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Old 11-09-2015, 03:45 AM View Post #1 (Link) Psycological Thriller/Philiosophical Fiction "Exhibit A"
Alexatedw (Offline)
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Join Date: Nov 2015
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Forward: Hello All. I am a new writer. I am going through a sci fy philosophical fiction phase and wrote this. I would like to write a novel in this world and I am just beginning to do some world building. It's supposed to take place in a futuristic utopia where the restriction on resources is lifted and natural death is eradicated. Also, governments, monetary systems and religions are things of the past. Not every idea is mentioned in the following short story but hopefully with feed back, I can start a second chapter. I would love to know what you guys think about the characters in the story, the purpose of the story, and the entertainment value of the story. Thanks ahead of time for any feedback!

Exhibit A

Before today, I was sure of who I am. I was so sure in fact, I hadn’t put much thought into it. I am Paul Pilate. I am a Doctor. I am a human. I am a father, a child and a husband. But today, I met with a new patient. Today, I met with God.

The Hai-Van Psychiatric Facility is the largest of twelve “prisons” still in existence anywhere in the world. The majority of people don’t even know such places exist. Since the conclusion of the Scientific Era, there has been little need to house criminals. With the restriction on resources lifted, there aren’t many crimes to speak of. The experts say this is because there is no longer motive for crime. For this reason, those who do commit a crime are immediately deemed insane by society and sent to a facility like ours for analysis. Our job at the facility is to probe these anomalous persons and find out why these individuals commit crimes without motive. In any case, I wasn’t excited about todays meeting with this particular prisoner. The crimes he is accused of are simply unbelievable in this day and age. So… Barbaric. Not to mention, he scares some of the staff tremendously. He has been at the facility for a week and has refused to eat until our meeting. He calls it fasting but the staff told him if he didn’t eat after our meeting, they would be forced to feed him against his will. He claims he is immortal and even told one nurse he was God and that he will eat when he choses.

I was already running late but needed to refill my charge so I pulled my car into the charging station and plugged in. I ran inside and grabbed a coffee and a copy of the Hai-Van Daily. On the front page was a picture of my patient and a headline that read “Local Man Slays Seven.” I unplugged from the charging station and headed on my way. I was supposed to meet Dr. Magdalene thirty minutes ago so we could do the initial intake interview together but I texted her to let her know I would be late and she could begin without me. Curiously, I hadn’t heard back from her. That was unlike the doctor. She was one of those types that always has her phone on her and normally responds quickly. This should have raised red flags but I was caught up in the dialogue of the mind sitting in rush hour traffic and I didn’t think much of it. It was about ten o’clock when I arrived at the Hai-Van Psychiatric Facility and I pulled into the parking space labeled “Dr. P. Pilate.”

Tony, the guard, was missing from his post at the front desk. This wasn’t uncommon. Tony was known for sneaking out back and taking one too many smoke breaks. I just reach behind his security station and buzzed myself in. I opened the steel gate and walked over to the elevator. I rubbed my badge on the card reader and pressed the up arrow on the control panel. The light turned green and within seconds the elevator had arrived. “Going Up” said the mechanical voice. I stepped onto the elevator and pressed the six button. The elevator doors closed and the elevator began to ascend.

“Floor 6” said the mechanical voice and the elevator doors slide open. Immediately I knew something was wrong. It was a feeling in my gut. I can’t explain what it felt like; I just knew something was off. The nurse who is normally stationed behind the reception desk to greet those coming off the elevator was missing from her post and the floor was unusually quite. I walked to the end of the hallway and turned right toward the interview rooms. I froze. That’s when I saw her. Dr. Magdalene was at the end of the hallway. I could tell it was her by the blue coat she was wearing. She wore that same blue coat every day Friday. She was laying on her back in front of room one-hundred. I started walking towards her and as I got closer I became aware of the grim scene before me. The doctor lay on her back, arms stretched out to either side so that her body formed a lower case “t”. She lay in a pool of dried blood formed from a gash across he forehead. She had also been stabbed several times in the stomach. I reached down and felt her neck for a pulse but she was already cold to the touch. Poor dear Magdalene. She didn’t deserve this. A thought came into my mind. I wondered if my patient had escaped or if he was still here. I looked up at the interview room door which was labeled zero-zero. The one had fallen off the door long ago and only a faint outline of it remained. Something compelled me forward and I opened the door and stepped in the room.

