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It's a Sin (1 Viewer)



Sorry, it's taken down because of grammar errors. If anyone can suggest books on grammar let me know. Please leave a link. Thanks. Sorry about that. Below is a copy of a review of the grammar someone gave me to see.

The Sense of Structure: Writing from the Reader's Perspective


I think that sums up my problems.

A dead man was in the garbage. His dark suit was dirty as a witch having been sapped from its beauty [?]; the black and shiny [why shiny?] polyester suit was clean and spotless [first dirty, now clean?]. His eyes looked into the dark abyss that was in the time of the disco light [?]. Life wasn’t blooming. The crows moved. Eyes breathed life in their sockets. The dead man’s heart beat [heartbeat] felt like a drum [Who is feeling it?], and his brain was not working [How do we know?]. The one who saw him was the only living inhabitant of the trash. His name was Fargo. A person who dubbed himself the ‘police’ lived in the alley adjacent but no one knew this except for some kids who played with him. Last sentence doesn't flow.

Fargo just accepted it as a new paradox. The person, whose soul was empty, was dead. His heart was beating like a drum until the moment of the final stroke. Wherever his brain was, it would never return as the brain had stopped first. Awkward His heart was beating relentlessly hanging on. How does he know the man isn't simply unconscious?

All of it didn’t make [None of it made] sense at first since the brain usually went last but it [what?] wasn’t there. There must have been some supernatural explanation to it.

“I found a dead person in the dumpster,” Fargo said. To whom?

He had done the report for the police. It was minutes since Fargo and his friend fled the scene [Why flee? Also, Fargo was supposed to be the sole inhabitant.] and had reported it to the police. “The vigilante man is the one who killed him. He’s a prolific killer of criminals. Kids spread rumors about him. He hides in the shadows somehow. He plays at arcades. He kills people with a key stroke [How?],” Fargo’s friend said.

“I don’t believe you.” Fargo looked at him. “I think he likens himself to a father figure. I still have trouble explaining why kids say things about him.” The sweat was condensed and on his forehead. [Sweat appeared on his forehead.] It seemed he was policing [?].

“His story is a story spread over by kids that maintains his presence as mysterious and when he strikes he is never seen,” said Fargo’s friend. “He makes his victims suffer after they play a game with him. He loves arcade games.”

“Was the killer somewhere other than here?” Fargo asked.

“He must not have a hard time finding people, or maybe the kids are his accomplices,” said Fargo’s friend.

“Let’s go to the arcade,” Fargo said wanting to leave this place. Where are they? “You were the first person at the scene ,” he said nervously. I came here since I had some errands to run. No one knows who he is. He could be anyone anywhere.” He could just imagine the sick laugh of a kid somewhere.

They went to the arcade since it was a public place where they could relax. “What about the dead person?” Fargo’s friend asked.

“It is reported and the police will get to him.” Indeed but he just didn’t know who it was and he could be anywhere.

It was a place that was most quiet, more so that [than?] the ocean, upbeat and fresh like the waves and the moon hung like gem-stone rock [choose one description] in the sky. I'm very confused by this description; aren't they in the arcade?

“Maybe he is a serial killer,” Fargo’s friend said. “Red Dead Shootout is the game he played.” Fargo knew what his friend had said. Why wouldn't he? They looked up to the arcade game to get [see?] a high score. “Jessie James the wannabe cowboy rescued children and women and some of the innocent,” the top credit was accredited to.

He tried to look at Fargo who had just made his entrance to the arcade. I thought they were already in the arcade. Holographic fairies were wishing hope, and had made a French kisses. ???

“Are you questioning the arcade score?" Fargo asked. "He must have played for days, maybe even a year to get that score? This clue means nothing in the end.

The arcade lights turned on and electric, flashing like laser beams, sounding like laser beams. Rewrite for syntax. Buttons were an orange red, like a squeezed khaki fruit [?].

After having watched the TV [Who's watching? Where?], it was said [Who said?] Daly [who?] was rescued.

Fargo took his time, as he was looking at all the arcade machines.

The arcade area was a pseudo designed holographic desert area [?], with rattlesnakes hissing in the background. When the police rescued the woman [who?] there was another kidnapping of Daly in Red-Dead Shootout.

“Daly has been kidnapped in the videogame, that give me a laugh,” said Fargo’s friend. “It’s the third time. Why does she lend herself in such situations?”

This was an arcade game. This was played by Jus. He was the person that was killed. His score was beat earlier today by Durango.

