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Title Pending; The INKweaver
Topic Started: Feb 18 2008, 09:51 PM (822 Views)
** Death's servant
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Reflection
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Chapter 1

- Imagine, you are looking down at a street. On this street is a possession of people dressed in black. One of these people, the one best dressed, is speaking. You move closer to hear him.
- "...Another tragic consequence of someone not taking their medicine. Death is an epidemic, which can be stopped. Aging is a disease, which can be cured. Emotion is a plague which must be eradicated..."
- The man speaking is wearing a tailored black suit; on his left index finger he wears a ring made entirely made from diamond. His thin face appears to be young, and his irises are the dull black of a beetle carapace. These eyes should seem strange to you, but somehow they seem quite in the ordinary, even to the point of an eerie familiarity.
- You look closer at the procession. Upon inspection there are three people the speaker excluded. The first that draws your attention is a tall young man. His irises are the same dull black as those of the speaker, and he wears a standard black suit and shoes. On his finger a dull copper band glitters with the muted light of a much used doorknob. His face appears young, mid 30s you guess. The only distinguishing feature visible is his right index finger, or rather his lack of one. In it's place is a stump of flesh about a half inch long.
- "...Let this be a reminder to us all of why we take our daily dose; the medicine your government prescribes for you. You take it not because you are told to, but because of the consequences of neglecting it..."
- The next person to draw your attention is a woman wearing a silver ring, and black tight dress. Her face is of about the same age as the other two, and she holds it in a similar detached manner. Her almond-shaped eyes are the same dull black. She wears her raven hair in a perfect glossy French braid.
- "...His death is a tragedy. All those who worked and lived with him will miss his hard effort, and skill in his line of work will be sorely missed..."
- The final person in the procession is a girl who looks to be about 13 or 14 years old. Her hair is of the same glossy black as the other woman, her mother's, but she wears it loose, and it cascades around her face like a silk waterfall. She wears a black calf-length dress, and black knee high leather boots. Her face is of a similar structure to her mother's with high cheekbones and almond eyes flanking a straight, slightly pointed nose. Many of her features have a slight resemblance to her mother, but her eyes are not the dull black, as the others', but a glimmering jade green. Her face, though similar to her mother's in shape carries a sad aura, somehow more alive than the others. Her lips twitch at the words of the speaker.
- This small, green eyed girl stands calmly through the speech, but her fathers death weighs down on her. You can tell by the twitching of her red lips, and the slight shaking of her finger tips. But why does it weigh on her you wonder, these people seem so unsympathetic to their surroundings that her sadness seems strange. Also strange that she takes such measures to conceal it.
- You continue following the procession when the get into a car and leave. The two women are dropped off on a street and they begin to walk toward their house, which is the fifth on the left of the street. It is the same as every other house on the street in almost every aspect. You follow the two.
- "Cristine, you mustn't lag behind. You'll make us late for dinner." the woman says in a flat voice.
- Cristine speeds her pace, but waits till her mother is turned away from her and makes a rude hand gesture. A tear glistens on her cheek, as well as her anger with her mother something is causing her pain. This pain seems odd to you, but just as it seems odd you would expect nothing else.
- You watch the pair eat their 'dinner' which is something that looks like all that is necessary in food, and the lack of all flavor and color.
- After eating the mother, who's name you have learned is Victoria, looks expectantly at Cristine. "Now take your dose and go to bed. We wouldn't want you to end like your father." She says, and in her flat words it seems there is a threat. Not a threat made by passion though, but a dull and certain kind. A cold unfeeling threat like the first snow of a long dark winter devoid of light and food.
- Cristine nods emotionlessly and walks to the bathroom to brush her teeth. When she exits the bathroom she is wearing clean cloths, which she will be wearing the next day. You follow her to her bedroom, you follow for reasons you can't quite put into words. It is as if there is something you know to be true, yet still must see with your own eyes to believe.
- Once inside the room you examine it. There is a closet with several matching, ironed and clean suits of cloths. Beside the bed stands a small glass table. Upon this table rests a clock, three small bottles of pills, and a half full glass of water. On the bed there is one blanket and one pillow. The bed its self is just large enough to hold Cristine. All aspects of the bed are grey.
- Cristine walks to her bed and listens to her mother's footsteps fading to her respective room on the other side of the house. She listens as the door closes, and knows that it will not open till morning. Once the footsteps are gone and the door is closed Cristine carefully takes one pill from each of the bottles and methodically, carefully crushes each in turn into the glass. Once all three are thoroughly crushed she takes the glass to her bathroom and slowly, quietly empties the glasses contents into the sink, washing it away with a burst of water from the tap.
- Once this secret ritual is completed she walks back to her room and lies down on the bed to sleep. The next few hours you spend watching tears run down her cheeks and to her grey pillow. Once the tears have stopped and you are sure that Cristine is deep in sleep you gently wipe the streaks from her tears away from her face, and brush a strand of hair from her face. Then you silently walk out of the room through the solid wall and watch her sleep from the branches of the tree outside the window..
- As you guard her sleep your mind wanders. You first remember the war, reading of the bloody battles in the paper over the shoulders of passers by, and watching reports of it on T.V. You remember watching the life fade from the soldiers' faces, and you remember their names, millions of names, millions of deaths, each one lost forever..
- Your thoughts then turn to the end of the war, about 70 years ago, and the rise of the so called 'International Peace Organization'. You remember the invention of the three drugs called 'Clarity', 'Longevity', and 'Perfection'. You recall how the I.P.O. mass produced these and gave them to the people. 'Clarity' suppressed the emotions of those who used it. 'Longevity' froze the aging process when the subject was in their prime. And 'Perfection' Eliminated all diseases which still remained. These three drugs made a perfect workforce for Leon Nachtspeiler, the leader of I.P.O., to exploit. And those who refused to take their dose were killed or forced into hiding.
- The only unexpected side effect of these three drugs was the slow fading of the irises to a dull black. This sign was not known to most government officials, and was hidden from all the commoners. If it had been told to the people Cristine would surely have been found out long ago.
- ***
- It is three days later, and you again as always are watching Cristine. The last three days past by without discernable change. Cristine went to school, she came home. You learned the she is actually 15 year of age. When returning home from school every day Cristine slips a sheet of paper into the hand of a dark man with red eyes. On the paper is the address of a plant producing one of the three drugs. Once she is sure she has given the man the location of every last plant their plan will continue.
- Tonight she again weeps for her dead father, she weeps for her world, and she weeps for herself. She has lost her father who showed her how to conceal her neglect of the dose. He taught her how to write in that form known once as poetry. He taught her to hate the I.P.O. She has lost him, and so she silently weeps herself to sleep. You wipe the tears away from her sleeping face, and brush away her hair.
- As you look down on her sleeping face a tear falls from you, and before you can catch it, the tear lands on her pale cheek. Where your golden tear falls her skin steams. Her eyes open as she stifles a cry of pain. Your second tear strikes her emerald eye. Upon this impact she whimpers, and her eyes and face draw inward in pain. Then suddenly with a terrible effort she calms her face and looks toward you. You silently fade out of the room through the solid wall, and curse your weakness. Before you left she glimpsed your golden eyes with the eye given true sight by your tear. You must be much more careful to remain invisible to her. If she sees you all might fail.
- Where an angel’s tear has fallen nothing is ever the same. Cristine’s eye will forever see that which no human should see. The eye would be golden now, never again the green of it's counterpart. And on her cheek would be a golden mark in the shape of a tear. Your weakness has doomed her to a life ruled by specters and shadows; spirits and demons. And this same weakness forces you to hide from that which by all rights should never have seen you at all.
- *** -
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+Linden
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awesomesauce
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Ah, this was the idea you talked about the other day? Interesting idea and the end of the chapter was fitting. I like the adding of the ethereal to the high-tech.