A single fluorescent bulb flickered light into the grey room. One large oversized desk was in the center of the room, chairs on either side. In the chair on the far side of the table sat an ordinary man with dark brown hair and a beard. At first glance he didn’t appear physically capable of the crimes he is accused of committing or of the one who’s result I had just witnessed.

I stood there for a long moment not sure what to do. He just sat there, staring at me intently. He didn’t say a word. He was just sat there, watching. I can’t tell you what made me go to the desk and sit down across from him. The only way I can put it is that felt compelled and before I knew it I was moving forward to take my seat. Like some mysterious supernatural force was urging me on. He broke the silence.

“Good Evening Dr…”

He let his R drag out to invoke a reply.

“Dr. Pilate, and… and you are…”

The sounds quivered out of my mouth and he cut me off before I could finish. His voice was deep and his words were paced purposefully.

“Call me whatever you’d like.” He said slowly.

I hesitated for a moment. “What would you like me to call you?”

And without hesitation, the man replied. “What name you give me is of no importance to me doctor. Call me whatever name you please. A name doesn’t change who I am.”

“What do you mean a name doesn’t change who you are? Who then, are you?”

“Why, I am the I of course.”

“What do you mean you are the I?”

“You see doctor. You don’t even know who you are! How can you expect to know who I am. Call me whatever you like. God, the Universe, John Smith, Jesus Christ. It matters not how you refer to me. I am what I am.”

“What are you saying?”

“The answer to this question matters not. Know only I am the beginning and the end.”

Again, there was a moment of silence while I considered his words.

“That sounds like old religious rhetoric… Are you saying that you believe you are God?”

“Belief has nothing to do with it. There was once a man who saved a drowning scorpion and in return the scorpion stung the man severely almost killing him. When asked later why he saved the ungrateful scorpion the man replied, “The scorpions nature to sting doesn’t change my nature to save. You see now doctor?”

At this, I felt thoroughly confused. Also, I had forgotten completely about the carnage that lay right outside this interview room.

“I am not sure I get your meaning. How can I know what you are talking about if you talk in riddles.”

He replied in his deep slow tone.

“Oh…Dear…Doctor. Poor soul. I am what I am, you are what you are. You as well as I cannot change our nature. It matters not what we call our natures. If you want to say I have the nature of god, so be it.”

I thought about his words for a moment. He just sat watching.

“But then doesn’t the mere idea that god has a nature, limit god to his nature?”

“Precisely doctor. Ideas limit. This is why names don’t matter.”

This time I must have thought to long because after about three minutes of silence he began again.

“Names, nouns, categories. All boxes things fit into. Propositions are the labels on the boxes. What can we label the box that contains all boxes? The box with no outside? I am that box doctor. If it makes you feel better, you can call me god.”

I thought and said, “I see. And when did you become God?”

“Now.”

“What do you mean?” I said.

“When do all things happen, doctor?”

I didn’t know how to reply so I remained silent. I watched him sitting there. The light from outside was coming in from a small window near the ceiling off to my right and it lit the left side of his face so that I could make out every detail but it left the other side cast in a dark shadow. I could barely make out any features on his right side. Then a question came to me.

“Well then, let’s suppose you are God, how does one such as yourself become God?”

He answered without hesitation yet slow and paced.

“You don’t become God.”

“Am I also God?”

“Yes”

“So it’s merely knowledge about God you possess. It’s something I just don’t know?”

