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Young Writers Society

E - Everyone

† Enjoy †

by GorgeousNightmare

† Prologue †

Trespassing the sacred grounds of mankind, the beast pushes on quietly through the shadows. No longer finding comfort within the eyes of man, he lives in secrecy...observing the common way of life among the living. The torment, corruption, and defacing of humans was something he longed for...he craved. Hearing the endless screams of those who plea for forgiveness and pray for no judgement to be passed was unsettling, but the promises of righting the wrong done was beyound amusing. Listening closely to the thoughts of darkness clouding the minds of those who sit beneath the house of god, he grinned as he feasted upon the defiance and disobedience of his own children. Those faces served as mask while those words of promise and tranquillity served as a disguise for the many beast that dared to show their true dark worth. Seeping further into the blackness of the lingering shadows that danced across the pure white walls, he remained unseen. Dressed in the mourning shades of greys and blacks, he lowered gradually onto the cushioned seat of the lecture hall. Straying away from the vermin of the surrounding realm, he remained quiet as the lord’s servant began to speak the philosophies and estranged knowledge of he who brought us here. However, the words of the purified soul who stood before his cold, grim grey eyes drowned beneath his thoughts as they spoke strongly within his darkened mind.

“Why do I still take part in this nonsense? It is a terrible waste of time and focus...my word, what have I become? Ever since that dreadful day I swam in nothing but anguish and despair, and I suppose that this would benefit me in some way? Listening to this man talk about the unspoken power of a messiah that only exist within the minds of those who have nothing better to worship or think about?” He thought, regretting the decision to attend each session every sunday in hope to drown out the noise of haunting memories.

Consumed by the overwhelming darkness of his past, he relived the moment of terror and distraught...the devastating realization of life and how easily it can be taken away. Torn away from the reality before his eyes, he seeped into a time of horror as black smoke danced towards the poisoned heaven above while flares of red, orange, and yellow flames danced dramatically before his eyes destroying the life of everything and anything within its way. Jumping up from the comfortable cushion that cradled him like a child, he lunged forward as if fleeing from something following close behind. Yelling in a language no one dared to understand, he shoved each troubled soul out of his way...causing an uproar between him and those who find it hard to keep their composer.

“Mr. Matthews please get ahold of yourself! Have the lord compel you with serenity and shower you with warmth to banish all the evil that lives within your heart and mind!” yelled the holy child while four sets of rough, cold hands pinned his arms and legs down upon the silver rug of the holy palace; keeping him in place for this moment of refining as he struggled tirelessly against the hold of those who left him motionless.

“Unhand me you bastards of false light!” shouted the voice of the damned man upon the holy grounds of his lord and savior. Gathering the attention of all in the room, making their mouths drop in utter disbelief and hands covering the eyes of those influential enough to follow his words, he growled. “Your lord and savior is within your minds, but not within your heart! How dare you all call yourself his children!” during this outburst of assumption, he managed to slip one arm free from the loosening hold of his fellow captures...sending a fatal punch into the nose of the flustered face of one man, spilling blood upon the sacred ground that was never to be painted with the color of sin. Within moments, the sacred grounds became those of battle...stained red with the blood of innocent beings and clouded with the odor of death. “My Lord and Savior is nothing but an illusion...a distraction set to take my eyes off the real world before me. A darkened world of war…”

† Chapter one †

“Do you remember, Mr. Matthews?” Asked the same concerning voice of a woman whose eyes were like a steel trap, drawing in the attention of those who sat before her to only enter the dark hue of their poisoned minds. “Well, do you?” She pushed, her voice becoming more faint as if to make the subject before her feel as if they were in a dream. Eyes sharp like the tip of a dagger, and dull like the grey clouds of autumn she remained stationed upon the crafted seat that must contain the sweat, tears, and blood of those who made it. How elegant it was, decorated with layers upon layers of sculpted fixtures that were more than pleasing to the eyes, then patten with velvet red fabrics to further accent the place of importance. Resembling the colours of death taking its final presence upon a bed of crimson coloured roses, he found peace and pleasure within the art of this piece...usually finding himself more transfixed upon it than upon the person seated upon it. Sensing the frustration radiating from the woman dressed like a mild-aged school professor...he blinked and glanced towards her to only be greeted with disappointment lingering within her eyes as they connected.

