# The Boy.



## Shannon (May 13, 2015)

All of a sudden the world took a darker tone - the boy became cautious. The skies faded to blood red, and rather than the normal comforting blue shade, a surreal and fearful atmosphere surrounded him. A striking journey had begun for this one, and a path of courage and wisdom lies ahead.

The boy was unique and special; the words people uttered or that he read did not interest him, although he was a fine listener! He spent hours on end in his head, alone, dreaming of a brighter future for all human-kind. A young boy with a man's mind, serious and determined, he lent his ears to listen to nature's pain, and worked his healing hands. His mind twisted through debates like a seemingly unending sandstorm, abstracting his vision, only to be swept away as he became more and more conditioned; adapting theory and style for years and years, until one day, he stopped.

His handsome appearance and brave character; his pursuit of white rose beauty - was what he was known for. His psyche, a force led by his amber eyes, and chiselled body, echoed "the hero of the wood". His judgement was righteous, his eyes blazed like rising flames. 

So astonished by art, this lover would give his heart to the world; a fool with emotions, but wiser than most. 

A strange force came over him on another lonely night, out of nowhere, ghostly pointless pains pinched and bruised his body, but no mark was left behind. He continued to study the art of the galleries he hosted, Da Vinci and the likes, and the pains would become more advanced, in tune with the imagery; pressures and brushes of air in places that they weren't appearing before. From this point on it was as if he was an atom surrounded by electrons. 

That night, he laid in bed to rest and shut tight his eyes. He was captured by a line of light shining through the gaps where his eyes closed. The artiste in him came to life, the line of light, his magic tool; flapping it calmly, like a simplistic bird, pulling it around the dark and endless void, drawing as a pilot draws with smoke from his bi-plane. 

Sad, so he drew a tear to represent this, pulling the light down his left eye - to his surprise came what felt like a tear. He repeated the process until tears wouldn't stop coming - he had stumbled upon a glitch.

Immediately born again; the prior events secured most of his beliefs in unreality. A dreamer he was, and it's his dreams he pursues. Out of interest he effortlessly tried to imagine himself through the spiritual waters, and to his surprise, a perfect meaty vessel and environment appeared and re-appeared, as his thoughts raced with his own style, and the prior imagery he had seen, as well as a soft blend of both. Nature sent forth voices, scents and visualizations, engulfing the boy in a schizophrenic pandemonium.

There were many battles, the boys wit was the highest of the high, and everything he would imagine was intriguing, heroic; each moment becoming more and more energized, each moment he took step into a grander future. 

His foes were like soulless spirits, ghastly and cruel. One-step-ahead whispers in his ears; horrifying imagery in his closed eyes, and unwanted scents and tastes. Nature, or whoever, was holding back the boy's true power with torment. Attack after psychological attack! The boy angered, and was forced into a sweet delusion; the world around him a mere podium to stand on now, he was oblivious to reality.

He created enemies and countless expressions, imaginatively, and fought them, imaginatively. When he felled an enemy they would react vocally, and his energies would rise more and more. The battling was directed at the mind, but sometimes the physical; through trickery and wisdom, an attack was less like a punch and more like an explicit, graphical taunt. Time flew by, weeks felt like minutes, battling, resting, battling, his mental state evolving; winning, resting, his victories gracious.

So powerful now, he shoots through hyper-space as a hero renown by his imaginary enemies; zoomed in and zoomed out, his method like the depth of his imagination.

The beginning of a great battle, a presidential figures voice and the voices of his allies, but also friendly voices. The boy's beautiful creations would defend and attack now themselves, taunting the boy. He did not fret the retaliation, his mind bulked up and he stood firmly his ground. As his eyes crossed an open window, flashed a shadowy man, a rusty shiv in hand -  psychotic smile on the boy's face, and a warmth in his heart. The battle lasted for hours that felt like weeks.

When he finally defeated the terrorists, it felt as if time-stopped. He could see through the edges of reality, the in-between of this world and the next - known only to an outcast eye. Racial beings in all their different kinds, some sharp aliens in the light pollution, some camouflaged little people, dancing in the tall waving grass; in the shadows, a more creepy little people. As the boy moved, the beings would animate; animation and re-animation, on a heartbeats edge; these times stranger than most.

