The Broken Soul ~ A Short Story By Me

I had to write a story about someone who finds their way back to God.  The following is the story.  It is missing a few details, but the ones I leave out are supposed to leave you wondering. 

My sister went over it and thought it was very good (minus the leaving out a few details) however I think it makes the story more of a mystery that leaves you wanting to read more. 

So without further adieu, here is my short story which I'm calling The Broken Soul.  Enjoy!



           What had he done? Deangelo ran backwards in fear from the bloody corpse.  The lifeless eyes haunted his every move.   Deangelo fell as he tripped on his worn sandals.  As he frantically tried to stand, he noticed blood was splattered on his hands and robe.  He held in a panicked scream.  The color was deep and rich.  The beauty of the redness was crushed by terror, caused from the warmth of it.

            Deangelo fled frantically.  There was no way to explain this to his family, or to anyone, for that matter.  No one would believe it was an accident.  Why should they?  His breath was light and his heart pounding.  After making it to the outskirts of the city, Deangelo collapsed from lack of breath.  He tried to control the pounding of his heart which felt as though it was going to rip right through the very flesh of his chest.

            In his mind, Deangelo kept playing the image of the body, lying sprawled out on the ground.  Blood, covering his cloths brought the scents of the kill to Deangelo’s mind.  He felt weak and nauseous.  He felt fatigued and unstable.   His feelings felt estranged from common sense.   Suddenly, without any control over his emotions, he began to weep bitterly.

            He tried to stop himself, but was unable to.  How could he have taken a life? How would he ever be able to return to the city?  He would be known as a murderer and thrown in prison.  His family would despise him and his friends spit in his face.  It was an innocent mistake which would haunt him for the rest of his life.  He would never touch another sword again.

  The face of the victim was engraved upon his mind.  Not only did he take a life, but the life of the very woman he loved.  Was it truly his fault?  He should never have thrown that sword.  Yet, how was he to know she would walk around the corner?  Deangelo let out and anguished scream and smothered his face into the dirt. 

            His tears caused mud, which incased his teeth and filled his mouth.   If he would flee the country, they would accuse him of murder without being able to prove otherwise.  But if he stayed, he would be unable to prove it wasn’t an accident and they would hang him for it.  Nineteen was too young to die, especially the demise of a traitor.  He would never be forgiven, never.

            As Deangelo lay, weeping and pounding the ground a dark shadow came over him.  In horror he spun his weakened body around.  Over him stood a man dressed in a dark brown covering, with beautiful wooden beads around his waist.   Deangelo was too weak to even attempt to run.  His face was stained with tears, his eyes blood-shot, and his mouth dirty and cracked.

            The man kneeled down next to Deangelo and embracing him, held him close.  Deangelo could do nothing but cry bitterly.   The man’s gray hair covered his castle of knowledge.  Out of delirium, Deangelo told the man the entire story through sobs.  The man listened closely to every word.  Not once did he appear shocked or angry.  Instead, he comforted the boy more and spoke words of kindness towards him.

            Calling him by name, the padre said, “Deangelo, God loves you and saw all that you speak of.  He knows your heart and He knows you.  With God, you can do everything, even go back to the City and tell the girl’s father what truly happened.”

            Deangelo protested, arguing through sobs that the girl’s father would never believe him.  That he would instead have him hung by a tree. 

            The old man replied, “Through God, all things are possible.  As the Bible teaches us in Colossians three thirteen, ‘Bear with each other and forgive whatever grievances you may have against one another. Forgive as the Lord forgave you.’”

            The padre asked if Deangelo knew God and was Christian.  Deangelo shook his head, his body ached and he felt feeble.  The man asked him if he would like to make a confession, because no matter how terrible a sin, if truly sorry, it can be forgiven by God.  He told Deangelo the story of the lost sheep and said Deangelo was like that sheep.  When he sinned by killing the girl, like the sheep he fled.  Yet the shepherded still went out and looked for him.  And when he found the sheep, he rejoiced and brought it back home.

            “Deangelo, like the sheep, you are lost.  But God wants you back.  Go to your friend’s father and tell him what you’ve done.  He will be grieved, of course, but he will forgive you your sins.”

            Smiling, the old man stood up and began walking away.  Deangelo wiped away the tears from his exhausted face.  He looked up to speak, but the man was gone.  Deangelo stumbled to his feet. The face of the body was clear in his mind.  The memory of her as she faded to the floor and then took her last breath crushed his very soul.  Yet deep down in the very core of his conscious, he knew the old man was right. 

