Well, last week my English teacher announced to the class that our final paper would be a "personal piece" to be written outside of class and handed in by next Tuesday. Since I don't have any interest in writing a memoir or anything to that effect, I've decided to try my hand at writing a short story. I've never written a short story before, so criticism is more than welcomed, to say the least; I'm accustomed to writing analytical essays and have little experience in personal narratives, so I'm a bit out of my depth here. :lol:

 

 

 

Anyway, my story will have three parts to it; the first will be a short "prologue", I guess you could say, with the remaining two being longer in length and more developed. I'll start off with posting the prologue and will edit in the following sections over the next couple days as I finish writing them. My main concern at the moment is that I feel that I'm "rushing" into the story too quickly and that my characters won't be fully developed by the time I'm finished. The structure also seems a bit choppy and I'm worried that the story won't seem cohesive or make much sense as it unfolds. So, once again, constructive criticism would be great. 'Without further ado:

 

 

 

 

 

The Sounding of the Bell

 

 

 

He awoke at the sounding of the Bell. Upon its first toll, he pitched forward in his bed; his eyes agape yet unseeing. The following tolls struck him as would a series of blows. They soundedbiting and malignand the reverberations wracked his body with an inexpressible, electric current of pain. *four**five**six* The tolls sounded relentlessly; detached and coldly deliberate. *eight**nine**ten* The child seized and broke into a sweat, the veins running through his limbs and temples bulging grotesquely. Writhing violently, his mouth open in a silent, wild cry, the boy lay outstretched on his bed, the linen sheets crumpled and awry beneath him. *eleven**twelve*. At the final stroke of midnight, the vehement noise ceased abruptly and the quiet of a still night set in once more. With one last shudder, the child collapsed into his rumbled sheets and a soft moan was heard to escape from his throat. He lay, motionless, drained completely from the ordeal and the violence of his unconscious exertions.

 

 

 

At the far end of the bedchamber, obscured in part by shadow, the form of a woman could be discerned. She stepped forward lightly and made her way to the side of the anguished child; her ward. In doing so, a shaft of moonlightshining dimly through a nearby windowbriefly illuminated her face; the faint suggestion of an icy smile lay hidden at the corner of her lips.

 

 

 

How did I know youd be here? spat the child. Sweat poured over his waxen, feverish skin and his mouth was set in a grim slash. As best as could be made out in the poor light, he must have been a child of no more than twelve years of age.

 

 

 

The woman, for a moment, seemed taken aback, but, just as quickly, she settled into an amused reservation; a decidedly reticent and disturbing composure.

 

 

 

How are you feeling, dear? she asked in a remote tone. Interest flickered brilliantly in her grey eyes, contrasting sharply with the listlessness of her inquiry.

 

 

 

Its gettingworse. II dont know what he gasped. His manner was quickly becoming frantic, his gazewild and unfocusedroved erratically over the dark chamber. The boy fought to contain an alien surge of an inexorable and vile rage as he choked back a swell of bile rising through his esophagus. Striving to stem the tide of a renewed and mounting flare, he clawed desperately at his arms--rending furrows along their length and yet drawing only a small amount of putrid, coagulated dark blood which oozed slowly from the wounds rather than having bled freely. The Bell had exacerbated his condition and taken its toll on his wasting frame; one long afflicted by disease of both body and mind.

 

 

 

Why? he whispered, Why is this happening to me? Before youI was

 

 

 

---You must rest now, dear. How else can you hope to become well? the woman said, cutting off his faint reply. Rest now, she repeated.

 

 

 

Rest. ~~

 

 

 

She placed her hand gently on his brow and tenderly brushed a lock of his sweat-drenched hair from his eyes; at her intonation, the sickened child remarkably stilled; he was asleep. With that gesture, she stood upright and lithely glided from the roompausing, hesitating, just once in uncertainty to glance over her shoulder at the limp form of the sleeping childbefore exited the chamber and leaving her ward to the night.

 

 

 

~+~

 

 

 

Dietrich

 

 

 

The sickly child turned fretfully in his bed, struggling with the debilitation of a deep-seated sleep.

 

 

 

Dietrich.

