Nate wrote:And if YWS ever does become a company, Jack will be the President of European Operations. In fact, I'm just going to call him that anyways.
His mother, distraught by her husband’s death, slipped into a circle of depression and eventually committed suicide by drowning herself in the River Thames.
Snail was the nickname Felix had attributed to the boy, who was unable to prevent a steady stream of mucus oozing from his nostrils daily, [s]so his face looked slimy[/s].
“B-but F-Felix,” Snail whispered, “We were told Mr. Woodward is delicate after his accident. A fright might not help him!”
Snail let out a little sob and ran in pursuit, knowing he was doing the wrong thing but, too desperate for Felix to like him, let all his good intentions disappear without a trace.
His innards twisted, but forced his shaking hand to clatter on the glass
[s]And then,[/s] Just as he was about to forget all about it and return to his reading on the Dissolution of the Monasteries by Henry VIII, Felix sprang up and shouted with the full force of his voice.
Everyone made it inside before the curious eyes of the headmaster, who had been passing by in an adjacent corridor, except the unfortunate Snail, whose clumsy right foot had caught on a tree root and he’d fallen badly to the ground.
Felix, fawned equally by many of the staff, was never implicated and slipped away with no suspicion
Mr. Woodward himself did not suffer any further heart problems but twisted his ankle and hurt his head in the fall, [s]and[/s] developed a phobia of schoolchildren and was never able to teach again.
Over-enthusiastic mentors had proclaimed his rise to become Prime Minister [s]was[/s] inevitable
Since his move away to London he had barely seen them, and felt a little guilt at not going home more [s]than he did[/s], but in all truthfulness, his relationship with his parents had been perfunctory rather than willing.
Felix attended church one a week, and looked for unconditional love from God,
and watched how they glowed in their happiness, incandescent with love.
Freya, a pretty, intelligent girl, was too bookish and prudish for Felix, who normally favoured wild women, but for some reason he approved her over countless other applicants.
Felix lighted a cigarette, ignored her,
It was then he realised he had an incredible desire to sleep with Freya. His eyes lingered on her low top that teased his imagination, and then moved upwards, admiring her shiny, curvy locks of brown hair and the bright blue eyes.
The words etched themselves upon his memory,[s] although he did not know it then[/s]
A week later, Hayley Reynolds was caught [s]in the papers[/s] in the arms of a hunky fellow actor, with the romance [s]was[/s] all over the tabloids
Felix was hit down by an ambulance
When a few months later he was discharged, his house had been broken into and vandalised
even [s]almost all[/s] the books Freya
how he had cursed his life by making so imbalanced [s]compared to the normal person[/s]
It continued in unbelievable ways despite his blasphemy
It is [s]a[/s] strange that such a deeply religious text moved him more and more towards disbelief.
He picked up the fattest hooker
He got blindingly drunk
And they shackled him to solitary bed in a secure hospital guarded day and night.
The woman wiped her eyes and stayed quiet for a very long time “Oh Felix what have they done to you? I regretted it every day, you know?
All those people ... why, Felix?
And when it have me the only person who ever made me truly happy
The windowsill protruded far from the wall and the poor sight of Rhubarb Face prevented him from noticing the small crowd of schoolboys hidden beneath him.
trendy clubs, which became infamous
By the age of 20, he was the most successful young person of his generation.
Freya, a pretty, intelligent girl, was too bookish and prudish for Felix, who normally favoured wild women nitch comma but for some reason he approved her over countless other applicants.
man in London, everyone
Felix lighted a cigarette, ignored her, and smoked for several minutes in awkward silence.
and felt himself in a situation
“I went for meal!
swallowing eight all once.
Rhubarb Face was the moniker Felix had created for the ancient Mr. Woodward, whose cheeks were permanently a deep pink, and taught the children History.
Only Snail, the small, frail boy, two years the younger of Felix, who was a newcomer to the pack of minions, expressed reservations.
The accident the headmaster had told them all about was a heart attack which occurred two months ago while Mr. Woodward was cooking a casserole in his kitchen.
Well(comma) whatever, Snail, we’re going either way. You can stay here and cry if you[s]’d[/s] like.
Felix, with a snigger, picked Snail to be the one to tap on the window to draw Rhubarb Face towards the threshold.
Snail acquiesced and repeated the knock, harder this time, twice.
the poor sight of Rhubarb Face prevented him from noticing the small crowd of schoolboys hidden beneath him.
