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Innocence and Loneliness

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Ziggy455
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#1

Posted 21 April 2013 - 07:10 PM Edited by Ziggy455, 15 October 2014 - 12:06 AM.

I'm the king of my own land
Facing tempests of dust
I'll fight until the end
Creatures of my dreams: Raise up and dance with me!
Now and forever
I'm your king!


INNOCENCE AND LONELINESS

 


Part One
Is it possible to fall in love with somebody who never existed? In the day and age of user inter-face relationships, e-relationships, and countless stupid e-flings, is it such a question to ask if something that is purely creation can form so strongly that you fall in love. I don’t ask such a question based on a relationship on the internet. For all intents and purposes, dear reader, let us pretend that the existence and ability to have such electronic network based flings is not possible.

An idea though, can one fall in love with them. Here, damn-it. I’m being modest. I have fallen for a woman who was created out of code. She never existed except in the form of words on a page; bright blue eyes, chestnut brown hair, and the innocence of a child. Who was she? I did not know- but I had never felt such a strong connection to such a being. Am I crazy, reader? Have a cracked the proverbial membrane and slipped away into the deep, dark abode of insanity? Allow me to partake in the tale that will probably make you see things from my point of view.

Ideas grow fresh from the mind, do they not? We see perhaps two things. We can see any object we wish; we connect that object with another, and boom, you have evolved an idea. Let’s say I look at a lamp; simplistic, round, dim, the power’s breaking down out in the generator. Lamp and generator, eh? Why’s the power failing? How cliché! It’s a stormy night as I write this; the strong wind whistles, causing the house to lightly tremble with muffled blares. Alas, I digress again. f*ck.

Following a rather dreary day at college; I proceeded home. The train journey was as it always was; lonely, quiet, and somehow reflective. Whenever the London Midland trains trundled along the tracks with their rickety flow, it was a time of quiet. I always seemed to notice how quiet it was on trains, was there ever a rule that permitted sound regulations? Probably not, or, maybe it was the shape of the trains that lowered the amplification of voices. I stared out at the approaching clouds that seemed to creepy slowly over my head. In my hand; a worn notebook that I always carried for notes, storylines, doodles, sketches, and other sh*t.

As I was caught deep in my mind; the image of a pair of big blue eyes hit me. I randomly drew them to the best of my ability. They were simple; big, beautiful, but no face to match them...yet. Why did this happen? Why did a woman come to mind? As the drunk down my local pub would say, “I sh*t my pants again...”

Humorous, perhaps, but it fit well. It was a random occurrence that left more mystery than it did information. I left the train at my regular stop and never thought about the eyes again. I continued my life. Dreams began to take form that soon after, and for many nights after. I had suffered crippling lucid night terrors for years based on my PTSD and past-issues, but lately, and uncompromisingly, I found peace in the dreams ahead that I am to explain to you, faithful reader.

I had slipped into my dream quite easily. As I looked around, it was apparent I’d landed in a garden somewhere. It was massive, with a huge pond in the middle; diversity thy name is nature. Hundreds of animals moved all around; dears, dogs, foxes, birds, and even bugs, all moving in harmony to an unknown symphony that played away in my mind to a subconscious concert with a quartet band.

My feet slowly padded through the soft grass, not killing anything I stepped on, such is the logic of dreams. A hint of blue shot out of the corner of my right peripheral vision. “Hello?” Was that a gasp or one of the animals? “HELLO!” I yelled louder. Padded feet were easily audible. I followed the sound, up ahead I noticed a girl shoot into some sort of maze. I followed her in, slipping into a less wildlife-full garden. By a tree was the girl, her eyes wide; panic-stricken. Heavy breaths escaped her lungs.

“Hey!” I stumbled after her as I got to my feet.

“No, no!” she screamed, nuzzling into the large tree.

“Hey, you alright?” I asked as I observed her. From behind, a blue skirt covered her lower portion; a bright clean blouse up top. Chestnut hair tied in a ponytail and nothing else was visible.

“No, no, oh god,” she whispered into the tree. “Please don’t hurt me,” she said to herself. I put a hand on her lightly; all fear seemed to drain from her as she turned with her eyes wide with perhaps a hint of curiosity.

“You’re not going to hurt me?” she asked as she raised a hand that touched my face in the most intrusive way. She gripped my cheeks and examined me. Up close, I could smell her warm, minty breath. Her bright blue, crystal eyes stared into mine for a moment and that was when a slab of something hard slid down my throat. Her beautiful lips formed words that didn’t hit my eyes; her soft hands violently squished my face, turning it to her liking as she scanned over me. “You’re not dark,” she said with disbelief, her raspy-posh like voice not helping the hint of attraction I felt. Sex dream? A f*cking sex dream.

Her hand rested on my cheek gently and then I was yanked away from the dream quite fiercely as I slipped out of the confines of the couch onto the wooden floor that greeted me with a nice headbutt. Clonk! “Jesus!”

“You alright?” yelled my mother from the kitchen, her mind and eyes glued to her phone as she texted her new partner (she’d been going through a heavy divorce and had ironically found a new man to fit that empty gap).

When you awake from dreams, statistically, 90% of the dream is forgotten within thirty minutes. I did not forget her face, the garden, the strong smell of pure, crisp, air, or the way her touch felt. Have you ever felt that, constant reader? That some dreams you wake up from just shake you to your very core? I felt a twinge of butterflies down in my stomach, a feeling only associated with real girls on two occasions in my sad, pathetic life. Both of those times the butterflies were welcomed, then squished, mashed into a paste, and force-fed to me until the queasiness returned in other ways.

The girl was beautiful, but innocent. I felt like she’d never been corrupted. Here I go sounding like a weirdo again. The girl seemed like she’d never been hurt, or that she’d never seen such wonders of other people, as if she’d been isolated in my mind. Maybe it was why she was so taken back by me. Wait, what was I doing? This was just a stupid dream, I had to stop looking into such things.

I slowly got up, entered the kitchen and poured myself some coffee. The clock struck 1am. I thought it was 5am like a fool and so I quit the coffee, grabbed some coco, and hit the sofa again. I was back into my dream within minutes; the garden, the smell, the large tree, but the girl had gone, she was off somewhere else most likely. Strange. I always figured dreams were linear or at least made some sort of sense. Why would she leave? Who was she? Why the f*ck was I obsessing over a dream? Christ, I felt like those sweaty f*cks that played World of Warcraft then jerked off to the semi-naked pixel ‘hotties’. I never got that far.


Mokrie Dela
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#2

Posted 22 April 2013 - 09:47 AM

Interesting Piece. I couldn't see much wrong technically, no spelling errors or misplaced grammar that i can see, and the language seems to fit in well. I think its something we can all identify with, having a dream we woke up from and wanting to go back to it. Certainly a lot of intrigue in this, even if it doesn't go anywhere yet.

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#3

Posted 22 April 2013 - 10:04 AM

This is brilliant! Can totally relate to everything.
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Ziggy455
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#4

Posted 22 April 2013 - 01:58 PM Edited by Ziggy455, 22 April 2013 - 02:00 PM.

