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They are harder to get into, but sometimes they're nice just the way they roll of the toungue with the measure and beat and such. That's how I try to work them, and I find a certain amount of repetition is beneficial in these cases.

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Thanks guys... I agree it's a cliche, but her brothers are bringing her down, so they ARE her foes I guess...:D

I would like to rhyme, but everytime I try it sounds a bit childish to me...if I manage to do a decent rhyme I'll post, I promise...

Please keep the thread alive! ;)

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International signs of distress

Messages in smoke

Bright colors


Deaf and dumb rescue teams

Can't hear my cries

Won't see my signs

I'm in despair


I'll have to push my luck and reach

Tapping fingers to the beat

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Hmmm... this was a good piece; not as good as some of your other stuff but not bad at all. Think the 2nd stanza could do without the last line, but the last stanza totally reminded me of stairway to heaven. I was seriously singing this bit in particular:


And it's whispered that soon, if we all call the tune

Then the piper will lead us to reason

And a new day will dawn for those who stand long

And the forest will echo with laughter


when reading that last stanza. I may exaggerate slightly, but the comparison is still valid.

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Could it be that the more I write the worst I get? lol

Thanks for the comments though...:happy:

Have a great weekend!

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First Chapter of a story Im writing for a Creative Writing course.:) Im going to change the tittle soon probably-but one of the requirements was to have a tittle so I just stuck it on there.



Title: Ruled by Secrecy

Disclaimer: Written by me, please do not steal. First sentence by F. Scott Fitzgerald.

Author's Notes: A young man is on his way hom to Newport, Rhode Island for his mothers funeral. On his way there he meets a friendly member of the Mafia who will change his life forever.





In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I’ve been turning over in my mind ever since. He was always giving me advice, but for some reason this one bit of information attached itself to my memory and held on for dear life.

That day had not been a good one. The rain poured down drearily to the pavement, splashing up my pant legs as I rushed down the side walk. I had seen the rain coming but was sure I would get back to my office before it started. I’d been terribly mistaken. Almost immediately after I stepped out of my car, the rain dropped down from the sky with a cruel force that left me in a momentary state of shock.

Before the rain, my day had been passing by in a lazy blur. I had just received word that my mother passed away over night. The only reason I’d gone into the office was to collect a few things for my journey back home to Newport. The drive would be long, tedious, and lonely. I had no girlfriend or wife to take with me, and no sibling who had strayed from the decadence of our Newport connections. I simply grabbed a cell phone, some CDs, and a book. Not that I thought I had time to read, it was just that I brought this particular book every where I went. It was like my safety blanket. So much of my life had been based on this one book that I read when I was 16. I couldn’t bear to part with it.

I had finally made it through the rain back to my car. I struggled with the keys as hard pellets of water beat down roughly on my neck. Once the door was open I set a towel over the gray cloth seats and sat down.

At last, I was on the road.

In the car was where I first realized why I was going to Newport in the first place. My mother had died. The idea hit me square in the face, letting the back and forth motions of the windshield wipers mesmerize me for a split second. My father would be alone now, my older brother Richard too caught up in his riches to care, and my younger sister Bridget buried deep in her modeling career in New York. I wished that I could stay with him, but my place in Washington D.C. was more important to me than anything. I couldn’t give up politics now.

I had only made it as far as New Jersey when my car started to act up. I could hear the sputtering of the exhaust easily from my position in the driver’s seat. Of all places to have car troubles, it had to be northern New Jersey. I pulled over at the next rest stop, which was conveniently close, and stepped out on the damp asphalt. I took the soggy towel from my seat in the car and set it on the ground to lie down on while I checked the car. The pebbles that clung to the road poked into my back uncomfortably, but I soon became numb, lost in the task of inspecting the hole in my tail pipe.

“Hey! You need help buddy?” a prickly voice grunted from above me. I looked up through the undercarriage of the car to see a chubby Italian looking man peering down at me. “No thanks,” I replied almost too hastily, “I’m all set.” Trying to prove my words, I crawled out from underneath the car and brushed my hands off gingerly on my trousers.

“Are you sure?” he persisted. I noticed an expensive looking Cuban cigar dangling from his sausage fingers, and a large gold ring clinging to his pinky. Definitely Mafioso. The man wore a gray tailored suit with the high starched collar; his black Italian leather shoes shimmered from under his stout form. Greasy black hair was slicked neatly back to cover the small bald patch at the top of his round head.

“No, really I’m good. Thanks for offering through.” I turned on my heel, picked up the dirty towel from the ground, and made my way to the front of the car. Before I could even open the door his words halted me.

“Hey you seem like a really nice kid, respectful, I like that. Why don’t you come with me, I got something for ya.” One would think he was asking me to come along, but he was damn near demanding it, and I’d seen enough movies to know not to disobey these guys. I’d also seen enough movies to know that following him could be potentially risky.

