Een deel van een verhaal (engels)

[Avarice]

Ok, dit heb ik dus geschreven... Commentaar wordt op prijs gesteld; kritiek al dan niet lof.

========

There was a time when…….

These hallowed halls were alive with the spurs of the pure, the essence of the just. Built upon the blessed grounds of unity, it was erected not as an idolization of their deity, but as a true bastion of the collective consensus that was their faith. Its every inch shone with radiance not wrought from the intrinsically beautiful architecture; though it was, by all accounts, a most true representation of wonder. No, its brilliance stemmed from the victories achieved throughout its past and the well of hope that would develop into its future. It was this singular concept -not the gracious curves accenting its every contour, nor the elaborate works of art that dotted its frame- that denoted this place a sanctuary to the faithful, a boon to the wicked, an end to…

….the pain….

Torn lashes fluttered ajar hesitantly, fearful of the integrity that may seep beyond the thin layer of denial they embodied and flow on unhindered so as to stir illusions pleasantly concocted and eagerly embraced. These dreams allowed for the sole, however fleet, correlation to the purpose he strived to craft. But while the generous suppleness of such reveries bends readily to the coercing of idealists, reality, in its boundless solidity, won’t ever give in to such unworldly concepts. And reality had gained in consistency, just now, the unnamed one realized after the image of the setting had burned wholly into his mind; forever etched onto memory. Like an effigy of torment it doomed up before him as he gradually rose from his plaintive rest. Nevertheless, he felt neither pity nor remorse. He felt nothing at all. Nothing but the pain; his pain. And it was everywhere, within as well as without….

…..it had become a part of him……..

The rhythmic resonance of his footfalls rising through the dim hallways were grimly contrasted by the horrifying shrieks of death that continuously stirred the most darkened depths of his mind, forming an inescapable reminder of what had occurred here, in this place that was once his home… his heart. Home is where the heart lies. And its lies are numerous, indeed. He had come upon this place, seeking refuge and finding hope where he had none; hopes that were shattered all at once. They had offered to share in his pain, only to add to it when lessening was called for. Gradually, they had accepted him into their ranks; acceptance that halted at the exposure of his dissimilarity. Naught but a fiend, to their misguided observations, an affront to their pureness, a slur to their faith. In their ignorance, they had judged him, intent on putting a swift end to his wretched existence. But he could not die, would not die. As long as the pain remained….

…it would never let go….he could never let go…..

With every callous assault upon his being, every avid plea for his end, the pain tore into his heart; a stinging mass of poison which serpentine coils meandered about his soul in a suffocating embrace, ever tightening, continuously intensifying. Pain does not equal fragility, never that. When endured, it bequeaths strength, yet when suffered, it entails only weakness. He had borne it for all his life now; no longer could he resist its temptation. It pleaded for liberation As they had once so explicitly professed, he had let them share in his torment, conferring to them every amount of pain he could muster. To the last, they succumbed to his vigor. How they had suffered, a testimony to their failings. Yet, as their corpses littered the floor, he envied them, for, in death, they had found what he could not: peace… joy. Where all sensation was relative; was not joy simply a lesser degree of pain? To him, the quintessence of hurt, that rang truth, above all. He could only find such joy in inflicting suffering upon others. Even so, the joy wouldn’t last, he knew. None but him could face the gravity of his grief. Never would he be able to find true peace….such was his doom….

…. but he tried… with all his being, he tried….

He felt it clearly now, gnawing at his insides. The pain, though temporarily relieved, steadily crept its way back into his ill-fated form, it always did. Soon, it would become unbearable and he would have to relieve it once more. How many people would yet undergo his pain? How many more would die in doing such? With every kill, more burden was added to those inquiries as another voice enrolled in the chorus of bereavement that sang his litany of damnation. Though, in his pursuit of life, he sealed his fate, he would not repent. Only one was all he required; one of sufficient strength. He would persist, forever, if need be….