Part Two

The second dream was much clearer, much more elucidated. I was on a pier that was covered side by side with brick walls. Blue clouds hung overhead, as bright as somebody's familiar eyes. The girl, blue dress, blue eyes, chestnut hair balanced on a wall without shoes on. “Hey down there,” she yelled playfully as she turned one eighty and began to move like smoke up and down the wall. Her movements were as hypnotic as her articulate, raspy, American voice.

“Hey!” I yelled; my heart racing. Get it together, if you get too excited you’ll wake up. “What are you doing up there?” more concern in my voice than I wished for there to be.

“It’s amazing up here, I've never felt so high,” she let out a laugh and jumped loosely around the top of the wall. I thought was about to fall, my arms raised high to catch her, but at the last second she pirouetted and went another way.

“Can I ask you something,” she asked with her mind focused more on balancing; a bright smile that flashed her pearly whites down at me.

“Anything,” I replied with a smile that I whacked off my face with a slap seconds later.

“Why are you in my dream?”

“That was my question!”

“No. It’s mine!” she continued to dance to some far off tune that echoed in my mind; as if far off in the deep corners of my cranium there played an eternal band. Somewhere in the neuro-hallways, a concert would be playing; a band, a quartet, and a wonderful 1950s hall.

“How can it be your dream?” I followed her along the wall slowly. She regarded me like a child to a stranger: never paying full interest; her eyes and mind always on the dancing and balancing; every so often she would look about in awe, seeing things I probably did not from my level.

“Because I’m dreaming about you? I remember the last time I saw you in a garden,”

“You remember that?”

“I’d never seen someone else so close up before that,” she crept along the wall, it magically faded in and continued onwards eternally through the cascade of blue.

“Do you have a name?” I yelled; she turned the opposite way. I continued to follow her, the melodic tune continued to echo through my head. My heart raced. Slow down. She stopped, slumped down on the wall and sat; her untouched bare feet swaying as she playfully wriggled her toes.
“I never took these off before until tonight!” she said with a laugh of exasperation.

“Do you have a name?” I was clearly desperate to know.

“You can call me Evelyn,” she said as she stuck out her hand; her dark blue fingernails glinted in the light. I grabbed it and lightly shook; her soft touch embracing and intoxicating at the same time, her skin was cold. Something felt mystical about her. As if she was hiding something. Perhaps she was, I didn’t know, this was a dream, they made no f*cking sense at the best of times.

“What’s your name the-”

“Simon,” I shot out quickly, “Simon Edgley.”

“Well, Mister Edgle-“

“Just Simon,” I said with a smile, “Unless you wish to be called by your second name?”

“You can call me Evelyn Dewlap if you so feel the need, otherwise, Evelyn will do fine.”

“And you can call me Simon, Mr. Edgley sounds too formal.”

She recoiled, her eyes flickered and a smile crept across her beautiful face. “Okay, Simon.”
Up close, talking to her, my heart began to beat twice as hard. Sweat? Could you sweat in a dream? I dabbed my forehead. It appeared so. Evey stood there, a foot tapping on the wood. She was just a little shorter than me, enough that I just ever-so-lightly towered over her. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Huh?”

“Why are you in my dream?”

“I’m no-“ WHOOSH. The dream fell in on itself; Evelyn’s smile dropped as if I’d tried to make an excuse to run. No! I want to stay here! Please. No! sh*t one!

“SIMON, WAKE THE f*ck UP!” ARGH. f*ck. f*ck f*ck!

I had yet to become accustomed to such quick relapses of reality.

TonyZimmzy
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#5

Posted 22 April 2013 - 07:42 PM

Intrigued to see where this is going for the end game. How many parts are you roughly planning to do?

Ziggy455
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#6

Posted 22 April 2013 - 09:45 PM

I wouldn't be able to give you a set amount of time; when I plot, I tend to only plot the first act so the story can grow into an infinite number of possibilities. To be honest with you, I have no idea how long it'll be. It might be 60,000 words, might be fifty parts. If I had to give you a ballpark figure, I'd say 20 parts altogether but until I have the entire story drafted, I wouldn't be able to say a number set in stone.

Mokrie Dela
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#7

Posted 23 April 2013 - 10:16 AM

QUOTE
The girl, blue dress, blue eyes,

blue her house with a blue little window?



There is definitely something that captures me in this. I feel the dream, questioning, as i have done in dreams if it's real. No, it feels real, so it's got to be? The fact I'm asking means i have to be awake, right? Certainly something I gotta follow, and the consistency between dreams is an interesting concept - one i've only seen in horrors. To see a non horror dream-fic is refreshing to me.
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Eminence
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#8

Posted 23 April 2013 - 10:59 AM

I'm fascinated by the concepts of mutual dreaming and dream telepathy - so the second chapter of this has got me really, really hooked. There's some odd phrasing here and there (Mokrie's pointed out the abundance of blue... can't help but feel you're going a little overboard with that. "Blue clouds"?) but nothing major.

Not digging the "dear reader" stuff, though. Really hammy.
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Ziggy455
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#9

Posted 23 April 2013 - 01:51 PM Edited by Ziggy455, 23 April 2013 - 01:53 PM.

Thanks for taking a read, fellas.

QUOTE
Not digging the "dear reader" stuff, though. Really hammy.


I'm starting to realize that myself. The more times I flick over the opening scene, I realize that the Dear reader stuff is just...f*ck, I can't put a word to it. It feels unnecessary; but it was something tried and something failed. I get your point. And I'll give the whole thing another read-through just to cut out any odd-phrasing. I find that my delivery and flow is much easier but even I seem to make odd mistakes every so often like we all do.

QUOTE
consistency between dreams is an interesting concept


I'll definitely be capitalizing on the consistency. As you will see; I will evolve the story to the best of my ability. Basing things on true events stick close to my own experiences and the facts and research I put behind the whole process of dreaming and such.

As for the overuse of blue, I can understand it's coming off a little strong. Fact is, is that this is a first draft. I wanted to upload it to see if it'd get any feedback as a story. I'm starting to notice all the little inconsistencies that I damn well better change for all of our sakes. I've jotted down some notes on the draft and when I get the next chance to write, I'll chuck them in and let them make the story stronger for the better.

I'm glad you're all liking it. Definitely a story I'm proud of developing.

Ziggy455
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#10

Posted 04 May 2013 - 09:19 PM Edited by Ziggy455, 04 May 2013 - 09:23 PM.

Part Three

RJ’s house glistened in all of its lower-class beauty from the corner of the culd-de-sac. From the outside, the place had already been half-trashed. Pissed up patrons had taken their fair shares of imbibes and in return they’d hit the proverbial hay a little harder than expected. As me, Mickey, and Jon pushed open the front gate that could easily be stepped over, we suddenly stood still as it clung to a snapped hinge before tumbling off and crashing down onto the cement with a rickety racket. We stepped over it and over another pissed up mong who I noticed from college; I think his name was Simon too.

