Writing Hold Me Now (A must read!)

[Charles]

Note: I didn't write this opening poem (it's only a part of a larger one). I found it somewhere quite a while ago and don't have the author's name. I figured it would compliment this short story nicely though.

[b][i]Walk with me through this valley
I pray that you take my hand
There is a storm brewing above me
And below me nothing but quicksand
The harder I try to get out
The faster I seem to sink
I have nothing else to hold on to
As I fall to my knees and weep[/i][/b]

Everyone sits behind a mask of darkness. The melody of chiming crystaline glasses accents idle chit chat in the restaurant. People sit here and there, some shifting in their reserved seats, others swooning over carts of sweets. But, no one goes to a place like this because they?re hungry. [i]Oh no.[/i] The menu is a listing of conversation pieces, not meals. They sit over dishes of Huîtres aux Crepinettes and their small talk ascends into the room?s atmosphere. It falls gently, like a veil, over this very beautiful place.

Madam?s lips kiss a raspberry truffle, undressing it of its chocolate veneer. She flips open a pocket mirror and excuses herself from the table, from her guests, from waiters whose smiles never rest. She?s off to visit the powder room. Her painted red toes and crimson lips compliment the satin dress that hugs her hips. As she glides across the room, with silent movie gods in her eyes, silver trays catch her image and project a kaleidoscope of cherry halos across the walls. It?s poetry in motion.

A man opens the way for her, and she enters; her high heels produce solid clicks across the sanitized linoleum tile. Her powdered skin crawls at the icy bite of the room. A wax glaze is dressed over the floor like a sheet of ice. She?s discovered an elemental cave that starkly contrasts with the outer workings of the restaurant, a hole carved out of the building, she imagines, that bears no significance to the outside world. She staggers forward, as if drunk and begins to rummage through her purse. Inside there is an abundance of cash.

As the minutes pass, a stranger enters with a leashed greyhound accompanying him by his side. He finds her how just he expected to, placidly slumping against the wall, a solitary red rose in a cement casket, ripe for the plucking. Her shimmering hair, violet in the florescent lighting, splits around her beautiful, yet paralyzed face. Her lips remain perpetually parted, as if awaiting a kiss. A single tear rolls down her cheek and shatters, like a glass ball, onto the floor below.

Images pervade her mind. Flashing stills of vile, sadistic acts. Her own. Pure horror. Red--constantly revisiting the coloring of red. They stop. She feels nothing, senses nothing, is nothing. She perceives a second entity. He seems to be without restraints, without a need to abide by mortal laws or reason. He is translucent, yet material. He is fluid, yet solid. He is without form, yet the most terrifying figure she has ever seen. He comes into view. Her mind blacks out.

He introduces the dog to an unoccupied corner where it sits like a gargoyle statue.

?No bloody kisses for you today, Count Maxwell,? he says.

This man then walks on tiptoes, stands before her and bows. He is young and slender, wearing a waiter?s vest and slacks. His white hair is tied into a bun. He raises her chin with an index finger and gazes into her wide unblinking eyes. They?re the only animate part of her entire body--two pale blue discs flickering back and forth wildly, like a blue flame. Her mouth twitches, as if she wishes to speak.

?Tch, tch, tch, tch, [i]shhh[/i],? he says, running the back of his creamy hand over her cheekbone, ?something?s doping you up, no??

His voice is soft, like a whisper, touched with all the innocence of a child. It?s nearly angelic, even.

Slowly, the mental fog lifts. Burdens are burnt off of her mind. Concepts turn to the conceptive state; thought processes return to infantilism--she is simply in awe. Or is it terror? Of his presence. She feels him--she senses him--she sees him in this dream world of mind-bending visions, lip-splitting cold, razor sharp breezes. She?s stuck here forever. And how will forever be? Just pitch-black darkness. And you and me.

When she comes to, he is setting up an easel, humming to classical music, that's mysteriously being played in the background. He?s now wearing a fine white suit that pronounces his long legs; it glows softly in the light, surrounding him like an aura. His hair is released from its bun, flowing down his back in long silvery wisps.