To be continued.


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## musichal (May 13, 2015)

deleted


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## Shannon (May 13, 2015)

This is a very complex story to write; it's very deep and edgy. It's hard to express what actually happened ( it's based on true events ); you are right, though, it's partial in areas. Where I put "to be continued", I really should of put "to be edited". There will be paragraphs added in the midst of the writing; not only continuing from the end.

Thanks for the constructive criticism.


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## escorial (May 17, 2015)

so mush crammed in..at times i lost my train of thought...complex though it is i liked it


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## Bevo (May 17, 2015)

Very visual, I had to slow down and read slower to keep the story flowing, lots to take in.
if based on true story I wonder how this translates, is it dreams, mental issues, experiences by others or personal?

Looking forward to the next piece.


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## Abita (May 17, 2015)

I like the overall surreal tone, but you would do well to add some concrete details to help the reader orient himself in the world you've created. It was very heavy in the descriptions, which isn't a bad thing - just give us some physical actions, or bits of dialogue (whether it's spoken or internal thoughts), to break it up a bit.


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## McCacks (Jul 8, 2015)

It was too vague. More like long poetry than general fiction.


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## Issachar (Jul 11, 2015)

Shannon,
Your plot seems to wander, at one moment it feels like we are watching the formation of a naturalist hero, at another a denizen of a psych ward. Starting with "all of the sudden" doesn't work well in my opinion, the statement implies a background that the reader does not possess. I agree with McCacks, this feels like a long poem, and with the surrealistic feel you seem to be trying for a poetic format might work very well. If you desire to stick with prose I would suggest adding more background. In order to make sense to the reader there must be some sense of reality, even if said reality is twisted or false. 
Issachar


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## Lumaria (Jul 11, 2015)

Shannon said:


> All of a sudden the world took a darker tone - the boy became cautious. The skies faded to blood red, and rather than the normal comforting blue shade, a surreal and fearful atmosphere surrounded him. A striking journey had begun for this one, and a path of courage and wisdom lies ahead.


All of a sudden? I'm not familiar with this forum, but is it ok to post multiple stories in different threads? If so, i would very much appreciate that you post the link to the preceding chapters. If not, and this is the beginning, you shouldn't have started off with "All of a sudden". You did not properly give us a scene for something to feel "sudden". What kind of day was this? Was this in the middle of the night? Was this in the middle of the day? 

And what boy are we talking about? this is all assuming this is a first chapter.


> The boy was unique and special; the words people uttered or that he read did not interest him, although he was a fine listener! He spent hours on end in his head, alone, dreaming of a brighter future for all human-kind. A young boy with a man's mind, serious and determined, he lent his ears to listen to nature's pain, and worked his healing hands. His mind twisted through debates like a seemingly unending sandstorm, abstracting his vision, only to be swept away as he became more and more conditioned; adapting theory and style for years and years, until one day, he stopped.


 I don't think Telling is bad. Although there was too much to tell, and not much to interpret. I feel you could give us more on this idea. Or, perhaps it was introduced a little too late. You mention how the boy is unique and special, but overall just mentioned a very typical introvert.  


> His handsome appearance and brave character; his pursuit of white rose beauty - was what he was known for. His psyche, a force led by his amber eyes, and chiselled body, echoed "the hero of the wood". His judgement was righteous, his eyes blazed like rising flames.


 at this point he starts to appear as a mary sue in my mind, perfect in every way and known as such. 


> So astonished by art, this lover would give his heart to the world; a fool with emotions, but wiser than most.


 i got slightly lost by this. So forgive me if i'm being a little too critical, but the story shifted from basic and descriptive to colorful yet vague sentence. 


> A strange force came over him on another lonely night, out of nowhere, ghostly pointless pains pinched and bruised his body, but no mark was left behind. He continued to study the art of the galleries he hosted, Da Vinci and the likes, and the pains would become more advanced, in tune with the imagery; pressures and brushes of air in places that they weren't appearing before. From this point on it was as if he was an atom surrounded by electrons.


