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Brendan's Attempt at a Short Story
Topic Started: Jun 19 2012, 10:52 AM (145 Views)
SirBrendan
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*Warning: the following short story contains extremely graphic moments and adult content. Please, if you are young por easily disturbed, do not read this post. Also, if you're bothered by awful writing, you might want to skip this story anyways :P *

I haven't written in years, but I got in a mood this morning, so here goes

A Vessel in the Storm

Liam finally lit the cigarette that had been hanging from his soft lips for what seemed eternity. His figure was framed by the windowed storm; he appeared as a ship in a bottle: frail and cornered. Everything about Liam was delicate. His limbs were thin and hung limp, his jaw jutted harsh but seemed about to break with every stuttering, nasally word he spoke. Even his clothing hung loose, as though weighing down on his narrow shoulders.
--Do you want one?
Claire was still trapped the arm chair, its ancient wood pushing, digging against her skin and binding her with knotted rope to his will. Any reply she may have possibly made, assuming Liam was even listening, was overpowered by the booming thunder of the storm looming outside that window.

--Do you hear that? , Liam giggled --That is the sound of a million awful stories beginning.

He smirked with pride at that. His grin was toothy: sharp and cold. It never touched his eyes.

--You see that moon? That is the sight of a million awful poems being written, of a million horrors going unanswered. That is the moon which will birth a million unworthy people and a million uninteresting thoughts. How often do you really think that moon has had the privilege of standing witness to true magnificence? We’ve all got our heroes, the men with the will, strength and genius to shudder off this stupid, stupid fucking society and give us magic. But do you realise how rare they are!, his voice started to raise, seething with hate

--It’s the big, bad secret, isn’t it! We all have dreams that will never be realised, hopes that will never be achieved, ideas that will never have worth, and prayers that will never be answered. See, I don’t want to kill you, I really don’t.

Claire’s sobbing muttering got louder then, repeating the same words over and over again, “Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Oh Jesus”. She wasn’t even religious; it just came out: “Jesus, Jesus, O God”

--And where is he!, Liam spat out in a voice he’d never used before, his putrid and breath spraying itself over Claire’s face.

Everything about Liam changed in a single moment. His eyes danced wild, his voice became a bile soaked bark and his whole body trembled with violence and rage. At that moment, Liam seemed less a man and more a rabid dog, howling madly at the world.

--How many times have you prayed, have I prayed! And for nothing! How many times have the wicked RAPED us, with no reply! Where is your God! Are we not worthy? Am I not worthy! Well I don’t need His approval or help anymore. I will be the Salvation you pray for. , his voice dropped again, this time soft, gentle and precise, like a razor soaked in honey.

--You see this, Liam said as he shoved the rune inscribed tome under Claire’s nose. The dust choked her and made her cough.

--This is potential. This is glory. All I have to do is sacrifice you—Liam still wouldn’t say Claire’s name--, seize my potential, and I will be made magic. I will be God, and I will answer those prayers. I am not evil; I am Good! I will be a Good and kind and caring and merciful God. How many people had to die cold and in the dark before Man birthed electricity and fire? How many people had to starve before we sowed crops? Sacrifice is the nature of life, and yours will be the last, thanks to me! So stop your sobbing! You should be on your hands and knees begging me to do this! And stop praying! What do you think you’re praying for, you stupid, stupid girl! You’re praying for someone to protect you, to guide you, to care for you. You’re praying for someone with power! And now, now that you stand witness to the answer to those prayers, now that you look upon the face of God, you cry? You’re why we’re so worthless, you insignificant little fuck!

Claire kept her eyes closed as his hot breath pushed closer to her face. Her prayers grew softer, to a whisper, but never ceased. They never ceased when he demanded she look at him. They never stopped when he demanded she see how beautiful he was. They never ceased when his first blow struck her. They did not cease when he demanded her to be silent, or when the second blow landed, or when he demanded she recognise his perfection or goodness, not even when her breathing became silenced and her body grew cold were those prayers stopped. They echoed in the head of a broken ship, trapped in a bottle, framed by a windowed storm.
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Jack Tarr
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Having gone public with this I am guessing it is ok for me to comment. I cannot and will not say anything about the writing format, skill etc. but I will say the following and I mean it in a caring and not hurtful manner. Imo you really need to talk to someone in an effort to remove your thoughts from where they currently are. I wish you well in life sir.
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SirBrendan
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Haha, thank you Jacktarr. I appreciate your kind sentiment, but that's a little awkward. Liam is a character: not a reflection of me or my feelings. I'm not quite sure how I'm supposed to respond to this.

But anyways, I assure you that I do not have any overwhelming feelings of violence or being trapped. I was trying to make the short story deliberately disturbing to sort of hammer the point across that Liam was supposed to be the embodiment and source of the darker side of humanity: that being evil is a kind of victimhood. I'm not sure I should be explaining any of this, just because it might hurt the story, but I think it's important that you don't get the impression that I'm a serial killer :P

Either way, even if misguided, I appreciate your kind words and concern. Thank you sir
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Jack Tarr
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Quote:
 
I was trying to make the short story deliberately disturbing


And that sir you did exceptionally well. :hail:
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Matilda Love
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I'm told by a reliable source of whom I am particularly fond, psychopaths are in part made by their mums


All silly jokes aside, I was also disturbed - you did warn us though. I'm not a Silence of the Lambs kind of a gel - even though I do make that kind of abject art from time to time - its in us all after all.

Don't argue with me JT :hug:

'like a razor soaked in honey' :thumbsup:

Would love to see your editing on the Moon stuff too - if you get around to writing more, hope so.

I want to see him shredded and eaten by a woman :lol:
Just kiddin'!

:P
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Fine art is that in which the hand, the head, and the heart go together.
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Almonaster
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Very strong writing. :thumbsup:

I like the way you top-and-tail the story with the windowed storm.
You use a mirror to see your face. You use works of art to see your soul. ~ G. B. Shaw

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I'm in ur detailz likin' ur sinz. :evil:
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SirBrendan
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I've not written in four years or so, so it's very nice to get this sort of feedback (even the feedback hoping for my mental health :P )

I ran the shortstory past my fiance, and she's in agreement with you. She thinks it comes across that I'm writing about two parts of myself, which was certainly not the goal at all. Not quite sure how to revise subtext I didn't mean to put in though, lol

The whole thing came about because of a question I posed to my fiance a few months back, 'If you could have God power, power to make the world better, but you had to kill someone to gain it...would you?'

The short story sort of carries that question to the extreme to show exactly why you should answer with a firm, 'no!'. Then I hoped I tried to get into the whole where does evil come from with a sprinkle of theology.

That was the goal I set out with at least. I definitely didn't mean to write a manifesto to detail the rising darkness :P

As to editing, you'll probably never see me do it. I'm one of those people who starts writing and doesn't stop until it's finished. Usually, by the end, i'm so upset that it didn't turn out how I wanted that I never bother to even spell check, not even to mention revise. If Kerouac can do it, then I bloody well can too! <_<

Thanks again for the comments. I'll probably keep contributing little things like this (it felt nice to write again), although they'll likely be a little lighter than this. I think my next one will be about unicorns :P
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Matilda Love
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I've been playing Robot Unicorn Attack for a whole week now - I blame fb.
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Everyone has talent. What is rare is the courage to follow the talent to the dark place where it leads.
Erica Jong

Fine art is that in which the hand, the head, and the heart go together.
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