An array of shadowed figures, charging from the deepest darkness, hidden behind a vail of their own creation and screaming battle cries like the calls of sirens utterly unsubtle in their black seduction and unwavering in their intent to kill and maim all those waiting at the edges of the light, armed with swords thin like needles and eyes peering into the souls of their prey with only consumption in mind and sliding down the hillside like poisonous magma and never ceasing in their battle cries for a single breath, their leader a tall and spindly creature and crying the loudest of them all and with a gusto akin to the dying screams of souls long past taken by the night, bearing red eyes and a venomous smile that scorned Its prey with the consuming malignance that set souls into worlds of pain long after the intention vanished into the screaming night of the ever destroying world that held men’s memories and their pasts and even the speculation of their futures, holding a battle axe forged from the scales of a dying dragon from a different realm, long dead and long forgotten by man, but not by these creatures whose leader arrived first at the bottom of the hill, comrades behind him smiling with malevolent glee while the leader swung its axe, decapitating the sorry people scurrying away to safety with hopes that the world might reclaim its ancient role as a confronting mother and not abandon them to the everlasting dark of these bellowing monstrosities.
END
Author’s note:
Wrote this piece while studying Blood Meridian. Specifically, the Comanchee attack that happens around page 50 (UK paperback edition). Never listen to anyone who says writers don’t need to read and should “just focus on writing.” Could you play baseball if you never watched a better player take a swing? It’s more than worth it to put in the time and work to figure out what the greats do well.
The above is a grammatically correct sentence. It’s just very long. And it may be a struggle to comprehend on its own, but if you had adjusted to my style for fifty pages, you would be settled into the flow and ready for one of the most memorable and intense scenes of the novel. (This specific piece is not from my novel. Just an exercise.)
Lenny,
out.
Haven't read Blood Meridian yet, so you had me thrown for a while with that cover image.
The last clause of your sentence went hard. Keep up the grind!
I don’t think it’s hard to comprehend. I think you scarcely notice the lack of breaks from punctuation. Well done. Exercises like this are fun. I think some grammar should be defied or rules bent for the sake of story telling. I think there are upper limits to this, where it can put drag on the prose.