The headmaster angrily grabbed Snail’s arm and pulled him away, sobbing, to his office
Mr. Woodward himself did not suffer any further heart problems but twisted his ankle and hurt his head in the fall, and developed a phobia of schoolchildren and was never able to teach again.
Over-enthusiastic mentors had proclaimed his rise to become Prime Minister was inevitable.
By the age of 20, he was the most successful young person of his generation.
His mother, distraught by her husband’s death, slipped into a circle of depression and eventually committed suicide by drowning himself in the River Thames.
The source of his luck could only be from the Almighty himself. He was Chosen by his Lord.
“I am happy. I always have been,” he said, lying.
Felix and Freya fell in love.
Two weeks later, in a cafe by the river, they shared a bottle of wine.
With the last world he world seemed to shake
The group slithered away after him. Snail let out a little sob and ran in pursuit, knowing he was doing the wrong thing but, too desperate for Felix to like him, [I think there needs to be a 'he' here.] let all his good intentions disappear without a trace.
Four years later, Felix surprised everybody and resisted the advice to enter university. Over-enthusiastic mentors had proclaimed his rise to the Prime Minister’s office as inevitable. But instead of further education, he invested arbitrarily in any company that caught his interest, ignoring his father’s considerable experience. Within a year he had quadrupled his already significant wealth. He became a national celebrity and took up residence in a vast apartment in London near Kensington Gardens, where a string of beautiful and famous women were photographed entering and exiting at all hours. Some said he was the luckiest man in the world. He became acquainted with the young hip circles of the city before opening a chain of trendy clubs, which became infamous for attracting vast numbers of celebrities and paparazzi like leeches. Nothing Felix touched went awry. By the age of [s]20[/s] twenty, he was the most successful person of his generation.
“What do you want in life, Felix?” she asked, over a bottle of wine one evening after work. They sat in the garden of his new purchase, a tall and classical house. Peach clouds floated in an azure sky as the sun began to set. Felix had learnt that alcohol never made him embarrassingly drunk, so he enjoyed the varied tastes of different grapes. He considered her question. It was hard for him to find an answer, because everything he ever did was based on instinct, rather than rational thought. Something had always stirred him towards a purpose. When he had to think, his thoughts were muddled.
Three months later, in a cafe on the bank of the Thames, they shared a bottle of wine. It was Freya’s idea. She had just returned to the country and looked him up immediately. They arranged to meet over drinks. Felix was apprehensive, and didn’t tell her he had found someone new – Hayley Reynolds, a stunning actress, who with her wild spirit was the antithesis of Freya.
He abandoned church, and prayer, and burnt the bible [I thought only one book survived, does the bible not count as a book? It's only minor but I thought I'd point it out.] in the fireplace. He raged at how God had forsaken him, how it was his fault Freya was never coming back, how he had ripped the last shreds of fortune from him, how he had cursed his life by making it so imbalanced– what happened to the usual haphazard nature of luck? Why did he have to suffer all the good luck first, only to have it torn away and replaced by disaster?It continued in unbelievable ways fuelled by his blasphemy. He would cut his fingers on the simplest preparation of food. He could never find his wallet. He ran out of money and realised he had no talents or skills to even attempt to find a job. In his solitude he took to reading Dante and doing nothing else. It was the second part that fascinated him: the descriptions of the seven terraces of purgatory, and the insane nature of such an illogical system. It is[s] a [/s]strange that such a deeply religious text moved him more and more towards disbelief. God became a mockery, a ridiculous notion that sounded silly and wishful to Felix, something humans had created to establish order in their lives. But Felix knew the universe was inherently chaotic. There were no other explanations. Nothing or anything ever made any sense. Over the next few weeks he slipped into a devastating sickness. Although he had no money to buy food anymore, his body would reject anything he tried to force down anyway. He felt nauseous and dizzy all day long. His body withered and he became a skinny shadow of a man. By the fourth week he called a doctor.
With the last [s]world[/s] word the world seemed to shake and move and shift until everything that was blurred transformed into beautiful clarity. The confusion was purged like a cancer. For a brief moment, he remembered everything that had ever been. Starting with his name. Then the enormity of everything he had done and the meaningless of his death swept over him and it was so gut-wrenching he screamed. The noise echoed down the countless corridors. When he stopped, his face was wet with tears. “So sorry, Freya.”
108,030 Literary Works • 575,237 Reviews