Catastrophe
Joan Rosier-Jones
He could not remember a time when he had not been there, suspended in space. He guessed THEY must have planted him and he knew there had to be a purpose, though he had not yet worked out what it was. In the meantime his mission seemed to be a waiting game. At times he suspected he might be a prisoner. He did not like to think that of them, but every time he tried to change orbit he was forcibly stopped from exploring any further. In spite of that, for the most part it was bliss to be there, weightless and buoyant in deepest space. Some noise penetrated his space carrier, a timeless symphony of muffled booms, squeaks and drones, none of it threatening. Certainly if he was the kind who thought in terms of black and white, heaven and hell, he would say that here he was as close to heaven as could be.
There was not counting of days, so he had no idea when exactly the catastrophe took place. He had just tried to move out of his radius again and met the force that stopped him before. As he moved off, a wave engulfed the space carrier, took the breath from him. What was it? Air? Water? He was obviously being punished for trying to explore the environment. Down he went and his body became wedged tightly in a sucking void. The noises he once found so comforting grew louder and other sounds pierced the silent breaches. The drum-beat boom quickened, chimes echoed around him. And was that a howling?
Now it seemed he was in a tunnel. As he was pummelled through it he opened his eyes and saw a speck of light. The feeling of relief was soon swamped. The light – was it a mouth? – showed that the thing was alive. It must have swallowed him. Then he was in darkness again. He tried to change course. If only he could do an about-turn and go back, but the monster had him in the grip of its murderous throat.
He became aware of an obstacle ahead. He nearly missed the signs because that glimpse of light had disorientated him. He tried to slow the momentum, but one huge thrust made him hit the barrier. His body jarred against the obstacle, and he was pulsated on. Pain and rising noise accentuated his terror. Every nerve in his body vibrated. He was trapped. Totally at the mercy of this monstrous thing. Hopelessness hit him then he gave in to it. So this was the end of his mission.
A final violent thrust. The obstacle gave way and the monster hurled him into an agonising burst of light. He gasped at the ice-cold air. The noise reached an unbearable pitch and he inexplicably found himself joining in, screaming, his lungs filling and collapsing with each wail. And a voice thundered above his cries, “Well done, it’s a boy Mrs. Smith.”
---------------------
Joan Rosier-Jones
He could not remember a time when he had not been there, suspended in space. He guessed THEY must have planted him and he knew there had to be a purpose, though he had not yet worked out what it was. In the meantime his mission seemed to be a waiting game. At times he suspected he might be a prisoner. He did not like to think that of them, but every time he tried to change orbit he was forcibly stopped from exploring any further. In spite of that, for the most part it was bliss to be there, weightless and buoyant in deepest space. Some noise penetrated his space carrier, a timeless symphony of muffled booms, squeaks and drones, none of it threatening. Certainly if he was the kind who thought in terms of black and white, heaven and hell, he would say that here he was as close to heaven as could be.
There was not counting of days, so he had no idea when exactly the catastrophe took place. He had just tried to move out of his radius again and met the force that stopped him before. As he moved off, a wave engulfed the space carrier, took the breath from him. What was it? Air? Water? He was obviously being punished for trying to explore the environment. Down he went and his body became wedged tightly in a sucking void. The noises he once found so comforting grew louder and other sounds pierced the silent breaches. The drum-beat boom quickened, chimes echoed around him. And was that a howling?
Now it seemed he was in a tunnel. As he was pummelled through it he opened his eyes and saw a speck of light. The feeling of relief was soon swamped. The light – was it a mouth? – showed that the thing was alive. It must have swallowed him. Then he was in darkness again. He tried to change course. If only he could do an about-turn and go back, but the monster had him in the grip of its murderous throat.
He became aware of an obstacle ahead. He nearly missed the signs because that glimpse of light had disorientated him. He tried to slow the momentum, but one huge thrust made him hit the barrier. His body jarred against the obstacle, and he was pulsated on. Pain and rising noise accentuated his terror. Every nerve in his body vibrated. He was trapped. Totally at the mercy of this monstrous thing. Hopelessness hit him then he gave in to it. So this was the end of his mission.
A final violent thrust. The obstacle gave way and the monster hurled him into an agonising burst of light. He gasped at the ice-cold air. The noise reached an unbearable pitch and he inexplicably found himself joining in, screaming, his lungs filling and collapsing with each wail. And a voice thundered above his cries, “Well done, it’s a boy Mrs. Smith.”
---------------------
- What is this story about?
- A feature of short stories is a “twist ending”. What is a twist ending? What is the twist ending in this story? Why does this twist ending surprise you?
- On the story, highlight all the words to do with space.
- Space has been used to describe where this person is. Why has the author used space for this purpose? How does this make the story have more meaning for the reader?
- On the story highlight all the onomatopoeia words.
- Why is sound such an important feature of this story? How does the use of sound enhance the story?
posted by Xyphir at 1:27 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home