First Line
since it didn't make it in, I guess I can share it with you guys. The premise is you have to write a story that uses a certain first line. Other than that, you can do anything. This time the line was "In Pigwell, time is not measured by days or weeks, but by the number of eighteen wheelers that drive past my house."
I had some trouble with it, and it's not really my best, so I'm not surprised it got rejected. There are parts about it I definitely like, though.
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Story:
In Pigwell, time is not measured by days or weeks, but by the number of eighteen wheelers that drive past my house. Another one drives by every hour; every day. It’s been just like clockwork for the past two years. Back three years ago, when Pigwell was still known for pigs, and not the shit which seemed to permeate from every crack today, a big corporation got the ok to build a new distribution center, right down the road there. The theory was that Pigwell was right in between a few major cities, and so if we built it, we could use the center to get them all the things they needed for a lot less money. The small town embraced the idea, and before a shovel even hit the ground, the expectations were high. New jobs, new stores, more people, a lot of things. ‘Course, what actually happened, was way more than what they expected. It was a downright population boom. The city wasn’t prepared to handle that kind of increase, so they just let whatever business go wherever. That’s why I get trucks going down my once lonely street so often I can use them to tell time.
Us locals could hardly recognize Pigwell anymore. New stores and houses were popping up everywhere, to support all the new workers showing up daily. We had thought that our own boys were gonna get those jobs, and some did, to be sure... but most went to people who came in from other cities, dreaming of opportunity, and with each new house the Pigwell farmers were crowded out a little more. Not too long ago, I remember I owned five acres of land, enough to feed myself and make a little money on the side. These days, I had about one, and I worked another job just to make ends meet.
To be sure, the times do change, and sometimes it can be quick, and sometimes you don’t get a warning, but it sticks in my heart to see the town change so much. Each time I see a truck go by (there went another, sure as hell it was four-o-clock) it was just another reminder. A reminder of this new world that I just don’t understand, where life’s being scheduled right down to the minute. Who’d want to live in that world, where there’s no surprises, and no happiness? I’m happy with just my own house, on my own lawn. Twenty years now, I’ve owned it... but I doubt It’ll ever get through another before some pharmacy wants to build and move into the new city of Pigwell. That’s when I’ll be pushed to the wayside, thrown out in the name of “progress.”
And when I think about that, when I think about all that’s changed, only one thing keeps sticking in my head. Not really much of a thought, just a question, and damned if I know the answer.
Progress towards “what”?
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So there you go, you peoples who keep asking me to post it : P
I had some trouble with it, and it's not really my best, so I'm not surprised it got rejected. There are parts about it I definitely like, though.
--------
Story:
In Pigwell, time is not measured by days or weeks, but by the number of eighteen wheelers that drive past my house. Another one drives by every hour; every day. It’s been just like clockwork for the past two years. Back three years ago, when Pigwell was still known for pigs, and not the shit which seemed to permeate from every crack today, a big corporation got the ok to build a new distribution center, right down the road there. The theory was that Pigwell was right in between a few major cities, and so if we built it, we could use the center to get them all the things they needed for a lot less money. The small town embraced the idea, and before a shovel even hit the ground, the expectations were high. New jobs, new stores, more people, a lot of things. ‘Course, what actually happened, was way more than what they expected. It was a downright population boom. The city wasn’t prepared to handle that kind of increase, so they just let whatever business go wherever. That’s why I get trucks going down my once lonely street so often I can use them to tell time.
Us locals could hardly recognize Pigwell anymore. New stores and houses were popping up everywhere, to support all the new workers showing up daily. We had thought that our own boys were gonna get those jobs, and some did, to be sure... but most went to people who came in from other cities, dreaming of opportunity, and with each new house the Pigwell farmers were crowded out a little more. Not too long ago, I remember I owned five acres of land, enough to feed myself and make a little money on the side. These days, I had about one, and I worked another job just to make ends meet.
To be sure, the times do change, and sometimes it can be quick, and sometimes you don’t get a warning, but it sticks in my heart to see the town change so much. Each time I see a truck go by (there went another, sure as hell it was four-o-clock) it was just another reminder. A reminder of this new world that I just don’t understand, where life’s being scheduled right down to the minute. Who’d want to live in that world, where there’s no surprises, and no happiness? I’m happy with just my own house, on my own lawn. Twenty years now, I’ve owned it... but I doubt It’ll ever get through another before some pharmacy wants to build and move into the new city of Pigwell. That’s when I’ll be pushed to the wayside, thrown out in the name of “progress.”
And when I think about that, when I think about all that’s changed, only one thing keeps sticking in my head. Not really much of a thought, just a question, and damned if I know the answer.
Progress towards “what”?
----------
So there you go, you peoples who keep asking me to post it : P