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A Rebuilt Life

I. A tale of the illegal, the illicit, the illogical
Oratory In the Laboratory - Part 2

"Oh no, Inspector, don't be deceived; that most redolent and pestiferous plague known as 'death' remains irrefutable, life is irretrievable, just as we-" a glance askance to the burgundy-blood-stained lab coat worn by the newly-dead instigated a painful pronoun change, "or rather I, stand before you irredeemable. I embalmed whilst he imbued, an atmosphere imbibed, till catastrophe ensued. The sepulchral saturnine expression frozen to her face became something altogether more morbid." Kneeling, he placed an outstretched palm against the still-warm chest of his brother, as if willing its re-animation in rhythmical respiration.

Something could be felt between thin cotton and quiescent ribs. A creased photograph, its edges damp and scarlet, was removed from the deceased's inner pocket, a familiar sepia smile greeting the surviving sibling.

"Once, her very name was a phonic philtre, each sweet syllable to tease the tongue, then to be gently sighed as the seminal fluid of imagined liaisons was shed in a euphoric libation to the goddess. Alas, this deity was all too mortal, yet she controlled the hearts of thousands, hence hers could not be allowed to cease beating."

Clearly this is not where our story begins, nor is it where our contemptuous caper is destined to conclude. It is, however, worthy of the emphasis granted by a fresh set of eyes and minds unobscured by the twisting vines of description on the trellis of subplot.

Let us turn our attention then to the scene itself. The Inspector's trench coat, still damp from earlier rainfall, fails to glisten in the stale twilight, instead exuding a saturated heaviness that compliments its owner's current expression. Eyes, glazed with the rose carmine of insomnia, remain curiously alert, set within burnt ochre rings of sleeplessness. An ignored cigarette, pinched between thumb and index finger, discards its ashes to the stone floor below, to land beside an empty cartridge of origin yet to be discussed, and mingle with a plethora of spilt chemicals. Yet the ambience isn't quite right - the lab should have been constructed in a forgotten gothic cathedral, ubiquitous in the realms of fantasy, or a dilapidated monastery riddled with secret passageways activated by a conspicuous hardback. But this is not the case, our characters are, unfortunately, to be found in some generic disused factory, walls veined with verdigrised pipelines, many diverted from their original destination to further our dear doctors' experiments. So, a subtle sacrilegious overtone must instead be created by angered discourse.

"Doc, I-" a contemplative sigh, followed by one token drag on the cigarette before its expiry, "I prostitute myself to protect laws I never made. Frequently I find little worth in protecting the objective 'values' defined by those in the upper echelons of power. But there are these artificial legalities, your theft, your negligence, and then there is natural law. At what stage-"

"No one could confuse this for some impulsive peccadillo, Inspector. Although it remains a crime of the purest passion, this resurrection was not achieved in three days. It was not foretold, but it was necessitated, for she had far more than a dozen dependant disciples. Since her death there's been division, deserters and despair."

Let us presume there had been no witnesses to the untimely death of the femme in question, that an assassin was dispatched to dispose of our heroine whilst she spent the mild evening in an autumnal forest. To romanticise the event further, her classic figure will be clad solely in silk and shadows, for she intends to meet a lover. She shall kick off her shoes and lay with a wry smile upon a stone bench, one which the forest had the foresight to drape in leaves the same golden hue as her hair. The scent of her anticipation now mingles with the living musk of plant life as she stretches one bare arm above her head, with the erotic grace of a 1930's film star reclining on a chaise longue. Playfully running scenarios through her mind, intoxicated by possibilities, her slender fingers trace the edge of the stone, which becomes his tensed torso. He won't be needing it after all, he is far too dead to utilise it or indeed fulfil any one of the myriad of fantasies that now quicken her heartbeat.

She continues to dream, fingering the hem of her dress, happily oblivious to this cruel theft of life, until a certain red squirrel scattering leaves attracts her attention to the sphere held in its miniature palms. Dismembered eyes are, to the vast majority of aroused women, a veritable lust-killer.

Simultaneously, the good doctors enter the glade, both walking with a swagger born of success achieved in a recent experiment, one of those rare occasions where theory, practice, and luck had all converged. The General would be pleased. Their stroll was ostensibly a resource gathering foray, foxgloves and poppy seeds, mushrooms and berries, yet in reality a thinly veiled excuse to leave the bubbling flasks and equipment-laden benches behind.

