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A nameless story I wrote
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Pieman Offline
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Post: #1
A nameless story I wrote

The creativity bug bit me a few weeks ago, and gradually, I've just been adding on to this story and I think it's turning out well. I hope you enjoy it, and there will be more to come.

Discuss C+C pl0x.
----
He looked at the sight that lay before him, the discarded memories of the past resting now. Steam rose up from the rubble, and a charred stone tumbled down from the wreckage softly to his feet. He reached down to pick it up. It was warm at the touch of his fingers as pepper coloured ash brushed off as he turned it in his hand.

He looked up at the scene once more, looking over what remained, and found it very difficult not to burst into tears. He couldn't let himself...he was alone now. He had to be strong. This boy of seventeen, now only able to rely on himself for comfort. To keep his earlier promise to himself, he wrapped his arms around himself protectively, and closed his eyes.

He imagined they were still here. He imagined none of this had happened. He imagined that there was never anything that he could've done to cause all this...He stood there for what seemed like hours, wishing the world away. But sadly, even daydreams don't last forever. He'd forgotten that he'd been holding a stone, and it had begun to make a small burn on his chest, stinging him uncomfortably. "Ow!" he exclaimed, and threw it back into the rubble, it's echo fading into the thick fog of oblivion, just as his entire world did only a few short hours before.

The boy looked out where he'd thrown the stone, just staring with a bittersweet look. Through the thick gray clouds above, a few beams of sunlight shone through onto the broken scene, making it sparkle, and look almost like an artist had crafted it. A single, small tear rolled down the boy's cheek. "So much for that promise." He thought.

*-------*

The tall, darkly dressed man walked through the dimly lit halls of the old Faenworth Estate, his heavy footsteps echoing against the thick limestone corridors. The torches mounted on the walls cast an eerie shadow as he walked by, giving his features a more foreboding and mysterious look. The man was alone here in this long passageway, his only company being the dancing blueish flames and the burnt iron holsters that accommodated them.

After some walking, the man reached reached what was a large, sturdy oak door. He was about to enter, when suddenly he heard voices coming from the other side. “What do we do? “ A loud, husky voice clamored. “Surely we can't be this far in. “Another mousy voice said. “This is a catastrophe! Where the hell is Sypher?! “ The loud voice boomed again. That was his cue. The man swiftly placed his hand on the large brass doorknob, and pulled the door open carefully.

The old rusted hinges whined as they were compelled to yield. Light streamed into the dim corridor from the room beyond, and Sypher stepped inside, closing the door behind him. What was before him was something much unlike the archaic setting he'd just exited. There were fluorescent lamps hanging from the ceiling, seeming to stem from nowhere, a small trolley off to the side holding coffee, sugar, and various other assortments, and in the middle, one large table with three chairs, two of them filled with two unhappy looking men. “Glad you could join us, Daniel. Have a seat. “Said the large man, and he did so.

This was Alfred Faenworth, the current Faenworth descendant in charge of the estate. Or as he flamboyantly liked to be called: “Lord of the Estate “ Alfred was a portly man. He had a thick, gray mustache that made up for the hair he’d lost on his head, beady, green eyes that always gave off the impression that he was squinting, and he rarely ever smiled. Dressing fancily, wherever he went, Alfred Faenworth was always sure to look his best, even for situations like these.

“Can we get to back to the business at hand? “Said the high pitched, almost whiny voice from the other end of the table. This was Maxwell Siclair. Besides being greedy, scandalous, scheming…well, besides being a business man, he was quite the opposite. Sinclair had the constitutional fortitude of a twig (which Alfred made sure to poke fun at him for), his voice was obviously high and whimpering. He didn't have much of the confidence or business-assuredness that his partner had.
But what he DID have, was an extraordinary skill at scams. “Maxwell Sinclair: Conman extraordinaire! “He'd always say to himself.

" I never knew until that moment how bad it could hurt to lose something you never really had. " ~From the television show The Wonder Years
01-31-2011 12:33 PM
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Faby Offline
work in progress

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Post: #2
Re: A nameless story I wrote

Um... Permit me to be a little bit scathing?

If you wrote this on a whim, because you felt like it, or just as a hobby, I guess it's all right. But if you want to publish one day, there are a few observations I feel compelled to make.

1. Lay off the repetitive adjectives and adverbs. It's hard to give a specific example, seeing as you do it a lot.

2. "It was warm at the touch of his fingers as pepper coloured ash brushed off as he turned it in his hand." This sentence confused me.

3. "To keep his earlier promise to himself, he wrapped his arms around himself protectively" -- once again, slightly repetitive, try to rephrase.

4. "He imagined" -- bingo, repetitive again. It's okay if you do it twice, but try some variety.

5. "stinging him uncomfortably." I never thought stuff could sting you comfortably.

6. "But sadly" -- this feels somewhat like an intrusion from the author. It's okay if you wrote this from an omniscient point of view.

7. "A single, small tear rolled down the boy's cheek" -- this glaringly contradicts what you established earlier, namely that the character was close to bursting into tears. Plus, it's an egregious cliché redolent of shitty fanfics.

8. "The tall, darkly dressed man walked through the dimly lit halls of the old Faenworth Estate, his heavy footsteps echoing against the thick limestone corridors" -- this bears iteration. That sentence is overstuffed with adjectives and adverbs that it weighs on the reader.

9. “What do we do? “ A loud, husky voice clamored. “Surely we can't be this far in. “Another mousy voice said. “This is a catastrophe! Where the hell is Sypher?! “ The loud voice boomed again. -- You get my point. There is nothing wrong with using said, or omitting the tag entirely. Also, voices can't technically say anything.


10. This one pertains to the final two paragraphs: you don't need to spoonfeed us descriptions of your characters without having previously created a connection between them and the reader. It's an old adage that must needs be repeated: show, don't tell. If you really must describe your characters to us, do it briefly, then move on to the plot.


Overall, this piece needs to be worked upon a little.

Let go of all desire for the common good, and the good becomes common as grass.

~~

Good fortune follows upon disaster;
Disaster lurks within good fortune;
Who can say how things will end?
Perhaps there is no end.
01-31-2011 07:22 PM
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Pieman Offline
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Post: #3
Re: A nameless story I wrote

Yeah. It's not that great of a story, nor am I that great of a writer. But it is for all three - a hobby, a whim, and because I felt like it.

" I never knew until that moment how bad it could hurt to lose something you never really had. " ~From the television show The Wonder Years
02-01-2011 05:40 AM
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