…. he had to….. for life……

Forever might not be so long. Grand porches conceded effortlessly to the pressure of a delicate hand. Groaning in dismay, they fell away from him, opening all the world to his finely tuned senses. A power, unrivalled in its magnitude, immediately struck him to his very core. He knew not where it had originated from, or why; it didn’t occur to him to care. The only certainty he held is that it was there and that he, too, would be there, in due time. He had to… For peace…. For joy……For life…..

….for death….

Ah damn, ik heb nog niet eens alles gelezen, maar dit engels is bijna te moeilijk, van die fijne woordjes tussendoor - ajar, dat weet toch de algemene nederlandse bevolking niet eens? Ik ben veel te lang de enige geweest die zulke woorden kende...
Behoorlijk moeilijker dan ik gewend ben, in ieder geval, en ik lees heel veel engels.

Hm, klinkt wel mooi, maar als je de zinnen te tierelantijnig maakt, zie je niet echt meer waar het om draait.
Stijl actietje dus, ik vind dit iets uitgebreid... maar dat ben ik dan ook, en over smaak valt natuurlijk niet te twisten...

[Avarice]

Ik ben het volledig met je eens in je uitspraak dat dit ver van het niveau van de gemiddelde nederlander verwijderd is. Maar... -ja, er is een maar - dit stukje literatuur is oorspronkelijk dan ook voor een engels publiek geschreven.

[stroopwafel]

ben op moeten houden bij regel 4 ofzow omdat ik er geen f**k meer van snaptje

[Avarice]

stroopwafel schreef:
ben op moeten houden bij regel 4 ofzow omdat ik er geen f**k meer van snaptje

Bedankt voor uw zeer intellectuele inbreng....

[stroopwafel]

Avarice schreef:


Bedankt voor uw zeer intellectuele inbreng....

daar bedoel ik dus mee dat het mis. verstandig is om je taalgebruik wat te versimpelen.....

[Inemine]

Ik heb het dus helemaal gelezen en ik moet toegeven dat het nou niet meteen het Engels is waar je bijna dagelijks mee geconfronteerd wordt. Vooral de eerste twee delen zaten vol met woorden waarvan ik de juiste betekenis niet ken. Maar aangezien het toch voor Engels-taligen bedoelt is...
Ik vind het dus wel heel goed geschreven. De gevoelens die worden weergegeven enzo. Ik heb dan wel niet alles begrepen (waarschijnlijk zit ik met een heel ander verhaal in mijn hoofd dan dat het eigenlijk is ) maar toch kan ik zeggen dat het goed is, met een goeie inhoud.

Avarice schreef:
Ik ben het volledig met je eens in je uitspraak dat dit ver van het niveau van de gemiddelde nederlander verwijderd is. Maar... -ja, er is een maar - dit stukje literatuur is oorspronkelijk dan ook voor een engels publiek geschreven.

So, ik schrijf ook veel voor engels publiek. Nou zijn dat geen literaire hoogstandjes ('t blijft fanfiction ) maar tis wel leuk en heeeeel goed voor mijn Engels

[Avarice]

Ik schrijf ook veelvuldig engels, en dan voornamelijk in competities en dergelijke, waar schrijfvaardigheid/creativiteit en ander zulksoort dingen tegen elkaar uitgezet worden.....

Waar vind je die competities? *wil meedoen*

[Avarice]

Morgan schreef:
Waar vind je die competities? *wil meedoen*

Ow, interessant... Um, ik sta aan 't hoofd van 'n clan die ten strijde trekt tegen gelijksoortige correlaties. Samen vervaardigen we ook RPG-verhalen en dergelijke....

Als je wilt kan ik je verdere verklaring geven, en de URL's voor 'n paar forums waar deze competities gehouden worden, waaronder die van m'n clan. Over MSN ofsow...

[S]

Avarice schreef:
.... Grand porches conceded ....
….for death….

Porsche schrijf je met rSch . Geintje.

Kee, wat is je adres? Mijne is psychotic_girl@hotmail.com