For the visually oriented reader, the first medical man, Dr. Benoit Skope, was of slim build, had unkempt, dark hair, and was sporting a peculiar tweed hunting jacket. For those of a nasal persuasion, he issued forth the intriguing scent of boiled eggs and pear drops. Those with a tendency to be stimulated by touch will be deprived of description for their own good. The second doctor will survive long enough to be embellished later; at present it is merely necessary for you to know he is whistling (discordantly, yet at an impressive amplitude).

II.  Copse and Robbers

With painfully slow movements he pulled his chest across the loamy earth. His face was smeared with camouflage paint, which did not conceal the look of guilt permeating his expression as he levelled the barrel. She had spent countless nights in his company as they had revelled in the realms of dream, but his fanciful phantasma had never ended with this type of penetration.

Where to place the bullet? How can I defile such a goddess? Regretfully, her passing is preordained; I shall leave the decision to our assassin in the undergrowth. He favours a shot to the chest, so as not to destroy her beauteous countenance. So be it. One finger curls around the trigger, but, before the climactic explosion of gunpowder, treason and plot lines, he is disturbed by a strident whistling. Overwhelmed by the inherent injustice and fear of discovery, three shots are taken hastily, before a scurried retreat of equal impetuosity. One for each year of the war, one for every ten thousand victims.

As the bullet-holed belle is already most familiar with her own life story, we shall instead have it flash before our eyes, perhaps prolonging the siren's expiration in order to evaluate her existence. It is with great intrigue I observe those women with an almost shamanic command over their onlookers. I do not make reference to those who, with indecorous and indelicate displays of glorious whorish vulgarity, summon sexual tension, although these too pique my interest. No, I rather refer to a species possessing more elusive charms.

Born the treasured daughter of General and Lady Laureola, in her twenty-second year Adena's name was well known throughout the capital, frequently to be heard alongside lines of descriptive longing. Adolescent boys made mention of "silken-lips like dewed rose-petals"; jealous girls, when not engaging her affection in lustful reveries, submerged between ivory thighs or drowned in her vanilla-scented curls, would eagerly exchange tales of her recent affairs in mock disgust. With this enviable handicap, it took a while for her intelligence to be recognised. However, her refined confidence, her mesmeric aura, won her an army of admirers - an accolade which became of elevated importance following the outbreak of civil war, three years later.

Returning to the vicinity of the now moonlit clearing, perhaps we hear an owl's soft call to add contrast to the soon-to-be-heard gunfire. We observe the aforementioned swaggers switch into stunned stumbles, passing through shocked strides before settling into sprints.  Soon, the inert body enters their vision, the timeless scene, reminiscent of a Pre-Raphaelite painting, bringing both brothers to their knees in terror.


III. Oratory in the Laboratory - Part 1

"I won't allow such nonsensical sabotage! Don't you understand what Adena represents? She's not only a scientific miracle, she's our living oriflamme! The War can once again be won!" Benoit's words were viscous with desperation, his wild stare more acidic than any of the chemicals that once stood on the smashed shelves which lay splintered behind him.

One of the stubbled sergeants withdrew a gnarled hand from the pocket of his charcoal grey overcoat and, removing his cap, tapped his temple twice in quick succession, a gesture accompanied with a mocking sneer.
"If you fink that aberration's gonna boost the morale of our boys on t'front, you're the one that needs to be strapped down on that table, not 'er"

"That's enough, Constable," the Inspector exudes an experienced competence, a patient urgency, whenever his fingers reach for his box of matches to light the ever-present cigarette. But human emotions are far more flammable than phosphorous.

"Sorry, Sir, but he's clearly a test tube short of a chemistry set. First he goes all Frankenstein on that whore, and now he's tryin' to tell us we can taste victory without the General-”

Ah, allow me to interrupt, for I fear not enough has been disclosed concerning General Laureola. He is clearly a military man, one of great stature, capable of fearsome poses fit for a column-top statue. Now we shall decide on his features: a square, forceful jaw, allowing him to grate his teeth effectively in times of adversity; the deep-set eyes of a strategist and the type of distinguished nose one would find on the marble busts lining museum corridors.  His permanently furrowed brow endows him with the virtuous and somewhat troubled mien of a thinker, endearing him to his men, inspiring hope in their wives. Or at least it did.

