Shortchanged

Rip it to tiny little shreds before flushing said shreds in the toilet, please. <3 (Humanspeak: Please be as harsh as possible.)

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The only proof I need to say God hates me is this hangover sitting in my head. No one inflicts this sort of punishment to someone He loves. And precisely because of that, I’m opting for good, clean fun today with what the Old Man does hold dear.

The clock strikes ten. I stand at 700 West Adams Street, and in front of me looms Old Saint Patrick’s Church. There are lots of other churches in Chicago, but I like this one best. The stone beast sticks out of the mesh of glass and metal spikes that the world calls a city. It’s a good reminder of how hypocritical those bastards are. Me? Extravagant? Not compared to this building, baby.

It’s always a nice feeling, stepping into a church. Feels like I’m screwing around with the natural order of things, walking into places I’m not welcome in. The arches above me hover imposingly, but they’re empty. The place reeks of expensive maintenance. I take my place in a pew behind some guy with graying hair praying fervently to the Old Man.

Craning my neck a bit, I see exactly who I’m dealing with. Tyson Mitchell, it’s your lucky day. About time he got a lucky day too; he probably hasn’t had one since he invested in bad stocks. Ordinarily, it wouldn’t have been a problem since he’s a CEO of a hotshot corporation, but in this economy? Gotta love the recession.

Tyson’s kneeling, so I lean forward and rest on the back of his pew to hear him better. The old man upstairs is busy; I’m sure Tyson won’t mind if someone else steps in to grant a few wishes.

“…if you could just give me one more chance. Please. I don't know what to do anymore - anything. If you give me one more shot at this, I'll -"

Same trite crap I keep hearing these days. I think a suggestion is in order. “You’ll give the first homeless guy you see everything you have on you,” I whisper.

He doesn’t even realize the thought isn’t original. “- the first hobo I see everything I have on me right now. I swear. I mean, I – I promise. –“

That’s enough. I’m going to barf if I hear any more. I settle back into my pew and stare at the blinding white light spilling from the windows behind the altar. It’s not helping my hangover at all. My head feels like crap, but there’s no way I’m apologizing for having fun last night, so I close my eyes and wait. It’s always the worse part of this whole thing, but I can deal. I just want this guy.

Tyson doesn’t need to worry. I have his back now; his money’s gonna be fine.

Clock strikes eleven. Tyson’s cellphone rings, waking me up and attracting glares from the other human dirt piles in this church. Yeah, nice of them, glaring at someone for doing something they all do. Must make them feel better. Tyson fumbles with his cell and answers it.

Look at that smile. It means we’re leaving. He jumps up, screaming a loud yes, and barrels outside. I let a few moments pass for my head to settle before nodding at the altar and heading out after Tyson. Always a pleasure doing business with your lambs, Dad.

Even if I follow Tyson closely, he won’t see me. He’s too happy. Still, I’m not in the mood for skipping and jumping and screaming, so I trudge along behind him, keeping a fair distance between us.

A little way down the street, a cripple curls into a ball. He’s covered in grime and blends into the dreary gray of the city, so I see him before Tyson does. When the humans do lock gazes, Tyson’s jubilance vanishes. Snap. Just like that, the poor guy remembers his prayer.
Let’s see him live up to Dad’s expectations.

He starts with his coat, searching the pockets for any loose change. More like lost change. I may or may not have had something to do with that, but does it really matter? He finds nothing, and he ignores the look on the cripple’s face as Tyson takes off his designer coat and slings it over his arm. Sure, show the guy in rags how nice your coat is.

Tyson rummages through his dress pants for the coins. Nope, not there, but he does come up with a few crumpled hundred-dollar bills.

A snowflake falls. The cripple’s going to freeze to death soon. Tyson stares at his money, then shoves it back into his pocket before patting himself down. He finds a pen, but no change.

I smile. Tyson’s given a valiant effort, looking for those coins longer than I expected him to. Finally, he mumbles something to the cripple. The frozen wind carries it over to me.