“Look, I’d really love to, but my mother just passed away and I’m trying to get to Rhode Island…”

“I’m terribly, terribly sorry.” His chubby hands clamped onto my shoulder. “Bless your poor mother. I’ll be outta your way. Just one more thing, what’s your name kid?” he looked at me expectantly as I struggled with whether or not I should give him my real name. I figured that he would find out anyway if I lied to him, and the consequences would be much worse.

“Sebastian Thorne.” He chuckled at my name as most people did. “Nice to meet you Thorne, I’m Al Fiorello. I hope to see you again some time…” he shook my hand roughly and I could feel the wad of coarse paper stuffed between our palms.

I watched him walk away casually, his large body moving slowly toward the black tinted windows of the car in the distance. I looked at my hand and found a wad of 100 dollar bills staring up at me. My first instinct was to run up and give it back to him, but I thought better of it and got back in the car.

The sky was dark as I passed through New York State. It was almost eleven thirty and I was close to passing out. I watched every exit sign that went by, hoping for a Holiday Inn, but finally gave up and headed toward the Rocky Brook Motel. ‘That sounds promising…’ I rolled my eyes and thought to myself.

I laughed as I pulled into the unpaved car park. The main building was lit with a Vacancy sign, showing off the bright red paint and white trim. I grimaced as the dingy succession of doors passed my line of sight; there was no way I could drive through the night. I would have to stay here.

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Just a little snippet:


I was anxious. I was shy. I was introverted, but most of all I was terrified. I had been so dependant on the relationship that I thought the end of it would ruin me. Of course, it wasn’t really the end of a relationship; just a separation that I knew in time would grow and eventually implode. My reluctance to get close to other people held me back in so many ways and now I had to give in or spend the rest of my life hiding behind a broken frame.

I have known her since fourth grade. Until then I was friends with pretty much everyone, but then again in a small school it’s hard not to be. She was so outgoing and willing to say what she thought, no matter what it was. She is still the extrovert I had met, but now even more so. I had clung to her, having left my last best friend behind when I moved, I was pent up with guilt and felt the need once more to have a single “best friend”. After much conflict with her former best friend, we were inseparable. I practically lived at her house and her at mine, much to the approval of our mothers who had known each other in high school.

My attachment to her had lead to my detachment to the outside world. My shy nature had been magnified hugely and my unwillingness to talk to other people had escalated to the point of silence. I didn’t have any urge to make friends, or keep old friendships strong. This would eventually lead to my potential friendless existence.

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One more-


the only poem Im really proud of..




Too good to care

make your plans and keep them

Destroy the thought of freedom

A push, a shove, ignored

Let the flame of fear ignite.


Watch it explode

begin to implode

the whole of itself exhumed

Feel it erode

A soul on its own

In a plan of destruction sold.


Scratch out the truth

rewrite the words

continue to spread

a sense of fear

A fear that controls

the minds of the naive.


Scramble our thoughts

youre too blind to see

the devestation and shame

you have put on our lives.

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Disclaimer: Written by me, characters owned by me, please do not steal


That should be self-evident... and you can't own characters, slavory is bad! ;)

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That should be self-evident... and you can't own characters, slavory is bad! ;)

Bah I know. I dunno what compelled me to write that.:LOL:


there, deleted

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The insignificance of who I am weighs down on me - I feel like all the atoms and subunits that make up everything are bumping and burning and smacking into me - a calculating tension that confines me. Cold, lurid air stifles any capacity for pure, rational thought. How do I mean anything? There was a 19 year old girl similar to me 500 years ago, and there will be one 500 years in the future.

The intangibility of what life means makes me go mad - it's like trying to catch pig who is covered in slippery, slimy oil; you touch the pig, just briefly, only for her to slip away before you can grasp that you almost caught her.



I wrote a short story about a murder last year. It's fairly decent. It's ten pages long. If anyone has any interest at all in reading it, I'll post it.


I've got two sort-of plot lines going right now. But I have no idea where they're ending up.

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Heyyyy there. I quite like that short Kaprosnium. And please, do you have a name so I won't constantly mangle your user name? Twould be nice if you could post up your ten pager short; I'd be interested in reading it.


And vesper... haven't I seen those before?;)


Edit: I've just been too busy lately to write anything of my own... and what I have been writing is mainly going towards my book. I'll see if I can pull a short outta my ass soon enough.

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And vesper... haven't I seen those before?;)


Edit: I've just been too busy lately to write anything of my own... and what I have been writing is mainly going towards my book. I'll see if I can pull a short outta my ass soon enough.



:LOL: Why yes, yes you have!


:ninja:Alice in disguse.

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Heyyyy there. I quite like that short Kaprosnium. And please, do you have a name so I won't constantly mangle your user name? Twould be nice if you could post up your ten pager short; I'd be interested in reading it.


