The Magic of Chocolate: (chapter 5) Journal of a Prisoner

Btw, all readers...i've decided that part one of this story will be called "The Magic of Chocolate", so that won't be the actual name of the story...also, part one is about to end, so soon look for something else. (the chapters will continue, so part two may start on chapter seven or eight) i'll post in the topic description that it's part two to the magic of chocolate story, so that you'll know. (and you'll just have to do without the rating reasons then...maybe i'll post them at the start of the actual thread)

anyways, read on!

Five <^> Journal of a Prisoner

After Dante was safely in jail, the cop had given him two things. A black, felt-tipped marker and a notebook. “It’s for a journal,” the cop said. “I don’t think you deserve it, but the chief says that you should have somethin’ to do.”

“Well…” Dante said, smiling sarcastically at the cop. “Ain’t that just dandy of you!”

The cop rolled his eyes and stomped away.

Dante looked at the notebook. It was blue, and he noticed that it was soft and had no sharp edges — that way it was impossible to use as a weapon. He tossed the notebook in the corner. He didn’t feel like writing.

For a while, he just tossed the pen up and down, and spun it in his fingers. He stared at the opposite wall, which was white, and surprisingly clean for a prison. Then Dante walked over to the wall and drew a small circle, then walked back over to the other side. He practiced throwing the pen at the wall — writing side first, so he could keep track of how he was doing. He did well, but after about fifteen minutes, he got bored. He sat down and leaned against the wall, basically thinking about nothing, until finally, he decided to write in the journal.

He picked up the pen and the book, and started to write….

I’m writing this journal cause… well, first of all I’m in prison so I’m really freaking bored, and second of all so that if something bad happens to me I can look bad on this and think ‘hey, this isn’t too bad, look at what was happening back then’. Well, that’s only if Rock doesn’t find me here in this prison and “forcibly wipe me off the face of the planet”. (That’s for all you cops who don’t want me to say the word “kill”, since ya’ll will take this and see what I’m writing about.

So anyways… here’s what happened. (This is also good in case I get amnesia.) I got all caught up in stealing stuff and smuggling stuff. (Oh, c’mon, cops… I know you aren’t that smart, but you don’t think I’d ACTUALLY reveal what I was smuggling, do you?) So sometime earlier this week — I guess it was five days ago — I got a job with Rock. Ya’ll know that Rock’s like the biggest gangsta dude on Earth — or at least in America, don’t you? Yeah, well… Rock wanted some stuff, so I got the stuff, but on it’s shipment it got mixed up with something else. I sent the wrong stuff to Rock, and Rock’s stuff to some other guy. (And this is where I knew I shouldn’t’ve gotten mixed up with Rock, even though his pay was great.) So Rock found me, slammed me up against the wall of his — residence — and told me that I’d better get his [unprintable] stuff (well, the stuff wasn’t unprintable, but… oh, never mind), or he’d make my head a little bit softer (that wasn’t exact wording there — a bit worse in his case). He told me I had three days. Well, originally, this stuff took over a month to ship, so I knew I wouldn’t be able to get the flippin’ stuff in time. So what the heck do I do? Well, duh, I ran away.

So I was on the run, trying to get help from my “brother” [s](who’s such an IDIOT, cares more about his meetings than—oh...)[/s], when I was caught. Now I’m stuck here. And I’ll bet the rest of my money (that I didn’t spend) that Rock’s after me right now.

again, again, again, again (or something like that
) thanks for reading through

^_^ I seem to have first comment yet again. I didn't see too many errors (in fact I don't remember any as the moment), unless we're stalking phrase structure in the journal entry but I won't be picky about that since it's the character writing. =P

Looks good. I'm finally glad to figure out what our main character's problem is.

Keep up the good work!

(But, just a suggestion for you, maybe try not to post so fast? I shouldn't be allowed to say that since I wrote almost the full first part of my story in the same day and only just barely stopped myself from posting the whole thing...but anyways! I think by posting it all at once, you make it easier for people to miss it. Your title is odd enough that it makes you think the story should be in the romance section, so I'd give people time to digest the chapters you already have up (or maybe stop at the end of this first part) before forging on, because you'll swamp people. Just a suggestion. >.< Though I doubt I could withstand the temptation myself.)

