literature

Cyber Giselle-Snippet 2013

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He stroked his calloused thumb over the gleaming glass pendant piece repeatedly, as if this gesture stilled the tumult within him he bottled in.
A bevy of lights from the monitors, devices and the digital infrastructure glittered across the walls and over his eyes, but his sight took in scant note of his surroundings.
It is the waiting room of any hospital exceeds the dread of a prison, for a prisoner will learn his sentence in time of certain, but the one who waits for fates of their loved ones strapped on I.V.s and monitors, the time is a more worse punishment still. Uncertainty is the bane of us all.
Fear itself is uncertainty.
Nikolas bit his lip, the only sensation he had felt all that morning. It was on this morning, this morning that his wildest imaginings could never conceive, was the morning, when Lippika and he awoke, not in their apartment overlooking the ice-spiked archipelago waters, but in the future dimension quadrant known as the 8th Hilarion.
It was a future beyond even the dynamic visions of any futurist.
The concepts of these visionaries, compared to the world before Nikolas and Lippika, was ludicrously finite.  Gravity was beyond defiance, it only existed as brittle bond between the ground and the quadrant which hovered above. Cars did not fly; cities were airborne.
For Nikolas, there was little earth, flesh and cloth: plastic, synthetics, fiber optics, metal and digital compromised this dimension and were seemingly soldered into the people.
For Lippika, there was nothing but the intangible and the cold. There was a core, but no heart in this dimension. All was automated, no passion, no objection.
Alien was this dimension to both brother and sister, and they were likewise aliens in this dimension. Passer-bys gawked quizzically at their clothes- of denim, plaid, sequined cotton and leather of what was deemed the past to the quadrant’s denizens- and their lack of the hover-craft vehicles which ferried its citizens around the labyrinthine metropolis.
Despite this being the future, the age-old hostility towards the different, attacking the one who fails to adhere to their own invariability still thrived like a virulent plague in the minds of the people; thus Nikolas and his sister Lippika were the targets of the metropolis police’s pursuit. Branded as both threats and spies, Nikolas and Lippika ran.  
But their escape was severed short when Lippika slipped from Nikolas’s grip and tumbled down two level of the hovering structure on the maze of streets.
“Lippika!” Nikolas cried out, as he both climbed and leapt from ledge to each level’s floor to reach his sister. At the bottom of the second level Lippika laid, crumpled on her side. A bright red gash showed the laceration her forehead received and limply in front of her, her right arm laid twisted and broken.
But no sooner had he reached Lippika’s side did a police squadron of five....

                                                          Non concludi....

Originally intended as an trade art contribution on my part for my cherished friend, spiritual sister, kindred spirit, and literary and moral role model (next to DoughBoyCafe, who is a genius and legend here), sylphwriter24 , I am grieved to say this endeavor proved an outright dismal failure in terms of a jarring style employed for a sci-fi/ CyberPunk revisionist take of the classic tale of Giselle, dubbed, Cyber-Giselle.

Despite numerous efforts undertaken to compose a viably decent story, the previous versions were discarded, and only this brief excerpt of a prologue survive.

When I initially took on this project, I sorely overestimated my writing abilities.

Sci-Fi demands a certain economy of grammatical style.
As one of its subgenres in its myriad of subcategories, Sci-Fi's CyberPunk likewise demands a certain brevity of syntax, an accurate knowledge of futuristic technology, theoretic science and parlance, (in other words, one should emulate Michio Kaku's example) and a cynical, fatalistic tone- all components which I have yet to fully practice, much less perfect for a work of this standard.

As a result, what you read above is a poorly cobbled-together excerpt of florid writing, which painfully clashes with the subject matter and genre selected. Consider it like reading a High Fantasy novel written in a "slangy" Crime Novel style- only more deplorable in quality and execution.

Practice what you preach failed here- I failed to follow my own standard of matching the syntax to its genre.
Regarding Sci-Fi/CyberPunk, I fear, as a writer, am still a grossly inept neophyte in this genre.

Dear Allison, I pray you can pardon my blunder here. Since 2013, when we first proposed our art trade, you have contributed well beyond your generous requirement- having produced two brilliant, novel-worthy works, while I, unfortunately, have failed to produce even the bare minimum of a single work. I am deeply sorry, and I earnestly hope my future reparation will compensate for this faux pas.
© 2015 - 2024 Tete-DePunk
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