“You could say that.”

“So the only difference between you and I is that you have the knowledge that you are God?”

“A widow who’s husband left nothing for her and their 2 children had to beg to put bread on the table. One day a good friend of her husband came to visit after many years only to learn his friend had past and his friends family had fallen on hard times. “Not to worry, Maria.” The husband’s friend said. The friend took the widow to the widows house, to the widows closet and started to pry up the floorboards. Underneath the floor there was a duffel bag full of money that the husband had hidden away for his family. He had told his friend to make sure his family got the money should anything happen to him. Now I ask you this doctor. The widow was always in possession of the money, was she always rich?”

I ponder this question for a brief moment, then asked, “So, if you are God and I am God, aren’t we then the same person?”

“No, remember the trinity. Three persons, one God.”

“So you are saying you’re not a person.”

“In this moment, I, the universe, am expressing myself as a person. Where does a wave end and the rest of the ocean began?

“Do you think you will you die?”

“Death is merely an undulation in consciousness doctor. It’s an experience that I will have. But death doesn’t mean I will have to put up with everlasting non-existence.”

Suddenly I became aware of just who I was speaking to. I remembered what this man was accused of doing to his family, to his own sons. I remembered Dr. Magdalene right outside the door and I wondered where everyone else was. Though I thought of these things, this man did not frighten me. He was a curiosity to me.

“Interesting.” I replied, “Does this mean you make up your own morality?”

“Again doctor, you are trying to put things in boxes. What I am is beyond morality.”

“So you don’t think you can do wrong?”

“Right and wrong are two more categories doctor. Two more boxes. They are idea’s and idolatry of an idea is the worst kind. It’s a sin you know.”

“So idolatry then, you might consider that one of those bad things to do.”

“You misunderstand me doctor, I said it was a sin, I didn’t say it was bad. There are merely choices one makes. Not good choices or bad choices, just choices. You apply whatever label you’d like to my choices, it makes no difference to me.”

“I see. So what you did to those people, to your family, that was your choice?”

He just smirked and said, “I am like cloud. What choice does a cloud have?”

“I don’t have time for riddles. I am asking….”

He cut me off mid sentence and thats when something caught my attention out of the corner of my eye. I turned my head slightly to see what it was.

“Once you mix the gravy with the potatoes, you can’t undo that. It’s forever. We can’t go back. That’s what makes choices hard. Not whether a choice is right or wrong.”

Their in the corner of the room was a man on his hands and knees, arms stretched out as if he were bowing to the patient. I recognized the man as Tony, the guard that was supposed to be down stairs. He wasn’t moving. Then I saw the blood pooling around his wrists. They must have been slit. At this point I had had enough. I didn’t let him finish speaking. I stood up and walked quickly to the door.

“Leaving Doctor?”

I didn’t acknowledge him. I didn’t even look back. I opened the door and as I walked out he laughed a deep laugh and said “Relax. You can checkout anytime but you like but you can never leave. Hahahaha.” I shut the door behind me.

I stepped over Dr. Magdalene and I hurried back to the passage I was before, back to the elevator. When I got to the elevator I fumbled with my badge. I heard the interview room door open down the hall. I swiped my badge. “Errr” A red light on the key pad blinked three times. I tried again. I could her the patient walking down the hall around the corner. Every step loud on the tile floor. “Errr” Red. I hurried over to the nearest conference room. Room 66. I opened the door and went inside. I quickly scanned the room. It was someones office. There were two desks on either side of the room. I went to the one on the right and quickly began dragging it against the door. I opened the drawers to look for a weapon but all I could find was a pen and this paper. I had the idea to record the events of today in hopes that someone can figure out what happened here so that these people and possibly I don’t die in vain.