And vesper... haven't I seen those before?;)


Edit: I've just been too busy lately to write anything of my own... and what I have been writing is mainly going towards my book. I'll see if I can pull a short outta my ass soon enough.


My name's Erin.


Disclaimer: everything is mine.


Pardon the Interruption

He was leaning against the window, his shoulder blades jutting into the cold, hard glass. He brought his hands to his face and sighed. Did he really want to do this? He peered through his fingers, his roaming eyes hesitantly stopping on the telephone.

“I’ll do it,” he told himself with force, starting towards the phone. He picked it up, but quickly set it back down, taking a deep breath to calm his nerves. His shaking hands reached for the phone again, this time bringing it to his ear, while his right hand started to dial. Just as he heard it ring on the other end, he heard a knock at the door.

He set down the phone, and slowly walked to the door. He didn’t know whether he was relieved or frustrated at the interruption. To his surprise, as he opened the door, he saw his longtime friend, soaking wet.

“Julia, what happened?” He stepped aside to let her in.

“Rain,” she simply said. “Rain happened.”

“Why didn’t you get a taxi?” he asked, leading her to the couch.

“Oh,” she sighed. “I didn’t feel like it.” She started to sit down, but quickly stood back up. “Were you in the middle of a conversation?” she said, noticing that the phone was off the hook.

He was taken aback. “Oh. That. No, I wasn’t.” He quickly hung up the phone and nervously busied himself with straightening the magazines on the coffee table. “Would you like something to drink?”

“Water, please. I’m so thirsty!” she said, taking off her coat and throwing it on the couch before sitting down.

As he walked into the kitchen, he grabbed a glass and turned on the faucet. Julia came in a few minutes later and leaned against the doorframe, watching him intently stare at the wall as her glass of water overflowed.

“Daniel, are you okay?” she asked, hoping to wake him from his reverie.

“What?” Daniel snapped his head around. “I’m fine.” He hastily turned off the faucet, wiped the glass off, and handed it to Julia.

She studied his thin, handsome face for a moment. He looked worn and anxious. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m just tired.” He leaned against the counter. “Are you sure you are okay? You’re the one who walked ten blocks in the rain,” he said, smirking.

She laughed, “I don’t know what it was, why I walked that much in the rain.” She took a large drink of water. “Rain has always made me feel…” she stopped, searching for the right word, “clean.”

“Do you want to go out for dinner? Have you eaten?” he asked, ignoring her comment, not exactly knowing how to reply.

“No, but I’m not hungry.” She set down the now empty glass with a thud that reverberated throughout the room. “I was only stopping by to see how you were.”

He didn’t want to go through this again. “Julia, I’m fine, for the last time.”

She moved closer to him, peering at his eyes, trying to catch his lie. “You know I don’t believe that. You’ve been acting odd for about a month now. Why won’t you tell me what’s wrong?” she pleaded.

“There’s nothing to tell you because there’s nothing wrong.” He turned away from her and roughly pulled open the refrigerator, showing his anger. He slammed it shut.

“See what I mean!” she said indignantly.

“Listen,” he started, turning towards her, his gray eyes piercing hers, “you can just leave if you’re going to bother me with pointless questions!”

“What?” she asked, dumbfounded. “Why are you so upset?”

He saw the confusion on her face, and he knew he was wrong to get so angry, but he felt it was too late to apologize. “Just leave. I have things to do,” he said, suddenly deadpanned. He lowered his head, staring at his fingers. He didn’t see the hurt on her face or the livid look she gave him as she stormed out of the room. But he heard her mutter under her breath, saying something about how much he’d changed.


......that's up through page three


edit: I don't know why the style is messed up. It looked fine when I copied and pasted it, but now it's screwy.

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Hey, it's a killer start in all honesty erin. Now scenario's like this can run the gamut from him liking her, to him worried for his life, to him turning insane, so it's pretty wide open from here. I really liked the dialogue here... seemed very real to me. And now for my own piece. Originally this was going to be the opening chapter for another plot line I had but I'm onto something else now. If you'll forgive the macabre theme and tone, it ain't half bad.


Power and Innocence


“I am the puppet master. I am the wielder of fates. I am the man responsible for all that was, and for all that will ever be.”


The stark, barren cell’s sole detainee let out a miniscule whimper at the words.


“Or in your case: judge, jury, executioner. I am your angel of pain, your demon of euphoria, your sage of delusion.”


Already trembling, the still young man further retreated into a fetal position far into the cell’s corner. It might as well have been a life vest for an already drowned man for all the good it did.


“Some men might argue these to be contradictory aims; I disagree. Man throughout his glorious and bloody history has provided examples enough, perhaps none more so than in recent times. The holy men who preach violence and chaos over love and tolerance; the consumption of everything and anything until now, we are left with nothing; the figureheads who become vassals to the highest bidder. Truly, man’s contradictions are it’s defining traits.”


