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Becoming Lazarus. Critiques Welcome!!
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Becoming Lazarus. Critiques Welcome!!
by [3P1C_F41L] Sat 12 Dec 2009, 4:30 am
Just a note, I would love critiques of any sort, and I will seriously consider all of them. I will be posting more of this story in this thread, so if something isn't clarified now, chances are that with my next bit, it will be, so keep that in mind. If you want to completely edit a part of my story, feel free. This will help me a TON in the long run. Thanks, and I hope you enjoy reading it! ^^ (all story posts will be in a color. Purple, I think. I'll try to be consistant with it. ^^)
Dear God.
I despise my body.
I confess that I have sinned, in thought, in word, in deed.
I loathe my soul.
In what I have done, and in what I have left undone.
I detest every beat of my heart.
Please forgive me, this, your humble servant, O Lord.
So why do I strive so hard to live a life that I abhor?
I promise not to do it again.
I don’t know.
I think…
But I do.
I hope I don’t have to do this again.
_____________________________________________________________________________
A hard body pressed up against mine, pinning me to the car, staying my hands at the lock where they had been trying to turn the key. Something cold nudged gently underneath my chin. I stopped breathing. The man behind me hunched over and around me, enveloping me neatly and completely. I felt his lips at my ear.
“Don’t worry, Jason.” I felt the words as he spoke them, felt the breath he expelled to pass them from his tongue. “Just get in the car, okay?”
My heart fluttered; I thought it was dying in my chest. But I was brazen; I wouldn’t die an easy death. For God’s sake, I was only sixteen!
“W-why? Why the Hell should I?” My voice shook, but I pushed the words out anyways.
“Jason,” He said, calmly, sweetly.
My blood chilled. How could he be so static? He was holding a gun to my throat, demanding my car, and he sounded as though he were doing nothing more than taking a hot, scented bath at some cushy resort!
“What?”
“Take the end of my gun, will you? The end that’s at your chin.” I did. My hands were still stuck between myself and the door, but soon enough, I wriggled one free, and took hold of the thing. I felt clammy, but the barrel of the pistol was smooth and cold. Suddenly, I was breathing again, heavy, hard, rabid breaths so that I could hardly hear him when he spoke again.
“Good boy. Now, press your palm to the tip over the hole of the silencer, alright?” My head spun. A silencer? Why did he want my hand there? He was going to put a hole through my palm! He waited a bit for me to comply, but I couldn’t. Instead, I struggled. He wrapped a hand over my mouth, forced me harder into the door of my car.
“Jason,” he said smoothly into my ear, and shoving the gun hard into my palm. “Please do as I say.” He pointed my hand and the gun to the ground, and pulled the trigger.
All at once, a burning agony spread through the hold in my hand, and I screamed silently into his palm. Tears rolled down my cheeks, and my knees got weak; all I wanted to do was drop to them, and try to stay the pain the radiated like a nuclear explosion. He held my weight, however.
“Now, Jason. Why the Hell should you get into the car?” The man removed his hand a little, giving my mouth room to answer.
“Why?” I gasped. If he wanted me to answer, I guessed I should, and for obvious reasons. My hand hurt bad enough without another hole through it.
“Because you’ll last longer if you do. Now please get into the car.”
He let me go, and in an instant I started to fiddle with the lock one more time. I heard it click, and yanked the door open, almost tripping over myself to do as he bid. Scrambling into the passenger seat I curled up into a ball, cradling my bleeding, shot through hand, and silently sobbing.
Oh my God. I’m gonna die…I’m gonna die! I thought, and cried just a bit louder. I didn’t want to die.
He slipped into the driver’s seat, and held out his hands for the keys. I handed them over. In a moment, he had them in the ignition, and got the car into gear, and we were out of the parking lot and on the highway in a matter of ten minutes.
It was an hour before either of us talked. I was too scared to do anything but squash myself tightly into my seat and try not to sob too loudly. He, however, was cheerful enough, considering he had just kidnapped and shot a minor in a K-Mart parking lot. Turning on the radio and singing with a few of the songs, he turned to me, smiling, and remarked:
“You drive a stick-shift? I don’t know many sixteen-year-olds who could easily handle one, but you seem to manage just fine.”