As far as the patient is concerned, this man is certifiably insane. That being said, there is a question about whether or not he can be responsible for his actions for these slayings. The question that needs to be answered is whether or not he knows certain actions are wrong. To this question, despite the ravings of this madman, it is my opinion that the patient is fully aware of morality and is capable of choosing between right and wrong. As he has said, it is for his peers to decide which box he will be put in. I hear him now. I must go.


—————————————————————————————————————————

“This is all that your team found?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“And everything else was in order? There were no bodies?”

“None, Sir. Everything was in order. Not a single desk or pen out of place.”

“What about blood? Did your team run an analysis on the areas described in the letter?”

“Yes, Sir. The team didn’t find any traces of anything. In fact the whole place was clean as a whistle, Sir. Not even a single fingerprint.”

“Well, keep on it. Thirty-five staff and four dozen patients just don’t vanish. And what about this new patient?”

“We don’t know, Sir. He’s vanished.”

“Hmm. That’s odd. Ok well dismissed.”
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Old 11-10-2015, 11:28 PM View Post #2 (Link)
Dabs (Offline)
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Join Date: Aug 2011
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Originally Posted by Alexatedw View Post
Forward: Hello All. I am a new writer. I am going through a sci fy philosophical fiction phase and wrote this. I would like to write a novel in this world and I am just beginning to do some world building. It's supposed to take place in a futuristic utopia where the restriction on resources is lifted and natural death is eradicated. Also, governments, monetary systems and religions are things of the past. Not every idea is mentioned in the following short story but hopefully with feed back, I can start a second chapter. I would love to know what you guys think about the characters in the story, the purpose of the story, and the entertainment value of the story. Thanks ahead of time for any feedback!

Exhibit A

Before today, I was sure of who I am. I was so sure in fact, I hadn’t put much thought into it. I am Paul Pilate. I am a Doctor. I am a human. I am a father, a child and a husband. But today, I met with a new patient. Today, I met with God.

This is a pretty good opening paragraph, but I think you have it a little backwards. I think your last sentence would be better served as your first. The first sentence isn't bad, but it's too broad and doesn't really attract me or draw me to the piece in anyway. Meeting with God, however, is pretty interesting.

The Hai-Van Psychiatric Facility is the largest of twelve “prisons” still in existence anywhere in the world this is a mouthful. The majority of people don’t even know such places exist. Since the conclusion of the Scientific Era, there has been little need to house criminals. With the restriction on resources lifted, there aren’t many crimes to speak of. The experts say this is because there is no longer motive for crime. For this reason, those who do commit a crime are immediately deemed insane by society and sent to a facility like ours for analysis. Okay, so you start with an interesting and rather personal premise, but now you've jumped into exposition, and, more so, it's exposition that doesn't feel like it belongs in the world you've created. It sounds like your main character is talking to someone from 2015. How is that possible, and why would he be doing that? You should wait a little bit to get to your exposition, typically, especially if it's very text-book sounding stuff like this. It makes it hard to get into the story when there's nothing personal about it. Secondly, make sure that, if you're expositing from a first-person perspective, you make it sound less like a textbook and less like you're lecturing to an audience from 2015.Our job at the facility is to probe these anomalous persons and find out why these individuals commit crimes without motive. In any case, I wasn’t excited about today's meeting with this particular prisoner. The crimes he is accused of are simply unbelievable in this day and age. So… Barbaric. Why make this vague? You're giving us judgements without telling us what he did, and I guess there are ways to make that work but I don't see the point right now.Not to mention, he scares some of the staff tremendously. He has been at the facility for a week and has refused to eat until our meeting. He calls it fasting but the staff told him if he didn’t eat after our meeting, they would be forced to feed him against his will. He claims he is immortal and even told one nurse he was God and that he will eat when he choses. This is interesting but it's delivered a bit too indirectly. This would be so cool to see with more details.