“Not that you care of course.”


The wielder of fates was quite right. The terrified lad appeared to pay no attention. Shocked and bewildered at his sudden arrest and internment, he was still trying to cope with what happened scant hours ago; now was more or less an abstraction.


“Well, since you can’t pay your leaders even the slightest in respect, perhaps some ought be instilled into you.”


“Shocked into you.” And the self-proclaimed puppet master smiled. A handsome smile to be sure, but a cold smile as well. The sort of smile a toying cat would afford a trapped mouse as one last sight. The sort of smile whose perfection hides a thousand tragedies, sins, and sufferings just beneath the surface.


And so, with the same charming, devilish smile, he reached for his tools. Normally one man would operate the battery, and another the shocks, but the self-proclaimed angel of pain preferred this sort of work alone. And he did prefer it.


“So, my criminal against the people, might you pay me a little more respect.”


A rhetorical statement, if there ever was one, but to the nameless, terrified prisoner, it was just background noise. Too much had happened in too short a time so that too many neurons were firing: he was paying too little attention to the present. Not for long though.


Of course the man had tools of some sort in his hands, but the crumpled, defeated man in the corner of the cell still couldn’t cope. Couldn’t cope with the fact that less than twenty-four hours ago he had been with his girlfriend, couldn’t cope that less than twelve hours ago was eating a meal with friends and supporters, and couldn’t cope that one way or another he was about to die. Who he was every breath prior to now would cease to exist. If he, his body, walked out, his soul wouldn’t.


He would become no one. Starting now.


The man holding the shocks approached. Slowly, carefully, cruelly. The first question: Why are the two of us here?


“I don’t know.” Wrong. Shock. Scream. Again, why are the two of us here?


“I don’t know.” Wrong. Shock. Scream. Next question: who are you?


“I am –.” Wrong. Shock. Scream. Who you are prisoner, not who you were. Again.


“I am no one.” Good. Better. Where you from?


“I’m from –.” Wrong. Shock. Scream. Do you know where you are now?


“No!” he barely managed to pant, “I don’t.”


Good. You see, I could merely kill you. And admittedly, it really is something on my to do list sooner or later. As tempting as it is, you can do so much more for me in other ways. But first things first: an explanation.


And once again, he smiled. The same smile as before. The same cruel, hypnotizing smile the self-proclaimed sage of delusion shot his reflection every morning. The same smile that could at once transfix and intimidate any group of people.


“Once upon a time in Athens, there was true democracy: one man, one vote; logical men, logical decisions. Until the Spartans overran them. Once upon a time in America there was a more practical democracy: one man, almost one vote; fair weather officials, fair weather decisions. Until they lost themselves to greed and ambition. Here, now we have the quote unquote peoples democracy: bought men, bought votes; corrupt leaders, corrupt decisions. And now, I will save my country from itself, all thanks to you. And yet, you may wonder why, if I apparently owe you so much, why am I standing here with electric prods, and you down there sobbing?”


It was true. The stench of slightly charred flesh lazily percolated around the room, all originating from the sobbing, nameless man. First he couldn’t cope with his memories; now he couldn’t cope with his pain.


“Quite simple, really. You were nothing. Would have grown to be nothing more than another man raping the land with his kin and companions for little more than self-indulgence and avarice. But, now, look at what you have become: everything.”


The nameless man halted sobbing momentarily. Everything?


“But now, unfortunately, I must break you down to nothing again, so that, in the future, you may again be everything. A different sort of course, but the fact of the matter is you became too much of everything this time around. Hence, my complete desire for you dead life in my bloody hands. But I’ll have my fun.”


“What are you?”


“Everything,” said the nameless man in a meager voice just above a whisper.


Wrong! Shock. Scream.


“I repeat,” a yell this time, “what the hell are you?”


“EVERYTHING!” Humph, I admire your bravery, but... Wrong! Shock. Scream.

“No, you aren’t everything anymore!” Shock. Scream. “So what are you?”


“NOTHING!” Right! Shock. Scream.


“What will you be?”


“EVERYTHING!” Brilliant! Shock. Scream.


“Wait,” howled the prisoner, “Why? Why become everything?” He braced for another shock, but instead heard the prods placed on their tray, gloves being stripped off of hands, and foot steps coming closer to his corner. The self-proclaimed demon of pleasure smiled his terrible smile; his wonderful, terrible smile. And the cruel man patted the nameless prisoner gingerly on the scalp and he said:


“So that we will never die.”




Like I said, pardon the violence if you will, but I dun have nothing else cept my book to post, and that's quite a few pages.

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I liked it, but how is the prisoner going to become everything? I understand that he is nothing, but going to be everything?