 

 

 

The voice was insistent. Someone was calling him, but his body was too heavy, yes, much too heavy for him to respond. But that voice. That VOICE. He recognized that voice; he knew who it belonged to. He was sure. But who was it? His thoughts, his senses were dulled. He knew who it was, he knewbut, but what of it? He is lost but soon to be found. Dark intentions whisper secrets to him in the night, their words now flutter, flutter in the recesses of his mind. They shriek! They shriek! Granite peaks rear about him, encircling him, enclosing him, trapping him, preventing his escape. Even the sun cannot defy their terrible grasp; she is dragged down, down, down, down; they gnaw at her with jagged teeth! Her blood is seeping, it is pouring, it douses the canvas of the sky. And there stands the Watcher in witness; he is the Hooded Angel with the Spear. The Angel perches atop the central fountain, he looks down upon the square. Tears of blood are running from his eyes; they do stain his carv-ed cheeks. To what end do you keep your lonely vigil, dear Angel? For you wait and you watch, impassive, adamant. You sound the Bell at every hour; the knells are as pebbles dropped into a pond. The ripples, they Wait, wait, wait, no! You sound theyou soundtheBELL?

 

 

 

Dietrich!

 

 

 

The child awoke with a start, disoriented and alarmed.

 

 

 

I will not raise my voice again. Rise at once; your Uncle requests your presence in the Dining Hall; we are having guests to join us.

 

 

 

The boy looked slowly about the roomhis mind encumbered by sleep, his heart still racing from the nightmares perturbation. There, in the doorway, stood the woman addressing him. She was tall, slender, and possessed of an almost-unearthly beauty. Her dark, lustrous hair fell about her shoulders and down her back, her grey eyes flashed with intelligence and vivacity, and her fair complexion effectually glowed. She stood there, unsmiling and aloof, his Nurse and Caretaker both.

 

 

 

Rise. I have prepared a bath, but you must wash and dress yourself quickly; your Uncle expects his quests within the hour. Youll find your medicine on the nightstandtake it before you leave. When youve prepared, you are to meet with them in the Dining Hall. Be prompt and mindful of your conduct, and present yourself accordingly. With those brief, impersonal words, she swept from the roomthe hem of her black dress flicking around the corner as she left.

 

 

 

Dietrich stifled a pained sigh as he struggled out of bed. Over the past several years his condition had deteriorated; the aggressively advancing stages of the illness had, in recent months, targeted and inflamed his joints. Walking had become inordinately harrowing of late, and his atrophying muscles ached in protest as he rose to his feet and stumbled across to the nightstand. There, as promised, he spotted a crystal chalice resting on the tabletop. Dietrich reached for the chalice with a grimace and gently swirled the dark liquid within as he contemplated having to drink the foul brew. As he did so, he turned and, by chance, glimpsed himself in the reflection of a full-length mirror set at the far end of the chamber. His reflected image repulsed him. Dietrich moved closer to the mirror and noted his appearance; draped in dark, shroud-like robes as he was, his ashen skin had become all the more conspicuous. His eyes--coal-black in shade and glazed over in anguish--smouldered with the embers of the ill fury that his affliction stirred within him. About his crown, dark, unkempt locks of hair fell in disarray. Additionally, and, perhaps, most extraordinarily, from the very bridge of his nose a crimson butterfly flared out its wings across his cheeks--the striking rash having been branded by the illness. Dietrich hated the sight before him as portayed by the mirror; it spoke only of decay.

 

 

 

On the surface of the mirror, once barely perceptible, a hairline crack could be traced. It had progressively widened throughout the past year, and Dietrich turned his attention way from his reflection to gently stroke the fracture in contemplation. Viewed from a certain angle, the fracture, while hardly noticeable otherwise, distorted the reflection of the mirror, and by this circumstance Dietrich had always found himself morbidly fascinated.

 

 

 

After some time, and having to stifle another pained sigh as he loathly tore himself from the allure of the distortion, the child resigned himself and managed to empty the chalice he had carried with him from the nightstandthe bitter draught causing him to blanch visibly. Fighting off the accustomed waves of nausea, Dietrich forced himself to continue about his morning routinethat his Uncle had summoned him was peculiar and thus worthy of note.

 

 

 

His Uncle was extraordinarily dignified and honorable as befitted his noble rank; upon learning of the death of Dietrichs parents, he hadnt hesitated in welcoming his young nephew into his private estate. However, as a Margrave of the Northern Mark, he was seldom unoccupied and left his nephew to the care of his retainers soon thereafter. In the several years that Dietrich had resided at the estate, he rarely saw his Uncle for more than a few days at a time. The Margrave, however highborn and distinguished, was, in truth, a stolid man; he preferred not to concern himself with the care of a mere child. Dietrichs guardianship was an obligation to be fulfilled and nothing more.

