Adolescent09
05-05-2007, 10:45 PM
Here is an excerpt of a manuscript I've been working on for the past two years and have finally considered terminating due to its seemingly lethargic presentation and unappealing abstractions. Before I'm entirely sure I wish to throw away two years worth of writing I would like to have a general opinion on this random excerpt my manuscript contains.
Please overlook spelling/grammatical/thematic mistakes and tell me truthfully of what you think of the style/dialogue and events. Do the characters and situations appear realistic or disproportionately clumsy?
All opinions will be appreciated and valued with my highest respect.
Excerpted from the chapter: The Parasite
Metal clanked in his suit pants as he traversed the hallway in long, dogged strides, not once looking back so much as to witness the contemplative furrow on the brow of the man he left behind. Travis stood there a moment lost in thought and barely conscious of the sea of blood which trickled the narrow vestibule. Each bolted door along the hallway seemed to stare at him rebukingly and he winced. It was the doors which appeared more menacing than the river of blood for a moment. The sets of six digits on each rectangular interface made him portend something evil and he shook at the mere thought of it. Eventually he began a rhythmic pace along the route the ally had departed and went so gradually, gently rising and falling with every foot laid after the other that it appeared he was counting his steps. The doors and bolts became ominous to him and the longer he sauntered the quieter his pacing fell until he was right before the double door of the main suite. It opened forth on smooth hinges at the press of his broad hands and he entered at a quickened pace. He stopped suddenly before reaching his desk to discover the lackey arduously brushing at a portion the wall which appeared inscrutably spotless. The lackey did not notice his master’s arrival and kept brushing away as the latter looked on diffidently. He put the brush down all of a sudden and lifted a foreign-imported, ornate ceramic bowl with the tips of his fingers, traversing the wide room with it and placing it on the edge of the desk. Travis brought the palms of his hands together sharply which produced a smart clap. The lackey jolted upright and rocked backward, the ceramic bowl precariously spun at the edge of the table and fell to the floor with a clatter. He gasped apologetically nodding at his master and sped to the other end of the room, procuring a silver dish pan and returning to the area of the scattered vestiges. He lifted every iota gingerly and placed it within the bin as the master witnessed. When it was done the master shut and bolted the double doors of the suite and knelt his arm against the opposite chair of the desk. The countenance of the lackey flushed pink like a disconsolate adolescent and he obsequiously looked away from his master until the latter spoke.
“What do you think you are doing, Mavis?”
The lackey’s face reddened from its pink hue and he continued to look away chagrined. His scarlet crisp attire had extensively greyed with accumulating dirt and the corpulence of his face seemed to bulge even more until it appeared he would burst from consternation. The rings on his left hand burdened him and he slipped a few of them into his coat pocket. He peered up promptly and eyed his master more despondently than ever. His skin had turned a dark purple and his knuckles were stiffly curved. He appeared like a lowly canine whose tail is tucked between its legs when his owner is dismayed.
“It is all my fault, master” The lackey spoke with his face turned away. “I am clumsy and not fit to be in your service. I shall flee if you wish it to be... Sir Burns is right... I am not fit to be in your service–not fit”, and he smothered his fat cheeks in his hands and wept softly. “Flee!” he choked, “Disappear from your residence and you shall hear no more of me–though I don’t know where I shall end up, I shall flee-flee at once! Master, the square is some distance away from here and I will certainly perish along the way, but if I must, I must... Flee–flee!” The tears poured over his clasped hands and drenched his arms, dripping onto his lap where a shallow wet spot formed. The professional systematic diction of his tone had long since broken and he croaked the words, which through his sobs, sounded like high pitched squeaks. In the great suite the two were silent until the lackey had wiped away his tears and looked at his master embarrassingly. He took no notice of his lackey’s flinches and continued to stare at him as if there were something more auspicious to be said.
“In these empty lands..” the lackey began, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand and hunching his shoulders in a fatigued position. “There is no civilization.”
“You’ve only recently noticed?” Travis spoke with an eerie diffidence in his tone.
“No-no, master, but this place–that square, there is no civility. Why, you’ve seen for yourself how the people are there, master. They walk about like corpses and little notion of what is going on around them. Blackness–master, it is a hole of darkness they live in though it appears perfectly normal to them. Is there no aberration here? What am I supposed to do with myself if I leave to those parts?”, he buried his head in his lap once more and wept softly.
