Kane, Chapter 0: Monotone Dementia
humor, fantasy, novel
Published on:
April 21, 11:19pmWord Count:
1305Last Edited:
April 23, 11:01pmWork Description
Kane was a man of very little excitement. The lack of action plagued his mind and riddled his life with the mundane. But after a not-so-chance encounter of the second kind, Kane will find that perhaps he should have kept his humdrum beginnings. His life takes a turn for excitement that no one could have predicted.
Chapter Description
A look into the world around Kane.
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The Prologue:
Monotone Dementia
Far removed from the modern world (which is really only a few miles south of Manchester) stood a large, angelic statue. Not that the statue looked at all like an angel. Far from it. In all actuality, the statue resembled that of a large pigeon sitting atop the shoulders of a malformed woman, stony-grey in colour, and missing an arm and an eye. Her clothes were draped over her as if someone had desperately tried to hide the body but simply ran out of cloth to do it with. Above the oddity’s head sat a large collection of pasty white stains that were not a part of the original monolith and added nothing in the way of “holiness” to the landmark. The resulting eyesore sat in the middle of an old, grey, empty field guarding nothing visibly, and doing it well, judging by the fact that the surrounding nothingness remained empty of any and all living things.
That is, until something at the base of the oddly-pristine statue wriggled ever so slightly, being careful not to displace any of the grass, leaves, or other long-dead objects of plant life that sat there. The mouse (for that is what it was) bounded lightly through the discarded pieces of foliage, picking through each in an attempt to find any sign of food there, be it bug or cheese or trash. ‘Although,’ the rat thought to himself, ‘it has indeed been quite the long time since last I saw hide or tail of garbage around here.’ Exploring a bit more through the grass and the like, the mouse was unsurprised to find that he could find absolutely nothing by way of food in the area.
And then he smelled it. The most beautiful, enticing, wonderful aroma he had ever smelled in his life. It was sweet and yet sour, salty and yet bland, robust and yet bitter. The mouse suspected that wherever this wonderful aroma was coming from, it was as the legends of the rats had foretold.
Now it must be said that the legends of the rats are not usually believed by those of a high enough social standing to call themselves mice. But this mouse was different. This was a mouse who had long hoped that the fantastic and awe-inspiring legends of the rats were truthful, even in the most liberal definition of the word. Oddly enough, that was what had led this mouse to the current statue. He had heard many a tale of “The Winged Food-Bringers” of the Higher Planes. Many of his rat acquaintances had told him that these heavenly creatures brought birds to them in flocks, guided by the enticing presence of candy wrappers, forgotten sodas, and unwanted bags of potato chips.
‘And now I’ve finally found it! They all laughed at me, said I was a fool. But who’re the fools now, bloody conformists!’ The mouse scampered off through the dry brush of the field towards the direction that the wonderful stench was drifting from. He had made it halfway across the field, truly frolicking in his elation…
When he was snatched into the air by a hawk. A hawk just as hungry as any other woodland gyre that lived in this area. She had been waiting for this mouse to run for days. But the damn thing was constantly taunting her, peeking out ever so swiftly and then scuttling back into the hole he had built in the bottom of the Large Winged One. ‘Silly mouse. How could he have thought that the Large Winged One would allow him to dig a hole into her without proper atonement? Some creatures just don’t know respect.’
The great bird swooped down onto a tree branch and silenced the squeaking rodent in her claws with an abrupt SNAP! of the neck. She was about to throw herself into her lunch, when a faint sound caught her attention. This was a sound that she had never heard before. And given that she had lived in this section of the forest for nearly all of her long life, she was baffled as to what the sound could belong to.
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Your title for your work "Dimentia" should be spelled "Dementia." I think it's just a typo since you spell it correctly on page 1 under The Prologue.
Not that the statue looked at all like an angel. Far from it.
I felt like this had too much of your voice in it. I didn't feel like I was reading a story. I guess I'm just used to books that state clearly what is there, "The statue scarcely resembled an angel" or something. Just a thought, but it could sound a little more confident. I wouldn't know what it is supposed to be a statue of otherwise.
That is, until something at the base of the oddly-pristine statue wriggled ever so slightly, being careful not to displace any of the grass, leaves, or other long-dead objects of plant life that sat there. The mouse (for that is what it was)
You introduce "something" in your first sentence, then you switch to "the mouse (for that is what it was)..." I don't think it's needed. I wish the narrator would straight up say that a mouse wriggled at the base of the statue.
