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Psychological Betrayal


DavidGC

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Writer's Note: I don't know what to call this quite yet and I don't even know if I'm going to continue it. I have a habit of starting different stories all the time and never finishing them. Anyhow, any advice and critique would be very helpful. I just wrote this this morning so it might be a little wonky in some parts.

 

 

Untitled

 

Chapter 1 – A Moral Dilemma

 

The sun shone gently in through the towering windows, blinding my morning glazed eyes. The small apartment living room became wrapped in a sensuous glow. The light shimmered as the trees outside swayed, teasingly blocking the rays, creating thin dancing shadows all around. Great paintings loomed over me on every wall, presenting themselves as magnificent symbols of wealth. Peach coloured walls twinkled with the sun’s brilliance, as I contemplated my latest deed. It must have been some sort of inverted pathetic fallacy because this day couldn’t be any less bright. I shifted my weight in the small chair I was sitting in. The leather creaked under my pressure.

 

I looked across the room at the man of the house. He couldn’t have been too old. Thirty? Maybe forty? Who knows. Who ever he was, he told me a story. Even in his death, his words touched me more than any living man I had ever met. No; it was not some kind of philosophical revelation that people write books about. It was something quite simple; so simple that only a dead man could tell you. In our short conversation I learned that life is meaningless. The only way anything holds any value in life is if you instil importance and emotion into them. If you took these things away from someone, what would life be? The masquerade that is life manifests itself within materialistic things so that life is not life at all; rather it is a foolish attempt to make you think that you’re living. A pathetic excuse for an existence.

 

Seems like a lot for a dead man to say. And I guess it is. Maybe I was going crazy and maybe, just maybe, I was starting to slip from my own mind. I looked at the man once more, looking at his eyes that were still open, his pathetic excuse for a shirt, and the 45 calibre hole that went digging through to the back of his skull. What a beauty of a shot too. It was clean; no splatter, no mess. Almost poetic. My single imperfection was a small trail of blood finding its way down his forehead, down his cheek, gathering at his chin, and dripping down to the stained wood floor below. My M1911 was still warm against the pillow I had used as a crude silencer. The smell of the shot still snuck around in the air, now mixing itself with the scent of blood and death.

 

He was slumped back in his seat. I looked into his grey eyes. I could still see the surprise, pain, and even fear deep inside him. They say the eyes of a man are the windows to his heart, but I disagree. A man’s eyes are the windows to their faults and fears. Eyes are the one disadvantage that everyone has. Even though he had left this world, I couldn’t help but feeling he was still here. Watching me, wondering why.

 

I don’t know how long I sat there, admiring and regretting what I had done. All I knew was that I was there long enough to consider joining my friend in his journey. I peered down at the gun I still held in my hand. My hands... they were now stained with the crimson mark of a killer. Was this any life to live? I never considered the question until now. Killing for the sake of mere dollars and cheap thrills was my fix for another day. Was it right? A real moral dilemma. My phone started to vibrate, catching me off guard. Shakily, I snatched it from my pocket and flipped the screen up.

 

I looked at the number, and in a raspy tone, managed to croak, “Yeah. It’s done”.

 

Without so much as a second thought, I pocketed the phone, stood to my feet and slipped the 45 back in its holster, as I swiftly backtracked to the front door.

Edited by Raindancer
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Well if anyone cares, I switched a few things in chapter 1 (I know these chapters are short) and I'm done chapter 2.

 

 

Chapter 2 –It’s Just Business

 

I sat slumped in the seat of my car. A light dusting of snow signalled the start of another season. The cascade of fall-worn leaves marched about the car, swirling into tornadoes of color. A few twigs of nearby trees found their way across the windshield. I let out a sigh; I almost choked on the air.

 

To be quite frank, I felt like sh*t. It was as if as soon as I stepped foot inside of the car, I hit a wall of guilt, shame, and worry. For the first time in my miserable life, I realized I was, in fact, miserable. This wasn’t the first time I had killed a man, nor would it be my last. Something about this man was different though. He taught me so much yet I still felt I knew nothing. Why, of all times, did destiny choose now?