“Oh do be quiet!”Travis spoke so suddenly that Mavis couldn’t help but leap from where he sat. “Your babble gets to my head and irritates me exceedingly. Have you any notion of what I have put up with when you’re around, Mavis? Couldn’t you have been a bit more prudent when bringing the blacksmith here? You guide him along the passage conscious of the fact that I have a guest in the main suite? You should have left him underground, dunce!–what do you fancy would have happened if that egotistical oaf had planted a bullet in his forehead? He would have walked, lackey—walked as if nothing were the matter while placing a bloody corpse in my hands. Do you think The Force leader takes kindly to unconventional death? No, lackey, I would have had a corpse on my hand!–an indelible blemish on my name due to your misguided folly!” he paused as Mavis looked at him dolefully. “But what of this other gibberish you speak? You cannot live without me? Lackey, are we hotheaded lovers, you and I? What is this “I can’t life without you” discourse? I’ve never heard anything so foolishly insinuated in my life–lackey, you sure do speak oddly at times!–I’ll tell you the truth of the matter and you’d mine as well agree. Well–you agree to everything, don’t you? Ha!–fancy that. You acquiesce with everything! Oi then, Mavis! What would you say if I ordered you to call me lackey, and I started alluding to you with the title of Master Mavis?”
The lackey trembled at this eccentric rant but answered. “I would do it quite gladly if you wished, master.”
“Ha! You needn’t even say you would. I already know how you think! You’re a clock-wining gadget. Do you know how you differ from unemployed lackeys?”
“No.”
“Well you’ve put on more weight than most of them, that’s for sure–and you’re clumsier. Look at the mess you’ve made.” he chuckled and peered at the bronze dish which contained the iotas of porcelain. “But clumsiness is not what makes you different,” he started once more. “Other lackeys work for menial pay and live in dry, incommodious huts with installed patchwork that could precariously disintegrate at any moment. But you are here, lackey–you don’t trouble yourself over petty obstacles such as where you will sleep tonight, or how you will fend for yourself, or where you will find food–you have space here, lackey and far superior defense against mother nature than under patchwork straw!”
Mavis solemnly nodded and rubbed his sweat greased hands which were turning a dark caramel brown from the excess of dirt.
“You say you work for me lackey?” he tittered a chuckle under his breath. “Has the word ‘salary’ ever crossed your ears under this roof?”
“No–master.”
“Hah! You’re prudent enough to be a king’s joker... Of course you haven’t heard the word ‘salary’ under this roof, lackey–and that is how you differ from others of your menial profession. Do you not see? Other lackeys require a salary to pay for their expenses while you have had the leisure of rendering me responsible for all your necessities. The loss of a job for another lackey means no food for a month but the loss of a job for you, lackey–” his eyes glistened as he spoke, “means death.”
The lackey grew rigid. His teeth chattered underneath his lips even as he said nothing. He looked up as his master guffawed but heard nothing. A tingling sensation in his mind informed him there was nothing that could be done. He was merely a puppet in the hands of his master’s strings. Tears of eccentric elated joy swept down his masters cheeks and reached the rim of his lips where it dangled in salty drops and contacted his open tongue.
“You truly are a hapless lackey. The hapless lackey. The only one in these parts, I’ll say at least.” he guffawed and choked, then slapped his knees and guffawed more.
The lackey’s being was as good as stone. The most he could do was nod despondently and look away from the face of blind humiliation.
“And my!” he stopped short suddenly and stared the lackey in the face. “Your face bore youthful innocence just moments ago. It now portrays the wrinkles of a man nearing his last phase on earth. Truly, lackey, you are a sight to see.”
It was true indeed, for age had applied a premature tinge of an old, dark, bronze hue to his pale, yet otherwise moderately attractive facial features. His opulent attire resembled a field of dandelions wilted as the ephemeral sunset masks itself in a dark expanse. It was no longer red but a worn pink which contrasted in a droll way with his weatherbeaten face.
“It would be a pity to see you without me, lackey. You would not exist without my succor. A hopeless cause without my hand to lift you–why? How could you tend to yourself without me, lackey? You think... Just you think of the consequences of your position in my employment before you dawdle about, taking what you see before you for granted. No!” Travis exclaimed almost at once as the lackey was beginning to reply. “You would meet death in the face out in that land of nothingness, but you don’t wish to think of it, Mavis.. You portend nothing because you don’t think for yourself.”
