New Project.

[trentm32]

[Random Name]

holy shit.


...



I dont' even know what to say!!
Holy Shit!!!!



You better be going somewhere good with this!!!

Only constructive advice I can give is that you should be aware of when you are writing descriptively and when you are writing plot essentials.

(Ps, did you get my last email?)

[trentm32]

nah, I didn't get get ur last e-mail, gal! and it is going somewhere, lol! Good point about descriptive/plot differentiation-I tend to ramble!

[crustine]

[trentm32]

[trentm32]

[Random Name]

Can I just quote myself and say "holy shit.


...



I dont' even know what to say!!
Holy Shit!!!!



You better be going somewhere good with this!!!"


I'm reading some terrible paperback thriller type book right now and to be honest, I am much more interested in how this turns out over that one.

[trentm32]

[christa lynn]

[trentm32]

[christa lynn]

Maybe don't include "the fire" in the title to the chapter. I think it makes it a little too obvious what is going to happen to the house.

[trentm32]

[Random Name]

[trentm32]

[christa lynn]

You know, I think this is the reason I still check the CM every once in a while. Trent, you rock.

[trentm32]

aww... thanks!!!!

[trentm32]

yet another chapter...

Chapter Six

“Thirteen Days Before The Night At St. Mathews”

There were children in thick coats with mittens and hats playing tag in the park just across the way. The sun was shining brightly in the cloudless sky, but the air was still filled with the biting cold of winter. I looked down to my cheap, scuffed watch for the hundredth or so time.
“Forty minutes late,” I mumbled the words sadly under my breath. I tapped the face of my watch for no real reason; it just seemed the thing to do. My bones and stomach ached for the coffee we had planned on getting.
Chris was the most prompt person I had ever known, his recent rash of tardiness (that is when he even shows up at all) worried me more and more with every passing minute.
I sighed aloud, and raised my head to finally see my big brother in the distance, making his way slowly up the cracked sidewalk toward the park bench where I sat. He had a dark jacket zipped up close to his chest, and a thick red scarf wrapped tightly around his neck. There were dark bags under his eyes as he looked down at me and tried to smile.
I stood up and hugged him tightly.
“How you doing, big brother?” He nodded slowly.
“Better…I’ve been sleeping a little better the last couple of nights.” He put his hand on my shoulder, and tried to make me believe him. He sat down beside me and didn’t say anything for a moment. Upon taking a deep breath of the chilly, icy air; he looked me clear in the eyes and said,
“You know…what if I got it wrong? What if I just can’t remember what happened?” I shrugged my shoulders slightly. This was the first time in over two weeks that he had brought the day of the fire up. I was glad that he was at least broaching the topic again—I hoped that perhaps talking about it a little more would help him move past it.
“That’s a really good point, Chris. That was a pretty tough thing—the fire—to come back from; maybe…maybe you just don’t remember.”
“I’ve tried so hard, so hard to.” I could see a lone tear begin rolling down his pale cheek. He looked so broken.
“It’s okay, Chris; it’s okay.” I put my arm around him, and tried my best to comfort him. The kids across the street were still playing; it looked like hide and seek, now. There was a young boy with a bright blue jacket hiding behind an oak tree right in front of us. He looked up and saw me, and put his finger over his mouth; the universal sign to keep quiet. I just smiled to him and nodded.
Chris raised his head, and saw the kids playing, as well. A smile—and this time it looked to be a genuine one—spread over his face.
“Things sure were easier when we were kids, weren’t they little brother?” I couldn’t help but laugh aloud,
“You got that right, bro.”
At that Chris raised his head straight up toward the sky, and seemed to be staring at the sun. After a moment he looked back down and shook his head, hard. It was almost as if he was trying to shake something out.
We just sat there for a while, not saying anything. It was a comfortable silence, and I was hoping that Chris was using the time to digest his thoughts, and try to make amends and get past this all—and let things begin moving back toward some semblance of normalcy.
I felt a chill from the cool, afternoon air course quickly through my body; and just as soon as it had arrived it was almost suddenly gone. My lips felt blue, and my face was chapped from the strong stirring wind; almost like invisible ’nine tails were sweeping across the face of the earth, and across the park bench where we sat.
I was getting chillier by the minute, and the coffee we had planned to get an hour ago still sat warmly in the nice warm face a block or two down. But, it felt good just to be spending time with Chris again; and though I shifted in my spot every few minutes, thoughts of leaving were never seriously entertained.
After a few more moments, without saying a word, Chris rose to his feet and stretched his arms up over his head. He took a few steps away, then just as I began to stand up and go after him he turned back to me and said,
“I have to know, little brother. I just have to.” All I could do was nod an understanding nod back to him.
Every man must walk his own path; no matter where it might lead him.
I just sat there, and watched my brother’s visage fade slowly into the distance as he passed in front of the coffee shop we never actually made it inside of.
It’s the worst feeling in the world; being helpless to help the one’s you love.
On that thought a shrill beeping began emanating from my jacket pocket—I reached inside to reveal my ringing cell phone. The caller ID read “Cassandra;” I had completely forgotten that we had plans to meet up.
I glanced at my watch before I answered and noticed that I was already half an hour late. I answered slowly, and told her that I had just been with Chris, and lost track of time.
“Take all the time you need; how is he?” I pulled the phone from my mouth and sighed and thought a moment.
“He’s fine,” was what I finally answered. She didn’t seem to believe me, and I didn’t have the motivation at the time to try and make her believe me. So, quick thinking as I am, I changed the subject.
“Cassandra,” I quickly said.
“Yes?” She asked; in one of her patented ‘I know you’re trying to change the subject’ kind of tones.
“Why don’t you meet me at the café on fifth and we’ll grab some coffee? I’ve been craving some for a while now. See you soon, babe.”
With that I hung up before she had to time to retort, and then raised my freezing frame from the bench to begin making my way toward the coffee shop. I looked to my right to find that the kids playing in the park had all gone home. A shade faded across my face as I looked up to find a lone cloud drifting slowly, softly in front of the sun.
It was almost picturesque.

