Author Topic: Heavy Metal - Chapter 1: The Last Day (Read 6409 times)

Thunderbird · « **on:** September 16, 2009, 04:13:35 AM »

This is an ongoing storygame being held here and on another site (the poll votes are being tallied up between them). It is related to a number of other stories that have come before it, none yet completed, and is intended to intersect with one of those, a way to breathe some new life into a forgotten tale. But never fear, you wouldn't have needed to read any of them to pick up here. This is a backstory as it is, so perhaps the best place to start. Enjoy:)

Heavy Metal
Chapter 1
The Last Day

The day began much like every other. As the aroma of coffee filtered into his senses, piercing the veil of a vague, dreamy slumber, Walter Steele grumbled himself awake.

Tiny beams of sunlight pierced over the distant hills and through his window, stinging his eyes. Walter snarled as a breeze carried fresh cheer into the room, forcing the lace window curtains to flap lazily. Somewhere in the distance, a rooster crowed from a barn roof, heralding the arrival of dawn.

With a grunt, he sat up and flung his legs over the side of the bed, sending his toes to search for his slippers. A faint clatter could be heard from the kitchen below, but it had become such commonplace for Walt that he hardly noticed.

Upon finding his plaid slippers, he stood to his feet, his spine and joints crackling under the pressure like rice bubbles exposed to milk. He groaned. It was the same groan he gave every morning at this juncture; though admittedly, it had gradually become more pronounced over the steady march of time.

Faint smoke from bacon, searing on a pan in the kitchen below, began to mingle with the coffee in the air. Soon the eggs would be on and breakfast would be ready.

Walter scratched his ass as he shuffled across the shag carpet covering the bedroom. It was a terrible olive-green, and for some time now, Betty had been complaining that it needed to be retired for some new flooring. In fact, Betty seemed to complain about a lot these days. Along with the rest of her complaints, her squawks regarding their outdated carpeting had invariably fallen on apathetic ears.

Crossing the threshold into the bathroom, his slippers began to slide across cracked and pitted, yellowed linoleum. He must have stood in front of the toilet for a decade, waiting for the rain to come. His muscles slowly eased up and offered blessed release. The sound of dribbling helped to mask over the incessant humming from downstairs. Jesus, he thought, Why must she constantly drone on like that?

Flushing, he turned to the sink to wash his hands. His fingers were thick and gnarled, but they were still good hands, strong and capable. He ran them through his sparse, white hair to flatten out the wild silver bed-head he’d developed over the course of his slumber.

Gazing into the mirror, he asked himself what he usually did at this point, My god, how did THIS happen?, disgusted by the droops, wrinkles, crow’s feet. At least he had aged in some semblance of respectability, unlike his wife. No need to shave today, he mused as he ran his fingers across his bleached stubble.

He scratched at an itch on his snow covered chest, glad to see there was at least some muscle tone remaining there, though every inch of those muscles ached as usual.

Turning to the side, he inspected his growing belly. It was just a bit of extra baby fat. A few too many beers, maybe. But nothing too worrisome. More concerning was the hunch that had developed in his shoulders. It wouldn’t be long now before he was outright stooped.

“Walter,” called Betty from the base of the stairs. It was like clockwork. Walter briefly wondered if she always called for him at this moment because they had grown into a routine, or because he spent whatever time remained before breakfast staring at himself in disdain.

He grumbled out the same answer he always gave, full well knowing she wouldn’t hear him from the bathroom, “Coming dear…”

Walter creaked as loudly as the stairs as he ambled his way down to the dining room. He winced when he saw Betty. At least she had become thin and wiry, rather than wide and rotund like so many other women her age. She smiled like a prune.

“I made you some bacon, eggs, and toast dear,” she announced as a matter of course.

“I’m not blind yet,” he replied sourly as he glanced at the meal stationed before his seat at the table.

“And it’s a good thing too,” she retorted. He knew what she meant had nothing to do with the newspaper waiting for him next to his plate of food. It sounded as if she intended to have this conversation, no matter how badly he wished to avoid it.

He slumped down into his seat. The food did smell good, as usual. “You didn’t break any of the yolks this time. I’m impressed,” he muttered.

Betty slipped into her own chair across from him, a dry, brittle seat long since needing a new coat of varnish. Her gaze strove to pierce the invisible shell of self-absorption that surrounded the man.

“Walter,” she said, her voice wavering with scantly contained emotion.

“Don’t start, Betty,” Walter growled as he devoured an egg, yolk juice dribbling from the side of his lip. Flipping through the paper, his body language made it clear he was more concerned with the news of the day than anything she had to complain about.

“No, Walt. I can’t leave this alone. Not today,” she stated with firm resolve.

“Hmph,” Walter just grunted in a low rumble, conveying some interest in what his eyes had found on the page. “Did you see this picture here of Saddam’s statue pulled over? Not so big now is he?”