I sniffled in response, gently nursing my wounded and painfully throbbing hand.
“I just gave you a compliment, Jason.” The man pursued. I jumped. “What do you say?”
“Th-thank you.”
He huffed in approval, apparently pleased with himself. “That wasn’t so terrible, was it?” he asked, reaching over and patting my knee. “You need to accept compliments more readily, my boy.”
I shifted, trying to remove myself from his reach. ”I’ll keep that in mind.” I told him. When I’m not moments from death by a sociopath. I added silently in my head.
He chatted for a good long while at me, demanding, if anything, polite answers from me, then with a hearty sigh, declared that he “hadn’t heard this song in such a long time” and began to sing again.
Dear God.
I despise my body.
I confess that I have sinned, in thought, in word, in deed.
I loathe my soul.
In what I have done, and in what I have left undone.
I detest every beat of my heart.
Please forgive me, this, your humble servant, O Lord.
So why do I strive so hard to live a life that I abhor?
I promise not to do it again.
I don’t know.
I think…
But I do.
I hope I don’t have to do this again.
_____________________________________________________________________________
A hard body pressed up against mine, pinning me to the car, staying my hands at the lock where they had been trying to turn the key. Something cold nudged gently underneath my chin. I stopped breathing. The man behind me hunched over and around me, enveloping me neatly and completely. I felt his lips at my ear.
“Don’t worry, Jason.” I felt the words as he spoke them, felt the breath he expelled to pass them from his tongue. “Just get in the car, okay?”
My heart fluttered; I thought it was dying in my chest. But I was brazen; I wouldn’t die an easy death. For God’s sake, I was only sixteen!
“W-why? Why the Hell should I?” My voice shook, but I pushed the words out anyways.
“Jason,” He said, calmly, sweetly.
My blood chilled. How could he be so static? He was holding a gun to my throat, demanding my car, and he sounded as though he were doing nothing more than taking a hot, scented bath at some cushy resort!
“What?”
“Take the end of my gun, will you? The end that’s at your chin.” I did. My hands were still stuck between myself and the door, but soon enough, I wriggled one free, and took hold of the thing. I felt clammy, but the barrel of the pistol was smooth and cold. Suddenly, I was breathing again, heavy, hard, rabid breaths so that I could hardly hear him when he spoke again.
“Good boy. Now, press your palm to the tip over the hole of the silencer, alright?” My head spun. A silencer? Why did he want my hand there? He was going to put a hole through my palm! He waited a bit for me to comply, but I couldn’t. Instead, I struggled. He wrapped a hand over my mouth, forced me harder into the door of my car.
“Jason,” he said smoothly into my ear, and shoving the gun hard into my palm. “Please do as I say.” He pointed my hand and the gun to the ground, and pulled the trigger.
All at once, a burning agony spread through the hold in my hand, and I screamed silently into his palm. Tears rolled down my cheeks, and my knees got weak; all I wanted to do was drop to them, and try to stay the pain the radiated like a nuclear explosion. He held my weight, however.
“Now, Jason. Why the Hell should you get into the car?” The man removed his hand a little, giving my mouth room to answer.
“Why?” I gasped. If he wanted me to answer, I guessed I should, and for obvious reasons. My hand hurt bad enough without another hole through it.
“Because you’ll last longer if you do. Now please get into the car.”
He let me go, and in an instant I started to fiddle with the lock one more time. I heard it click, and yanked the door open, almost tripping over myself to do as he bid. Scrambling into the passenger seat I curled up into a ball, cradling my bleeding, shot through hand, and silently sobbing.
Oh my God. I’m gonna die…I’m gonna die! I thought, and cried just a bit louder. I didn’t want to die.
He slipped into the driver’s seat, and held out his hands for the keys. I handed them over. In a moment, he had them in the ignition, and got the car into gear, and we were out of the parking lot and on the highway in a matter of ten minutes.
