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playingthepianodrunk
May 28th, 2012, 03:52 AM
His bald head, polished, glistened under the strong sun. Dressed in a long flowing robe of fine silk he moved we concentrated intend but without hurry. This was the first time I meet Martin Skyler and indeed I did not know what to think upon arrival to the countryside. His mansion lay on a the largest of a series of rolling hills To the north was a pond and beyond that the forest. The house made of fine marble stood like some kind of beacon in this lush wilderness.


We walked together to the house in mutual silence. An artificial pond sat just beneath the large steps leading inside. It was a hot summer day but inside the air flowed in such a way that I remarked upon how pleasant the air conditioning was. The high ceiling in the parlor gave the room a strong echo. The walls were covered in fine art. The furniture and rugs were some of the nicest I've seen and he employed a strong staff of servants.


“Quite the contrast.” I remarked. “I did not expect a spiritual man like yourself to live in such luxury.”


His small round eyes gazed up at me and he spoke without breaking his stare. “I have an appreciation of all the fine things that God has bestowed upon us his children and that includes women.”


And that he did I had noticed, almost initially the bevy of beautiful women moving around performing various duties about the ground. I looked at this man very carefully and we sat for many moments speechless trying to figure one another out. I felt as if I walked into some elaborately constructed dream. Who was this man sitting before me and did he really believe all the things he said? I struggled to remain neutral as I broke the harsh silence.


“You speak of the virtues of freeing yourself from material possession and from attached human relationships, yet you seem so entranced by the aesthetic and physical comforts this world offers.”

My persistence toward the subject of the decadence of his day to day life seemed to have offended Martin but I did not care to be coy. I was in in fact determined to reveal this man as a fraud even if it meant pushing him toward an outbreak. It was clear to me that despite the great deal of effort he put in to his appearance he was no God he wasn't even inherently noble. He treated his power with a childish passion. He enjoyed showing off his toys allowing others only to admire and complement never to touch.



“I release what I absorb, these things are needed for my inspiration, besides it is true I enter solemn meditation for months. Those are the times when I truly suffer, the deepest and most infinite. My duty is as a transmitter for the Almighty.”


“If that is your duty should it not be everlasting and not broken by long periods of gluttony?””


“My son,” he spoke softly and with great care “I am a physical vessel as well, I must replenish myself physically and mentally. When I enter communication with the other world the toll it takes is great.”


“If you are a mere human like the rest of us in need of food air sleep etc then what makes you sure that you really are Gods chosen voice? And why did God chose you? What do you possess that others do not? And what separates you from the countless before you who have made similar claims?”


He remained calm and answered in the same short quick burst I was becoming much to accustomed to. “I am a mere human but God spoke to me for the first time when I was young. I was scared at first and it took me a great deal of time and effort to control powers. As to why God chose me that I cannot answer. I do not believe I was the first person God chose or the last, some were frauds and some were legitimate.”


He spoke in such an objective tone, the way someone would tell you two plus two equals four with no more belief that he could be wrong. I continued in this manner for sometime questioning him on all things I could think to bring against him and he answered each one in the same emphatic and self sure way. He did not as much as raise his voice and it is true I began to lose my patience before he. I was unimpressed by him in every way. He was vague without being profound. Stoic without being strong. Full of this dumb belief but I would not say he was crazy. Somehow this man convinced a million people that he was the messiah. In T.V interviews, speeches and a series of books he came across as a well spoken and convincing person even if he did not convince me but as he sat there with the same blank look on his face I could not help but feeling angry. I looked at him now differently and I saw a look in his eyes as if he felt he knew something that I could not possibly understand and I began to feel that more and more as time went on.

Jim Alias
May 28th, 2012, 07:18 AM
His bald head, polished, glistened under the strong sun. Dressed in a long flowing robe of fine silk he moved we concentrated intend but without hurry. This was the first time I meet Martin Skyler and indeed I did not know what to think upon arrival to the countryside. His mansion lay on a the largest of a series of rolling hills To the north was a pond and beyond that the forest. The house made of fine marble stood like some kind of beacon in this lush wilderness.
This is kind of word salad, probably the result autocorrect being thrown into the throes of some wild seizure by an odd quirk of whatever program you wrote in. Not a big deal because it gets way clearer as the story progress. Still, something to fix.


And that he did I had noticed, almost initially the bevy of beautiful women moving around performing various duties about the ground. I looked at this man very carefully and we sat for many moments speechless trying to figure one another out. I felt as if I walked into some elaborately constructed dream. Who was this man sitting before me and did he really believe all the things he said? I struggled to remain neutral as I broke the harsh silence.
Probably want to isolate "and that he did" in quotations, like some sort of internal monologue. Really confusing to read otherwise.

Overall, I like the concept, but wish the detail was delivered with a bit more flavor. It's interesting that you gave the details about the false messiah in the final paragraph of the story, but again I wish it was stated with some panache. You might want to look up comma usage.

Most importantly, though: vary your sentence structure and work on your prose. It clanks quite a bit and doesn't flow in a way that I find particularly pleasant to read; I almost want to ask if English is your first language. Still, you use a reasonably varied vocabulary and I honestly believe you have potential; my advice to is to read all that you can and figure out what it is about sentences and structure that separates a story you love from a dictionary entry. You talk about the flavor with which the false messiah lives; show it through your prose!

playingthepianodrunk
May 28th, 2012, 04:44 PM
Hey thanks for reading that, I didn't finish the story because I felt I wrote myself into a wall. As for the panache you talk about I know what you mean and maybe that is something I can develop. I don't think I've found my style yet, I read works by prominent authors and I notice subtly's in their work and I try to expand those things into my work all the time. Anyway again I appreciate the advice.

LaughinJim
May 30th, 2012, 01:15 PM
The piece, if you want to make it longer, needs to be reworked. The concept of a ‘holy man,’ accepted by some and reviled by many, is an old one yet it does not need to be a hackneyed story.

There are a few grammatical errors that need correction. Comma insertion will aid in clarification.

When the narrator finally realizes that the man might know more than the narrator himself, this should probably occur later if you have more to say. I think it is important that the reader know that both men are flawed. How you develop this is up to you but the overwhelming hatred comes through clearly and is a start for the flaws of the narrator. His sudden and rather early development of some insight might be where you painted yourself into a corner, as you say.