This blunt attempt at changing the subject would not derail Betty, of course, but like all the other complaints she served him, she would talk on, whether he seemed to care or not. He really wished THIS complaint would be left alone.

“I just can’t understand why you need to do this,” she moaned as she slapped the table in frustration. Walt kept reading without a flinch. “I love you Walter! You know I love you.”

A silent pause hung in the air as Betty prayed for her words to wedge past his stone heart.
Her prayers were unusually answered in this case, though she briefly worried she might regret it.

Walter’s eyes rolled then came to meet her gaze for a moment. “I love you too, honey. You know it has nothing to do with it.”

“Why then? Why must you risk your neck like this? Why don’t you just let Dave do it?”

“You know why,” Walt sighed as he went back to reading the headlines, slowly masticating on a chunk of bacon.

“No, Walter, I don’t know why! I don’t see the point in all this foolishness!” As she spoke, Betty’s voice rose, wavering more and more with every word. “This could cost you your life!”

“My life?” Walter harrumphed. “What life? My life is already over Betty! All I have left is this!”

“What? Some quest for reward money? Some way to prove you still have ‘the right stuff?’ You’re eighty two years old Walt!” Betty exclaimed, exacerbated with her husband.

“Yes… No… I mean… Damnit Betty!” Walter shook a quivering fist. “I know how old I am and you know why I need this! I spent twenty long years waiting for a chance like this and what do I have to show for it? It’s not about the damned money! We’ve obviously got plenty of that!”

“HAD plenty…” Betty interjected, “Until you went and spent nearly every penny of it on this crusade of yours!”

“IT’S WHAT I LIVE FOR BETTY!” Walt shouted. Taking a deep breath and settling back into his seat, he lowered his tone in an almost equally dramatic fashion, “I trained. I was ready. I waited. And I waited. I prepared. And I waited. I prayed for them to call me up for a mission. They passed me up for each and every one. Before you knew it, Apollo was over and I was retired.”

“Oh get OVER it Walter!” Betty sputtered. “The past is just that… the past. And right here… right now… you have someone who loves you very much and who’s terrified that you’re going to get yourself killed. I don’t know how I could go on living without you Walter.” A tear slid down Betty’s cheek. She sniffled, shifting the thick spectacles on her nose.

“You worry too much my dear. Too too much,” Walter said, finalizing their conversation as he rose to his feet, stuffing an egg and a slice of bacon into a folded piece of toast. “Thanks for breakfast.”

He paused as he turned to leave. “I love you too. And I’ll be fine.”

As he strode out of the dining room, through a nicely furnished living room and through the front door, slamming it behind him in a huff, Betty simply sat at the table and sobbed.

~

A quick glance inside the barn reassured Walter that his life would indeed very likely change forever by the end of this day.

There it was, covered in tarps, finally completed. All he needed now was the fuel. The night before, he’d loaded the aluminum barrels that would, if all went well, be filled with that last element by the end of this day. And if he could succeed at that task, he could be leaving by midnight.

Walt felt a surge of excitement at the thought. It wasn’t that he didn’t recognize the risks of course. Sure, he could die; probably would, really. But, in his mind, it would be better to die in pursuit of his dreams than to let his dreams die. Without them, he was already finished.

Thank God for the rewards if this works out. I’d have never convinced her to let me get this far if it hadn’t been for the government’s little contest. Indeed, if things worked out as hoped, he would more than make up for the money invested. But as he had claimed at the breakfast table, it wasn’t about the money.

As Walt left the barn and walked across the driveway, he glanced toward the open blue sky above.

~

Walt flipped the choke lever on his console as he turned the key. After some coaxing, his rig chugged to what little life it had left and began puttering down a dirt road through the high desert.

Pushing a tape into the tape deck, the tune of Enter Sandman by Metallica blared through speakers that should have long since retired. Unlike most men his age, Walter’s tastes in music had grown harder through the years. Anything for what little adrenalin his aging body could muster. Anything to remind himself that he was still alive.

In contrast, his joints ached as the truck traversed rut after rut in the desolate dirt road. Rains came every so often and when they did, they wreaked havoc on this terrain. The road should have been re-graded years ago. He oophed and umphed with each dip. 30 gallon aluminum drums shook and clanked against each other in the bed of the truck.

Once on the highway, old route 66, Walter’s phone chirped from his shirt pocket. Fumbling for it, he studied the buttons for a moment, grumbling about this “newfangled techno-crap,” ironic considering his own work was highly technological itself.

Finally finding the correct button, he held the phone to his ear and shouted, “Yeah, this is Walt.”

“I think I’ve got it!” hollered an excited voice on the other line. It was unmistakably that of a young male.

“Yeah? You finally got one o’ them S T D’s huh?” Walter grumbled a reply.

