Relay: The Deluge
Writing Exercise #12
Back to Relays—this is where I am given the first line, and have 1,000 words to finish the story. Gives me room to explore but not enough room that I can take my time.
This first-line came to me during a drive into a city on a day that threatened rain. The line has been stuck in my head ever since, so I hope I do it justice!
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Enjoy!
Relay: The clouds hung like gods over the city, infinite and vengeful.
The clouds hung like gods over the city, infinite and vengeful. It’s not that I minded rain, but the threat of rain felt insulting. I wanted to shout at the clouds to make up their minds. The whole city was being held hostage by these menacing clouds. Maybe I only had dark thoughts because he was coming today. The whole city was being held hostage by him, too. Police barricades, curfew, overwatch, it was all so excessive. Just make up your mind.
I flicked my cigarette onto the wet pavement --Wet how? Rain? What a tease-- and looked at the other people who were waiting on the tarmac. Drivers, attendants, brown-nosers, grovelers, dignitaries who fancied themselves his equal, climbers who envied his power. I scoffed inwardly. Toxic. I wanted to ask one of the bald-headed-black-suited nobodies if the man planned to even arrive today. But I knew everyone was afraid to speak.
It was at that point that I could see a dark form take shape behind the clouds, and then emerge like a slow-moving ship navigating through the fog. It was massive, and it always filled me with some kind of awe or wonder. It moved almost elegantly, descending effortlessly and slowly out of the sky. Not quite plane, not quite airship—some unknown, unspeakable technology gave it motion. It was a black sphere, not uniformly spherical but from a distance it looked that way. It seemed to grow in size as it got nearer, eventually landing gear unfolded from the base and it set down on the tarmac in front of us, towering over us, intimidating us, reminding us that we were mere ants.
The massive weight of the sphere settled on the landing gear, and the whole thing seemed to exhale, as if it was taking a breath after the long journey. A ramp folded out from the base of the sphere, and after a moment an entourage of people emerged at the top, with a black-robed figure in the center. They paused for a beat, and everyone behind me got on one knee and bowed deeply—I missed the beat and looked around, before getting down too. When in Rome.
The party descended the ramp and the black-robed figure—him—walked confidently forward without stopping to talk to anyone. One of the bald-headed-black-suited nobodies opened a car door and he slid inside it and closed the door behind him, leaving his entourage outside. They all stopped awkwardly and started filing themselves into other cars. The suspense will continue, it seems.
I drove myself. I don’t like depending on the nobodies—doesn’t feel right. I don’t like the idle chit-chat while sharing the back seat of a car with someone who thinks they are more important than you, either. My car was my fortress of solitude. I needed a place like that, given the world these days.
We drove to The Palace—which was a funny name for the place. It was palatial, sure, but it was more like an office building than castles and medieval chic. The Palace was tall enough that you could see it for miles, it stuck out above all the flat, low rooftops of every other office and building in the city. It’s façade was a dark grey stone, with some semblance of architectural flair. It’s spire disappeared into the low hanging clouds pregnant with rain—still threatening deluge, still withholding their vengeance for some unknown reason.
We pulled into the arcing driveway in front of The Palace. He got out first and marched determinedly up the stairs, and was followed frantically by his gaggle of hangers-on. He stopped at the top of the stairs, though—and he turned around and looked at everyone coming up. He looked at me. I don’t know why, I felt a chill run down my spine. What was disconcerting is that I felt his gaze. He wouldn’t look away. He watched me from the moment I exit my car to the entire time I was climbing the stairs.
He approached me as soon as I reached the top of the stairs. “Who are you?” His voice rumbled with an inhuman depth.
“I am the Mayor of this fine city.” I said.
He smiled mirthlessly. “Ah. You are the one.”
“Yes.”
“Why are you here?”
“We have not concluded negotiations. There were some items left undiscussed and my people demand—”
“Your people?” He stepped towards me, angrily. “YOUR people? They are all my people, now. You are mine, now. This city is mine now.”
“And yet—I am still the mayor, and you still have to work with me.”
“No, you are sadly mistaken. This world is under new management. You are a trivial figurehead of a trivial tribe in a trivial corner of this world.”
“It’s not that trivial. You are here, aren’t you?”
He slapped me, hard, with the back of his hand. “Your insubordination and recklessness will not help the residents of this city, nor the inhabitants of this world.”
“Well, glad we got to know you now, rather than later.” I spit blood next to his feet.
“I will not negotiate terms with you any further.” He turned to one of the bald-headed, black-suited nobodies. “You are the mayor of this city now.” He looked back at me, and grabbed me by the side of my head. I finally got a look at his eyes—his inhuman, empty, golden glowing eyes. “Your time has come.” He said through gritted teeth. “Guards, take this man away.” He pushed me to the ground, and two men grab my arms. I feel big drops of rain on my forehead, and suddenly it rains in a deluge. I can’t help but smile.
(957 words)
The Promptee Has Become The Promptor
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