Ten Paces More (The Bridge at the End)

[talonkarrde]

The first sensation was the slight give of packed dirt. They roused him as they had every morning, and he had learned quickly to struggle to his feet after the first kick. He made his way across the room, arms blindly stretched out in front of him until he touched the rough concrete blocks. It was protocol, he had learned, for them to run a rake through the dirt floor it to see if he had been digging any holes – and by the second day, he had stopped trying.

A sharply barked command and he was dragged into the corridor, where the warm soft dirt became cold unyielding metal. He counted the steps – thirteen paces and a right to the corrugated stairs. Twenty steps making two full rotations and an exit to the right. Thirty-two more before the left to the final destination.

Then linoleum - more than three pints of his blood, teeth, fingernails, and handfuls of hair had been spread across it; he figured the janitor had gathered up more of him than he had left. He was pushed into the chair his body had become rather intimate with over the course of the last week.

The smell of lilacs and peach meant that she had come in. Somehow, she smelled like that no matter what she did to him, no matter how much of his blood was on her.

“Hey, babe.” He smiled tiredly.

“You have been quite uncooperative, Jake.” Dulcet tones, as always. Even when she was ‘working’ him. Especially then.

“Sorry, honey, you know me…” He stopped smiling, knowing what was coming next. The only question was where the blow would land.

“I have learned many things about you, indeed, but our time here is over. Stand up, turn around, and walk. You may remove the tape after fifty paces, I trust you will count them very carefully; you should be able to imagine the consequences if you do not. Do not look back.”

He sat there for a moment, incredulous, but he realized that there was no choice to be made. All things considered, he would rather walk than be dragged. He stood up slowly, ignoring the pain, and turned around, first shuffling, then walking away from her.

Ten steps, then twenty.

Forty-one, forty-two, and he felt something foreign – air brushing past his face. A breeze, carrying the scent of something other than recycled machine air, carrying the scent of nature.

Fifty steps and he stopped, expectant…but nothing happened. He reached up with a trembling hand and, in one quick motion, ripped the tape off, taking most of his eyelashes with it. The pain would have been considerable, once.

In front of him was a rickety wooden suspension bridge, extending into the mist. He took a step forward, feeling the smooth wood plank under his feet sway slightly, and then took another, and another, walking into the mist, not looking back, never looking back. He reached the lowest point of the bridge – and started speeding up, a flicker of hope lighting within him and driving him forward.

They were standing on the opposite bank, only ten paces more, when he heard the snap of the bridge being cut behind him.

Comments

[lemony-purple.livejournal.com]

This one... I like the way it's written. The counting of paces before it's required seems to make things tie together well, or something (I'm trying to find a reason I like the counting of steps throughout but it's not really working). And I know this one had to die; the first time I read it I wasn't completely expecting it, so it wasn't annoying then, but if I reread several posts at once it is especially; killing someone off as the last line mostly just works if it's surprising, and if it's happened a few times before, that takes away from the individual impact of each time.

[talon.livejournal.com]

I'm glad you like the counting of the steps; I think it does do a good job of stringing the narrative together, though that's not what I actually had in mind. I also tried for a more tactile sense in the different sensations (dirt - steel - linoleum - wood), especially because he couldn't see, though I don't think it was powerful enough to bring the imagery and sensations forward.

So, for the death thing.

Well, hm. Internal psychological problems leading to a manifestation of death?

More seriously though...specifically in this one, much like the Apples and Technology one, I actually wanted to leave it open-ended, though it seems that I'm almost getting typecast as killing off my protagonists. Ten paces is close enough to take one, maybe two steps, and then leap for one of the ropes on the bridges and possibly make it. To me, when I was writing it, this was actually a piece that didn't end in death when I was writing it, though it does have some ambiguity to it.

In general, though, I don't write my pieces to aim for or go for death specifically; it's more for the twist, as one, and to bring out a certain emotion; none of my characters die 'just because'. For Single Entrance, it was to really exemplify the despair that the researchers felt, for Wayfaring Stranger it was because it fit the 'rapture whether or not you want it' theme. In 'Waterfowl', it was to illustrate sadism. I realize that it seems to be getting at least slightly pervasive, but if so, it is at the least, not intentional, though I still think it feels right.

[lemony-purple.livejournal.com]

I did notice the dirt-steel-etc transitions and I think they work a lot better than just cell-corridor-room, although I didn't think to comment on it because 11pm is late for me now. I also like the way the tactile sense continues in the description of the bridge after he regains sight; being able to see doesn't automatically become dominant, like he isn't used to it yet.

The way the last line is worded made it seem as if they were waiting on both sides of the bank in case he did make it-- I was reading it as "They were standing on the opposite bank, [which was] only ten paces more..." so I did assume this one died. I don't think of Apples as ending in death as much as I used to; much like this one, I never saw it as being open-ended at first, but then you mentioned some things about how you'd continue it that changed the way I looked at it.

I know they all die (or seem as if they might have died) for reasons; I understand the reasons and I like them, from story to story. It's mostly just that when I think of the stories that end that way in a general sense, all of them at once, I don't end up with a vague sense of the individual impact of each one-- I just end up thinking that they all end the same way. When I read them separately I can see that they all end that way for different reasons, and I know I should think of the reasons behind the deaths instead of just the deaths. But I don't end up processing it that way, so it ends up annoying me.