My story

[Mattias]

I don't know if its okay if post something that I wrote my self
but hey, one who doesn't try shall never succeed ;)
please be honest, and if possible constructive with your comments

This story begins like any other story does, someday, somewhere, sometime and with somebody.
That somebody would be me and the days are vaguer then ever so you'll have to make something up that suits you. The place where my beginning residents is in a dark and gloomy town called Meadon, in a World where time has lost grip and sense on "us".

I found myself, like almost every night, wandering down Maldownstreet, where hookers dwell, pimps collect and where junkies get their daily-awaited fix. In this devastating chaos of love and decadency, where thoughts of superiority and despair mate, a place of tranquillity placed itself.
That place is called Richie's even though the ward is a Iraqi, not that I hold any grudge against Iraqi's, I'm just pointing out the irony. Richie's is a place, designed for people like "me".
"We" hold nothing against anyone, even though "they" hate and despise "us". Holding grudges is harder than letting them go, a lesson I've learned over the past years.
I like to call it a safehaven, although its sometimes a dangerous place, where I lay my mind at ease and block my reflexes, where I find a sort of peace with myself. The numerous attempts I've made to win one's heart, took place in this very bar. Sometimes I got close, I even was victorious for a couple of times, but in the end it was all a waste of time, which I have ironically, more than enough.
I don't do much for a living. I don't have to 'cause I don't need much. Yes logic is the only thing that keeps me standing in this world of beauty and death. The only thing which I use to kill my time, is capturing "villains". The funny thing is that the "villains" and the "good-guys" are often the same kind of men, those who probably didn't get any breastfeeding or TLC from their mom. You know the type of guy, always nervous, rubbing his dirty sweaty hands when he smells a good deal…

[Jean-Baptiste]

Hello, Mattias. Welcome to the forums! Yes, it is entirely proper to post your own work here; thank you for doing so.

So, where is the rest of this story? I think this is a good set up for the character. It's very straight forward; I like that. I'm not quite sure what you're after with the quotation marks around us, we, and the like. Perhaps you could introduce some sort of thought toward the point you are trying to emphasize. Not that I need you to explicate your reasoning--just give us some background on why this character would refer to self and other with such seeming suspicion. Of course, maybe this becomes clear later in the story. Anyway, I'd be interested to see where you're going with this. Again, welcome.

[Mattias]

well to be honest, I've actually got this great idea of writing a book at 5 o'clock in the morning but I stopped with it 20 minutes later 'cause my fingers started to ache. The next part of the story is (at this moment yet to be written) I've got no global idea of how the story is going to be accept from one key idea (not going to tell, since it could ruin the whole thing).
the quotation will become more clear as the story will evolve ;)

Lets say that the elapsed period is some where in the near future in a town in England.

ps: I'm srry if there are any grammar mistakes in my story, english is not my maternal language and I (as a 17 year old student) still need to learn a lot :)

[Matsiah]

It is interesting how most people that enjoy writing, hold various fascinations with other foreign languages, for instance: I have always desired the title of "A Fluent Bi-Lingual" and constantly strive still for such an achievement. And then, upon attendance of classes while working for my GED, I found writing. Easily acing my test essays while still enjoying my self, had me thinking that perhaps I could be good with such a complex, intricate, and slightly eccentric skill. I suppose a person could go about describing the form of commerce, endlessly. Through all of infinity; or better yet, through all of the dictionary. Anyhow, I'm posting now because your story caught my eye and I decided to read it. I then learned of your motives and realized how similar they were to mine; in that, you were chilling around four or five A.M. and stumbled across a plot for the novel that you dream of. Least that's my series of happenings; that and, my acting on the dream. Though still doubting myself frequently, I acknowledge my progression rather frequently too; therefore, driving me toward the pursuit of this newly founded, life long goal. Best of luck to 'you,' Mattias.

P.S. the beauty of learning to write, is to examine others already written exemplar; in hopes of perfecting form, and so on... I'm still rather mediocre, and am in dire need of an injection; consisting of one thousand milligrams... of pure vocabulary.

[Mattias]

here is the follow up (I'm still writing on it, and I've got no clue of what will happen next, and I apperantly don't even want to know :yawnb: )

Thnx for the comments

…..But I’m getting way out order and I’m losing grip of my tongue, I’ve got so much to tell but you have so little time. “We” live all over the world. I like to drink and smoke, yes I do. A white label whisky is one of my favourite, especially when you feel the alcohol burn in your throat, and feel your soul be tranquillised by the “holy spirit”. But okay you wanted to ask me some questions about “us”. Well, shoot me.

Or wait, let me ask you something first, do you believe in “us”? I see okay.

No that is a myth, we really are mortal, we live longer and all that **** about us being the devils kids, that is also a myth, there is no such thing as good and evil just like its impossible to have pure white or pure darkness, something always prevails.
Some of us have used their time to commit felony that’s true, but hey, when time is irrelevant then so is imprisonment.