Here's the rest of mine.


He knew it was safe to go into the living room when he heard the door slam. “Why did I get so worked up? She was only being a good friend,” he thought, rather annoyed with himself. “Because there is something wrong, and you have no intention of telling anyone,” the voice in his head answered.

He slowly blew out his breath, trying to calm down his rapidly beating heart. He gently sat down on the couch and stared at the phone. “Just do it, you coward,” he told himself for the millionth time.

He stood up and walked over to the phone, picked it up, and dialed.

“Hello,” he heard a cool voice say, “This is Mrs. Meade’s office.”

“Hi, could I speak to Mrs. Meade, please?” He prayed that she wasn’t in.

“She’s sick today, so she’s not here,” the secretary said..

“Okay, thank you.” He let out a deep sigh as he hung up the phone. He grabbed his coat, checking the pockets to see if everything he needed was there. Hoping not to meet anyone on the way out, he left his penthouse, and inconspicuously got on the elevator.

He became a bit overconfident when he left the building completely unnoticed. “This might be easier than I thought,” he said, smiling to himself. He didn’t worry about being noticed on the street, either. Millions of people walked these streets, and if he was completely honest with himself, he knew no one would glance twice at him.

He put his hands in his pockets, checking to make sure nothing had fallen out.

“Everything will be fine,” he told himself, looking straight ahead. “Don’t be so anxious!”

“Don’t be so anxious?” the voice in his head scoffed. “I’d think most people would be before doing something like this.”

Frustrated with himself, he thought about just going home. He could sit on the couch and stare at the phone some more. He laughed at that thought; he had stared at the phone for too long.

Yet he still paused for a moment, completely indecisive. He turned around, facing home. “No. Do this. You’ve already come this far.”

He turned back around and continued walking. He passed an outside market selling flowers, the fresh smell overpowering his senses. He thought he might as well buy a bouquet; they might be useful. He handed the vender fifteen dollars and headed off.

Before he knew it, he was inside the building, his legs already climbing the steps. He was just rounding a corner when he banged into, of all people, Julia. Suddenly, he was on the ground, with Julia underneath him.

“Oh,” he said, grimacing, “Sorry about that.” He quickly stood up and offered a hand to pull her up.

“What do you have in your pocket? It jammed me in the ribs!” she winced, gently rubbing her side.

“Oh, sorry, I just went to the supply store to buy a hammer,” he lied. “I’ve got some pictures I want to hang up.”

“You’re decorating?” she asked, already doubtful of his motives. “Since when have you been interested in decorating? You always get someone else to do it.”

“I figured I’ve learned enough to do it myself now, after watching the decorators. They make it look so easy, you know,” he said smoothly, thinking he had her fooled. She studied him a moment, trying to read his vague expression, then continued with her accusations, “What are you doing here, anyway?”

“My, are we suspicious today?” he asked, a contemptuous smile growing on his face. Julia cringed, seeing his face contort into something she had grown accustomed to in the last month.

“I’m not doing anything that concerns you, so you’ve no need to worry,” he said, starting to walk away from her, signaling that the conversation was over. Julia knew that was what he wanted, and she decided she wasn’t going to allow him to have that pleasure.

She grabbed his arm and spun him around. “Tell me what is going on,” she commanded.

Daniel started to laugh, first silently, then wildly. “You think you can actually tell me what to do?” he asked, still laughing. “Julia, you have a lot to learn.”

He knew she was going to slap him, and as she whipped her hand towards his face, he grabbed her wrist before she could make contact. She cried out and tried to pull her wrist out of his grip, but his hold was too strong.

“Daniel, let go!”

“Not until you listen to me,” he growled, bringing his face dangerously close to hers, “you need to stay away from me. I don’t ever want to see you again.” He let go of her wrist and immediately left her. He grabbed the bouquet of flowers from the ground, and headed toward Mrs. Meade’s door.

He rang the doorbell and was about to ring again when she finally answered, “Oh, hi Daniel, what do you need?” she asked, wiping her nose with a tissue.

He brought the flowers out from behind his back. “I was just stopping by to give you these. I knew you weren’t feeling well.”

“Oh, Daniel, thank you!” she said, taking the flowers. “Come on in.”

“Okay, but I can only stay for a minute.”

Mrs. Meade led him into the living room, and then excused herself to make some tea.

“This is the perfect chance,” he thought. “Do it now.” He pulled the gun from his coat pocket, wiped it off with his handkerchief, and tiptoed to the kitchen. He watched her put the kettle on the stove as he hid himself behind a wall.

He felt like a herd of elephants was stampeding throughout his body; he was sure Mrs. Meade could feel his rapidly thumping heart. He was so nervous that he about dropped the gun. His hands were sweaty and clammy, and he felt like the room was closing in on him.

“Just get it over with!”