He smirks when he feels her sweet familiar eyes running up his body. He spreads his arms as if to embrace the room.

?Enfin, vous êtes éveillé!,? he says, ?I?ve been watching you for a long time, yes. Your adventures. Lounging on gondolas during lazy days, reading romance novels until twilight?s last breath. Smoking fine cigars in star-crossed cafés with a shopping bag attached to your arm like a small child. Window shopping at the finest boutiques. Bitten by wanderlust. Living off your husband?s money like there is no tomorrow. Never touching sorrow. ?

He removes a scented violet handkerchief from his breast pocket; he gently wipes her cheeks free of their make-up and dabs at the corners of her mouth carefully, as if performing surgery.

?[I]You[/I], ma dame, are my romance novel,? he whispers into her pretty hair.

He returns to the easel, spinning and slow dancing along the way with an invisible partner.

?I?m not here to harm you,? he says, as he begins to sketch on a blank canvas. ?Non, I?m here, I?m here, because your ex-husband has offered me a deal. ?You scratch my back, I scratch yours.? Isn?t that the kind of thing you Americans understand??

She?s lost in a state between consciousness and sleep. Pre-sleep if you will. Subtle pain encompasses her body, still, she is held in an unmoving stasis. Permanent immobility; fear paralysis. His hair blows about from a non-existent blustering wind. A smirk crosses his lips again, and he is free to speak at length as he pleases.

?Pussy, fear not the cold, emotionless hands of death,? he says staring at her perfect teeth, ?Fear not the fate that awaits you in the ring of Friday, my love.?

Flowers like her wilt with age. Their beauty lost, they wither and die just when they learn how to live. Each fallen petal a sign of lost vitality. But not with her. He?d save her. He?d keep her to himself forever.

Her eyes well up with tears again and he sketches yet more furiously.

?Yes, yes, yes? he says, ? if tomorrow you could have just one more cup of coffee, what would you say to the person across from you, I wonder? Would you cock your head in just the right places? Would you look deep into their eyes??

Her mouth is closed. She can?t tell him anything.

Soon she goes into spasms. Her eyes roll into the back of her head and the shadow of death paints itself across her face--and he?s inspired. Scratching fills the room, drowning out the music, as he commits charcoal to canvas.

When he finishes, he collects his easel, folds it under his arm and allows the greyhound to lead him from the room. But, he can?t help but to pause just for a single solitary moment at the threshold of the room. He touches her, one more time, with a glance--he's awestruck by this silent beauty, that has now become, until it's discovered, the most prominent feature of the room. It?s the most perfect sight he?s ever beheld, and he?d managed to capture it on canvas. He?d be lying if he said his eyes didn?t moisten just a little.

[Zidargh]

[color=silver]Now I cam into this thread with no hypothesis of what I expected. Yet I must say, I am deeply surprised, emotionless if you will. This was truly a beautiful short story.

As I said on AOL Instant Messenger, sinister yet beautiful. I read between the lines as you may put it and I'd like to make a very strong link about the story. This story feels as if it has two layers to it. It is so well described, the beauty seems to be one thin layer, yet the sinister path of both the characters introduced is the 'underbelly' of the story.

Now I'm sure you are wondering what I mean by this relating to a part in the story. Well the description of the truffle, '[i]Madam?s lips kiss a raspberry truffle, undressing it of its chocolate veneer. [/i]'. It is almost as if the beauty of the woman is being unveiled as we see her from a strong yet complex woman, fall into a naturally reckless, vulnerable woman.

That was amazing stuff Charles. [/color]

[Charles]

[QUOTE][i]Originally posted by Zidargh [/i]
[B][color=silver]Now I'm sure you are wondering what I mean by this relating to a part in the story. Well the description of the truffle, '[i]Madam?s lips kiss a raspberry truffle, undressing it of its chocolate veneer. [/i]'. It is almost as if the beauty of the woman is being unveiled as we see her from a strong yet complex woman, fall into a naturally reckless, vulnerable woman. [/color] [/B][/QUOTE]

Heh, and you know, when I wrote that, I pictured it as a movie. I envisioned a close-up of her lips wrapping around it conflicting with the dark imagery I had described before that scene. Hee. ^_^;;

Thanks for the reply. I'm always very flattered when someone can make it through my stuff and enjoy it to boot.