            No matter what was to come, he should go back and tell the girl’s father.  He felt strange, as though he wasn’t afraid to be hung if it were to come to that.  In God’s eyes, he was forgiven as the old padre had listened to his confession.  He felt confident that no matter what, God loved him and knew the true situation.  With a heavy soul and crushed heart, Deangelo began the long walk back to the city. 

 

The End

 

 

*No Copy Writing

Story/Novel Charaters

Before you start writing a book, you need to have characters.  Characters are what make the book.  Without them, you have nothing. 

Now, to have a story, it doesn't even necessarily have to be about people.  It can be about anything.  You could write child's story about a tree, but that tree is then your main antagonist. 

To best describe someone, it's always easiest if you've seen them before.

It's because of this that you can look up just random people on pinterest, etsy, bing, google, etc. and find a unique or special photo of someone whom you want your character to look like.

Once you've found this person, it's easier for you to describe what they look like and you can go into quite a bit of detail.

It doesn't have to be a stranger, it can even be a photo of someone you know.  All I'm saying, is that in order to really be able to enhance on the details of your character and really make them come alive, it always helps to have a specific image to go off of.

Another thing you can do is base your character off of someone famous.  An example of this could be Leonardo Dicaprio. 

You might want one of your characters to look like him, so you look him up and find a picture.  Then you begin describing and that's all it takes! 

Then you have to give your person true character.  Make them special or have something that defines them from everyone else.

Whether it's something internal or external, it has to be uniquely their own. 

It could be something like they were in an accident and lost their ability to walk, or they were born blind, or maybe they have a strong irrational fear of windows.  Whatever it might be, you have to have something that sets the main character apart from everyone else.

Maybe your character is the only person immune from all diseases, or maybe they are the best designer of all time.  Whatever you choose.

Then, the most important thing of all - names.  Your character needs a name. 

Coming up with names is probably (for me, at least) the hardest part.

You could make them have a common name or a unique name.  Or you could make everyone have common names, or the main person has a common name and everyone else has extravagant names. 

Whatever you chose, but that name will be the character.  Your character will come alive and take control and demand the focus of the story to themselves.

Therefore, whenever I choose names, I like to look up the meaning behind the different names and pick on that truly suits my character. 

And that is how you can make your characters for your stories, whether short or long, truly come to life. 

Filming

 

When you enjoy making films like my siblings and I do, then you will soon learn to take advantage of things like scenery.

As you know from my last post, we were at the beach (but are now home) and we actually made a video while there.

For us, the norm. definitely does not involve waves and sand, so we thought it would be really cool to do a film at the ocean.

We had a BLAST making it! (even though the water was FREEZING!)  So I hope you enjoy it and feel free to leave a comment or like this video and if you want to see more videos or get notified whenever we put out a new video, subscribe to my channel.  Thanks!

New Jersey Sunrise

The other day we got up about 30 minutes before the sun rose and walked to the beach.  My brother really wanted to see the sunrise.  We took a camera with us.  Some pictures turned out better than others. 

 

We were able to get a few fairly neat shots while waiting for the sunrise to occur.

 

 

The sunrise was beautiful.  It was hard to pick it up on the camera just how nice it was. 

 

I had tried filming the sun coming up, but once the sun had risen, it completely took the camera out of focus.  So we went back to taking the pictures instead.  All in all, it was a very fun time!

The Page ~ Short Story: By Me

A few years ago, 2012 I wrote a short story which I called The Page.  It's something which I was inspired to write after reading quite a few Edgar Allan Poe. 

It was just something to fill my time up with and a little on the cheesy side of things, but it will still something fun.

Anyway, like my other short story - Kara - it was a once and done deal.  I did not edit it at all.  In fact, I haven't even re-read it since I wrote it.  But before I change my mind, I'm going to put it up for you.

So, I hope you enjoy it!