“My apologies...The answer you seek is not within me...but within my many memories that linger within the depth of my mind. Me and my mind are not one, but separate. Whatever I see, it’s not what i want to see but what my mind wishes for me to see.” Listening to the words flowing out from between the cut up lips of her subject, she nearly dismissed him as one full of nonsense...but throughout the years, she found it within herself to try and understand the nature of this troubled man and what he had to survive through alone.

“So, you don’t make the choices in other terms. Instead, the section that controls your optic nerve is in the mercy of your brain...therefore produces images in which it wants you to see but you have no control on unseeing? I’m no doctor, but something is terribly wrong with that state of uncontrol Matthews...If I were you, I would reach out to a professional…”

“A professional…” he muttered beneath the deathly chill of his breath before slumping back into the calm cradle of the chair that served as a forever resting place. “So much in confiding in you, you pathetic excuse of a psychiatrist..” With those words lingering upon the stillness of the air, he stood from the chair that sat across from the woman and took his leave without a single breath of apology falling from his lips. 

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57 Reviews

Points: 36
Reviews: 57

Mon Aug 27, 2018 12:50 am
IvoryRose wrote a review...

Wow this is really interesting! This kind of reminds me of a trailer for a HBO triller and I mean this in a good way. You’re so poetic and figurative in your language, I am shocked that this was in the green room. I feel like I’m reading a novel from the Victorian Era based on how poetic the language is and trust me that’s a good thing coming from me I’m obsessed with those novels. The only thing that confuses me is the end. Was he dreaming or was it a flashback? If it was a novel then I won’t complain because now I’m hooked! Overall incredible job and I hope there’s a part two! :)

User avatar
52 Reviews

Points: 1689
Reviews: 52

Fri Aug 24, 2018 11:09 pm
LeutnantSchweinehund wrote a review...

Goodness me, such rich prose! Very well written, I'd say!

Sort of reminds me of my own style. And I had thought I was unique in my way of writing - I stand corrected. As such, since our style is so similar, I can easily point out a few glaring inadequacies, the same inadequacies that plague my prose.

Not enough clarity at times. I believe we often tend to overdo it with the richness of our prose. We write in a very poetic manner, without many references to the material, to the tangible, and that can confuse our readers, even though the feelings and concepts are clear to us as writers. This is the greatest flaw our style possesses.
How to fix this? That's tricky. I've noticed that just like myself, while you do give your sentences and statements a lot of weight and complexity, it is done with an easily understandable vocabulary - which is great! We should commend ourselves on that. But how to fix the problem, eh?

Often times we fall victim to our temptation - writing rich prose is fun and tempting, not to mention very rewarding. Writing a dull scene, say for example specifics of the battle inside the church, is quite boring. And not only boring, I'm sure you'll agree with me that it is somewhat challenging for you, as it is for me. Unfortunately, many readers appreciate those specifics. They want to see what's going on. We can only provide half the pleasure.

As someone who has been battling this problem for, what, four to five years, I don't know the answer. I've been trying and experimenting, mainly by mixing up my poetic prose with more grounded-in-reality, literal descriptions of the situation and plot (provided there is one. Always been a fan of writing lyrical prose). Give it a shot. Maybe it will work for you as it has for me.


Overall, I truly enjoyed coming across a writer who actually reminds me of myself! We're a rarity, we lyrical prosers. Very nice, very nice indeed!

You have my appreciation and thumbs up. Keep going.

Meet me in Montauk.
— Charlie Kaufman