Please overlook spelling/grammatical/thematic mistakes and tell me truthfully of what you think of the style/dialogue and events. Do the characters and situations appear realistic or disproportionately clumsy?
All opinions will be appreciated and valued with my highest respect.
Excerpted from the chapter: The Parasite
Metal clanked in his suit pants as he traversed the hallway in long, dogged strides, not once looking back so much as to witness the contemplative furrow on the brow of the man he left behind. Travis stood there a moment lost in thought and barely conscious of the sea of blood which trickled the narrow vestibule. Each bolted door along the hallway seemed to stare at him rebukingly and he winced. It was the doors which appeared more menacing than the river of blood for a moment. The sets of six digits on each rectangular interface made him portend something evil and he shook at the mere thought of it. Eventually he began a rhythmic pace along the route the ally had departed and went so gradually, gently rising and falling with every foot laid after the other that it appeared he was counting his steps. The doors and bolts became ominous to him and the longer he sauntered the quieter his pacing fell until he was right before the double door of the main suite. It opened forth on smooth hinges at the press of his broad hands and he entered at a quickened pace. He stopped suddenly before reaching his desk to discover the lackey arduously brushing at a portion the wall which appeared inscrutably spotless. The lackey did not notice his master’s arrival and kept brushing away as the latter looked on diffidently. He put the brush down all of a sudden and lifted a foreign-imported, ornate ceramic bowl with the tips of his fingers, traversing the wide room with it and placing it on the edge of the desk. Travis brought the palms of his hands together sharply which produced a smart clap. The lackey jolted upright and rocked backward, the ceramic bowl precariously spun at the edge of the table and fell to the floor with a clatter. He gasped apologetically nodding at his master and sped to the other end of the room, procuring a silver dish pan and returning to the area of the scattered vestiges. He lifted every iota gingerly and placed it within the bin as the master witnessed. When it was done the master shut and bolted the double doors of the suite and knelt his arm against the opposite chair of the desk. The countenance of the lackey flushed pink like a disconsolate adolescent and he obsequiously looked away from his master until the latter spoke.
“What do you think you are doing, Mavis?”
The lackey’s face reddened from its pink hue and he continued to look away chagrined. His scarlet crisp attire had extensively greyed with accumulating dirt and the corpulence of his face seemed to bulge even more until it appeared he would burst from consternation. The rings on his left hand burdened him and he slipped a few of them into his coat pocket. He peered up promptly and eyed his master more despondently than ever. His skin had turned a dark purple and his knuckles were stiffly curved. He appeared like a lowly canine whose tail is tucked between its legs when his owner is dismayed.
“It is all my fault, master” The lackey spoke with his face turned away. “I am clumsy and not fit to be in your service. I shall flee if you wish it to be... Sir Burns is right... I am not fit to be in your service–not fit”, and he smothered his fat cheeks in his hands and wept softly. “Flee!” he choked, “Disappear from your residence and you shall hear no more of me–though I don’t know where I shall end up, I shall flee-flee at once! Master, the square is some distance away from here and I will certainly perish along the way, but if I must, I must... Flee–flee!” The tears poured over his clasped hands and drenched his arms, dripping onto his lap where a shallow wet spot formed. The professional systematic diction of his tone had long since broken and he croaked the words, which through his sobs, sounded like high pitched squeaks. In the great suite the two were silent until the lackey had wiped away his tears and looked at his master embarrassingly. He took no notice of his lackey’s flinches and continued to stare at him as if there were something more auspicious to be said.
“In these empty lands..” the lackey began, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand and hunching his shoulders in a fatigued position. “There is no civilization.”
“You’ve only recently noticed?” Travis spoke with an eerie diffidence in his tone.
“No-no, master, but this place–that square, there is no civility. Why, you’ve seen for yourself how the people are there, master. They walk about like corpses and little notion of what is going on around them. Blackness–master, it is a hole of darkness they live in though it appears perfectly normal to them. Is there no aberration here? What am I supposed to do with myself if I leave to those parts?”, he buried his head in his lap once more and wept softly.