“What? No… NO! I know how we’re gonna get the fuel!”

“Me too. I’m gonna see if I can get some from the Air Force base out in Vegas. I’ve got some connections still… I think. If they haven’t retired…”

“Yeah, yeah, they’re just gonna pass you off as a crazy old man. You know that right?”

“Hell, Dave, I AM a crazy old man!” Walt retorted.

“Look, that might work, sure. But I know this guy.”

“Me too. I’m talkin’ to one now.”

“Hah hah. Very funny. Has anyone told you you’re gettin’ sour in your old age?”

“Yep. You an’ Betty tell me every day. So who’s this guy?”

“Well, I was in Vegas gambling last night,” Dave began.

“What’s new?” Walt interrupted.

“Heh… nothing I guess. Anyhow, I ran across an old girlfriend.”

“I thought this was about ‘this guy.’”

“No… yeah… I mean, wow, she’s gotten even hotter since we broke up ya’ know?”

“Hmph…” Walt wished his assistant could get to the point.

“Anyhow, enough of her, right? She introduced me to this guy they call the ‘Bouncer’. Big, tall, black, built like a tank.”

“A tank full of jet fuel?”

“Huh? Oh… right…. Ok, so I’m telling him about our project right,”

“Why? I thought we were trying to keep it on the ‘downlow’. So what made you bring it up to someone you don’t even know?”

“Chill out old man. It’s cool. He’s cool. Well… It was the strangest thing, right? He actually started talking about the X-prize. Like, out of the blue, like before I even said anything about it. It was almost like he knew about it already.”

“How? ‘Like’ who else have you been talking to that I don’t know about?” Walter might have appreciated Dave’s generation’s music, but their slang terms were another matter entirely.

Cacti and barren land passed by as Walt’s truck growled down the narrow highway, weaving and swerving its way through the Mojave Desert.

“That’s just it… no one! I mean, just this guy. And I didn’t even say that much about what we’re doing. He started talking about various projects other firms are working on like he was dropping hints that he knew what we were up to, you know? Then he started going on about how hard it would be for someone who wasn’t funded by like billions of dollars and such and how getting the fuel would be the hardest part and all and…”

”Damnit!” Walter exclaimed.

“What?”

“You’re a damned fool, Dave!”

“Huh? What did I do wrong now?”

“Obviously this guy is connected to another firm, some competitor. Probably tryin’ ta sabotage our operation!”

“Uh… I don’t think so Walt. If he was, why would he have suddenly said he knew how he could get some fuel if I knew someone who needed it?”

“He said that?”

“Yeah!”

“Well, probably because it’s bunk fuel. Crap that won’t light. A waste of resources and money and time I’d say. I’m telling ya, kid, how else would he know what we’re up to? Why else? And what would he have to gain by helping us?”

“Uh, money, I guess. It’s not like he’s offering it for free. His price was pretty good though. Just enough to keep us within budget.”

“Like he knew how much we had to spend?”

“Yeah, sorta. I hadn’t really thought about that but…”

“Hmph. I don’t like it. It doesn’t feel right. But I guess it couldn’t hurt to look into it. Did he set something up with you?”

“Naw, nothin’ like that, old man. He works at Caesar’s Palace after noon. He also mentioned he’d be working today. You want me to meet ya there?”

“That’s about when I’ll get into town I s’pose.”

Hmm, Walt considered, I could go there first or check the base first. Kid’s probably right. I’m pretty sure most of they guys I used to know there are retired by now and without contacts, I’m probably outta luck there. But then again, what if this guy’s trying to sell me somethin’ that’s gonna make trouble for us? We’re talking about the fuel here, not a chair or a toilet seat. Stuff’s gotta be, well… the right stuff. Not many options though…

Chinaren · « **Reply #1 on:** September 16, 2009, 05:44:58 AM »

Awesome Thunder.

Saint · « **Reply #2 on:** September 16, 2009, 10:22:47 AM »

Big font O_O

I'd suggest against using that; it makes it look like a lot to read.

Thunderbird · « **Reply #3 on:** September 16, 2009, 11:05:26 PM »

Better?

Chinaren · « **Reply #4 on:** September 16, 2009, 11:55:28 PM »

Actually yes, I like the smaller font more. I didn't really mind the big one, though it was a bit of a shock to the eyes at first!

Thunderbird · « **Reply #5 on:** September 18, 2009, 02:10:30 AM »

Alright, I know I haven't snooped around through other stories much yet... but I'll get there. If I can get more responses on this story here, I'd be interested in making this the home site for the tale. I suppose it's a slow start, but don't worry. It'll get more exciting as it goes.

Rocket Rabbit · « **Reply #6 on:** September 18, 2009, 02:40:15 AM »

You don't have to rush with the snooping. Take your time. =]

And I'm sufficiently intrigued so far. I would like to know what this big secret project is.

