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Daneril17
January 15th, 2012, 09:14 PM
Isle of Man


by Daneril17

Synopsis


This a story of countless proportions that tells the tale of Richard Helling, a young laborer from the region of Greater Manchester in the North of England. He had grown up surrounded by poverty along with his closest friend and ally Edward Harvey- this beign said that both were young men that were looking for much more in their lives, than the disasterous conditions found in Manchester. Edward travels on five years prior to visit his Parents in Northern Scotland, but is never heard of again, until a few days ago. A letter is received by Richard stating that Edward is in need of assistance in a very rushed form. Thsi journey records Richards odessey or rather insignificant trip from the North of England to Scotland, and it's sheer terrors...

Prologue/Introduction




Had it been in that lengthy month, in the prime of autumn, to which I garnered sufficient terror to point of damaged brain cells and infinite hysteria, only to be quietly shut down by the outside world and taken into custody of the devil. The few months having spent in this dreaded odyssey of carnaged characteristic, in which turbulent beasts swept my homeostatis, clenching the very lungs that fueled me life. Even with a basis as to which articulation of the present situation enthralled them, the townspeople blocked every single allusion of their deepest secrets from me. The quarrel had just taken place in the most Northern Points of Britannia; a trail past Glasgow and Edinburgh into which no civilization, or at least "real" one was ever found or exposed.


When I had come to the conclusion of actually venturing to such a drenched and darkened corner of society, it had come to me that just maybe; maybe he had wanted me here afterall. That wildly fellow would have wanted me to witness the grand horror so that I may, in his sense warn the country of an upcoming fear of effectuous nature. I was prepared to reinforce my mind with the most structured ethos in order to maintain that certain level of sanity I had left Ayrshire with.


Not even had the sheer terror of Lochness beswept my eyes on the reality of this small disease ridden town, being located somewhere in the most absurd sector of the highlands. Had this unfortunate event taken place in a more frequent enviroment, it would have never had happened, suffice to say that law would have crushed this barbarian zealot. It would prove to be a rather quick trip in which I hopped into my car with everything in, but that element of excitement normal people felt in adventurous situations such as this. I had been called randomly to answer the duty of not even King or Country, and least we speak of the minister.


I had been called by the mere gentry of such humble origins that my very career would have been at stake if sought out by the governing offices. I would come to question the legitimacy at to which I would present by form of negotiation to my inner mentality, and would finally determine whether or not what I was doing was enough of an excuse. I was not looking for a casus belli, but more so sought over the reason of the task and not the excuse to perform it efficiently. I would spend time just thinking about this, even on my exclusive travels in the abyss. However, those very peculiar moments of my travels have never been so bleak to me as of now, for that may be due to age, yet the keen thing about this fair trip of mines up to the rolling hills and ice sculptures of the Picts was that I had never ventured out of England before; safe the least out of North England.


It had always come to my attention how flamboyant the youth had acted in London as compared to ours. The grim faces of children who grew up with no fathers, no brothers, no mothers and no sisters were well attached to my ego, that as soon as I would get to that fair city of Glasgow, I was in a parasidial epoche.'' There was nothing in the sector of the country; the industrial revolution had even situated itself in these settled cornfields, where hard laborers innovated their grain at exhausted hands, and in which they would eventually work their way up to the cities; most particularly being Manchester and Liverpool.


I was finally readying myself for the rather perspective future that beheld my mind, as if my nostalgia of home had ceased to exist in the course of a few minutes. The abnormality of my stature was to be quite amusing to those from the cities, not being used to a Western serf only to be the pretentious maggot of the hereditary peers. Never had it occured to me that my dogmatic theories and doctrines had set the course of my life as if they were a pair of Parliamentary laws. However, there can only be one difference between the parliament and that of my dogma; this being that parliament could decide regarding the manner, through a proper consensus. Such an avid portrayal of my persona would suffice to show people my true personality and character, them being able to see the lack of similarity presented between our two cultures.


As I had progressed along the road I would usually stop a few times in order to accomodate my natural needs, but to also surely, but quietly light a small hand wrapped cigarette by the entrance of the gas station. The smell of smoke would surely calm my senses but as an externality make of my clothes a more putrid and wrinkled image, to say the least. More and more as I would come closer to this illustrious neighborhood, I would leave the canopy of the car open, in order to let the pure and lush breeze sweep over my charcoal hair. It had also come to me, being that I was the driver of this little expedition, I had analyzed the shift in road structures and sanitation in the region; once again the roads here were much cleaner than in Manchester.


Again at the gas station or general store I would use my thick Mancunian accent in order to, in a way, confuse the attendant so I could get that exact negotiation displayed, that I wanted. It was very hard for Scots to understand lads from York, and least to say they would even come to comprehend Mancunians. There was even a time where a tall, yet timid, man of elderly characteristics and a presence was displayed, as to which he represented the microcosm of labor in the region.


"May I have a pack of cigarettes please?" Is all I had thought of saying.