She was about to throw herself into her lunch, when a faint sound caught her attention. This was a sound that she had never heard before. And given that she had lived in this section of the forest for nearly all of her long life, she was baffled as to what the sound could belong to.
Just felt overwritten to me.
The large red light thought to itself
I can see what you're doing, personifying the mouse, the hawk, but the "light" isn't an object I can imagine so I had a hard time accepting that it could think something.
That’s the trouble with light. It never stays around long enough for anyone to make sense of its goals and wants. In fact, scientists around the world have been in constant research as to a way to sustain a single ray of light, if just for the purpose of truly understanding just what it is these magnificent creatures really live for.
Felt weird to me because it stopped the action to make a lil' sidenote. I was "aware" of the author's voice.
the light did indeed come from something. And that something happened to actually be a someone. That someone
The repetition of "something," "something," "someone," and "someone," made it feel overwritten to me.
And indeed, these hands were quite beastly, for this someone was not quite human.
I guess it's just words like "indeed" and "for this someone" that make me imagine some old British guy trying to narrate this overdramatically that puts a bland taste in my mouth.
In fact, it could be said that the miniscule humanity that floated within this creature only came out during the full moon. For you see, this someone was a werewolf. And this werewolf, like all of his close relatives, was the kind that one will often see portrayed in a movie: the large, violent, heartless creatures that kill for the sake of killing. However, this werewolf, unlike all of his close relatives, had been gifted with an odd power. A power that was so unwerewolf-like that it made him almost a wizard. For the power this werewolf had was to shoot large beams of hot, red light from his paws and/or claws. This magickally-endowed werewolf had been quite the destructive force over the past few weeks. Ravaging through three villages, a town, a small suburb, and a children’s park in that time, he had made quite a name for himself throughout the magickal community. Imaging those attacks in his head (for werewolves truly lack the eloquence with which to form actual thoughts),
Yeah this was just too over-the-top for me.
The outstretched hand of a silhouette among the bushes still smoked
"hand" or "silhouette" can't "smoke"
By “smoked,” it is not suggested that the hand had a cigarette in its mouth, but rather that it was releasing said vapor from itself for a few more moments.
Ok you explain it, but this now feels overwritten to me.
With that, the silhouette disappeared in a burst of smoke that was much more pronounced than the slight puff and stream that had escaped from its palm minutes earlier.
Why isn't the silhouette named? Is it Kane? I think you could at least name him here.
On the whole I think you actually write pretty well. I just had issues with the narrator's voice. It was just a little too much like some old masterpiece theater guy talking. I think writing it a little more straight up would make it easier to read, but then again that's just my style.
I also thought the switching from perspective to perspective was kind of weird. Not too bad or anything, but I didn't really understand how the next chapter was going to read since I didn't get behind a character.
Hope this helps you out!
Let me say right now that you already have a review by me, but not a detailed one, so here it is.
The overall style is, like you mentioned, a kind of "stream of consciousness". You also mentioned that it was your first try at this style. I'd like to let you know that you've pulled it off nicely. It's not an easy style to write (and even harder to edit), so I just wanted to pat you on the back for that.
I loved how everything in this had it's own interpretation of the world they were living in, especially the thoughts of the light.
The large red light thought to itself, ‘I knew it was only a matter of time before I was used! And now that I am free, I can ––’
Everything flowed from one thing into another. From the mouse, to the hawk, to the werewolf to it's killer. One thing led to another very smoothly.
I can't wait for you to get the next chapter up!
This is a good beginning. I like the idea of animal characters. Animals are much more fun than people, anyway. Also, I love the title "Monotone Dementia." I'm yet to see precisely to what it's referring, but I still like it.
A few points, mostly related to mechanics and flow.
There are a few sentences I see that should be combined, or just not sentences at all. Examples:
Neither of those are sentences. Maybe say: "It wasn't that the statue looked at all like an angel, far from it."
These could just be combined: "...to call themselves mice, but this mouse was different." If you really want it to be a separate sentence (for effect, I'd assume), you could get rid of the "but."
filed = field. This may have been the only typo I found, which is fairly impressive.
Again, combine: "She had been waiting for this mouse to run for days, but the damn thing..."
I think this was my favorite line in the piece. It's very descriptive and paints a great picture (well, a picture of smell).
Overall, I enjoyed this. Other than the few sentence problems, it caught my attention. I'm definitely curious to see where this is going.