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Mosquito Story


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Hey everybody. I haven't written anything here for a long time but I thought I'd share this, see what you think. Just a short story to sink your teeth into. Glad to see the regulars still active here, hope you like it!

Mosquito Story

It was a cool, dead kind of night in the middle of that desert. Not even the text tone sound of a cricket could be heard. It was a lonely, desolate night as it turned out for the two boys trailing the road to anywhere. One of them was carrying an empty jerry can and the two of them kept light conversation going as they searched for a gas pump.

They followed an old telegraph line, hoping it would lead them to their gold. And sure enough, under that black, glittered sky was a reddish haze coming from that eerie buzzing neon sign. They couldn't believe their luck, they'd found a gas station. They ran the rest of the way and arrived, panting the fumes in together while one started filling up.

Once filled, they both entered the all night store to pay their dues. Inside was intensely lit with white shining light fixtures beaming against the white, gleaming surface tiles, blinding the boys' tired eyes. With no one behind the teller, one rang the sticky, chrome bell and a large man emerged from the back. The boys immediately went white at the sight of the frightening but cheery man. In his shirt was a light tear hole and on it were spots of red, mostly around the belly. Licking the red off his fingers his fingers, he stopped at his index and broke the silence.

“What can I do ya' for fellas? Boy, mosquitos are rife this time of a year aren't they?” In a loud, cheery voice. The boys stuttered and fumbled until one finally looked the man in the eyes and then back down to the man's shirt. “Oh don't mind that, it's my wife. She has the cancer. Tryin' to get her to rest upstairs and she pulled on my shirt and she's been coughing up blood. She's in a lot of pain right now, it's not nice to see someone have to go through that.” The man sounded genuine, while upholding that cheery demeanour, which only further startled the boys. “You can meet her if you like?” The boys' eyes widened at the generous offer and one finally spoke up, hoping to end their engagement as quickly as possible.

“Oh er' no thanks, we'd just like to pay for the gas.” The one boy pulled out his wallet and opened it. The man winked at a camera, but the boys didn't notice, did they. Then the man spoke again.

“Oh, I understand. Ya' know, it's kind of a weird time and place to be by yourselves, what's your purpose?” The boys still stood confused and anxious under the overbearing white light in the store. “Oh and that'd be seven dollars fifty.” The man finished with a wide, closed grin. The boy pulled out the money while he explained that they were just heading home, when they just ran out of gas and their car was just up the road and they just wanted to leave. “well be sure to have a good night fellas.” And the teller slammed shut.

The boys gained pace as they furthered themselves away from the gas station and got back to their car. One filled up the tank while the other opened the trunk when he was bashed in the head, hard and blunt. He fell to floor, not dead, but he looked dead as blood was slowly surrounding his head. The other boy was clearly shocked because he dropped his jerry can and some petrol leaked out over his trousers. A man and a woman, both masked had sabotaged the boys. The woman hurled the unconscious boy in the trunk while the man hinted with his overly large machete to finish filling up the car. The boy shaking, complied and when he finished, the two masked attackers restrained his hands and feet and threw him on the back seat of the car and they then got in the front and they drove.

The masked attackers quietly and contently drove through the desert, every so often they passed a cactus. The boy in the back continually screamed and yelled at them. Asking questions and shouting profanities while he cried. The two in front had-had enough and the driver turned the radio up and began tuning through stations, finally hitting the precise frequency, 107.9. A loud screech of static shut the boy up and he winced at the pitch, unable to cover his ears like a kid. Finally it stopped and a crackling voice came from the radio.

“My lamb, we are taking you where you need.”

The boy only screamed more. “Why are you doing this?”

“Be peaceful little lamb. You're saga is just starting.” The radio voice continued. “You are deaf now, but soon you'll hear me clearly. This is 107.9.” The radio stuttered out in a another screeching white static and the boy cried some more.

The car came to a stop outside a quaint looking house in the middle of nowhere, the centre of everywhere. The boy was dragged out of the car by his arms, while continually screaming. He was shoved to floor so the two attackers could grab the other boy from the trunk. He had come round and too was shouting and not being cooperative. The masked man held the boy firmly and the masked female raised her head to signal their allies to join them. Dozens of masked people exited the house from differing exits and approached the car. The boys noticed how each one was dressed in casual like, everyday clothes. some in jeans and t-shirts, some in work ties and blue shirts, or some that wore business like dresses or the one who had a wedding dress on. But each wearing differing masks.