All powerful men require dichotomy, therefore we must trespass into both his past and his home, ensconced as he is in a high-backed, wine-red leather armchair, a double whiskey in one shaking hand and a small portrait in the other, his retinue dismissed for this grieving evening of ethanol and effigies.

He had fought for a peaceful solution. Later he had fought to obtain peace. Since the news of his daughter’s disappearance had reached him, shortly followed by the enemy claim that she had been assassinated, he simply fought. Adena had recently been given control of her own regiment, after proving to possess a pre-eminent prowess for tactical manoeuvres that the General did not have the luxury of being able to overlook. Morale was up, auspicious advances were being made for the first time in months.

He hadn’t heard his window being smashed, but the hooker slumbering in his bed had, and this, in combination with the fearful screams of the two powerless doctors downstairs, had sufficiently motivated her to free herself from the heavy covers and, clutching a towel for dignity, dash towards the door.

We shall let this woman of misfortune live, in order to make the statement that self-preservation should not always be punished. In comparison to the fate the General will meet, the blow to the head received by the courtesan, as a re-animated Adena breaches the patriarchal bedchamber, will appear a happy alternative, although her concussion will prevent such objective analysis.

For a few logic-mutilating milliseconds, each one doubling in confusion, the General’s daughter had never died. The portrait had time to glide to the floor, his face became pregnant with a smile – aborted, as her rapier pierced his stomach. A most detestable destiny; to die, reconciled with neither truth nor his own flesh and blood - although, technically, large quantities of her blood had originally belonged to the arteries of the venerable doctors, just as every creator invests much of themselves in their work.

“-he’s mental. I say we execute her, here and now - put her out of her misery, before the crazy bint runs riot again.” The sergeant took a step forward towards the sedated female form, shards of glass crunching underfoot, as he reached for his holster.

Benoit’s scalpel had almost made contact with the constable’s jugular, it was, in any case, a commendable effort. The frenzied lunge, however, had been anticipated by the Inspector, who had contemplated letting the sergeant die for his insolence, before regretfully arriving at the conclusion that it would probably hamper his own chances of promotion.

An echoing shot, the clattering of a stainless steel implement striking stone, the thud of a 5’10” medical expert surrendering to gravity, and the whimpering of a soon to be demoted sergeant – these aural events were followed by the tired sigh of the Inspector, as he solemnly lowered his firearm.

IV. Mort, Morals and Morale

Romance has an intriguing half-life; its durability necessitates re-visitations of earlier experiences, you become a parasite on your own past.

Let us suspend scepticism, for it is fundamentally incompatible with the enchanting amour once shared by the couple, as we unite the lovers one last time. Her liver had been damaged beyond repair by the trio of lead projectiles, yet, somewhat fortuitously, the body of her strangled inamorato – also found in the glade by the distraught doctors - although curiously lacking one eye, yielded an intact and compatible liver, which was duly harvested and deployed within her, thereby achieving a poetic carnal communion.

It is senseless to chronicle every starlit word that fell from the paralysed lips of the siblings that night in the forest. Stunted sentences of disbelief and desolation gathered like discarded leaves around them as their macabre discovery became a vigil – an unavailing attempt to ward off the sharpened scythes stalking the shifting shadows, to prevent the people being deprived of their deity.  

In times of despair, Dr. Caspian Skope would reach for the handrail of logic, mental tendrils groping for empirical facts. The news could not be allowed to spread. Her body must never be found. This containment, which would not obviate the tragic tidings of her disappearance, may still be insufficient to prevent a deathblow to morale. So, they did as logic dictated; two hours later, both bodies lay on porcelain autopsy tables, behind the locked doors of their laboratory.

For silent hours the pair paced, each mind individually debating possibilities, presenting propositions. Then, as dawn’s birdsong prompted a level of urgency, they discussed. Neither wanted to usher her into the furnace, the mere thought of cremating her seemed blasphemous, and required a certainty to which they were unwilling to commit themselves. But what if the situation could be… salvaged? If Adena could secretly be revived, so could the war effort.  

In the spirit of fairness - a spirit which haunts this tale in a most capricious manner - we must acknowledge that the brothers were physicians, not psychologists, and it is most unlikely even the latter could have predicted the way in which a decayed mind, artificially anchored to this realm, would react after control was once again restored over a repaired corporeal form. No one could have foreseen the naissance of the Avatar of Anger as eyelids flutter open, causing Benoit’s joyous declaration to coruscate with a choral omnipresence throughout the laboratory:

“She’s ALIVE!”