It was an hour before either of us talked. I was too scared to do anything but squash myself tightly into my seat and try not to sob too loudly. He, however, was cheerful enough, considering he had just kidnapped and shot a minor in a K-Mart parking lot. Turning on the radio and singing with a few of the songs, he turned to me, smiling, and remarked:
“You drive a stick-shift? I don’t know many sixteen-year-olds who could easily handle one, but you seem to manage just fine.”
I sniffled in response, gently nursing my wounded and painfully throbbing hand.
“I just gave you a compliment, Jason.” The man pursued. I jumped. “What do you say?”
“Th-thank you.”
He huffed in approval, apparently pleased with himself. “That wasn’t so terrible, was it?” he asked, reaching over and patting my knee. “You need to accept compliments more readily, my boy.”
I shifted, trying to remove myself from his reach. ”I’ll keep that in mind.” I told him. When I’m not moments from death by a sociopath. I added silently in my head.
He chatted for a good long while at me, demanding, if anything, polite answers from me, then with a hearty sigh, declared that he “hadn’t heard this song in such a long time” and began to sing again.
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Re: Becoming Lazarus. Critiques Welcome!!
by [3P1C_F41L] Sun 13 Dec 2009, 1:30 am
I'll put more up later. ^^
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Re: Becoming Lazarus. Critiques Welcome!!
by [3P1C_F41L] Sun 13 Dec 2009, 11:32 pm
Later has come! Here it is!! I just hope that someone actually reads it...Y.Y
The gentle throbbing of blood pumping from the hole in my hand was what woke me later. Somehow, in spite of my silent decree that I would do whatever it took to rid myself of the maniac who had stolen both me and my car, I'd fallen asleep in my seat while we'd been parked at a gas pump. I was groggy at first, the pulsing in my hand not painful, just there. But, as another patron prodded the seeping wound, an electric shock of paibn coursed through me, making me jerk in my seat and wrenching my hand away.
"Ah!" I cried in shock, making the man crouched in front of me rock on his haunches and tumble backward.
Hauling himself up again, the guy thrust out open palms towards me, signifying that he was not foe, but friend.
"You're really hurt bad, kid." He told me, advancing cautiously, like I was a frightened animal. "How'd that happen?
I paused, taking the question in for a fraction of a secondbefore leaning foreward and studying his face.
"The guy that was driving, the one paying for gas right now, he shot me, and kidnapped me." I told him quickly, begging him with wide, terrifyed eyes to beleive me.
He didn't have time.
My kidnapper loomed behind him, a stealthy, heart-stopping presense too cold and malicious for words. A gun appeared next, the same one he'd shot me with appeared as soon assoon as it boared a hole through the skull, making his entire ediface twitch and slump foreward. I uttered not a sound as little pats of blood splattered my face, though my eyes were as wide as my mouth. My throat spasmed so that I couldn't breathe; My chest grew tight as I held my breath, but all this changed when he began to lift him up by the armpits and told me, almost sweetly, to open the back door for him. Horrified beyond my stunned mind's capacity to cope, I complied, clambering out and wrenching the door wide. I didn't yell or complainwhen he ushered me back into the passenger seat, and rounded the front bumper to ease himself behind the steering wheel. I didn't even try to run.
A couple miles down the highway, we stopped again, this time to clean my face and patch my hand as best as he could, and to buy a hat for the corpse in the back seat. The radio was on again, and he cheerfully monkied the various singers ad the deejay cycled through them, and chatted at me when there was a commercial. I only spoke when he asked me a question, afraid as I was that he would do something worse than shoot my hand through if I offended him. When he declared me fit to travel again, he tucked me back into the car, and we drove off.
"You're being awefully boreing." He broke the sound of the radio with his own voice, startling me. I gawked at him, then averted my eyes.
"Sorry." I told him.
"If you're sorry, then talk!" he replied with a chucke. It was as if he was chastising me for a silly question. "Just saysomething. Anything. Please?" He begged.
