Proletarian (Humano) - Writers Forum

Br0kenS0cial · 01-22-2008, 10:00 PM

I'd like some honest reviews, if you'd be so kind...

I slipped through the soiled street, passing through the stench of 100 years of poverty. This is what we were promised? The barren, un-profitable land of a raped god? At least before the revolution, we felt like people, now we are words, numbers and figures. I try and tell the others that God has left this place; he was paid off and then was killed for his greed as he tried to double-cross El Diablo. God would not be able to smell his people's decomposing bodies without having to act. My body is rotting from the inside out. It began in my heart, slipping through my veins, into my brain, before escaping through my mouth in word-form. When it cannot escape fast enough, these rogue thoughts seep out my ears. I cannot work, I have lost the will. I could all the time and still have no money for food. I used to have endless bowls of rice, now I have a single, malcontented grain. I go through the streets and see crosses, I whisper that religion is for the full, apathy is for the hungry. I go to church and they mock me with their wafers. The body of Christ is not a body, it is a precursor to hunger, the concentrated hypocrisy of those in power. I will go hungry unless I live to see the next revolution. My bony hands will fight for the faction that will let me eat and drink like a man, not grovel like a pig.

The sun above me is growing too hot. It seeks to quell these revolutions by melting the people like a magnifying glass to ants, yet I am not angry. How can I be angry when there is not enough emotion to go around? I will not steal the feelings of another man, for I have no use for them. Men have killed for more trivial things, and they have died for less. All the nothing that I have today is thanks to war, and the best things I have loved and lost have come and gone because of the profitable bitch. A flourish of trumpets sounds as I lead the charge. My stomach cries out a battle call for everyone else to hear. All the country heeds my hungry cry, and collectively vow to go on being hungry.

Heathmalc · 01-23-2008, 03:59 AM

Quote:

Originally Posted by Br0kenS0cial

I'd like some honest reviews, if you'd be so kind...

I slipped through the soiled street, passing through the stench of 100 years of poverty. This is what we were promised? The barren, un-profitable( remove the hyphen) land of a raped god? At least before the revolution, we felt like people, now we are words, numbers and figures. I try and tell the others that God has left this place; he was paid off and then was killed for his greed as he tried to double-cross El Diablo. God would not be able to smell his people's decomposing bodies without having to act. My body is rotting from the inside out. It began in my heart, slipping through my veins, into my brain, before escaping through my mouth in word-form. When it cannot escape fast enough, these rogue thoughts seep out my ears. I cannot work, I have lost the will. I could all the time and still have no money for food. I used to have endless bowls of rice, now I have a single, malcontented grain. I go through the streets and see crosses, I whisper that religion is for the full, apathy is for the hungry. I go to church and they mock me with their wafers. The body of Christ is not a body, it is a precursor to hunger, the concentrated hypocrisy of those in power. I will go hungry unless I live to see the next revolution. My bony hands will fight for the faction that will let me eat and drink like a man, not grovel like a pig.

The sun above me is growing too hot. It seeks to quell these revolutions by melting the people like a magnifying glass to ants, yet I am not angry. How can I be angry when there is not enough emotion to go around? I will not steal the feelings of another man, for I have no use for them. Men have killed for more trivial things, and they have died for less. All the nothing that I have today is thanks to war, and the best things I have loved and lost have come and gone because of the profitable bitch. A flourish of trumpets sounds as I lead the charge. My stomach cries out a battle call for everyone else to hear. All the country heeds my hungry cry, and collectively vow to go on being hungry.

Things in green:

how does anything besides blood seep out of ears? Never heard of a thought going out of the ear...even symbolically.

The body of Christ, is itself a symbol... You are symbolizing a symbol.

Bitch does not seem to work here. You use symbols throughout the story, then call war a profitable bitch? Seems to go against the style you chose.

Things in red: Self-explanatory

Things in Orange:

"Men have killed for more trivial things, and they have died for less."

The sentence basically says: "Men have killed for less, and died for less."

Trivial and less are used in the same context, so you essentially use the same word twice.

Would be better if you said: " Men have killed and died for less."

The story itself isn't bad. It is highly symbolic and can lose a lot of readers due to the sometimes confusing metaphorical use of your words.

Generally, stories like these take a little-bit of foundation, before the actual story can be told. E.G. "Children of Men"

I'd have liked to see about a thousand words for this one, so that I could have got a good feel for where the story was headed. Due to the relatively short length (given the style), the story appears rushed, and confusing.

I would suggest re-writing, so that readers will understand what you are trying to say.

Regards,

Heath