The boys were escorted in to the house that was typically furnished. The masked gang didn't mutter a sound from their mouths, yet they acted like they were communicating; nodding and waving hand gestures to one another under complete silence. The boy, previously in the trunk of the car was lead into the kitchen, while the other was split from him and taken downstairs to the basement.
The basement, walled with grey, jagged, concrete was dimly lit and had a grand, long, polished, wooden table with plates and fine dining-ware laid out across it. The boy was placed into a seat and strapped to it by his ankles while more masked sheep sat by him and joined him at the table where they calmly waited.

The boy looking scared, saw the walls behind were scattered with radio systems, all neatly set to 107.9. Catching his heart off guard, the radios collectively screeched their static and this time a woman's voice emerged from the noise. A sadistic like voice, but seductive. Her deep tone had captured the boy's attention and he listened while gawping at her words.

“This is 107.9. A few of my pets who learn to listen, I let crawl under my feet.” Her lips kissed his ears with each syllable. “Here is something you should drop to your knees for and worship. But you are too stupid to realise yourself. A feast for the deaf; that is for you.”

The scratching of violins took over the radio as some harrowing music filled the room with much delight to the attendees. A trolley rattled into the basement, with a large, masked man pushing it and stopped opposite the boy. He carried the tray, coated with a cloth, from the trolley and on to the table. The man swiftly lifted the cloth revealing the other boy hogtied on the tray. The two of them screamed to each other while the waiter equipped himself with a carving knife and prodded the boy on the tray with a carving fork. The seated boy yelled for him to stop so the waiter instead motioned to start at the shoulder. Still the boy screamed his disapproval so the waiter shrugged and optioned to start at the lower arm. The boy still disagreed. Finally the waiter grew weary and decided to serve the boy a leg. He jabbed into the thigh and sliced through the crunch and ooze to sever the leg for the boys plate. The seated boy only yelled more while the other boy had passed out.

The waiter slammed on the table with his fist. Wanting the boy to tuck in, he slammed again while the boy shook his head with tears running down his face. Offended, the waiter beat the leg in to boys face and shoved it across his mouth. Blood and flesh covered himself and his shirt until it landed in the boy's lap. The rest of the meal was served across the room too great reception. A cackled laughter came from radios harmoniously while the clacking of teeth and lips consumed the boy.

“The boy cried and cried and pleaded to be let go. Though no one here could hear him. And no one here could speak his tongue. For he is deaf, for now. You think I've been talking to you, boy? How could you tell when I've got this mask on? But you can hear me, can't you? Your brother's story is over but yours is still being written, little lamb. This is your favourite radio station, 107.9. It's been a long night, your brother here - not saying good night, just saying.”

Edited by ainsz
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Mokrie Dela
It was a cool, dead kind of night in the middle of that desert. Personally, I found this opening line a bit weak. using "kind" made it sound vague to me, and cool AND dead I'm not sure both work. It seems too signposted for me. I think a better description can be used, but then the first sentence is probably the hardest part of a story. Not even the text tone sound of a cricket could be heard. This is a bit strange, but if a cricket can't be heard, why mention it?I'm now imagining a cricket, which is counter-effective. If I'm describing a hot fire, I will not say "It wasn't cold" - I'd avoid words that oppose what I'm trying to convey. Silence is a strange thing in of itself, but try describing it without using other sounds. This sentence is also superfluous; you've already said it was "dead". Perhaps these two sentences can be merged into one, and say everything in less words? It was a lonely, desolate night Again, it feels you're going over the same ground. Describe the night in one go. as it turned out for the two boys trailing the road to anywhere. I think i'd consider starting the story here with these guys. are they the protagonists? If so describe things from their point of view. Sometimes the cinematic introduction can work, but i didn't feel it did here. One of them was carrying an empty jerry can and the two of them kept light conversation going as they searched for a gas pump. I assume the jerry can is empty. If it's not, the slushing of the liquid inside would be a nice sound to focus on. But even if not, if the night is so quiet, surely we'd hear these two guys' footsteps? Thinking about it, I'd start with this:

 

Crunching footsteps carved their way through the silent dead of the night. The desert air was cold and the skies clear. The two men walked with their heads swiveling, their eyes seeking out coyotes or wolves that might see them as a midnight feast. One of the men carried an empty Jerry can, the red-metal tinted purple in the moonlight. They were searching for a gas pump, as futile a task as that seemed; the ground was flat for as far as the eye can see, the only feature of the landscape the plethora of cactus stalks and rocks. The only building visible was a small, dilapidated shack, abandoned by the side of the trail ahead. Beyond that, the moonlight revealed little hope.