"Ah! Young lads like you shouldn't smoke at all, seeing the very least that you end up with heaps of tar in your lungs."
Such provocative slander and tongue would only prove relentless to a person of my nature, being raised in a low class family that was not even used to such abrupt and sinister assumptions of him. This would even prove him a zealot, being the fact that people would always view smoking as a sign of wealth. I could only afford those, of which persons of low standard could afford. The externality of the industrial revolution was just this; this depraved division among people depending on their constant revenue. How ridiculous. I finally gave a response.


"Well then good sir! I do understand your tongue with pure clarity, but for that harm that I injest into my body is of my business, and my business alone."

"Surely, to each his own after all, though that world you may live in today, it may be the subject to macrocosm after all!"
I stood in an abrupt pause as to which I questioned if this man I had really been a member of the suttle middle class, or an astute aristocrat. You see, for hours now I had been trekking my misfortunes that were to only be belittled by the quest I had recieved from him earlier. Edward had been the only person to ever contact me for this sort of venture in a long time, me being the man nobody would want to be associated with. For him, it seemed like a shriek for help, as comparable to a wounded dog stranded in a distant battlefield. It would only make me more nervous and full of shivers when I'd actually get around to meeting the fellow.

Still there I stood, gazing at that attendent with an amount of discontent at to what he just blurted. Had he had a Governess as a young boy? Were all people in Glasgow like this? These were the questions that rang through my mind, at a rocketing pace. One after another, they came and regressed, as I stared.

In a more randomer time he finally spoke to me, "Lad, are you ok?"
I quietly shook my head at the response, and slowly opened my mouth, as if I were to let out a cloud of steam. It would only start with a nervous stutter.

"uhh-Sir... can you give me the proper directions for Glasgow please. I seem to find myself lost here."

"You need'nst be lost around these parts. We have a telephone booth just over at that corner; you can use it all you like, but I am not sure whether you'll get reception from the town electricity station at this time."

I cannot believe it... After all this time of panting and trying to get to a friend I had only just remembered a few days ago of his affectous nature, and charming mind. I had lost my sense of direction, feeling confident, just because I had gotten myself a new car. For a Mancunian, it was the most difficult thing getting yourself around with your job, needless to say with a car. But of course it having been so new would only hint at us that it was not mines at all. Desperation at the situation would only prove even more desperate when I would make my way back to Manchester.

I had grown too fond of Edward. We grew up together in the dreary street corners of Manchester, yet he would eventually withdraw to the far reaches of Lothian, in a just cause of isolation, in order to revisit his past and meet his Parents. This occured around five years ago, when we were only in our years of adolascent. As for me, I was a street urchin living off the pockets of the peers and attempting to make a musical approach to my life and all being for a profit to live. Now I could'nt heed the call of my most personal friend, for we had grown too close and had such a bond, that if I had done so, I would never have forgiven myself for the atrocity.

I would slowly hop back into my car after I regained my footing and direction. It was finally the point in which I'd arrive to Glasgow. I remember saying to myself quietly, as the Autumn breeze pounded the hull of the car.
"Edward you fooking bloke... I'm coming for ya, ya bastard!"


Section I.

The smell of smog came rushing into my nose, as I darted my way through the streets, and dashed around the street corners of the Scottish capital. I had finally completed a task in which I thought would take a mere century, even with the consciousness of knowing I did have a car. The chimneys of the apartments and the houses stood tall, overshadowing each street with a cloud of black smoke, and nasty oders. I had presumed that Glasgow was the ideal town to live in, and to find in order for the pursuit of happiness and the ability to have economic equality. The condition as to which I had seen the town on that day was as appalling, and even more appalling and gruesome as It had been in Manchester. Little did I think of as to why it was always these same conditions that swept over the Urban Landscape of any British city. The crime rate was ridiculously significant, with street urchins and lurkers running about in the premises, and an unlimited line of homeless figurines in the background, just rotting away and begging for a daily wage. The landscape was just too dreary for my mind to contemplate any further, and to me was worst than where I had started. That fresh air and fresh scent that I so vividly felt before entering the Capital, was but only of the farms surrounding the cities outskirts- though they too were of industrial value, and of condition. Was I in hell, or was I really back where I had started this odd little trek?

Elipsis
January 15th, 2012, 10:50 PM
I had a few problems with this. I had no idea what was going on (not for lack of trying). The use of extravagant words, for the pure sake of using extravagant words, did nothing but take away from the story. Why it is in the fantasy/sci-fi/horror section is beyond me. I'm sorry, but perhaps you can explain?

Grape Juice Vampire
January 15th, 2012, 11:26 PM
This is difficult to read, could you separate it into paragraphs? I tried to read it as it is and can't focus.

Daneril17
January 16th, 2012, 12:00 AM
I had a few problems with this. I had no idea what was going on (not for lack of trying). The use of extravagant words, for the pure sake of using extravagant words, did nothing but take away from the story. Why it is in the fantasy/sci-fi/horror section is beyond me. I'm sorry, but perhaps you can explain?


that is actually my vocabulary. You'll understand when I finish it.

josh.townley
January 16th, 2012, 01:59 AM
that is actually my vocabulary. You'll understand when I finish it.

I have to agree with Elipsis.