He saw Mrs. Meade pour the tea into two cups. He came around from the wall, and pointed his gun directly at her.

“I hope you like green tea, Daniel!” she said enthusiastically, not noticing him in the room.

“I do,” he casually said. She jerked her head up and screamed, seeing the gun in his hand. She started shaking uncontrollably. Daniel felt like he was watching everything in slow motion: her blonde curls bobbed up and down, up and down, and her body shook so slowly, like a gentle earthquake.

“What are you doing, Daniel? What do you want?” she pleaded, mascara running down her face from the tears that leaked from her eyes.

“Does it really matter?”

The shot echoed throughout the room, making Daniel become even more aware of his crime. He checked to make sure her heart had stopped beating and tensely walked back to the sitting room to get his coat.

He had barely finished putting on his coat when he heard someone say his name. He apprehensively turned around. He saw Julia, tears streaming down her face, pointing a gun at him.

“What you have done is incredibly wrong,” she said, “and now you must pay.”

Before he knew what was happening, he heard the familiar sound of a bullet piercing a body. He fell to the floor, stunned.

“Everyone gets what they deserve,” he heard Julia spat as she walked out of the room.

An immense amount of guilt and resentment filled him as he lay there on the cold, hard floor. He knew he was dying; he could feel his heart beating slower each second.

“What have I done?” he inaudibly cried.

As everything went black, it started to rain.

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Whoa. Very interesting there erin. A small, small world indeed. I liked how he had to duel with his inner demons and all, but it could have used some motivation. Not necessarily for the guy, but it could have been a bit clearer of the relationship between julia and mrs. meade. I think they're mother and daughter, being in the same apartment building, or at least non-office building, but it's never really made clear. Nor where julia got the gun from, but just from a short story perspective it's quite good.

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Whoa. Very interesting there erin. A small, small world indeed. I liked how he had to duel with his inner demons and all, but it could have used some motivation. Not necessarily for the guy, but it could have been a bit clearer of the relationship between julia and mrs. meade. I think they're mother and daughter, being in the same apartment building, or at least non-office building, but it's never really made clear. Nor where julia got the gun from, but just from a short story perspective it's quite good.



Thanks. :)


In my head, Julia and Mrs. Meade had no connection, save through Daniel....that's a good question...I don't really know why she killed Daniel, except for "people get what they deserve," which if this is true, something bad will happen to Julia, and something bad will happen to the person/thing that happenes to her, etc. etc.

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Ok, so here's a part of the book I'm writing. Part of a chapter, blatantly, and I'm curious to see how other people like it. That and I'm in a rut and hopefully some constructive criticism will push me out.



“Interestingly enough,” Richard began, “before anything else the pawn and gun shops were hit up first. Grocery stores would take around a week to empty, malls another week to get trashed, and hell, the libraries haven’t had so much a ransacking as a cherry picking, but anything involving bullets and guns was hit up real clean like that very first night. Typical man, I tell you, typical.” He swilled the warm, stale beer in his can beer before continuing on. “Though everyone did in fact do a damn fine job. As a general rule of thumb, everyone started out at the general sports warehouses and shotguns, the brave ones moving onto the gun stores, then on and on till even the local militias were in a state of chaos, and let me tell you, that was hairy.”


I don’t like Richard. In my humble opinion; he is one of those perpetual college sorts never mature enough to set out on his own even though he’s still a freshmen. Was a freshman. Whatever. I don’t like him, but he is Relena’s friend – was, dammit, whatever – and did save our lives this afternoon.


I’m impatient though. Pissed off really that I have to listen to this puissant brag about his exploits while my daughter is still out there. Somewhere.


But he did save my life. And Relena’s.


“See the Militia were just as much in the dark as we were that first night. Some actually showed up, hell knows why, maybe as a putsch or a counter putsch? Whatever. Anyway, there weren’t any officers there at least, thank god, but things still got mighty interesting. Most everyone from the mindless hordes went up from the main entrance, which is where all the returned amateur soldiers were waiting. Idiots.” He snorted in derision just to let it sink just how dumb the now dead hordes were. Are.


I should mention that although Relena had sauntered off with some of the girls into another room, I was here with Richard and about eleven other guys; boys really, but they’re too arrogant to realize it. Hurry up now Richard time is a wasting.


“Me and my guys came from one of the unlit corners and over the barbed wire, just bout opposite from the floodlit main gate. Idiots were running them from portable generators: great for visibility but absolutely terrible for maintaining a low profile.” And a laugh, just like the low vicious rumble of electrical generators, shuddered around the circle. “Could hear those monsters from blocks around.”


At this a scrawny teen of I’d say sixteen piped up and mentioned, “You ain’t kidding man. That’s how I met up with y’all in the first place. Man, everyone –”


“Shut up Mikey. We aren’t talking to you or about you. As I was saying…”


It’s pretty weird being in the King’s court when the session is held in your honor. Especially when the King is a few brain cells short of a legitimate nut case.


