Rusted from the Rain is an original fictional short story. It was honestly just a bit of getting out my feelings - I'd felt like I hadn't written for a long time, which, for a writer, isn't good. So, I decided to turn up the Billy Talent, put pen to paper, and let my hand work its magic. It's by no means my best piece, but I consider it to be a good note to start off my literary collection here with.
Rusted From The Rain
I looked around the scrap-yard; turning my head, first to the left, then to the right. I stood at the entrance of probably a square kilometre of dank ground; thousands of pieces of metal littered it; some new, some old. Some, I could tell what they had used to be, others were just planks of metal. I smiled to myself, pulled my hood up a little further as the rain pattered down on my shoulders. I grinned to myself, and bolted out in a sprint. I wasn't aiming to find any place in particular; just to find something of interest. I did this nearly every time I came here, and every time, I stopped part of the way through my run.
Before long, I did find something; this time, it was a huge cargo container, pointing at forty-five degrees out of the ground, half of the rusted end planted down in the ground, the parts near the surface smothered in stray grit and mud. I smiled to myself, and looked at the debris surrounding it; old, bent bicycle wheels, dented feed bins used by animal reserves, and even old kettles and ovens people had thrown out. I shook my head at the needless waste of these people, and got on my knees.
I didn't mind getting dirty; despite the wet, squelchy mud, I was wearing old jeans; my mother would have killed me when I got home. I grinned at this stray thought, and rooted around for something that would help me cut a path through the debris. My eyes flicked around whilst my hands fumbled in the dirt, and before long, by pure luck, my fingertips brushed against a cold, wooden handle. I stood up, and tugged on it, causing a few pieces of debris to fall further into the mud about a foot away. I took a deep breath, and gave a tug with all my might, and went flying back, temporarily stunned.
I blinked a few times, and removed a hand from the big wooden handle, wiping my eyes slowly. I blinked again, this time my eyes not obscured from mud, and saw that I had, cradled in my hands, a large, dented snow shovel - covered in mud, but, all the same, a large, dented snow shovel. I began to wipe it, but thought to myself, 'What's the point?'. I grinned - almost maniacally - and walked towards the clutter again, placing my second hand on the handle, slowly lifting the shovel a good way above my head, before bringing it down in a quick, powerful swipe, knocking various metallic objects flying. I took another step forwards, into the path I'd just created, before repeating this action. I continued on like this for nearly half an hour, slicing a path through towards the cargo container.
When I finally reached the mammoth metal structure, I dropped the shovel into the ground, creating a loud squelching noise. I took a deep sniff of the metallic, moist air, and stepped over to it.
I wanted to get inside, but that seemed impossible, as the cargo container was long, and pointed upwards about 15 feet into the air, at a forty-five degree angle.
"I could always hit it… but where would I get enough force?" I muttered to myself, uneasily. "Or I could dig a hole underground… but I don't know how far down it goes…" I gave myself an unsure look, and just as I did, a powerful, metallic ring sounded out; much like someone hitting a gong. Slowly, I began to feel my heart race as the cargo container actually started to lean downwards! It teetered down, slowly at first, but before long, a colossal chunk of mud, blocking up the end of the container that had just cape catapulting out of the ground, could be seen. I slowly connected it to the rest of the container, and ran towards the now-level open end, hopping over pieces of metal.
I peered inside the container, and at the end of the container was a dim, orange light. My heart began to race ever faster, and I turned around into the container, sprinting down it.
As I neared the end, I could make out the source of the light; a freshly-lit lantern, the smell of oil hanging in the air. I lifted it by the handle, and walked two steps closer towards the end of the container; where I could smell a strangely metallic presence… it smelt familiar. I got slightly closer; where I could actually now see the details of the wall of dry mud at the end; I had, however, frozen in place. I could see four words written on the wall in a red liquid which was dribbling down; if it had been ink, it would've been fresh - but it wasn't ink.
It was blood, and the four words written on the wall were 'Rusted from the rain'.
Plagiarise and die. ~SoO
Discord
Light Style