting a sentence with the same two words, but it really flows well here. Helps us realize that our protag is desperate. No person would offer the charity of their home at this time. I got on my bike and started riding, carefully maneuvering myself to stay in the yellow light of the sun. I could feel my heartbeat in my throat I'd see a doctor for that. and I decided to concentrate on my breathing, but the way it shook as I exhaled frightened me further. I had an hour before I got home, if I cycled fast. Why couldn’t it be summer? Why did I not leave earlier? Why could it not have been an hour earlier? My mind raced, thoughts flashing into my head and leaving to only make room for another. The sun dipped below the tree line; the day became grey. Oh my, what a great final sentence. What sentiment.



To the right of me, trees stood tall, and at the bottom of the trees, it was pitch black. I must not look right, I told myself. I must not look right. I must not look right. I glanced right. Momentarily, everything around me turned black. I saw in the darkness shifting figures, and oh, how I desired to see what they were. They spiraled and swirled, in lines and shapes both straight and curved at the same time. The lines moved sleekly and jerkily. A good art house horror feel to these sentences. Grammatically correct and imagery tasty. I love it. They interlinked with each other like locks of hair, and they fell apart and swirled away before locking with another line and swirling together. They were seductive. The long fingers stretched themselves out to me, pulling me in. Anything my conscious mind was saying was disregarded and dissolved into a haze of dreams. The figures soon surrounded the periphery of my vision, and the only thing left to look at was the dark hole in front of me. I looked into it. The immensity of the pull was staggering, the figures shifting rapidly, and I could not concentrate for they were passing me by like snow in a fast moving vehicle. No longer were they beckoning me. A high-pitched noise a honk, correct? broke the air, and I could feel myself being pulled into this black hole, the figures that had once enticed me now fading at the borders. I did only what I knew, and covered my hands with my face.



The sky, the trees and the ground merged together in a collage of different yet dull colours. I felt my nose crack as my hip hit the curb. blunt and to the point. so often, writers try to doll up injuries with similes and b.s. like that. but this is how i like it. let the following narration detail the full extent of the injuries. It was over instantaneously, and I stared at the sky whilst my vision shook heavily. Soon, everything straightened and a feeling of horrible warmness took over. I rolled over onto my hands and knees and threw up, a puddle of blood forming from my nose. I stood and threw up again, before settling my breathing and assessing my injuries. My nose was broken, but I could not be sure how bad it was. My hip was bruised but I could walk, and my hands were grazed and cut. My bike lay ahead of me, the back wheel spinning. ‘Babysteps,’ I thought to myself as I walked over. It had all happened so fast that I had forgotten about the impeding danger that was the night and the nightlings, I wouldn't take the high road with the two uses of describing the hallucinations...I'd still refer to them as "the things in the night" or something like that. "Nightling" makes it sound like a sci-fi villain or something. and it was only when the moon caught my eye that everything clicked into place. ‘Shit,’ I said out loud. Blood bubbled at the bridge of my nose as I spoke and I instantly coughed it up. With only the fear of the nightlings to drive me, I climbed back onto my bike and began to ride again, as the moon rose further and further into the dark depths of the black sky.

Well that was just fantastic. I really really enjoyed it. You've got quite the flare for the imagery, in particular the dark romance of the night. A truly moving piece. Besides the nightling issue, I really have no problems with this piece.

What's the title you want to refer to this as? I don't think 'A short story based on a sleep-deprived induced hallucination' does it justice. So what do you want to call it?

We can expect great things out of you drew and welcome to the Beat.

Cheers,
the Rabbit.
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  #6  
Old 05-28-2013, 04:45 PM
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Nom'd for WBQ Member's Choice. Good luck, Drew.

http://www.writersbeat.com/showthread.php?t=44867
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  #7  
Old 05-28-2013, 06:59 PM
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Love it! Very emotive and visual!
I echo rabbit when I say that Nightlings feels babeyish or a fantastic cliche, for me it was the only thing that dulled the originality of the piece.

Last thing:
'The trees cast shadows that were elongating in what seemed like minutes,' I would change the tenses here.

Look forward to reading more from you!

Droid
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  #8  
Old 05-30-2013, 08:40 AM
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Originally Posted by RabbitInTheSuit View Post
Well that was just fantastic. I really really enjoyed it. You've got quite the flare for the imagery, in particular the dark romance of the night. A truly moving piece. Besides the nightling issue, I really have no problems with this piece.

What's the title you want to refer to this as? I don't think 'A short story based on a sleep-deprived induced hallucination' does it justice. So what do you want to call it?

We can expect great things out of you drew and welcome to the Beat.

Cheers,
the Rabbit.
Rabbit, a sincere and honest thank you. I wasn't so sure about this piece of work but you've given me confidence in it and this style of writing again. I've never named a story before... I'll come up with one soon. Any suggestions from yourself?
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Old 05-30-2013, 08:41 AM
drew67 (Offline)
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Originally Posted by RabbitInTheSuit View Post
Nom'd for WBQ Member's Choice. Good luck, Drew.

http://www.writersbeat.com/showthread.php?t=44867
Oh wow, thank you so much. This means a hell of a lot.
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Old 05-30-2013, 08:45 AM
drew67 (Offline)
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Originally Posted by AndroidAtNight View Post
Love it! Very emotive and visual!
I echo rabbit when I say that Nightlings feels babeyish or a fantastic cliche, for me it was the only thing that dulled the originality of the piece.

Last thing:
'The trees cast shadows that were elongating in what seemed like minutes,' I would change the tenses here.

Look forward to reading more from you!

Droid
Thank you! I will change "Nightlings" to something else-probably what Rabbit suggested- but I agree, they do sound babyish, on reflection. I'll change that sentence too... perhaps, 'The trees cast shadows that elongated in what seemed like minutes', right?
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Old 05-30-2013, 11:17 AM
RabbitInTheSuit (Offline)
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Originally Posted by drew67 View Post
Rabbit, a sincere and honest thank you. I wasn't so sure about this piece of work but you've given me confidence in it and this style of writing again. I've never named a story before... I'll come up with one soon. Any suggestions from yourself?
Oh I never get to do this...and I love titling things.

I like "Night Approach" or "Deprivation of the Day"
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Old 05-30-2013, 02:07 PM
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Originally Posted by RabbitInTheSuit View Post
Oh I never get to do this...and I love titling things.

I like "Night Approach" or "Deprivation of the Day"
I'll go for Night Approach, I like that.
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