Lit's Short Stories Corner Options

[literarygoth]

I've been writing now for the better part of 15 years. Currently I'm working on 3 novels. Two I've actually started, and the third is just an idea I've been playing around with for a couple years. I also have a small collection of short stories that I've been working on; most of which have magically disappeared from my computer >_>

I'd like to share my works with you and hear what you have to say
Critique is more than welcome, I'm constantly working on building on my skills - be forewarned - my work is LARGELY unedited even by myself; editing is best saved until the project is complete, then go back and fine tune. Why do I do this? If I edit before it's finished, I get stuck in a constant edit and fix up cycle which will effectively kill it.

So, this is a short story that is complete, I have gone through and edited it somewhat, but I do feel that it could still be fine tuned in a few places. Hope you enjoy!

[Show/Hide] Shadow

Written by Jade Dye
07/16/09]

Another gorgeous summer day; the sun is bright with not a cloud in the sky. Two weeks left before it's back to school, back to the books. This summer has shattered every record for high temperatures. The kind of summer you spend on your backporch barbequeing, grilling steaks or burgers, knocking back a few cold ones. The kind of summer you remember for years and years, the kind of summer you reflect on when you're gathered with your friends in a nursing home. Laughing and remembering the 'good ol' days', while trying to forget that you're wearing an adult diaper because your bladder has grown a mind of it's own.
Yeah. It's the kind of summer I should be out there enjoying. Instead I'm inside. Aunt May left me a list of chores a mile long. Sometimes it takes one week to finish one list! And just when I think I'm done, that there's no more filth under the kitchen sink, the grass doesn't need to be clipped, the gutters are clear and the windows clean, the bathroom smells of Pinesol and glitters like a fresh diamond, no more mountain of dishes left from last nights' party, or laundry she's been stockpiling for a month; she digs into her pocket and brandishes another pink slip. Another small book of a cleaning list, perfectly printed on her pink notepad paper scented with musk.
Half the list I'm currently working on is dedicated to her spoiled, pudgy half-breed cat; Tiger. Who names a brown and white spotted cat, Tiger? Aunt May, apparently. So here I am, on my knees and up to my elbows in cat shit. A quick glance over my shoulder and I can see Tiger sitting in the doorway looking as smug as usual. Fucken cat even has an entire storageroom dedicated to her. Washing my hands after disposing of another bag of nastiness (thank you Tiger for the fresh turd) I decided that the rest of princess purrfects chores can wait for tomorrow. I've already scrubbed all the damn linoleum in this house by hand. By, fucking, HAND! Because the mop always seems to magically grow legs and take a vacation whenever mopping the floors appears on my list.
Stomping upstairs I slammed my bedroom door shut on princess's pudgy's nose. I already have a shadow, don't need another one. The only refuge, my safe haven in this house of Hell; my room. At least my posters of Cradle of Filth and Korn won't force me to clean up the sculpture I've been working on. Smirking I pulled the damp cloth carefully from the mound of wet clay that sat on my desk. My little triumph. It was ugly, in every facet of the word. But I loved it. A cross between a Gremlin and a Gargoyle, perched atop a pedestal. Heaven forbid! There's a clump of wet mud in the house, in my room! If Aunt May realized I had this I would have a list of chores that would take me thirty years to complete.
Picking up the nail file I'd been using as a detailing tool I set about fixing Mr. Ugly's upper lip. I'd stuffed him into my closet a little too hastily last night. Now his face looked awkwardly flattened.
She's going to take it away from you. She'll find him. She always finds the things you try to hide.
"Uhh..." Glancing quickly around my room I knew I was alone.
But the voice. I'd heard it so clearly, like the person was standing right next to me.
Yes, I know you heard me. Come find me.
"Who's there?!" I felt absurd, talking to myself.
I checked my closet. Clothes, shoes, boxes of paint and the cubby I hide my clay in. No one there. Looking out my window all I could see was the neighbors dog, Ralph, an ancient Beagle. Where the Hell did that voice come from?
Hehehe. Oh, I'm nearby. Very close in fact.
The latch on my closet door unlocked itself, the door creaking as it opened. Something moved inside. Not more of a shadow. I thought I saw something green, but I couldn't be sure. I just checked my closet! There was nothing there!
"This is crazy!" I told myself.
I think I've just been inside too long. Too long on hot days. Throwing the cloth over Mr. Ugly I ran from my room and downstairs. I didn't see Tiger at the bottom until I'd stepped on her tail. Yowling she skittered across the floor. Startled, I rolled my ankle painfully and landed on my back on the hardwood below.
That cat is out to get you.
"Don't be stupid, it's just a cat."
