The Church ~ Short Story

Just looking for feedback, this is just a part of a larger project I'm working on. Simple story, target audience being anyone, and just again apart of a much much larger longer story I have yet to edit being as busy as I have been. Hopefully you enjoy. 

A child of light, a child of the night, both alive in hells delights, to tell a tale of somber fight. As for this tale, of fiery delight, I wish I may, I wish I might, change the details of this night, however gruesome the fever, to furnish an appetite. And so the story begins in a realm, where hell and heaven, await the helm, of a soldier, of a rebel, to fight the fight against the devil. The night grew thick and two children were fastened deep in a sleep of uncertainty, both of location and animosity. For they were laying deep in a hole, separate but lonesome, so as the story goes. Two deep to reap of heavens glory, buried somewhat by the story that fastened the confines of their graves, and sang on the winds of hells delay.

Two children distinctly different, but sharing the same bloodline lay deep in holes dug of hate and sorrow. These holes were carved from sin, and determined to keep each of which from reaching the top and escaping. The year was unknown; they themselves had forgotten their names, stripped from everything besides the basic nourishment that was offered routinely to foster their lifespan. They were tortured, bruised, battered, belittled, beaten, and left to rot in the holes. Both were of surprising character for children, both possessing characteristics beyond anyones understanding. They were at a time, strong, courageous, and brave children, but the depths of hell that surrounded them continually cast out any hope. Years went by and each child grew defiantly stronger, their guardians increasing nourishment, and the two young men increasing in stamina for hope, that if they ever were to escape, they would be able to brave the winds above. The land surrounding was desolate as the eye could see, a wasteland, plagued by nuclear war, and the bombs that destroyed every lasting potential of life. There was a small village left by the storm, and everyone knew of the games the guards would play with the lone two prisoners. The prisoners were the last of a notorious bloodline, that plagued the village long ago, so as was the justification for their torture. The boys were the sons, of the best assassin in the land, and were imprisoned for their fathers actions. So as to say, their righteousness belittled their courage was a foundry; alas their demise merely was a flicker in comparison to their mothers. However, as they boys lie in their prisons a snake slid down, into each hole. The snake spoke to each of the boys asking them a question. The snake asked the first young man if he had desperately wanted freedom. And both young men responded they did. The snake then named his price, one soul for your inevitable freedom. The first young man said that a price that high is not worth the cost. The second young man said yes, and that man awoke in the village the next day.

The young man in the village, sadly killed everyone, and for fear of his prominence almost took the life of himself. While the screams could be heard from miles around above the first man prayed, and it started to rain. The rain lasted five days, and over the sound of tremendous water crashing about at the walls of his prison, women, children, and men could be heard above fleeing for their lives. As the water level rose, the first young man crawled out, and gazed upon the village. Doors lie ajar, ripped from their frames, windows smashed, furniture ridden in the streets, the moonlight the only sign of life, among the blood, and desolate rotunda. The man walked through the village gazing into the eyes of the fallen with little compassion, and variant solidarity. Then he saw his brother, soaked from head to toe, in the blood of innocents, or so one would claim.

He then asked his brother if they were any different from what the people had imprisoned them for, to which he replied they were not. They were the embodiment of hate, not of themselves but of what people had planted them in the ground to be. The first young man realized he was one in the same, because he had no remorse for his brother, nor no pity for the village. Although as they spoke the second brother lunged for the first and the snake appeared. In a flash the one brother became something entirely evil, horns, teeth, blackness, chains, hellfire, erupted from his body, a demon to walk the earth relentlessly to torture all those, who would confine him, in that prison. The other brother sprouted wings, vibrant gold, and white light sprinted the horizon, and the dead seemed to rise onward to another place. The two faced each other, and the snake spoke. One of you will die, and I will attend to the soul. They both remembered where they were now, they remembered what they had done, and they remembered who they were. This was Golgotha, and as children they both assassinated a King, and for their crimes they were punished and cast away into the darkness to be forgotten in time, and in familiarity. However, they were one in the same, there were never two brothers, and there was only one son, split in two by a curse, or a blessing to instill the good out of the evil. And here now the young man faced himself, a relentless demon, against the only good he had left, an angel.

The battle was relentless, chains were cast onto each other, fires raged, and hurls of earth were tossed asunder. The darkness of the demon blotted out the day, but the angel lit the night, and the torrent of blood spilled and was cast aloft all the land. The seas stirred, the animals were restless, and the fires raged. The demon roared in discontent, like a lion unable to feast, and the angel sat in defiance of evil, gazing back at the demon is unified absolution. Arrows were hurled, lightning crashed, thunder roared, and the rains cast the sky in darkness from smoke and ash. All that was visible were the fiery eyes of the demon, and the light the angel permeated. The angel lunged his sword deep into the demon, and the demon wrapped his razor chains around the angel, and they became one again. Fires erupted, lightning vaporized the land, and an angel lay with darkened wings, and fiery chains bound all around. The inept angel stood, and his eyes were of flame, darkness, and light. Every aspect of virtually every choice was behind his eyes. To synthesize both heaven, and hell in one mass, is to virtually determine sight. An old man rocked on his chair nearby, and saw the angel walk away after the battle to which the angel replied to the old man Break the Cycle.

Violence is the inevitable acquittal of pain, and the mitigation of evil. Somber is pain and absolution can be very well intricate, to a point of reference that is diluted in all minds understanding. Eyes that see both aspects of human potential are eyes that seek to understand a solidarity that is both encompassing and fragrant. To seek out the name of this angel is an easy undertaking, it is within us. The name of the angel, of whom the story entails, is Goloc, and formidably, the angel reaps both of witnessing absolution and torment. It is within all minds, and hearts understandings that pain, and peace be combined to form the fundamental basis for bliss. For one can only go so far into a hole of imprisonment before they gaze up, and pray for hope, for there is nothing else, beyond hope.

