A Short Story, So I don't try and dissapoint too much Options

[Vasioth]

Yeah I'm not very good with long stories because its easy to fall into the hole of forgetting what you originally had plotted for it and you find yourself sometimes making the shit up on the spot. And I'm very sorry for past Fanfics of mine; I had one which a lot read on here about Zelda; made a sequel and just forgot what I was writting about. Same with Jacques Role - it went a bit too silly too quick.

So I'm introducing a short story of mines I'm using in English this Friday as my Nab piece. I'll post it up as I wrote and planned it.


Plotting it down
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*A Man called Jacque Bare’i in his mid thirty’s; dark long hair, a shady character with a not to good past.
*Setting: Hennepin Street, Minnesota
*Plot: First person Narrative on the lifestyle of Jacque Bare’i and those around him; robbery leads to prominent death of the anti-hero.
*Influence: Tom Waits, A Clockwork Orange, Gateway

The Tale of Hennepin Street

It was the 9th on Hennepin Street and the prostitutes had names like doughnuts, and the prostitutes – who undoubtedly – would become dark lechery creatures of the nights while their husbands would slave slave over the rusty nail of the hob and would become intoxicated in the fierce fumes of the gas. The night growls high on adultery and moans of delight and ecstasy while those of a more innocent calibre would shuffle their way towards the gloomy light of the subway, unsuspected and unaware of the death they were about to catch precisely one hour and a half away since they all lived on the same street; and all lived on the same planet and same everything. Now it was the 10th in Hennepin Street; the world wasn’t hazy no more – no indeedy – it was a vibrant colourful joy to look at and my senses were all at one now. I got up and headed to the near door-knob; turning, turning, turning... and running out into the stairway; thudding off the ugly murky steps was me descending to the bottom in the most insincere of manners. Here I am, your humble host whose eyes will lead you – if not far exceedingly – to a more real; or surreal; world. Jacque Bare’i am I; French and very brooding with the darkest of fine long hair and a moral capacity fit enough to lick the corrupt shoes of Lady Liberty herself. However well attached you become of me though, think nothing short of me as a pretentious character.

Outside the stairway are multi-coloured steps; each in the colour of black, white or yellow. One for each individual race killed on that spot, their names forgotten and their pasts now unknown. The children would skip skip down them like it were a hopscotch game. “Whom-ever steppest on the Yellow step must jump into heck” I once remembered a bunch of children say as they made some imaginary game up. I would follow the Yellow ones as they would lead me to my drug dealer and my drug dealer would follow them back if he were in the hazy world of corruption and needed some moolah off me. And off I followed the Yellow steps to acquire my senth.

It was 11th in Hennepin street now, and my hazy world returned. I sat in the bar with Leon Orleon; dealer; extortionate and friend, and we looked at the bartender. She had a tattoo of a tear under her eye; one for each year her man was away and one for each year he would never return. We snorted senth through the dusty cobwebs of the counter and fell further into our own individual abyss. The memories would disappear and I would forget that I once had a future ready for me but was stupid enough to be engulfed by my darker nature; a nature all mankind’s capable of.

During the 12th in Hennepin Street I managed in the blusterous winds and rain to convince a female to commit adultery on her husband. It was a sweet little affaire that I began to enjoy in the comfort of her house, and it became more and more wonderful with every passing second. The sweat started to trickle down and into openings that I wasn’t aware existed and she began to scream in delight. The window was open across from the bed and right outside was the moon, rising higher and higher and shrouding Minnesota in perpetual darkness. Forever would I have the conscience of the corruptee and this would come as my downfall.

By the 13th day in Hennepin Street I was beginning to get out of the haze once more and needed to acquire another hit. I hurried out the stairway and headed towards the bank to acquire enough moolah to tread the Yellow steps once more. As I reached the bank the giggles hit me hard and good. I looked into the soul of a Caucasian man standing at the reception ahead of me, through his red watery eyes and he straight into mines. And then he noticed me for who I was; that fiend, that treacherous, vile thing that slept with his wife. This was enough to drive a man to corruption; and corrupt he was friend for now I had noticed what his original intentions had been in the bank. He would change his plans, and shot me straight out of existence, and my name would be forever forgotten in Hennepin street...

[NightmareSnake]

Oh wow, man. that was deep. Sounds like one of those old Irish folk stories. Bravo!

[D.J]

Been ages since some literature was posted here, thanks for adding it.

[AIfonzjezzyjason]

This is a massive improvement on your past writing - worlds apart. If this is to be handed in, I've got some suggestions to fix incorrect grammar, weird phrasing, etc. that could help improve your grade, but it seems redundant to post it all unless you need it.

One thing I will say that you must do for your next one is... uh... completely change the way you write. Not in a bad way, but the stories you've posted have always been over-written. If you want to write well, write like you speak and not how you think you're supposed to write. In fact, if it reads like it's written, then it's probably not written very well at all. I understand that at this level it can feel like there's pressure to prove how smart or versatile you are, but the flow and focus that the extra clarity gives you is much more important. (Related: Of all the stories you've posted on here, this one suffers the least from this. Well done.)

[Vasioth]

Yeah that would be really helpful actually because there's a few things that I wasn't sure of when it came to using the specific punctuation in right places and such. I've had to re-edit this story in just some places where I noticed mistakes myself so some bits should look a little better now but I'm going to keep a copy of the original draft just incase.

It had to be 800 words so I added more to it just for that purpose only. I'm 51 words short...

And I get what you mean by having to change my writing style. Its generally because I don't actually have my own style yet and its more like mixture of other styles blended horribly into one. Still, thanks for the comments

[AIfonzjezzyjason]

Yep, wasn't a criticism at all. I enjoyed this.

[pikamon]

Lol @ "the prostitutes had names like doughnuts"! That's funny.

Anyway, from what I read (I browsed, mostly), you need to work on your grammar and spelling. What is most important in the world of writing, at least from my own experience, are imagery and story, both of which you seem to have no problem delivering. The issue here is simply your presentation. A novel/short story/poem can be completely original and compelling, but if there appears to be even the smallest spelling error, it destroys everything. The reason for this is simple: people notice and it draws them out of the narrative flow. All you have to do is learn your grammar and spelling, as well as proofread your work several times, and you'll be as overly confident and pompous as the best of them.

[NightmareSnake]

You certainly do have the making of an excellent writer, though. Keep it up!

[Vasioth]

Lol @ "the prostitutes had names like doughnuts"! That's funny.

Anyway, from what I read (I browsed, mostly), you need to work on your grammar and spelling. What is most important in the world of writing, at least from my own experience, are imagery and story, both of which you seem to have no problem delivering. The issue here is simply your presentation. A novel/short story/poem can be completely original and compelling, but if there appears to be even the smallest spelling error, it destroys everything. The reason for this is simple: people notice and it draws them out of the narrative flow. All you have to do is learn your grammar and spelling, as well as proofread your work several times, and you'll be as overly confident and pompous as the best of them.

Yeah I get what you mean and I've noticed a lot of the mistakes that I have made in the process of this. There's still some I'm sure I can't notice and for the time being I may have to switch to a much more simplistic style of writing before I'm more confident with going ahead with this style again. I've taken highly into consideration what Alfon advised though about writing something that actually sounds like I'd speak it out and it has helped me to produce stories much faster, with ease and without too much looking around for inspiration of other writers.

By the way, this passed on its first attempt so thanks a lot for telling me to over-look this for spelling errors, etc.