Yes, but it was because of that cat that Aunt May found your last clay sculpture, wasn't it?
"Y-yes." I'd almost forgotten.
About a month ago I had almost finished the gargoyle that I'd been working on for three months. At a foot and a half tall it was a bitch to hide. I still don't know how, but Tiger got into my room; I'm sure I'd closed the door. Tiger had managed to get stuck in my closet and was howling. Before I could get up there, Aunt May had gone to look for her and found my gargoyle in the process. I got there in time to watch her smash it and then toss it in the trash. Tiger was sitting on the floor; I swear if cats could smirk, she was.
See what I mean? You'll never be able to keep any of your creations secret with that cat following you around!
I was still laying on the ground, at the foot of the stairs where I'd tripped. Sitting up I noticed a shadow behind the couch. Again I saw a flicker of something green.
Get rid of the cat, and you're free to sculpt without worrying about Aunt May.
"What are you talking about, get rid of the cat?! How?" I demanded.
Do something...like...this!
The shadow moved so fast I barely saw where it went. Tiger came prancing down the hallway just then. Next thing I saw was Tiger spinning through the air bouncing off the wall. Then the next. The noise she made was indescribeable. Smacking the roof with a loud thunk, the feline hit the floor and didn't move. I was standing over her, though I don't recall getting up.
See. Problem solved!
"What the fuck do you mean, problem solved?! She's dead! Oh, Tiger..." Kneeling I cradled the pudgy nuisance in my arms; her neck was broken.
Hide the body.
"Like where? Aunt May will know she's gone."
Put her in the garbage bins out back. It's only three o'clock, garbage pick up is at four and Aunt May won't be home until five thirty, right?
"That's right!" Running into the kitchen I grabbed a garbage bag and stuffed Tiger's body inside.
With a quick glance out the kitchen windows to be sure that neither of our nosy neighbors was home, I dashed out the back door, jumped off the patio and raced for the gate; the black bag in my hand billowing like a sail on a stiff breeze.
Running back to the house I slammed the door and slumped to the floor. Burying my face in my knees I fought to slow my heart which hammered in my chest.
You forgot something. Hehehe.
Its laughter was like that of an evil clown from a cheap horror movie. The kind that only terrifies children.
"What did I forget?"
Just take a look in the hall. Aunt May surely won't miss that stain on her perfect hardwood floor!
In the hallway it didn't take long to see what the voice meant. There was a small pool of blood. Tiger's blood.
Better get that cleaned up before she gets home!
"You bastard! If I could find you I would make you clean it! You did it."
I could just make out a shadow on the wall, only a few feet from where I stood. Again that damn flash of green!
Hehehe. You'll have to find me first.
The shadow vanished and upstairs I could swear I heard my bedroom door open and close.
It didn't take long to clean up the mess. Tossing the rag and bucket I'd used back under the sink, I slunk into one of the chairs at the kitchen table. I'm not sure how long I sat there. Maybe I zoned out like I sometimes do.
A very loud thump from upstairs roused me from my stupor. I sat there, listening carefully. Several minutes passed. Again, there came a massive thump, much louder than the first. The vibration shook the ceiling, white dust floated through the air. Three more thumps followed rapidly. It sounded as though someone were dropping a very heavy object over and over. From what I could tell the noise was coming from the attic. I was too scared to move, to run from the house. I felt paralyzed. My mind willed my legs to move, but I just sat there as the thumping continued. It hit me then. The thumping was footsteps. Running back and forth in the attic. The walls were shaking, several pictures vibrated from their nails and hit the floor.
Oh, Christ. I heard the attic door tear off its hinges and the pounding footsteps storming down the stairs. The ceiling immediately above my head tremored violently as the footsteps ran down the hall to the stairs on the second floor.
"Oh, God, please let my legs move!" Yet still they wouldn't budge.
My brain screamed at my deadened muscles, but nothing resulted. Smashing down the stairs the whole house rumbled as the thing reached the first floor and thudded into the doorway of the kitchen.
Nothing was there. I searched the empty space and nothing!
A sudden blast of wind hit my face, nearly knocking my chair backwards. I couldn't really call it wind or air. It smelled of rotting flesh and garbage. Stale cheese and the stench of a dirty public washroom.
Why didn't you come find me?!
I gasped as a shadow materialized right beside me, accompanied yet again with a flash of green.
Why didn't you come find me?!
I could hear the voice inside my head now and nothing else. Everything had been muted.
Why didn't you come find me?!
"Please go away!"
Why didn't you come find me?!
I felt a hand on my chest. A strong force knocked me backwards. Flying from the chair I slid across the floor, slamming into the counter I hit my head.