“Sorry man. I could’ve sworn I had some change. Maybe next time.”

Tyson walks away, his gait awkward and pace quickening. My headache’s gone. That soul? That soul is mine, Dad. The Old Man can have the cripple, though. I crouch down beside the homeless guy, who’s probably too numb to tell me to get my ass off his cardboard – I mean, his property.

“Here. You can have mine.” I take my coat off, slowly, deliberately. It’s gray fur, and if he wears it, he might not get many donations. But hey, that’s not my problem.

He receives it with a raspy thank you.

So tell me who I am again? Cause I’m pretty sure Mr. Crippled over here thinks I’m an angel.

Spoiler

Prompt: Your story is about a CEO in Chicago looking for lost change.

Hey there Octave!

I haven't been in the reviewing mood lately, but I couldn't help but comment on this.

I really liked everything about it. The pace, descriptions, characters. I'm not quite sure who the narrator was, and that's probably because I'm a bit slow at getting things if they're not shoved right under my nose in an obvious way, but the mystery of it all helped me to love the story even more.

I like the sort of moral in this. The way that, us humans promise to do things if we get our way but then, as soon as things do start looking up, we forget the promises we made when we were desperate. I'm guilty of that a little, like; If my computer is in a good mood and it wants to play ball, I'll promise myself that I write, but somehow I always end up on YWS instead. So it's not the same degree of promise, but it's kind of the same thing

The only problem I have when I review a story I like so much, it that I end up blabbering on because I have nothing constructive or helpful to say. Sorry about that

The stone beast sticks out of the mesh of glass and metal spikes the world calls a city.

I did stumble a bit on this sentence. Maybe try adding in 'that' after 'spikes'

'The stone beast sticks out of the mesh of glass and metal spikes that the world calls a city.'

***

I'm sorry for being so unhelpful, but this review was really an ego boost from me to you

Good luck in the contest!

xDudettex

hey good job\\\\\\

i like this

This was very well written. I’m actually slightly envious at how real you made this character of yours.

But, I hated the character. After I read the first paragraph, I honestly had no desire to keep reading about this awful, insufferable man. I hated him so much.

To be honest, I hated the story, downright hated it. I actually found it somewhat offensive. I also couldn’t take the story seriously from the swearing. To me, swearing makes any piece feel unprofessional. Yes, I know people swear in real life, but I couldn’t handle it. It turned me off immediately.

Congrats on the writing. Your writing was flawless. Some parts were a little choppy or difficult to read, but someone pretty much covered it. But, I hated the story. Sorry.

Don’t change the story just because I hate it. My opinion hardly matters. It seems some people like it.

H.

That was my first review. Screw it.

Now that I know the character is Satan, it makes a lot more sense to me. I'm actually warming up to this story now.

~H.

Hi Octave. I rarely venture out of the poetry forums, so please forgive me for skipping over the nitpicks and shredding and criticism in general. I just don't have anything to give you in that department. I can offer some interpretation and some gushing though.

You've created a wonderful devil here. He is never too obvious, there are no references to horns or red skin, but your characterization builds him further and further until his ultimate role finally pops, brought home by the final line.
There are intricacies here that I loved. It's not Tyson's failure that seems to make him gleeful, it is the fact that his lack of faith in humanity is confirmed by Tyson's actions. This brings up an interesting concept, that evil does not stem from the failure of humankind, it stems from the conviction that humankind is doomed to fail. This idea pops up in other places throughout, like the devil's joy at the extravagance of the church.
The piece also puts the fate of one's soul exclusively in that person's hand. The devil is not tempting Tyson, he's not playing tricks. He merely offers a test. Tyson reneges entirely on his own, and it is his soul that falls a little closer to the devil because of that.
And your ending. It is a lovely suggestion of dual natures that has so many interpretations. The gesture of giving the hobo his coat could've been an act of resignation, accepting that the hobo is god's and of no use to him. Given the character traits you've provided, it would make sense to me for the devil to stop caring about playing games with someone once he knew they would stop playing back. His treatment of the hobo combined with his reaction to Tyson's situation suggest that possibly the devil isn't truly evil, but the embodiment of self-infatuation and greed.
There is also the possibility that the devil is playing a more long-term game with the hobo, as he mentions that the coat will decrease the amount he gets from begging. The act of giving the coat could, instead of an act of resignation, be an appreciation of the fact that the hobo has no way out. He either dies of cold or loses what little income he has.
Now, there is one thing that is gnawing at me: the hangover. I don't understand why the devil would have a hangover. A hangover suggests over-indulgence, but there is nothing there for me to run down that train of thought. There are no detailed references, no hints, he just has a hangover and I don't see how it fits in. It's quite possible that there's something I'm not seeing, but if there isn't, I really do suggest you tighten that one piece.