“It was just me and these five original lads, well we all snuck in over the barbed wire and in through a back window. By now the assorted mob up front was chanting something; happily enough they were chanting so loud that no one heard – whoop se daisy – the tinkling of a glass window. And we were in.”


Clearly, he would still be telling his sordid claim to fame if I was asleep so long as I appeared to be paying attention. I imagine there is a small circle in hell for dictators and other pissants who incessantly tell each other stories about what great things they once did, just to impress themselves. Here Stalin would brag, “Oh yeah? Well once I killed twenty million of my own citizens! Top that”, and the Grand Inquisitor would reply, “Please, you don’t want me to tell you how many heretics I have had burned”, and Richard here would reply, “Come off it you all! Did I tell you about the time…”. On second though, this might actually be a pretty large section of hell.




Tick. Tick. Tick.


“Unfortunately, I had this slight hunch that stealing all those deliciously sinister matte black rifles and grenades and machine guns oh my! might be a little more difficult than I had hoped. Even with an almost thousand strong mob chanting the amateur soldier couldn’t possibly not notice our ransacking their armory, so I decided to tilt the playing field. Creeping up I had heard one of the Sergeants yelling over the microphone, ‘We are going to fire a volley over your head! If you do not turn back after that volley, you will be fired upon!’ Perfect, I though, as a plan began to slowly swirl in my head. Why not help things along? Make life a lot… easier for everyone involved.”


And he smiled.


It would have been a handsome smile except for how it twisted his face. His smile could have won photo spreads all on its own, except for the way it stretched taut against his face; mutilated everything else. HE smile and his eyes shrunk back in his skull while his nose became miniscule in comparison. He looked human enough when sullen, but when he smiled that terrible smile he became a gargoyle. A gargoyle banished forever to guard the outpost between flames and earth: sometimes helping and sometimes barring souls from one or the other.


“It couldn’t have been a better set up if I had dreamed it. Grabbing a handful of grenades, and instructing the others to do the same, we sauntered off real quiet like to where the generators were on the side of the building. Purring with the last fuel I would ever see. And we waited for our maestro, our sergeant with the bullhorn.”


And they laughed a morbid laugh all as one, a thing of wonder considering the occasion and setting. Beauty, the terrible.


“‘FIVE…FOUR…’ ‘All right boys’, I said, ‘pull the pins on the grenades and throw ‘em under the generators now!’ Now of course I had already briefed them on what to do so when the sarge said four we just pulled the pins, checked them and left. And waited. ‘THREE…TWO…ONE… ALL RIGHT BOYS, FIRE!’ No, perhaps I haven’t described the scene fully, so allow me this sidebar.”


And he smiled again. That sinister, perfect smile.


“It was a thing of beauty really. Us six are each two to agenerator and I’m peeking around the corner, and I finally see. See those two rows of twelve soldiers; some in uniform , some in bathrobes, and some in silent tears. Different strokes for different folks you know? Ha. Anyway I could see the hastily erected barricade that not even all twelve could fit behind, and I almost feel sorry for the lot of them.”


Oh, so now he grows wistful.


“Man, even those boys at the Alamo had proper defenses, but anyways… looking up at that garrison sized flag and at the men in uniform… damn. But looking down past that madly pacing sergeant I looked and saw the tide I was about to set free. Of course by then it was too late to do anything but watch that view…


“Anyway, our city so proud right?, all at once the lights went out over that arrogant sandstone walkway just after that sergeant called volley. Before the soldier could each pull twenty four triggers in unison thirty degrees above the horizon, before the crowd could flinch and scatter at the sounds of gunfire, before anything really all of those lights cut out. Tell you what man I got all five senses overloaded at once. At once. I saw the flash of gunshots and the electrically infused explosions of the generators; I heard the bullets supersonically tearing the air and the screams and groans of those shot and those about to be; I smelled both gunpowder and fear from upwind. Fear is the one smell I’ll never forget. Can’t tell you any comparisons, but I’d recognize that smell of hundreds of cramped bodies all trying to run away and run closer. I’d recognize that smell anywhere.”


I always wondered how my old college professors were able to lecture me while still trying their abject best to ignore me at the same time. He wasn’t rambling; Richard was just as much venting as bragging to himself I was just the target he was aiming at. It happens.


“Obviously I couldn’t see anyone actually dying, but I could feel it. I could feel all those bodies hitting the ground, and hearts beating wildly as fear overtook the dying crowd. Between the bullets and the bum rush, and the bum rush did manage to flank the blind firing soldiers, I don’t think, “drawing his finger across his throat he continued on with a smirk; compromise from sober humanity and gleeful insanity, “anyone could possibly have made it. I felt death walking the ground around, but far, far more importantly, I felt power.”