[Japan]

It is very good, Charles. I imagined it as a movie. While I was reading, I could see the characters move around, the scenery they were in, and the props they used. I enjoyed it very much. Great job, and very well done.!

[Patronus]

[size=1][color=blue]I really, [i]really[/i] love this. You should write more often![/color][/size]

[Baron Samedi]

Charles... that was astounding. The imagery was fantastic, the whole feel of it was a collage of different feelings. It was dark, it was sweet. I didn't understand all the real story, but the subtext was very definitive. I loved all the dark images in this story. It was a very good piece indeed. It was a look into the dark world of the upperclass, and a very fascinating one.

Good work Charles.

[Lady Asphyxia]

[size=1]Nice work again, Charlie ol' chap. I love the dark sinister quality of the piece, especially the muted feel it gives off, as if there's a layer of polish to smooth all the bad things away.

I love the way she died, and I love the man's...obsession?... with her. I like the fact the he was saving her from old age, that he wasn't just some random killer in the night. He had a purpose, a reason, which is the most important thing in this piece. It comes off almost tender and loving, but always present is that sinister quality.

Very well done.[/size]

[Arcadia]

[size=1]I imagine that if this ever was a part of a movie or something, one of my favorite parts of it would be the visual aspect. The colors, the gestures, the shapes, the textures. You've captured all of that very well within the short story, and it only makes it more vivid in my mind. It's dark and elegant and very well done. I'm very impressed. ^_^[/size]

[Mitch]

[size=1] Charles asked me to review this in a first person poem. So thus I shall.[/size]

All about one can see the colors,
the pizzazz of painted stills.
A painting of a picture,
and the poetry of lips,
the innocence of youth.
All this one can see,
a picture that breathes.

Death is the murderer,
the drawerer of the scene.
He paints with black,
but covers it all so it can't be seen.
He has white hair, and is tall,
with large legs.
And in beauty he wants lives to claim.

A woman eating a truffle,
her red lips enwrapped around.
That image of vitality
that image so profound.

A woman with crimson lips,
much the color of blood,
much too bold to be true lips' color;
only cluttered mud.
A woman in a satin dress,
a dress most tight around her form.
She is vitality.
Youth.
She has it all and its form.

She throws it away
does not see how beautiful it is.
And in the restaurant
Death will paint her as he may.
And with dyes and colors,
and his artistic hand,
he shall paint on canvas.
He shall show her grand.

The raspberry truffle
goes into her stomach.
Down into her veneer
just like she penetrated
the raspberry truffle's veneer
with her teeth and lips.

Deep within
her beauty's form.
Deep within that outside--the pretty effigy--
there lies the truffle.
Poison you be.

Beauty is deceptive,
hiding in its self.
And so Death will be deceptive,
hiding in its self.

The man with long white hair, with it in a bun,
takes her as she is taken by deception most devious;
more deceptive even than her own beauty.

She awakens to find the man by an easel.
And she cannot move nor see.
She is decepted, and forever decieved.

Those who have beauty never use it to their all.
They never see it for what it is--not at all.
And it will one day leave them as they age.
For beauty is like Death--it comes and goes.

And as she stands there dying,
and as the murderer preserves her beauty,
he draws upon his canvas.
He creates life where it would one day die.
And preserves everything that needs to have be seen.

And she--
she will stay young forever.
And she--
she shall never know.

She shall never know.

---

[size=1]Sorry, it didn't turn into what it should've been, Charles.

I'll say a review here now then.

It has some areas that need a little work, but the way the story is presented is presented very well. The colors--the imagery--you master your diction, and use the right words to give the right meaning. It has a romantic feeling to it. Like a flower, a rose. It feels like it's very great on its outside, its veneer. But inside, this story is not.