I was already running late but needed to refill my charge so I pulled my car into the charging station and plugged in This sentence feels a bit overwritten. I think you could chop the information up into two short sentences to make it flow better.. I ran inside and grabbed a coffee and a copy of the Hai-Van Daily. On the front page was a picture of my patient and a headline that read “Local Man Slays Seven.” If this murderer had happened a week ago or more, then it would have been in the paper a week ago. Also, did the patient not go to trial? Is this a world without trials?I unplugged from the charging station and headed on my way. What did this little moment add to the story? I think you could have just stated what the patient did since your protagonist already knows, obviously. I don't see a point in mentioning it through the newspaper. It gives you a chance to tell us that cars run on electricity, yes, but I don't see how that's adding to the story, either.I was supposed to meet Dr. Magdalene thirty minutes ago so we could do the initial intake interview together but I texted her to let her know I would be late and she could begin without me That's... extremely unprofessional. Interesting characteristic.. Curiously, I hadn’t heard back from her. That was unlike the doctor. She was one of those types that always has her phone on her and normally responds quickly. This should have raised red flags but I was caught up in the dialogue of the mind what does this mean? sitting in rush hour traffic and I didn’t think much of it. It was about ten o’clock when I arrived at the Hai-Van Psychiatric Facility and I pulled into the parking space labeled “Dr. P. Pilate.”

Tony, the guard, was missing from his post at the front desk. This wasn’t uncommon. Tony was known for sneaking out back and taking one too many smoke breaks. I just reach behind his security station and buzzed myself in. I opened the steel gate and walked over to the elevator. I rubbed my badge on the card reader and pressed the up arrow on the control panel. The light turned green and within seconds the elevator had arrived. “Going Up” said the mechanical voice. I stepped onto the elevator and pressed the six button. The elevator doors closed and the elevator began to ascend.

“Floor 6” said the mechanical voice and the elevator doors slide open. Immediately I knew something was wrong. It was a feeling in my gut. I can’t explain what it felt like; I just knew something was off I don't buy this in the slightest. Unless your character is secretly psychic, he's not feeling danger for no reason. That said, sometimes people do feel things for inexplicable reasons, but when it comes to a story it tends to feel cheap when you're trying to use it to build tension.. The nurse who is was normally stationed behind the reception desk to greet those coming off the elevator this is way too wordy was missing from her post and the floor was unusually quite. I walked to the end of the hallway and turned right toward the interview rooms. I froze. That’s when I saw her. Just tell us what he saw instead of saying that he saw something. Dr. Magdalene was at the end of the hallway. I could tell it was her by the blue coat she was wearing. She wore that same blue coat every day Friday this is a contradiction. She was laying on her back in front of room one-hundred. I started walking towards her and as I got closer I became aware of the grim scene before me just show us the scene instead of telling us that there is one.. The doctor lay on her back, arms stretched out to either side so that her body formed a lower case “t”. She lay in a pool of dried blood formed from a gash across he forehead. She had also been stabbed several times in the stomach. I reached down and felt her neck for a pulse but she was already cold to the touch. Poor dear Magdalene. She didn’t deserve this. You protagonist isn't too torn up about this. I kinda wish I'd gotten a hint that he was like this earlier on because it came off as too shocking/distracting in this moment. I had a hard time believing it.A thought came into my mind. I wondered if my patient had escaped or if he was still here. I looked up at the interview room door I feel like you have a few instances like this where you're over-describing a noun. You need to establish a stronger sense of space so you don't have to rely on these over-descriptions.which was labeled zero-zero. The one had fallen off the door long ago if this is a future where resources are unlimited then why didn't anyone replace the one?and only a faint outline of it remained. Something compelled me forward and I opened the door and stepped in the room.

A single fluorescent bulb flickered light into the grey room. One large oversized desk was in the center of the room, chairs on either side. In the chair on the far side of the table sat an ordinary man with dark brown hair and a beard describing the beard is fine, but do we need to know his hair color? Surely there must be something more interesting to note about him. Hair color isn't bad, per se, but it doesn't create a very strong mental image for me as a reader.. At first glance he didn’t appear physically capable of the crimes he is was accused of committing or of the one who’s result I had just witnessed.