The front door was half open. “Parttttyy,” screamed someone as he shut the door in our faces.

“After you, Crockett and Tubbs,” I said moving to the side to let Jon open the door. We slipped in quietly and were approached by one of the more confident larger men from College; his top clothing had done a runner.

“Oh, sh*t...Jon...Jon! Hey JON! Smell my fingers.”

“Get the f*ck away from me, Dave,” rebuffed Jon as he patted away the big guy with playful swats. With a horned Viking cap still perched above his raspberry coloured face, the finger man sauntered off into the living room somewhere. A girl was passed out on the bottom of the swirly stairs where people were hitting her with bags or loose hands as they came down. I shuffled ahead, picked her up of the staircase, and placed her down behind them, away from ignorant people.

“Deputy Simon, always doing the right thing at the wrong time,” said Mickey with a laugh, his bulky frame jiggling. I gave a grunt and looked around; the place stunk, whether that was just you regular RJ smell or the mix of sweat, sex, puke, and alcohol I did not know.

“Hey,” said Jon with a tap on my shoulder. “Smile for f*ck sake.”

“Huh? Sorry,” I replied, half in a day-dream. This wasn’t my scene. Never was really.

A moment later, Jon had begun to bounce to the rhythm of some far-off bass. “MICKEY!”

“What, J?”

“Beer!” A fresh can of Carling was thrust into his hand. “Good man, good man.”

“MICKEY!”

“Yes, J?”

“Sexdar.”

Both of them begun their little diddy beeps, scanning the horizon that was laden with drunk chicks. All stuck in the mentality of young, fresh blossoming, embraceable horniness. As a girl wearing what resembled half a pair denim shorts slipped through a crack of people from outside, the next words I mouthed along with them, much to their obliviousness.

“Cap’n. Bombs aways!”

Jon took a chug of Carling; the worst beer in the world: pisswater in a can. Euch. Half of the can dribble down his new Polo shirt. His pimpled, skinny face worse for wear. Poor guy didn’t stand a chance.

“If I’m not back in five minutes with a face like a slapped arse, I’m going all the way,” he said to us as he ran off to find Miss Denim.

“We’ll be waiting,” I yelled back, but it was too late; he was lost in the gaze of booty.

“Simon. Enjoy yourself. Please, for his sake. You know he’s not been right since Katie left.” Mickey was right. My news was old news, and Jon needed to get out there. Katie had broken his heart. Leaving him nothing but a note and a few binbags full of stuff was the most she could do. She had failed to mention she was bunking up with Jon’s worst enemy in the world; Hargreave: a fool by all accounts. He was more focused on winning than anything else, and his feelings for Katie were probably masqueraded for some sort of douche-conquest.

“I know, I know. Fine. Go get me a drink, I’ll go see if I can find the other goons,” I replied as I shuffled through the kitchen back into the living room. As I headed for the sofa, further away from the bass, my apparent search turned suddenly fruitful and pointless.

“You soppy c*nt, stop staring at my screen!” Idiot number one.

“It’s ONE TV, Mann! Stop being a whiny little baby!” Idiot number two!

“I’m calling the kill count on your lack of actual skill and more on the fact you keep spawn-killing me!”

“You fu-“ said Little Ben; his ragged hair bobbing up and down as he gritted his teeth.

“Ladies, ladies, come on now. It’s just a game.” I kicked both of them lightly, knocking them out of their little quarrel.

“Simon!” said Mann; he was wearing a full on shirt and tie, in a loose-fashion. He’d stolen a few glances from a few ladies coming in and out. Little Ben was in his casual gear. Metallica T-shirt, baggy jeans, vans; and the funny kind of curly fro that covered his head.

“Glad you made it, I was getting bored of this little cock,” Little Ben’s arm collided lightly with the muscular frame of Mann who gently moved out of the way.

“TOOT TOOT MOTHERf*ckERS, MICKEY’S GOT SOME ALCOHOL TO SNATCH!” yelled the one and only as he slammed a can of Guinness in my hand. I had to give it to him, he knew what I liked.

The night rolled on like any other party. We laughed, we joked, and we squabbled. Halfway through the night the notion of playing poker hit us and we set up a table a few other equally sober lads. Mickey flipped out, Jon won two hands and gained another twenty, and in the end we all enjoyed the time we had together. Considering I’d be leaving for Uni soon and Mann was immigrating to America near Christmas, I liked savouring these times. As we sat around the table laughing; joking, making friends, not staying in, not thinking about complicated sh*t I realized how often this didn’t happen, but I was glad when it did. Funny things always happened to us, and that night was no exception.

Maximus and Pete, the two mechanics we’d played poker with, shot up from tables with laughter as the music that reverberated for the last hour and a half stopped, the chimes of hundreds of voices replaced the silence. “Come on, they’re doin’ the bids, guys! Let’s check it out!” they said. Max, wrapping an arm around me spoke slurred words of happiness.

“Gonna get me the fittaaayy!” he yelled; his breath stinking of tequila.

We shuffled through the kitchen oddly like something out of Schindler’s List. As we made it to the garden, it was clear RJ had been preparing something big. The shed with the boardwalk had two tiki torches lit. Over him was the garden’s large willow tree. Me, Jon, Mann, Little Ben, Max and Pete all stared at RJ who had gathered everybody like some crazy, hipster Jesus. He himself was dressed in a makeshift toga obviously done up from a bedsheet. Crazy bastard.

“Okay, okay. Here’s the plan...” I heard Jon say in a close huddle with my friends.

“What are you planning?” I asked with wide eyes; all of a sudden a feeling of unease washing over me.

“Nothing! Nothing at all...” said Mickey as they all stood up and began to whistle. I didn’t like that. I didn’t want to be the one who got pranked tonight. Please, for the love of God.

“SILENCE!” yelled RJ as he adjusted his empty-lens glasses. What a dork. “Back in Roman times, it was once known to be a famous, and sexy- Ah who am I kidding. WE’RE BIDDING FIT BIRDS!”

The garden, literally stuffed shoulder to shoulder, gave a massive roar of cheers and claps. RJ took it in, loving the attention of a crowd. To him it was intoxicating. I peeked over at my friends who were wolf-whistling and flipping out. The girl in the denim shorts had her fingers clasped around Jon’s. Son of a bitch, some guys got all the luck. I smiled to myself that he’d found some part-time happiness and looked back to RJ. Mickey patted me on the back with a wink. Oh God, not me.

“Alright you c*nts, biddin’ war’s on. LET’S GET THIS UNDERWAY!” Another roar erupted but it lowered as RJ’s hands did. “First lady you get to bid for is the lovely Janice Bradshaw.” Wolf-whistles and yells of hopeful appraisal followed.

“She’s mine!” said Mann.

“SHE’S MINE!” replied Little Ben with gritted teeth, his finger playfully poking Mann.

“Both of you f*ck off! She’s mine!” said Mickey as he slapped them both with a crumpled wad of fivers.