This story parallels beauty as well as gives a statement about beauty. The way you say what you say--it is said like beauty. It is said in romantic, descriptive, flowery, poetic way. But in its inside, it is not. It is ugly. It is deep. It is sinister. But it isn't outright shown in this piece--not at all.

The piece is much like a picture--on its outside it looks great, but in reality it is only painted with dyes. The piece's entirety just [i]emanates[/i] its moral reasoning, and its message. It works very well; it has many sides to it. And that's what I like to see in writing.

The woman we are shown is beautiful. She is Beauty as you tell us. She has luscious lips, she has a tight satin dress. She is beautiful. She is Beauty.

She eats a truffle. It is poisoned in some way.

The eating of the truffle again says another message that emanates the entirety of this whole piece. The truffle itself looked beautiful--it tasted good--but deep within that truffle there is poison, there is a lack of respect for how beautiful it is. It is poisonous. It has death inside it.

And this woman that is Beauty--she eats it, much like what she does with her beauty. She eats it, she looks good and beautiful from the outside, but deep insider herself she doesn't have respect for how beautiful she is in a way which is self-serving.

She stumbles around. She finds a man. He is a hired man to kill him. He is Death. He is a murderer. He seeks to kill her to preserve her beauty--to also eschew upon a blank canvas [i]her[/i]--beauty.

This message is all carried out well. And again, goes to show again more of beauty. The message that ost don't see it as they have it. And it soon dies. It isn't preserved. But something like death, murder, something like that can preserve it in a way that isn't long-lasting, for the body decays, but ends it before it must be ended all the same, as well as preserving it in a way which is different than just losing it. For the person who has Beauty shall die forever having it.

As well as the man seeks to paint a picture of her. To preserve her beauty. He is inspired to do it. So he paints as she dies. And is happy in the realization that her beauty will not wilt like a rose--but it will have forever been there, and will decay away as it goes.

If I were to tackle a story like this, I would do it in a much more gruesome fashion. A horrorific fashion. That is just me anyway.

I would make the character who kills her kill her himself, not in such an indirect way, as through the truffle. I would make him first rape her, then perhaps paint her, but I wouldn't think that suits the purpose of the character I'd create. Maybe he'd skin her skin, and preserve that, so that he has her entire skin preserved in a way he can wear it.

But your character was obviously a rembrant of some sort. He was a classical fiend. With his white hair, his methodical indirect killing of her, it suited his character, and also suited more the story--showing that everything isn't what it is on its outside, just as this man wasn't. That in his inside he was a murderer.

This story was well done. Its entirety suits its entirety. It says all it says in all it says. The storie's narration itself has a beautiful encapsulation about its posterior, while in its interior it is demonical and evil in a silent way. The woman who represents beauty is beautiful on her outsides, but in the insides, she's just as hopeless and useless and stupid as anyone else could be. The truffle she eats is beautiful and tasty on its outside, but as it is eaten, and ingested, it poisons her, kills her.

The story is a parallel all about its self. It is structured in a stroke of genius and wit that is Charles.

I would edit a few parts of it, though. A very minimum few.[/size]

[quote]As she glides across the room, [i]with silent movie gods in her eyes[/i]...[/quote]

[size=1] Didn't like that line. It set it off...sort of motioned that the writer saw this all as a movie in his mind, and sort of ended up taking away from the story in that it made the reader get out of the story, since he'd ponder over what the writer meant by that line.[/size]

[quote]He touches her, one more time, with a glance--he's awestruck by this silent beauty, that has now become, [i]until it's discovered[/i], the most prominent...[/quote]

[size=1] You meant, "Until its discovery." Just a simple error.

And that is really all...there's a few cases where maybe you could think of some better word choices. It's just the basis of tightening up the narrative to make it flow more fluently--not that it already doesn't. Things like how you said her eyes looked like discs. Just say spheres or something, spheres that looked like planets. Or maybe, if she starts crying, you could say spheres that looked like watery planets. That paints a really nice picture.

