Young Writers Society

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Ok, First off, this scares me. O.o Which is a good thing. Second, awesome. Just. Plain. Awesome.

Drowning scares the crap out of me. I love to swim, hate to drown. I don't think I'm alone.







The water is frigid. My eyes pop open the moment I hit the surface, like solid concrete underneath me. My breath is knocked out of my lungs, leaving me forever in a spiral of a billion little bubbles, illuminated by the moon shining above, as I sink below the crashing waves.

The water now surrounds me from all sides, and the darkness is closing in fast. Other dark forms plunge into the bay along with me, sinking like rocks to the black abyss below. Desperation wells up within my chest when it finally dawns on me that I am on my way to the same fate, about to drown. And nobody would ever know. I struggle briefly, but stop when I feel my arms bound to my sides and my legs tied together. I feel a strange membrane all around me, and when I look, I see that all over me, from the neck down, I am wrapped in plastic. Something is dragging me down faster than I could have ever sunk on my own. The bag is weighted down.

Frantic, I give another struggle. My right arm loosens a little. I look up at the shining white light above me, my stomach turning when I discover how far away it is now. The water is crushing my chest and my ears crackle and pop(liked this bit. very detailed as far as noting pressure difference.) as I descend. More bubbles of precious air escape past my lips, spinning frantically for the surface.

I hit my head and back something jagged, the impact utterly jarring. It is the side of a rock wall, covered in algae and broken bits of coral. The canvas that I am wrapped in tears on the sharp rocks and falls away from my like a shed skin from a snake. My heart gives a hopeful leap when I begin to float rather than sink.

The light above me is blotted out, much to my terror, and another form, much heavier than I, crashes into me. For what seems like an eternity, I am dragged under with this mass on top of me, unable to kick it away or move out from under it. I continue to struggle, more frantically than ever before, my lungs ablaze and my heart pounding.

My back hits more rocks, His back is going to be hamburger. :/ and with the other mass on top of me, I am pressed onto the narrow shelf so that I am laying down flat. I grit my teeth and gather my legs up underneath me, and kick the canvas bag off of me with all my remaining strength. It tumbles away from me and I take advantage of my freedom.

My hands are free, thank god. I use my left hand to reach to the right and grab the cord band around my ribs and elbows. After a few desperate tugs, I manage to tear it off, and then use both hands to pull off the strap over my chest and shoulders. With my upper body free, I launch myself off of the shelf and swim frantically toward the surface.

Lungs burning for air, heart struggling to continue its rhythmic throbbing, it seems like forever as I swim for the moon. My arms are tired. I am tired. The growing desire to stop is becoming all the more tempting. In a single moment, all of this could be over. I could still be free, in fact freer than most people alive. Death has no boundaries, no limitations.

Just as I am beginning to lean toward the decision to inhale as much water as my lungs would carry, I breach the surface of the bay. Air, the briny, filthy air of Cardis Bay, fills my lungs, extinguishing the white-hot flames that had been roasting them all this time. I gasp for it like a fish out of water, feeling somewhat rejuvenated already. Breathing air will do that. I REALLY like breathing air.

Shivering uncontrollably, I look around. I can see the bright lights and the billowing clouds of orange haze above the city, the twinkling lights of the ships in the port not far away from where I am but still too far for me to swim in my condition.

A wave crashes over my head and drags me back down, spinning, tossing my exhausted body about, and then pushing me back upward to the surface. Gasping and coughing, I break through the surface again. When I look at the city I realize that I am much closer than I was before. I know now that I do not have to exert any more of my frazzling energy to get back to shore. The Sea is my ally now, rather than my enemy. I can rely on her.

She pushes me along, sometimes losing control and forcing me under but always bringing me back up to the surface. My grasp on consciousness is beginning to slip, but I know that I must hold on.

By the time I reach the pebbly shore on the far side of Port Cardis it begins to rain, a gentle mist that washes away the salty brine of the seawater soaking my skin. White frothing waves wash over me until I crawl on my hands and knees further up the beach, teeth chattering.

I try to stand, but the instant that I do the beach turns upside down and I drop down to the ground. Again, I force myself up, knowing I cannot collapse just yet.

I do not know how I manage it but I take a step forward, and another, and another after that. Something is propelling me forward, be it determination or the urge to get as far away from here as possible.



My mind is in a haze. Until I move and feel the pain lance through my body, I can almost believe the night before was all a horrible nightmare. My chest aches when I breathe, and I can feel the fever burning in my flesh like a wildfire. I am so weak; it costs me just to open my eyes.

I am in a narrow alley between two buildings, cramped inside an overturned barrel filled with garbage. Strung between the two buildings are empty clotheslines, shivering naked in the cool autumn breeze. There are a few socks and a shirt or two forgotten in the rain that continues to trickle down upon the city streets.