I like this so far. This is all of your work that i have read so far, so i'm going to try to find what you wrote that goes before that. But yes, it's well written, and i can't really think of any mistakes to critique. Kudos!

ok, thanks! the stories that don't say "the magic of chocolate" probably won't be continued--at least not right now...so these are probably better.

Woot, chapter 5. Or part 5...I dunno, you're confusing me. I just critique.

After Dante was safely in jail, the cop had given him two things. [colon] A black, felt-tipped marker and a notebook.

The cop rolled his eyes and stomped away.

Lol, when I read this, I thought of a stuck-up teenage girl. I'd change it to just 'walk away' or 'marched away'.

For a while, he just tossed the pen up and down, [s]and[/s] or spun it in his fingers.

. He stared at the opposite wall, which was white, and surprisingly clean for a prison.

Smooth that in. He stared at the blank wall, surprisingly clean for a prison.

[s]Then[/s] Dante walked over to the wall and drew a small circle, then walked back over to the other side.

Dante walked over to the wall, drew a small circle with the marker, and walked back to his spot on the cot.

He practiced throwing the pen at the wall — writing side first, so he could keep track of how he was doing.

He aimed the felt tip at the circle and threw it at the wall, making a tiny black streak where it hit.

He sat down and leaned against the wall, basically thinking about nothing, until finally, he decided to write in the journal.

I thought he was laying against the wall already. xD Prisoners do that...He lay down on the cot, his thoughts blank, until he finally got up to pick up the journal lying in the corner of the cell. He uncapped the pen and allowed his pen to fly across the page.

I’m writing this journal 'cause… well, first of all, I’m in prison so I’m really freaking bored, and second of all, so that if something bad happens to me, I can look bad on this and think ‘hey, this isn’t too bad, [period] look at what was happening back then’. Well, that’s only if Rock doesn’t find me here in this prison and “forcibly wipe me off the face of the planet”. (That’s for all you cops who don’t want me to say the word “kill”, since ya’ll will take this and see what I’m writing about.

It feels awkward correcting grammar in a quote...fix what you want. ^_^

(Oh, c’mon, cops… I know you aren’t that smart, but you don’t think I’d ACTUALLY reveal what I was smuggling, do you?)

Undo the italics rather than capitalize the word. Oh, c'mon, cops! I know you aren't that smart, but you don't really think I'd actually reveal what I was smuggling, do you?

So sometime earlier this week — I guess it was five days ago — I got a job with Rock. Ya’ll know that Rock’s like the biggest gangsta dude on Earth — or at least in America, don’t you?

commas would work in place of all three dashes.

Yeah, well… Rock wanted some stuff, so I got the stuff, but on it’s shipment, it got mixed up with something else.

So Rock found me, slammed me up against the wall of his — residence — and told me that I’d better get his [unprintable] stuff

Triple dots instead of the dashes.

And I’ll bet the rest of my money ([s]that[/s] which I didn’t spend) that Rock’s after me right now

Overall, very good on his journal entry. Seemed realistic. I made grammar corrections and such, but it's up to you, since it's an actual quote from his journal...? Whatevers.

Keep writing!

Jabber, the One and Only!

the reason i capitalized actually is because of this: since he's writing in a journal, he isn't actually italicizing all of that stuff. and it's really hard to italicize in handwriting, so that's why he just caps it. also, some of his stuff (like cause w/out an apostrophe) is just because he isn't that great of a writer.

and i must say thanks to a friend of mine (well, kind of a friend...) because she wanted me to keep my story PG or PG-13 rated (because it counts as R when there's an arrow sticking out of a corpse, in her case), so she told me to replace "kill you" with "forcibly wipe you off the face of the planet". so that was an edit from her, not plagiarism!! lol (she isn't a writer anyways, she wouldn't use it)

Once again, a great read. I suppose I should be critiquing you on what you're doing wrong, but I think if you took my advice, you'd end up screwing up your entire story and we don't want that. Great job though I'm excited to read the rest.