“Oh do be quiet!”Travis spoke so suddenly that Mavis couldn’t help but leap from where he sat. “Your babble gets to my head and irritates me exceedingly. Have you any notion of what I have put up with when you’re around, Mavis? Couldn’t you have been a bit more prudent when bringing the blacksmith here? You guide him along the passage conscious of the fact that I have a guest in the main suite? You should have left him underground, dunce!–what do you fancy would have happened if that egotistical oaf had planted a bullet in his forehead? He would have walked, lackey—walked as if nothing were the matter while placing a bloody corpse in my hands. Do you think The Force leader takes kindly to unconventional death? No, lackey, I would have had a corpse on my hand!–an indelible blemish on my name due to your misguided folly!” he paused as Mavis looked at him dolefully. “But what of this other gibberish you speak? You cannot live without me? Lackey, are we hotheaded lovers, you and I? What is this “I can’t life without you” discourse? I’ve never heard anything so foolishly insinuated in my life–lackey, you sure do speak oddly at times!–I’ll tell you the truth of the matter and you’d mine as well agree. Well–you agree to everything, don’t you? Ha!–fancy that. You acquiesce with everything! Oi then, Mavis! What would you say if I ordered you to call me lackey, and I started alluding to you with the title of Master Mavis?”
The lackey trembled at this eccentric rant but answered. “I would do it quite gladly if you wished, master.”
“Ha! You needn’t even say you would. I already know how you think! You’re a clock-wining gadget. Do you know how you differ from unemployed lackeys?”
“No.”
“Well you’ve put on more weight than most of them, that’s for sure–and you’re clumsier. Look at the mess you’ve made.” he chuckled and peered at the bronze dish which contained the iotas of porcelain. “But clumsiness is not what makes you different,” he started once more. “Other lackeys work for menial pay and live in dry, incommodious huts with installed patchwork that could precariously disintegrate at any moment. But you are here, lackey–you don’t trouble yourself over petty obstacles such as where you will sleep tonight, or how you will fend for yourself, or where you will find food–you have space here, lackey and far superior defense against mother nature than under patchwork straw!”
Mavis solemnly nodded and rubbed his sweat greased hands which were turning a dark caramel brown from the excess of dirt.
“You say you work for me lackey?” he tittered a chuckle under his breath. “Has the word ‘salary’ ever crossed your ears under this roof?”
“No–master.”
“Hah! You’re prudent enough to be a king’s joker... Of course you haven’t heard the word ‘salary’ under this roof, lackey–and that is how you differ from others of your menial profession. Do you not see? Other lackeys require a salary to pay for their expenses while you have had the leisure of rendering me responsible for all your necessities. The loss of a job for another lackey means no food for a month but the loss of a job for you, lackey–” his eyes glistened as he spoke, “means death.”
The lackey grew rigid. His teeth chattered underneath his lips even as he said nothing. He looked up as his master guffawed but heard nothing. A tingling sensation in his mind informed him there was nothing that could be done. He was merely a puppet in the hands of his master’s strings. Tears of eccentric elated joy swept down his masters cheeks and reached the rim of his lips where it dangled in salty drops and contacted his open tongue.
“You truly are a hapless lackey. The hapless lackey. The only one in these parts, I’ll say at least.” he guffawed and choked, then slapped his knees and guffawed more.
The lackey’s being was as good as stone. The most he could do was nod despondently and look away from the face of blind humiliation.
“And my!” he stopped short suddenly and stared the lackey in the face. “Your face bore youthful innocence just moments ago. It now portrays the wrinkles of a man nearing his last phase on earth. Truly, lackey, you are a sight to see.”
It was true indeed, for age had applied a premature tinge of an old, dark, bronze hue to his pale, yet otherwise moderately attractive facial features. His opulent attire resembled a field of dandelions wilted as the ephemeral sunset masks itself in a dark expanse. It was no longer red but a worn pink which contrasted in a droll way with his weatherbeaten face.
“It would be a pity to see you without me, lackey. You would not exist without my succor. A hopeless cause without my hand to lift you–why? How could you tend to yourself without me, lackey? You think... Just you think of the consequences of your position in my employment before you dawdle about, taking what you see before you for granted. No!” Travis exclaimed almost at once as the lackey was beginning to reply. “You would meet death in the face out in that land of nothingness, but you don’t wish to think of it, Mavis.. You portend nothing because you don’t think for yourself.”