“Janice likes long walks down back-alleys, romantic meals in the park, scallops or chips, and she’s studying to become a hairdresser!” Oh my, how sophisticated. “Can I get ten quid?”

Mann: “Fifteen!”

Mickey: “Twenty!”

Little Ben: “Twenty quid and ten pence!”

“You cheap bastard!” RJ stared at Little Ben with scornful hatred until the facade dropped. “I love it. SOLD!”

Yells of appraisal, claps, and wolf-whistles followed as Little Ben made his way up to the shed to collect Janice; she was young, too young. Her hair tied in a bun with sweatpants on. Little Ben never cared; he really didn’t. That worried me sometimes.

“You sneaky c*nt! I knew you were gonn-“ said Mickey as he approached them.

“Eh, she’s mine! Back up. You can have the next one!” He led her through the crowd and sauntered off inside. They were off to have their fun at the expense of cash. This was a form of prostitution. I never understood why the girls really did it. Maybe it was for popularity, maybe it was for f*ck all. Either way, I didn’t feel like busting open a detective case on it. It was all beneath me. It was free will all the way for all of us.

“Snooze you lose, Mickey,” I said with a soft pat. His shoulders lowered and he wiped his face. He was the epitome of defeat. No girl would fill that hole in his heart, at least until the next girl was brought out.

“Alright. NEXT UP! This as Andréa Coutier! She’s one of our more native ladies from the sunny isles of Jamaica,” said RJ like a real professional. Coutier was curvy, beautiful; her short hair cut like a boy – To these people, as long as she wasn’t looking like one in other places, things would run smoothly. “Coutier loves weed, rainbow coloured hats, and listening to Bob Marley.” The crowd gave gasps of awkward laughter and then a cacophony of light insults.

“What? TOO RACIST? Put a lid on it. Make your bids! Can I get me a tree-fiddy?”

“FIFTEEN! “ screamed Mickey!

“Woah, we got a guy with jungle fever up in here.” More laughter followed. Good one with the racism there, RJ. Hardy har. I’m sure your popularity would protect you from a beating.

“MICKEY! NO!” yelled Jon.

“Going once! Going twice?”

“FIFTEEN FIFTY!” yelled some big dude in the back; quite obviously her boyfriend. He shot a glance to Mickey. One that said; Don’t you dare f*cking bid any higher.

RJ’s mouth sped up to a speedy rambling. “SOLD.”

“AWW sh*t. I GIVE UP!” He pocketed his cash and huffed. He could throw stupid kiddy-tantrums sometimes.

“Alright, alright, take her down. Spend your night, collect your money,” said RJ as her boyfriend ran forward and yanked her off the stage. They sauntered off into the kitchen and out of my life forever. “OKAY! Next up; we got you the piece de renaissance. WE GOT YOU THE AXEL, ENGINE, AND f*ckING RIMS. We’ve got the lovely, the sexy, the devilish; Lorna Mitts...”

Jaws opened wide. Puck! Puck! Puck! Lorna Mitts was one of the most beautiful girls in College. She had a reputation; which nobody argued with up front on the account that she was gorgeous. Not in that skinny model sort of way, no no. She was curvy, elegant. She suited the look of a younger Elisha Cuthbert. Hair whitish hair in a pony-tail, her leather boots all the way up to her knees and the short skirt loosely clinging to her frame. Every hot-blooded male in that room must have felt their skimpys get tighter. Silence. For the longest time, the place was quiet as she walked out; a light giggle escaping her as all eyes slid down from her head to her feet. She ran back into the shed and lightly came out. She was shy, it was a good move

“What about now Mickey?” I whispered; the only guy not caught in the hypnotic trance.

“Ain’t enough cash in the world for her my man,” he whispered back with his eyes still glued on Lorna. “Ain’t enough of it in the whole f*cking country!”

RJ gave a laugh and yelled out again: “Lorna’s a native of America- well, we all know Lorna so let’s just cut the bidding down. Who’s got thirty?”

“Forty!” yelled Mickey with a grin. No way! He was going for it!

“Forty five!” yelled someone else in the crowd.

“Fifty!” screamed another.

“Now’s the chance boys. Pile the cash in! Pile it in! Let’s go,” whispered Jon. What? Wait? WHAT?!

“Sixty.” Yelled RJ; Lorna’s eyes widened, something was caught in her throat as RJ looked at her with a smile.

“EIGHTY QUID!” screamed a girl, men flocked around her quickly: like moths to flames.

“Woah. Can I get higher? NINETY!” yelled RJ as he gripped tightly onto Lorna’s hand.

“NINENTY-FIVE!” screamed one of the chavvy types, sweat dripping down the side of his dirty face.

“ONE HUNDRED f*ckING POUNDS!” screamed Mann, Mickey, Pete, and Maximus.

“Wait, what the f*ck are you guys doing?” I said to them all.

“Who’s the main bidder?” yelled RJ, his voice quivering a little. I stared at him but it was too late, as I slowly shot my head left; all of my friends had their fingers pointed at me. RJ looked out at me with a look of confusion that morphed into a sh*t-eating grin. At a colossal speed he let out: “Going once!” Slow as possible. Oh god, somebody for the love of God make another bid. “Going twice!” Come on RJ. I don’t wanna play your stupid bidding game. “Going SNAP CRACKLE AND f*ckING POP! SOLD! TO MR EDGLEY!”

Gasps from half the crowd slipped out. RJ raised his hands. “Yeah, come on people!”

Cheers erupted and died down as another girl was brought out. I stood where I was and stared at all my smug friends, laughter infecting
them all each one by one.

“You c*nts.”

“Oh come on, it was in good faith. You deserve it, mate!” said Jon with a slightly sympathetic tone. How so!? Jon? Hmm? How so? Your ex just shagged a random guy! Why am I the one who needs a break?

“I don’t want her!” I hissed back, my eyes wide.

“Well isn’t that the cherry on the f*cked up ice cream that is my Friday,” said somebody behind me. I slowly turned, and there, a face as cold as stone but as beautiful as the sun stared at me.

“Oh...Er...Hi. I uh...They bid on you, not me,” I said, pointing my finger at my friends who quickly dispersed into the crowd. Mann looked at the fence, Jon hugged the girl in the jeans; Mickey walked around pointing up in the air and Pete and Max sauntered off like blind people. Sneaky little bastards.

“Well RJ says you’re the winner, so you’ve got me for the night. It’s getting late, anyway, let’s go,” her hand wrapped around mine and she dragged me away from the rest of the bidding; I turned back and like a child being torn away from his friends for doing something bad, I could see my asshole-brethren waving at me with smiles.

“Have fun,” Jon mouthed.

f*ck sake.

Lorna led me upstairs, past the girl who was still safe under the stairs. She led me down the cramped hallway and into the only bedroom left available; RJ’s little brother’s. Inside, the place was a shrine to Toy Story. I sat down on the Buzz Lightyear bed and sighed. Lorna shut the door behind her and came over to me. She got on her knees and rested her hands in my lap.