Judging by the boarded up windows and the ramshackle appearance of buildings in poor repair, I safely guess that I am somewhere in the lower quarter of the city, where I grew up. It is also about a mile away from the shipyard where my father and I worked for a living.

I do not remember coming this far back into the city, or curling up inside this garbage bin, and at the moment I could care less about how I managed to get here. All I want is a warm, dry place to rest my head and a hot meal in my stomach. How I could possibly find anybody willing enough to take me in while I am in this condition, covered in blood and reeking of rotting fish and vegetables, will be a challenge. Cardish folk are never exactly “eager” to help anyone unless they have an ulterior motive behind their actions.

Despite that, I know I must find some sort of help. It has been so long since I was last here; I did not know where to begin. I push myself onto my hands and knees, my head swimming and stomach churning. I back out of the barrel until I am sitting on my heels. I lose my balance and fall back into a puddle of water.

Shouting reaches my ears as I begin to stand back up.

‘Come back here you damn street maggot! You sleazy little pig!’ a man is shouting.

Above that voice is hysterical laughter, ‘Catch me if you can, fat-ass!’

I look down the alley to the left in time to see a young woman wearing ragged clothes and heavy boots skid to a stop in the entrance and run down the alley toward me, holding her cap and goggles to her head with one hand, and carrying a burlap sack with the other. She does not see me, and I, being too slow-minded and bodied to dodge her, do not move out of her way. We crash into each other and tumble across the hard cobbles.

Yellow and red apples scatter all over the ground, and splash into puddles. The woman sits up on my chest and rolls away from me with a groan, rubbing her forehead as she looks at me. She stops rubbing her temple and her eyes become wide with sudden recognition.

‘Finn?’ she gasps.

I look at her, confused at first until I see her dirt streaked face. I would know that freckled face and those wily grey eyes anywhere.

‘Spitz?’ I say.

Before she can say anything else an enormously fat man with a pockmarked face covered in wild red hair comes sliding into the alleyway shaking a clenched fist, shouting, ‘I’ve got you now you scrawny little bitch!’

Spitz laughs at him and snatches me by the arm, hauling me to my feet and down the alley without looking back to see that every step was a great effort on my part and that the pace she set was nearly impossible for me to match.

‘Why didn’t you tell me you were back?’ Spitz laughs as we tear down the alley.

‘I was a little tied down…’ I pant my reply, nearly tripping over my own feet.

She turns a sharp corner into an even narrower path and another in between two very closely built houses and clamps a hand over my mouth, whispering with a low laugh, ‘Watch that fat bastard try and find us now.’

I shake my head at her, and she smiles at me with excitement twinkling in her eyes. We both catch and hold our breaths when a shadow falls over the passage. Spitz has always been this way, or at least she has been as long as I can remember, and that being said we had quite literally grown up together. Our fathers worked together in the shipyards and her mother taught me how to read before I joined my father at work. She was with me the night I was caught in the act that sent me to Smelt Penitentiary, only she was sly enough to not get herself caught as well.

The shadow moves away and we each release a relieved sigh in unison. At the same moment a window crashes open and freezing cold, filthy bathwater is poured over our heads. We look up at the housewife in the window and she looks down at us. She touches her hand to her lips and gives a laugh, ‘Oh, sorry! I didn’t see ya down there!’ Loved this part. Impeccable spelling as far as I can tell at this point by the way.

The fat man from before appears in the passage opening with an angry roar, and reaches for us. The massive width of his girth, however prevents him from getting very close at all.

Spitz begins to run away and then backtracks a few steps, snatches me by the wrist and hauls me along with her, shouting, ‘Idiot! What’s the matter with you?’

She drags me along behind him a few more blocks and then stops at a fire escape. Breathing heavily, I lean back against the wall and slide down to the ground. She chuckles a little, ‘I think the last few turns lost him…’

I swallow and grimace, clutching my side as I try to regain my escaped breath.

Spitz seems to just realize my poor condition, judging by the sudden expression of concern on her face as she kneels down beside me, ‘Criminy, Finn, what the hell happened to you? You look like shit.’

She looks down at my ragged, striped prison pants and shakes her head, ‘Why are you still in that old get-up?’

‘I just can’t seem to let go of the past,’ I mutter, trying to grin but failing horribly.

‘Come on,’ she says, picking me up and wrapping my arm over her shoulders, ‘You can tell me everything after I get you back to my place.’



Spitz’ place is a rundown old shack of a house close to where I had awoken. At twenty-three, the same age as me, she still lives alone except for a bird locked in a cage and a cat named Michael that comes around whenever he is hungry.

‘Here are some clothes,’ Spitz says, offering me a pair of worn out brown trousers, fingerless black gloves and a grey-and-white striped shirt, along with a bright red sock paired with a faded blue one of different length and size.