Now, Caspian shall be our vessel for dénouement, our provider of closure, as he takes up the hypodermic needle and pierces the atrophied flesh of her arm. The doctor’s features bear a shallow cut, running across one high-boned cheek, earned in the earlier tumult, donated by the fist of our heroine’s haunted form.

The needle, holding the dregs of liquefied execution, is laid ceremoniously upon the bench, as the doctor takes up one of Adena’s hands, in the same manner a Frenchman would to deliver a kiss when muttering ‘enchanté’. Eventually, her pale wrist is released, and allowed to fall to her side.

Caspian, looking across to the Inspector, now adopts the demeanour, and associated tone of voice, of a young boy - one who’s replaced something he had stolen. Eyes directed towards the ground, he removes and pockets his glasses before confessing:

“She’s dead.”
Full Titile: Oratories and Laboratories, Glades and Crusades

Behold, an experiment into narrative voice, created as an entry for the mighty Astrophel's 'Rebuilt Life' competition.

It's a little more simplistic than my usual style, which should hopefully bestow it with greater accessibility.

Try it, you may like it.

Thanks to =sumants, =Bringa and =saintartaud for surrendering time and suggestions =)

EDIT: a shiny illustration courtesy of =moyan! Go and take a look at her gallery; this girl's doing great things for the literature community, without writing a word :)
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Daily Deviation

Given 2005-01-15
Oratories and Laboratories... by *tearstone
Every word counts, every sentence sounds perfect, and every metaphor enchants. The density of observation and description in this piece cannot possibly be further compressed into words; it has to be witnessed. ( Suggested by danielzklein and Featured by ndifference )
:iconla-dolly-vita:
La-Dolly-Vita Featured By Owner Jun 5, 2008
:clap: Great work, congrats on the DD :deviation:
Reply
:icondanielzklein:
danielzklein Featured By Owner Jul 18, 2007  Hobbyist Writer
This is still awesome! We can't lose you to law! What does law have to offer besides money and girls? Literature has UNDYING GLORY! In the kinky zombie way.
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:iconsisterjanet:
sisterjanet Featured By Owner Aug 5, 2006
I am not going to read this tonight. I am, however, going to point out that I've meant to read this for a while, and finally decided to have a peek at the beginning, and it made me grin. I'll be back, anticipating great things.
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:icontearstone:
tearstone Featured By Owner Aug 6, 2006
I shall eagerly await your opinion, and hope there are more grins to be had :)
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:iconsymphonyofmasks:
Symphonyofmasks Featured By Owner Aug 5, 2006   Writer
It's beautifull, this orgasm of literature upon the screen. I shall digest it, savour it, and draw succor from it. Brilliant.
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:iconzephyri:
Zephyri Featured By Owner Dec 27, 2005  Professional Digital Artist
I can't tell you how fantastic it was to find this piece, and indeed your whole gallery, featured in the Unknown Writers article. I read it very scantily when it was first featured as a DD, and marveled at your liberal yet very masterful use of vocabulary to paint specific characters and scenarios. Now I've found it again, and have afforded it more of my time, as I should have in the first place.

I have nothing to crit, though I'm sure you could nitpick holes if you really wanted to. I love the narrative voice of this piece so much that to look for things that arent right would ruin a piece that has given me an impetus to start writing again myself, and start writing better.

So I'll simply say that this remains one of the best pieces of narrative prose I've ever read, certainly the best here on dA. And if there is one line in this I love, the sort of picture-conjuring, character-pinning phrasing that I wish I could emulate in my own writings, it'd be "The Inspector's trench coat, still damp from earlier rainfall, fails to glisten in the stale twilight, instead exuding a saturated heaviness that compliments its owner's current expression." It shows the amazing visual presence your writings must take in your head before they ever reach paper. Just brilliant.
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:icontearstone:
tearstone Featured By Owner Dec 29, 2005
There are some comments that make you smile and shift giddily in front of your computer screen, this is one of them. I'm going to count it as a better christmas present than my blue scarf.