“So, come on, what’ll it be?”

“I’m sorry what?” I asked, unsure of what was happening; eyes wide.

“Finger-bash? Hand-job? Blowie? You paid a hundred so you get a little bit of fun for putting that much in my pocket.” She tapped her pocket and gave a brief smile before returning to that dull-face. The one with eyes that told more than her mouth ever could about where it’d been.

“No...I don’t want anything.”

“Come on,” she moaned. “My mouth’s killing me. My feet are sore; I’m doing this as a favour for RJ. Can’t you just be f*cking normal?”

“I don’t want anything!”

“God, I suppose you want to f*cking tell me how pretty I am or how much you love me?”

“What? No for f*ck sake, what is wrong with you? You’re that depressed because people pay attention to you?”

“No- I don’t know. Can we just get this over with? I’m not spending the night with you like those other girls. I’m tired. You get the freebie and I’m gone.” She stood up, crossed her arms and gave a sort of huff. I rubbed my hands in my face and tried to figure out how I’d gone from poker to this.

“You’re tired, right?” I asked as my eyes peeked through my hands; my voice muffling.

“Yes. I want to go home, Edgson.”

“It’s Edgley.”

Her eyes squinted and widened. “Edgley who?”

“Simon Edgley.”

Her eyes remained wide and she gave half a smile. “You’re that guy!”

“Please, no. No. Just. Look. I want one thing, alright? I’m not talking about anything else so drop it.”

Her facade softened. She slumped down on the bed with me.

“Yeah, sure...I’m sorry I didn’t mean to come off rude...I know I can be a little rash. I just don’t want to do this but RJ made me promise.” The veil of bored, tired little miss popular slipped off as she rubbed her eyes.

I sat awkwardly, not sure what to do or say; anything I did say I feared would turn the conversation to a dead end of disgust.

“You don’t have to uh...explain yourself to me.” My eyes looked around the room.

“I know I don’t. RJ’s...Look, I just have to do this alright?”

“I want you to do one thing for me then,” I said as the small TV eyed me from a bookcase.

She slowly slid down the white west, exposing her white bra beneath. She bit her lip with practised seduction and her pupils grew larger in the glint of the Buzz nightlight that was extremely f*cking bright. She leaned in to kiss me.

“Nothing sexual!” I said as I placed my hand on the top of her breast, and then off again as if it was a hot stove.

“Well what is it then?” she asked with a sigh.

“Come back to mine and watch a movie with me.”

“What?” She looked at me like she was choking.

“I’ve got you for the night, just come back and watch a movie with me.”

“You don’t have to woo me,” she said as she slid up her tank-top. Rubbing her face and letting out a grinding breath. “I’m already ready! Why can’t you be normal?”

“What? Would you prefer if I asked you to suck it hard and fast or slow and soft?” I stood up and adjusted my zip-up hoody for the cold air of the outside.

“Well yeah, maybe! A little!” she said with half a laugh that she stifled. “You’ve gotta be gay.”

“We both know I’m not gay,” I said as I headed to the door. “Just tell RJ you blew me, alright? I’m going home.”

“Wait!” she shot up from the bed and stopped herself from moving any further.

“Is that really all you want?” Her left foot tapped on the green alien carpet as her dark green eyes stared at me with stern concentration.

“Sure.” I shrugged.

“No funny business?”

“Don’t even have to sit together?”

“Are you worried I’ll try something?”

“The more this strange stuff tumbles out of your mouth, the less I worry.”

What a situation. I always regarded myself as a loner, since those unfortunate events, I had never understood how divided one could feel surrounded by people. Even now, as this girl, the epitome of high-school lust, was alone with me in a room. These types of situations were so rare, so unknown to me, that I couldn’t even bring myself to feel nervous around her. No woman scared me anymore.

“We don’t have to sit together.

“And I can leave when the movie’s over?”

“You can leave when you like. Nobody’s forcing you to come back,” I said as I opened the door; beckoning her out of the room. She can make her own choices.

“f*ck sake. Fine. Let’s go,” she shot out of the room and gave me a quick glance; I smirked back and took a deep breath as she sauntered down the stairs. My heart raced. I wasn’t suave, and I wasn’t clever. And the real reason behind asking her to come and watch a movie? Why if anybody knew, they’d realize how truly sad and pathetic I really was.

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#11

Posted 07 May 2013 - 09:18 PM


Part Four

The night sky was laden with purple that seemed to keep the streets more illuminated than the buzzing, flickering streetlamps that were supposed to guide us home. I walked along quietly with Lorna next to me. For the first few minutes after leaving RJ’s, a sort of odd silence had followed us, and for the longest time I could have sworn that Lorna was prepared to take off running; screaming to the high-heavens that the “Edgley kid’s gonna kill me.”

“How far’s your house?” she asked with something like irritation.

“Few blocks from here,” I replied as we passed The Junction Box; some metal-head club where Little Ben hung out with his band. The street was your typical old generic lane; a tipped over rubbish-bin greeted us halfway down and I kicked it out of the way. “M’lady,” I said as she strolled past me with a huff. Women were such high maintenance.

“So, we’re gonna be spending an hour together, do you mind getting your story straight for RJ?” she asked as we made it onto the road leading to my street; the lights of The Red Trumpet glaring out against the light-purple sky.

“Why is it so important you have a story?”

“Because it just is, alright?”

“From what I saw, he’ll be more pissed the grittier you make it anyway...”

“What did you say?” she asked with wide eyes.

“Nothing, nothing...” I raised my hands as she turned to me with clenched fists. Somebody was on the edge; somebody was clinging to it
with their fake nails.

“What’s your problem, Lorna?” I stopped and stood still, “If you’re so pent up, like I said, f*ck off home- go tell RJ I was a brilliant shag, I was the best you’ve had.”

She let out a bellow of a laugh and rubbed her eyes. “I certainly won’t be telling him anything like that.”

“Then tell him I was sh*t, super sh*t, the worst lay in the world!”

She turned and continued to walk with clenched fists. I kept my distance as we passed The Red Trumpet. Her feet scraped across the gum-covered concrete with laziness. I sighed and quietly continued to watch her as she stopped up the road. “Keep going,” I said; she turned again and huffed, stopping at each house, each time my hand would flick and she’d frown, keep walking and stop at the next one. She went up to another house, I flicked, she let out a gasp, walked to the next one, and then let out a scream as I stepped back to the previous house with a raspy snicker with my keys in the door.

Slipping the key into the door, a groan echoed throughout the street. Clicking boots followed behind me and a force shoved me through the door with a formidable force. She slammed it behind me and then Miss Tantrum stepped through to the living room; I hung the keys up with a rattle and flicked on the living room light. Slipping off her cardigan she looked around.

“Not bad,” she said as if she hadn’t been a moody c*nt all the way home.

