Here's the second volume of my ongoing, rambling meta-plot narrative. It might be worthwhile to read the first volume before this one as, although it may not look like it, there is a story going on here. In its proper form, this is quite layout heavy (reflecting my background in poetry) so I've tried to make it as easy to read on-screen as I can.
First, The City
There's a man by the Choke with a turn-handle organ and he plays as the shadows walk by. There's a monkey beside him with an old, rusty cup and she dances for the copper they throw.
Sometimes he wonders whether he turns the handle or the handle is now turning him but the song is near ending and the monkey's stopped dancing so he puts the machine in reverse.
Schardt, Wernher A.
A gray Sony mini-cassette is tucked inside a smoky plastic case. A hand-written gum label is affixed to the case. Subject: Schardt, Wernher A. Beneath the cassette case, a stack of bond paper, slightly brown with age. The top and bottom margins appear to have been trimmed, so that the pages are 8 ½ by something less than 11. The type is bold and distinct, IBM Selectric.
This is the first volume of something I've been working on for a while. I got intensely bored with bashing away at more traditional, linear storytelling and decided to try something a bit different.
I'd be interested to hear if you find it intriguing enough for me to post Volume Two.
First, The City
The city broods under darkening storm clouds as oily rain cascades down from the heavens, running like ichor along the streets' arterial gutters. Shadows stalk the alleyways, only briefly banished by the hanging elektryck globes which flicker and spit like vipers in the rain. Steam rises from gratings and coalesces into vaguely human forms, dancing and whirling, before collapsing into wisps of near-nothingness. Water leaks and drips through ancient wood, swelling and distending the beams of houses that shudder and moan like dying old men.