I must have been knocked unconsious. When I woke up I was on my bed, my window wide open. A cool breeze lifted the curtains and breathed a sweet scent of summer air into my bedroom. It was dark.
"Fuck! How long have I been sleeping? Aunt May is gonna be pissed!"
Running to my door I stepped into the hallway. Immediately I knew something was wrong. It could have been that Aunt May's bedroom door was open, revealing that the room had been ransacked. Or it could have been that the attic door was laying at the foot of the stairs, its hinges bent. But most likely it was the trail of drying blood on the floor.
I slapped at the switch on the wall and the hallway light flickered to life. The blood led downstairs. I hesitated a moment before descending to the first landing of the staircase.
"Aunt May?"
This sure as Hell wasn't cats' blood. Rounding the corner of the landing I froze, my heart skipping.
Aunt May's severed head had been jammed onto the banister post at the bottom of the stairs. Her face was twisted into a revolting open-mouthed silent scream. Something behind me gave me a rough shove and I tumbled down the last few steps and into the darkened living room. Climbing to my feet I searched for my attacker.
Hello!
The voice cackled in my ear. Spinning around I could see the shadow against the wall.
"You bastard! What the fuck did you do?!"
I ran at the shadow, my fist raised and ready to pummel its fucken head in. When my hand slammed into a glassy surface I stopped. Staring hard at the shadow I caught a glimpse of the green flicker. It was only inches away, why can't I punch it?
Hehehe.
The lights snapped on and I gasped. I was staring into the full length mirror by the front door. The flash of green...was my own green eyes.
Found me!

[Show/Hide] Untitled

Slumping down onto the cold concrete sidewalk, she leaned her head against the red brick wall behind her. Thick rings of black eyeliner circled her bright green eyes. Her once blond hair dyed jet black, and her fair skin coated in a thin layer of ivory cover-up. My porcelain doll. My Mina.
A single tear slipped from her eye, staining her supple cheek black from the heavy mascara she wore. The freshly painted nails of her right hand absently played with the pendant strung around her neck.
"What are we going to do?" She whispered breathlessly in my direction.
I'd been kneeling with my elbows on my knees a few feet away. Wanting to hold her, yet afraid to touch her. Staring at the ground, I watched an ant carrying a particularily large piece of hardened bread crust. Brushing at my forehead I tucked my shoulder length hair behind my left ear.
"I have no fucken clue." I spoke with a much harsher tone than I meant.
Mina flinched ever so slightly and buried her face in her hands. She tried to stifle the sobs that rose in her chest. Fuck me. I really am an asshole somedays. Crawling beside her I wrapped Mina in my arms tightly. I felt her arm slip around my waist. Biting down on the ring through my lip I fought the tears that blurred my vision. I ran my fingers through her hair and kissed her head.
"I'm sorry. I'll talk to my parents."
"Your parents I'm not worried about, Jake!" She clung to me like a desperate child, "It's my parents that are gonna fucken freak!"
I wanted to make her pain vanish; never in a million years did I ever want to see the terror on her face as I saw now. She was nearing an hysterical state. I knew if she didn't calm down that she would have another panic attack.
"Look. Mina - Mina!" I grabbed her face with both hands, "We'll go to my house afterschool, you spend the night and we'll tell my parents. They can help us from there. Okay babe?"
She ran her fingers up my fishnet covered arms. I could feel her trembling.
"Okay."
Taking her by the hand I stood up, the multiple chains strung from my hips jingling. Wrapping my right arm around her shoulders, Mina slipped her left arm around my waist. Leaning on each other for support we left the Family Planning Clinic behind. Catching the number fifteen bus, we sat in a morose silence the entire bumpy ride. Our fingers interlocked.
I glanced at my watch, it was only quarter to two. Much too early to head home. We'd cut our first afternoon classes to go to the clinic. Luck would have it that it was only open during school hours, which added to the difficulty in getting there. Mina had missed her period last month. And our fears had just been confirmed. I don't know how the Hell I would be able to concentrate in my Art class now.
Our school resembled a sanitarium from the outside. With a puff of exhaust the bus chugged up the road, leaving us in its dust. I gripped her hand tightly as we made for the side doors. Just as we entered, the bell rang.
"Meet me after class in the front foyer." I gave her a quick kiss as the crowds pushed by us.
With a longing glance over her shoulder, Mina was swallowed by the shuffling mass of students; each of them undoubtedly glaring at us. The outsiders. The freaks.
"Mister Larson! Skipping again?" A sharp tap on my shoulder made my blood run cold.
Vice Principle Diloyne. Busted.

