Xx Kane xX

This is a second draft. Maybe you guys can help me in my quest to a final draft! Thanks.

The True Price Of Love

I can remember succinctly the first time I felt the soft tendrils of love. It was as clear as dawn to me. One must understand this wasn't the typical love that could be discerned in an instant. No - It was far greater than something as trivial as infatuation. It was a love that bore itself into the very confines of my soul, thus fusing into a symbiotic being of relentlessness. I find irony in the fact that love never ceases to alter a mortal's pre-destined path. No matter what conquests or duties a man must fulfill.. it always claims itself superior. Forgive me for rambling, I'm speaking in mere riddles and anecdotes. Perhaps I should tell my story from the beginning. Though I warn you to pay careful attention to my story, for it may indeed be the very savior... from your own insanity.


Her name was Rose. One could utter her name and it would simply melt off the tip of his tongue, as fragile as a blade of grass. Her beauty surpassed anything I'd ever come to know in the world. Not only in the organic sense, but the very sight of her beauty marveled even God's greatest of creations. She was my Helen of Troy. What I found most surprising of all, was the sheer and utter dedication she showed towards me. I was known around town as a "Hell Raiser" so to speak. I admit I wasn't the most holy of Saints. However, that did not stop Rose from conveying a smile as I brushed against her shoulder. It was a misty night, every bit as dank and dry as a bog in a children's horror story. I found it strange that she'd wander alone in such a desolate place. While my only excuse was a secluded cache for stolen goods, she only sought to escape the razor sharp barbs life dug into her. I found her to have too much grace for a runaway. Nevertheless, that will forever be the night I basked in the presence of a Goddess.

From that moment on, Rosa was the Angel that invaded my dreams. Never could a minute pass without her autumn smelling fragrance tickling the insides of my nose. She smelt of nature; She smelt of purity. There was never a greater time of happiness throughout each of our lives. Unfortunately, all great things must come to an end.


It was the beginning of Fall. The first night of the season brought a violent storm. I remember the air was wet and windy, which appeared to me the foreshadowing of a colossal hurricane. It was amidst the great thunder I heard an unspeakably shrill shriek, emanating from the door of my loft. The scream proliferated as the roaring skies raged in their ongoing war among the heavens. I crept to the door, apprehensiveness gripping me like a vice. Sweat formed upon my brow as my hand slowly reached the doorknob. Following the jolting crash of thunder, a pierced howl of terror echoed behind the door, and immediately I retreated. The nightmare was relentless. Torment and distress were awaiting me beyond that door, and like a fool I hesitated as the cackling skies increased my utter terror.

Finally, I mustered up the brass to open the door, and to my surprise... there was Rose. Like a fallen Goddess, she plummeted to my feet, weeping from broken and bloodied black eyes. Her hair was in knots and tangles, and patches of missing locks were visible on the top of her head. As my heart dropped to the floor, I followed it to my knees. It was then I took the angel into my arms, comforting and assuaging her pain. She whispered only two words... "The...Bore..." Then, as a withering Rose, she fell limp in my arms.
I could picture the scene in my head. The Bore took it upon his own drunken self to corner Rose in the most vulnerable of her states. I envisioned her former lover luring Rose to her secluded "Hide Away." He was probably searching for reconciliation. My poor foolish lover, bedazzled by The Bore's cunning and manipulative charms. But my love - I know you denied his ultimatum. Such rejection drove the violent brute into a rage of frenzy, I imagine. Unable to defend yourself against his strength, you were simply helpless while The Bore bashed you across your face, pillaging and robbing you of that which you held sacred until wedlock. Now, your womanhood is diminished. "Bastard!" I screamed aloud as the scene grew in my head, driving me to the brink of madness. She warned me before of his threats. She told me of his violent history, but never in my wildest of nightmares would I imagine him to destroy such beauty! It was sacrilege! Heresy! In my arms lay the blood soaked Goddess of Beauty... Delivered to her fate by nothing more than a savage and blood thirsty barbarian!