“You expected it to be like RJ’s digs?” I asked as I budged past her into the kitchen. I plundered two bottles of Budweiser from the fridge and popped off the caps quickly. “A little, yes,” she replied as I stepped back in and saw she’d made her way onto the large sofa; her shiny, sleek legs crossed and shoeless; those green eyes gaping up at me with feign seduction. I would not break.
“Alright, you get the sofa,” I said as I handed her a Budweiser. Like a monkey finding cigarettes for the first time she stared at it and then her eyes shot back to me.

“You don’t have vodka?”

“I got something that looks like vodka.” Her eyes widened and she put the Bud down.

“What?”

I gave a shrug. “Water?”

“Fine,” she raised her hands as I realized I’d snapped a little harder than I’d meant to be. “Bud’s fine.” Her black fingernails glinted in the light as her small hands slid around the bottle with a little more than expected sexiness.

“Now that we’re alone, I think it’s time to kill you.” With the bottle to her lips; she choked, spat out a mouthful of Budweiser and gasped for a breath. Droplets of beer dribbled down her chin and, as would to be expected, she dropped the bottle that bounced onto the wood with thud; spewing Budweiser everywhere. The cold beer leaked onto my shoes and I looked up at her as she wiped her smooth lips.

“You realize I was kidding, right?” My eyes stared at her in with some incredulous look.

Instead of getting angry, she looked down, those green eyes flickered back up at me and then she burst into a series of snorts. From that moment the tension that we’d both felt seemed to slip away. Post-clean up, I put on the movie we were supposed to watch; Forrest Gump. The first half hour slipped by in silence; I refreshed our drinks and slumped down resting on the sofa from the floor. Lorna laid down and made herself at home; she loved the film, “One of my favourites!”, she had said to me as I put it on. Forty five minutes in and I felt a foot lightly kick my head. As I turned she brandished a cheeky smile my way.

“Problem?”

“Yes, I’d like to talk to you instead.”

“That wasn’t part of the deal,” I said like a kid about to taddle.

“Tough, I’d like to talk to you instead. Turn the film off or pause it,” she said as she grabbed the remote; click. A frame of Forrest staring out into his own world filled the screen; a blue pause symbol flickered. I gave a sigh and finished off my second drink.

“What is there to talk about?”

“Did you really get burnt badly?” she sat up and crossed her legs.

I took a deep sigh but kept my eyes on the screen. “Yes...Yes, Lorna, I was burnt badly, is that all you wanted to hear?”

“Can...Can I see?” I shot a cold gaze at her; she stared back at me with some sort of cute, innocent look. What the f*ck, seriously. No more.

“Lorna, I’m not RJ. I’m not any kind of dickhead you think I am. You’re not seeing anything. That cutesy stuff doesn’t cut it with me, go find some other f*cking idiot to badmouth to RJ,” I snapped again, this time meaning it. As fresh air seeped into my lungs, I realized I’d come off strong once again. My eyes glided around the room and I cleared my throat. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, sure, okay,” Her hands were already pulling her first boot onto her left foot. I didn’t try to argue. I watched her get up and head to the door. Each foot echoed as she gripped the doorknob. Something in mean told me to yell or say something.

“Is that the real reason you agreed to come back?” I yelled as she yanked the living room door fiercely; the hinges creaked briefly as she stopped and looked at me. “You think I give a f*ck whether you walk out of that door or not?” I pushed myself up and walked to her. “You think I care if you storm off, and go and tell everybody I’m a freak? Hop to it, Lorna. I don’t care. But don’t try and get brownie points by satisfying RJ’s sick devotion of my scars with a first-hand experience.” I budged past her with a grunt and she recoiled from my touch as if she’d just been shot in the stomach.

I yanked open the front door with a force more ferocious than hers. The metallic hinges screamed louder. “I didn’t even bid for you; I gave you a choice because I thought you needed something different, I thought you’d like some company, not sex.” Half a lie was buried deep in there at least.

She slowly walked to the door; the purple-sky had faded now, and from it a cold had followed. Rain was on its way; that much was clear. The first few droplets hit my sleeve as I stood in the doorway. Lorna stared at me; the entire facade had slipped off her now as she gripped her stomach. “I’m sorry,” she said as her eyes trembled lightly; the glare of the hallway light illuminating her eyes as tears formed.

I unclenched my teeth and took a deep breath. The door gently shut and I looked at her again. She wasn’t angry or being spoilt now. She’d shut up. In her glittering, tear-stained eyes I noticed something that resembled shame. Strange, I thought, the anger slowly dissipating; I didn’t think girls like her who did this kind of thing knew what shame was. She probably didn’t. This was foreign to her, it had to be. I let those thoughts filter out and took another deep sigh as my head lowered. I welcomed that familiar feeling.

“No...I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap. I just haven’t really dealt with this kind of sh*t. It’s all still a little personal.” I opened the door again, slower this time.

“What are you doing?” she asked as she craned her neck to the door and back to me, this time faster.

“Just go.” I rested a hand on my waist and kept my eyes on the darkness of the street as rain began to pour. “Night’s already been weird enough as it is and you’re not here on your own accord, just go home Lorna. Seriously, I don’t know what I was expecting.”

She walked to the door, put her soft hand on mine –by accident- as she shut it and stared at me with her eyes still glistening from the tears she managed to pull back. The door shut with a click. “I want to watch the rest of the movie first,” she whispered with half a smile. Oddly, she walked back in into the living room, out of my view. A flying boot flew in front of the TV and then another; both of them landing lazily. I flicked off the hallway light and stepped back inside.

Eminence
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#12

Posted 07 May 2013 - 11:04 PM

I'm finding myself pretty engaged by this. The dialogue and interplay between Simon and Lorna in the last two chapters has been really good. A little repetitive in parts (the way the power sort of shifts back and forth), but exciting nonetheless. That power shift is good, by the way - I just wonder if it happens one too many times, if that makes sense? They seem to build up to saying "this is the last word", then the scene continues, which is surprising the first time, but less so each time it happens.

Two stylistic things that I think you could do with getting rid of. First, the CAPS. Never necessary.

Second, semi-colons. At times you misuse them, at others I think the two clauses that it separates would be much more effective as two separate sentences. Like here:

QUOTE
Somebody was on the edge; somebody was clinging to it with their fake nails.


I just feel this is a lot stronger:

QUOTE
Somebody was on the edge. Somebody was clinging to it with their fake nails.


It sounds more powerful, the effect of the repetition is enhanced. It even sounds a little hardboiled. And who doesn't love hardboiled?

I love that line, by the way. Great line.

So yeah, as a rule of thumb, I think any time you're thinking of using a semi-colon, just don't. Find a way round it.

A little thing with regards to the structure of a joke: I think you take away the impact of the line 'Now that we’re alone, I think it’s time to kill you' (another great line) by basically repeating this joke earlier on, 'screaming to the high-heavens that the “Edgley kid’s gonna kill me"'. It's the same joke twice, and the delivery - not to mention tone and timing - is much more effective the second time, but because we've already been introduced to that sentiment beforehand, it's basically less surprising.