 

 

 

Lost in thought, Dietrich accomplished the remainder of his duties and made his way slowly towards the Dining Hall; treading carefully through the corridors of the estate and leaning heavily on the handrails which had been installed expressly for his use. Thus far, he had refused the indignity of a wheelchair and had chosen to endure his tormentearning the disapproval of the attendants charged to wait on him. After some time, Dietrich arrived at the entrance to the Hall. He had expected to meet his Nurse before continuing on, but her marked absence did not worry him undulyrather, he found himself relieved to be free of her smothering presence; although he dared not appeal to his Uncle on the matter, she had become a source of lasting, primal dread in the household ever since she had first arrived. Where she walked, the retainers cowered, and, when she spoke, a silenceominous and fearfulpervaded absolute. Her reserve-ed conduct beguiled temperance; the mind-rendering fear she instilled insinuated otherwise. At any rate, Dietrich could not afford to risk his Uncles displeasure, so he entered into the Dining Hall unattended and without a second thought.

 

 

 

Youre late, child.

 

 

 

Dietrich glanced quickly upward to see a thin-faced manrobed in opulent attire and sitting at the head of a lavish banquet tablestaring back at him with a remiss and vaguely disapproving expression.

 

 

 

Well, my nephew? What excuse have you for slighting your elders? Weve been awaiting your arrival for well over half an hour now.

 

 

 

Dietrich started, Uncle, I can assure you, Ive

 

 

 

---Enough. the man said. It matters not; sit and do not disturb us further.

 

 

 

With a short bow, Dietrich complied and took the seat nearest to himthe one set furthest apart from the other diners and directly opposite his Uncles chair at the far end of the table. It was only then that he had a chance to study the guests, as the conversation recommenced over the banquet following his Uncles dry rebuke; aside from his Uncle, there were two men sitting at the far end of the table. To his Uncles right sat a man Dietrich didnt recognize; he was arrayed in the robes of an ordained priest and was notably youthful. His physical features were unremarkable, but his eyes glinted with an eccentric lighta light Dietrich ascribed to pious fervor. There was a singularity about this manan abnormalityin the form of a single ring on his right little finger; it was a fat, golden ring and its luster was the soft sheen of butter. Dietrich studied it curiously for a moment before turning his gaze on the second man. This man sat to his Uncles left and in his Dietrich found a familiar face. He was the towns physiciana doctor of considerable skill and a source of even greater knowledgeand Dietrich, because of his illness, had met with him on a number of occasions for examination and prescription purposes. He was thought queer by consensus of the townspeople; he was a fine physician, undoubtedly, but he lusted after knowledge to an almost damnable degree. He would spend the greater part of his time reading through extensive medical volumes and deciphering ancient philosophical tomes in the back rooms of his clinic. As for his patients, it was said that he treated them as nothing more than trial cases for research; he had no interest in treating minor injuries, but was practically obsessive when confronted by terminal or otherwise severe disease; it is little wonder, then, that in Dietrich he held an appreciable fascination. Of his characteristics there is little to notejust as the first man could be considered indistinguishable from other youths in a crowd, so too would few find any remarkable detail in the physician; he was merely an older man; frail of body and with a head of white, wispy hair. When he walked, he would do so with a cane, and, at the moment, Dietrich saw it to be leaning against the old mans chair.

 

 

 

Dietrichs short-lived curiosity in the guests quenched, he turned his attention back to his Uncle, who had taken control of the conversation amongst the three from the start. There was little surprise in that aspect; his Unclea patrician of noble lineage spanning back generationswas a coolly domineering man. His visage boasted of affluence and power; he was robed in extravagant vestments and his facial expressions exhibited a detachment from his surroundings, a studied haughtiness which mocked those with whom he would meet. Compounding on this, he had piercingly light blue eyes that were as flecks of glacial ice. They were perpetually narrowedas if in suspicionand they complemented the remainder of his image. His body was lean; his skin pale. He had made a habit of slicking back his long, black hair and allowing for a few fine strands of hair to fall back over his forehead. At his breast, he would often fasten a radiant and invaluable brooch; he referred to it as the Morning Star. His Uncle was unquestionably a powerful man, and that, at least, Dietrich could appreciate. It was evident from the conversation and the deference of the quests that they had been called to the meeting at his request. Knowing his Uncle, Dietrich could surmise as to the purpose of doing so; having only recently returned from an extended journey, his Uncle would have been informed of Dietrichs worsening healthhence the physicians presence. Additionally, Dietrich knew the towns presiding priest to have died approximately a month before, so the young priests appearance most likely indicated that he was to fill the vacant postand thus had been invited as a measure of good faith and welcome.

 

 

 

Dietrich.

 

 

 

His Uncles voice startled the contemplative child and he fought to throw off the vestige of his deeply submersing thoughts.