Rage had never made itself more apparent as it did on that violent night. I felt my eye sockets constrict, as every bit of life in them died out, fueled by the flames of loathing and abhoration. Calmly, I lay the Goddess amidst the red floor. There she bathed in a pool of her own blood. It was then I sent a clenched fist into the floor, splinters emerging from its confines. I lifted my hand, soaked in gore. I was unsure it was mine or hers. However, I rested assure the image would never escape my mind. I felt it was high time for an explanation at that point. Why did I deserve such torture? Why did I need to suffer at the hands of an ogre? I had repented my sins, and my unconditional love for Rose proved that very point! I realize now that my mind lost all sense of rationality at that point.


Time passed at a snail's pace as I rode my steed to the sanctuary of The Bore. The appearance of the place was just as I had expected. It rotted with the very taint of derelict care, just as it's owner had. Thunder cracked loudly in the midst as I walked through puddles towards the front door. The rain poured out of my hair, stinging my eyes. I rubbed them clear as I continued to the lodging. With the sound of thunder, my heart pounded, ready to burst from my chest. Upon reaching the door, I knocked twice. Calmly. My rage was ever present at this point, but I took a moment to subside it. The door opened, and there I saw The Bore. He appeared scruffy and tired, intoxicated from mead. He gave off a sneer, and I knew that my presence was most unwelcome. The very sight of him brought my blood to a boil. The skin beneath my clothes felt hot and bothered. Every second felt like an eon, and the very sight of him unleashed thoughts in my head I never thought I had. But I repressed my emotions into my deepest subconscious. I allowed my tightened fist to loosen its grip, and out of sheer force and great will, I managed to crack a faint smile. "Forgive the intrusion, however I lost my way from hunting, and I'm caught in this dreadful storm. I hate to ask it of you, but you're the only one in town that I personally know. And it is in that regard I request your grace and shelter until the storm subsides."

It was then that my ploy and act paid off. The Bore, ignorant to my knowledge of Rose's demise, agreed to let me inside. I thanked him and stepped into the very pits of Hell. The room was a ram shackled repugnant heap of disgust. It was clear The Bore took no pride in his environment, nor himself. Then, I spoke. "Thank you for your hospitality. I'll be sure to tell Rose how kind you were to me." A glare shot from my eyes as I looked towards The Bore's reaction. It was nonexistent, however. the Bore staggered wearily over to the basin, ready to dip his face into the cool water. I relished in the opportunity I was given. His drunkenness was to my advantage, and as he attempted to wash away the intoxication, I followed. At this point the contempt had grown to an unavoidable point. I felt the need to help The Bore, and with my very hand I held his face in the water. He squirmed and struggled at my grip. My eyes widened and my mouth grimaced in hate. I enjoyed The Bore's struggle, his attempt to put fresh air in his lungs. I imagined the anguish he was feeling. The sharp pain in his lungs felt like daggers. He tried desperately to catch his breath, but I wouldn't let him. I had hoped his lungs were on fire, ready to burn to cinders from their suffocation. However, this wasn't what fate had in store for The Bore. I then released my grip, allowing him to save his lungs. Like a weak child, he fell to his knees, coughing and gasping for his life. I watched him writhe like a worm for a moment. It was a satisfying sight. However, I needed to end it. Reaching into my coat, I removed an old rag and a small vile. Little to The Bore's knowledge, the vile had contained a severely toxic chemical. I had stolen it from one of the finest alchemists in the area. It wasn't deadly, however. It was just enough to put even the most violent of beasts, into a nice peaceful slumber.

Pouring the chemical into the rag, I brought myself behind The Brute. He tried to stave off my hand, but he was too drunk to even see straight. I cackled as I pressed the rag to his nose. He struggled momentarily, but was soon subdued by the chemical's impact. He then fell limp, peacefully. Unfortunately, The Brute wouldn't face anything as simple as peace. Due to his severe intoxication and the chemical's potent affects, I was sure he was remain in slumber for a long while... Now came the point of getting him onto my steed, unnoticed. The howling winds and violent skies provided all the subterfuge I'd need. No guard or soul for that matter was in plain sight. I felt sure that I wasn't seen draping his limp body over my horse. There was enough room from me, despite his rather large frame. And it was then that into that night, I rode, compelled by nothing but the desire of revenge.