 

Now that might not be perfect either, but that's what I would have written (though future edits might change that as they tend to do)

They followed an old telegraph line, hoping it would lead them to their gold. And sure enough, under that black, glittered sky was a reddish haze coming from that eerie buzzing neon sign. They couldn't believe their luck; they'd found a gas station. They ran the rest of the way and arrived, panting the fumes in together while one started filling up.

 

In such a night the glow of the gas station would be visible for quite a distance, I think. So either convey the length of their walk, or show the glow earlier on. They might not know what it was, but they'd see it for a while i think - like light pollution of a town.

 

 

Once filled, they both entered the all night store to pay their dues. Inside was intensely lit with white shining light fixtures beaming against the white, gleaming surface tiles, blinding the boys' tired eyes. I think i'd show the illumination sooner - at the start of the sentence, or maybe before they even filled up. The light from inside would be inviting and harsh, and flooding the gas station forecourt with white and yellow light visible as soon as they could see the gas station. But also, what of their reactions when they entered?Usually you'd blink or something. showing that would do more than telling us "it was bright". With no one behind the teller, one rang the sticky, chrome bell and a large man emerged from the back. I don't like the flow of this sentence. The "Teller" is the worker, isn't it? I'd have used counter or cash desk. But I'd break this sentence up.

There was no one behind the counter. One of the men looked around and slammed his hand down on the sticky, chrome bell. He stared disapprovingly at his hand and wiped it on his pants. A large man emerged from the back, waddling toward the counter.

 

The boys immediately went white at the sight of the frightening but cheery man. You've already referred to these guys as "two men" but now you're saying "boys" - a minor shift in consistency, but try to keep what you call them the same. Maybe establish their ages early on, teenage or young adult. This will add a critical bit of information to your reader: if they're young, the reader will likely assume naivety, inexperience or something. A middleaged man might be considered more capable. So when you say they're intimidated by the store clerk, if you've established the guys as young before, the reader will go with it easier than if they've assumed them to be tougher, older guys. You can also hint to their intimidation, not outright say it, too. Why is the man frightening? Why is he cheery? How can he be both? Describe him, as this sounds crucial. Tall? Thick, muscular arms or wide, powerful wrists? Beard? How did he move? Did he look at the guys? If so, what kind of look? A scowl annoyed that his snack and TV show were interrupted? Suspicion over 2 guys that might rob him? In his shirt was a light tear hole and on it were spots of red, mostly around the belly. Licking the red off his fingers his fingers, he stopped at his index and broke the silence. These details should be given to the reader the moment we see this character. Remember, as soon as a character is introduced, the reader will picture them in their head. I'd already pictured a stocky, tall, bearded man in a grey checkered shirt, dungarees over the top with a broken strap. He's overweight, and not the quickest person to move. He's groggy, probably from working the night shift, and isn't in the best mood. How does this lie with your vision? What if I'd pictured a young, skinny, wimpish kid, working the graveyard shift for money to pay his tuition fees? Blonde, with nothing more than teenage fuzz on his chin. Don't make your reader adjust that image; give them what they need as soon as you can. “What can I do ya' for fellas? Boy, mosquitos are rife this time of a year aren't they?” In a loud, cheery voice. This needs restructuring. I'd either flip the sentences round or have the latter part being said to a look by the boys or something.

 

"Boy," he said in a loud, cheery voice. "Mosquitoes are rife this time of year, aren't they?" He chuckled. "What can I do for ya' fellas?"

 

Also, why have we not seen the mosquitoes before? The guys would have had more than a few annoying them as they walked.

 

The boys stuttered and fumbled until one finally looked the man in the eyes and then back down to the man's shirt. I can't say I'm understanding why the boys are stuttering and fumbling. It seems you're portraying the clerk as a friendly man, and I'm confused what's on his shirt at this point. So far I've seen little tension, and the two boys are acting as though there is some. “Oh don't mind that, it's my wife. She has the cancer. Tryin' to get her to rest upstairs and she pulled on my shirt and she's been coughing up blood. She's in a lot of pain right now, it's not nice to see someone have to go through that.” The man sounded genuine, while upholding that cheery demeanour, which only further startled the boys. I'm really not understanding why this man being cheerful is frightening these guys. And was he liking off his wife's blood of his fingers? I don't get it. “You can meet her if you like?” The boys' eyes widened at the generous offer and one finally spoke up, hoping to end their engagement as quickly as possible.

“Oh er' no thanks, we'd just like to pay for the gas.” The one boy pulled out his wallet and opened it. At this point, I'm thinking naming these characters would be helpful. "The one boy" sounds very awkward. At the very least, describing these men when we met them would help. So far, they're just generic flat characters. Even something as simple as hair colour would help the reader distinguish between the two. The man winked at a camera, but the boys didn't notice, did they. Should be a question mark here. I'm beginning to get a sense of something else with the man, here, however, I'm still unsure. Then the man spoke again.