Traffic ahead of us came to a halt, and he hit the brakes hard, stopping narrowly before hitting the bumper ahead of us. I stared at my feet in the dim, late evening sunlight. The day had passed rather quickly, and slowly throughout the course of it, I had come to realise that whatever happened to me, my life was over. This maniac wasn't sane enough, human enough, to ever let me go. At least not without a body bag. As he sat stoically -- indeed, almost pleasantly -- beside me, listening to the sounds of the traffic jammed around us, I considered my life up to that point.
It had been a good one. Loving family, lots of cousins, aunts, and uncles, all spoiling me, Jason, the single child of my mother and gfather. A sweet, careing girlfriend. School mates who thought the world of me. Mine had been a nice, easy life up until now. But it was only half lived. For God's sake...I was only sixteen. And I was going to die by the hand of some wack job, probably for the sake of an eyeball collection, or cannibalism? Why me? Fuck, why me?
"Why the Hell did you want me?" I asked, lifting my face to gaze at him full on. He met my eyes, and stared back. For a moment, all there was was the filtering of cars around us. Not even a twitch betrayed him. Then, finally, his eyes glinted at me, and he grinned, and I could just catch something within them that turned the air chill. I trembles and my heartbeat grew painfully hard with apprehension as he opened those long red lips and white teeth. He made me think of a dok that had developed a taste for blood.
"Because I'm going to hurt you."
A pause. Traffic started moving, and he took the car ut of park and put it into gear.
"I'm not gonna live through this, am I? I asked, more to myself than him. My head turned to look out the window, out into the darkness to the setting sun in the distance. It seemed to me, as I heard him answer with a gentle voice, ("That depends on how well ou behave."), that it was my own soul that was being snuffed out along with the beautiful cacophony of colors that surrounded us.
The gentle throbbing of blood pumping from the hole in my hand was what woke me later. Somehow, in spite of my silent decree that I would do whatever it took to rid myself of the maniac who had stolen both me and my car, I'd fallen asleep in my seat while we'd been parked at a gas pump. I was groggy at first, the pulsing in my hand not painful, just there. But, as another patron prodded the seeping wound, an electric shock of paibn coursed through me, making me jerk in my seat and wrenching my hand away.
"Ah!" I cried in shock, making the man crouched in front of me rock on his haunches and tumble backward.
Hauling himself up again, the guy thrust out open palms towards me, signifying that he was not foe, but friend.
"You're really hurt bad, kid." He told me, advancing cautiously, like I was a frightened animal. "How'd that happen?
I paused, taking the question in for a fraction of a secondbefore leaning foreward and studying his face.
"The guy that was driving, the one paying for gas right now, he shot me, and kidnapped me." I told him quickly, begging him with wide, terrifyed eyes to beleive me.
He didn't have time.
My kidnapper loomed behind him, a stealthy, heart-stopping presense too cold and malicious for words. A gun appeared next, the same one he'd shot me with appeared as soon assoon as it boared a hole through the skull, making his entire ediface twitch and slump foreward. I uttered not a sound as little pats of blood splattered my face, though my eyes were as wide as my mouth. My throat spasmed so that I couldn't breathe; My chest grew tight as I held my breath, but all this changed when he began to lift him up by the armpits and told me, almost sweetly, to open the back door for him. Horrified beyond my stunned mind's capacity to cope, I complied, clambering out and wrenching the door wide. I didn't yell or complainwhen he ushered me back into the passenger seat, and rounded the front bumper to ease himself behind the steering wheel. I didn't even try to run.
A couple miles down the highway, we stopped again, this time to clean my face and patch my hand as best as he could, and to buy a hat for the corpse in the back seat. The radio was on again, and he cheerfully monkied the various singers ad the deejay cycled through them, and chatted at me when there was a commercial. I only spoke when he asked me a question, afraid as I was that he would do something worse than shoot my hand through if I offended him. When he declared me fit to travel again, he tucked me back into the car, and we drove off.
"You're being awefully boreing." He broke the sound of the radio with his own voice, startling me. I gawked at him, then averted my eyes.
"Sorry." I told him.