Well, I'm done with it. Hope I said what I said well, Charles. I really liked it.[/size]

[Charles]

Thanks for the replies everyone! I should include the "Must Read" tag more often. lol

[QUOTE][i]Originally posted by Japan_86 [/i]
[B]It is very good, Charles. I imagined it as a movie. While I was reading, I could see the characters move around, the scenery they were in, and the props they used. I enjoyed it very much. Great job, and very well done.! [/B][/QUOTE]

Thank you, girlie. I love to imagine my writing as a films. I always try to imagine how I could translate each scene into a visual if I had the chance. Although, I usually do this after I'm done writing something. Film and writing are two completely separate entities, so if I wrote in a Hollywood sense, I'd be selling myself short.

Because of that, I'm always very careful. But, man, is it fun to picture it once it's done. ^_^

[QUOTE][i]Originally posted by Leh [/i]
[B][size=1][color=blue]I really, [i]really[/i] love this. You should write more often![/color][/size] [/B][/QUOTE]

I know! I should! I'll try. Right now, my goal is to write a bunch of stuff for Semjaza's gaming site. Once I'm done that, I'll take more time for creative writing. ~_^

[QUOTE][i]Originally posted by Baron Samedi [/i]
[B]Charles... that was astounding. The imagery was fantastic, the whole feel of it was a collage of different feelings. It was dark, it was sweet. I didn't understand all the real story, but the subtext was very definitive. I loved all the dark images in this story. It was a very good piece indeed. It was a look into the dark world of the upperclass, and a very fascinating one.

Good work Charles. [/B][/QUOTE]

Thanks. It's great to get a reply from my favorite Assie (inside joke).

I'll explain the story in its most basic terms once I finish addressing everyone else's comments. I know I can be confusing sometimes. Maybe you'll like it even better once I explain. :angel:

[QUOTE][i]Originally posted by Lady Asphyxia [/i]
[B][size=1]Nice work again, Charlie ol' chap. I love the dark sinister quality of the piece, especially the muted feel it gives off, as if there's a layer of polish to smooth all the bad things away.

I love the way she died, and I love the man's...obsession?... with her. I like the fact the he was saving her from old age, that he wasn't just some random killer in the night. He had a purpose, a reason, which is the most important thing in this piece. It comes off almost tender and loving, but always present is that sinister quality.

Very well done.[/size] [/B][/QUOTE]

I liked this reply a lot. You recognized the characteristics of the assassin, wonderfully. It makes me happy that I was able to get my idea across properly.

[QUOTE][i]Originally posted by Arcadia [/i]
[B][size=1]I imagine that if this ever was a part of a movie or something, one of my favorite parts of it would be the visual aspect. The colors, the gestures, the shapes, the textures. You've captured all of that very well within the short story, and it only makes it more vivid in my mind. It's dark and elegant and very well done. I'm very impressed. ^_^[/size] [/B][/QUOTE]

Again, I'm really happy that I could create a picture here. I actually pictured most of the story dark, visually speaking, except for the two main characters (who were both dressed in very bright clothing).

I'm glad you liked it. Gracias. :excited:

And, lastly, I won't even try to quote Mitch. lol

That was a fantastic critique. I didn't expect you to go all-out like that. I appreciate it so much. ^^

The main reason it wasn't gruesome, is because it wouldn't be the same story. The assassin would be a completely different character. Honestly, I only wrote this because I came up with the idea of his character--a killer who falls in love with his victims. So, you see, he can't possibly mutilate them. ~_^

I will go over this eventually and fix it up somewhat. I didn't give it the attention I would a school project or anything. I wrote it off and on yesterday, often throwing my arms up into the air in frustration, walking away, and coming back to it. Instead of going over it for days, I just glanced it over a few times. So, there's probably some significant revising I can do.

And, I'll take a look at those lines you quoted in particular. I actually like the "silent movie gods" line. It's from a Rob Zombie song.

The other definitely needs to be fixed though.

But yes, thanks again for that post. I'm very grateful.

Now, here is the gist of this story.