 

I’ve claimed before that I live to do this as a job. How foolish was I? Killers; they don’t live for killing. They live for the excitement, the anticipation, and the moment leading up to the actual event. The very moment at which you can decide the fate of another person’s life is the absolute pinnacle of power. For that one moment, you control the world... you alter the world. That is what we live for. Everything after that... is nothing; it’s just business.

 

My phone once again interrupted my thoughts. I answered, still somewhat lost in my own head.

 

“Hello?” I said. It must have been obvious that I was rattled. I could feel my throat constricting with every breath.

 

“Hey, uh, what’s wrong? You sound kinda...choked up or something”, said the voice on the other end. It was Bernie. Bernie isn’t his real name of course. It’s actually Bernelklov. He wanted to be called Bernie so he wouldn’t sound like a complete idiot. Man, did that plan ever backfire. Bernie always sounded like he was loaded on speed. His thick Russian accent made him sound almost, if not outright, comical. Just try to work that out: a fast talking Ruskie, heavy on the native tongue. You get the picture. He was the type of guy to act concerned even if nothing was wrong. Kind of like an overprotective parent, always trying to find something to worry about.

 

“Yeah, it’s nothing. Got a little cold coming on, you know?” I replied back. I tried my best to lie.

 

“Oh. Well, Jack wants you back here. Did everything go down okay, or, uh, what?”

 

“Yeah”. I was trying to keep my sentences short. I didn’t want dad thinking I was going soft.

 

“Wouldn’t hurt you to talk though, eh? Anyway, get your ass back here, because we have a lot, and I mean a lot, of sh*t to talk about. But not the good sh*t, you know what I’m sayin’?” Bernie let out a chuckle, like he had just made a really witty joke. I hung up the phone and laid my head back against the seat. A cigarette would calm me down.

 

The clink of the lighter lit up the car, as the end of the cig burst into a red glow. I took a massive draw, and held it in. I could see all my problems before me, slowly spilling away into nothing. The magic of a slow suicide. The smoke curled up and around the headrest, flickering all around the car. I closed my eyes, the scent of the burning tobacco caressing my senses, gently rocking me away...

 

Edited by DavidGC
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Hi,

 

Good chapters so far. It's really thick in description which makes it easy to visualise. I like how the main character gives narrative and we see his thoughts and feelings - his cynicism and all that.

 

I, for one, like the chapter length as it is - short and easy to 'digest'. Other people are bound to disagree though, most prefer long chapters I think.

 

Keep it coming though.

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Updated the other two chapters, and have finished chapter three.

 

Chapter 3 – Comfortably Numb

 

Shots. Glass shattered; metal colliding with metal, gunfire seemingly coming from all directions. I could feel the car shaking, rattling in perfect symphony with the shots. The screams of frightened pedestrians did nothing to drown out my cries of sheer agony as bullets ripped through my flesh. I seen the blood seeping quickly from every visible part of me. Men had surrounded the car, spraying it with a hail of steady gunfire. I stumbled from the car, somehow managing the door open. My ears still rang, as the barrage of bullets showed no sign of stopping. Pain shot into every pore, muscle, and bone in my body as I hit the pavement, falling from the car stomach-first. Glass showered from above, sparkling in the sun as they rained down upon me. I felt my ribs being torn inside my lifeless body. This is it; this is what it all comes down to.

 

Suddenly, the firing stopped with the screaming. The pain subsided. Time slowed down. My vision became impaired while I somehow flipped myself over on to my back. The sun shone down, making me use what very little energy I could muster to squint my blood-stained eyes. A figure appeared over me, his skin as black as the void inside me. One heartbeat. Two. His face slowly revealing itself. I concentrated on his now pale features. He couldn’t be too old...thirty? Maybe forty? My heart stopped as I realized who was now standing over me. He lowered the gun slowly down to my head. His grey eyes locked with mine. His finger slowly tightened around the trigger, teasing what was left of my life.