"If you're sorry, then talk!" he replied with a chucke. It was as if he was chastising me for a silly question. "Just saysomething. Anything. Please?" He begged.
Traffic ahead of us came to a halt, and he hit the brakes hard, stopping narrowly before hitting the bumper ahead of us. I stared at my feet in the dim, late evening sunlight. The day had passed rather quickly, and slowly throughout the course of it, I had come to realise that whatever happened to me, my life was over. This maniac wasn't sane enough, human enough, to ever let me go. At least not without a body bag. As he sat stoically -- indeed, almost pleasantly -- beside me, listening to the sounds of the traffic jammed around us, I considered my life up to that point.
It had been a good one. Loving family, lots of cousins, aunts, and uncles, all spoiling me, Jason, the single child of my mother and gfather. A sweet, careing girlfriend. School mates who thought the world of me. Mine had been a nice, easy life up until now. But it was only half lived. For God's sake...I was only sixteen. And I was going to die by the hand of some wack job, probably for the sake of an eyeball collection, or cannibalism? Why me? Fuck, why me?
"Why the Hell did you want me?" I asked, lifting my face to gaze at him full on. He met my eyes, and stared back. For a moment, all there was was the filtering of cars around us. Not even a twitch betrayed him. Then, finally, his eyes glinted at me, and he grinned, and I could just catch something within them that turned the air chill. I trembles and my heartbeat grew painfully hard with apprehension as he opened those long red lips and white teeth. He made me think of a dok that had developed a taste for blood.
"Because I'm going to hurt you."
A pause. Traffic started moving, and he took the car ut of park and put it into gear.
"I'm not gonna live through this, am I? I asked, more to myself than him. My head turned to look out the window, out into the darkness to the setting sun in the distance. It seemed to me, as I heard him answer with a gentle voice, ("That depends on how well ou behave."), that it was my own soul that was being snuffed out along with the beautiful cacophony of colors that surrounded us.
[3P1C_F41L]- Newbie
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Re: Becoming Lazarus. Critiques Welcome!!
by OPALNYX Wed 16 Dec 2009, 10:28 pm
[You must be registered and logged in to see this image.]
Interesting.
I now wonder who the kidnapper is
as he knows the boys name and
the boy does not seem to recognized him.
Awaiting the next installment.
[You must be registered and logged in to see this image.]
Interesting.
I now wonder who the kidnapper is
as he knows the boys name and
the boy does not seem to recognized him.
Awaiting the next installment.
[You must be registered and logged in to see this image.]
OPALNYX- Newbie
- Posts : 33
Join date : 2009-12-14
Re: Becoming Lazarus. Critiques Welcome!!
by [3P1C_F41L] Sat 19 Dec 2009, 2:11 am
He's a stalker. I'll post the next installment in a few. ^^
[3P1C_F41L]- Newbie
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Join date : 2009-12-12
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Re: Becoming Lazarus. Critiques Welcome!!
by [3P1C_F41L] Sat 19 Dec 2009, 2:16 am
It was dark when we finally pulled off the highway and onto an unused dirt road. We finally pulled to a stop in front of a big, peeling white house. He opened the door for me, and I stepped out, allowing him to escort me indoors. He led me through it, telling me that it was nice, ans perfectly suited to his tastes.
(And this is the first scenario.)
"But," he continued, "This is not where you'll be staying."
After halting at the back door, and affixing a thick, leather collar and leash around my neck, he led me out the back to a shed. Upon opening the door to the ediface, I spied a table in the center of a dank, coppery-smelling room. Through this he led me, and to a room at the other side of it. All at once, smells of copper and sweat hit me from both rooms, making my head swim, and the bile erupt from my stomach and into my throat. I swallowed it back down, and felt a gentle push from behind propell me foreward and into the room.
There was a bed in the corner, a small table opposite, and blinds over a barred window. e led me top the moldy looking mattress, set me upon it, and rifled through the drawer of the table, coming up with a pair of metal handcuffs. He cuffed me to the bedpost, kissed me on the forehead, and left, telling me that he needed to dispose of our dead guest as soon as possible, or he would rot, and nobody wants that type of human filth in their midst, now do they. Watching him go, I felt the tears slide down my face again, and I huddles on the creaking, dirty bed.