"For fires burn in hells delight, and frigid air burns in the night. To cover solemn, reckless haste, and strip from every mouth a bitter taste. A taste of lust, a taste of desire, a taste that burns the mind like fire. A fire whose bitter bounds know no ends, and whose vibrant ghost does descend. To engulf all those who know no bounds, and caste asunder with horrific sounds. The sounds that tear a heart, into twenty eight thousand pieces apart. Born with pain, solidified in rage, confined like a beast in a cage. A beast that stirs and beckons to be free, and tortured eyes that hinder see. A vision foretold, of great turmoil, of course. To say the least in a sigh, from heavens above the world rides high. Not knowing night nor day, the caged beast, wastes away, in his prison he's split in the sun, Goloc was two, now Goloc is one."

Neat story! I really like how you frame the piece with the rhyming paragraphs bookending what seems to be an introductory chapter. I'm also glad that you didn't write in that style throughout because I think it made it special, and gives the reader a sense of those bookends, with closure coming as you read the final paragraph.

I enjoy the idea of the story and how you progress through the idea of these two beings, what they are and how they fit together (and apart). 

Technically, there are a lot of extraneous commas that really break up the flow in the body of the text. There are also a few words and phrases that I don't think are used correctly or are a bit too vague and could use some further exposition:

The prisoners were the last of a notorious bloodline, that plagued the village long ago, so as was the justification for their torture. 

So as to say, their righteousness belittled their courage was a foundry; alas their demise merely was a flicker in comparison to their mothers.Now I'm curious about their mothers, but you don't bring that up again!

The young man in the village, sadly killed everyone, and for fear of his prominence almost took the life of himself.  I'm not understanding why he may kill himself because of his notoriety. He doesn't have remorse, so what's the point?

They were the embodiment of hate, not of themselves but of what people had planted them in the ground to be. 

This is a part I'm not understanding with the story. If the two brothers are really the same, but one is "good" and one is "bad", how are they both the embodiment of hate? Furthermore, I don't get what you mean whe you say "of what people had planted them in the ground to be."

However, they were one in the same, there were never two brothers, and there was only one son, split in two by a curse, or a blessing to instill (distill?) the good out of the evil. I do love this idea! It was a fun revalation.

An old man rocked on his chair nearby, and saw the angel walk away after the battle to which the angel replied to the old man Break the Cycle.Where did this come from? Did the old man even talk to the angel?

Violence is the inevitable acquittal of pain...

I like the idea of this paragraph, I really do--especially the idea that the dichotomy is within all of us--but the descriptions are a bit too abstract for me, and some of them seem involuntarily contradictory. If it were tightened up and focused a bit more to drive the point home more fluidly or simply, I'd enjoy it even more.

My question now is what you plan on doing with this piece? I'd love to see this as the first chapter, or have these descriptions expanded a bit, or even see where Golgac goes from here, or what his role is in the world. That whole idea of "breaking the cycle" makes me think of how you describe the world as a nuclear wasteland before Golgac becomes one, and through the battle he sort of makes a big mess, so it would be neat to explore this idea of the world's destruction being a cycle of the battle for the entity to merge, then the rebuilding being Golgac's separation and subsequent imprisonment. But then I'd like to know more about how the people interact with the prisoners and what their purpose is, too.

Great intro and idea, I really want to see what you do with this piece!

Hmm... let's have the union chime in with ways we can review and discuss longer submissions. 

Any suggestions, fellow members?

This was merely an intro to see if people were interested in more. I built upon the idea even more in some 30+ chapter volume then I've been working on for few years now here and there. The main story chronicles the same main character, in a different world where in the aftermath of great catastrophe, the world is rebuilt and reimagined. There's a ton of grammatical errors, because at the time I cared more about the flow of the story pouring onto the pages then I did in ensuring every piece of grammer was correct so forgive me for the mistakes both in this short story and the main volume. I can email the main story to you, you can take your time and get back to me on it, just drop me an email, and I can send it out. Or I could post some 50 pages on here, haha. Its up to you guys, I never thought much of it, just love to write and glad I can share my ideas with this community.galactic88

I say we keep it at excerpts or even select chapters. There's no way I'm going to edit or critique an entire book without getting paid ^_^

Also, on a side note, it wouldn't hurt to fix any noticeable grammatical errors before posting. You'll save your reviewers a lot of time and unnecessary headaches. ~_^

I liked it as a backstory drop, or prologue, but I don't think I could read an entire book written in this style. Not that anything is wrong with the style--it's powerful, and raw. But it also becomes tedious to follow. The length it's at was good for me, and I enjoyed it.

I agree with Saigo when he suggests cleaning up any grammatical errors before posting, otherwise it's distracting for those reviewing and criticquing.  

Additionally, your use of diction is unique, but sometimes seems to be contradictory. When it works, it's fresh. But when it appears contradictory, it's distracting. Often, the best way to write something is also the simplest. That's debatable though. Shakespeare, after all, was one of the most original writers that ever lived by creating his own extensive vernacular. And what better way to make your writing original than to use words in new ways?

All in all, it's good and I'm happy that you've found your own style. I would be really interested in seeing this redone as a long poem and broken into stanzas. It doesn't have to rhyme, but as a poem it would give you more leeway with grammar, and allow your readers to contemplate your word-choice as reflective poetry, rather than formal prose.