Watch the braces:


After Dante was safely in jail, the cop g{a}ve him two things{: a} black, felt-tipped marker and a notebook.

“It’s for a journal,” the cop said{,} “I don’t think you deserve it, but the chief says that you should have somethin’ to do.”

“Well. . .” Dante said, smiling sarcastically at the cop{,} “ain’t that just dandy of you!”

The cop rolled his eyes and stomped away.

Dante looked at the notebook. It was blue {and} soft{with} no sharp edges – that way it was impossible to use as a weapon. He tossed the notebook in the corner. He didn’t feel like writing.

For a while, he just tossed the pen up and down and spun it in his fingers. He stared at the {white} wall opposite him. {It} was surprisingly clean for a prison. Dante walked over to the wall and drew a small circle then walked back over to the other side. He practiced throwing the pen at the wall – writing {tip} first, so he could keep track of how he was doing. He did well, but after about fifteen minutes, he got bored. He sat down and leaned against the wall, basically thinking about nothing, until finally, he decided to write in the journal.

He picked up the pen and the book and started to write{,} I’m writing this journal 'cause. . . . Well, first of all{,} I’m in prison so I’m really freaking bored, and second of all{,} so that if something bad happens to me I can look ba{ck} on this and think{, “H}ey, this isn’t too bad, look at what was happening back then.” Well, that’s only if Rock doesn’t find me here in this prison and “forcibly wipe me off the face of the planet.” (That’s for all you cops who don’t want me to say the word “kill,” since ya’ll will take this and see what I’m writing about.

So anyways. . . here’s what happened. (This is also good in case I get amnesia.) I got all caught up in stealing stuff and smuggling stuff. (Oh, c’mon, cops. . . I know you aren’t that smart, but you don’t think I’d ACTUALLY reveal what I was smuggling, do you?) So sometime earlier this week – I guess it was five days ago – I got a job with Rock. Ya’ll know that Rock’s like the biggest gangsta dude on Earth – or at least in America, don’t you? Yeah, well. . . Rock wanted some stuff, so I got the stuff, but on it’s shipment it got mixed up with something else. I sent the wrong stuff to Rock, and Rock’s stuff to some other guy. (And this is where I knew I shouldn’t’ve gotten mixed up with Rock, even though his pay was great.) So Rock found me, slammed me up against the wall of his – residence – and told me that I’d better get his [unprintable] stuff (well, the stuff wasn’t “unprintable,” but. . . oh, never mind), or he’d make my head a little bit softer (that wasn’t exact wording there – a bit worse in his case). He told me I had three days. Well, originally, this stuff took over a month to ship, so I knew I wouldn’t be able to get the flippin’ stuff in time. So what the heck do I do? Well, duh, I ran away.

So I was on the run, trying to get help from my “brother” (who’s such an IDIOT, cares more about his meetings than – oh. . .), when I was caught. Now I’m stuck here. And I’ll bet the rest of my money (that I didn’t spend) that Rock’s after me right now.


I enjoy reading it. Keep it up. I like your personable style. Sorry 'bout the italics. I use quick reply.

This was not really good form and to take it as the journal of a prisoner recounting a story was just poorly done. I was thinking Lolita for a second, but then I realized it was just the poor scribbles of some grade school drop out.

Also, if you are being watched (and that means your stuff is probably read and checked through) any 'confession' or playing of a part cannot be so open or described as such.

Sorry, but the story had an interesting opening, but these unrelated scenes just are not holding my attention anymore and they seem largely filler material for the as of yet unknown plot.

Hey! I'm baaaack!

awesome chapter. I like the journal, although it was really hard to understand what was going on. But I think, because you're an awesome author, you will explain it better later.

So, not much to critique otehr than to say it was good. Everything is just so realistic!!!

Great job!

I'll read more in a sec!

BBB