I sat in the faux leather chair, staring at the buckles of my boots, attempting to avoid eye contact. The principle's office was boiling hot, but that likely could have been due to my dad's rising temperature. He was pissed. But not at me. He was in the process of giving a lengthy and brutal ass chewing to Mr. Diloyne.
You see, after he busted me for skipping, Mr. Diloyne and my math teacher (who's class I had skipped again) hauled me into his office where he proceeded to expel me. However, he made a grave mistake in demanding why I went to the Family Planning Clinic, and who had gone with me, so he could expel them too. There was no way I was giving out Mina's personal, and private, reason for going there.
So, here I sit, pretending to be completely engrossed in the sole of my shoes, fighting the giggle fit that threatened to overtake me at any minute. Stealing a quick glance up, I watched Mr. Diloyne's face change colour from a sickly pale to bright red, and then purple. It looked like his face would explode. Another surge of giggles forced me to resume my careful inspection of my foot.
Who the Hell do you think you are?!" My father never needed to yell, his voice came across very forceful without much apparent effort; most likely from his years of experience as an attorney, "You have no right to that kind of personal information! What gives you the right to interrogate a minor for information that legally you require a Court Order for?"
"My intention was merely to - uh. Well you see, I um..." Shooting a nasty glare in my direction Mr. Diloyne fidgetted uncomfortably in his chair, "He was skipping! This is the seventh time this month alone!"
"Perhaps if the content of his classwork challenged his intellect, my son would attend class more often! Myself and my wife have had this discussion multiple times with his math teacher."
I could feel my shoulders tremoring violently. Quickly I covered my mouth with my hand. Biting my tongue I knew it was too late. I snorted. I'd tried to stifle my laughter for too long.
"Mister Diloyne," Mrs. Davidson, the principal, finally spoke up; her voice wavered, "Would you please excuse us? You've spoken your point. I shall deal with Mr. Larson and his son."
Even my dad was fighting to keep a straight face. As Mr. Diloyne rushed from the office I leaned down to tighten a buckle on my boot; I could feel his eyes boring into the back of my skull. As soon as he left the three of us burst out laughing. Regaining his composure my dad smacked me upside the head playfully.
"You made that much more difficult than was necessary!"
"I'm sorry dad, I couldn't control myself."
Leaning forward on her desk Mrs. Davidson tapped her silver pen repeatedly. "Despite Mr. Diloyne's transgression, I have no choice but to suspend you for repeatedly skipping your math class." She was quite attractive for a middle aged woman.
"You'll be suspended for two days,"Reaching into her desk she pulled out a file folder, "And we'll be placing you into the advanced mathematics class."
I could hardly believe my ears, "What? Really?"
Her eyes were the colour of fresh honey, the same as her hair, "Yes. I've spoken to your math teacher, and we've tracked your test scores over the last month. Even though you've been skipping class, only attending for exams, your test scores are averaging 90%. You have potential to succeed. Please don't waste this opportunity I'm giving you."
Clearing his throat and standing my father extended his hand to Mrs. Davidson, "Believe me he won't. Thank you for your time and understanding, ma'am."
I was relieved to be leaving that stale office. The receptionist looked at us curiously as we left. I was about the same height as my father. Somewhere around the 6"2', 6"3' mark. He was a well dressed lawyer, and I, well. Gothic, I think is what the style of dress would be called.
"Where's Mina?" He asked when we reached the hallway.
"I told her to meet me in the foyer."
"Her parents know?"
"Not yet."
He gave me a worried glance, "Go get her. I'll be in the car."
I found Mina huddled on the bench in the far corner of the foyer. Tucked in beside the broken pop machine. She looked like a lost puppy. When she saw me she grabbed her backpack and practically flew off the bench.
"Jake! I heard Diloyne busted you! What happened?"
"In a nutshell: Lawyer dad chewed stupid man a new asshole. I'm suspended for two days but I'm being bounced into an advanced math class."
"About fucken time, too! Wait," She stopped suddenly tugging on my arm, "Does your dad...did you tell him?"
"He put two and two together. He's likely where I get my math mind from. Come on, he's waiting for us."

Tossing our backpacks onto the freshly vacuumed floors of my dad's Escalade, we piled into the backseat. His eyes stared back at us from the rearview mirror.
"That was a Hell of a way for me to find out Mina's pregnant, Jake." I could hear the dissapointment in his voice.
"I'm sorry."
The ride home was one of tense silence. We wanted to talk, but none could find the proper words. So we rode quietly. Dad's eyes fixed on the road, Mina staring absently out the window, and me staring at the floor.

This post has been edited by literarygoth: May 1 2011, 09:08 PM

[X-M-O]

You mentioned that you'll be editing this later, so I won't bother you with the few errors I saw. =]
I will, however, critique your writing! =D

The plot was very well written and stayed on-track throughout.
The idea of telling this story in first person was a good idea and overall made the ending very nice.
The fact that no other characters in the story spoke with the main character (except for the mysterious voice) was good because it allowed the focus to be on the main character's thoughts versus being on conversation between more than one character - which could end up messing up the plot.
At first, I sort of felt sad about the cat, but then after reading a little bit further I began to see where this was going and I lost my sympathy for the cat and started to focus on the main plot. The fact that you did not linger for long on the cat's death was actually a very good thing. =]
I think that the overall idea of the "evil aunt" is not too original, however it was completely forgiveable due to the direction this story went. (It wasn't actually a story about a girl/boy feeling sorry for themselves, instead the focus was on the "Shadow" - another good thing.)
I felt that, given the situation, the actions the main character took were very realistic and I'd probably have had the same reaction(s) that he/she did.
I did notice that you did not refer to the main character as a male or female. I'm assuming that the main character is a female, but there are several things within the story that could make it a male. This is another good thing, and I really like the fact that it isn't specifically known. I also like the fact that the main character doesn't introduce us to herself/himself in a "I'm a teenage girl with brown hair and green eyes...yada...yada..." - because it simply gets annoying to read that bit of intro-text when it is there. =]