I stood there for a long moment not sure what to do. He just sat there, staring at me intently. He didn’t say a word. He was just sat there, watching You just said that.. I can’t tell you what made me go to the desk and sit down across from him I can: plot convenience. The writer wanted the character to go there and created a vague excuse to have him do so.. The only way I can put it is that felt compelled and before I knew it I was moving forward to take my seat. Like some mysterious supernatural force was urging me on. He broke the silence.

“Good Evening Dr…”

He let his R drag out to invoke a reply. I do not understand this at all. If people want to invoke replies they don't drag out their letters.

“Dr. Pilate, and… and you are…” Okay, so now I see what you meant in your previous sentence. Still, it's not worded correctly.

The sounds quivered out of my mouth and he cut me off before I could finish. His voice was deep and his words were paced purposefully.

“Call me whatever you’d like.” He said slowly.

I hesitated for a moment. “What would you like me to call you?” Why would he even be thinking about this right now?

And without hesitation, the man replied. “What name you give me is of no importance to me doctor. Call me whatever name you please. A name doesn’t change who I am.”

“What do you mean a name doesn’t change who you are? Who then, are you?” Why does it matter? He killed someone!

“Why, I am the I of course.”

“What do you mean you are the I?”

“You see doctor. You don’t even know who you are! How can you expect to know who I am. Call me whatever you like. God, the Universe, John Smith, Jesus Christ. It matters not how you refer to me. I am what I am.”

“What are you saying?”

“The answer to this question matters not. Know only I am the beginning and the end.”

Again, there was a moment of silence while I considered his words.

“That sounds like old religious rhetoric… Are you saying that you believe you are God?”

“Belief has nothing to do with it. There was once a man who saved a drowning scorpion and in return the scorpion stung the man severely almost killing him. When asked later why he saved the ungrateful scorpion the man replied, “The scorpions nature to sting doesn’t change my nature to save. You see now doctor?”

At this, I felt thoroughly confused. Also, I had forgotten completely about the carnage that lay right outside this interview room. Why? Why would this goofy little philosophical conversation distract Pilate from A MURDER!?!?!?

“I am not sure I get your meaning. How can I know what you are talking about if you talk in riddles.”

He replied in his deep slow tone.

“Oh…Dear…Doctor. Poor soul. I am what I am, you are what you are. You as well as I cannot change our nature. It matters not what we call our natures. If you want to say I have the nature of god, so be it.”

I thought about his words for a moment. He just sat watching.

“But then doesn’t the mere idea that god has a nature, limit god to his nature?”

“Precisely doctor. Ideas limit. This is why names don’t matter.” I'm sorry, but I'm skipping until we get to something that either makes sense or is actual dialog. This philosophical conversation comes out of nowhere, has no bearing on anything you wrote before, and is much too dry, abstract, and insubstantial to continue holding my attention.

This time I must have thought to long because after about three minutes of silence he began again.

“Names, nouns, categories. All boxes things fit into. Propositions are the labels on the boxes. What can we label the box that contains all boxes? The box with no outside? I am that box doctor. If it makes you feel better, you can call me god.”

I thought and said, “I see. And when did you become God?”

“Now.”

“What do you mean?” I said.

“When do all things happen, doctor?”

I didn’t know how to reply so I remained silent. I watched him sitting there. The light from outside was coming in from a small window near the ceiling off to my right and it lit the left side of his face so that I could make out every detail but it left the other side cast in a dark shadow. I could barely make out any features on his right side. Then a question came to me.

“Well then, let’s suppose you are God, how does one such as yourself become God?”

He answered without hesitation yet slow and paced.

“You don’t become God.”

“Am I also God?”

“Yes”

“So it’s merely knowledge about God you possess. It’s something I just don’t know?”

“You could say that.”