And after taking a look at your gallery, it appears you yourself are most talented in the ways of visual presence. I shall await your new productions eagerly :)
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:iconzephyri:
Zephyri Featured By Owner Dec 29, 2005  Professional Digital Artist
Thank you! Though I would doubt the comment would be quite as effective at keeping you warm... :)

I will also be making my way through the other pieces in your gallery, for I fear my novellist muse has been tucked happily away in your talent, sighing fancifully in the hope that I may one day reach such giddy heights of vocabulary use.
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:iconkaujot:
kaujot Featured By Owner Dec 2, 2005
Man, I finally got around to reading it.
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:icondavid-parr:
David-Parr Featured By Owner Sep 21, 2005
very hmm... entretaining :)
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:icontearstone:
tearstone Featured By Owner Sep 22, 2005
Why, thank you :)
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:iconiwon1:
Iwon1 Featured By Owner Jul 27, 2005
So, I came back to this again. This'll be, what, my third comment on here and still no real critique? Blame it on =Bringa.

Ah, well. Take a favourite.

And congrats on the Daily Deviation. Goes to show that I never paid attention to the damned things ;p
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:iconfraterm:
fraterm Featured By Owner Jul 8, 2005  Hobbyist General Artist
I have somehow wended my way through and to this again... and a damn good trip it was. I'll come to understand it fully in time.
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:iconinfraction:
infraction Featured By Owner Jun 20, 2005
wonderful writing. Theres a great flow to this
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:icontearstone:
tearstone Featured By Owner Jun 21, 2005
my thanks :)
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:iconcrazylady:
crazylady Featured By Owner Jun 15, 2005
At paragraphe the firste, I wondered what was with all the terrible word duos: "glance askance", "supulchral saturnine", "rhythmical respiration".

By paragraphe the seconde, I realised it was stylistic, and doffed my cap, for I had arrived at the certain conclusion I should never be able to reach such feats of literary gymnastics--nay, not even should I read Shakespeare from here until the day I die.

By paragraphe the thirde, I was abysmally confused, and wondered what was going on.

And then I reached this line.
Dismembered eyes are, to the vast majority of aroused women, a veritable lust-killer.
It made me laugh for a very long time. From thereon inwards, I tumbled headlong into the tale, heedless of whether or not I should be able to find my way out again...

No, seriously, that's a very intriguing narrative style you have going there (stupidly, I missed the warning about it being an experimental narrative at the top). It starts out a little confusing, and that combined with the vocab is probably going to deter all but the most determined of readers (but honestly, who wants a fanclub made up of half-literate donkeys anyway?); but for those that persist, the last half of the story makes it all worthwhile.
(Actually, you could have ended this in the middle of nowhere, and I'd have loved it anyway just for the line about dismembered eyeballs...)

Your command of words is a fearsome thing to behold...then again, that's the way it often is with "law people" :p. Had I not already discovered the fact somewhere else, I would surely have guessed it after reading this. ;)

Bravo! :claps:
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:icondanielzklein:
danielzklein Featured By Owner May 14, 2005  Hobbyist Writer
This is the second best short story on dA.
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:iconfaithdivine88:
faithdivine88 Featured By Owner Apr 3, 2005
The characterizations are so rich and descriptive. You made me love and hate Adena. Each act is remarkably detailed, and exceptionally well-planned. The forest scene made my fingers shake. The characters, the plot - just seamless. Perfect harmony.

The choice of vocabulary is mildly highfaluting in some places. It fits the tone of the story, but it was difficult for me to understand chunks of them. But that's just my opinion.
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:icontearstone:
tearstone Featured By Owner Apr 3, 2005
Thank you for your generous comment!
"it made my fingers shake" is a contender for my favourite compliment ever <smiles>
I know there are times when I get a little crazy with the ol' vocab, but thanks for persevering =)
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:iconfaithdivine88:
faithdivine88 Featured By Owner Apr 7, 2005
You deserved it. :)
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:iconmagicalgirl:
magicalgirl Featured By Owner Mar 18, 2005
I wasn't intending to comment, but then I recalled how annoying it is to see that someone has added a piece to Favorites without explaining why. On the off chance that you know this annoyance, I'll leave a paragraph or two.

People sometimes leave a near-pointless "wow, that was so perfect I can't critique so +fav" when they meet a good piece of writing. God knows, such a piece is rare enough it deserves respect. I tend to scoff at such people and redouble my efforts to find something improvable, or, at the very least, I find something specific to praise. I might not be able to do that this time.

