THE DEAD CITY

 

Jane stood in the chilly shadow of a monstrous skyscraper, staring at the sidewalk beneath her heels. There was no sound except for air blowing between the buildings like the breath of some mighty machine, and crows fighting over a stale piece of bread crust (or perhaps another body), and the buildings around her clicking softly as they ceased their functions and shut down. This surprised her, because she thought for certain the city always sounded like the booming of traffic and buses and taxis. Even with millions of humans lying open-eyed in their own bedrooms, their bodies devoured by plague before they even reached the nothingness of death, it seemed to Jane that the cars and the buses would still come.

 

She found some comfort in the sidewalk, in its softly worn and grey concrete shell, in its constant life that had remained unchanged since she was a child. It cried no tears for the dead, it mourned none and did not cease to be what it had been built to be---it continued its duty of sidewalk without complaint. Staring at it, Jane had an odd thought that if she sat down on the sidewalk and never moved, everything would be alright, and nothing bad would ever happen to her.

 

She sat down slowly. The air blew into her empty ears. Fear had long left her, she had tried to become angry but could not , and her mind wandered through its own alleys numbly, searching for nothing, and finding nothing. The city---what would happen to it? Would it be reinhabited and repopulated? Or would it remain a ghost city, haunted by nothing except the scavenging crows and seagulls? In time, would the skyscrapers tumble? Would the houses flatten and the buildings melt? Would the freeways and bridges crumble into the ocean?

 

Jane placed her hand on the sidewalk next to her, and was surprised to feel something cold and damp under her palm. She looked down, then lifted her hand slowly. Grass, between the sidewalk slabs. Tipping her head and running her red fingertips over the smashed grass, Jane vaguely remembered discovering the grasses when she was younger, quite little, and being disturbed about them being stepped on. She remembered trying to water them, telling people not to walk on the cracks.

 

Now the legs that had once walked on the sidewalk lay as stiff bars of pale, rotting flesh in the houses of the city, and the black business shoes that had smashed the grasses down sat cleanly polished at the foot of the bed, for the next day of work that would never come.

 

Jane stood and stared at the humble stubs of grass. Maybe, just maybe, she thought, stepping away from the crack, if nobody walks here for a long, long time, the grass will become a garden, and grow as tall as the gleaming skyscrapers . . .

Reviews

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I don't agree with Faraday Strange on this one, I think this story is fairly well contained, and says it all with the full circle that you seem to present here. It starts out with the skyscrapers, then you turn to more of the destruction of this establishment, the introduction of a more natural atmosphere, and then the future promise of nature coming back as strongly as the city. That might only be my interpretation of this piece, but I would say that this piece holds up on its own, and conveys a point or message. Whether this is finished or not, it could stand alone as it is.
I think the narrative voice is interesting here with the remembrance of the grass between the slabs and how she tried to keep them from getting smashed and wanting them to grow. It seems to create the tone of the story, almost like a bias against urban developments, which is appealing to those who prefer the more natural world.

I do agree that this could use some polishing, but all works do. In the second paragraph, the repetitiveness of the word 'it' gets a little tiresome. It almost seems rigid in construction. Perhaps if you were to change up the structure of the sentences so that they don't begin with 'it' so often, it would seem more fluid and non-sequential. Another good tool or technique is to find a way to refer to the sidewalk by other names by using metaphors. It generally turns out to be a far more effective technique in writing because it becomes more of a product of showing rather than telling. As it is now, you're telling the reader what the sidewalk is like, you want to show the reader, so that we can 'see' it in our own minds.

Good introspective narrative here, and the description is nice, but I think there's plenty of room for more. Try employing all the senses instead of just touch, sight, and hearing. What about taste? Is the odor of death so strong that she can taste it? Does the city smell of death? Taste and smell are effective senses to convey description, and they're highly underused in a lot of writing.

I think, respectfully of course, that you overuse commas. There are many sentences in this story, as well as others that I have read, that could remain as they are - or even become stronger - if the commas were omitted.

I like this piece a lot. I think it's very simplistic in a very good way, creating interest and intrigue while creating a complete theme in flash fiction length.

[Curiosity and Black Ang..]

Great sense of scenery in this story.

[Wolfwind Words]

That was a cool piece of imagery. It alluded to alot of things in modern life for me. I loved the last paragraph. Sometime I hope the big cities would turn into gardens...be better for the health of everyone!

Very Enjoyable
Aaron Maycroft