#unresolved wwi trauma in *my* 1930s au? it's more likely than you think

[gaslightwestern]

Writing Pride Tag: Blackwater

📝 Post a snippet you are extra proud of having written.

Beneath him the pavement was bleeding black, turning into a faded cobblestone. Ears ringing, Arthur gripped onto a streetlight to stay upright. People kept streaming by but their clothes were all wrong. Longer hemlines from yesteryear rippled; khaki cotton in place of suits. Expressions grew exaggerated as time stretched thick and slow like pulled taffy. Lips spoke without sound as the ringing swelled into the rumbling of a rolling barrage. The waterfront was gone, replaced by little houses and shops with gaping holes from artillery shells. Heart pounding furiously, Arthur could feel the throbbing in his roots of his teeth as they clenched down around a single name. “John.” He needed to find John. That wouldn’t happen down here. Not with the crowds and chaos and memories blending with the here and now. He needed to get up high. Narrow and taller than the rest, the ferry terminal became a lighthouse drawing Arthur through the man-made fog. Smoke clung to the air the way his sweat-soaked shirt did his back. Through the haze, concrete and steel shot out of the ground like jagged teeth, swallowing the war-town village whole. Arthur couldn’t tell whether he was running through the past or present but he kept going.

This is from Chapter 31. Finding something from the more recent Chapter 32 without spoiling everything proved impossible!

Thanks to @winterandwords for the tag! Tagging you back along with @orphanheirs, @pipdepop, @karkkidoeswriting, and @writingamongther0ses. No pressure, as always. <3

[gaslightwestern]

Last Line Tag: Blackwater

Tagged by @snikt-snack, @ardawyn, and @galthynus. Thank you! Tagging @eluari, @cirianne, @roselinproductions, and @samwrittenbysam. Feel free to ignore. :)

Only when his lungs began protesting did he lift his head. Bullets flying above. Mud to suffocate in. The world on fire. Arthur gasped for air but he couldn’t breathe. The vibrant evening sky had dulled into a heavy gray and land pockmarked by shells now stretched out before him. The creek was gone. Arthur blinked and blinked but flashes of olive and khaki still streamed by; uniformed men bound for the enemy line.