I found the prostitution auction a little weird. Not sure this would actually happen so blatantly? I know it's a house party and everything, but there's so many variables there that I question why they'd do this in such an obvious way.

So those are just a few thoughts. As a whole, I'm really enjoying this.

One thing, though, was that with the structure of the story, I was quite surprised that Lorna - when she appeared in the auction - wasn't the girl from the dreams. I really thought that was where it was going. tounge.gif

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#13

Posted 07 May 2013 - 11:15 PM

Cheers for offering some helpful feedback. Lately I've been diluting my work - and constricting my for- with the overuse of semi-colons. So thank you for pointing out such a solid point.

Than you for all of your pointers. When I know fresh eyes have seen my work, the inconsistencies become clearer to me. The shift of power occurs too many times, when I wanted it to be more on Simon.

The prostitution bid? I'm telling you- I saw it at a party once and the whole thing was so odd and creepy that I knew I'd write about it in some way. I need to stop uploading second drafts! Somehow I'm so hellbent on people reading that I lose sight of actually working out all the obvious kinks!

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#14

Posted 08 May 2013 - 07:43 PM

Man, I am so in to this. Real bummed out that I've got a little while left at work and I've finished up the latest chapter. At first I thought part three was still part of the dream followed on... am I right in assuming this is just followed on the next day in reality, or the next week, and that we may revisit the dream world? Or are they separate short-stories each of their own?

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#15

Posted 08 May 2013 - 09:24 PM

It's all one linear narrative that takes place in the dream world and reality. I'll make a note to mark each chapter as to whether it's a dream or not.

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#16

Posted 08 May 2013 - 09:25 PM Edited by Eminence, 08 May 2013 - 09:48 PM.

QUOTE (Ziggy455 @ Wednesday, May 8 2013, 22:24)
I'll make a note to mark each chapter as to whether it's a dream or not.

Seems to me that would kind of defeat the point, wouldn't it?

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#17

Posted 08 May 2013 - 09:26 PM

QUOTE (Eminence @ Wednesday, May 8 2013, 21:25)
QUOTE (Ziggy455 @ Wednesday, May 8 2013, 22:24)
I'll make a note to mark each chapter as to whether it's a dream or not.

Seems to me that would kind of defeat, the point, wouldn't it?

Perhaps. I just don't want to confuse the reader.

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#18

Posted 08 May 2013 - 09:38 PM

QUOTE (Ziggy455 @ Wednesday, May 8 2013, 21:26)
QUOTE (Eminence @ Wednesday, May 8 2013, 21:25)
QUOTE (Ziggy455 @ Wednesday, May 8 2013, 22:24)
I'll make a note to mark each chapter as to whether it's a dream or not.

Seems to me that would kind of defeat, the point, wouldn't it?

Perhaps. I just don't want to confuse the reader.

Nah I got it fine after a few lines in; I had to read like a chunk then do some work, then another chunk, etc, so it took my brain a second or two to catch up to certain things. I'm hoping part 5 focuses more on where 4 left off. happy.gif

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#19

Posted 08 May 2013 - 09:57 PM

QUOTE (TonyZimmzy @ Wednesday, May 8 2013, 21:38)
QUOTE (Ziggy455 @ Wednesday, May 8 2013, 21:26)
QUOTE (Eminence @ Wednesday, May 8 2013, 21:25)
QUOTE (Ziggy455 @ Wednesday, May 8 2013, 22:24)
I'll make a note to mark each chapter as to whether it's a dream or not.

Seems to me that would kind of defeat, the point, wouldn't it?

Perhaps. I just don't want to confuse the reader.

Nah I got it fine after a few lines in; I had to read like a chunk then do some work, then another chunk, etc, so it took my brain a second or two to catch up to certain things. I'm hoping part 5 focuses more on where 4 left off. happy.gif

There will be no anal rape.

Yet...

user posted image

To be honest with you, I'm liking that I know where the story's going at least. Yes, of course part five will continue part four. Thankyou both for taking the time to read it. inlove.gif

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#20

Posted 08 May 2013 - 10:22 PM

I want to know how much of this is reality and how much is fiction.

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#21

Posted 08 May 2013 - 10:25 PM

QUOTE (orbitalraindrops @ Wednesday, May 8 2013, 22:22)
I want to know how much of this is reality and how much is fiction.

Certain things have happened, some of the arguments, the circumstances, mostly the dreams that I have are considered to be more of fact than fiction in the story. I can't exactly sit down and explain what is fabricated and what isn't cause it'd take too much time, but a large portion of it comes from real-life experiences of similarity and such.

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#22

Posted 08 May 2013 - 11:02 PM

Thats cool. I love reading about real life type stuff like this. For some reason this story reminds me a bit of The perks of being a wallflower.

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#23

Posted 08 May 2013 - 11:10 PM

QUOTE (orbitalraindrops @ Wednesday, May 8 2013, 23:02)
Thats cool. I love reading about real life type stuff like this. For some reason this story reminds me a bit of The perks of being a wallflower.

There's nothing I really looked at for inspiration. I really just thought about characters and then I've started noticing that the story seems like it's a spin-off of some of the quirkier movies I've seen.

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#24

Posted 09 May 2013 - 09:54 PM Edited by Mokrie Dela, 10 May 2013 - 02:35 PM.

I need to catch up on this. Majorly.

Firstly - regarding heading each chapter to what's dream of "reality", as em said, it defeats the point. Your writing should make it clear when you want it clear, or blur the lines when you want that - show, dont tell. Paint us a dreamy scene, not say "DREAM:" biggrin.gif

Secondly, i noticed a lot of little niggly things. Annoyingly, I can't remember all of them atm, but if you read through it, I'm sure you'll see them. Em's already said about the caps - change them to italics - and the semi colons, but i also remember seeing a couple of missing capital letters and other punctuation errors. Nothing that really impacts the story, which is pretty damned cool. I think i'll set Teeth of the Tiger aside tonight and check this out! Watch this space!


P.S. If i read it later, i won't be able to post much in terms of feedback (don't expect line by line or many quotes) simply because my phone is about as fast as a crippled snail carrying heavy shopping and typing on it is a bitch. Damned iFruits! I may reload it tomorrow on my pc and post then though



EDIT

I'm up to date. As said I noticed some minor things - mainly what has already been mentioned but the odd superfluous word (you used the word FORCE twice in quick succession a one point)
I found the argument engaging and believable, it slide seem to fluctuate as mentioned but hey I've had arguments like that. I loved the line about fake nails too.

There's an awkwardness I see - in the characters. None seem comfortable an that seems to have the effect in making me feel like something is coming. Like some of Tom clancys books, I'm not yet seeing how the dreams and the reality connect but also like his books I assume that will unrevel later.