I liked the story, my favourite part is when the main character awakens and goes down the stairs to see what you called "a revolting, open-mouthed, silent scream". It was very descriptive and I liked the fact that it also had a bit of "shocking grotesqueness" to it.
I didn't like the way the "Shadow" afflicted the main character (e.g. when the Shadow forcefully knocked the main character backward so that he/she hit his/her head and blanked out) but not because it left the main character unconscious, rather I didn't like it because I couldn't see a person doing that to themselves unknowingly - even under stressful/scary situations. However, that's a minor thing and I realise that something would have had to have happened in order to move the story forward; being knocked unconscious.

So I really liked the story, and if I had chosen an ending different from yours it would have been something like the sculpture coming to life or something, lol. Well... not really, but something relating to the gargoyle sculpture would have happened for sure. =D


Great work, I'd love to read more! ^^

[literarygoth]

Thank you for the feedback, but feel free to point out the errors that you noticed; especially considering when I copied and pasted my story here a lot of the structure got 'lost in translation'. I tried to quickly edit as much as I could but I know I've missed some.

Ironically, I'm a cat lover. So killing off the kitty made me feel a little bit sad while I was writing it, but it was the way the story was developing in my mind. I'm not always necessarily 'in control' when stories come to mind. Sometimes it's like they write themselves.

I deliberately left the gender of the character 'open ended' - in my opinion it gave ample room for the reader to put themselves directly in the shoes of the character and really feel what they were feeling, which was the ultimate intent.

Shocking grotesqueness is imo, one of my finest points with writing

The afflictions from the 'shadow' - were an attempt to throw in a mix of supernatural aspects, with the psychotic. Persons that are severely mentally disturbed have been known to attack themselves in an hysterical state, but claim they were attacked by an outside force.

I'm hunting down another of my short stories to post here, it's far from being finished, the story kind of stalemated. I know the plot and ultimately where it's going to go, I just don't have any inspiration nor the time to work on it. I will finish it; one day.

[X-M-O]

You're welcome. =]

I'd love to read another of your short stories, and of course I'd plan on writing similar feedback to that story. Looking forward to it. =]

[literarygoth]

Alrighty, this is a WIP - one that I intend to finish, I just don't know when
I do have a working title for it, albeit silly - however I won't post the title, because in the story's current state - it just wouldn't make any sense at all. So here it is 'Untitled' - there were some aspects that DID happen in my life that I have put into the story that you will be able to read in this portion. Please enjoy, and critique is very welcome!

~moved to main post~

This post has been edited by literarygoth: May 1 2011, 09:05 PM

[X-M-O]

Wow. I really don't have much of a critique to give, but I'll say what I can. =]

I really liked this one, it is a down-to-earth scenario with actions and reactions that aren't far from reality. Its realism is well-written, and its descriptive qualities are nothing short of brilliant!
Despite not being finished, it has great potential and I already love it. =]
With more story comes more praise. =D

[Sparrowsmith]

I'll do my best to critique here.
The last story I enjoyed for the most part, but there were one or two parts which I found a little off. More of a personal thing really.

She was quite attractive for a middle aged woman.

this just kind of came from nowhere. It's written in first person, from a guy's perspective, so if you're going to comment on someone being attractive then do it like in the introduction If the guy is losing interest in the conversation, or his mind slips for a moment, then he might go off on a small tangent and finish with that she was quite attractive.
Or, if it's something he'd previously noticed, he might say 'I've often thought she was fairly attractive'
on it's own it seems a bit too third person, and breaks from the otherwise very convincing narrative.

Another thing I found awkward about Jake was his attitude. He's very nervous and looks at his feat a lot, and is even scared to hold Mina in the start. But when he actually talks to Mina he's always very assertive; telling her where to meet him, what they should do, etc.
He's also very optimistic after his dad figures out Mina is pregnant. He should worry a bit more, or in his place I would be white with exaggerated scenarios running through my mind.

Although we don't learn too much about him, so his actions might make more sense to you than to us. I'm just working with what I've read.

As for shadow, I actually think more time should have been spent on the cat, and the head. It's very graphic stuff and would make anyone, even the killer, feel nauseous. The plot itself was well planned and interesting, I liked darting back through the story and picking up on the subtle hints; reminded me strongly of 'The Secret Window'. Funnily enough the killer in 'The Secret Window' also starts by killing a pet belonging to his final victim. He also suffers from moments where he's done something (like finding the body) and not knowing how it happened.

I look forward to seeing the next good read

[literarygoth]

Thanks for the critique Sparrow
I understand the points you've made with Jake - it does seem like his personality is all over the place, for the moment. It will make more sense when I actually get around to finishing the damn thing
There's a dynamic between he and his dad that I haven't been able to expand on yet, and will explain why he seems so calm.

