Also, looking for readers for what I have so far (it's only 586 words). I'm wondering if it works as is for flash or if I should flesh it out more as a longer story. Let me know if you're interested.
Original 13 lines:
The dripping gobs of bloody horse flesh are forced down my dry, battered throat. Others around me, crazed at the smell of blood and meat, push violently against me. I feel ashamed and helpless as my ragged nails rip again into the still warm belly of this once beautiful stallion. My teeth viciously sink into the offal. I am repulsed by the feel of my mouth filling with blood and entrails. Unchewed chunks are pushed down by an unlubricated esophagus and my desiccated stomach bulges, skin straining. It isn’t enough. It’s never enough. Hunger is no longer just a feeling, not a whim to be obeyed upon convenience. Hunger is an all consuming obsession, the only urge this wretched corpse body obeys. Hunger is my life.
Revised 13 lines:
I choke the bloody horse flesh down my dry, ill-used throat. The others crowd against me, crazed by the smell of blood. My ragged nails tear into the still warm belly of this once beautiful stallion. Shoved aside, I desperately clutch my dripping prize. My teeth sink savagely into the offal. I am sickened by the feel of my mouth filling with blood and entrails, but fighting my “brothers” for what is mine, I quickly devour the flesh in my hands. Blood and fluids drip down my face and chest as unchewed intestines slither viscously down my unlubricated esophagus. My stomach bulges, skin straining. It isn’t enough. It’s never enough. Hunger is no longer just a feeling: a whim to be obeyed when convenient. Hunger is my all-consuming obsession, the only urge this wretched corpse-flesh obeys. Hunger is my life.
[This message has been edited by melme54 (edited March 09, 2009).]
I didn't think your story was too gory, in fact I would have liked a little more dark atmosphere to get me in the mood of the story. I would try to clean up the first sentence a little. The speed that the zombie is devouring the food is a lot faster in my head than the speed that your first sentence reads. I imagine the sentences being choppier and "hungrier," like your zombie. The last thing I was looking for was a little more of a hook. Is this guy just going around eating horses or is there somewhere he is going. Redemption, damnation, self-obliteration?
Thanks for your post. I love the genre. If you do a rewrite I'd like to read it.
This was pretty smooth and contained lots of great imagery. Only a couple of things tripped me up:
"Unchewed chunks are pushed down by an unlubricated esophagus and my desiccated stomach bulges, skin straining."
Unchewed chunks seemed somewhat vague and awkward to me. Perhaps fleshing it out (so to speak) into something like "Unchewed chunks of gore (or some other word or phrase here, maybe intestines or bloody organs or somesuch) might be a little smoother.
"Hunger is an all consuming obsession, the only urge this wretched corpse body obeys."
I believe "all consuming" needs a dash, i.e. "all-consuming", and I think you might be able to drop the word "body" from this line, or perhaps use the term "corpse's body".
This reminded me obliquely of a particular scene from C.S. Friedman's Coldfire Trilogy, which can only mean good things for the rest of the story
Just a few random thoughts I had while perusing your darknesses. Hopefully some of them can help you out.
Best regards,
Brant
[This message has been edited by Brant Danay (edited March 06, 2009).]
quote:
The dripping gobs of[[...greasy, grimy, gopher guts... This one didn't work for me. I realize that you are establishing the characters voice and this is something which the character might think or say, but as an opening line, I immediately though of childrens story. Perhaps 'putrid chunks' or 'fresh warm morsel']] bloody horse flesh are forced down[[By whom or what?]] my dry, battered {{I am having difficulty imagining the term here. Battered externally or internally. This is begging a cause. I might find a new adjective or elaborate.}} throat. Others around me, crazed at the smell of blood and meat, push violently against me. I feel ashamed and helpless as my ragged nails rip again into the still warm belly of this once beautiful stallion. My teeth viciously sink into the offal. I am repulsed by the feel of my mouth filling with blood and entrails. Unchewed chunks are pushed[[ I understand that you are trying to convey a sense of inner conflict about the devouring of this animal, but the verbs 'forced' and 'pushed' are making me search mentally, for an antagonist who is forcing things down his throat.]]down by an unlubricated esophagus and my desiccatedIn my understanding of this term which is based in my Botany background, related to total dehydration, powdered. I just get the wrong image.]][/b] stomach bulges, skin straining. It isn’t enough. [i]It’s never enough.[/][[This implies a long term familiarity and the proceeding line implies this is a recent change in the MC]] Hunger is no longer just a feeling, not a whim to be obeyed upon convenience. Hunger is an all consuming obsession, the only urge this wretched corpse body obeys. Hunger is my life.
I didn't like the voice here, although I liked the premise and content. The voice seems detached as if a third person conversion to first. The Mc's voice seems to need a more primal tone. As a predator, even if it has been recently turned into one would still employ the senses of such a creature. Smell sounds should be amplified and confusing especially if this is a new change. The inner conflict is good, but seems superficially done in this text.
Oh, it is a zombie story. I at first was thinking something other. I will give it a look if you'd like.
[This message has been edited by melme54 (edited March 09, 2009).]
I choke the bloody horse flesh down my dry, ill-used throat. The others crowd against me, crazed by the smell of blood. My ragged nails tear into the still warm belly of this once beautiful stallion. Shoved aside, I desperately clutch my dripping prize. My teeth sink savagely into the offal. I am sickened by the feel of my mouth filling with blood and entrails, but fighting my “brothers” for what is mine, I quickly devour the flesh in my hands. Blood and fluids drip down my face and chest as unchewed intestines slither viscously down my unlubricated esophagus. My stomach bulges, skin straining. It isn’t enough. It’s never enough. Hunger is no longer just a feeling: a whim to be obeyed when convenient. Hunger is my all-consuming obsession, the only urge this wretched corpse-flesh obeys. Hunger is my life.