I shake my head at her. These clothes are obviously stolen from the clotheslines outside; they are still damp, but no matter.

‘Thanks,’ I mutter, taking the clothes. I step into the bathroom, draw the curtain, and pull the string dangling from the ceiling to turn on the light.

Outside a chair scrapes across the hardwood and creaks as Spitz sits down. Her boots thump to the floor without any feet in them. I smell the aroma of puff the moment the pouch is opened. She still smokes. I suppose some people never change.

‘I can’t believe you’re back,’ she says from behind the curtain, ‘It’s been such a long time I barely recognized you at first.’

I pull off the god-awful prison clothes and turn on the sink’s hot water, ‘I know…’

‘You know who’ll be excited to see you again is Alphy,’ she remarks, ‘And don’t forget Ramone. God, we used to have some great times together, didn’t we? I’m so glad you’re back, Finn, this is going to be great, just great. All of Cardis is ours to rule once more!’

The warm water feels good on my tired face. It feels almost as though the weariness is being washed away along with all the dirt and grime from the night before. I soak my hair under the faucet and allow the warm water to run over my face.

‘And Spence! Could only imagine what she’d say if she ever saw you again,’ Spitz chuckles. I can hear the teasing tone in her voice.

I jolt at the mention of her name, hitting the back of my head on the faucet. Groaning through my teeth I back away from the sink and use a nearby towel to dry my face and hair liberally. Spitz laughs outright at the ruckus I cause, knowing better than anybody the feelings I had, and still bear for Spencer.

Rolling my eyes, I turn to look at my image in the mirror of the sink. Spitz was not exaggerating when he said I looked like shit. I can see my ribs under my skin, and my entire left side is black and blue with bruises and deep scratches from the rocks I hit last night. There is a large gash on my forehead, from the same ordeal as the bruises. There are dark circles around my bloodshot brown eyes and my cheeks are hollow under the beard that had grown over the past week or so. With my hair as long as it is I look like a homeless old beggar.

I pull on the trousers and pick up the shirt, pausing once more when I catch another glimpse of myself in the mirror.

I have many small tattoos acquired during my days in prison. A ship on my right forearm and a collection of gears and cogs across my shoulder blades and a clock in the center of my back like the one in Cardis Central Station. An entire sleeve of more mechanisms branching from around my back covers my left arm and my hand like a fingerless glove. Confusion sweeps over me though, the more I look at one I do not recall having done on my chest above my heart. Always been a fan of cog tats. Very cool imagery. (just now mentioning it but it's cool through the whole chapter.) Gold star!

I lean closer to the mirror, paling when I see what it is. In bold black letters inked into my skin is the title I had gone by back there in that place. “Test Subject# 106”. My attention is brought to the bruised injection sights all over me, the dilate veins spreading like a root system under my skin turned an unnatural shade of black and near purple. I quickly pull the shirt on and fumble with the buttons.

Bile rises up my throat and into my mouth until I cannot hold it in any longer. I gag and vomit into the sink. Shuddering, I hold onto the cool porcelain but cannot stop myself as my body drops to the floor. I try to catch the curtain but I only bring it down with me, ripping it off the bar in the threshold.

‘Shit! Finn!’ cries Spitz, catching me before I hit the floor, knocking her chair over in the process. I don’t care what anyone has ever said about her small stature, she was stronger than any man her age, even I, ever hoped to be when it was required.

She drags me over to a mattress in the corner and leans me up against the wall. I push my hair out of my face with a trembling hand, fighting another wave of nausea. Thankfully there is nothing in my stomach at all now.

‘Criminy!’ Spitz breathes, examining the wound on my head, ‘What the hell did you do to yourself, Finn?’

‘Just dizzy,’ I grunt, wiping my mouth on the back of my arm, ‘I haven’t eaten since I got here…’

‘Bullshit,’ she snorts with a halfhearted laugh, ‘I mean I know you’re hungry, but there’s more to it than that.’

‘You have any food?’ I ask, following her with my eyes as she makes her way to the icebox on the other side of the room.

She jerks the door open and peers inside through the fog of icy vapor that pours from the box, ‘We don’t have much. Michael doesn’t go to market ‘til the beginning of the week when produce is fresh and you made me spill the whole day’s loot in the ally… I’ve got some fish soup though, what you think of that?’ Like a chowder? Or like, bean soup with fish in it? Chowders good but I don't about a fish soup with a oil base. Meh, i'll google it

I give a nod and pull the blanket over my suddenly cold body. Yuck. This guy's having a REALLY bad day. I’m shaking again. I pray Spitz does not notice.

Spitz pours left over soup into a pot and lights the stovetop. She glances worriedly back at me and turns back to the soup as she speaks, ‘I know it ain’t my place to be sayin’ anything but I really would like to know what exactly you’ve gotten yourself into.’