(She a thing of beauty, I’d wish I could kill some time with her, I may be cold but I’m still not frozen, “we” too have desire and need of affection)

That’s and interesting one, hmmm, I’m not sure, some of the Noble Families claim that their ancestors where the first and that they had total control of all “5”. Rubbish of course, just look at fire and water together, they would be depressed like hell.
But I’m a bit through with questions, how 'bout you tell something about yourself (and let them lips drive my nerves to impossible grades of desire and memories of my long lost Leanore)

She gave me that look again, bored and a bit frightened, I’m not that scary, honestly. I can’t help my scars of time, sweety. Then, all of a sudden, a whim of guilt and self-loathing took control of my mind, the very thought of the grip of time that holds “them” scared me and triggered this feeling. While being overwhelmed by my own emotions I noticed something in the back of this room, I wasn’t able to see the object that had taken my interest, but it my every vain contracted by the feeling it awoke deep down in me….

[Jean-Baptiste]

Okay. Well, I've got a better picture of your ambition now. Keep going.

I'm still not sure that these quotation marks are necessary or relevant. They seem superfluous, as the abundant use of us, we, and them should be striking enough to raise questions for the reader, and point one in the right direction. Also, second person can be a very tricky mode of writing stories. I generally don't like to read second person stories; they tend to tell the reader how to feel, and that's not the author's place. I have read one story that I liked in second person, Camus's _The Fall_, and it worked for that book. Not to say that you can't pull it off, just be careful. Also, if the narrator is going to be switching between speaking to the reader and speaking to other characters, perhaps quotation marks would be more beneficial than italics for the narrator's actual speech.

Anyway, even if, as you say, you have no definite purpose or direction, you seem to have--and that's nice to see. I'll await the third installment.

[Matsiah]

will await another entry. By the way, I was loving the description of feeling alcohol consumption; however, such a strong feeling - In my mind - should be lengthened a bit. For example, continuing what you wrote:

"A white label whisky is one of my favourite, especially when you feel the alcohol burn in your throat, and feel your soul be tranquillised by the 'holy spirit'...”

Then, as the warm, slightly acidic substance trickles past the throat, the pleasant deterioration of my insides can be felt, as the liquid begins the descent to my stomach... where it then, quite heavily, lands into my stomach, and can be felt splashing up the walls of my gut, pulling down layers as it settles. So utterly luscious and delightful...

I just had to see what I could come up with. Remember, you can dive deep within the detail of absolutely any aspect that your currently writing... Or even, not currently writing. Anyway, good job.

[Mattias]

here the third installement, and Metsiah, I'm afraid of going to deep into detail
because I usually do that with my poems (dutch) so I'm just not going to do it, cause it may be bad for the global story line (which doesn't excist):yawnb:


…..Slowly I turned my back, making my leather coat creek, I spotted nothing but a pitch-black crow, a messenger. I excused me, leaving her dazzled and confused. I told her I’d be gone for a few weeks, but when I got back I would contact her. I hated when this happened, just when I came back from my last mission and settled my mind on some time for my own. I wished they didn’t seal my C’s away.

The crow told me the same as always. Some young punk of ours had caused a fuss and I was “chosen” to clean up the mess and catch this “villain”. This **** always comes down on me.
I grabbed my hat, left enough money on the table to pay the double of what we had had.
Money had lost its meaning a long time a go.

I transported my self to the “crime scene” and was surprised to see my very own friend, Mr D again. I lit up a fag and asked him what he was doing here. “Collecting what’s mine” he replied in his creepy cracking voice. I looked around and saw a young girl lying on the floor. Barley 15, a face covered in blood and eyes that looked into the abyss of death. I asked Mr. D for a favour, and to let the young one live. He said that the youngest loot here was around 30, which implied that the young girl was still alive. I quickly used all my force into the healing process, which took 3 days. Mr. D left in the early morning of the second day, saying that he had some business to take care off. “We never get a chance to sleep, do we?” I asked him. “Do we really need it?” Mr. D fired back at me. I shook my head, “damn I’m getting old”.
This sentence made us laugh until it started to hurt. Can you say that you laughed with death?
I can.

The girl awoke on the fifth day. The first thing that she did was look around and bursted out in tears. I patted her softly on her shoulder. She shrunk while feeling my cold hand. I said that I know what she had been through. She didn’t stop crying for an hour and I didn’t stop petting her back. She shivered while asking me who I was. I replied that I was a friend of her mother and that I heard from the accident and came as quickly as possible. She didn’t bought it of course but hey, she was silent for a while. She asked why all the bodies were still lying on the ground and Ilooked as if they had been lying there for some time. This would not be easy
I just decided to her the hole truth, not everything, she wouldn’t understand it anyway, but there was no point in lying to humans, yet another lesson I've learned in my time on this forsaken planet…..