PDA

View Full Version : The Butcher



Schwa
04-17-2009, 10:42 PM
So, this is a story I've been thinking about for a while, and I had the sudden urge to start working on it. So I worked on it for twenty minutes, here's the beginning, tell me what you think.



The Butcher:

Chapter 1-

Before I begin to talk, I want you to remember that I’m not here because I want to be; or even because I should be, or because you want me to be even. I’m here because they are making me and you have been charged with taking down my story, for historical record, of course -- I doubt anyone will remember me when I’m gone, but your people think differently, I cannot argue. No matter. I know I have no rights, or so the due process of law decides, but I want you to grant me this, you will listen without interrupting, and you will record everything I say as fact, because, I swear, everything I say is true; if it is important enough for me to relate it to you then it is important, if it I do not than it is not. There is nothing that will help or hurt my conviction, so I will not hold anything back.
I was born Ivan Ivanov, I always thought it was a ridiculous name. My father’s father was an immigrant from Russia, I think he was from Leningrad, or Stalingrad, I can’t remember, I always get the names confused. Anyways, he came to this country to escape communism, before WWII. My father didn’t care much for the Russians, he shared the opinion of America, he was, after all, an American, born and bred. But he had a sense of humor-- and a remarkable lack of cynicism towards the government, he was just, I guess, glad to be an American—so he thought it was funny, humorous, comedic even, for me to be Ivan ‘Ivan’ov; I like to think, in my better moments, that had I been born after the election of Dwight Eisenhower that my father would have named me Ivan Ike Ivanov. Funny, right? It wouldn’t have mattered much, in the grand scheme of things, that small little change to my name, but it would have been interesting, and, who knows, perhaps with that change my life could have been different.
I doubt it though, I’m not saying I believe in fate, but I doubt the word Ike between my anterior and posterier names would have done much to change my disposition, or characterize me in such a way to change other’s disposition towards me, but who knows. They say a butterfly flapping it’s wings in Japan can cause a hurricane. Maybe the best thing to do would be to kill all the butterflies, but that would be ridiculous.
Anyways, I was born the 6th of August, 1945; I’ve forgotten all the little details, but I still remember this. My parents used to call me their atomic baby, and they used to smile incongruously every time they called me ‘little boy’ around guests, it always got a laugh. To them it was just a joke, a little odd coincidence, and something to remind them of the past, and the great lengths humanity had come. But I was Ivan Ivanov, I was not a ‘little boy’ to level cities, an image burned forevermore in the retinas of the fallen, I was Ivan Ivanov, and I was just a person, there was, and there still is, nothing inherently special about me. Anyone could be in my position; even so, I wonder, why did it have to be me?
There is not much I remember from my child hood. I remember only one morning, the last morning I woke up feeling rested. It was dark. I heard yelling. It was too early to be awake. I remember opening my eyes, scratching at them, the dark ooze of sleep had conglomerated in them; again, the yelling. I remember hearing my mother. She was screaming, crying maybe. I heard my father’s voice, he was calm. You know, that’s something they always say about the Russians, that they are cold and do not fear death. When I heard my dad in his last moments, I heard no fear in his voice, no fear for himself, for his wife, no fear even for me.
I got up from the bed slowly, too tired to fully comprehend that, which now seems obvious, that was going on. I should have stayed in my room, I never should have opened the door. I should have stayed in my room, stayed there and wept. But I was Ivan Ivanov, and I did not cry.
I heard them, they sounded loud, obnoxious, excited, the had guttural New York accents; their words sounded like that of a boy, excited with his new toy. I felt sick, my hand rested on the door handle. I heard a sound, it didn’t sound anything like the sound in one of those movies you would see in the cinema. It didn’t sound like the victorious pluck of a hero’s gun as he killed the bad guy, the mobster, the Indian, the communist, whatever. It was a chilling, single shrill note. A bang, and then a thud, and a shriek from my mother. It tore through my soul, I was afraid, but I was curious. I was scared to know the truth, and maybe if I had ignored the truth it wouldn’t have ravished me. But I needed to know the truth.
I opened the door slowly, a chill numbing my senses and thoughts, the door handle was cold. The door swung open smoothly, it usually didn’t, we were a family of moderate means and we rented a poor tenement, why God chose that day to let the door swing smoothly and quietly is anyone’s guess. I looked out.
There were two men, both of them wearing suits, bowler hats with a red feather in their caps. An image forever burned in my retina. There was the sound again, a bang and a thud, but no shriek. They hadn’t seen me yet, and maybe they never would have, and I never would have seen his face. But I gasped, beholding the bodies of my parents strewn against the wall, red blood running down the new wall paper, staining the carpet. And they heard me, and turned.
They looked at me, both of them; one an older man, probably in his forties with a bronzed wrinkled face, and the other a young boy, probably about twenty, pale face, blue eyes, blonde hair. Like a Nazi in my home, the house my parents paid for.........

2-D
04-17-2009, 10:42 PM
is his name pete

Schwa
04-18-2009, 07:22 PM
Hurr.

Come on guys, I spent a whole 20 minutes working on this :_[

Schwa
04-19-2009, 10:19 AM
Grr. Come on people.

Überschall
04-19-2009, 10:26 AM
The beginning really catches some attention. There are some typos there, proofread the shit again.
I like how it picks up momentum quite quickliy towards the end and how his emotions are expressed all the way through. What it lacks in literal ways by symbols or deep metaphors, it makes up for in psychological ways to me. Maybe I'm getting redundant, but there's a lot of room for analysis in that area in there, which I like. The hints given are there, but not too excessive to become boring. It's really a good read so far.

Schwa
04-19-2009, 10:33 AM
The beginning really catches some attention. There are some typos there, proofread the shit again.
I like how it picks up momentum quite quickliy towards the end and how his emotions are expressed all the way through. What it lacks in literal ways by symbols or deep metaphors, it makes up for in psychological ways to me. Maybe I'm getting redundant, but there's a lot of room for analysis in that area in there, which I like. The hints given are there, but not too excessive to become boring. It's really a good read so far.

Yaaay :D

Will proofread later, I seem to make a lot of typo's when I'm trying to type up stories late at night.

Flesh
04-19-2009, 12:57 PM
It was good, I enjoyed reading it.

Schwa
04-20-2009, 06:21 PM
Faaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaags

Phosphorus
04-20-2009, 07:20 PM
You should go to a dedicated writing forum if you want real comments.

Since I'm not much of a writer, I'll just say that it was good.

Schwa
04-20-2009, 07:43 PM
You should go to a dedicated writing forum if you want real comments.

Since I'm not much of a writer, I'll just say that it was good.

Yay :D

Well I don't want real comments, I just want people to read it and tell me whether it was interesting, and whether they'd be interested to read more if I wrote more.

Schwa
04-22-2009, 10:04 PM
FAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGs

I need peer approval here.

Flood
04-23-2009, 04:56 PM
Sorry, but to me it was just really boring to read. It was just dull. But it was still a good story.