Good tip on breaking with the first person perspective and I'll look into re-wording it. I've stayed with first person mainly because I have a terrible habit of bouncing all over the place when using third person.

As for Shadow I'm glad you enjoyed it that was actually a re-write of the original and it turned out sooooo much better. I would have stayed longer on the cat's death or the head, however - I normally get carried away with descriptions especially for gruesome scenes and I didn't want to totally gross out my readers. Note to self: Sparrow wants more gore

Hopefully between exams and projects I'll have time to complete the untitled story (it goes creepy places you'd never expect from the opening scenes ) as well as write out the others I've had swirling around in my head.

[Sparrowsmith]

not necessarily more gore, just more of a reaction. If something dead was in front of you, you would react. You might not react negatively (though I'd hope most people would) but the idea of just 'taking out the trash' was a little to rushed. At the same time he knows that he did it (well the voice does) so he already knows what he'd plan (the neighbors aren't watching, coincidence? No he checked first, etc.)
He's technically two people for the scene, so imagine two people at the scene.
One of them is freaking out, the other one keeps cool and gives instructions.
From first person this could be as far as the narrator being in tears over the whole ordeal and yet still doing exactly what the voice says because there really is no alternative.
In the form of a simile: It's like being thrown down rapid water. No matter how much you thrash at the waves or scream or cry, eventually you'll go exactly where the river takes you.

I look forward to an updated version of both

[literarygoth]

Wow, it's been a long time since I posted anything here XD
This piece is a work in progress, it hasn't been edited or proofread yet so it's completely raw. Later parts of this story I believe go beyond acceptable limits of allowable content to be posted here at RRR, as such I'm just posting the first portion of this story here.

Working title is 'Altar', which may or may not change once I've completed writing it.
Hope you enjoy ^-^

[Show/Hide] Altar

With her hands above her head, bound tightly at the wrists by a thick knot of rough woven rope, she lay prone atop the stone altar. Naked as the day she was born, her once youthfully vibrant skin had become hardened, cracked and as dry as a lizards’ flesh. She winced as she futily struggled against her bindings, her body battered and withered; her muscles had long since lost their ability to function properly. Her days were spent in agony, emaciated under the sun as it baked her flesh dark with each passing day.
Raking her swollen tongue over the barren desert that had become her dried lips, the sweet scent of water tormented her nostrils. A slow, wearied delirium had begun to take hold of her sanity; warping her thoughts. Laying there in a dry bed of feces that caked her withering gluteal fold, she was barely cognizant as her bladder released. The warm acidic torrent burned as it found the blistered crevices of skin on her inner thighs. Longing for deaths’ merciful embrace, she prayed for her end.
The birds above cawed mockingly, flaunting their freedom as they passed overhead. A single tear shuddered at the corner of her eye. It had been many moons since the ceremony that had doomed her to this fate. Exactly how long she’d languished there, was lost to her fading consciousness.
That night, an hypnotically rhythmic beating of animal skin drums filled the humid air. Illuminating the night, the village shuddered in the light of several hundred torches; the others sung a haunting monotone chant that buzzed in her ears. Just a few years ago she’d been among them, carrying a torch and chanting in time to the steady beat; but this night was different. This night, she’d been chosen. He had chosen her.
She’d knelt, huddled and frightened, on the reed mat that covered the dusty floor of her home. Her mother, sobbing and pleading, by her side. She’d begged them to choose another.
Her body trembled uncontrollably, wondering, imagining; terrified of what lay ahead.
Her mothers’ sob drowned by the chanting, her father led her outside their hut. The air was thick that night, and full of the scents of the jungle they called home. Gathered in a semi circle some twenty feet away, the priests, with their staves adorned with animal teeth, stared coldly at her. At one point she’d respected these men. She stood barefoot, the soil embracing her toes. With a subtle nod at her father, the high priest raised his eyes to the sky, gazing intently at the canopy of leaves and vines overhead.
Her father now stepped in front of her; his once loving eyes dark, aloof; distant. She didn’t know these eyes that looked upon her now. She knew what he meant to do. She’d witnessed this herself more than once in her short fourteen years. A perverse ritual to prevent their complete ruin, which would surely happen if they should abandon this practice.
Swallowing her fear and pride, she held her chin high and stared into her fathers’ eyes. She would meet her fate head on.
The delicate, sharpened bone athame in his hand quivered for a tiny instant as he raised the tool to the nape of her neck. With a couple well placed slashes, her clothing fell crudely to the ground as the wind whistled through her hair; he’d stripped her naked in front of the entire village. She refused to show any emotion, nor hint of weakness. Much unlike the blubbering pansies that had come before her.
Grabbing her wrists, the priests led her to the waterfall at the centre of town for her ritual cleansing. Young, pure, and clean is what the beast enjoys most.
For a few glorious minutes, the world was shut out as she savoured the feel of the biting cold water cascading over her flesh. The crashing filled her ears, completely blocking out the monotonous chanting. She could feel her dignity being washed away with the dirt that clung to her pores. It was over far too soon, and the priests ushered her along hastily; they must not keep the beast waiting, lest they suffer his wrath.
The villagers now lined the path that led to the clifftop where her destiny now lie. Nothing she wanted mattered anymore. Her doubts, fears, desires, dreams; all dust in the wind.