 

 

 

Yes, Uncle? he managed to ask in a breathless voice.

 

 

 

The good doctor has informed me that youve been prescribed a new medicine. Have you been taking it regularly?

 

 

 

I have, Uncle. My Nurse requires that I take it at the beginning of each day. Dietrich said.

 

 

 

Quinine has been shown to have positive results in many subjects afflicted by the boys particular illness, My Lord. I have confidence hell show improvement; Ive even taken the additional step of having it prepared in a special tonic for increased vitality. Mark my words, mark them! Ive synthesized the cure! said the physician, interjecting into the exchange.

 

 

 

As well as should be hoped, Herr Arzt. I thank you for your continued treatment of my nephew. Now, concerning--

 

 

 

Uncle.

 

 

 

The patriarch paused in mild annoyance, Yes, child?

 

 

 

May I be excused? Im afraid Im feeling rather ill.

 

 

 

Very well, you may leave now, Dietrich, if youve finished. his Uncle said with a short wave.

 

 

 

With his Uncles dismissal, Dietrich struggled from his chair and walked to the doorway; having touched neither food nor drink and feeling even more nauseated than before, whatever the physicians claims for his miracle-cure. At the entrance to the Dining Hall, he turned and inclined his head politely; the three men carried on with their conversationheedless.

 

 

 

Im concerned, Vater. Your predecessor was little better than a thiefa wholly parsimonious man consumed by avarice. His sins have contributed greatly to the alienation of the parishioners from the Church, and in these troubled times of conflict I wish to avoid a Reformistic schism and the uprisings itd inevitable lead to if at all possible. Civil unrest is festering in a number of communities within the Empire; I do not wish to combat it here. Know this, Vater, I may well have to withdraw my support from the Church if this continues. Can you assure me that it will not?

 

 

 

I can assure you, My Lord Markgraf. I have been sent here as an emissary of the Vatican expressly for this very purpose. I will be sure to contain and rectify the situation here; I believe youll find me to be quite capable, despite my relatively young age. I would not have been sent if I did not have someskill in politics and negotiation. Consider your wishes fulfilled, Markgraf. But perhaps you should be more concerned with the Empires recent defeat at Ulm?

 

 

 

Very well. You have a barbed tongue, Vater; I shall trust in your skill. And you are correct, of course, the defeat imperils us all. Undoubtedly Franz will soon be forced into negotiations with that cursed Frenchman

 

 

 

Dietrich, ailing and unsettled still from the previous nights events, wearily shambled back to his chamber to rest.

 

 

 

~+~

I've edited in Part Two and have further revised the Prologue a bit. Part Three should be approximately as long--if not longer--than Part Two and should be ready within the next day or two.

 

 

 

Please comment; I think the idea is sound, but I'm definitely foundering on this (especially toward the end of Part Two; I'm terrible at writing dialogue). :|

Part Three will be posted tomorrow and will finish the story. In the meantime, I've added two crucial details to Part Two and have fixed a few typos.

 

 

 

I hate to sound like a broken record, but please comment--even if it's only to say whether or not you've enjoyed the story so far. I'd really appreciate some input before I have to turn this in.

Sorry I have no time to read this, but I guess you need to know that the Varrock Library is not the most active place in the world, and if you are truly looking for criticism for school work, I think you should talk to your teacher, let he/she see what you have. They could tell you how to improve it. Or even give a copy to your friends and let them tell you what they think.

I am really sorry not to have got this to you before it was to be in, but I have to say that it reads like a European text from the period of the Reformation, so at least in that aspect you have succeeded in 'comtemporising it'.

 

 

 

In all honesty, nothing happens, the little titbit of information at the end, however much I enjoyed something actually happening, did not fit with the rest of the story...not that some progress to it was not made, as it was only because I was reading it aloud, slowly and methodically, that I noticed that my voice was coming out of a resign-ed, almost droning monologue, into a much more lively dialogue. Intention or no it does not sit well with me, now.

 

 

 

 

 

Aside from that there are two points.

 

and Dietrich turned his attention way from his reflection

 

Away?

 

 

 

But perhaps you should be more concerned with the Empires recent defeat at Ulm?

 

No ending speech marks

 

 

 

 

 

So while I would not personally read it(off the shelf, now that I have started I want to know what happens), it is a solid story. Be proud of your first excursion into the world of fiction was not, as so often is, an action story.

 

 

 

As for your characters not being fully developed...I would argue that the characters are overdeveloped, but for the period they are satisfactorily developed, since most characters are clean cut reflections of what lies beneath, while today there are many layers to characters.