A deep consternation was welling up inside them. The TV screen lights lit up like fire, in a vibrant color with the tapestry in color of neon colored kaleidoscopes.

The deep crevices and holes were seen, as the pavement was old. It must have rained hard in this place since it was all bumpy. Are they outside now?And who said no one could have no fun?

In the meantime the TV turned on like an orchestra full of electricity. This was the scene of another murder at the arcades. It was deep in darkness because people were on pictures in the arcade machines it was as if eyes lurking. ????

Fargo was definitely the sort in the mood for an arcade thrill. He was a good player in Pack Munched in Arcade Fun Land (the name of the arcade). “I’ll post it on the internet when I am done. But the new score I put in the system will be hard to beat. The arcade has been evolving.”

“I don’t understand arcades and their allure. This is still the other reason is why I won’t go the police. I am still a teenager and adults don’t take us seriously. I think playing in arcades is a waste of time," his friend said. “Besides I want to find him as well. It is a paradox, and no one knows why.” It the dim lights they played of the arcade.

"We should chase him even if we don’t know anything.” Fargo said. “It wouldn’t change my life anyways,” this isn’t real, nothing of this is real it is all fantasy land, thought Fargo. “It’s wonderland.”

“What about your brother who also disappeared in this arcade?” Fargo's friend asked. “He was waiting for us here.”

“My brother, I still question where he is,” said Fargo.

“He probably disappeared,” said Fargo’s fiend. “Don’t worry he should turn up.”

“I haven’t forgiven him yet.” Fargo said, and gave the best Street Brawler match the opponent never saw coming. He knocked him and almost broke the joystick. “Where could he be now? This is a new development. We need to find the killer.”
“He is a lonely sort.” Fargo said. “I knew him from high school. He should have stopped wasting his money, losing game after game in the arcade.”

“Now that I think of it, it is impossible that there was not a brain in the body,” Fargo’s friend said. “Imagine that, it was a brain transplant,” he said. They are now possible even though the spinal cord is human engineered [?]. Of course it requires the best neurosurgeons in the business and costs a lot of money.

To think they did it to a monkey and it didn’t survive.”

Fargo imagined the imaginary music of Galagalo playing, with shooting spaceships. A column of the spaceships in vast space came and passed over on the arcade screen.

To be separated from the body was a vicious act as was such the case in a transplant. The odds of surviving were low.

“Videogames are for lonely people or people who are misguided. Apparently they seem to be for evil people and psychopaths with twisted motivations,” Fargo’s friend said. “How are we going to find him?” Glistening sweat poured like viscous syrup, a salty taste that made one think of bitterness [?].

“This is all suspicious,” Fargo said. “My brother disappeared here in the arcade. He is not here,” he said in a worrisome [worried] tone. I won’t be able to found him. Mom will worry. Hopefully the killer of the body of earlier is found.”

“All I have is his phone number from an old friend but it is private,” Fargo’s friend. “Why haven’t the people found him then if we know all this? Imagine the people who knew, maybe they were murdered.” Fargo said. “That is why you told me someone could be after me before you got here.”

“We should stop him if we have the power,” Fargo said. “All my high school friends have been dyeing [dying]. And to top it all my brother is gone. His motives were more complex than that.”

Fargo’s inner voice struck a chord inside of him like a fuse to dynamite struck onto flames with blistering speed (for the first time). He’s brain was working in gears. [The gears in his brain were working.] That is when he decided on a plan to burn down the arcade with gasoline. When he found out that his someone who didn’t graduate from high school was dead and his brother was kidnapped a few moments ago. Were they the latest victims?

“Are you with me?” Fargo said. “My brother disappeared at the same time as the other person. Let’s stop being the vigilantes. Let’s burn down the arcade it should gain attention.”

“Yes. So this is how you want to get the killer’s attention? Easy enough,” Fargo’s friend said. “The question is will we find him?”

Fargo’s friend took a chunk of the joystick pieces and microchips left of the Red Dead Shootout arcade machine when he beat it, tossed it into gasoline, and got a matchstick to light flames. An electric fire spread fast. An anonymous tip had said that the arcade had gone into flames. Fargo knew the place had insurance and if not he would pay it up. The cowboy killer imagined Fargo as a vigilante who was on the lookout for whom had done this.

The arcade was in cinders, the illusions of flying fairies were gone. One could only see their clipped wings. A giant flame the size of the sun drew attention from all directions as if burning like a fiery fire ball. In some ways it was 3:00 a.m. [?] and it was a perfect time to commit a crime. The thrill Fargo got out of it was immense. He was now a criminal, watching for himself if he revealed too much information about himself. He felt new. He felt that he was not old.

