6. ELSEWHERE

The real ending!

Deep in the Underlow, at the corner of Thirty First and Old Twelfth, an unusual man turned  the corner, walking down the cramped Thirty First. What was unusual about this man, was not that he was taller than usual, or that his skin had an orange tint that is not quite usual. It wasn't his unusually impossible green eyes. The unusual thing about this man was that he was old. Not just old like most people think of when they hear the word old, but really, really old. He was the oldest person in the city of Chyunda by many multiple times over. His age surpassing by many decades, even two centuries of age.

For this unusual man, was a neo-human. A transgenically modified human, from the archipelago nation of Neo. But, he had lived in the Underlow for most of his life. In fact, he lived in the Underlow, long before it was the Underlow.

He walked toward, at the time of this brief story, his new home. His new home on Thirty First, that replaced his old home on Labor street -- the thing is, his old home burned down. And he didn't quite look forward to his new home, which was practically empty of all the knick knacks and things he used to keep, accumulating over the years, in order to distract his old mind. He worried incessantly about his family, but, his mind was sharp, as if he were still just a young adult, in need of being challenged to stay busy.

The old man stepped up onto his rickety porch -- which was important for him, his old home also had a rickety porch. Regardless, he stepped up onto his rickety porch, and swung the unlocked door open with a bang. What a careless old man, to keep his door unlocked. And in the Underlow, right?

Wrong! This old man wasn't just ANY old man. He was the fondly thought of by many, most legendary of oldsters of the city of Chyunda, referred to by all as Old Spence. But his name was really Nathanial Spence. And he was just about ready to sit into his awful, brand new top brand synth leather couch to indulge in one of his favorite pastimes. Reading the monthly issue of his favorite holozine, Centros Captures.

He flopped down onto the cushy synth leather couch, and said out loud, "This couch is horrible!" He wasn't saying it to anyone in particular, but rather, practicing that habit he had of talking to himself.

Moving his arse around, he spat an unsatisfied snicker. "I'll never break this thing in. What were the kids thinking, buying me this?" The kids he was talking about were his grandchildren. They're not important here, in this story.

Flipping open the holozine, Old Spence was assaulted immediately by an impressive image of a Pul sandstorm blasting out of the pages. It was so well caught, that it seemingly blasted him right out of his Surd-darned way-to-padded synthleather couch, and onto the rickety old fl-- oh, no. The flooring had actually been redone. It was smooth, and shiny, even.

"Ugh," Old Spence gurgled, getting back to his feet, scooping up the holozine, and tried to plop back down into his couch. However, he couldn't quite plop INTO it. It was more like bouncing over it and struggling to find grooves to comfortably rest his rear end in. Because after two and a half centuries, you bet your Pul-forsaken arse you deserve to rest your rear end in a settled in couch! But it just wouldn't happen.

Sighing with a heave, the peculiar old neo-human tossed the holozine onto the floor, exasperated. It flopped back open to the sandstorm, which blasted out at him with impressive effect. Those Centros Captures. He loved em, but sometimes their effects were captured too well. The Pul sandstorm raging in his living room seemed real in it intensity, and he even had to remind himself that the sandstorm wasn't actually there.

Old Spence reached to flip the holozine closed with his outstretched foot. With a singular motion, the holo projection disappeared. "Huh," the old man brought his hand up to his chin, and pondered. After a few moments of consideration, he scrambled to grab the notepad at the edge of his couch, scrambling around a bit more to find a writing utensil. Actually he damned-near turned his living room upside down before he realized he had left a pen on top of the refrigerator, in his kitchen.

Throwing the notebook onto the counter, he furiously scribbled down one word in messy, old man cursive.

The word was sandstorm.

Reviews

[Wathanya.5KY3]

Old Spence is back! As someone who has read the first book, I am very excited to see yet another character. It also felt like I was an insider to know what actually happened to Old Spence's old home. Haha

I noticed that the narration here is quite different from the one with Cass. With Cass, the focus was immersion, but with Old Spence, the focus seems to be breaking the fourth wall -- like the narrator was actually talking to the reader. I don't know if it's a good or a bad thing to change narration type at the end of a story (or, in this case, the end of one part of a story), so I'll let you be the judge.

Here are a few other things I noticed about your writing in this chapter:

1. The first paragraph's theme seems to be the word "unusual," but "unusually impossible" sounds off to me. I understand how green eyes run in the Spence family, so I'd suggest changing "impossible" to another adjective that describes the eyes' qualities, like "vivid" or "intense."

2. When emphasizing something in creative writing, it is more common to use italics rather than all-caps. I learned this lesson the hard way. *sniffs*

3. If you're going all talk-to-the-reader in this chapter, I have a specific suggestion. "They're not important here, in this story." I think that adding a drop of sassiness would make the sentence more, well, sassy. Specifically, "... [(at least) not] in this story."

4. You ended (this part of) the story beautifully. However, I think you meant to write, "The word was, 'sandstorm.' "

That is Sandstorm Part 1, I guess. I am still curious about how Cass, BD, and Finnic are going to trick the White Dawn, and also about how Old Spence (and perhaps other members of the Spence family) play into all this. I think the answer is waiting for me in Sandstorm Part 2.

I am glad that you're still actively writing. Your writing has become much neater than the very first draft of Jade and Erk. I hope you continue to share your talented, enjoyable writing with the world.