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A Thin Line Of Hope

Offline Adelaide

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A Thin Line Of Hope
« on: July 24, 2009, 06:41:24 AM »
Haha, I actually started this book when I was 14, I wanted to write something with such incredible depth and that made people notice it, because it effected them in some way, something that offended any and everyone to the point where they even had to question themselves. At the time, this was meant to be my best work, the work with the most depth, the most thought put into it, the most research on the topics I touched on, and the most versatile work I've written. It was the first book I would submit for publishing, and hopefully be the first book published.

For a while, I had forgotten about it, until just this morning, I was speaking with Blackdeath, and was reminded of it. BD proved to be a great conversationalist =P And one of the few people, I actually didn't mind speaking to about religion. I decided, to resurrect that goal, and finish this novel, and submit it for publishing, before the end of 2009. That gives me half a year to get myself into writing gear. I got lazy, but I am hoping to get back on track.

Also, part of why I was writing this book was to open my eyes to other perceptions, as well as allow for others to see my own, so my wonderful 4M of mostly men, this is Addy writing through the eyes of a male character, in first person.

Here is a quick excerpt, to give you guys some idea of what to expect, and possible give a review on? Constructive criticism? If I touch on anything that offends, don't be too upset with me. And if you comment, please don't make it something like "Good." or something. I really do want like... good criticism. ;D

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It was cold, from what I remember, upon waking up that morning, dew residing on my window, leaking down the pane.  Clouds were dark in the sky, too dark, and thunder roared off in the distance, lowly, almost more of a prolonged rumbling growl.  I lingered beneath the warm sheets a while longer, before finally convincing myself to stand.

It was a weekend, a day I would have off, and with sorrow heavy upon my heart, my feet touched the cold wood, and I, in only the briefs I'd slept in, stumbled my way into the kitchen, pressing the brew button on the coffee machine.  Outside the window, rain drenched the world in bitter icy chilling moisture that leaked beneath the foliage, as the worms hidden beneath the earth, came out of hiding to bask in this delight.  I myself am not a worm, and therefore, the rain brought about no delight, as I shifted into the bathroom, and my briefs fell to the ground, as I turned the knob on the shower, so that hot liquid would spew from the shower head.

I washed myself clean of all the impurities, and stepped back out, onto the soft rug that laid just outside my shower, to capture whatever water dripped from my bare body and splashed against the ground where my feet were planted.  Steam clouded the room, as I towel-dried myself off, and then stepped back into my room, to dress in my Sunday attire.

Sunday was the day in which I attended church, though I would often question myself on why it was I actually attended a facility of Christianity on a daily basis, without being Christian myself.  I couldn't convince myself to believe in God, or the fact that Jesus was "the messiah,”; it all seemed too fictional, too folk lore and fairy tale for me.  Perhaps in the distant future, people of that time would look back on us, with a similar thought to when people of the present look back on the Greeks, and their beliefs in Zeus, Poseidon, Hades, Hestia, Hera, Ares, Athena, Apollo, Aphrodite, Hermes, Artemis, and Hephaestus, along with whichever Greek Gods I may have missed, and all the demigods too.  Perhaps, like we do now, they will look to us as silly, foolish, naive people, to fall into a phase where we would believe in fictional stories of the Bible and the existence of falsely created characters.

I myself, probably attended the church for reasons beyond believing in a religion and being an apt follower of it.  Perhaps the reason I chose to attend a church is for the good mo'rals that it sets as a foundation.  It almost came as a kind of depression to me that I cannot believe in God, because I think if I did, my life may be easier, because I would have something, anything really, to hold faith in, but my mind is far too analytical for such things.

But, despite me versatile thinking, I dressed cleanly, in a suit and tie, and combed my hair, so that it wasn't one that may frighten young kids, as it often was when I first woke up.  I looked to myself in the mirror with admiration, though my inner thoughts lingered on my faults.  Then, once I felt prepared to step out of my home, clean-shaven, showered, and dressed appropriately, I treaded out into the crisp damp air.  I looked to my car, and giving an exasperated sigh, turned away from it.  It would only worsen my mood to drive, for I knew immediately, with the weather conditions as they were, it would stall, and I would only become frustrated.

In walking towards the church, I couldn't help my mind from wondering, and in a mind frame set on religion, that seemed to be the thought frame that possessed my mind.  It lingered specifically on the topic of sin, not any specific sin, but sin in general.  It seemed to me to be the biggest fear of followers of the Christian religion; to sin and not be forgiven, then once their lives here on Earth end, they burn eternally in hell.  Sin, the thing that is meant to be avoided and repented for, as well as always be admitted to, if it is committed, is one of the mo'ral foundations that keeps me following the religion, though perhaps not strongly enough.

