Dr. Apopolus

This is the beginning of a novel I'm writing. Let me know what you think.

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Tony sat, staring at his filthy house. He eyed the articles of clothing that littered the floorboards, worked his way up to the soot-covered curtains, and finally to the rusted ceiling-fan. Bed ridden for days, what little Tony did, he did for his appetite.

He'd cooked several microwave dinners over the course of a single evening, eating only a bite or two from each plate. He knew this was a terrible waste, but there was something refreshing about tearing open a new box each time hunger presented itself. Suffice it to say after its three bite maturity, each dish remained exactly where it had been placed after its eight minute merry-go round in his 1120 watt microwave.

Tony's head slumped back down to his pillow and he let out a sigh. What good was getting up? What good was anything?

It was at this point that the doorbell rang. Of course, Tony did not wish to answer it, but after several chimes the visitor chose to enter through the
window. A clank and a fall later, and the man was standing in front of him. It was his brother, and he had a satchel full-of microwave meals.

"Listen," Said Matthew, tossing him the bag "I can't keep doing this"

Tony sighed and propped himself up on one elbow, clawing at the satchel.

"You're starting to smell as bad as that curdled milk over there" Added Matthew, "Sooner or later you're going to have to go out and fend for yourself. I can't be your nurse. I've a family to look after"

Tony ignored him, shuffling around the dishes like a deck of cards.

"You got the lasagna?" He asked

"Yes, I got you the lasagna" Matthew sighed

"What would father say if he could see you now?" He mumbled under his breath

"What did you say?" Asked Tony

"Nothing, just lay there and keep feeling sorry for yourself. I'll let myself out the window"

"Next time wait at the door" Tony screamed after him

"Next time go to hell!" He screamed back, a tear running down his cheek.

Matthew noted the encore of barely touched, rotten meals as he made his way out. He shook his head in disgust, throwing one to the floor, and then disappeared.

Tony sat upright and kicked the frozen meals to the floor. "What if father could see you now?" he whispered, reclining back and staring up at the roof.

Sitting upright again, he placed one foot on the carpet and felt the muck edge itself between his toes, spilling out over his nails. "What if father could see you now?" he repeated, boosting himself to his feet.

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Happenstance

Taxiday

It's written okay but has no hook to get me interested.
What's the point?
Why should I care about your MC? Right now, he's boring as h**l and I have no empathy for him.
Where's it going?
Yawn.

edropus

I'd disagree with the above post. The conflict here is pretty clear - the MC's depression, weakness, whatever it is, and his inability to deal with it. My only suggestion would be to stress it more. The food lying around is good, but the brother's disgust is pretty mild. As someone who spent a decent portion of his life living this way, I'll toss out a few examples:

Colonies of ants
Walls covered in fruit flies
Piles of laundry/garbage blocking doorways
Every surface (table, counter, etc) covered in trash
Mold

Not saying these should be added/used, just giving an idea; if the impression is living in filth, my suggestion would be to show more of it.

You get the idea.

It's a good starting catch. You write in a plain, easily understood language and don't waste words. Keep it up.

shraga

loved this line!

Other than that this excerpt is a bit too short for me to judge, I feel a little interested to know the background but not enough.
You need to place us deeper in Tony's head
Good luck

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Shraga Y. Weissmann
Israel
Please comment on my humorous short story Chompers Thanks!

Merforga

I like what you've written so far, it's very readable, and straightforward.

I think it would benefit the story to emphasize the main character's internal conflict more, it would help the reader get more in touch with him, and help us care about him more.

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" Keep away from those who try to belittle your ambitions. Small people always do that, but the really great make you believe that you too can become great." ~ Mark Twain

Vincent Santa Cruz

Okay, it's very short, but so far there's no real hook, no discernable style and a few details that simply make the overall image hard to believe.

I think Taxiday summed it up for me:
What's the point?

GoodmanBrown

I've been in a few houses such as you describe and they were all pretty appalling. I'm quite interested in what caused the character's attitude. Does he have much remorse? The emotions could probably be a little bit stronger, as could the description of the home. A sense of smell would probably help the scene too.

I think it's intriguing enough for its short length. Definitely not in medias res, but it's only a couple of paragraphs. Most stories take at least that long to catch my attention. I'd definitely like to read more if you have it.

Dr. Apopolus

I realize it is incredibly short and doesn't really go anywhere. Perhaps this will tell you a little more. Let me know what you think.
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A pungent aroma wafted its way into Tony’s nostrils. He coughed and sputtered chunks of phlegm, and then wiped his face down with a clean portion of curtain. It was clean in the sense that there was no visible filth, but it was still no less putrid than the rest of the curtain.

When Tony moved in, he liked to think of the place as a half-way house. But, slowly over time, the notion dissolved and the house became his life. It dined with him, cried with him, and occasionally, laughed with him. It was his best friend, and his worst enemy, his mentor and his protégé.

There was a time when it was clean, like the house next door or the one across the street. Yet, now it had become something entirely different. You’d have to travel 100 miles to find a house in a similar condition.

Tony trudged down the hall, dragging his feet, not out of habit but out of necessity. The sludge was thick, swallowing his feet like quicksand, sucking his toes like a vacuum. Like a dog that brings his master half a bird, the grime offered Tony half a turkey sandwich. He kicked it against a wall.

The doorbell rang again. Tony didn’t answer it. The neighborhood children would ring his doorbell several times a day. Occasionally they’d come with a paper bag, but Tony never answered the door. They’d usually just give up or the bag would burn out.

“Get out of here” He screamed toward the door

He heard feet scurrying down the stairs, and then a thud at the door. Perhaps they threw an egg, a rock, a watermelon, a stale apple pie. Tony was indifferent; once you reach a certain state of messiness, additional dirt merely enters into symbiosis with the rest.

But how had Tony allowed his house to become so grotesque? And why?

This living, breathing, piece of disaster stemmed from something much greater. It was an evolution of self. One can only keep themselves bottled up for so long before the bottle explodes and spills out into its surroundings. Some project their mood onto others, call them names, and bring them down their own level. Some lie and boost their image to make them feel better. Others simply rot. Tony was most like the last, but at the same time, inherently, something completely different.

Tony never chose to become such a dreg, such a little piece of filth. It was chosen for him. That in itself is something people all too often forget about. Some things are not decided, they are chosen for you. And once you become that which is chosen for you, it becomes extremely difficult to revert to the person you originally intended to become.

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Happenstance

spider8

The opening line is clumsy. To stare at a house, surely you would be on the outside of it. Then you say he is bed-ridden (it should be hyphenated) after the opening line had me thinking he was seated. The microwave stuff seemed nonsensical to me. The dialogue was tedious. Whatever this story is gonna be about you're losing me already.