As someone once caught in the frenzy of a rushing crowd, I couldn’t do much more than nod and shake my head at the same time. Brilliant tactics; demonic results. But dammit, time is wasting and I’m tired of not having any control.


“So Richard, your plan worked then? Got all the guns and now you’re set for life?”


He snorted in revulsion, “You could say that. We’ve got all the homeland defense we’ll ever need, the finest strategic position in the city, and plenty of grog to last us a while yet. Look around you man, what else could we need?”


And at his ‘suggestion’ I did look around the dimly lit room. What a shit hole, but that’s just my opinion. It was the sort of dark room with the overlapping graffiti that any respectable interior designer would have shied away from instantly. The overall motif was black, but the secondary and background were pure ego. It was the sort of room that started out measuring twenty by twenty, but when the paint and the graffiti and over confidence was painted on the walls it shrinks by half.





And that's all I've got for right now. Feedback?

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The overall motif was black, but the secondary and background were pure ego.


I like that sentence quite a lot.



It's decent enough. You've got a lot of punctuation errors, mostly commas (as in you need to put them in). If you want I can fix them and send it back to you.


However, I thought it was kind of boring. Reading the whole story might make it more entertaining, though.


P.S. I like your sig.

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That's the kind of honest feedback I've been looking for. Thanks. And yeah, that's strictly a first draft so have yet to do any revision whatsoever. And thanks for the bit on the sig... Einstein is one of my favorite people to quote in all honesty.

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That's the kind of honest feedback I've been looking for. Thanks. And yeah, that's strictly a first draft so have yet to do any revision whatsoever. And thanks for the bit on the sig... Einstein is one of my favorite people to quote in all honesty.


You're welcome. Oh, another thing: I don't like that it's in present tense. I have always found it ridiculously annoying to read a story that's not in past tense.


Einstein, obviously, was a genius. That is why you like to quote him.


Here's something I started, but I have NO IDEA where I'm going with it. I recently finished reading A Beautiful Mind, so I was a bit inspired by that. I find that whatever I'm reading, I usually end up writing something similar to it - or at least the same idea, which is a really bad thing! Like with that story up there ^^, I had just finished Crime and Punishment, so I wanted to write about murder.


He looked up at the dark, clear sky, his heart feeling heavy as the night pressed in all around him. The reality of his situation was slowly seeping in, like sweat oozes through pores. His mind, jumbled with thoughts flowing this way and that way, was on overload. He didn’t know what to do, what he could do.


So he sat. The damp grass quickly soaked his jeans, but he didn’t care. He was completely drained – he didn’t think he could move if he tried. Leaning his head against a large, rotting stump, he thought of how he had become like this. He was running away from something that he couldn’t exactly place; it was like something strange and vague haunting him, sprinting at him full speed, but still not catching up to take the punch.


All he wanted was to be alone. But people kept pestering him; his mother would call or Adeline would stop by, always asking sincerely, but with apprehension, “Noah, how are you?”


“I’m fine, Adeline,” he said, brushing her off each time she asked.


He knew that she saw through his act, but she never said anything. He supposed she didn’t sincerely want the truth; she just wanted to fool herself into thinking that she cared. He was sure that she thought she really did care, but he was sure that she was only in denial. Oh well. What did it matter? He was fine.


Sitting at his thick, mahogany desk, he studied laboriously over his papers, shuffling them all around in a frantic search for his thesis. He heard a knock at the door. He groaned.


“Come in,” he said, going through his papers for a moment more before giving up and throwing his hands through his already disheveled hair.


He heard the door squeak open and an exasperated voice say, “Well, it’s about time I find you when you’re actually in your office.”


Laughing slightly, Noah offered him a chair. “Yes, I know. There’s something about this office that doesn’t sit well with me…bad atmosphere,” he finished with a wave of his hand.


“You ought to fix it up, then,” his visitor said. “It does look pretty damn awful.”


“Yes, I should, but we both know I never will.”


“Too true. It doesn’t bother you enough.”


Taking off his thick rimmed, black glasses, Noah suddenly leaned forward. “What did you really come here for; surely not to talk about this blasted atmosphere!(?)”


“No, I came here to see how you ‘re doing,” he replied gently, leaning forward a bit in his chair.


Noah rolled his eyes and sighed, the recurrence of this question wearing him thin. “For the millionth time I’m fine.”


The visitor’s eyebrows went up in disbelief. “No need to get frustrated………..”

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I can definitely see the beautiful mind influences... having only seen the movie I can't speak for the book, but there are parallels there. And yeah, it is fairly wide open where you can go with it... practically anywhere. I know you aren't ending yet, but I'm guessing you like wide open endings? Let the reader answer the questions instead of answering them yourselves?

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