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|Xeogaming Forums - Story Realm - COMPETITION ENTRY: Sins of the Father.||| ||
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Lord Vulkas Mormonus
High Xeodent of Xeomerica.
From: North Carolina, United States. World, Sol System, milky way
Since last post: 326 days
Last activity: 52 days
|WORD COUNT: 1,540. I'm hoping those 40 words won't disqualify me, but I really couldn't get rid of them without losing the feeling of the whole story.
Also, I know that this has nothing to do with the actual story, but what I wrote is actually only the first half of a full complete story. Originally, this was all the story was going to be, but by no I've added in another 1,500 words. I'll post the full thing once this competition is over.
I slammed the door to my small house, fuming as I left. How could things have gotten so bad, how could everything have become so terrible!
I was an only son to a single father, and I didn’t wonder that my mother had left that sick man who called himself my father. The only thing I blame her for was leaving me with him.
To the outside world, my father was a preacher for a Southern Babtist church, a good, if stern shepherd, who loved his flock of Christians, and would make sure they were saved, whether they wanted to be, or not. No one would have ever guessed what he did when his metaphorical sheep weren’t watching.
Even now, just thinking of what he did still causes the scars on my back to hurt, still causes my mind anguish as I think of what he did.
I kept walking down the road, trying not to think of the scratches on my back, of the bruises that now dominated my body. I ignored the pain in my chest…if I showed any signs that I had been beaten, I honestly believed that my father would murder me.
I feared that I wouldn’t live to adulthood…
I was lucky this time, when my father had arrive home, and discovered that I had finished my studies, and not continued towards my reading of the Bible, he got angry…
I was lucky to have only received two new bruises…one of his peers rang the doorbell, and my father insisted that he would finish disciplining me later, and for me to go to the church and pray for forgiveness.
I didn’t walk towards the church, I didn’t want forgiveness, if there was truly a perfect God, why would he have put me in such horrible circumstances? Why would he have allowed me to be abused so terribly?
I could not believe that there was a perfect being…no perfect being would cause me so much grief.
Instead, I walked until I was out of view of my house, and sat, tears flowing down my cheeks. Why did my father have to do this! Why did he have to beat me, why did he have to beat his own son!
It wasn't always like this, four years ago, when I was ten, things were different. I had two loving parents, two parents who would pick me up from school, rather than have me walk the five miles to my house, two parents who would love me, who would actually be glad to spend time around me.
Why did it all have to change!
It all started three years ago, I still don't know why, but when I woke up one morning, my father told me my mother had left us, had abandoned her home, her son.
Ever since then, my father slowly grew worse, he only used to yell at me at first, but then he began growing more angry, going to far as to hit me. It only grew worse from there, he started using his belt, and then a real whip.
HOW COULD HE DO THIS?!
I watched the street, and saw a man leave our house, looking satisfied with himself. I knew this man, he was a lawyer, and not one whom my father particularly liked. He hated lawyers, but at least he treated them better than me...he treated the men who lied for money better than his own son!
I walked slowly back towards my house, I knew that if I ran away, it would only make the beatings worse...it would only cause me more pain.
I passed by the lawyer, and he gave me a sad look, patting me on the shoulder as he passed.
I glared at him, his patting my shoulder was a fake attempt at friendliness, I knew that it meant nothing.
I walked further towards my door, a tear sliding down my cheek. It wasn't shed because of fear, though I still held plenty of that inside me. No, the tear was shed for sorrow, shed for my father's betrayal and hatred, for the love that he once had having disappeared.
I opened the door, and stepped inside the house. ‘Get in here!’ my father shouted.
I felt myself shake as I walked slowly towards him. My father turned, and I looked at his angry face. The lawyer had put him into a worse mood...I wouldn't be let off easy today.
‘You're crying,’ my father observed coldly. ‘is the guilt truly that strong in you?’ I nodded, hoping it would at least lessen the beating I would inevitably receive.
I looked at the wall, and my eyes widened in shock, he had his rifle leaning against it.
‘Come here,’ he demanded loudly.
I winced at his words, but my feet mover forward obediently, almost as if by their own will.
He grabbed me roughly when I was in his reach, ‘What were you doing?!’ he demanded of me. ‘What did you tell the lawyer!’
‘Nothing!’ I cried, ‘I didn't say anything to him.’
‘You're lying, I saw him pat you on the back, and I saw the look he gave you, as if he didn't think you were nearly as fortunate as you are!’
I felt anger rise within me, and I did something that I knew I would regret, ‘FORTUNATE?!’ I shouted. ‘ALL YOU'VE DONE IS BEAT ME!’