As I approached the clearing, I was astonished the storm hadn't yet diminished. In fact, it merely increased. As the winds lashed freezing rains across my face, I couldn't help but smile. The loathing and abhoration had escalated to an even greater degree than the storm itself. Nothing would stop me from my conquest. Nothing. I stepped off my horse and reached underneath The Bore, the strong rain stinging my eyes. I removed a spade from the saddlebags, and began my journey for soil. You might find it strange that I needed to search for soil, after all, It was all around. However, this soil needed to be of the utmost quality. Eventually, I found it. I placed my spade into the soft patch of earth and began to dig, paying no mind to the freezing rains that inherently impeded my progress.

After many heavy breaths, and near exhaustion, I had finished one step of my task. Step two began with The Brute. I approached The Bore, and gave little care to his health as I rolled him forcefully off the horse's back. He didn't squirm or wake. He slept calmly.. just the way I wanted him. Using my feet to kick at his ribs, I eventually rolled the drunken brute into the freshly dug hole. He fell into a pit of mud, every bit as dirty as his own conscience. A great sense of satisfaction overwhelmed my ever-present rage as I began to cover The Bore in mud. Before The Bore was completely covered, I took particular notice to his eyes. They were eyes that were struggling with recovery, but they were aware. The Bore was helpless to the chemical's after effects. It would be an hour before he was able to muster enough strength to even stand, and thanks to the intoxication... Maybe longer. I watched as he laid in the hole, helpless, staring at me with fear torn eyes. He was nothing more than helpless prey. It was a brilliant sight, and I'll never forget his last conveyance of terror as I finally covered the hole completely. In the morning, it would dry, and underneath the tainted ground would be the Slayer of Goddesses... carrying out the sentence of his unholy crime. As I rode away I could feel the faint screams of horror from the tomb of the scourge. It was my imagination of course, as I was certain the mud would prevent any of his sounds. I shrugged off the screams, and believed I'd forget them forever...


Many years have passed, and the Doctor warns me I've not much time left to write in this journal. The ignorant fool. Time isn't a factor. Time wasn't a factor for me. Time did little to suppress the nightmares, night after night. Nightmares filled with the relentless screams of the undead. And he speaks of time? What does he know of time? For countless hours I would hear the echoes of a soft pitched wail! A moaning. For endless nights the sounds tormented me. The anguish filled and kept my very soul a prisoner to its misery. Even now, this padded cell does little to prevent the screams from reaching my ears. Time isn't a factor at all, because they grow stronger each day, un-abolished by time. Even still, time will not fade the memories of my precious Rose, the Goddess. The beautiful angel, who showed me a love that had been previously unknown. A love that inadvertently drove me to madness. I know now that my vengeance can never be forgiven, and I am forever haunted by the screams I heard that night. I pray that after this journal is complete, you will understand the reasons behind my pre-mature death. Maybe as soon as I join The Bore in Hades, I will at last find solace. But until my last breath escapes, I will never forget my precious Rose. Most of all, I will never forget the love... that drove me to insanity.

Cran

Xx Kane xX, hi ...

First, as the rules indicate, there is no need to state in your thread title that you want feedback ...
that is assumed, and we are asked not to include such requests or invitations ...
elsewhere it is suggested that your subject should include the title of your story and something about the genre or writing style ...
that way you will more likely attract those who are interested in, and more familiar with, your genre/style/subject matter ...

I am not very familiar with the type of story you are working on here, so while I can give you a detailed critique, it will be based on my interpretation and experience with other forms of writing ...

For now, I can point out two things I noticed ...

I suspect the second one is a typo?

Quote:

Par 3: It was a misty night, every bit as dank [and dry] as a bog in a children's horror story.

I'm puzzled at how a night can be misty, dank ... and dry?

Beyond those, there are so many questions, comments and opinions which may or may not be appropriate to what you are trying to achieve ...
and I would have to spend a couple of days rereading and proofing the piece ...

In general, I would be carving out a lot of unnecessary words,
and looking to change some that jar the flow ...
and inserting a lot more par breaks to remove the long compound paragraphs ...

but, as I said, that is based on my experience ... and may not be appropriate for the style you are trying ...

