I know it says "Personal Narrative" but my English teacher is letting me write about whatever I want, I've been trying to write a sort of Cyber Punk story but I don't think I'm absolutely the best writer so I was hoping to get some opinions on it. This assignment is worth 60 points and is a month late but she is still letting me turn it in for full credit so I really need to get this done.
I based this story off Romantically Apocalyptic because that's what I had going through my head at the time I started. I feel like I've made it too unoriginal however, and I really want to make it more of my own story. My question is should I just rewrite part of the story or should I scrap it and start over again. And if I scrap it what should I write about?
I'm going to post my rough draft (unfinished) below.
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“5:00 A.M.” The clock flashed again and again. You wake up to an automated message “Dreams provided by Dreamcast incorporated. 20,000 credits have been withdrawn from your account, thank you for choosing Dreamcast and have a great day.”
“Damn it.” A figure groggily rises out of a single bed in the middle of a gray room to begin the day. “That dream felt like an eternity.” Moving out of the gray room the lone figure enters the kitchen, the atmosphere of the room is grimy and gritty. Half eaten meals and weeks old newspapers litter the tabletop, while a massive pile of un-cleaned dishes occupies the sink.
“Well I’m late anyway, might as well eat a real breakfast for once.” Motioning towards the refrigerator the man presses his hand against a scanner and the refrigerator comes to life in a burst of motion. The man’s face scowls as soon as he sees the contents, row upon row of cylinders occupy all spare room in the refrigerator. The label reads “Excho Brand Energy Drink: Warning! Not for human consumption.” “Of course.” He mutters to himself. “Better just go then.” Closing the fridge he makes his way to the door.
As the door opens the dark apartment is illuminated in a harsh wave of light. If it was 5:00 A.M. you could never tell it, the lights of thousands of screens light up the streets with a blue glow. The noise of each advertisement combines in to a deafening incomprehensible roar. None the less he is used to this, and giving his eyes and ears a moment to adjust he sets out for work. The metal streets can only be describes as controlled chaos, a sea of people moving in their own set paths all in sync with lights suspended above their heads. Start, stop, start, stop. A very systematic routine that now seems utterly dull. But none-the-less it is a routine he will now join. Just like the day before, and the day before that.
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