“Oh, I understand. Ya' know, it's kind of a weird time and place to be by yourselves, what's your purpose?” The boys still stood confused and anxious under the overbearing white light in the store. “Oh and that'd be seven dollars fifty.” The man finished with a wide, closed grin. The boy pulled out the money while he explained that they were just heading home, when they just ran out of gas and their car was just up the road and they just wanted to leave. Capital letter here-> “well be sure to have a good night fellas.” And the teller slammed shut.

The boys gained pace as they furthered themselves away from the gas station and got back to their car. One filled up the tank while the other opened the trunk when he was bashed in the head, hard and blunt. He fell to floor, not dead, but he looked dead as blood was slowly surrounding his head. The other boy was clearly shocked because he dropped his jerry can and some petrol leaked out over his trousers. A man and a woman, both masked had sabotaged the boys. The woman hurled the unconscious boy in the trunk while the man hinted with his overly large machete to finish filling up the car. The boy shaking, complied and when he finished, the two masked attackers restrained his hands and feet and threw him on the back seat of the car and they then got in the front and they drove.

The masked attackers quietly and contently drove through the desert, every so often they passed a cactus. The boy in the back continually screamed and yelled at them. Asking questions and shouting profanities while he cried. The two in front had-had enough and the driver turned the radio up and began tuning through stations, finally hitting the precise frequency, 107.9. A loud screech of static shut the boy up and he winced at the pitch, unable to cover his ears like a kid. Finally it stopped and a crackling voice came from the radio.

“My lamb, we are taking you where you need.”

The boy only screamed more. “Why are you doing this?”

“Be peaceful little lamb. You're saga is just starting.” The radio voice continued. “You are deaf now, but soon you'll hear me clearly. This is 107.9.” The radio stuttered out in a another screeching white static and the boy cried some more.

The car came to a stop outside a quaint looking house in the middle of nowhere, the centre of everywhere. The boy was dragged out of the car by his arms, while continually screaming. He was shoved to THE floor so the two attackers could grab the other boy from the trunk. He had come round and too was shouting and not being cooperative. The masked man held the boy firmly and the masked female raised her head to signal their allies to join them. Dozens of masked people exited the house from differing exits and approached the car. The boys noticed how each one was dressed in casual like, everyday clothes. some in jeans and t-shirts, some in work ties and blue shirts, or some that wore business like dresses or the one who had a wedding dress on. But each wearing differing masks.

The boys were escorted in to the house that was typically furnished. The masked gang didn't mutter a sound from their mouths, yet they acted like they were communicating; nodding and waving hand gestures to one another under complete silence. I like this detail - them communicating without words adds a real creepy vibe... The boy, previously in the trunk of the car was lead into the kitchen, while the other was split from him and taken downstairs to the basement.The basement, walled with grey, jagged, concrete was dimly lit and had a grand, long, polished, wooden table with plates and fine dining-ware laid out across it. The boy was placed into a seat and strapped to it by his ankles while more masked sheep sat by him and joined him at the table where they calmly waited.

The boy looking scared, saw the walls behind were scattered with radio systems, all neatly set to 107.9. Catching his heart off guard, the radios collectively screeched their static and this time a woman's voice emerged from the noise. A sadistic like voice, but seductive. Her deep tone had captured the boy's attention and he listened while gawping at her words.

“This is 107.9. A few of my pets who learn to listen, I let crawl under my feet.” Her lips kissed his ears with each syllable. “Here is something you should drop to your knees for and worship. But you are too stupid to realise yourself. A feast for the deaf; that is for you.”

The scratching of violins took over the radio as some harrowing music filled the room with much delight to the attendees. A trolley rattled into the basement, with a large, masked man pushing it and stopped opposite the boy. He carried the tray, coated with a cloth, from the trolley and on to the table. The man swiftly lifted the cloth revealing the other boy hogtied on the tray. The two of them screamed to each other while the waiter equipped himself with a carving knife and prodded the boy on the tray with a carving fork. Okay, sh*t's going down now, so don't scrimp on the details. Show the fork piercing the skin, the immediate, blood curdling scream, blood, etc. The seated boy yelled for him to stop I'd shorten the sentences to pick up the pace and raise the tension. Here is a good place to split one. so the waiter instead motioned to start at the shoulder. Still the boy screamed his disapproval so the waiter shrugged and optioned to start at the lower arm. The boy still disagreed. Finally the waiter grew weary and decided to serve the boy a leg. He jabbed into the thigh and sliced through the crunch and ooze to sever the leg for the boys plate. The seated boy only yelled more while the other boy had passed out.

