Black_ghost

Hmm, been a while since i last posted. Well, here's a short one. Again, i would like some feedback on the story, style or choice of words if possible, though that is asking alot. Just give it a read, and i'll try do repay the favor. Thanks.


Once upon a time, there laid a city, a city of dreams. The city was far from what humans called a great city, but still, it was a city. It laid about half way between a desert and a land of fruit. Thus this city was in between the soul of humanity.

Soon, years far since the founding, this city took the sight of a ruin place. What once was the sound of a growing city, now took the sounds of explosions. What was once a city of the living, now took the fields of the dead. What happened to this city of dreams, this city of life, this city of hope you ask? War is what happened.

War is a thing hard to see, yet easy to hate. War is chaos, destruction and malice. War is thus an evil thing, a creature that should not exist, yet lives. But, war is neither this, yet is thus this. War is chaos, as peace is chaos. War is desire, just as peace is desire.

Still, this story is not about the morals of war, nor the truth and lies of war. This story is just a tale of two soldiers without faces, without names and without hope, in the hour before the city was last seen.

How this war started, no truth can be said without lies. Though, a rare truth tells that it is not the reason of war, rather the meaning of war. What then does this war mean? It is nothing but a dream that those who had the means to dream about it created, no matter what the nightmares.

So this was a war of a dream, which took no views but its own. And this dream took upon the city, which now lay in ruins. Following the lines that could once be called roads within the city, shells, blood, bodies and the death lay like the vines of the body. Follow these lines long enough, and there, next to a building with a sign that reads, “We give to those who have not, and ask only to receive what we desire not”, there lays about two soldiers.

So here they lay, in these lines that are the vines of our soul, in the city that now sounds of nothing. No longer the cries of the dying, no longer the screams of lights and metal, nor anything that can scare a sane man. There lies only the sound that scares the mad man, the sound of nothingness, for it is here that we encounter the end.

Here, with the building with the signs that holds no meaning, in a city that has no hope, they lay next to each other, like brothers when the word of war has no meaning. One of them looked into the sky. White clouds lay above him, yet what catch his eyes was a stream of crimson smoke, drifting like a red dragon of myth. He takes off his helmet, finding it missing a piece upon its side. Only then does he notice the warm liquid coming down his face.

“The clouds are nice. Have you even wondered if the clouds were really as soft as they looked...? It would be nice being a cloud. Moving only with the wind, rather than a beat of a drum. Not like us, buddy. I wonder if our life could have been different. What if we chose another path, with a different attitude? Would we be in a different place or would destiny still put us here?” whispers he, the soldier.

The soldier looks at his friend, finding no movement. The red stream from his friend’s torso tells him to fake a smile. For this, as they say is when the dying loses all their sin, and become nothing more a flash of memories. The soldier smiles, and remembers. They joined young to fight for their country, leaving behind a life that would drift on; a life where everyday seemed no different from the next, filled with bills, filled with broken dreams and lost hope, yet a world that would changed, no matter how much they wanted otherwise.

So, here they were, in a nameless city to change. A place to gain loyalty, but lose value. A place to gain strength, but lose reason. And a place to gain honor, but lose humanity. Here, they grew into the city and here, they would fade.

Then, memories turned to reality as air kicked out the body, and gush out blood. The friend coughed and tried to speak, but ended up gushing more blood. Still, he cried without knowing as the salt burned into the cuts of his face.

The soldier looked upon the sky, and spook on, “Guess life isn't that simple right? Damn all of us to the next life. I wish things could have been different for us, man. I wanted to see your girlfriend that you wanted to marry. I wanted to see your dreams come true. I wish things could have turned out better, but then life is life. I wish we had some more time, but I guess that's life too. You know, I remember our commander’s last words. You think he be ready to die, but all he kept saying was ‘I don’t wanna to die.’ It was then I realized that it would never be easy, even if we lived.”

The red dragon in the sky filled the clouds. It blended and shifted, leaving a sky torn with blood. The soldier heard his friend’s cry clearing now, followed by weak words, “Sorry man. I wish thing didn't turn out like this either. I want to see her again, and my mom. I never told either of them that I loved them. I didn't want you to see me like this… Why do we do it, man!? Why do we have to kill each other? Why do we hate each other so much!? I don't want to die! I don't want you to die! I hate us so much. Why!? Why do we do it, man?”

The soldier replied, “I don't know why.”

His friend lifted his hand from his wound, and swung it upon the soldier’s chest. “I want you to kill me. I want you to be the last person I see before I die. I don't want my fucking country to kill me. I rather...I don't want to die, man. I miss my mom and my family. I'll never get to see my sister grow up, or my brother's wedding. Fuck all of us to hell! I hate us so much!” said the friend.

The soldier reached for his gun, “I sorry, man.”

His friends replied, “I want you to live. Promise me.”

“Sure,” replied the soldier.

“Lair,” laughed and sobbed the friend.