That's all I have. I hope it was a little helpful, and if not helpful, at least interesting.
Really great work. This is one of my favorite short stories I've seen on here.

Hey there!

You said to be harsh as possible...but I don't wanna. This was excellently written, and I think I'd like to attribute that largely to your ability to subtly and gracefully build and characterize your point of view voice. As other reviewers said, he is unlikable-- but he's also witty and quick and interesting and motivated, all of which were enough to keep me reading. I wanted to know who he was (and the reveal for that was very well done) and I think the conflict with Tyson worked on both a representative and immediately engaging level; that is, I wanted to see how their interaction played out, but I also knew that I was learning a lot more than I would from a meaningless confrontation.

I'll go through nitpicking first, because you asked for harshness:

It’s not helping my hangover at all, so I close my eyes and wait.

Despite having a fairly intimate narrative and a character prone to complaining, this is the only time the devil references his built-up hangover. More constant references could build credibility, and the physicality of it would be another intriguing level to the narrative.

do. Must make them feel better. Tyson fumbles with his cell and answers it.

Look at that smile. It means we’re leaving. He jumps up, screaming a loud yes, and barrels outside. After waiting a short while, I nod at the altar and head out after Tyson. Always a pleasure doing business with your lambs, Dad.

Tyson's turnaround happens in the span of a paragraph and with only minute dwelling on his reaction, which makes it easy to miss. I think the fact that he's gotten his money back would be more easily distinguished if the yes is put into actual dialogue-- and it's another kind of alliance with the devil to be so uncouth in a church, yeah?

Even if I follow Tyson closely, he won’t see me. He’s too happy. Still, I’m not in the mood for skipping and jumping and screaming, so I amble along behind him, keeping a fair distance between us.

This is the only time when I stopped and thought about the tangibility of it all-- is the devil visible to everyone, like a regular person? But then how could he whisper in Tyson's ear without getting called out, and how could he follow him without being detected? I got the vibe that he's not invisible but has less presence than a regular person with heightened senses, which is how he sees the homeless man before Tyson does even from further away. Still, having that articulated would clear the air.

“You’ll give the first homeless guy you see everything you have on you,” I whisper.

This is a weird one and a major nitpick, but the articulation of this tripped me up. I read it under the assumption that everything you have on you meant literally everything of value, so when Tyson started taking off his jacket I thought, "Aw, he's doing it." Then I had to backtrack when I realized he had only intended to give money (which makes much more sense, anyway.) I thought I'd mention it, though, since I guess it wouldn't be a major deal to change the phrasing to "everything you have in your pockets" or whichever.

Nitpicks over. Now I'll go back to my regularly scheduled gushing.

This was awesome/ I'm a huge fan of your devil and his crassness and his methods of corruption. Pretty sure I would read a story about how he acquired that hangover of his, just to follow him around in his world a little longer. Oh, and I think you did a great job of milking that prompt for everything it was worth and creating a memorable story out of it.

Thank you for the read!

Quasi

Karaaaaaa.

You left and we sort of stopped talking about ant eggs and rice and ant egg omelets. So. Let's see how this goes.