This story was simply excellent. The mad doctor's speech, from the very first line, is exquisite! The narrator's voice as well has a wonderful quality, a dry humor and skill at turning a phrase that actually make this direct narration style work. I hardly need mention that each character is beautifully and fully expressed (not a chance here of wondering who the speaker is) and the insight given into their minds delightful ("She had spent countless nights in his company as they had revelled in the realms of dream, but his fanciful phantasma had never ended with this type of penetration.") The language is like a dream, smooth yet joyfully complex and mind-bogglingly diverse. All that and it's damn funny, too! *Bringa had called this the best short story on dA, but I hadn't dared believe him. Maybe I should learn to have an open mind.
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:icondanielzklein:
danielzklein Featured By Owner Jan 31, 2005  Hobbyist Writer
45:34 then :/ Entirely undeserved on my part.
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:icontearstone:
tearstone Featured By Owner Mar 16, 2005
51:35 !
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:icondanielzklein:
danielzklein Featured By Owner Mar 16, 2005  Hobbyist Writer
The world is unfair and stupid, I say. If I had half your skill in beautiful and dense descriptions, I'd be enjoying my whirlpool with naked bitches INSIDE my limousine right now.
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:icondanielzklein:
danielzklein Featured By Owner Jan 28, 2005  Hobbyist Writer
I :pee: ON VOUS MONSIEUR!!!

I fart in your generalle direcion!

:D
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:iconabrasionoftheeyes:
AbrasionoftheEyes Featured By Owner Jan 16, 2005
Let me take my attention deficit medication and I'll try this again.
Its important for writing to be accessible in order to communicate your message effectively. I feel like the pretentious language in this piece drags it to the ground.
Yes, I'm impressed with your vocabulary, but if I have to stop every two seconds to consult a dictionary in order to deduct some sort of meaning from the words in front of me...I well...get frustrated and stop reading. I have a feeling this happened to more than a few folk who stumbled upon your piece here.
I have nothing alse to add at the moment...since I didn't read it and all.
But I will read it.

You know on second thought, maybe it has something to do with my hangover?
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:iconjlou:
JLou Featured By Owner Jan 16, 2005
I have never had the pleasure of reading such a remarkable piece of prose, in which the words corruscate with amazing fluidity. You write with such great passion and emotion, I had to linger over every single little detail because you pulled them out of each scene so poignantly that they became their own individual story, a very rare occurance in any piece of literature, that is extremely hard to accomplish with the consummate skill evinced here :faint:. Absolutely beautiful - I would run for the thesaurus and find every other synonym to offer to your talent, but I'm afraid that will have to suffice ;P.
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:icondanielzklein:
danielzklein Featured By Owner Jan 16, 2005  Hobbyist Writer
I am studying English Literature, and even though I haven't been at it for too long yet, I can tell you that this level of descriptivity is quite unique; I've found nothing that would even come near to this heavenly marriage of description and witty readability.

The only person we must convince of the literary merit of this writing is the writer himself; he uses ridiculous excuses like "have to do homework" to get out of writing, which is, I think, an insult to mankind as such. He studies LAW for crying out loud! ;P

I'm very glad you liked this and appreciated its singular qualities. There's a lot more in tearstone's gallery--I recommed the (as of yet unfinished) Apocryphal Apologia series; more recently, something GOOD was started with Memberries are made of this; if the gods are favourable to our cause, more in that vein will follow.

Cheers :)

*Bringa, *tearstone's almost official PR agent ;P
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:iconcrimsonmegatron:
crimsonmegatron Featured By Owner Jan 15, 2005
Proof that I am not spending quite enough time looking through the lit submissions.

:+favlove:

Of course, there are many great lines in this.. but, I am especially fond of this one..
Those with a tendency to be stimulated by touch will be deprived of description for their own good.

In the midst of the genius of descriptions that effortlessly lead from one to the next, enthralling me to your text, I stopped here and really noted your brilliance.

Welcome to my devWatch. :]
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:icondanielzklein:
danielzklein Featured By Owner Jan 16, 2005  Hobbyist Writer
Honestly, you cannot be blamed. It took me one year of looking VERY CAREFULLY through lit submissions to know two people of such quality... and truth be told, *tearstone found *me* back in the spring of 2004. I've found *alienhead more or less myself, and that's about it; we don't really have other prose writers of such ingenious ability.