The Page

Henry Miller, such a fine name. Henry Miller was not an ordinary person. Not only that, but he was even unique in the things he chose to read. Henry Miller liked to read mystery novels, novels with deep hidden meanings and morbid endings. Henry, although only the age of 18, lived on his own, in a deserted town. No one ever visited him, nor did anyone even dare to step foot past the towns border.  Now, Henry, at this particular day had decided to read a rather intriguing, yet, mysterious book about a murder. Now, the reason he had found this particular book so intriguing, was because it was, in fact, about a true man, who had really been murdered.  But this was not the full reason as to why Henry liked it so much. It was because the man in the book was very much like himself. The man in the books name was Henry, too. Only, in the book, he was called Harry.  They were not only similar in their names, but in their appearance. Both Henry and Harry had dark brown hair. They were tall and thin, as well as blue eyed with flexes of gold running through them. Both of them had one single freckle on the left side of their face. They both had the same eating habits, as well as likes and dislikes.  They both only wore collared shirts, and they both only wore pure white sneakers.  And, not only that, but both Henry and Harry had the same problem…they both were missing their pinky fingers.  In fact, even the lifestyle of Harry seemed to be identical to that of Henry.  The more Henry read, the more he felt he was re-living his own life over. Everything was completely and utterly the same as himself. The book started with him as a child, and all the way up until he turned 18. Henry shuddered with excitement.  This man, Harry, was him! But how? Henry wondered. How could this be, no one knows me…I’ve lived my whole life in this town…this town, that no living being ever dares to visit.  He was so intrigued he couldn’t put the book down, not for one second. He read deep into the night. Everything in the book was the same as his own life. That was, until he read the last page. On the last page, he read aloud, “Harry sat in the pitch-black room. He was reading aloud the last page of a fantastic novel. As he read the last page, his heart was pumping, he couldn’t put the book down…he then managed to finish it. A sigh of relief fell over him.  He smiled a broad smile and leaned back into his green leathered chair.  Suddenly, he felt pure terror run down his spine. Cold sweat ran down his brow.  He could hear a man, slowly but steadily walking up the stairs in the hallway.  He must be hearing things…no one ever comes here, it’s a deserted town! Harry, ever so slowly, turned his head and peered around the back of his chair. In doing this, he could see the door to the hallway was opened. If anyone was walking up it, he would see them.  He waited for them, but he suddenly heard nothing. He turned back around again. To Harry’s horror, the footsteps started back up.  Harry was frozen stiff with panic. He felt warm breath on his neck, and a pair of icy fingers touched his shoulders.  As Harry went to scream, the icy fingers clasped tightly around Harry’s throat. He fell limp…the end.” Henry put the book down. He looked around in his pitch-black room. He felt a sigh of relief that he had finally finished it. A broad smile came across his face and he leaned back into his green leathered chair. Suddenly, he felt pure terror run down his spine. Cold sweat ran down his brow. He could hear a man, slowly but steadily walking up the stairs in the hallway. I must be hearing things…no one ever comes here, it’s a deserted town! Henry thought to himself. Henry, ever so slowly, turned his head and peered around the back of his chair.  In doing this, he could see the door to the hallway which was open. If anyone was walking up the stairs, he would see them.  He waited for them, but he heard nothing. He turned back around again. To his horror, the footsteps started back up. Henry was frozen stiff with panic, as he remembered the story he had read.  He felt warm breath on his neck, and a pair of icy fingers touched his shoulders. Henry went to scream, the icy fingers clasped tightly around his throat…

 

The End

*No Copywriting

Silent Silhouettes

Silent Silhouettes, the video my relatives and I filmed last year around Thanksgiving. 

It was based off a story our uncle told us and put together as a fun way to spend quality time with each other. 

Enjoy.

I hope you liked that and if you'd like to see more, you can check out our youtube channel by clicking on this link: https://www.youtube.com/user/JMJprotectus/videos

Or if you'd like to check out my personal channel, click this link: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCkGmf9KBtbo14utapKSADjg/videos

Thanks!

Kara ~ By Me

I've written many books and even taken a novel writing course at a co-op a few years back.

Here is a short story I wrote summer of last year, 2013.  It's called, Kara.  I hope you enjoy it! (Warning: to all those who are strict grammar people, know that this was NEVER edited.  It was a once and done.  So there are probably quite a few errors throughout :))

Kara



 

            A girl; not one who had beauties beyond measure; but she had a face which was enlightened by a true, inward beauty.  Her dark leather skirt flowed freely in the deep, icy breeze of the Canadian plain.  Her head was straight and confidently held above her neck.  Thick, golden chains hung from her ears and fell past her shoulders, which were broad and muscular.  All was dead around her.  The old grain stems crumbled under her footsteps.  Her jaw was tightly closed and confidently set.  Her bright eyes haunted the horizon.   The top of her was covered by one long wrapping of died cloth; a blood red.  Her hair came to the back of her knees, hanging freely behind her. Her skin was tanned from many days in the sun. Her hands were covered in sores from hours of working.  Wrapped around her feet were two hole filled rags, tied on with strings. 