‘Does it matter?’ I ask, swallowing.

‘Of course it does, you stupid ass,’ she says, wagging her finger at me, ‘How can I help if you don’t tell me what’s the matter with you?’

I lick my lips and turn away from her, ‘I don’t think you’d believe me.’

‘Try me,’ she says, ‘What could be so unbelievable?’

I say nothing as she pours the soup into two bowls and grabs a loaf of sourdoughYum! off of the counter along with spoons. She sits down beside me on the bed and offers me a bowl, and tears the sourdough in half, placing the larger of the two on my knee.

I keep quiet; the only thing on my mind now is the food. I dip the bread into the broth and take mouthfuls too big to swallow, nearly choking a few times. I have never been so extraordinarily starving in all my life.

I know that Spitz Just struck me, Spitz, like the hamburger thingy? The one that sounds DELICIOUS! *goes to check* Oh, spatziers. Similar, not quite. is watching me, the concern in her eyes becoming more and more real with every passing second, but I don’t care.

The soup is too light to fill my stomach completely by the time I polish off the last bit, soaking it into my last piece of bread, but I feel a little better off now that I have at least something in my belly. I set my bowl aside and wipe my mouth on my shirtsleeve.

I know she wants me to tell her what happened. But I do not know if I can. I do not want to tell him or anybody else what happened in that place. Just thinking about it all, I can smell the morphine and the blood, feel the needsNeedles? Also, only 1 might be a typo? Wow. *claps* piercing my skin and that strange serum they injected burning in my veins. I am dead to them now, they care nothing about me anymore. It scares me to think that if they ever find out that I am alive. Would they take me back to that place? Or would they make sure that I was dead for sure?

‘I d-don’t even know what to t-tell you,’ I say to Spitz in a quiet voice, for some reason unable to look her in the eye. I am a little surprised with myself, stuttering, and trembling all over, still. I run my hand over my face and find my eyes are moist. I’m weeping?

I swallow and pull the blanket closer, ‘I don’t even know what happened, myself.’

‘Listen,’ she says, his tone a much more serious, yet gentle one now, ‘Forget it. You don’t have to tell me anything. Let’s see you get some rest first and then we can talk. You look exhausted, anyway.’

She picks up my bowl as she stands and sets it on the table, ‘I’ll be sure to-‘ I am asleep before she finishes her sentence.




Please Keep going on this! It's my first truly Steakpunk novel! (in memory) You got me hooked.

She drags me along behind him her a few more blocks and then stops at a fire escape.

Spitz’ technically, I think it should be Spitz’s, because you can’t leave an apostrophe hanging at the end of a word that doesn’t end in s. place is a rundown old shack of a house close to where I had awoken.

I know she wants me to tell her what happened. But I do not know if I can. I do not want to tell him her or anybody else what happened in that place. Just thinking about it all, I can smell the morphine and the blood, feel the needs piercing my skin and that strange serum they injected burning in my veins.

‘Listen,’ she says, his her tone a much more serious, yet gentle one now, ‘Forget it. You don’t have to tell me anything. Let’s see you get some rest first and then we can talk. You look exhausted, anyway.’

I’m definitely getting a steam punk vibe from this ^_^

I like Spitz, obviously, it’s impossible not to. I have a great picture of her in my head, actually, but I just now realized how odd that was given that you haven’t even described her besides ‘cap, goggles, small stature, boots’. She’s definitely a potty mouth, but I like how she says ‘criminy!’ even better; it’s kind of her thing, it feels like.

So this was another cool chapter, awesome character introduction with Spitz. Maybe that girl has a real name? I can’t imagine someone naming their kid Spitz. But I really love Spitz. I just can’t stop saying it. Spitz.

Honestly, at the underwater scene I was holding my breath… lol. It just got really intense and I realized I was doing it lol. And the big breath when he emerged from the ocean, I did that too x)

I think this world just has a great atmosphere. I even like the small details you put in at Spitz’s house, like the curtain instead of a door, and the sink instead of a shower, that was great.

I was a little thrown off track when Spitz started mentioning all the other people that had missed him while he was gone. From the first chapter I got the impression that he didn’t have any friends really, except for Spencer, but here it really sounds like he was part of a gang. Not like, hardcore, but just a bunch of people that probably mess around and steal apples and stuff. So I was surprised and wondering why he never thought of them before.

I really hope that you can find more people to review this, I think a lot of people would like it, and it is definitely less ‘involving’ than KoN. I mean, it would be easy to jump into something like this, and it’s a lot of fun to read.

Anyways, I really like your new story. A lot. I wasn’t expecting something ‘steampunky’ from you. I’ve never actually read anything remotely ‘steampunky’ in my life x) But this is great.

Well, let me know about questions and stuff If you’ve got any xP