Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-5726907-20170317115252

Hey all, decided to post the rough draft of my new story here. It is the third installment of my ongoing Unknown Chronicles. Hopefully you like it, not sure if it's entirely done yet. Let me know of any criticism below:

I have managed to transcribe another story from the notebook titled "From Whence We Came". It seems this one is about the person known as "Dionysus". Once again, I will transcribe what is written verbatim and then add my thoughts at the end: Growing up I had a friend, I'll call him Billy. Billy and I would get into a lot of trouble, we loved to explore. As we all know walking down the flats of this city can easily remind you of a Scooby-Doo ghost town, so we found plenty of abandoned buildings to keep us entertained, much to our mothers' dismay. Billy and I had a lot in common, including very close birthdays. Of course, Billy didn't have the Gift. So around my eighth birthday he was, unfortunately, dragged into my first encounter with the Unknown. Our birthday week was upon us and, after a wonderful party for myself, we were just a mere two days away from Billy's own. In the meantime, we were up to our usual brand of mischief. Just at the edge of the flats, right along the river, is a nice collection of abandoned warehouses (although, I think some might be up and running now, city is on the right track for once). We poked around there quite frequently and had made a small fort of some kind inside our favorite. We used to play a game where we would pretend we were soldiers and were at war with the other warehouses. On this raid we had found a small, rather cramped, entrance via a hole in the wall on the side of the building. It was still day, so the warehouse was nicely lit. Billy and I did our best impersonation of soldiers, crawling along the dust-caked floors and crouching behind the decrepit walls and leftovers of whatever failed productions were left behind. One daring dash through the enemies' gunfire led me to take cover behind the derelict, rusty conveyor belt. Something, however, caught my eye and tore me away from our action-filled game. A balloon was tied to the defunct machinery. "Happy birthday!", it read. Now, being the naive youngster I was, I was excited. It was just my birthday, and it was to be Billy's soon as well. I happily called him over. As we examined the floating salutations we noticed that, just under it, a trail of fresh confetti trailed off further inside the warehouse. Naturally, we followed it. Soon we found ourselves in a long hallway, one that was full of balloons! The bright and radiant colors extremely out of touch with their dreary and bleak surroundings. A doorway at the end of the hall led us to a small room, what I assume was once the foreman's office, and inside we found my first encounter. A long picnic table, adorned with a turquoise plastic table sheet, sat in the center of the room, surrounded by cheap plastic chairs. Flashy balloons lined the ceiling of the room, transforming what was once just another dilapidated structure into a fun, jocund wonderland. Around the table sat a collection of six people, none of which we knew but all of which looked extremely happy and inviting. They wore party hats and wore clean, brightly colored clothes. The table was covered in cakes, delicious and delectable looking ones at that. "Happy birthday!" They all sang out in unison as we entered the room, some opting to blow into noise makers to punctuate just how very happy they wished us our birthday to be. The partygoers stood up, as if to accentuate the importance of their guests of honor, us. "Take a seat boys! It's wonderful you are here, we are so happy to celebrate your birthdays with you!" A cheery, robust, rosy-cheeked gentleman, who looked to be teetering between middle and old age, said with glee. Of course, we were a bit dumbfounded. The minds of eight-year-olds aren't exactly that capable of much complicated thought and so we were actually happy. It was our birthday week, and we wanted to celebrate. We opted to sit with this group of jovial gentlemen and lively ladies. "Oh we are so happy you are here! My name is Auntie Margaret dears, and it's so good to meet you and help make your birthdays special!" A jaunt, pudgy woman exclaimed, cutting us pieces of the enticing cake before us as we took our seats. "I'm Joe! You can call me Grandpa Joe, most children do!" the rosy-cheeked man added, proceeding to point to the others in turn. First, an elderly, warm woman. "That is Grannie May!". Then, a young, well-groomed man. "That there is Cousin Ben!". Next, a motherly and clement young lady. "Sister Abigail". "And of course, Uncle Johnny!". Now, Uncle Johnny was unlike the rest. Where the others were kind and upbeat, Uncle Johnny sat cold and rancorous. His gaze bore down on me, unblinking, burning into me with the fury of a thousand suns. A stark contrast to the otherwise pleasant and rambunctious aura of the room. Billy, however, didn't seem to notice. He was already eagerly stuffing his face with the piquant and tempting cake. Auntie Margaret happily cut him another slice as he scarfed down his first as Cousin Ben, Grannie May, and Sister Abigail crowded him and sang praises for the boy. "Come now little one! Don't you want some cake as well?" Grandpa Joe smiled, slightly pushing the plate in front of me closer. I picked