“I know. Sorry.”

Then silence. A sound gun shot fills the air, echoing the last cries of the city. It moves about the city, going like a music band on their last little tour to the gates that lay beyond them. It sings and dies, sings and dies, till at last, only the silences remained.

“I wish I was a cloud. Free from everything. Even the blood in the sky. If my legs could still move, you think I be able to reach from them?” said the soldier.

Suddenly, the red blood in the sky shifted as a wind ripped the sky. Then a new song rang into the city. A sad song, yet the song shed no tears. Another fake smile came upon the soldier’s face.

“Did you know Death was a woman?” goes the soldier. “A woman who sings this last song.”

A roar from the air blocks his vision. The song hits right above him. The clouds disappear, leaving only shadows and illusions. Only here does he see the sign close to him. “We give to those who have not, and ask only to receive what we desire not.”

Then he sees it, a leaf in the sky without clouds. It drops like the last leaf of autumn. This is war. This is a dream that holds no views, that holds no hatred, no sorrow and no truth.

“I don’t wanna die, either…”

A white light, radiates like the heavens. The song ends, and city between the souls of humanity disappears, as to the faceless things inside. The blood is gone, and the event past. So as we look upon the city that once may or may not have exist, in a war that was a dream, and we only to ask, why remember, for still the sky is blue and the clouds are nice?

__________________
I dreamt yesterday that i would wake up.
Is this a dream, or am i asleep?

Two Souls and A Broken Mirror
Heaven and Above
The Demon's Riddle
The Princess Snow
The Clouds Are Nice
The Keeper of Time

TheReMonstor

While reading, I kept making mental notes for sentences for you to fix or look at, but then after I got done, I had more than I could remember. Throughout the story you have a very weird sentence structure. And there are numerous times where your word choice is a bit odd. I'll try my best to point out what I mean. Also, there were so many statements made by the narrator that I thought were merely vague and questionable comments that were trying to force or mimic insight, especially in the "what is war" parts.

This is kind of what I mean. This sentence sounds like it's implying something about the city, but "in between the soul of humanity" doesn't really translate into anything, at least not for me.

First, you've got "city" 3 times in one sentence. Secondly, by specifically saying "humans", I was under the impression that this was a sci-fi story, b/c I expected there to be a race other than "human". See why I would think that? Maybe "people" instead.

Here's a great example of the odd sentence structure and word choice I was talking about. "Far since the founding" sounds odd. I think that the reader does understand what you're saying, but it still snags and interrupts flow. Again, the city "took the sight of ruin" as well as "took the sound of explosions". "Took" just sounds like the wrong word. Maybe "Took on" would make more sense, but still, I think you need to find a different word that better describes how the city changed from peace to war. And then the last sentence can just be done better. "this city" three times isn't neccessary. Just combine the "dreams, life and hope". Less work to read and write. I think I feel that kind of narrator style in how it's worded, but I find it more annoying than effective.

I thought that instead of "yet lives", you could change it to "thrives". And "war is neither this, yet is thus this" doesn't make any sense. And the "war is is chaos/peace is chaos" etc., that all just seems like forced insight that's not really saying anything at all. Essentially, you're saying War and Peace are Chaos and Desire. I guess I could try to get super insightful and delve into the reaches of intellect, only with the help of a bowlie of course, and try to pull something meaningful from all that, but a reader shouldn't have to work that hard.

Two things: By saying "just" a tale, I felt that this was telling the reader to disregard all of the above. It's dramatic narration for a couple of paragraphs, but then, "This story is just a tale of two soldiers". It sounds like you could just start the story right there. Second thing, after this paragraph, you go right back into the "meanings" of war and the "insightful" statements again, even though you just set it up to start talking about the two soldiers.

This entire paragraph was just more of the same war questions and references. At this point, you've called "war" about 20 different things.

Vines is used to describe both the soul and body, so I think you have to pick one.

Finally, here was one statement that made sense, that I didn't have to stop reading to ponder what the meaning was. It is insightful and understandable.

At first, when reading the dialogue, I thought "that's too much dialogue without being interrupted," but then I got to his friend not moving, and thought "oh, he's dead, that's why there wasn't a response" and I thought that was good. But then, he's not dead. So, do what you will about the dialogue. I'd slim it down, cut out what you can put in later or don't need.

This was good, nice touch.

At this point, I was just pissed. I would much rather be told what you're trying to say instead of being shown how hard you're trying to sound smart. I know that sounds harsh, but that's what I got from all the implied meanings and philosophical sentences.

I had a problem with just calling him "the friend". The other guy's "the soldier", but they're both soldiers and friends. I can see not giving them a name as it's not that important. It would be nice to see how inventive you could get at what to call them and how to separate them.

"spoke" - "I'm sorry" - "Liar"

So did the soldier shoot the friend over and over? B/c how it read, the song referred to the gun shot. And I don't see how the soldier could shoot his friend multiple times.