“So the only difference between you and I is that you have the knowledge that you are God?”

“A widow who’s husband left nothing for her and their 2 children had to beg to put bread on the table. One day a good friend of her husband came to visit after many years only to learn his friend had past and his friends family had fallen on hard times. “Not to worry, Maria.” The husband’s friend said. The friend took the widow to the widows house, to the widows closet and started to pry up the floorboards. Underneath the floor there was a duffel bag full of money that the husband had hidden away for his family. He had told his friend to make sure his family got the money should anything happen to him. Now I ask you this doctor. The widow was always in possession of the money, was she always rich?”

I ponder this question for a brief moment, then asked, “So, if you are God and I am God, aren’t we then the same person?”

“No, remember the trinity. Three persons, one God.”

“So you are saying you’re not a person.”

“In this moment, I, the universe, am expressing myself as a person. Where does a wave end and the rest of the ocean began?

“Do you think you will you die?”

“Death is merely an undulation in consciousness doctor. It’s an experience that I will have. But death doesn’t mean I will have to put up with everlasting non-existence.”

Suddenly I became aware of just who I was speaking to. I remembered what this man was accused of doing to his family, to his own sons. I remembered Dr. Magdalene right outside the door and I wondered where everyone else was. Though I thought of these things, this man did not frighten me. He was a curiosity to me.

“Interesting.” I replied, “Does this mean you make up your own morality?”

“Again doctor, you are trying to put things in boxes. What I am is beyond morality.”

“So you don’t think you can do wrong?”

“Right and wrong are two more categories doctor. Two more boxes. They are idea’s and idolatry of an idea is the worst kind. It’s a sin you know.”

“So idolatry then, you might consider that one of those bad things to do.”

“You misunderstand me doctor, I said it was a sin, I didn’t say it was bad. There are merely choices one makes. Not good choices or bad choices, just choices. You apply whatever label you’d like to my choices, it makes no difference to me.”

“I see. So what you did to those people, to your family, that was your choice?”

He just smirked and said, “I am like cloud. What choice does a cloud have?”

I don’t have time for riddles. Why doesn't he have time for riddles? They've been jabbering on forever. Nothing is urgent right now. Pilate clearly doesn't care about the dead woman. I am asking….”

He cut me off mid sentence and thats when something caught my attention out of the corner of my eye. I turned my head slightly to see what it was.

“Once you mix the gravy with the potatoes, you can’t undo that. It’s forever. We can’t go back. That’s what makes choices hard. Not whether a choice is right or wrong.”

Their in the corner of the room was a man on his hands and knees, arms stretched out as if he were bowing to the patient. I recognized the man as Tony, the guard that was supposed to be down stairs. He wasn’t moving. Then I saw the blood pooling around his wrists. They must have been slit. At this point I had had enough. I didn’t let him finish speaking. I stood up and walked quickly to the door.

Wait... this is in the same room? How did Pilate not notice this earlier?

“Leaving Doctor?”

I didn’t acknowledge him. I didn’t even look back. I opened the door and as I walked out he laughed a deep laugh and said “Relax. You can checkout anytime but you like but you can never leave. Hahahaha.” I shut the door behind me.

I stepped over Dr. Magdalene and I hurried back to the passage I was before I don't understand what this means, back to the elevator. When I got to the elevator I fumbled with my badge. I heard the interview room door open down the hall. I swiped my badge. “Errr” A red light on the key pad blinked three times. I tried again. I could her the patient walking down the hall around the corner. Every step loud on the tile floor. “Errr” Red. I hurried over to the nearest conference room. Room 66. I opened the door and went inside. I quickly scanned the room. It was someones office. There were two desks on either side of the room. I went to the one on the right and quickly began dragging it against the door. I opened the drawers to look for a weapon why would there be a weapon in an office? but all I could find was a pen and this paper. I had the idea to record the events of today in hopes that someone can figure out what happened here so that these people and possibly I don’t die in vain.