up my red, plastic fork in response and gazed upon the savory looking moist dessert. But Uncle Johnny was too off-putting. That dark aura around him blazed like a fire, his unblinking stare never once moving off me. I could almost feel the malice he had for me as if it were the entirety of his person. Eight-year-old mind or not I knew this was unfathomable and soul-crushing hatred. I glanced back at Billy, who was on his fifth or sixth slice now. Happily laughing and enjoying himself. Frosting covered his mouth, his cheeks stuffed with the spongy confection. I did notice the slices were getting larger, thicker. Auntie Margaret was cutting off nearly a quarter of the cakes now. "Go on little cuz!" the starry-eyed Cousin Ben laughed, pushing the plate even closer. I once again looked down at the cake, ready to eat. "Don't eat that fucking cake you little shit." the raspy, gravelly voice of Uncle Johnny suddenly barked out, slamming his fist on the table. I shot up, taken aback. Looking back over to Billy to seem him blissfully unaware of the situation. Now eating half a cake at a time. It rolling down his chin like a spit-covered waterfall as he stuffed more than he could chew inside. Grandpa Joe shot up with me, shooting daggers at Cousin Johnny. "Don't listen to him kid! Eat the cake!" he said, obviously feigning his earlier buoyant and chipper attitude. "Maybe we should go" I squeaked out, taking a step back. Grandpa Joe snapped his fingers, with Cousin Ben and Sister Abigail quickly standing and gripping Uncle Johnny, pulling him away. He put up a small, silent struggle but was led away into the hall beyond us. "Eat some cake son." Grandpa Joe warmly encouraged. I noticed Billy now, stuffing more and more of that damn cake down his throat. His eyes tearing up as he almost choked on it. Cousin Ben and Sister Abigail entered the room again, breaking out into the happy birthday song. I jumped back a bit, more nervous than ever. "Billy we should really go." I found myself shouting, eager to leave. Billy, however, ignored me completely. Electing instead to continue devouring the seemingly endless supply of cake. In response to my outburst, the singing got louder. "Billy come on, we need to go home." "Eat the cake kid." Grandpa Joe ordered, dropping his bright facade. "Billy please, we need to go!" I yelled, almost in tears. The singing crumbling and giving way to literal screams of birthday wishes. Grandpa Joe towered over me, his cheeks no longer rosy, his smile replaced with a look of pure rage and animus. "Eat the fucking cake right now! Eat the god damn cake!" he snarled, grabbing me by the arm and pulling me over to him. His iron grip straining my small limb, pain shooting up to my shoulder. He shoved the cake against my lips, the song reverberating off the walls of the warehouse. The balloons no longer looked so gaudy, now quickly and abruptly deflating. The cake no longer looked so appetizing, now looking putrid and moldy. Billy still crammed it down his gullet, unaware the party looked more like a madhouse now. I fought back, delivering a kick to the crotch of Grandpa Joe, who doubled over as I scrambled back. I grabbed Billy by his arm, pulling it. The other three ghastly patrons not reacting as I attempted to bring him with me. Billy shrugged me off, pushing me away as he hustled that disgusting cake down. Grandpa Joe was almost back on his feet, and I had no choice. I had to run, I had to leave Billy behind. I sprinted away, down the battered halls, no one chasing me except the horrendous shrieks of the demonic merrymakers reciting the normally welcoming birthday song. I sprinted back home, tears streaming down my cheeks. I told my mother all about it, but she didn't really believe me. They did look for Billy, and checked the warehouse this whole ordeal occurred in, but they found nothing. Billy was gone along with any trace of the birthday party from hell. They tried to get me to tell them something different, but I didn't tell them anything but the truth. I was sent to therapy for some time after that and they chalked Billy up as just another victim of some freak abduction. I have to tell you Saturn, if we ever do see these guys again. Man, if we ever see them I want to try to kill them. Uncle Johnny was the good guy, I think he was trapped. He saved my life. Maybe he was another one of the Unknown like Coriolanus, a good one. Or maybe he was another kid who ate too much of that damn cake. I want to find Billy too. That's my one wish Saturn, and I really hope it happens. Put that in writing. My Thoughts: I'm starting to think that the Gift refers to the ability to see and understand these really strange things, these nightmares. It seems like they refer to whatever those monsters are as the Unknown. Not entirely sure who Coriolanus is, never saw him mentioned before. Unfortunately, without a date or real name there's no way I can think to track down this kidnapping, but I do think I know the warehouses he mentioned. Although there are a lot in the flats area of the city. One thing I'd like to point out is that I've come to the realization that I'm not entirely sure how I've obtained these notebooks. I seem to just remember always having them. This certainly isn't my handwriting though, and I have no memory of any of this. I found it a bit curious and decided to do some thinking on this. Hopefully I'll have another story transcribed soon. 