Morning had broken with a brilliant wash of colour that stained everything it touched; the hues of magenta, blazing orange and dazzling yellow shone everywhere he looked. The village, set some distance away from the priests’ lodging where he dwelled, was still wrapped in slumber. Only the night watch stirred, anticipating the end of their shift. There’d been no jaguar attacks in several weeks; a good sign for sure. The beast was pleased.
He shuffled in silence towards the cliff. For silence was his way of life. Deliberately deafened as a child, never permitted to speak, deaf and mute; the life of a priest. A lifetime of servitude, the quiet shepherd of slow, agonizing death.
Gestures were his exclusive dialect with his master and his apprentices; a language only they knew. He could not remember his family; he would entertain himself that somewhere among the bamboo and mudbrick huts, that maybe, just maybe, one person would glance lovingly in his direction. All he’d known was his master, the other apprentices of the priesthood, and the duties they must perform with diligence, accuracy and careful precision. One mistake, any detail carelessly overlooked, and they would all suffer.
He averted his gaze from the rotting corpse slung from the pole at the edge of town, at the maw of the cliffside path. The remnants of another apprentice. He’d incurred the wrath of their Lord with his bumbling ways, and had paid the ultimate price. Their Lord brought the monsoons, flooded their homes, slaughtered their livestock, and ruined their crops. The foolish young priest had tried to hide from their Lord; it hadn’t taken long to find him. Dragged before the village, raised high into the air above their heads by their Lords’ unseen hands, he’d been torn to pieces. His arms pulled from their sockets, his legs chewed off, and his head twisted around at an impossible angle.
Their Lord would not tolerate fools, they had learned well from his lesson that day.
He would not fail. He would complete his tasks and he would train those that followed in his steps. He would not fail.
The path was narrow and overgrown and knew only the priests that walked it regularly; no other dared approach the altar. It was only during the ceremony that any other mortal laid eyes upon it. It was forbidden for any other to step foot here only the priesthood was granted such a dismal right.
Every day he marched that path, flattening the grass underfoot walking with purpose. The basket he carried heavy with that days’ offerings. Fresh eggs, fruits, grain, handmade trinkets, fabric; these he brought for their Lord. Todays bounty particularly plentiful. A small, wrapped package sat atop these offerings; a clay pitcher of water in his other hand.
The shade dissipated as he entered the clearing, the trees retreating from the windswept stone of the cliffside. Below, the jungle stretched for eternity, a sea of trees. Somewhere nearby, snuggled under the boughs, lay the village. A few shivery, whispy tendrils of smoke floated though the leaves; the only indication of life below.
Approaching the head of the altar, he marveled at the immaculate condition of the dark grey marble. It had stood there for many centuries, witnessed many atrocities and furious storms. Hardly a chip or scratch marked its’ perfect surface. Carved into the side of the mountain that rose towards the sky, the statue of their Lord stood ominously with his clawed hands outstretched; ready to receive his gifts. It was here he carefully deposited the basket of offerings.
Plucking the package from the top of the pile he unwrapped the morsels of food he’d carefully prepared for the altar girl. Her once a day, meager feedings barely kept her alive. A couple pieces of meat, fruit, berries and a cup of water was all she would be permitted; those were the Lords orders.
Gazing upon her emaciated form, he couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt; he pitied her plight, but knew that he could not do anything to release her. He must obey.
Her eyes had once been a vivid, startingly beautiful dark green; lush as the leaves of aloe. Long ago, they’d lost their luster; the innocence that had once shone fiercely had been extinguished. She gazed at him now with sunken, lifeless orbs that begged only for death. He swallowed his remorse, as he poked the scant morsels into her desperate jaws. More than once during his career, he’d had the insane urge to drown the altar girls with the pitcher of water. Their memories haunted his dreams. Their eyes were the same; every last one of them. How many had he tended in his thirty years? How many more had been before him? How many more would languish in the future? These thoughts brought him to the brink of madness, teetering on the edge of sanity and the deep depths of the human psyche reserved for the truly insane. Shaking his head as though to rattle these thoughts away, he trained his concentration on the tasks at hand.
With a fresh strip of linen, woven from the flax harvested yearly, he meticulously set to cleaning the altar. Dried in the heat of the blazing sun, the feces washed away with relative ease, revealing the stunning stone underneath. With the clean water from the pitcher he carefully wiped down the girls’ withered and bruised limbs. No longer she winced as he brushed the cloth over the blisters and claw marks.
He noticed with disdain that her thighs were heavily bruised; her body unable to heal adequately between each night. Bruise upon bruise layered her abdomen and upper legs. She would not last much longer.