__________________
"I don't know ... I'm making it up as I go ..." - Dr I Jones

Nature abhors perfection - cats abhor a vacuum!

cacafire

Personally, I would have liked this better as a normal 1st person story, rather than as a monologue. The difference between the two is the amount of detail, as a normal 1pstory reads more like the typical novel. As it stands, the monologue form kind of irks me. It seems out of place with the setting, but that's just my opinion.

Another thing that you might consider is changing your opening paragraph. As it stands, it is a typical seer type beginning. Cliche. You need a better hook into the story anyways. I would suggest putting the doctor paragraph as your intro, which would pique your reader's interest. Then follow with your story of the girl.

I didn't read all of this, mainly, the middle, because the prose is overly ornamental and bogged me down. Try to trim that.

Hope this helps, Cacafire.

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Critique my pieces, and I'll gladly return the favor: Mita of the sky: II, Gloving_Country, Shared Qualms(check this one out!), Gloving country-II, , Capoeira, Father and Son, Silence Come, The Lad I Knew

Slartibartfast

I think you have a nice writing style, and you have a nice grasp on grammar and punctuation. I think something you suffer from--like most of us do--is thesaurusitus. I understand we all want to spice up our work with more interesting words...and we tend to use the thesauras a lot...heck, I do it a lot...but there is something about your style, that to me showcases an overly used Shift-F7.

Example:

It was the beginning of Fall. The first night of the season brought a violent storm. I remember the air was wet and windy, which appeared to me the foreshadowing of a colossal hurricane. It was amidst the great thunder I heard an unspeakably shrill shriek, emanating from the door of my loft. The scream proliferated as the roaring skies raged in their ongoing war among the heavens. I crept to the door, apprehensiveness gripping me like a vice. Sweat formed upon my brow as my hand slowly reached the doorknob. Following the jolting crash of thunder, a pierced howl of terror echoed behind the door, and immediately I retreated. The nightmare was relentless. Torment and distress were awaiting me beyond that door, and like a fool I hesitated as the cackling skies increased my utter terror.

These are just a few examples of popular words that people find in the thesauras. I'm not saying I'm 100% right on your usage...but something is enough amiss that I am distrubed by it. Some people get away with polished words, because their style is condusive to it...but for some reason your overall style makes these discriptive words stand out. Anyway, this is me being really picky...and maybe it's just me...because overall I find the story and writing amusing.

I think the advise perviously given about the beginning of the story being a cliche is very true. I noticed that right away. My advise would be to re-work that.

I am not qualified to edit your piece...but if forced to, it would take a good several hours to critique properly (which another user mentioned above as well). Good luck. I enjoy your style...don't try to polish things up too much...that's all I can really say. I'm sure I'm being a hypocrit telling you how to use the thesauras...no big deal. At least you use it.

Its Not A Tumaaa

Ok, first of all Kane, I can tell this was heavily influenced by Poe. I can even tell from your signature you are a fan of his. It's ok, me too.


Honestly, I really enjoyed this story. I loved the vivid use of imagery and suspense. The line where the narrator calls his love "A Rose" was pretty catchy, considering that was her first name.

Don't listen to anybody on this site. Most of them aren't even published authors, and those that ARe published, are Self-Published. It's an ego thing with them. They feel threatened by other writers, so bashing and nitpicking at the most irrelevent tidbits is their way of getting revenge.

First off cacafire, I didn't know there were two "first person" perspectives. How is this so? Is the term "I" used differently in the second-first-person? And who are you to judge what type of narration belongs in a story? Let him tell the story the way he wants. I looked at some of your work and I fell YOU SHOULD CHANGE YOUR TENSE. There, how do you like that? If you want, I can nitpick at your work. THIS line in particular:

"He flung his bony arm outward, causing the long cloth swimming on his body to ripple."

I wasn't aware cloth "swims" on somebody's arm. What is your noun there? is it a long cloth, or a Long Cloth Swimming On His Body?

You also want to talk about being cliche, yet you use a line like this?

" Marco stopped for a second; his eyes glowed with pride as they gazed upon the most beautiful woman set upon this earth."
OK, if THAT'S not a cliche line, I don't know what it is. Not to mention the fact you switch between third person omniscient narration to first person IN THE SAME SENTENCE! How are you qualified to critique a piece if you can't even write well enough yourself?! Practice what you preach, buddy.