I was never sure what you talking about with the sky and the red. First I thought the red he saw in the sky was blood from his head when he took of his helmet, but then it talks about the red filling the clouds and being a dragon. I was just never sure of what the image was getting at and you refer back to it many times.

I didn't understand the question mark.

The dialogue in the story always seemed like big long speeches from the 2 soldiers, like they didn't really talk to each other. It was also cliché as far as the "I don't wanna die" and "I never told them I loved them". I know I've heard that before in several, if not all, war movies.

I think it would be a way better story if the characters talked more specifically about their lives and not really about dying and war. You hint at it w/ the girlfriend and such, but they don't have names. I would assume that a friend knows the name of the friends love interest. Even if they talked more about the specific conflict, it would have greater impact. But overall, the story just sounded like vague generalities about war and the common soldier's last moments.

__________________

Spook

While Monstor summed things up pretty nicely, I thought I'd drop in and add my two cents, especially since my name was expressly included in the story ( though I think it was a typo).

Your public profile reads as follows:

Biography: A writer who writes no tales, a story teller that has no stories.

This short description of your own self-projection, to me, seems to reflect very clearly in your writing. While your words are full of spark and passion, implying a deep and clever meaning, they in the end merely cancel each other out. And there can be only one thing that exists when two things diffuse each other --- absence. And absence is just as good as apathy, and....forgive me... that's pretty much what I felt when reading the story.

If I had to imagine you writing this, I'd see you sitting at your desk for a very long time, eyes closed, picturing the imagery in your head until it was perfect. Once that was done, I'd imagine you picked every word you typed very, very carefully, until each little sub-sector of every sentence was perfect. Then you posted it here, I guess.

It's an admirable style, full of hard work,

(smoke break)

but the problem with all that had work is that everything is pieced together a little too roughly. I think that plays into Monstor's observation of that funky sentence flow.

I do have to give you props though --- most unpublished writers have a habit of projecting themselves too much in their writing. Instead of seeing characters, we see the writer's big smiling face telling us a story. You, it seems, have taken it to the opposite end of the spectrum. While impressive (it's the first time I've seen it happen to this caliber) it's got disadvantages that you should be aware of.

Example: Take J.K. Rowling, author of the Harry Potter novels. Going super specific here (it goes for any decent author really) when you read her work, you come off of it somehow feeling that you know her in a very general way. No, you don't know that her favorite breakfast food is a creme danish, but you can tell that she's put a piece of herself into the book.

I'm just not getting that from you. I feel like I'm reading something written by a phantom, and in that, I've got no sense of connectivity to your story. I can say with 99 percent certainty that you don't sit at your desk all day, thinking up poetic sentences. You go shopping for groceries. You have a job or school. You cut up with friends, and you get aroused by attractive members of the opposite sex (or the same. I don't judge these things.) It's this sense of author presence that I feel is lacking in your work, which is very subtly transmitted through your characters.

In short, I'd advise getting a massage and easing up on the 'deeper meaning of things'. Life is gritty, unfocused, and uncertain most of the time. Anything this precise just can't be read without a sense of detachment.

Something tells me that you've got the heart and dedication to pump out some really good work. Just relax and let it flow.

Hope to see more later.

~Spook

Black_ghost

Thanks for the replies. I'll consisted them when i work on this.

To clear some things up.

TheReMonstor...

I didn't really want to sound anything as such, if the story did make it use of philosophical meaning. In truth, the story has none of this. If it did, then i can only say that the mind tends to give meaning to things, and if the words bing just right, it forces the mind to think and quest. That ultimately is what i wanted to do.

You can look at this story and think nothing else of it. It isn't written in the best of sense, and it dose lack some vital information that could make it better, but then why just tell a story, when i could make it inside the reader's mind. If you read a story more than once, and if the story is well enough written, it takes on a different meaning, no matter how meaningless it is.

Spook...

I really enjoyed your comments. It was the most fun of comments of read since i started posting on the net. Though it tells me of nothing of which is my writing, it did manage to give me a view on my writing. If your wondering, i'm not a poet that takes time to rewrite a masterpiece nor a person who can have fun anytime of the day. Rather i'm just me, and that means very little and more than you can believe.

Also, i really don't have a deeper meaning to this story, as my profile does state. I write no stories and tell no tales. Rather, i write words. That's all. But words, as they say, holds power, and that is what i use to either confuse or guid. Because, as you have stated and the fact holding that it is true, i am just a phatom upon this forums, just as everyone else here. Why else would we hide our true self and change them with a user_name? Still, i have consisted your comments, and would say that you would really like my other posts. Some of them are more to a character, though that is up to the reader and not me to say.

__________________
I dreamt yesterday that i would wake up.
Is this a dream, or am i asleep?

Two Souls and A Broken Mirror
Heaven and Above
The Demon's Riddle
The Princess Snow
The Clouds Are Nice
The Keeper of Time