The New Style
I have been reading some O Henry and Saki. The results seem immediate! Posting something I wrote in a surprisingly short time, albeit in a very different style to my usual way, a style which I so much called my original, pristine and true style. Regulars would notice how this story is 'different' from anything coming from my stable since over 2 years now!
Obviously, I am only sharing the first couple of paragraphs. Let me know if you liked it and what (if any) is new in this style? After all, the readers are the best judge :-)
~~~
It was only when he reached a fork in the road that he stopped the engine and got out. Having lost his way in the hilly, sylvan countryside for over an hour, he finally thought it wise to seek external aid; only there was none that would come his way. In the name of human imprints or vestiges, the only thing he saw was an abandoned checkpoint, which looked sullen remembering its functional years whence it harbingered the prized entry to the right hand road beyond the fork. Its ballast had disintegrated into smaller, humbler shapes and the alternating yellow, black striations on the bent pole were all but struggling to correctly convey their original hues. Still, with its archaic glory, it beckoned to him. Exasperation and impulse both found anchor in his faculties, and he heeded to the defunct checkpoint’s insinuations.
In a time lesser than what you would take from A to Z, he was in a tunnel and speeding. The subterranean conduit went on and on, it seemed to him, for eternity. Its unnerving silence, engulfing darkness and insalubrious dankness would have brought out the furrows on the most adventurous and feral foreheads; his was only a domestic, uneventful one. However, the sun did shine, literally, first as a small circle at the apogee of his vision, and then grew into that wondrous vista of verdant undulating landscape silhouetted by the tunnel’s dark walls. The exits of tunnels are always more exciting than their entrances, especially if it’s a long one and he felt relieved.
A signboard is to a lost vagabond what water is to the herbivores of the Atacama at the end of the dry season. When such a writing proclaiming ‘2 kms ahead – Brouhaha Amusement Park’ presented itself rather opportunely to the old man, one can only imagine the degree of happiness in his sigh. Even though the park was not his intended destination, its appearance in his hour of distress was more than welcome. It meant human dwellings, parking lots, hawkers, food, and people! Gladly, he dug his right foot a few inches deeper.
~~~
Obviously, I am only sharing the first couple of paragraphs. Let me know if you liked it and what (if any) is new in this style? After all, the readers are the best judge :-)
~~~
It was only when he reached a fork in the road that he stopped the engine and got out. Having lost his way in the hilly, sylvan countryside for over an hour, he finally thought it wise to seek external aid; only there was none that would come his way. In the name of human imprints or vestiges, the only thing he saw was an abandoned checkpoint, which looked sullen remembering its functional years whence it harbingered the prized entry to the right hand road beyond the fork. Its ballast had disintegrated into smaller, humbler shapes and the alternating yellow, black striations on the bent pole were all but struggling to correctly convey their original hues. Still, with its archaic glory, it beckoned to him. Exasperation and impulse both found anchor in his faculties, and he heeded to the defunct checkpoint’s insinuations.
In a time lesser than what you would take from A to Z, he was in a tunnel and speeding. The subterranean conduit went on and on, it seemed to him, for eternity. Its unnerving silence, engulfing darkness and insalubrious dankness would have brought out the furrows on the most adventurous and feral foreheads; his was only a domestic, uneventful one. However, the sun did shine, literally, first as a small circle at the apogee of his vision, and then grew into that wondrous vista of verdant undulating landscape silhouetted by the tunnel’s dark walls. The exits of tunnels are always more exciting than their entrances, especially if it’s a long one and he felt relieved.
A signboard is to a lost vagabond what water is to the herbivores of the Atacama at the end of the dry season. When such a writing proclaiming ‘2 kms ahead – Brouhaha Amusement Park’ presented itself rather opportunely to the old man, one can only imagine the degree of happiness in his sigh. Even though the park was not his intended destination, its appearance in his hour of distress was more than welcome. It meant human dwellings, parking lots, hawkers, food, and people! Gladly, he dug his right foot a few inches deeper.
~~~
Labels: My book, short story
2 comments
i like all your STYLES :) I honestly wont be able to tell the difference, but as always, i wnat to know what's gonna happen next, so bring it on! :)
PS: glad to see you putting in your energies back into writing ....
i can't put my finger on why this style is different. At least not until I read the next chapter. But i like what i've read so far. Its keeping me hooked & waiting for more!
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