I read this quite carefully, but had no idea what was going on. It sounded like you were imitating the style of writers like Dickens, but the sentence structure was just so round-a-bout that I couldn't follow (Dickens sometimes irritates me by writing like this, but he is easier to understand). I'm sure that quite a few of the sentences were not grammatically correct, or were incomplete.

I have no doubt that you are a talented writer, but I think you might be trying to hard to show it off, and in the process losing your audience.

Daneril17
January 16th, 2012, 02:47 AM
I have to agree with Elipsis.

I read this quite carefully, but had no idea what was going on. It sounded like you were imitating the style of writers like Dickens, but the sentence structure was just so round-a-bout that I couldn't follow (Dickens sometimes irritates me by writing like this, but he is easier to understand). I'm sure that quite a few of the sentences were not grammatically correct, or were incomplete.

I have no doubt that you are a talented writer, but I think you might be trying to hard to show it off, and in the process losing your audience.


I can literally explain every single sentence in this story and you'll be like, oh *slaps self... this is the intro let it develop.

And also most good authors make their pieces more ambigious in order to try to get the individual in a state of trying to interpret what they see. Just because you cannot understand something doesn't mean it is full of grammatical error. I wrote this because I was taking a college course on literature and wanted to use devices like antecedent and metonymy.

josh.townley
January 16th, 2012, 03:27 AM
I can literally explain every single sentence in this story and you'll be like, oh *slaps self... this is the intro let it develop.

And also most good authors make their pieces more ambigious in order to try to get the individual in a state of trying to interpret what they see. Just because you cannot understand something doesn't mean it is full of grammatical error. I wrote this because I was taking a college course on literature and wanted to use devices like antecedent and metonymy.

You may be right, but an author should not need to explain every single sentence of their writing in order for the reader to understand it. Nor would they be given the chance to do so in the real world.
That's fair enough if this for a college assignment that necessitates this sort of writing, but I personally find it very inaccessible.

Daneril17
January 16th, 2012, 05:39 AM
You may be right, but an author should not need to explain every single sentence of their writing in order for the reader to understand it. Nor would they be given the chance to do so in the real world.
That's fair enough if this for a college assignment that necessitates this sort of writing, but I personally find it very inaccessible.


I like it :) also read turn of the screw, and you won't get it at all either. :)

Daneril17
January 19th, 2012, 07:48 PM
I have to agree with Elipsis.

I read this quite carefully, but had no idea what was going on. It sounded like you were imitating the style of writers like Dickens, but the sentence structure was just so round-a-bout that I couldn't follow (Dickens sometimes irritates me by writing like this, but he is easier to understand). I'm sure that quite a few of the sentences were not grammatically correct, or were incomplete.

I have no doubt that you are a talented writer, but I think you might be trying to hard to show it off, and in the process losing your audience.


also most good novels are written in this variant. It isn't my fault that most of the books I read are of 19th century literature. Things like the Heart of Darkness, Scarlet Letter, Turn of the Screw, The Awakening (even though understandable).

It sucks that most people nowadays can't read this variant, and by god they think the Kite runner is hard... -.-

Elipsis
January 19th, 2012, 08:28 PM
Oh good, we're back on this. I understood it fully. I've also read those books for I was a lit major in college, but the plain fact is that you're losing a lot of readers by writing your story this way. There are other ways to immerse you readers in the period, or maybe just find a happy medium of what you're doing now. I don't know if this is a good example or not, but it's sitting on my coffee table already. The Meaning of Night by Michael Cox is set in late 1800's England and uses much of the vernacular without coming off as a "hard read." I noticed that you really toned it down near the end of your post and that's exactly where it ended abruptly, leaving most people to ask "what the hell is going on?" Only the first paragraph of it was any actually problem with every other word seeming like it was finger picked from a thesaurus. I get it. I really do. Finish your story and I'll be glad to read it. Stop being so defensive of your writing, and take our comments to heart. Because what you hear here will be a lot less harsh than you will hear from any publisher, professor, or outside reader.

Daneril17
January 19th, 2012, 08:41 PM
Oh good, we're back on this. I understood it fully. I've also read those books for I was a lit major in college, but the plain fact is that you're losing a lot of readers by writing your story this way. There are other ways to immerse you readers in the period, or maybe just find a happy medium of what you're doing now. I don't know if this is a good example or not, but it's sitting on my coffee table already. The Meaning of Night by Michael Cox is set in late 1800's England and uses much of the vernacular without coming off as a "hard read." I noticed that you really toned it down near the end of your post and that's exactly where it ended abruptly, leaving most people to ask "what the hell is going on?" Only the first paragraph of it was any actually problem with every other word seeming like it was finger picked from a thesaurus. I get it. I really do. Finish your story and I'll be glad to read it. Stop being so defensive of your writing, and take our comments to heart. Because what you hear here will be a lot less harsh than you will hear from any publisher, professor, or outside reader.


professors are the first ones who Love this style of writing because I take lit classes. But yes I am thankful you understood it and I'll continue writing!I didn't hand pick any of these words from thesaurus btw it's all from knowledge.