The waiter slammed on the table with his fist. Wanting the boy to tuck in, he slammed again while the boy shook his head with tears running down his face. Offended, the waiter beat the leg in to boys face and shoved it across his mouth. Blood and flesh covered himself and his shirt until it landed in the boy's lap. The rest of the meal was served across the room too great reception. A cackled laughter came from radios harmoniously while the clacking of teeth and lips consumed the boy.

“The boy cried and cried and pleaded to be let go. Though no one here could hear him. And no one here could speak his tongue. For he is deaf, for now. You think I've been talking to you, boy? How could you tell when I've got this mask on? But you can hear me, can't you? Your brother's story is over but yours is still being written, little lamb. This is your favourite radio station, 107.9. It's been a long night, your brother here - not saying good night, just saying.”

 

The creepiness certainly came through at the end, but the tension felt very forced early on. They were scared of a seemingly normal man, and apart from "red" on his shirt, there was little reason to be so. More suggestions over his intentions, mannerisms that hint over his intentions. Foreshadowing - there is very little, and if you want the reader to feel the tension these guys feel, you need to give them a reason to do so. When the two are captured, it begins to feel very rushed, like you're too eager to get to the end, and not go into too much depth. Pacing is important, but so are details. Short sentences, the right choices of words, but also show us the details. The popping as the fork pierces the skin, the first spurt of blood. The scream, echoing off the concrete wall. The squinting of the eyes of the onlookers as they smile, or them leaning in, fascinated, excited. describe the amputated limb more, tendrils of flesh dangling in the dank air, blood pouring onto the floor, dripping down the "chef's" arms. What colour is it? Make the reader uncomfortable here with details (while not getting bogged down). I think more time and care is needed here. I do like the mysteriousness of the radio voice, the organization of the cult (made me think of Epsilon at first). How is this connected to the store owner? Does he reappear?

 

It's not bad, though, overall. Definitely got structure, but i think some of the language and depth lets you down the most. I only felt a slight sense of creepiness even when the knife came out. A little more detail and I could be feeling uncomfortable. But it's something different to what i've read recently, so that was welcome, and enjoyable overall, though it does need more work (but then i don't think there are many stories even published that don't need more work. It's a neverending struggle!

 

Good to see you back, though. Look forward to seeing more.

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Honestly, Mokrie, I agree with everything you've pointed out. Genuinely great write up mate and valuable feedback. I must confess, I wrote this as an entry to a writing contest that had only a 1,500 word limit originally. So I was constrained a lot by that. The idea of the premise behind this is a grand one that I'm really in to at the moment and will be returning to, though somewhat differently. The details are all their in the story but I can tell their pretty much impossible to pick up on with how vague and snappy the writing is with no real context - that the actual plot that would wrap around this would go in to.

 

As way of getting round the jumpy plot, the twist at the end is that the narrator is actually reading the story to the boy in past tense as a way to torment him, so the crass writing was intentional, but their's a fine line between intentionally bad dialogue and just plain bad writing that's hard to follow. And I think I even failed to get the twist across to the reader seeing how I couldn't get the ending right.

 

Also the boys are purposely generic as - as far as the narrator is concerned, they're just dinner and play things.

 

Glad you could enjoy it though! Thanks again for the feedback and glad to be back!

 

Edit: Your point about the cricket analogy actually made me laugh. Can't believe I didn't pick up on that myself!

Edited by ainsz
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Mokrie Dela

There, not their! ;P

 

Joking aside, word limit contests are difficult but they're fantastic to make you utilize every single word more. Superfluous words can be eradicated and you can adapt your skills to be more direct with your description and narration. The opening sentences are a perfect example.

 

 

 

It was a cool, dead kind of night in the middle of that desert. Not even the text tone sound of a cricket could be heard. It was a lonely, desolate night as it turned out for the two boys trailing the road to anywhere. One of them was carrying an empty jerry can and the two of them kept light conversation going as they searched for a gas pump.
You could shorten that

 

 

 

The desert was silent and lonely, desolate. In the dead of night, two men trailed the road to nowhere. An empty Jerry can swung in one of the men's hand. They spoke quietly, their conversation light as they searched for a gas station, a task that felt futile and desperate.

I think it's about ten words shorter. That's a rushed example but with enough care, and perhaps several writes, you can really trim it down and still say what you need to. If this section was busier, maybe we could do a monthly max-word writing competition but it's good that you're actively participating in them. Sometimes you write crap, but sometimes you produce something really tight and awesome! Working to those constraints can really help develop part of your writing that you might not pay attention to normally.

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