Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-24929924-20140511161513/@comment-24929924-20140512183244

Hey guys, I've got a bit of an update for this! I'll say right now that I'm not sure if I'm going to use this passage, as it's a bit of a shift in style/focus from the rest of it, but I'd still love some feedback on it. As a warning, the first bit is something I wrote before I posted the first part of the story, and I didn't put it in due to wanting to revise it pretty heavily. I haven't been able to do so yet, but I thought I'd put it in here to see what you all think. Keep in mind that I doubt this will be in the final pasta, and I'm mostly interested to know you all's opinions on the writing in terms of a creepy pasta. Thanks!

 Considering the grand scale of our goals, our journey's beginnings were surprisingly mundane. Lacking both the knowledge and preparation necessary to progress any further, Kelert and I were relegated for some time to only the closest and most accessible sources- namely, the libraries within the city. Fortunately, such depositories were both surprisingly well stocked and virtually abandoned- no one had any need for, or even any interest in such texts. Why should they? One need not familiarize themselves with the histories of the world to consume themselves with drink and revelry.



 Kelert, of course, faced no restrictions in his activities- he had always been a loner, and solitary pursuits were accordingly expected of him. I myself was not so free in my actions, and so, lest I expose myself to undue scrutiny, I was forced to adopt a sort of cover for my frequent disappearances. In short, I became a scholar.



 It was quite amusing, really, to see how my "friends" reacted to my newfound academic interests- of course they had no idea the true aim of my studies. Had anyone been curious enough to investigate the piles of texts I routinely toted to my home, they would have found naught but dozens of documents chronicling the progression of various ancient civilizations. To all but Kelert, I had gained, overnight, a fascination with the socio-political structures of bygone cultures, their intricacies and their downfalls. Conveniently enough, such topics were often juxtaposed with the sort of information I desired, and so I was rendered almost completely free of suspicion. Nevertheless, my activities were abnormal, and I became something of an outcast. Disenchanted as I was regarding the "high society" so exalted by my peers, this hardly seemed a punishment.



 Still, no matter how convincingly innocuous a front presented by my colleague and myself, such activities were not without their perils. I said that we lived in dark times- allow me to now clarify my meaning, and to justify the need for secrecy in my endeavors.



 Corrupt as it was, the governing structure ruling my country was powerful. Powerful enough to regulate nearly every aspect of life for its inhabitants. As I am sure you can guess, such organizations do not take kindly to prying eyes, and my endeavors with Kelert could not be seen as anything short of treasonous. Information was viewed as the highest order of danger to the ruling bodies of my country, and as such was regulated with an iron grip. Anyone hoping to gather knowledge faced suspicion and danger of detainment at the hands of the so called "officials of the law." Thugs, each and every one of them. I've noticed that some of you today hold anger and suspicion for your lawmen. Believe you me, they cannot even be compared to the brutes that bullied and battered my city into submission.



 In particular, one instance nearly proved to be my downfall. Kelert had been quite sick for some time, and I had chosen to take on his burden as well as my own, rather than let our progress falter. Our continued efforts had begun to exhaust the supply of new information available to us anyway, and I was loathe to let our grand scheme suffer from a simple cold. As such, my actions had been uncomfortably and increasingly reckless. It all came to a head one particular night, on my way home from a rat hole of a shop.



 You see, in our growing desperation to find new material, Kelert and I had taken to venturing out further and further from our homes. That day, I had embarked upon a journey to a particularly obscure location, in hopes that it might hold some shred of useful knowledge. I didn't have high hopes, of course, but then I didn't have many options. Relentless and meticulous searches of all the larger libraries had yielded vanishingly little, and I had grown frustrated with out lack of success.



 I recall the path to my destination being rather serpentine- the small bookshop I was headed to was located in the heart of the slums of our once fair city, a remnant of a more fruitful past maintained by those with no other place to go. Kelert and I had been avoiding the place for some time, as neither of us relished the thought of venturing into the depths of the city. But I was young and foolish, and without the cautioning presence of Kelert I repressed my doubts and carried on.



<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;text-justify:inter-ideograph"> After hours of winding my way through filthy alleyways, I found myself at the doorstep of a ramshackle establishment. The only building on the street with light inside, it was nonetheless dilapidated and run-down. The only man residing in it was a grossly odious fellow, clothed in scraps stitched together with leather and shreds of cloth. Burying my distaste, I set about my work. He barely even gave me notice- a simple glance and grunt of disapproval was all the reaction he was willing to offer.

