Unfinished Attempts at Writing a story about five boys:
Attempt 1
“As long as I can see past the grass, there are no dead ends; even if the horizon I reach for has no ground in sight I will trust that over a wall any day.” A bald punk says to his unkempt brown haired friend as he swats the bangs out of his friend’s eyes in order for him to look at the sun breathing its light across the tall half dying grass. “You know dreams that fall off the earth will just drift alone in the vacuum of space.” The brown haired boy says as he swats his friend’s hand away and brushes his bangs into the hair atop his head and meets the gaze of his friend again with his gray eyes shimmering silver against the sun. “Keeping your hair does not hurt your vision, you know? A chrome dome like you can lose that gaze of yours if you stare into the sun too long without the protection of locks like mine.” The brown haired boy says.
"Aw please, you grow that mangy ‘do out is because you are too lazy to cut it down a bit." A tall black haired boy with glasses says sitting on a hill behind the brown haired and bald boys with his hand flattened out as to make it appear as if he was holding the two other boys in it from his own perspective. The black haired boy then bounces up his hand as to make a wall between the bald and brown haired boy from his view and closes his right eye to only see the bald boy. “Sully, how long until we are out of the village?” The black haired boy asks the bald boy. “It is Sullivan to you, you pompous nerd and it depends on if you mean distance or time; and if the former by what means will we continue leaving? Because your sterile ass insisted we could only escape that boring shithole on foot.” Sullivan the bald boy barks back.
The black haired boy stretches his back as he stands up and looks back at Sullivan. “It is not that I could not have thought of another way out, it is just that this is the way that I wanted. I do not want to be tied down to the baggage of some machine and its rules.” says the black haired boy. Sullivan gets angry and throws a small rock toward the black haired boy’s arm. “Yeah, being tied down to speed and a place to sleep in on the go really brings down your freedom” Sullivan spits out. “You just never learned how to fix a vehicle from reading all those science and philosophy books you lord over us Charles.” continued Sullivan. The black haired boy named Charles slides down the hill until he trips into the grass as someone cries: “Ow.” Charles’s head lands between the muddy shoes of a fourth boy.
“Terra! We cannot rest before we are out of the village.” yells Charles. The muddy shoed boy Terra rolled Charles off of himself and then slowly stood up and started speaking: “I am not resting, I am indulging in the presence of nature before I get to the desolate mechanized soullessness of the outskirts. My family has been cultivating grass like this for over ten generations, and having to abandon it because those same damn machines are disposing of our village is leaving me in a bit of longing. I just want to disappear into the ground and grow around the grass like my father before me.” Charles kicks himself up and turns his head back to glare at Terra. “You farmers are the very reason we were subject to encroachment in the first place. If we were able to cultivate food without sitting on our asses in place while the outskirts machines advanced we could have spread out to the other humans before they were encroached and put up a resistance.” Charles snapped out. Terra clenches his muddy hat off the ground and glares back at Charles and begins to speak again. “Without growing around a community we are just like the machines, doing what you suggested would have just been encroaching on our own selves from the inside out! You just want all humans to dissolve into a metropolitan mass of cannon fodder. It was people like you who made these machines in the first place!” Charles catted back pointing his thumb at himself saying: “Well I am the one who suggested we do not take your dad’s car bozo, so if anyone is resisting the machines it is me.” Suddenly the brown haired boy slapped both Terra and Charles in one fell swoop with his eyes closed. “Stop chewing each other out you two” Charles and Terra sneered and looked away from each other. “Brute as ever I see Archard.” Says Charles. “I do not care about you and Terra’s stupid argument. I was just driven to silence the annoying noises.”
Attempt 2
“A world with no horizons!” These are the last words cawed out of the fleshy beak as the geezer’s eyes roll into the back of his skull, as if his shutting eyelids were the halting slam of a door hiding any further words in the room of the next world. An aproned up lady swipes her braided ponytail off her shoulder to keep it dry from the tears raining from her eyes to below her chin. She chokes out to her son sitting in the chair by the window: “Sullivan! I told you if you were not going to be able to handle Grandpa’s death you should have stayed home.” Sullivan turns his head and glares with dry eyes into his mother’s murky pupils. “I can handle it alright.” Sullivan counters, closing his eyes to initiate another declaration. “Those words will ring through me until I see what he saw as well.” Sullivan kicks himself out of the chair standing and walking to hold his grandfather’s corpse in the middle of his gaze. “Death is a world with no horizons.”
Sullivan brushes the hair out of his eyes as he charges for the front door distressing his mother into responding: “Sullivan! Where are you going?” Sullivan turns to his mother pulling his hair forward to block her out of his view as he suddenly cuts all the pulled hair off with a knife from inside his pocket. “To see a world full of horizons.” Sullivans responds slamming the door on his way out as hard as his grandfather’s closing eyes felt against his mother’s soul. What were once vivid syllables and yelps of emotion become a distant murmur disappearing into the rain as he speedwalks to his friend’s house across the cul de sac of this highway made of grass that 8 houses and a store decided to settle part of their town in. Eventually Sullivan reaches his friend’s house and fiercely jabs the door once. The screams of a middle aged man can be heard from the other side of the door as Sullivans quickly bounces a meter away from the door. As clacking footsteps from a staircase brush lightly between the storming rainfall Sullivan taps his foot rapidly in the mud as he darts his head around in all directions.
The door flies open only having the last third of its momentum slowed down by the rainfall as Sullivan’s friends stands to meet him eye to eye with both of the boys having their hands in their pockets. Except… “That mangy hair is blocking your vision, Archard.” Sullivan points out. “It is like that to protect my eyes from the sun.” Archard counters. “What do you want?” Archard asks as he walks into the rain and next to Sullivan. “I want a world full of horizons.” Sullivan says as he swats Archard and points to another house. “Archard shakes his rustling long hair and laugh lightly though his nose replying: one million horizons without an earth to stand on is just being lost in space baldy. Why did you cut your hair by the way?” Sullivans punches Archard in the stomach and replies quickly. “To see better. It is winter anyway. What is your mangy ‘do going to protect you from this time of year?” Archard twists around and kicks Sullivan into the mud. Sullivan quickly gets up and wipes some of the mud off of his knees, turning his back to Archard to walk in the direction of the house he was pointing to earlier. “I guess I will leave you out of this then” Sullivan whistles as he waves away at Archard.