Included here is my short story. This project required skills in both the fields of linguistic expression and digital craftsmanship. This story underwent various rough drafts, with changes set forth in character type, setting, and climaxes. After our final draft was produced, we were tasked with recording our story, in an audiobook-esque form. Alogside this, we were required to create three pieces of music, one of which was a character theme, one during the climax of the story, and one for the resolution. This was my personal favorite part of this project, as audio production is a personal hobby of mine. After this, we mixed foley sounds with our music and vocal performance of our story, which is now our final project. This entire process took more than 20 hours of work, both at school and extracurricular. Professional tools and software were usedfor this production. Included below is my story, titled "Shriek", the audio recorded version of this is on the "Audio Book" page.
The mornings always start with a sigh.
The crinkle of tired sheets, and the ruffling of hard hands.
The mornings always start with a sigh. Of the mind, the body. Awakening at last.
Tori wakes to the noise of the trees. Every morning the pines would dance and shake, as a cabaret for the newly woken world. Before the sun, before the day felt real, the trees danced for her. Greeting her in an unknown tongue, yet a gentle hello. Often, she would greet them too.
Tori wakes in a small bed in an even smaller room. The walls, once a pink so mellow they seemed to whisper joyful words, are now stained with smoke of salad days and poster art that somehow survived such times. A glass window slouches against the left wall, carefully surveying trees and woodlands below her. The house sits upon a filthy hill in a filthy country, far away from any other filthy creatures, just how she likes it. She always will
The sky is freshly painted, composed of enticing navy and a violet so dark it would often drown you. She liked this time of morning, where the world is still being pieced together, and the air is so cold it seems to caress your hair and kiss your ankles as you stride. The forest was inviting and safe, traced with the deepest colors and dotted with strange noises, ne’er distracting, always perfect.
She steps lightly, first with her toes and then with her heels through the soft grasses and dirt of the forest. This is the daily ritual, to find peace in a peaceless world. She walks slowly, tracing the leaves and skimming the dirt, birds sing as she walks along.
She stands in the open forest, as she has for most of her days. And for a moment, she exists. Not the trees, not the birds, not the unknown world beyond the foliage, in this moment all that exists is Tori. Tori, her long crumpled shirt and the dirt which holds her. She lives in this alternative universe for just a moment, she feels the wind sing it’s song in her ear, and the world fade from her mind. But as she begins to open her eyes, she stares. A newcomer, a creature. Rather ugly, a bit tall and skinny, with legs like branches and a face of stone. And for a moment, she considers welcoming him to the new world she has created, just now. For just then, the creature yells. A shriek so horrible and terrifying, she doubted whether it existed. It seemed to cause the trees to cringe, and the grass to cry. What was this madness? Who dared to let it enter into her perfect world?
This creature reached deep into Tori’s heart, grasping it’s fine veins and stealing away all hope. Even as it bound towards the foliage with its long, thin limbs, the scents and smells of the forest vanished, tracing the steps of the creature, nipping at its trails.
The forest became colder, more strikingly dangerous, less familiar than ever before. As it was to her, when she arrived. Mystery stricken with emphasis of danger, not adventure. It whispered in her ears and struck her cheeks and lips.
She scurries back to her home within the woods, and upon reaching it, locks the door promptly. The sun is setting, the sky is freshly painted, composed of parading oranges and a red so dark it seemed to drown her.
The evenings always end with a sigh.