More soon?

RR x

Rocket Rabbit · « **Reply #7 on:** September 18, 2009, 02:52:14 AM »

I will just say this.

Quote from: Thunderbird link=topic=1249.msg15067#msg15067 date=1253070815

Finally finding the correct button, he held the phone to his ear and shouted, “Yeah, this is Walt.”

“I think I’ve got it!” hollered an excited voice on the other line. It was unmistakably that of a young male.

“Yeah? You finally got one o’ them S T D’s huh?” Walter grumbled a reply.

“What? No… NO! I know how we’re gonna get the fuel!”

“Me too. I’m gonna see if I can get some from the Air Force base out in Vegas. I’ve got some connections still… I think. If they haven’t retired…”

From that point all the way to the end of the piece - BIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIG hunk of dialogue. Pretty much solid chin-wagging. Some bits aren't necessary at all. It's long, kinda clunky and would need editing in your next draft.

Take out everything you don't need. Add some non-dialogue things like... I dunno... pauses, updates on the action - I mean Walter is driving and talking on his phone, so he'd have to be on the lookout for police cars, right? Or at least, paying extra attention to the road, so maybe he'd be distracted from the conversation a couple times. Off on a bit of tangent there, sorry, but things like that will even things out a bit.

And welcome to Tome!

RR x

Thunderbird · « **Reply #8 on:** September 18, 2009, 03:48:34 AM »

Thanks for the comments RR! So you're saying I need more interjections into the conversation? I thought I might but was worried that they might drag away the feel of a rapid exchange of dialogue. Anyone else have any comments about that?

As a side note... I don't think a desolate highway is going to be a place to be all too concerned about the police when talking on a cell phone... still... good point.

Oh, and, yeah, more to come soon but a poll needs to be run on the Decision Point. The first should be run on of... I guess... or maybe I should run one on of and Tome and just tally the results? How do Tomians feel about this matter?

Chinaren · « **Reply #9 on:** September 18, 2009, 08:38:00 AM »

Ha! I hit 'Reply' to say that I was okay with the dialogue, but then I'm a more impatient type,

and hardly renowned for adding too much detail in my own stories!

Thunderbird · « **Reply #10 on:** September 18, 2009, 10:34:31 PM »

What's funny about that is that I've also had feedback saying I was too detailed at the beginning... Ok, I mean, I can see both points and I'm really happy for the feedback and constructive criticism... just that on one end I'm overly descriptive and on another I'm underdescriptive. I suppose it depends on which end of the chapter you're on eh?

Chinaren · « **Reply #11 on:** September 19, 2009, 01:20:45 AM »

I guess it averages out in the end!

Rocket Rabbit · « **Reply #12 on:** September 19, 2009, 02:36:18 PM »

Quote from: Thunderbird link=topic=1249.msg15269#msg15269 date=1253309671

What's funny about that is that I've also had feedback saying I was too detailed at the beginning...

I can see what they mean with that. No offence, but the old 'start the story at breakfast' trick isn't the most thrilling type of opening. It gets better once he reaches the table and has the little dispute with Betty, adds a bit of mystery.

And you can break up the dialogue a bit without detracting from the feel of a rapid exchange. Just keep description to a minimum and keep the action short and snappy.

RR x

Thunderbird · « **Reply #13 on:** September 20, 2009, 01:25:28 AM »

Yeah, I've noticed a growing trend towards jumping right into the action for a start lately... I will never cease to underestimate the need for speed among the readers out there. But you make some excellent and appreciated points RR. Thanks again. BTW, this story will be polling soon.

Rocket Rabbit · « **Reply #14 on:** September 20, 2009, 02:02:33 AM »

I don't mean jump straight into the action... unless, of course it's very exciting and necessary action...

Although, I don't really know what I mean anymore, since I'm kinda tired and I'm not that brilliant at openers myself.

Looking forward to the poll. =]

Thunderbird · « **Reply #15 on:** September 20, 2009, 04:54:07 AM »

ATTENTION! This is a multi site poll! I will accept a vote on each site from any player that happens to be a member of both! The other site is www.cityofif.com. They're pretty slow at the moment but a good site nevertheless. If you want more control, signup there and vote there too! I'm in the new storygame section. The poll results from both will be added together (and as a sub-note... will be used for me to determine the eventual home site for THIS particular story. More on that later...)

Overlord · « **Reply #16 on:** September 20, 2009, 05:45:33 AM »

Shall I move this to the Interactive District then Thunder?

Thunderbird · « **Reply #17 on:** September 21, 2009, 02:03:46 AM »

Yes.. by all means Overlord!

Overlord · « **Reply #18 on:** September 21, 2009, 06:32:55 AM »

Thus done! I've moved it to scifi, but if you think it's better under another category (including the more general 'fiction' category), then let me know.