The kidnapping was not that far off either. It was as if the arcade could speak of that of which that use d to be there, the lost scores and scenes of fires imaginarily spoke of a heated discussion of the man that was incognito (and was worshipped by kids).


Life appeared to be a videogame since they were followed home. A dark shadow appeared over them. A peering devil that was looking in the abyss that was the darkness and that did nothing.

It was so dark, that Fargo’s friend had stepped on a cat. It hissed and hissed, and insisted not to be bothered.

“Someone is there. God I hate cats, all they do is ask for food,” said the teenager as if the shadow approaching was listening and he was half-expecting a cat to brush against his leg. If he were left in silence all he could hearken to was his empty soul.

A school was not that far from the arcade. There was a kid of the older age group. He was 15. He was all alone in the park. Green trees were of emerald color that reminded of the sea, a gentle breeze gave a sprightly mood to the air like a giant whistling and the dry touch of the wood was near. The taste of cold air left a refreshing winter fresh taste. It seemed as he was from a group of kids a lofty comparison. They were in winter. A cold look was enough.

A terrible horror shook him when he witnessed the shadow. The gentle peering devil of a shadow, Fargo appeared. It was a demon to the teenager who was so spooked; he thought he had missed the lottery drawing. But it was just a shadow. The teenager had some reserved feelings. He was not that talkative.

“Boss, is that you?” He said with a half relieved-tormented face. But no one answered. It was just Fargo and his friend’s shadow.

It was an empowering to be a power figure for a while when the teenager looked at him he didn’t want to answer. But something peculiar caught his eye. “You are not who I was looking for,” said the teenager, “and what is this? What happened? I see smoke from far away,” said the teenager.

“We don’t know,” said Fargo and his friend answering back. The suspicious glance was not unnerving since they knew how to lie well.

“But that was at 3:00 a.m. in the morning. There’s been a murder. A very peculiar murder that was close to the arcade. Something tells me their last moments were not well spent,” said the teenager.

Fargo thought long and deep about the arcade burning down. “What are you doing here awake in 3:00 in the morning?

“Nothing much,” said the teenager like Pinocchio.

“Go home it is 4:00 a.m. in the morning, if you have nothing to do here,” said Fargo’s friend

“I have no home to return and I think the killer has you on his list since you burned down the arcade grounds. They keep me well-fed, and I don’t have to work all the time. But living this life is a lie. They said they would kill me if I told someone about the arcade murder. But I don’t have anyone to turn to. That place is where I was going to go to play,” said the teenager. “It seems I’ll be in a better position if I help you. After all it seems I am in trouble.”

“We can help you. Is this the cowboy killer’s doing?” Fargo’s friend asked uneasily. It seemed he was enforcing his age difference.

“I was a criminal when I was a child; I committed a murder when I was 12 years old. All sorts of children get reformed by him. Families that abandon their children are taken under his care,” said the teenager.

“Where is the killer now?” asked Fargo. He was a bit unnerved but it would come to pass. “Don’t you realized what has happened?”

“He’s been doing some work in the penitentiary,” said the teenager who had confessed it. “But I do not know where he is.”

“Really?” asked Fargo.

“He is not a bad sort of person. He doesn’t go to church yet he believes in committing sins and later redressing the wrongs. He is a good person, no one to believe in god. But by committing sins and redressing wrongs you can purify yourself,” said the teenager.

“I see,” said Fargo’s friend. “Well that is a unique way of viewing the system. I guess he thinks he will be paying back the system. But you have to do thinks that are outstandingly good first off.”

“He has a friendly side he shows to no one,” said the teenager focusing on the character the teenager said trying to convince him almost. “Before I show you where he lives, I have one condition since I am kind of hesitant.”

“What is that?” asked Fargo’s friend. “A condition you say?”

“Yes. No guns or weapons.”

Fargo would have said not but he saw the look of the something in the teenager’s eyes.

He seemed to remember that he burned down the arcade and he would be investigated. It wasn’t because of hate or teenager misguidance thought Fargo. It’s because of fate. There was nothing to hate.

“Deal, but we also get to search you for weapons,” said Fargo. “If we find something suspicious we will leave quickly.”


The apartment was clean. There was a portrait of a family, and of the police station. Everyone there surprisingly seemed to be on friendly terms with the killer in the picture. There was a boy fifteen years old locked up in a cell in bars.

“This city is swarming with kids who are criminals now,” the teenager said.

