Just finished a little opener for a story about my life in Blockland. I've been having a lot of trouble writing due to not being able to find any other good writers to help me, so I brought my work to Blockland forums. My first post was derailed and well died a catastrophic death, but I hope that this post gets at least a few good pointers on where to go.
Enjoy!
Joxus and Company
I sit in a train station. My old plastic bones and stiff rubber skin now cling to me like a prison. I wear a meager trench coat, to cover up my many scars, blisters, and bruises that rampage across my body. I’ve seen a lot over the years, and as I listen to the quiet chatter of clan members preparing for some kind of war against another clan and the younger men fiddling with their tools trying to straighten them out; I remember my glory days.
The bench I sit on is propped against a long wall, made of sleek metal. The floor, a nice concrete with a bluish tint. People pass me by, all sorts of shapes and sizes and ages, as they hurry off to their respectable trains. I remember the old train station, how it used to look fifty some years ago, but its all a fading memory. Suddenly, I notice a child has moved next to me.
I turn to face him, his small warm radiance I can feel as he stares at me with those compassionate and honest brown eyes. He has a mess of brown hair covered by a little lopsided cloth cap. His clothing consists of a wool jacket and a scarf that he has pulled down to expose his mouth. The air is frosty, and his rosy cheeks glow with the cold. I look at him with my old eyes, deep turquoise eyes that have seen the tests of time.
He asks me a question.
“What are you doing here mister?” he says tentatively. I can feel he’s quite nervous of talking to strangers, probably because of his mother. Out of sight, out of mind.
“Reeling in the years, seeing the sights and remembering the good old days.” I say matter-of-factly. I sigh a bit, I’ve always been a wonder at confusing people.
He stares at me blankly, and then a flash of recognition crosses him. He perks up, and deftly whips out an answer.
“You must be a famous person.” he says, whipping out a small satchel cleverly hidden in his coat. He pulls out a notebook and pen, and tells me; “Write me a story, I can sit here for a while.”
I look at him apprehensively, and he stares back at me a bit blankly. When he starts to see that I may not do as he wants,he flashes me a cheeky little smile, and proffers me the notebook and pen. I grapple the pen with my mechanical hand; the replacement for my tired old hook.
I look at him again, his face so alive and alight with the joy of this moment. Its close to Christmas, for all I know, but this may be a blessing for him and me. With a few deft strokes, I write the title.
Joxus and Company.
The boy watches me, eager to know my secrets. I watch him as I document my story. The words of an era that have passed untouched and unnoticed by this small little soul. I begin the first chapter of my life leaving my parents.