[Sparrowsmith]

wow that's dark lit. That is dark.
I'm intrigued by the plot, and the writing is excellent as usual. There was one or two lines that read a bit awkwardly, but other than that it was spot on I'll give a proper critique at a later time that isn't half 1 in the morning :L

[literarygoth]

Indeed it is dark, Sparrow which is why I've only posted a small excerpt of the story here; the rest of the story isn't appropriate for the forums.
This story was partially inspired by a friends' dream, and a dream that I had. I sort of, mashed the two together and strung a story through it. It's almost finished, just have a bit more to write and then I'll be going back, editing and polishing the story completely.

[X-M-O]

I was able to find some time to read this, and I must say it is brilliant. =D
The dark theme doesn't appeal to me as much as the writing, and you've done well with that.
However, the dark theme has its place and is clearly well-designed. =]

[literarygoth]

Aha, fair enough X thank you for your comments.
This next story is literally in fragments, I've been writing 'scenes' as they come to me. Altogether the whole story may end up being another novel. Like 'Altar' this is also a work in progress and hasn't been edited or proofread; completely raw!
Working title 'Sketch'.

**foul language warning**

[Show/Hide] Sketch

I cannot fully express the absolute freedom I felt as I fell through the air, plummeting towards the street below. The ecstasy I felt then, knowing! Knowing, that even in death, I would have the last laugh! The air whipped past me now with a savage grace I’d never felt before. My laughter filled the sky, the pure insanity, the maniacal laughter of the damned.
Damned or not, they would not be able to ignore my message; it couldn’t be more bold and clear than if I’d fucking spelled it out for them in large letters. I clutched the satchel in my arms to my chest, my nails digging into the fabric; a true death grip. It contained all the evidence we’d collected. He would rot in jail. Yes you will, you son of a bitch! And whether or not I burn in the fires of Hell, I don’t care! Nothing mattered now, only sweet justice. The justice we’d been denied until now.
My story is long, and I don’t have much time left, but I suppose you deserve to know the truth. What I’ve done will make more sense at least, I’m sure. I suppose what I’ve done is selfish in some rights, at least, I know that’s what some of you will say. But understand now, there’s nothing selfish or self centered in my actions, now or then. My story begins just 6 months ago. It’s amazing y’know, how much your life can change in such a short expanse of time.
My name? That really isn’t important. Everyone calls me Sketch, even my teachers. Why? Ever since I can remember, I’ve always been doodling things. No matter where, or what time, I’ve always got my trusty 2HB, and whether it’s in my sketchbook, or the margin of my schoolbooks, I’m always drawing something. I find beauty in the mundane. I’ve drawn teachers as they stand in front of whiteboards droning on and on about the Great War, I’ve doodled the girl that sits next to me in math class and how her hair falls over her face and shoulders. I’ve always enjoyed drawing, replicating what I see with a precision that even the most elaborate of cameras fails to capture; the minute details of life that most overlook. Call it an obsession. Perhaps I’m a little OCD; but oddly enough, I find it relaxing. It’s my form of meditation, if you will. I’m sure I would have gone over the edge, pardon the pun, much sooner if I could not draw.
I’d chosen this particular moment carefully. I suppose I even planned it. I had to get someone’s attention. I had to force them to see what ignorance had blinded them to. Why did I choose to do it this way? Why didn’t I just go to the police, my parents; why didn’t I try harder?
Let me tell you, I did. I tried everything, short of doing a song and dance, yet they all refused to see; or maybe it was too hard for them to admit. Whatever the case, everything I tried didn’t work. So, I had to take the next step.
How do you out shock the shock artists, and reach the hearts of those numbed to insensitivity? Gaga, Marilyn Manson, Madonna, Elvis; each one shook an entire generation to their foundations. But none of them had done, or would ever do, what I’d done now. Monday morning rush hour traffic expanded below me; ants on an ant hill. That’s all we are, really; and I intended to get their attention. No! I fucking demanded it, I deserved it!

[X-M-O]

Nice work on this one. =D
I love the thought process that this character has; really a treat for someone who has dabbled in psychology. ^^

[Sparrowsmith]

Nice work on this one. =D
I love the thought process that this character has; really a treat for someone who has dabbled in psychology. ^^

agreed.
I only have a qualm with this part:

He would rot in jail. Yes you will, you son of a bitch! And whether or not I burn in the fires of Hell, I don’t care! Nothing mattered now, only sweet justice.

I'm not sure if it's intentional, but the jump from 'he' to 'you' I found quite jarring. And I'm sure the tenses are off at some point (perhaps 'matters' instead of 'mattered).
However, your character seems a little bit nuts, so this could be put down to them.

The thought processes are beautiful nonetheless.

[darkhalo]

Wow, so I read the Alter. I'm still cringing at the end of it...and all described so passionately ...shudders.
You have natural talent Lit.....oh, and your poetry.......wanting more please .