I wanted to create a wealthy, beautiful killer. I wanted him to be very feminine. This idea just came to me during a morning walk and I had a very defined picture in my head (in anime style no less!) of what he should look like. I wanted him to be slender with extremely long legs. Also, I wanted him to wear a brimmed hat and use a cane ( both of which didn't make the cut here) and hold a thin leash with a greyhound at the end.

as I explained, I want him to fall in love with his victims before he kills them--kinda like Sniper Wolf from Metal Gear Solid. Only moreso. This guy actually watches them and gets to know them before he strikes. He learns to appreciate them in a way by studying their little quirks (which he ultimately exploits to kill them).

His fascination with drawing them was inspired by [i]Road to Peridition[/i]. Jude Law played a character who would photograph his victims as they breathed their last breath (although for very different reasons than my character draws his).

The victim here is a woman who is financially taking advantage of her ex-husband, who in turn, ultimately hires this guy to kill her.

And there you have it. ^_^

[Nate]

I walked in this thread with the 'hold me now' image, along with something else that came from it, but i was wrong. It was very good, and..the only mistakes that i see wrong with it Mitch pointed out. I don't like this part:
[quote]As she glides across the room, with silent movie gods in her eyes...[/quote]

As Mitch said, it just doesn't sound right to me. But other than that, it totally and completely rocks.

Nate

[Brasil]

Madame Bovary? Anyone? Here's what I saw:

[quote][i]Charles[/i]
[b]Madam?s lips kiss a raspberry truffle, undressing it of its chocolate veneer. She flips open a pocket mirror and excuses herself from the table, from her guests, from waiters whose smiles never rest. She?s off to visit the powder room. Her painted red toes and crimson lips compliment the satin dress that hugs her hips. As she glides across the room, with silent movie gods in her eyes, silver trays catch her image and project a kaleidoscope of cherry halos across the walls. It?s poetry in motion.[/b][/quote]

I'd say there's a heavy emphasis on her love for sweets, yes? I would further say that her affection for sweets doesn't stop at raspberry truffles. After all, she's in the equivalent of a candy store:

[quote]People sit here and there, some shifting in their reserved seats, others swooning over carts of sweets. [/quote]

A very...snobbish candy store, too:

[quote]But, no one goes to a place like this because they?re hungry. Oh no. The menu is a listing of conversation pieces, not meals. They sit over dishes of Huîtres aux Crepinettes and their small talk ascends into the room?s atmosphere. It falls gently, like a veil, over this very beautiful place.[/quote]

Now, the clientele of this snobbish store are certainly extremely wealthy; that?s made very clear by the description. Who goes to a restaurant to simply be there? Who goes to a restaurant to be something? Who goes to a restaurant to [i]prove[/i] something? Either the super-wealthy, or those trying to become something they aren?t?poseurs, in a sense.

Charles, this ?protagonist? of your story here seems to be quite the dreamer. After all, ?she glides across the room, with silent movie gods in her eyes, silver trays catch her image and project a kaleidoscope of cherry halos across the walls.? I?d say she?s a tad Idealistic. ?Silent movie gods in her eyes,? which is a [i]great line[/i], certainly gives us the impression that she wishes to be more than she is.

Where have you and I seen this type of character before? Yep. You know it. Madame Bovary.

[quote][i]Gustave Flaubert[/i]
[b]But it was [Emma Bovary a.k.a. Madame Bovary] who ruled: in front of company he had to say certain things and not others.[/b][/quote]

From where does that behavior arise? From the desire to integrate oneself with a supposed superior social status. How many of us have changed the way we act when we?re trying to make a good impression? How many of us will put on a different face, so to speak, when we?re trying to get into an exclusive nightclub so that we can sample some of that sweet, sweet action that so very few are able to?

[quote][i]Flaubert[/i]
She had to have her cup of [u]chocolate[/u] every morning.[/quote]

Obsession with sweets.