 

            Her wrists were filled with thick bracelets containing many precious jewels.  On her back she carried her wooden bow and handmade arrows; the feathers were those of blue jays and ravens.  She was not tall.  Her hard appearance fooled many of her age.  The wind whipped her hair every which way.  Her bare shoulders became cold.   Every step was filled with a desire and purpose.  Her pace quickened.  Her eyes squinted under the rays of the sun.  The earth was barren, hard, and crumbling; yet, she slipped along silent as the angel of death in the land of Egypt. 

            Not a soul was near for miles and yet, she felt as though she was not alone.  Her pulse quickened with each step.  Her breath was light, creating clouds from the cold.  The spirit inside her filled her with the will to go on.   She appeared as though on a mission.  In a way, she was.  Her spirit was willing, but her body was waning.  A single tear rolled down her cheek.  Her mind was on one track.  She wanted to find what her father had told her of.  Before he died, he’d mentioned something important. 

            Her heart felt as though someone had taken it and put it into a clamp that was continually being tightened.  Her whole body felt twisted.  She dropped to the ground in agony.  Her will lessoned.  She screamed at the top of her lungs.  The tears came in droves now, as though someone inside had opened the flood gates.  Flurries of snow drifted around her.   They melted against her warm skin.  Her black lashes were now white with Heaven made crystals.

            The sky’s opened up.  A blizzard rapidly approached.   The winds of Heaven blew harsh against the girl.  Her body cringed.  Her mind was filled with mixed thoughts as confusing emotions ran through her blood.  She proceeded to pull a small knife from her boot.  The detail on the blade would astonish any blades smith.  An old man with a small child on his knee was carved into the very metal of the blade.  She stared intently as she turned the shining blade one way, then another.  The face of the man was stern, yet loving.  She knew only too well though, that the real face was nothing more than cold and hard, just as the steal used to forge the knife. 

            She held the knife high above her.  Her eyes never moved from their stare on the blade.  Her mouth opened, and yet…she couldn’t get the words out.  She clutched the blade close to her as her sobs echoed through the barren hills nearby.  She rocked her body back and forth.  Her hair encased her fully.  She took the blade, piercing the flesh on the palm of her left hand.  The blood trickled down her arm and dripped onto the newly fallen snow. 

            My sweet Jesus! She cried out to the Heaven’s, I beg you to forgive me my sins!  I give you my blood freely as you gave yours for me!  She hung her head low, crying to herself.   She laid down in the now inch deep snow.   The metal chains she wore for beauty were now sucking the heat from her body.   Her hair became matted with the ice flakes, falling thickly on it. 

            The very heart within her beat slower.  Her entire being was overtaken with a passion of sadness.  Grief was her enemy and he was slowly winning.  The girl realized if she didn’t move soon she would surely freeze to death.  The end was nearing, slowly but surely it came closer.  As her mind flowed with vivid images of her father’s death, she realized what he must have meant. 

            Death; death had over taken him.  It was now coming for her.  She wept a tear both for herself and her deceased father.  Why death though?  Why not celebrate life? The girl stared up at the crystal clear sky.  Ice covered her face.  She went pale.  Her beautiful eyes had turned from deep ocean blue to a light pastel coloring.  Her pupils went small, almost non-existent.   Ice covered her eyes, open though they were.  Everything began to blur. 

            She didn’t fear though.  A sudden peace fell over her weary body; her heart beating slower and slower.  The ice was now hardening over her.  She couldn’t blink now even if she had desired too before.  Her body was now surrounded by the foot deep snow.  She could no longer feel anything, except for the occasional longing to move her arms, which were now frozen solid to the ground she lay on.  Everything began to get foggy and black.  Suddenly, a small light appeared.  It came closer and closer to her.  She tried to run towards it, but was unable to move.

            I’m going to see God! The girl tried to smile with joy, but the ice prevented any movement.  She knew at last what her father had tried to tell her about; eternal joy. No longer would she sweat from hard labor or need to forage for food in the barren woods.  She was finally heading home, an eternal home, with God.  The girl couldn’t contain herself.  She would see her sweet Savior and her loving father. 

Just as quickly as the snowy storm had crept up on the girl, so was her very soul swept upwards to the Heavens.   Nothing remained, other than her frozen body, solidly stuck to the earth’s surface.  She was in an eternal place filled with joy and prosperity.  She was taken there.  She was Kara. 

 

*No Copywriting