The setting/genre of this piece is called steampunk. For those who know what steampunk is, feel free to skip down! I, however, will include some photographs and media goodies!
Steampunk is defined as an age where humans pursued the use of steam power. It is normally set in a Victorian era and contains elements of fantasy and futuristic technology. Essentially, you get the rustic beauty of the Victorian era with a metallic and futuristic set technology.
If you aren't interested yet, please look at the following:
Or how about this-
That's right. This genre and style of writing has spread to art forms and music. It is sweeping the creative world. The first photograph shows the length that people can go with this idea. The costuming alone is so detailed and fantastic that it is a complete work of art, as well as the photography that followed.
The last two pictures are thanks to the band Abney Park. They started as a mild gothic band and finally found their style in steampunk music. They've gone so far as to make a full act with their concerts. It is like watching and participating in a show.
Look it up! I love steampunk. You've probably seen many movies using steampunk. "Wild Wild West" with Will Smith, "League of Extraordinary Gentlemen" with Sean Connery, "Van Helsing" with Hugh Jackman, etc.
I am going to post by story now and I hope that you can find it interesting rather than cheesy.
1. In Which the White Rabbit is Late
“White Rabbit, this is Mad Hat. I repeat, White Rabbit, this is Mad Hat- Do you read?”
The connection link was always bad on days like this. It was always splotchy and ill patched when the rains were coming in. Today was especially difficult considering how much air traffic was flowing through. Lyle groped in the darkness for the transmitter, his fingers fumbling over the odds and ends of his make-shift night stand. It had been a long night of flying and all he needed was a few hours of rest.
He sat up on the cot and listened as his back cracked all the way up to his shoulders. He felt stiff and grimy from a day in the air and he still had three days left to go. The pit smelled of stale oil and burnt out coal. The steam from the engines gave everything a muggy feel and a sulfuric taste. He coughed into his hand and then spat directly on the ground. It wasn’t shocking to note his saliva was a rusted brown color.
Lyle reached out and grasped the microphone and flipped the switch on the wall. He held the bud to his lips lazily like a cigarette that had burned far too long. “Mad Hat, this is White Rabbit. What can I do you for?” Lyle flipped the switch on the wall again to allow Mad Hat’s voice to come through and to allow Lyle to yawn fully. He stood up tossed the sharp blanket off his bare legs and stretched his arms over his head.
“We got confirmation today. She’ll set sail today.”
The words fell and echoed in the metal work cabin, and Lyle dropped the mug he was holding and turned sharply to look at the transceiver as if it had burnt him. He scrambled over and flipped the switch, irate that it would be now.
“What?!” He screamed into the microphone and looked around with bulging eyes. He suddenly felt very hot under the collar. If he messed this up, his twenty three years of life would be for nothing. Absolutely nothing. His neck was already beginning to burn.
The voice came in again, a bunch of cackling breaking up over the speakers in the cabin. “Wooey! Don’t you feel stupid? She flies today, you got a few hours before it happens. Red’ll have your head.” The laughing continued until Lyle flipped the switch to speak, if only to silence him for a few minutes.
“When did you know about this?"
The voice over continued to laugh with relentless terror. “That’s the joke! I forgot until today.”
“Thanks,” Lyle spat over the com and ran up the stairs from his bunk and into the cockpit. His eyes snatched at a clock face near him. It was early in the morning, far too early. Two in the morning and he would be the only ship in the sky, at least he hoped.
His eyes scanned the panels before him, checking all the gauges and dials. The fuel system was high, the water pressure was as tense as it could get, and the other vitals were clear and set. Lyle guessed that he might have a few hours until he had to stop for fuel. “That would put me somewhere between,” he turned around to a wall behind him. Nailed in the dense iron and steel was a map, chipped, stained and as up to date as possible. He brushed his finger over the coastal area he was near and stopped directly at where he was at the moment. It was a small port town between Armette and Sarrel. The port had been relatively empty a few hours ago so he had taken rest.
His trained eyes followed down to the nose of his vessel, looking at the iron work as it was patched so crudely together. Lyle had made this ship from scratch. He had spent his entire childhood making something his dad would be proud of. How could he have known that at the age of twelve he would never see his father again? Maybe it was best; the White Rabbit wasn’t the greatest of ships. It was sturdy and it suited the purpose from port to port but it wasn’t a prime airship made for the military.
Lyle stepped to the side and opened the heavy metal door, twisting the crank handle to loosen the locking mechanism. The scream of metal on metal filled the cabin and rang in his ears. The lock clunked open with a hollow sound and he pushed the door open- having to use a bit of force because of the wind. It blustered past him, sending his medium length hair back behind him. He struggled to shift outside and on the railing of the ship. His practiced fingers knew the knots and knew the holes to grab onto and knew where to put his toes and where to slide to.
His body pressed along the ship as he checked for any leaks or damage done to the ship. Nothing had happened in the night, no accidents or raids. The wind rushed him back into the door, encouraging him to take shelter in the safety of his vessel rather than hanging on the edge like a piece of clothing to dry.
It took only ten more minutes and he was back in the air, back and rising above the clouds. For a moment there was nothing but the darkness of the clouds around him, nothing but the dense fog and small gleams of light. The rumble of the engine became background noise and his ears once again grew deaf to the rattling. In seconds he exploded from the layers of clouds to rest precariously above them.
As far as he could see, for leagues and leagues, there was nothing but clouds and
stars. Somewhere on the horizon there was a hint of red from the morning about to dawn. His fingers relaxed on the control lever and he evened out the wings to let
his ship rest like those of old upon the water. He drifted on the clouds, covering leagues in minutes but hardly seeming to move at all. As his eyes took in the red line of tomorrow he grimaced a little bit.
The words of his father’s father drifted into his mind and he was already forming a plan on how to handle what was coming. The rhymes of old were tokens of gold, they were law, and they were meant to be taken seriously. His fingers curled around the steer lever and he leaned back in his chair. “Red sky at morning, flyer take warning.”
It's great, of course. I read it when it was created. :)
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