[quote][i]Flaubert[/i]
Emma herself would have liked to be married at midnight, by torchlight.[/quote]

[quote]Seen from so close, her eyes appeared larger than life, especially when she opened and shut her eyelids several times on awakening.[/quote]

[quote]Before her marriage, she had thought she had love within her grasp; but since the happiness which she had expected this love to bring her hadn?t come, she supposed she must have been mistaken. And Emma tried to imagine just what was meant, in life, by the words ?bliss,? ?passion,? and ?rapture??words that had seemed so beautiful to her in books.[/quote]

In fact, Part One, Chapter IX devotes itself to Emma?s preoccupation with an unattainable life. It relates nearly ad nauseum how she is a dreamer.

Emma is an Idealist. She dreams of something that isn?t real, that isn?t supported at all by her current environment. She dreams of something she may never obtain. This is how Flaubert works his magic. Flaubert was one of the premiere Realist authors of his time. Madame Bovary is argued to be [i]the[/i] greatest Realist novel. What Flaubert does with Madame Bovary is ingenious, and if one thinks himself to be a Realist author, one should study Madame Bovary. The key component of Realism is verisimilitude, or ?slice of life.? In the time that I have been browsing OtakuBoards, I have seen two stories that are Realist works. Charles? piece here is one of them. The other is ?A Day In The Life Of A 12 Year Old.? If any of you want to see what Realist writing is, check out the those two stories on OB.

But yes, back to my point.

Emma dives into Romantic literature, magazines about exotic adventures in foreign lands. I would describe them as the supermarket romance novels you?d find in the check-out line. Look what Charles writes; it?s quite, quite brilliant.

[quote][i]Charles[/i]
[b]?Enfin, vous êtes éveillé!,? he says, ?I?ve been watching you for a long time, yes. Your adventures. Lounging on gondolas during lazy days, reading romance novels until twilight?s last breath. Smoking fine cigars in star-crossed cafés with a shopping bag attached to your arm like a small child. Window shopping at the finest boutiques. Bitten by wanderlust. Living off your husband?s money like there is no tomorrow. Never touching sorrow. ?[/b][/quote]

?Romance novels.? Nice, Charles, very nice. I would also call attention to the mention of cigars, and reference to Madame Bovary:

[quote][i]Flaubert[/i]
[b]Often when Charles was out she went to the closet and took the green silk cigar case from among the piles of linen where she kept it.

She would look at it, open it, even sniff its lining, fragrant with verbena and tobacco.[/b][/quote]

Yep.

And, I call attention to Charles:

[quote] Bitten by wanderlust. Living off your husband?s money like there is no tomorrow.[/quote]

?Wanderlust.?

While its primary definition is a desire to travel, its secondary meaning is clear: sleeping around.

Emma has many, many extramarital affairs throughout Madame Bovary. Enough affairs to get the novel banned. She cheats on Charles approximately with five different men throughout the work.

She also lives off of his money. She spends exorbitant amounts of money on dresses, perfumes, jewelry, etc.

Charles, you are a sly one. ~_^

Now, the ending to these works.

Charles has his protagonist die; she is drugged.

Flaubert has his protagonist die; she drugs herself by consuming a hefty amount of Arsenic.

In both ways, the protagonist is drugged.

Finally, the name. ?Madam? and ?Madame Bovary.? Need I say more.

Excellent work, Charles. I?ll give you a box of cookies in January. ^_^

EDIT: Or...maybe a box of truffles? ;)

[The Vampire: Ed]

As usual, Charles, you've managed to write a story so descriptive you can literally picture it in your mind, as if it was really a movie you had seen at some point in your life. However, I had problems picturing it correctly. Not your fault by any means, but what I mean is I had this very clear image of a young beauty, a real women gliding across the room, and eventually into the ladies room. But when the killer appeared, much like you pictured him yourself, I suddenly ended up picturing the killer as an anime character. From there I could only see this anime character interacting with a real women during her last gasps of air. I don't know why exactly I pictured it that way, but perhaps it was because the killer was so animated in the details, yet the women just did the most basic of actions.

It's very well written, each word emphasizes a certain wonder to the story, as well as a foreboding darkness. I liked everything about the way it was written, and such. However, I, myself, lacked the ability to comprehend the overall story. But, thankfully for Charles explanation, it's actually hard to believe I didn't catch on.

Anyway, fantastic work Charles, another masterpiece in your collection of work.