"God, help me...please help me..." I wimpered.
(This is the other scenario.)
He drew to a halt near a cupboard door under the stairs, and, bringing out a jangling tangle of keys, opened it, and made me lead the way down to the basement. A light from some feet above my head was flicked on at a switch someplace behind me, and all at once, a metal gurney and stainless steel cutlery on the small table beside it hit me hard, and I was unable to go further than the landing. He's going to use those on me? The thought froze me, blocking out the steril smell of bleach, alcohol, and latex. Something else attracted my attention as well, something that pushed itself to my lips as he pushed me between the shoulderblades to propell me further into the room, and towards a door on the other side.
"You're out of anesthesia..." I told him, somehow registering the missing container that should be in all operating rooms.
"Just because its not in here doesn't mean it might not be somepl;ace else, does it?" he replied evenly, chilling me with a light tough of his hand on my shoulder. "Besides, its not your concern, it is?"
He had another key for this door, which he fitted into the lock, and unlocked the door with. The room on the other side was clean, but well-used, and smelled slightly of sweat and dirty laundry.
"May I?" he asked, taking one of my wrists, and leading me to the bed in the corner of the white room. There were chains at the foot and the head, and he put these on me, fettering me in the room.
"I dont want my toy running away. I'll be very angry if I catch you trying, mind." He said with a smile, and left. I curled up on the bed.
"God...please help me. Please, God, help me!" I said, my throat growing tight again. Tears erupted, and I let out a stifled sob, before burying my face in my arms.
(And this is the first scenario.)
After halting at the back door, and affixing a thick, leather collar and leash around my neck, he led me out the back to a shed. Upon opening the door to the ediface, I spied a table in the center of a dank, coppery-smelling room. Through this he led me, and to a room at the other side of it. All at once, smells of copper and sweat hit me from both rooms, making my head swim, and the bile erupt from my stomach and into my throat. I swallowed it back down, and felt a gentle push from behind propell me foreward and into the room.
There was a bed in the corner, a small table opposite, and blinds over a barred window. e led me top the moldy looking mattress, set me upon it, and rifled through the drawer of the table, coming up with a pair of metal handcuffs. He cuffed me to the bedpost, kissed me on the forehead, and left, telling me that he needed to dispose of our dead guest as soon as possible, or he would rot, and nobody wants that type of human filth in their midst, now do they. Watching him go, I felt the tears slide down my face again, and I huddles on the creaking, dirty bed.
"God, help me...please help me..." I wimpered.
(This is the other scenario.)
He drew to a halt near a cupboard door under the stairs, and, bringing out a jangling tangle of keys, opened it, and made me lead the way down to the basement. A light from some feet above my head was flicked on at a switch someplace behind me, and all at once, a metal gurney and stainless steel cutlery on the small table beside it hit me hard, and I was unable to go further than the landing. He's going to use those on me? The thought froze me, blocking out the steril smell of bleach, alcohol, and latex. Something else attracted my attention as well, something that pushed itself to my lips as he pushed me between the shoulderblades to propell me further into the room, and towards a door on the other side.
"You're out of anesthesia..." I told him, somehow registering the missing container that should be in all operating rooms.
"Just because its not in here doesn't mean it might not be somepl;ace else, does it?" he replied evenly, chilling me with a light tough of his hand on my shoulder. "Besides, its not your concern, it is?"
He had another key for this door, which he fitted into the lock, and unlocked the door with. The room on the other side was clean, but well-used, and smelled slightly of sweat and dirty laundry.
"May I?" he asked, taking one of my wrists, and leading me to the bed in the corner of the white room. There were chains at the foot and the head, and he put these on me, fettering me in the room.
"I dont want my toy running away. I'll be very angry if I catch you trying, mind." He said with a smile, and left. I curled up on the bed.
"God...please help me. Please, God, help me!" I said, my throat growing tight again. Tears erupted, and I let out a stifled sob, before burying my face in my arms.
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