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#25

Posted 14 May 2013 - 10:23 PM Edited by Ziggy455, 21 May 2013 - 07:55 PM.

user posted image

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#26

Posted 15 May 2013 - 10:26 AM

QUOTE (Ziggy455 @ Tuesday, May 14 2013, 22:23)
There was candles under there.

confused.gif

QUOTE
She looked at me with something like perhaps lust

This didn't work for me. I would have written:
QUOTE
She looked at me with something like lust, perhaps,


Then you say her "mask fall fade" - wha? Not sure what you were going for here.

I see one instance where a new line of "f*ck" is missing a capital letter, and the bit where Evelyn passes out feels clumsy to me - "who was passed out, in the process" - i think you're trying to do two things here - "who was passed out" and "who had passed out in the process." - the latter is better for me, change "was" to had and get rid of the comma.

QUOTE
“Uh…” groaned Evelyn
- same thing twice here in my eyes. I think it'd be much better as:
QUOTE
Evelyn groaned as she twisted and turned. Her hands swayed....

The word "uh" does nothing.

Immediately afterward you fell into my old habit -
QUOTE
“I’m here . ” I said



later:
QUOTE
It’s not real, it can’t be?

The question mark doesn't work.
Then there's the strange spelling of "america" which i can't work out why you've broken up. Was it to seem mocking? I'm not sure - whatever reason was over my head.



That said, and they're just a few points i wanted to point out, i'm finding reading this rather bittersweet. Firstly, I'm loving how you've actually done what I said not to - the transition from reality to dream isn't announced, nor obvious. The last chapter I was asking, is this a dream or reality, and contrary to what you said, it confused me - but thats good! I got lost in it. I was questioning in and looking for clues, but saw no clear sign that it's a dream or reality. I had to read on to find that out. I'm guessing dream, as Lorna seems to just disappear, and that I don't feel the protagonist would have sex at this point - he's avoided it too much. That passage actually felt wrong and out of place, as if you'd suddenly got horny and started writing erotica (something I actually fell into once!) but then it made sense, I realised it's place and it worked. You managed to avoid that trap and threw the story down another path that i personally didn't see coming. So yeah, I liked it, was pulled this way and that, and had the right amount of confusion/questioning. I think blurring the lines between the dream and wakefulness would be more beneficial than clearly stating them - to begin with, anyway. Having the character wake up, or something, would work - but I think having the reader lost between the two actually works.

that was the sweet - now the bitter:
With the above "mistakes" (that's a bit harsh, but i can't think of any other word), it all feels like a first draft. Like, you haven't fine-tuned it. It's a diamond in the rough. It's good, but with these small things, I find myself wondering - where you in second gear while writing this? If so what would it be like if you was in top gear? It feels to me like you're... well not holding back, but that you're not putting as much into it as you can. I'm really enjoying this, however, so don't think I'm not. I just think it could do with a little tightening and cleaning up, and then it'd be even better biggrin.gif

TonyZimmzy
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#27

Posted 15 May 2013 - 03:55 PM

Totez threw me off with the real/dream world again. I was digging Lorna. whatsthat.gif I wonder if we'll ever see her again. I got the America reference -- at least I think I did. Painted a picture with my mind through the scene.

Ziggy455
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#28

Posted 15 May 2013 - 10:49 PM Edited by Ziggy455, 15 May 2013 - 10:51 PM.

@Mokrie: You hit the nail on the head there, mate. It's my biggest flaw, I'm so desperate to get the chapters up, I spend no time at all reviewing them. Writing is rewriting-get it written then get it right, to write is Godly, to edit is divine. All these spring to mind and I'm completely understanding of these flaws.

All the flaws you see, would be gone in a second draft. I'm thankful you're still faithfully reading, and tearing the sh*t out of it. It's great. It's helping. I think I'm going to try and slow down. I might spend some time trying to polish up the first act and plot the scenes roughly so I have a general idea as to where I'm going. I think it'll be a while before I upload the next part, but I will definitely post when the revised version of this chapter is done. An amateur move, go figure! But one that will probably pay off.

I thank you for your perseverance, Mokrie. Your critical tidbits are extremely helpful, and you do not have to use euphemisms or colloquial-terms. If my sh*t is sh*t, then you need to just say, "You're sh*t, is sh*t, and here's why..." Polite terms are not needed between us, considering we're all weathered here, and we all have thick skins.

@Tony 'Boob-punch' Zimmzy: Cheers for reading mate. As for Lorna, I'm trying to sort of create parallel stories. Plot and subplot - one affects the other, and as for Lorna, I'm sure you'll see her again, very soon in fact. moto_whistle.gif

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#29

Posted 15 May 2013 - 11:11 PM

QUOTE (Ziggy455 @ Wednesday, May 15 2013, 22:49)
@Mokrie: You hit the nail on the head there, mate. It's my biggest flaw, I'm so desperate to get the chapters up, I spend no time at all reviewing them. Writing is rewriting-get it written then get it right, to write is Godly, to edit is divine. All these spring to mind and I'm completely understanding of these flaws.

All the flaws you see, would be gone in a second draft. I'm thankful you're still faithfully reading, and tearing the sh*t out of it. It's great. It's helping. I think I'm going to try and slow down. I might spend some time trying to polish up the first act and plot the scenes roughly so I have a general idea as to where I'm going. I think it'll be a while before I upload the next part, but I will definitely post when the revised version of this chapter is done. An amateur move, go figure! But one that will probably pay off.

I thank you for your perseverance, Mokrie. Your critical tidbits are extremely helpful, and you do not have to use euphemisms or colloquial-terms. If my sh*t is sh*t, then you need to just say, "You're sh*t, is sh*t, and here's why..." Polite terms are not needed between us, considering we're all weathered here, and we all have thick skins.

@Tony 'Boob-punch' Zimmzy: Cheers for reading mate. As for Lorna, I'm trying to sort of create parallel stories. Plot and subplot - one affects the other, and as for Lorna, I'm sure you'll see her again, very soon in fact. moto_whistle.gif

Back in the day when me and Cubanwhip posted our main stories, we proof-read each others' chapters and picked out any hairs before posting so we could edit 'em. I'd be more than happy to proof-read a chapter before you post it, for sure.

Mokrie Dela
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#30

Posted 15 May 2013 - 11:18 PM

QUOTE (Ziggy455 @ Wednesday, May 15 2013, 22:49)
All the flaws you see, would be gone in a second draft.

I have faith that this is true. However, the one bit of advice i give everyone which is actually golden is patience, young skywalker. I completely understand you wanting to get it out there, fair play, but once it's written, leave it. Write the next part. Aching to post it? Use that drive to write the next, turn that passion to [notional] ink! Then carry on. Come back to it a week or so later, fresh minded, and tear through it.



But still, mostly minor things, which says a lot. Some of my first drafts were like "what the hell is this?!" I spent ten minutes trying to work out what a sentence said!


Zimm's post above is a good idea. Having someone else pick through it is a great thing, as once it's posted, few will re-read it, i feel. But you've captivated many of us, so kudos on that.

As i said, i'm loving the "is it a dream" feel.
Talking of dreams, check out Nikolay's Nightmare..! P


P.S. boob-punch? Interesting!




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