 

“Bang!”

 

My eyes shot open, grabbing my 45 inside my jacket, and switching the safety quickly off.

 

“Whoa, hold on there cowboy”, Bernie said, as he raised his hands jokingly in the air. “Didn’t think that you were actually getting shot at, did ya? Come on, put the gun away, you’re going to scare somebody”.

I switched the safety off, and slowly put the gun back in its holster. A dream. All a dream. I let out a huge sigh, as sank my head into my hands, trying to rub away the horrible nightmare.

 

“Are you alright or what? Little edgy?”

 

“Shut up Bernie. I told you I was sick, so don’t go around yelling sh*t”, I snapped back, perhaps a little too hastily. “I’m sorry, it’s just...” I trailed off. “Uh, how did you find me here?”

 

“I’m not as dumb as a look, ah?” Bernie snickered. “But you must be. You installed that GPS the other day”. He pointed to the screen glowing between the seats.

 

“Oh, right...” I said back, sounding confused.

 

“Oh, and uh by the way, don’t sleep smoke”, Bernie replied, pointing a small burn where my cigarette must have fallen. “You’ll end up killing yourself”.

Edited by DavidGC
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Hm...

 

Writing & Flow: A well written piece of work, I must say. There seems to be little to no flaws at all ('cause if there are, I certainly wouldn't notice them... masked away in the good writing I suppose tounge.gif). Love the narrative flow from the protagonist and his seemingly endless struggle with his latest victim.

 

Organization & Structure: Good structure and organization... my only complaint, albeit tiny, is...

 

“Shut up Bernie. I told you I was sick, so don’t go around yelling sh*t”, I snapped back, perhaps a little too hastily.

 

“I’m sorry, it’s just...” I trailed off. “Uh, how did you find me here?”

-- if it was me, I'd keep same-character-dialouge on the same line.

 

Pace: It's decent... slow, but decent. But if your writing in chapter 3 indicates anything, the buildup will be just as exciting as the actual climatic lead up events.

 

It might be hard to pick up any attention of sorts, especially the way you're going... 'cause it's a very, erm, psychological kind of thriller, innit? It's definitely neat and original (in a way) -- if you can stick to it -- by all means, go ahead, you've got yourself a fan!

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Hm...

 

Writing & Flow: A well written piece of work, I must say. There seems to be little to no flaws at all ('cause if there are, I certainly wouldn't notice them... masked away in the good writing I suppose tounge.gif). Love the narrative flow from the protagonist and his seemingly endless struggle with his latest victim.

 

Organization & Structure: Good structure and organization... my only complaint, albeit tiny, is...

 

“Shut up Bernie. I told you I was sick, so don’t go around yelling sh*t”, I snapped back, perhaps a little too hastily.

 

“I’m sorry, it’s just...” I trailed off. “Uh, how did you find me here?”

-- if it was me, I'd keep same-character-dialouge on the same line.

 

Pace: It's decent... slow, but decent. But if your writing in chapter 3 indicates anything, the buildup will be just as exciting as the actual climatic lead up events.

 

It might be hard to pick up any attention of sorts, especially the way you're going... 'cause it's a very, erm, psychological kind of thriller, innit? It's definitely neat and original (in a way) -- if you can stick to it -- by all means, go ahead, you've got yourself a fan!

Thank you very much! It is a bit wordy though, I'll admit, but I guess it's just part of the story really. I'lll fix that dialouge error. When pasted from MSWord, you have to seperate the paragraphs youself, and I guess I f*cked it up a bit.

 

I noticed the slow pace in chapters 1&2 so I decided I'd have to throw something exciting in to race it up a bit. I think I'll try to finish up with all the "deep thinking" parts, and move on to some more action-esque stuff, while trying to keep the core ideas there.

 

Thanks again for your help.

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