The first scene had only begun, but you didn't really "end" it. You only gave descriptions, but that's it. Another strange force comes in? What happened to the first? I am getting lost as i read this story as more is introduced, nothing is properly concluded. I can understand starting a story in the middle of  a situation, but it starts to feel like it could've had a better beginning each time. I fully believe there is a benefit of learning about a character, but intentionally vague i don't think is the way to go. 


> That night, he laid in bed to rest and shut tight his eyes. He was captured by a line of light shining through the gaps where his eyes closed. The artiste in him came to life, the line of light, his magic tool; flapping it calmly, like a simplistic bird, pulling it around the dark and endless void, drawing as a pilot draws with smoke from his bi-plane.


 Ok here, you are actually concluding a scene or continuing it. But again, you're becoming more and more difficult to understand. I feel like you want me to get lost in these words, but my mind does not want to. It wants to understand and it gets agitated by what you want me to feel or envision.


> Sad, so he drew a tear to represent this, pulling the light down his left eye - to his surprise came what felt like a tear. He repeated the process until tears wouldn't stop coming - he had stumbled upon a glitch.
> 
> Immediately born again; the prior events secured most of his beliefs in unreality. A dreamer he was, and it's his dreams he pursues. Out of interest he effortlessly tried to imagine himself through the spiritual waters, and to his surprise, a perfect meaty vessel and environment appeared and re-appeared, as his thoughts raced with his own style, and the prior imagery he had seen, as well as a soft blend of both. Nature sent forth voices, scents and visualizations, engulfing the boy in a schizophrenic pandemonium.


 the more this character does, the less i understand, the less i can envision him at all. It is heavily detached. poetic? maybe....but i also don't understand what kind of emotion i'm suppose to feel. 


> There were many battles, the boys wit was the highest of the high, and everything he would imagine was intriguing, heroic; each moment becoming more and more energized, each moment he took step into a grander future.
> 
> His foes were like soulless spirits, ghastly and cruel. One-step-ahead whispers in his ears; horrifying imagery in his closed eyes, and unwanted scents and tastes. Nature, or whoever, was holding back the boy's true power with torment. Attack after psychological attack! The boy angered, and was forced into a sweet delusion; the world around him a mere podium to stand on now, he was oblivious to reality.
> 
> ...


at this point, i became truly lost....i keep asking the exact same questions.


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## Saeria (Jul 20, 2015)

This is my take on it: 

    This piece is more word art than actual story. In many ways the disjointed flow, the jarringly complex descriptions perfectly mimic what my mind goes through when I am suffering through a sensory overload induced panic attack. My thoughts retreat to a world it has created all on its own to escape the overwhelming reality my sight and hearing are struggling to process. In alot of ways, just like this story does, I go through balls out shifts in perception of myself in the world around me. Most of it would likely make little to no sense to anyone else. 
    It seems to be a battle between imagination and reality in which the boy is losing his true sense of self. Perhaps I am way off the mark and I have missed the point altogether. The proper set-up could clear away any misconceptions the reader might have as to the true nature of this prose. 
  I will play the devil's advocate here for a moment and say I LOVED the way it started with "All of a sudden..." From a word art point of view it immediately puts the reader into the game. Not all readers  like to just right in without a little literary foreplay though.


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## Lumaria (Jul 21, 2015)

i actually consider "all of a sudden" to being bad writing, if theres nothing to establish something in order to be "sudden". if you remove that part, the sentence still flows fine (if not better)


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## John Oberon (Jul 21, 2015)

This story is not complex. It's not even a story. It's gibberish. I challenge anyone to tell me what it means.


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## JustRob (Jul 21, 2015)

As a prose writer primarily I have remarked that my prose is also my poetry, which is why my entries in the poetry forum tend to be short and sweet, but I have noticed how different the reactions to posted work within the prose and poetry sections can be. I even tried posting an extract of text from one of my prose postings under poetry because it just happened to scan so well purely by accident. I think the comments here that your piece is akin to poetry, word art as some have called it, are quite apt and personally as someone content to delve into the chasm between the two disciplines, if poetry actually has any, I enjoyed it. It clearly needs significant work on it to bring it up to scratch but take care not to do anything too radical or you may lose the very thing that you are trying to achieve.