However, I'm not very fond of second person: I don't like to be told how I feel about something. I think it's better to let the reader come up with their own thoughts or herd them to a certain feeling, then they can at least think it was their idea. ;)
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** Death's servant
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Reflection
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First of all, thanks for the comment. As for your comment on not likeing how I put ideas into your head, I do that only with things that are strange, and as I put the idea into the readers read mind I infer that it is somehow strange, maby as if you are having the thoughts put into your head by the wrighter. *hint hint* For the wrapup Im going to say something like:
"Now stand up. Stand, don't put down the book. Look down at your hands, and move your fingers. Now go deep into yourself and return to your thoughts and yours alone, let no celestial being, and no foolish wrighter tell you what to think. Be yourself, in your world, but remember the lesson you have learned while in the world I have painted for you, remember those things which never were and always will be. As you remember this though, be your self, retain your ritous mind, and let not my words tell you who you are or what you are thinking."

My storys have morals, and my placing of thoughts in your imaginary mind is crutial to the moral.
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ChipChamp
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Have fun!
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Death's servant
Feb 19 2008, 04:37 PM
let no celestial being, and no foolish wrighter tell you what to think.


Don't you think that kinda contradicts itself? :P

Lol
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** Death's servant
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Im telling you not to let anyone controll your mind.
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ChipChamp
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Exactly.... you're telling me...

Lol
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** Death's servant
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Im saying, 'do not let anyone tell you who you are, what to think, how to speak'. I am not saying 'let me guid you through your life'. Do you see the difference?
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+ *thebalanceiswithin
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well the way it is worded it sounds a bit more like a command, which you say you don't want it to be, so maybe if you worded it better...


great work by the way
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** Death's servant
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Reflection
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That was an example. Next person critisises my example of a possible ending I will remove the content from the post. This topic is about the story it is not your place to pick at a respons to an earlier question..
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ChipChamp
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Woah, DS, I was just joking! Garsh...

I still think it contradicts itself...

Good story. :)
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** Death's servant
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*explodes with righteous anger*
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+ *thebalanceiswithin
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now i'm not picking at it, I believe that my response was actually not that offensive...

actually maybe not offensive at all from some points of view. So I don't know about you but I believe that I can respond to something in a conversation, and have that be my place at the time, unless the absence of my presence is requested prior to my response.
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+ *thebalanceiswithin
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but this isn't about the story so lets get back on point.
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** Death's servant
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Thank you.
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+Linden
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Still, I don't like second person. You don't need to give me a huge, airy explanation; my opinion about the style won't change.

In my experience reading and writing: if the person reading pays attention to symbolism and picks up on detail, the oddities will make themselves known. You shouldn't have to say, and I directly quote, "This pain seems odd to you..."

Things are getting a little touchy. I might want to add a disclaimer now. :)

Disclaimer, anfang!
All above and what I posted before this is my opinion. Granted, it may be a rough opinion; However, it is an honest one and I make no apology for stating it.

When I post a story, I assume to get constructive criticism and the readers opinions (unless I state otherwise). If the reader wishes to give me frivolous flattery, so be it; if the reader wants to give me their harshest criticism, I'll gladly accept it as their opinion and see if what they say is true to my work. It may not be what I want (After all, every writer wants to produce a wonderful piece of work), but I'll deal and do the best I can with it.

As a reader I can also follow a similar rule. I can either give frivolously flattery or I can give harsh criticism. Now, I hardly see the point in 'frivolous flattery' so I choose various degrees of criticism. It can be rough but its honest... and yeah.
Disclaimer, fineto!
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