[trentm32]

[trentm32]

here it is... the final chapter in what I'm billing as part one of the story. Enjoy!!!

Chapter Eight

“Three Days After The Night At St. Matthews”

I raised my head to see the grand old, wooden crucifix hanging lofty above my head. An effigy of Christ lay stung out across it’s front; a knowing smile rest on his lips.
Stained glass windows were large, and scattered around the grand hall where we all sat. The ceiling was high, and I could faintly hear the echoes of the pounding rain outside beating heavily against the walls and roof.
I used my sleeve to wipe a tear that began creeping slowly down my cheek. I looked to my sides to see friends, and faintly familiar faces all wrapping around me in a haze of color and melancholy. I barely even noticed now when yet another; in what seemed an endless stream of hands patting me on the back in sympathy, grazed across the upper part of my black overcoat. I didn’t even care who it was anymore.
Cassandra was sitting beside me, loosely holding my hand in hers. She was in a black dress that seemed to do nothing more than make me even sadder.
A short man in a long black robe, with grey hair was standing behind the podium at the front of the church. He looked so small behind the massive, dark oak pulpit. The coffin with my brother’s body was laid out neatly in front of him; it was even in the center, and it seemed to be perpendicular with all of the walls.
I tried to listen to what the man was saying, but the words just wouldn’t stay together. It was almost like on a Charlie Brown Christmas, where you can never actually hear what the teacher is saying. I just sat there, and kept trying to hear him.
I still couldn’t get that night out of my mind. I just stayed there, reliving it over and over. The bathtub, the phone call, and the drive home that is still fuzzy even in my inescapably clear memory. I didn’t even know what I was saying when I called for the ambulance…or I suppose it was for the coroner, actually.
He was white, and cold, and stiff by the time they even got there. Looking back I couldn’t have been much help—just rocking myself--back and forth, back and forth—on the cool, stained tile floor.
“Chris—my brother—he’s, he’s dead. Please, somebody come; I, I don’t know what to do.” That was all I could say before I just dropped the phone on his bed, and went back down the hall to sit with him and wait; they had to trace the call to even find us. I mean, to find me.
“…and Christopher was a good man…”
My eyes shot to the front of the room as the short old man continued talking. I didn’t know who he was, but I hoped he had at least known Chris, somehow—I hoped that he was Chris’ mentor, or something. Or at least someone he had looked up to. Anything; just something to make it mean more. To make the words he was saying truer.
The church was silent, but I could still hear murmurs echoing through the high walls and ceiling. Sobs, and whispers—the clattering of feet on the floor outside.
I wiped another tear from my cheek.
I hated that I had helped him; I hated it so much. I knew he would have done it—with or without me—but I couldn’t help but think that there had to have been something, anything, that I could have done. Hindsight is twenty-twenty, as they say.
I couldn’t stand to be in that room anymore, so I slowly stood up and tried my best to quietly make my way out to the grand hall while drawing as little attention to myself as possible. As my hand slid out of Cassandra’s I tried to smile, and mouthed the words ‘I need some air’ so that she hopefully wouldn’t follow me. I just wanted to be alone. The few people that noticed me leaving just seemed to nod sadly toward me, and then quickly look away.
The pitter-patter of heels and expensive shoes clattering on the stone floor got louder as I got closer to the back.
Once I was finally out of that room, I made a beeline for the farthest bathroom from the where I was at that I could find. After a few minutes of wandering I found one; it was just a small room, tucked into a back corner of a split-off hallway.
I walked inside, and splashed some water on my face from the old sink resting in front of me, and raised my head to look at myself in the faintly dirty mirror. I rubbed the dark circles underneath my eyes. My tie had become loose, so I tightened it the best that I could and tried to clear my head. After looking in the mirror for far longer than I had planned, I slowly made my way back out into the empty hallway. I just stood by the door with my head down, absorbing the solitude.
I heard a sound at the end of the hall, and raised my eyes to see what was there. In the shadow at the very end of the passage I could see what appeared to be the outline of a man standing there. I saw something sparkle around his neck. He seemed to be watching me, so I slowly started waling toward him. He didn’t move, and seemed to be waiting for me. As I got closer I noticed that he was dressed very well in a black suit that looked vaguely familiar, and he was about my size and height.
I still couldn’t make out his face.
As I almost made it to him, I made out what I had seen sparkling in the dark; a silver crucifix dangled from around his neck. Once I crossed into the shadow where he stood his features became much, much clearer.
A chill shot up my spine. The man in front of me was pale—pale as the fresh fallen snow—and he had what looked to be an expensive black suit on, with a crisp white shirt underneath that seemed to still be darker than he, clinging closely to his bones. He raised his head and looked me in the eye; and finally spoke three words I had never thought to hear again.
“Hey, little brother.”

[christa lynn]

:O

As a general comment, it's fairly obvious that the shadowy man is going to be his brother. I dunno how obvious you were intending it to be. Those three last paragraphs seem slightly awkward somehow ... Don't get me wrong, it's very good, but I think you can do better.