Oh, and ew, barbecued silk worms?

And don't try Turkish cheese bread. It's terrible. Anyway, what was I saying? Nothing...

Yeah, have you ever been asked to marry a sixty-some East Indian guy at Tim Horton's? ANYWAY.

Oh! And Orlando Bloom! <33333333333

And now I've done enough procrastination...

A) Wording. Overall, this was fairly well written, but there were parts where I had to backtrack a bit to actually grasp the meaning of the sentence and/or phrase. I think this was mostly due to some awkward wording where you switched the order around a bit. I'm not saying the order is bad-- it's done, for sure-- but it's just not done frequently. It's an inverted order and could be interpreted as either extremely formal or just plain confusing. It was the latter for me in this case. Your opening line is a good example of some awkward wording:

The only proof I need to say God hates me is this hangover sitting in my head.

If you were writing simply, the italicized bit would go first, the underlined "is" second and the rest would follow. However, you've chosen not to write in the simple form. That is completely fine, but for a first liner, I don't think it's quite suitable. I had a little trouble trying to wrap my thoughts around the first line and I don't think that would be a good start to your story. In fact, it might even deter some readers. I think it's fine if you use inverted wording in moderation, but for an opening line, I think you should steer clear of it then. Simple in the beginning makes a much better impression than not-so-simple in the beginning.

I honestly have little to say about this because I thoroughly enjoyed it. It's really only the wording that got to me. Lucky you.

I found how you tied everything together was very well executed and your writing style was quite refreshing...and...blunt, I guess you could say. It really developed your character(s) and made for an interesting read.

However, as I think Quasi has mentioned, you should make more references to the hangover. I sort of forgot about it until it was mentioned later on and by then it was too late to be mentioned that it just seems a tad redundant. The hangover will keep the story going and the audience will have a reason to know why [it keeps going].

Yours,
Lavvi

Phoenix lands for review.

I really, really liked this. The interpretation of the prompt to your story is brilliant. Now for my little nitpicks on the overall.

Writing.
The first paragraph seems a bit broken to me. It mainly came from odd word placement in my opinion. I'm kind of odd about word choice, so take this with a grain of salt, but often it seems you use words not appropriate for the situation. The last time I reviewed something of yours I pointed out the word amble to you. Imagine my surprise when I saw it again. I have a feeling it might be one of your "stock words" words that from piece to piece ends up somewhere despite the word not being that common. I use "rather" in nearly everything and I try to kill it. Look out for amble, it is a very specific word and should not be used so often throughout your works. Like I said, I'm picky about vocab. Really, read word by word and decide if what you used is the "best" word.

Characters
The narrator's voice varies in some cases. Sometimes he seems to think a like a shrewd, intelligent being and in other cases a bit like a bratty teenager. I think his voice needs to be narrowed a bit to have one constant flow. Right now I
feel like I'm reading about two similar, but different characters.

Plot
As I said, brilliant. I question how that small little infraction leads the devil to believe he has the guys soul, but that is a minor little hole. I also question the fact that the cripple is called the cripple. He is the devil and somehow he has knowledge of things. He knew Tyson's name and history, but all he could come up for the cripple, is that he's cripple.

Overall
It is a good idea, that if tweaked a bit could be really good. As I said, the idea is brilliant. I think the execution can be stronger.

Phoenix Busts into flames.

It's impressive how much you made me vaguely dislike the MC while keeping me fascinated in the story and MC. Really incredible, and unique! I love the tone and the pace.

Very good. I love the descriptions of things, the casual writing style, the attitude of the narrator, it's a very good piece. I love how you set it up, and I now realize the narrator is Satan, which makes perfect sense given the story. The last few stories I've read today on here have had a formal writing style, your casual style really made me feel at home. The way you describe things is really good, I try not to nit pick, so I won't, though I didn't see that much anyway. I suggest you keep going with this, and if you're not planning on turning this into a book, you should, I think you could go with it and expand on it. Good Luck, and I hope to see more of your writings on here.