Dancing with Decay: A World-builder's Waltz
Summer Camp Anticipation, Week 4: Decay
Before I begin, let me remind you of this quick foundation:
plot + world-building = story
story + craft (editing/revisions) = polished art
World-building is what makes your version of one of the seven basic plots different from my version of one of the seven basic plots.
Earlier today, I posted these1 three2 notes3 in which I promised to go further into the idea of belief in world-building. I really appreciate you sticking around for my nattering on about a subject I love. This is the fourth and final part of my Summer Camp anticipation series; read them all here: Change | Refuge | Belief | Decay
I grew up as a goth/punk kid in the 80’s and learned early on that “if you’re listening to this whisper, you’re dying.”4 I would dance in the dark, spinning in circles to Joy Division, New Order, The Smiths, Iggy Pop, David Bowie, and yes, even Television. (Again, the band, not the magic box.)
A fascination with mushrooms and the little bundles left in the middle of spiders’ webs all led me to this moment in time…. Writing about decay in world-building!
In the grand ballroom of world-building, decay twirls in with a gothic grace, inviting storytellers to a dance of destruction and rebirth. It’s not just the rust on the gates or the crumble of ancient ruins; it’s the slow dance of societal collapse, the waltz of withering ideologies, and the tango of tarnished heroes.
Take Gotham City, the brooding backdrop of the Batman universe. Its towering spires and shadowy alleys are a playground for decay, both in brick and in spirit. The city’s descent mirrors the moral ambiguity of its inhabitants, from the caped crusader to the clown prince of crime.
In the realm of video games, “The Last of Us” presents a post-apocalyptic journey through a world reclaimed by nature. Buildings are suffocated by greenery, and humanity’s remnants are as fragmented as the shattered windows of their abandoned homes.
Board games like “Pandemic” have players race against time to prevent global decay brought on by rampant diseases. It’s a cooperative clash against the inevitable, where every move counts in the fight to stave off decline.
And who could forget the literary decay showcased in “The Picture of Dorian Gray?” Oscar Wilde paints a portrait of a man whose soul decays as his visage remains untouched, a stark contrast to the physical decay around him.
Alright, let’s conclude our bus story.5 Again, decay can be subtle and slow, or blatantly in the audience’s face, depending on the reaction that we want them to have. Yes, it’s always-always-always about crafting a reaction from the audience, about giving them an emotional experience, an anchor to the imaginary world we’ve crafted.
You and the stranger exit the bus at your usual stop. Applestone Cemetery, is only a block further along the road than your used to. You walk with the stranger beside you.
Your steps are muted on the wet concrete. The rain has stopped, and you notice the smell of autumn in the damp air. It has the sweet-sooty smell of rotting leaves and wood smoke. Breaking clouds reveal patches of sky the same shade of blue as the stranger’s eyes. Birdsong dances through the rustling trees.
The caretaker is just opening the cemetery gates when you arrive. He greets you good morning. “Good morning,” you return. Your voice matches the warm, small smile on your tired face.
You and the stranger make your way along the gravel lanes between ancient markers. They were cracked, crooked, disfigured with lichen, and defaced by time; the forgotten memorials of forgotten souls, decaying and disarranged.
In a far corner, overgrown with weeds and the skeletal stems of the spring’s wildflower blooms, you find an ancient tomb. It is carved of somber gray granite, and the door is hanging askew from age and ill repair.
With the bone-deep weariness manifested through ages of endless wandering, you and your restless spirit crawl through the angled opening at the bottom of the doorway and return to the blissful peace of eternal slumber.
Together.
Be honest, did you guess where this was going? It ended up being my own take on one of my favorite classic ghost stories, usually called “The Phantom Hitchhiker.”6
As creators, we must embrace decay, for it is the contrast to creation. It’s the shadow to our light, the silence to our symphony. It’s the necessary end that makes beginnings so sweet.
So, my fellow architects of imagination, let us not shy away from the beautiful blight that is decay. Let it seep into our stories, erode our worlds, and in doing so, reveal the unyielding strength of the human spirit.
The Great Gig in the Sky, Pink Floyd, Dark Side of the Moon, 1973 (Spotify link is actually for the - Live version from Pulse, 1995 instead of the original from DSotM; IMO one of the most amazing live performances of all time. You’re still looking for 3:33, tho.)
I have to admit that when I sat down to write these little illustrative tidbits, I didn’t intend them to become a full-fledged short story. And yet, here we are!
A motorist — usually a young man — picks up a hitchhiker on the side of the road in a rainstorm. She is wet and wearing a sweater or jacket. She gives him an address, he drives her there, and she gets out, leaving her sweater/jacket behind. The next morning, he returns only to find that either it’s her parents’ house and they say she died decades ago, or else it’s a cemetery that he couldn’t see because of the storm and dark.
There's something about overcoming a decaying world that will always be interesting to me, love those types of stories. Great piece.