A prison cell held one captive prisoner. He had sweat all over his body and had been beaten severely. He looked like a stray dog. His jaws open, panting almost. He was gagged. He wore decent clothes.

“This seems like imprisonment,” suggested Fargo’s friend.

“He still hasn’t released many people” the teenager said. “He’s after the people who are uncovering his identity. He promised he would release them,” the teenager continued. “You should believe me.”

“Maybe we will know.” Fargo and his friend wanted to know where Fargo’s brother was.

“I don’t know. Right now he’s imprisoned someone at home. If you could somehow get him out. He’s in a prison cell. He’s stuck inside the computer. He’s made his own prison out of his own materials from the computer,” the teenager said. “He reforms them. There must be over 40 people he attends too.”

“Why is he gagged?” asked Fargo’s friend.

“It’s part of the initiation process. He puts you in a computer,” the teenager said. “He runs trails.”

“Right now he is living inside my computer,” Said Ness.

Fargo couldn’t believe his eyes, when he turned around he saw a kid that could almost breathe fire it seemed. Who was he?

“You may know me as the cowboy killer,” said the figure with red eyes.

“That’s my boss,” said the teenager who could see a 15-year old kid.

“But you are just 25, how can this be?” asked Fargo. His puzzled face was surprised.

“I transferred bodies. I now inhabit a serial killer’s body. He failed to be reformed. He is in the computer working for me to figure out how to improve his life," said the Cowboy Killer Ness.

"Most killers have psychiatric problems that need to be worked out. Most are incorrigible like a gerbil,” said Ness the Cowboy Killer.

“He has a gun,” piped Fargo’s friend.

“I won’t use it unless you break the law,” said Ness.

“Why did you kidnap my brother may I ask?” Fargo said.

“To reform him,” Ness said. He looked infinitely child-like and young.

“Alright,” Fargo’s friend said.

Fargo was wordless. He sat on the staircase on the second floor avoiding the reforming eye of Ness.

“Do you promise to give his brother’s body back?” Fargo’s friend said.

“Yes I do,” said Ness.

“Are you going to kill us Ness?” asked Fargo.

“No I will not,” said Ness.

“You know what you are doing is wrong. The means do not justify the means,” said Fargo. “You do this with your own ambition.”

“Yes I know we all sin.” A tear came from Ness eye. “I will tell you what, since I have been found out, I’ll do a deal. You will spend the rest of eternity on my hard drive if lose a bet. If you win I will let you out alive.”

“A bet," said Fargo.

“I’m listening,” said Fargo’s friend interested in being freed. Maybe he is not half-twisted he thought.

“If the person I gagged in the prison cell says that I mistreated him then I will set you free.”

A gagged person under normal circumstances would scream. This would be a risky bet.

“Deal,” said Fargo. “If we lose the bet we will live together until you agree to let us go,” he said. It was an easy bet after all.

They took off the gag. The person didn’t scream having done this. What he said moved the entire room.

“I have disappointed you Ness. I am not reformed. Please release me or kill me.”

Ness committed suicide from the disappointing reply. But before that he restored several people’s minds from the computer hard drive. The next thing Fargo knew, the walking corpse of the man they had first seen near the arcade (dumpster) was brought back to life with his brain working now walking the streets like a zombie. And several more people who were separated were back to life.

“He was not a bad person,” said Fargo noting all the people brought back to life and restored, and those were his carefully chosen words as if he had spoken from deep inside his own self. He didn’t need to kill himself.
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bazz cargo

Retired Supervisor
Hi Namesake,
I can see you are a hard worker, and a lot of what you write has merit. Is it possible English is not your first language?
I have seen a recommendation for something called write right. You can find a mention of it at.


PM the guy and ask for some detail.

Grammar and punctuation are the two hardest parts of writing in English, I should know, I'm still struggling after 50 years and English is my only language.
Good luck



Thanks, he doesn't accept private messages, but I thought I'd drop by his thread and ask him.

I'm eventually going to get the book, but if you click on the information you will see it is definetly meant for bilinguals. Yes I am bilingual. I'll let you know how it goes. That way if you need the book, what I say will be helpful.

I will definetly repost this work when I get the chance. Thanks for the help. I like people who look outside the box to help people.
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Spanish, I learned english when I was still a kid (when I was 6 years old) and spanish is my first language. I know have some issues in writing. I speak english fluently. I seem to confuse the meaning sometimes of my sentences in semantics, or I do not write using the understanding of the reader's comprehension it seems to me but I am quite not sure.
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