My father's eyes narrowed, and he lifted a fist, then punched me in the chest. He always hit the chest, it was the only place he could hit without his people knowing what was happening. ‘How dare you speak to me in that way!’ He punch me again, and this time sent me flying against the wall.
My father grabbed something from under his desk...it was the whip!
He pulled out the ten foot long tool of punishment, and lashed it towards me, striking me across the leg. I looked at it, it was bleeding.
‘Argh! Please, stop!’
I felt the lash of his whip again, striking against my arm, and again, as it slammed into my ribs. Suddenly I felt a surge of anger flow through me, as I realized this man couldn’t be my father, this man was nothing more than my enemy, he didn’t mean anything to me.
‘STOP!’ I shouted. I pushed myself to my feet, almost falling back against the force of his next strike.
‘Get back, boy!’ my father shouted, putting away his whip as I came closer. ‘This is only going to make your beatings worse!’
Not caring, I ran forward, limping, and punched my father right in the face. I could see the sudden rage grow inside him, as he realized that I had defied him.
‘YOU’RE GOING TO PAY FOR THAT ONE, BOY!’
I saw him pull back his fist, and felt as he slammed it right between my eyes. I suddenly cried out as pain suddenly covered my face. I could feel blood flowing from my nose-it must have been broken.
My father lifted both his arms, and slammed me against the wall, screaming in anger. Suddenly I felt a pressure around my throat, and my breathing started becoming more difficult…
This man was trying to strangle me!
I grabbed his arms that were around my throat, and tried to pull, with no success. Suddenly my eyes caught sight of something leaning against the wall, my father’s gun.
I tried to pull against his hands more-I couldn’t shoot him! I kept trying, tears pouring ou of my eyes, as my sight slowly darkened. Finally, realizing that it was inevitable, I used the last of my strength to reach for the shortened rifle, and point it at him.
My father’s eyes widened in shock as he realized what I was doing, and too late he released pressure with one of his hands, reaching for the gun. He did too little too late.
I still remember the feeling, the anger that flowed threw me, the betrayal, the guilt, the physical anguish. I remember it like it was just yesterday.
But more than that, I remember the chilling ease of pulling the gun’s trigger.
Murder shouldn’t be this easy, it shouldn’t take so little effort to take a man’s life, no matter how terrible he is.
The images of his death are scarred into my mind, the way his head flew back when the bullet his him, the blood that sprayed from his wound, and the fear that dwindled in his eyes, even after the light of life left his face.
The first thing I felt after killing this man was not relief. I did not feel as though I had finally saved myself from his terror, I did not feel as though what I did was right…
But I didn’t feel that it was wrong either. I didn’t feel that I had done something evil, that I had torn the life out of this wretched man’s body. I didn’t feel sadness or guilt, and that was perhaps what scared me most of all.
I had become a murderer, and I didn’t care. I could kill a man, and not care. That was worse than anything I could have felt anywhere.
But at least I was free.
(Last edited by Rakluv on 04-30-08 06:14 PM)
Dark Elf Goddess
Since last post: 8 days
Last activity: 8 days
|Interesting story, and something very different from what you usually write. I am sure that the word limit caused the rushed feeling I felt, but I think that you did well within the restrictions of the contest. The only things that really stood out as needing fixing is the run on sentences and overuse of commas at the beginning... also a bit of repetitiveness, however I assume that is the flavor of the narrator, and that it would be better once the word limit was removed. Lastly, the description of the shooting seemed odd to me, I thought he was pinned against the wall... how could he pull the shotgun to him and fire frontally at his father? Overall though, much improved from last time and I want to see the rest.
This isn't about you and your loud mouth,
This is about me and my fucking beard.
Since last post: 2652 days
Last activity: 2276 days
I'm really impressed with the way you've taken your writing. This is really something different than what you've done in previous works and I'd say this shows a lot of creativity on your part. I can't get you full credit because the story of abuse and fighting isn't exactly novel, but you deserve credit for it.
Yeah, I don't know why we kept this category, but hey. A+
I can recall a few weird sentences here and there, but nothing really noticeable.
The characters in this story really are well suited as kind of shapeless ideas, but small details, details that distinguish the characters from others of a similar breed really flesh them out. I'd suggest going back and fleshing these characters out a bit more.
Very basic plot, but implemented well. I understand you've got more outside of this, and I think that's what would be best for the story. I really feel like if you had given more things to make this story its own, it would've been a lot better.
Since last post: 1634 days
Last activity: 1530 days
The ridiculously short paragraphs really started to get on my nerves after a bit. One sentence paragraphs should be reserved for when you need to emphasize something, but practically every sentence was its own paragraph. You've got some other grammar problems, but that's the one that really jumped out at me.
A really well written story, if not very original, and a tad predictable. Without the word limit, it could really be fleshed out, and be much more interesting.
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