I think I'm happier than Chris is for seeing this featured--it deserved it more than any other piece on dA, but I was still afraid the masses wouldn't get it. Seems some do :)
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:iconcrimsonmegatron:
crimsonmegatron Featured By Owner Jan 16, 2005
Well, honestly, I probably can.
When I first came to dA I had aspirations of actually getting enough help to become some kind of serious digital artist.
I only submitted anything lit-oriented because that's who I am. The people I made friends with and spend most of my time commenting on their work, or encouraging, are all visual artists. I've stood in the shadows and watched the lit community struggle, falter, and fail when it has. I've applauded the successes and silently admired the heros. But my focus has never shifted. I commit my time to visual art browsing. Eventually I did create an account for poetry submissions and I have finally tried to join in somewhat. The structure of dA alternately frustrates and intimidates me when I am searching for lit submissions. Hopefully this will change someday.

I'll remember to check out your other friend. :]
I'm always interested in seeing writing that demonstrates any kind of ingenious ability.
After your connection to this, and reading your stories, I certainly trust the recommendation.
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:iconshalora:
Shalora Featured By Owner Jan 15, 2005  Professional Photographer
This is really awesome!! Congrats on the daily dev... You deserve it!
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:icontearstone:
tearstone Featured By Owner Jan 15, 2005
You are too kind =)
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:iconcaricature-kisses:
caricature-kisses Featured By Owner Jan 15, 2005
There's nothing really, that I can say that hasn't bee said already. But I love that piece, there was this beautiful sort of intelligence about the whole thing.
Great use of language.
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:icontearstone:
tearstone Featured By Owner Jan 15, 2005
thank you, your time and compliments are much appreciated =)
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:iconsoulwrai:
soulwrai Featured By Owner Jan 15, 2005
this is exquisite work +fav
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:icontearstone:
tearstone Featured By Owner Jan 15, 2005
Why, thank you =)
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:iconsoulwrai:
soulwrai Featured By Owner Jan 15, 2005
my pleasure
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:iconkittiesdontsmoke:
kittiesdontsmoke Featured By Owner Jan 15, 2005
outstanding, simply outstanding. never have a read a peice of writting and felt as though i was there in person listening to the speaker. i stand in awe and bow to your greatness
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:icontearstone:
tearstone Featured By Owner Jan 15, 2005
If you managed to finish the piece, it is your greatness that is worthy of praise! =)
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:iconkittiesdontsmoke:
kittiesdontsmoke Featured By Owner Jan 15, 2005
hahaha nonsense a work like the deserves praise ^_^
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:iconthatguyonthestreet:
ThatGuyOnTheStreet Featured By Owner Jan 15, 2005
Bloody hell.

I had to bring out the dictionary for this one.

You, sir, are amazing. :salute:
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:icontearstone:
tearstone Featured By Owner Jan 15, 2005
I love that book, especially at the end when you find out the Zebra did it!
Thanks for taking the time ;)
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:icondanielzklein:
danielzklein Featured By Owner Jan 16, 2005  Hobbyist Writer
You must stop making me laugh out loudly when I sit alone in front of the PC; that sounds and looks odd ;P
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:iconthatguyonthestreet:
ThatGuyOnTheStreet Featured By Owner Jan 15, 2005
I was a little apprehensive in reading the dictionary, at first, because of it's large size.
But I was hooked when I found out that the word "ass" meant "donkey"!

And you're welcome. Thanks for writing such a great peice of literary genius!
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:iconb0x0rz:
b0x0rz Featured By Owner Jan 15, 2005
a well deserved DD as it is truly spectacular in the expression. would be great to have it recorded in mp3. :b0x0rz:
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:icontearstone:
tearstone Featured By Owner Jan 15, 2005
I'll have to see if I can arrange that!
Thanks =)
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:iconalienhead:
alienhead Featured By Owner Jan 15, 2005   Writer
I was wondering why this hadn't been honored as a daily deviation. Congrats, my friend. You deserve it. :nod: :clap:
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:iconcataplasia:
cataplasia Featured By Owner Jan 15, 2005
damn i read frankenstein, and all i got was bored
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:iconsteelvenom:
SteelVenom Featured By Owner Jan 15, 2005
now that is the best thing I have ever read here on DA, and definitely an intriguing piece just in general in everything I have ever read. I've never read Shelley though....I noticed someone said you remind them of that person. I will have to check them out now. The vocabulary of this piece left me in shambles....I don't have a clear grasp of quite a few in the words in here, but it's good motivation to look them up. I'll have to see the rest of your deviations now after reading this. The alliteration, assonence and cadassence or whatever it's called are alone enough to check you out, minus the fact it was a really good story
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