Having something tell you what is right and what is wrong, having guidelines to follow, that is the basic formula to structure in life.  If people were to create their own rules to abide by, murderers would say murdering is right and rapists would say rape is right, which of course isn't fit in today's society, and isn't ethical.  However, those are laws, and laws, no matter your religion, must be followed or you are to be punished.  Laws are like a religion on their own, because they set forth a set of rules that a number of people must conform to, but it isn't enough for us.  We need more than rules to make us fit into society as law-abiding citizens; we need rules that give us personal value.  There is no law saying: "When you see a charity, you must donate to it" so when a person sees a charity, and chooses to donate, they have committed a rather righteous act, and therefore, they have at least one good mo'ral.  Mo'rals are like laws, you don't break them, or you have sinned.

I hadn't needed to watch my feet or pay attention to where I was walking, to get there without problem, because the walk was like second nature to me now, and so, with a rather bemused mind, I looked up to the large adorned building, with the cone up top, balancing a crucifix.  Churches, Christian or not, always seemed welcoming for whatever reason.  Usually, unless you liked to bring attention to yourself by pretending that if you step foot in a house of God you'll end in spontaneously combustion, people don't much mind walking in one, despite it being such a religious building.  Now I'm not saying everyone, but just in general, churches seem fairly welcoming.

Within the building, a wave of warmth passed me by, and I looked about myself as I noticed other familiar families that I attended Sunday church with.

"Good morning, Leolin."  Kristie Blythe told me, a wide grin across her face as usual.  It was Christians like her that made me originally desire to follow the religion myself; she seemed content with the life she lead and smiled often, as if life was always blissful.  She was younger, than but not quite as young as I was, for she was in her thirties and I am approximately twenty-five.

I gave her a quick smile, as if to show politeness, "Please, call me Leo," I told her for at least the hundredth time.  I didn't feel it was necessary speaking formally to me, and it had taken such a long time to convince her not to call me Mr. Verity.  That's the worst, when they call me by my last name so formally and with such high respect, especially when someone with power calls you by your last name, as if you deserve his respect.  I rather keep things informal, myself, but to be polite, I find myself often conforming with society and calling those I am not close to by their last names.

"Oh, of course," she smiled brightly, "Well good morning to you, Leo."

I grinned, once more conforming to suite the conversation and politeness towards this other woman, though I didn't quite wish to continue the conversation.  I'm a terrible conversationalist, it is rather evident; it's probably because I am always on my own level of thinking, that no one else is on.  Everyone is on their own scale, that's why no one can entirely understand any one; not even themselves it seemed.  "Good morning, Mrs. Blythe," I returned the gesture.

She looked at me knowingly, with a humored expression, as if I'd just told her a joke, and then she shook her head, with a slight laugh.  "Now if I have to call you Leo, you could at least do the same for me."

“Call you Leo?”  I attempted at a joke, though to me I failed miserably, she still laughed at it.  If I were still a teenager I may have taken this as flirting, but I am no teenager, and besides that, she was married with children, and very happy with her home life.  She was an amazingly devoted wife and mother, as well as a follower of God.

"Well no, that wasn't what I meant." she answered, after regaining composure.

With her family on my mind, I decided to inquire about them, "How are the kids and your husband?"  I asked courteously.  I wasn't honestly interested in them or their well being, and perhaps it was wrong of me to not care too terribly much about this woman or her family, but like I couldn't convince myself to believe in God, I couldn't convince myself to care.  She seemed well off, happily married, steady income, two well-behaved children, and a roof over her head, why should I of concerned myself with this woman and her family?

"Oh, Charlie and the kids are just taking their seats, I was helping hand out flyers in regards to the March of Dimes charity we are holding.  The sermon will start shortly, we should probably go take our seats," she told me as she handed me a sheet, "Here you are, by the way."

I nodded, "It was nice talking to you again, Kristie.”  I told her, and turned to take my seat, as she went to sit beside her husband, Charlie, and her two kids.

The room was huge, and the roof was high.  The walls were an off white, and rows of light oaken wood benches, with Bibles at every seat, filled the room.  Many Christian families, husbands and wives and their children, all sat exchanging conversation with each other lowly, so that it was only a murmur of blended voices, like the buzzing of a bee.  I sat quietly, folded up the flyer, and stuffed it in the pocket over my breast.

The minister stood, ornate in his robes, and stood before us all, before clearing his throat, silencing the room, and beginning the Sunday morning sermon.
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If you read that all, thanks so very very very much! <3 And I have another chapter, so if you want to read on, I can think about posting it, I just didn't want to overwhelm you guys with all my annoying writing. o.o Reviews are nice! =P

EDIT: You know what... censorship ANNOY Addy sometimes.. M O R A L! >=[ This story has the word a lot!!!! Now I gotta go through it and fix it all! >.>
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Offline Flashwerewolf

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Re: A Thin Line Of Hope
« Reply #1 on: July 24, 2009, 07:26:39 AM »
dont forget to brush  ;D

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