As far as the patient is concerned, this man is certifiably insane. That being said, there is a question about whether or not he can be responsible for his actions for these slayings. The question that needs to be answered is whether or not he knows certain actions are wrong. To this question, despite the ravings of this madman, it is my opinion that the patient is fully aware of morality and is capable of choosing between right and wrong. As he has said, it is for his peers to decide which box he will be put in. I hear him now. I must go.


—————————————————————————————————————————

“This is all that your team found?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“And everything else was in order? There were no bodies?”

“None, Sir. Everything was in order. Not a single desk or pen out of place.”

“What about blood? Did your team run an analysis on the areas described in the letter?”

“Yes, Sir. The team didn’t find any traces of anything. In fact the whole place was clean as a whistle, Sir. Not even a single fingerprint.”

“Well, keep on it. Thirty-five staff and four dozen patients just don’t vanish. And what about this new patient?”

“We don’t know, Sir. He’s vanished.”

“Hmm. That’s odd. Ok well dismissed.”
That dialog at the end was, hands down, the best part of the piece. It flowed very well, and I could always tell who was talking despite the lack of tags or, hell, even despite the fact that you never formally introduced characters. Very well done.

That said, the rest of the piece isn't working for me. It doesn't really feel like much of a story. Your protagonist is a lightly-developed character, although I do like the fact that he's not phased by the deaths of other people around him. That makes him seem kind of like a sociopath or something. What's more interesting than a sociopath having a career helping the mentally unsound? The problem is you don't really do anything with what little characterization you have.

For all the Philosophy 101 you espouse in this story, none of it has any bearing on the character. It comes out of nowhere, sparked by nothing, and ends up nowhere. It's much too basic to be intriguing on its own merits, and because it never effects the character, I'm left wondering why it's even there in the first place.

The murders also seem kind of pointless since they, too, don't add anything to the story. They're there, but they don't create tension and they don't factor into the ending or the discussion at all.

Your world building doesn't contribute to anything, either. I understand that you may want to write a longer story, but all the information you gave us at the beginning didn't factor into the story at all. This short story could have easily taken place in a contemporary setting and not been changed at all.

So, what are we really left with at this point? Your idea is ambitious--a man meets god--but your execution is disjointed and too familiar in some places. It reminds me of too many other stories I've either heard of, seen, or read before.

Your prose is also kind of stiff. It's filled with too much explanation, trying to describe the setting and other nouns at the last minute when you should have spent time setting all that up a little earlier. You also, I noticed, don't use commas when you should be. You have a lot of sentences featuring two independent clauses linked with a conjunction word (and, but, then, or, etc). When you have one of those you also need a comma. For example:

He went to the store, and he bought some milk.

I would have highlighted them, but I thought that, at first, they were just typos, but they appear too consistently for that.

You also need to fix some of your dialog grammar. You're using too many periods when you shouldn't be. For instance, dialog should look more like this:

"I went to the store," he said. "I bought some milk."

Yours looks more like this:

"I went to the store." He said. "I bought some milk."

If you're writing a statement (not a question or an exclamation) and you're going to use a dialog tag, then you need to end the dialog with a comma, not a period. Let me give you a few examples to show you how dialog grammar works in different scenarios.

"Hello," she said.

"Hello." She waved her hand.

"Hello?" she asked.

"Hello!" she said.


Notice how I don't use a comma in the seconds one, but a period. That's because "She waved her hand" isn't a dialog tag. It's a separate action not related directly to the dialog.

Okay, that's all I've got to say. You clearly have ambitious ideas but you need to learn how to better incorporate them into your story and make everything link up nicely.
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Old 02-04-2018, 10:53 PM View Post #3 (Link)
Keirarser (Offline)
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There are many genres and one is called the psychological fictions that spreads more awareness. Amongst the others rushmyessay.com reviews will guide you more about all the essential details.
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