I agree that ultimately you have to give the reader something to latch onto, otherwise it will just evolve into a long rambling almost abstract poem, as though we are just hearing the background music to a film without seeing the film itself. That is the real art, to preserve these insights into a mind while admitting sufficient perceptions of the outside world surrounding it. Sometimes the inner world can become overwhelming (I've been there myself as a young man.) but there is still a need to relate it to reality somewhere along the way.

As an example of my attempt to build a mind/reality lamination take a look at NUAT Chapter 2
This example is apparently written as a series of jokes but actually conveys serious information about the story which follows. In fact in a cryptic way it is almost a synopsis. Readers have remarked that nothing really happens in it but at least it does maintain some sort of grip on reality. In terms of plot it seems to bear no relationship to chapters one or three and in fact makes no more sense until chapter seventeen. Much of my writing focusses on people's inner thoughts but it is also essential to keep some action going at the same time.

I hope this helps in some small way. You seem to have a tiger by the tail, so keep on wrestling with it and don't entirely let go of what may be a prize one day.


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## Kevin (Jul 21, 2015)

It's a description of a character...


*His handsome appearance and brave character; his pursuit of white rose beauty - was what he was known for. His psyche, a force led by his amber eyes, and chiselled body, echoed "the hero of the wood". His judgement was righteous, his eyes blazed like rising flames-*-- we have a description here but no substance. It's like a painting with no action to 'prove' the character. Its image with no action. Okay, so he looks good, but what does he actually do?  Are these  purely 'the boy's' own perceptions of  himself? Perhaps he uses these to bolster his own failing physical condition. There are no outside characters so I'm left guessing.

*From this point on it was as if he was an atom surrounded by electrons.--- *Okay, I see the atom with electrons, but... how is he like that? Is his head the nucleus, his body the electrons? Not getting it...

*That night, he laid in bed to rest and shut tight his eyes. He was captured by a line of light shining through the gaps where his eyes closed. The artiste in him came to life, the line of light, his magic tool; flapping it calmly, like a simplistic bird, pulling it around the dark and endless void, drawing as a pilot draws with smoke from his bi-plane. 

 Sad, so he drew a tear to represent this, pulling the light down his left eye - to his surprise came what felt like a tear. He repeated the process until tears wouldn't stop coming - he had stumbled upon a glitch.

 Immediately born again; the prior events secured most of his beliefs in unreality*---- Okay, so I'm reading it that he goes through some sort of self-realization... but things like 'bi-plane' and  'glitch' need to be explained. You mention them and drop them. 

And the last line... without further explaining this is so vague as to be ... What do you mean 'born again'? Such a vague term. And 'the prior events secured most of his beliefs', what beliefs? which prior events? the visions of light coming through his eyelids? and 'secured most of his beliefs in unreality' is a long-wise way of saying what? Vague. 

 You seem to be able to speak well, which is great, but we need some definite description and connection, even linear connection, if you're going to communicate. Imaginary or not, lay out a path, like breadcrumbs, and have us follow. You do speak well, so lets hear it.  JMO


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## Bard_Daniel (Jul 21, 2015)

This piece seemed to me more akin to a prose-poem than a story in itself. I found the descriptions interesting and the language construction original, but felt that any sort of plot (and aren't stories about plot?) was lost within the midst of what you were doing and/or trying to accomplish. I also agree with the other posters who mentioned you should not start the story with "all of a sudden" as that strikes me as particularly amateurish. I understand, I think, that you were trying to deeply propel the reader along with the inner thoughts and currents of the particular boy, yet I feel that this was muddled in a lack of construction of the other elements of fiction (theme, plot-- as I mentioned, dialogue, etc). I would suggest, though this is only my humble opinion, that a deep edit would be required in order to make this piece into a suitable fiction piece. Otherwise, I would suggest that you maybe disassemble it into poetry and work from there.


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## Lumaria (Jul 22, 2015)

but the bigger problem with this piece that it still tries to be a story. it still tries to give us "some" form of vision, but unfortunately it speeds up and rushed. For a poem it doesn't try to give the reader the right emotion.


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