*Warning: some may find distasteful* A short story

LegacyUser

Hi everyone,
First time poster to the creative writing board so I've gone unreg, especially with the nature of this story. It isn't complete, that is to say I'm not happy with it, but I wanted to run it by some others to see if it makes sense and the continuity is good. I tend to be all over the place in my writing sometimes. (Mods if this isn't suitable/too violent I apologise in advance) Anyway here it is:
The Prison of my Madness
I do accept full-well the consequences of my actions and do also admit that it was I who committed them. That is not my problem. My problem lies in the fact that I do not feel remorse or guilt having committed these actions and yet regret the loss which assails those who were left behind. In my mind, ladies and gentlemen, the loss of a human life, of any human life is an atrocity. But this particular life so unceremoniously snuffed out at my hands is no loss to me, nor do I claim to regret expunging the deceased from this world. Or rather I do not express sadness for the death of the individual concerned but instead for the life taken away, a life some people never get to experience.
I stole the years from him in order to make my already charmed life a more peaceful existence, this was my goal. To finish out my days (may there be many more) in peace, worrying not at all about the vile poison spreading forth from the festering wound that was the mouth of the deceased. Only nineteen was he and yet already had caused much pain to those around him, myself included of course. Never kind but always expecting was he, demanding the best from friends all the while giving the worst of himself. Like a spoilt child he would slowly ruin anyone who crossed him, leaving devastation in his wake, leaving behind people who had once been friends. For this, I think only parents can be blamed. Granting a child’s every wish is indeed a way to placate and befriend them but leaves no room for discipline or disappointment. Anything unpleasing or unpleasant simply removed for the little king or queen. I am quite aware of the irony of this diatribe given that I too have behaved as spoilt as the individual to whom I refer. There was however a single integral difference in my view. I did not engage in social slating of those whom I do not approve of, preferring instead to shy away from confrontation and removing myself from the company of such individuals. I did not seek his company, but neither did I discourage others from keeping correspondence, his dalliances with mutual friends were simply none of my concern. This was the difference. Preferring to live a life empty of strife, I tend to leave well enough alone. For the so-called victim this never seemed to be an option. His venomous tendrils spread slowly but with the full destructive force of slow-creeping ivy. Beautiful to the eyes of beholder, but terrifying to one being stung by the tiny pinpricks of the questing search roots, just searching for a foothold, a small area of weakness in which to base the attack. Once he had insinuated himself into a position of power, he exerted his influence over others to begin the attack.
It began as a subtle snubbing while in passing but grew into a full-scale excommunication. The underlings (for you can be sure he regarded them as nothing more) in his scheme were quickly caught up in the glamour of the new hierarchy. Scrabbling to curry favour with their new leader they escalated the battle plan. Not only from their commune was I to be excommunicated but also from what seemed to be the world in general. One who has once been part of a close network does not take well to becoming an outsider (I use the word network simply to imply that we were individuals linked by strands rather than a group, a single entity; and also to differentiate between this and the new ‘group’ regime enforced by the deceased).I was suddenly an outcast, a pariah among people once considered dear and close to my heart. So fooled were they by his glamour and intrigue. The glamour seemed to hang like a miasma around him, intoxicating and poisoning those nearest him and slowly spreading out through those others to the rest of the world, all the while I seemed to be the only one choking on his vile falsity and despicable petulance. The smog darkened my mind, my moods becoming increasingly unpredictable and often black with depression as was often noted by those closest to me in blood if nothing else. This is what drove me; the madness growing deep inside had engulfed me on that night.
A night of snow, frost and of course, blood was the night of December the eighteenth, two thousand and ten. It had slowly come to my darkened mind that I could prise open his hold on me, all the answers were right in front of me and all I had to do was wait. And wait I did. The bus stop was in the middle of the village, in front of a low wall enclosing the village green. It was here I waited in the snow, back to the wall for the bus to pull in. By the time half three arrived my hands were beginning to shake with excitement as well as with the cold. I wouldn’t be long now I remember thinking as I checked the time. The bus was due in fifteen minutes. I saw the glare of headlights as the bus rounded the corner and began its final approach to the town and I gripped the wooden shaft firmly. I remained hidden until he had disembarked and the bus had pulled off. He was already on his way towards his house when I finally stood up, I had to move quickly if I wanted to catch him. Needless to say I caught him. Once was all it took. As the sledgehammer connected with his skull there was a satisfying thud, and a strong jolt that left my arms shaking. There was another small thud as his head bounced on the pavement. He didn’t cry out, he didn’t have the time to cry out. I stood over him for a time, looking down into his eyes, frozen in surprise and staring endlessly at nothing as the blood spread into the snow from around his crushed skull. The rush of freedom came and for that moment, staring into his dead countenance I was finally free. However it was not long lived as I heard the sirens in the distance, the other passengers who had also been aboard the bus had seen my misadventure and immediately phoned the emergency services. The guards arrived within minutes and I was carted off to the cell.
Now I stand before you, ladies and gentlemen, once again facing incarceration and the prospect of being an outsider. To my doom I fear I go, when I enter this prison...

...A prison built solely by the madness of my mind.

pickarooney

I found this a bit hard to read. This had nothing to do with the content, but the formatting is very hard on the eyes and it goes on a bit too long before getting to the heart of the story. to be perfectly honest, I only read to the end to make sure it was OK to approve as I had lost interest by about half-way through.

I'd strongly suggest paragraph breaks and cutting down the intro by quite a bit or moving the action forward a bit. Also, either lose the gimmicky verb-inversion ('was he' etc.) or make sure the rest of the piece is consistent with this style. The sense of this story being from at least 150 years ago is there in some of the stylistic elements, so if you take time in rewriting it you could well manage it without it sounding grating or half-done, but it will require painstaking attention to detail. (edit: I only picked up the reference to 2010 on a second reading, so I'm a little confised now).

There is a lot to like in the piece. I'm quite fond of a main character with an evil streak or a unique sense of morality and this could end up being a strong sory.

I look forward to reading a rewrite.

up for anything

I'm not great at using reviewing/critiquing language so bear with me.

It could definitely do with formatting/paragraphs to make it easier to read. I don't like reading word by word which I had to do here.

Having said that I was drawn into it quickly. I love the gothic style of the writing but then I have always been a sucker for gothic melodramas. I found the description of the subtle bullying bang on. It is almost word for word what is happening to my daughter because of one friend in her social circle. I don't, of course, advocate her taking the course your hero has, but I am certainly tempted to myself.

I'd like to read on if you have more to show us.

Black Heart

I enjoyed it, but I was a little disappointed that the character got caught so quickly. It might be interesting to see how it would develop if the character wasn't seen and arrested.

Your work reminds me of The Tell-Tale Heart. I think that's why I was hoping your protagonist would last longer.