psycho-violinist

This is the first peice of writing i have actually shown others, so please, pick it to pieces.

Hypocritical Messiah.

Innocence, is non existant. Only varying degrees of guilt. Prehaps, in certain situations, a child of no older than one month, could, somewhat, obtain a mental state of innocence, or in its place blissful ignorance of the world and people surrounding it. But many, are born tainted with the blood, the sin of their forebearers staining their hands.

Redemtion 21:
Concieved in sin, his mother raped by her previously loving husband, poisoned as he was by the seductive liquid of alcohol, stabbed by the bruised and bloodied hands of his victim. Stained from the moment of conception, I heard his soul cry to me through the walls of my musty unit. Begging for release, it would not cease its wailing. It's circumstances like this that i wish my burden be handed to another. Ridding the world of those who have lost, or misplaced for that matter, their innocence can seem somewhat daunting at times. And it's situations like these that make me regret my duty, as there was only one way to release this soul begotten by sin, and I found the thought non to pleasing.

I found her in the adjoining apartment, in shock of the actions that had previously taken place. Cradeling the head of the dearly departed, with her sin stained hands. Her eyes turned to me, recognizing me for who I was, pleading for release. But it was not her I was seeking to redeem, for she had control over the acts commited, but he, conceived in blood, had only the ability to sit and watch the events of his conception unfold. He was the one who was truly helpless, the one who was, innocent. The process of his redemtion was quick, a glint of silver, the smell of red, and, a memento of another soul saved. And so I had saved the worthy, and punished those responsible. All in all, just another day.


But contrary to what you might think, they are far from gratefull, the souls that I save. They come for me in my sleep, those who I have released, to taunt me, to haunt me, to wail.
Ungrateful. They are unaway of the gift I have bestowed upon them, to exist in perpetual innocence, in the knowledge that I have punished those responsible for their pain when the law had not a care to answer their crys for help. They refuse to see me as thier saviour, the one who loves the unlovable. This love is, unrequited, unreturned, painfull. Yet I must persavere, must continue the task at hand as it is a job that must be done. But as daunting as it might seem, there are some, the gratefull ones. I love all my children equaly, but these, these I hold in particular esteem.

Redemtion 16:
Most nights I would hear her crys, coming from across the hall they interupted my thoughts often.
By not cleaning her room properly, or talking back, she brought this upon herself. My heart would yearn for her. It must be so hard when the one who is meant to protect you from the world, is the one who makes you afraid to sleep at night.
At first I assumed that she hadn't brought him his beer fast enough, but this night, this night the screams didn't stop. Her young crys for help, continually interupted by another blow. This, this was a night for my calling. With every step the screams got louder, and with every scream, my heart raced, yearned, reached out for her salvation. She was privaliged this one, as I let her watch as I removed her tormenters hands, the hands that where used to beat her. Let her watch as I removed the legs that where continualy used to kick her, and I let her smile, smile as I removed the tounge that would never abuse her again. And then I saw it in her eyes, the glint that makes it all worth it, the glint of hope, as I released her from her pain, as she was redeemed.


She still thanks me, when the others have quitened down. Thanks me for releasing her, thanks me for letting her watch, and most of all she thanks me for the privalige, the privalige of being able to take her torturers life, the privalige to condemn his sould. But I am undeserving of such thanks, modesty is the sign of a true artist, and the way I carry out my calling is art in its purest form, violence, the core of all humanity.

It may shock you to know that I am completely unrepentant of these "crimes" that you have charged me with, for to be truly guilty one must possess some, no matter how small, feeling of guilt, yet I have no remorse for the acts that I have commited. The guilty ones here are the ones who rob the innocent of thier innocence. The ones who feed off the fear of my children. But these sinners have already been judgedm already been punished, for I am the protector of my sheep and I am ever vigilant.

So I sit here in my solitude, in the confinement you have forced upon me, and I listen, listen to those who call to me, screaming for the return of their innocence. And it's torture like not other, to be trapt behind these bars, unable to aid my childers, unable to respond to thier crys. I pray for a conviction, for surely the death penalty will follow. And with my death, another shall be appointed, and my children shall be redeemed once more. But I cannot wait, cannot wait the time that it shall take for a conviction, cannot allow my children to suffer any longer. The knowledge of what I must do hangs heavy upon my shoulders. I must vacate my position, so another can fullfill my task. Another shall be appointed with me exit, so my children shall be redeemed once more.

So it is with this final note that I enter oblivion, to be with my children.
And it is with this final farewell that I crucify myself, for I am the Hypocritial Messiah.


J 2005

Sigg

OOOOOK I can already see this is gonna be a long ass reply, here goes.

Before I give any sort of critique, you're story needs quite a bit of editing so I'll try to help you out.

existant should be existent

Prehaps = Perhaps

This is two sentences, the part after the last comma doesn't really make sense when you read it with the first half.

I think it's fore bearers, two words, not sure though.

Concieved = Conceived

Wow there's all kinds of awkward run-on-ness going on with this one, i suck at explaining structural grammar, can someone help me out with this one?

Awkward, try replacing "i" with "make me"

I don't know if you meant the repetition, but it doesnt read well for me.

non = none

replace "of" with "from" or "because"

Cradeling = Cradling

commited = committed

redemtion = redemption

take that comma out after and

gratefull = grateful

unaway = unaware

crys = cries you actually do that a couple of times in the story but i wont point them all out here.

thier = their

painfull = painful

persavere = persevere

equaly = equally

interupted = interrupted again, you have several of these

privaliged = privileged

tormenters = tormenter's

where = were

continualy = continually

quitened = quieted
torturers = torturer's

sould = soul

judgedm = judged

not = no

trapt = trapped

I'm pretty sure you don't actually mean Childers, but children, i could be wrong though

me = my

Ok man, now I'm asking myself why I just spent all that time editing when normally I would have told the person to put it through a spell check and repost it. Maybe because I'm bored and have nothing better to do. It probably took me longer to edit this than it did for you to write it. I strongly suggest you clean this up or I guarentee no one else here will read it. As for the story itself...

There were so many weird things that didn't match up properly that it made this alomst impossible to appreciate. For one, you start off talking about innocence, but then through the rest of the story you go completely against the stuff you say in the first paragraph. The plot isn't really very unique or original, in fact I wrote and posted a similar story a while back called Delusions of Grandeur. Not saying that it's any better, just sayin' the dead horse has been beat so much it's almost all dust.

2 more things... first, what is all that crap about him being a true artist, that totally doesn't fit at all with the rest of what the guy was saying. And second, the last 5 words, they bug me because he calls himself a hypocrite which would mean he knows what he believes is a crock of shit but it certainly don't sound that way during the rest of the story.

Anyways, it was a good try, but to be honest i dont think i really gave ur story a fair chance because of all the grammar. Just run your stuff through spell check beforehand, it's sort of a sign of respect for your readers in a way. Hope to see something else by you, keep on writing.

__________________
Drivin' in my Cadillac Rock Box

psycho-violinist

lol i could see the grammar stuff happening a mile away.
Alot of it has to do with english being my second tounge, but no excuses, i thank you many times and will quicken to fix them up.

Oh and also, the whole contradiction thing is one of the points made by the story, its not meant to make sense, this guys an absolute lunatic, he IS crazy. He honestly thinks to himself that he is genuine about his "cause" but in fulfilling it he contradicts, looses the point, crosses back on things said etc etc.

Again, thanks so much for the time and effort to help me out with the story.