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<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;text-justify:inter-ideograph"> I looked for hours on end, searching every nook and cranny of the once well-kempt store. As usual, I was consumed with my work, and I barely even noticed the passage of time. The towering, crooked walls of the rundown buildings in the slums cast long shadows over the streets in all but the brightest part of the day, and so the whole area was consumed by a sort of perpetual dusk. I worked on, taking care not to place in my slowly growing stack of books anything that might seem unsavory to the outside view.

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<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;text-justify:inter-ideograph"> You see, under normal circumstances, Kelert and I were careful to bring with us only the most innocent of our research material, lest we arouse suspicion. I found that I had a peculiar ability to commit to memory whatever I wished, so long as I put my full attention to recording it within my mind. It was a skill we made use of often, storing in my recollection whole documents, the physical form of which we feared would bring undue attention down upon our heads. Indeed, I suspect that it was this curious ability that has allowed me to retain so much of my memory throughout the ages. At times, I wish my past wasn't quite so clear to my mind's eye, but alas.

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<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;text-justify:inter-ideograph"> Forgive me, though my memory remains clear as crystal, my train of thought is prone to wandering. Anyway, as I neared the end of my search, I came across a book of particular interest buried in the corner of the little shop's storeroom. It's thick pages were covered in a half dozen languages and bound in leather, all of which set it aside from the rest of the collection- the majority of the books were tattered beyond recognition, collected and stored there by the inhabitants of the slums. For whatever reason, the book instilled in my heart a hint of fear- it cried out to me, urging me to take it along. I knew the dangers, but it was late, and I could not shake the uneasy feeling that, had I left it, the book would have been gone forever. I wish now that I had listened to my good sense and abandoned it, but at the time my good sense was but a pathetically small voice in the back of my mind.

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<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;text-justify:inter-ideograph"> Spurred on by the desperately sparse pickings, I added it to the depressingly small pile of texts I had gathered and set out into the streets. I was immediately confronted with a very unwelcome sight. The narrow streets that had been uncomfortable and confusing by day were a virtual labyrinth by night, and the meager light spilling from the doorstep of my erstwhile refuge barely managed to illuminate the building across the street. It was an inky blackness I had previously not experienced, and my heart quaked at the thought of the long journey before me.

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<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;text-justify:inter-ideograph"> Nevertheless, I had to get home. What choice did I have? Stay out here in the slums for the night? I would be fortunate if I awoke with the clothes still on my back. I was no idiot- I had brought little with me in the way of valuables, but to the residents of the slums anything and everything was worth taking. Such are the actions of the desperate.

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<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;text-justify:inter-ideograph"> And so I ventured into the twisting maze of shadow before me. I was immediately swallowed up by the darkness, and deprived of any sense of sight. In my arrogance, I had forgotten to bring even a simple candle to light the way. Foolish, I know, but in retrospect I don't imagine it would have done me much good.

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<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;text-justify:inter-ideograph"> Blundering about like a drunkard on his way back from the tavern, I found my remaining senses heightened by the absence of my vision. It was a cruel compensation, as it only served to heighten my paranoia. Every scratch of cloth against the broken cobbles in the street, every faint echo of my own footsteps, every malodorous gutter, they were all thrust into my consciousness as I fumbled about. But all of these were familiar. Yes, they were terrifying, but I knew what they were. My logical brain resisted the fear of such mundane sensations. But that was not all there was to fear.

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<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;text-justify:inter-ideograph"> What I cannot relate to you now is the indescribable feeling of darkness that consumed those alleys, the substance that had filled the streets and surrounded me. Recall what I related to you earlier- back then, the rules were different. Darkness now is naught but a simple absence of light, something that can be dispelled with even a simple match. It cannot be compared to what I felt in that gloom. The best way I can think to relay it is loneliness. Pure and utter isolation. I wandered through a void, a seemingly endless pit of nothingness. Time lost its meaning- my senses, initially heightened to the point of pain, were dulled to vague impressions as my mind was consumed in fear. I stumbled on for longer than I know, crying out desperately to the endless emptiness for something, anything. My pleas were left unanswered. The last thing I can recall from that night was a sense of malevolent glee radiating from the abyss around me.

So yeah, it's not quite finished on its own, either. To give a quick summary of what's intended to happen, the narrator is supposed to wake up in the middle of the day, freak out, and run out of the slums, where he runs into a whole lot of trouble with the city guard. I'm mentioning this because it's left a bit unexplained as to why he mentions the government. There are, of course, a lot of things I'm thinking about doing to improve the flow/cohesion of the various elements, and this is just something I kind of banged together in a few hours, but I'd still love any comments or suggestions anyone has. I'm still new to writing horror, and I'm trying to figure out what works and what doesn't. Thank you all!