Anyway...

I agree with the opening paragraph being cliche to an extent. Yes, it is cliche, but you manage to twist the love into horror. I found it to be a good twist. Maybe switching the last paragraph with the first is a good choice.

And as for your word usage. Ummm, no. Just because somebody wants to use a synonym it automatically invalidates the story and makes it pretentious? No, it's called language. Would it be better to use the same dry words all the time? It's pretty much necessary to throw synonyms into your writing. You want to talk about heavy use of a Thesaurus? Go look at some of the other stories on this site.

People on this site are full of such **** it's pathetic.

Anyway, you might want to brush up a few gramatical errors. All in all, nice work. Don't let these people discourage you either, because most of them don't even know what they are talking about. More than that -- They suffer from the same things they like to blame you for.

Xx Kane xX

Thanks for the advice.

Antony Brooklyn

Tumaaa, you're a jackass. They aren't trying to be harsh but critiquing is often just that.

Kane I liked the story, and though I do realize the style you are going for will have a more intellectual diction, I feel one should always keep the first sentence pretty simple and to the point. Since I want to be a writer I try to brush up on my vocabulary when I can, but I have plenty of friends that would open a book like yours at some store and put it right back on the shelf because you started in early with a word like succinctly, and then tendrils. Use the word concise if you must, it's more common. But it ultimately doesn't matter, I'm sure you've thought long and hard on the kind of market you're angling for, just as I have with my story.

L00kbackinanger

Amazing!
Wow!! Thanks for a great read, I was moved to tears when reading this fine work of, well it must be said: outstanding brilliance. I don't think a day will now pass when I do not sneak a peek at this poetic masterclass of prose - yes I've printed it off and will keep it next to my heart always(in my breast pocket for ease of access) - the lyricism, the angst the apperception and almost beyond words, the beauty shone so bright, the absolutely shimmering inscape. The externalising of the instress has a kind of translucent, almost bizarre juxtaposed energy pattern - drawing the reader towards the glittering Nirvana you have created with this masterpiece in perception. Thank you, Thank you, Thank you, from the bottom of my heart. I'm forever in your debt. You've got to be the next Shakespeare. If I had a publishing company and a million quid I'd definitely blow it on this story any day of the week, and that's a fact it is.

Woah! Baby!!! Those sooooft tendrils of LURVE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! It gets me evri time man.

All I can say is wow, and wow again, I bow down to you: wow, wow, wow and wow again. Woof Woof, barking Hooooooooowllllll!!

trifthen

Overall, mostly compelling and obviously a nod toward "The Tell-Tale Heart." Just a few minor quips:

"... gave off a sneer." What, like a mist? Did he sneer, or not?

"... hot and bothered." I know my arms sometimes feel hot, other times the skin roughly abused, but bothered? Were his arms annoyed, personally? Secondly, the phrase an overused metaphor. You're a writer, make up your own!

"... unleashed thoughts I never thought ..." Ouch! "... unleashed thoughts which I believed myself incapable ..." or some such.

Ramshackle is one word, and the 'd' at the end is unnecessary.

He looked toward The Bore's reaction? Really? Or was he looking toward the man to gauge his reaction?

Slumber, slumber, slumber. Man, there's a lot of slumbering going on.

Premature is one word.

I'm also not certain about something. Did you mean The Bore? As in, the man is known through the village as being boring? So much so, he was tagged as The Bore? Or did you mean Boar? An animal commonly associated with smashing into things with great abandon?

I also wonder if it wasn't too easy, even slightly contrived, that The Bore let the narrator into his house without a hint of skepticism. Drunk or not, stupid or not, a baleful sneer followed by a "Gee, come right on in" seems unlikely. And why does the narrator feel guilty? I'm not sure that's entirely clear. Some could argue he rid the world of a murderer out of revenge for the death of his Goddess. Why does he feel guilty? Tell us why! Remember you have to deal with a world where husbands kill their own wives in seemingly mundane spats, and precious few of them end up in the loony bin consumed with guilt. The Bore is a man who, as your story suggests, practically begged for someone to eventually put him in his place. That's enough to drive his righteous killer insane? Really?

Clarify, sir. And be quick about it.

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