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hwangoThis is my entry for the writing activity on the ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
brigits_flame community. The topic for week #4 of July is "The Tears of God," for which I have written the following:
Note: As a personal challenge, I’ve been adding to one continuous story this month, incorporating each new topic as it’s presented. Each part should stand on its own, but if you want the whole story you should read the other parts, though of course you could read them after you read this one if you don't want to influence your reaction to this one on its own.
( Heavy - http://hwango.livejournal.com/188814.html )
( It Hurts When I Do This - http://hwango.livejournal.com/189366.html )
( Happiness is... - http://hwango.livejournal.com/190296.html )
Butler’s feet hurt. On another night he might have mentioned this to his associate, Carver, but they had already discussed that fact earlier in the evening. Carver loved to talk, and so Butler tried to offer a conversational gambit from time to time just so Carver would have something to which he could respond. Unfortunately, Butler had already exhausted every topic of conversation that he could think of. He had already mentioned that his feet hurt, that he was tired of walking, and that he was looking forward to finally reaching Spring Street so they could finish their business for the night and get some sleep. Carver had quickly tired of each of these subjects. Butler was forced to agree that they weren’t very interesting things to talk about.
In his desperation, Butler had ventured a few topics that, compared to his usual fare, bordered on being philosophical – would Greenway, the object of their search, really be with his mistress at the address in Spring Street? Why did their employer want Mr. Greenway dead? Why did they always dump bodies in the river? In the end, Butler began to suspect that as much as Carver loved to hear himself talk, he was not interested in doing so if it meant dwelling on the difficulties that they had experienced while trying to locate and deal with Greenway.
The silence in which they walked was alien to Butler, and he found himself listening to those few noises to be heard in a city in the depths of a dark night. Mostly, he could hear his own footsteps. He noticed that his left boot made a different noise than his right. He needed new boots. He opened his mouth to mention this fact, remembering just in time that this too was a topic that had already been explored.
“We are here at last,” Carver said, and Butler flinched a bit at the sudden noise. Butler looked from side to side, taking in the public gardens on his right and the row of apartments on the left. At the end of the street stood a small church with a bell tower. Butler had lost track of time, and he wondered how many times the bell would ring if it were tolled while they were here.
“We have now but to locate number thirty-two, where we will at last find the elusive Mr. Greenway, and then we shall finally….” Carver started to say, but stopped abruptly.
Butler looked curiously at Carver, wondering what could possibly have caused him to abandon a sentence while it was still unfinished. Carver had stopped walking and appeared to be staring at something up the street, and Butler turned to see what it might be. Butler was not a clever man, but he realized immediately what had unsettled Carver so badly. There was a man standing in the street several yards away, looking at them. He looked as if he had just emerged from one of the buildings on the left, quite possibly number thirty-two. In the dark it was difficult to be certain, but he looked about the right height and build to be Mr. Greenway, and he was dressed in clothes befitting someone of Mr. Greenway’s social class. At this hour, in this place, it was quite inconceivable that it could be anyone else.
This was most unfortunate. Carver and Butler preferred to take care of their business quietly and with the element of surprise. Meeting one’s target face to face in the street was hardly an ideal scenario. The fact that he had probably overheard Carver talking about where they were going and who they were looking for only compounded the problem. Considering the time of day, their visit was unlikely to be for any sort of legitimate business. Mr. Greenway would almost certainly deduce that he might be in personal danger, and flee. Butler’s face crumpled and fell as he realized that if Mr. Greenway ran, they would have to chase him. At this rate, Butler’s blisters would have blisters by the time morning arrived.
Butler was still thinking about his feet when he noticed Carver hesitantly begin walking forward again, probably hoping that Mr. Greenway didn’t realize that he was in danger. Sadly, this was not the case, and Greenway turned and fled back to the door he had come from. Discovering that he had already locked the door behind him, he turned and ran up the street, towards the church.
“Most unfortunate,” said Carver as he and Butler started to pursue the fleeing figure. “It would appear that luck is truly not on our side tonight, Butler.” Butler only nodded in reply. He watched as the retreating man scrambled up the steps in front of the church and crashed through the doors, slamming them behind him. “But wait,” said Carver, “a bit of luck has come our way after all! Our quarry has foolishly boxed himself in, rather than force us to give a more extended chase.”
“But Carver,” said Butler as they reached the steps, “it’s a church.”
Carver paused at the foot of the steps. “And of what significance is that? Surely, Butler, you are not a man of the faith? What difference should it make whether we kill Greenway in one building or another? Indeed, I look upon this particular choice of his as most fortuitous. Any other building might have had more people inside it. We can expect a church to be sparsely populated.” This made sense, but Butler still felt a sense of unease at the idea of committing murder in a church. It made little difference that Carver was the one who usually did the actual murdering, whereas Butler’s role in these matters consisted mostly of heavy lifting.
Carver took the steps two at a time and then paused at the top to gently push on the door. It opened easily before him. Either Mr. Greenway was counting on the presence of holy ground to save him, or he had been unable to find a way to seal the portal against pursuit.
Inside, Carver and Butler found the church dimly lit by a few cheap candles. Several rows of pews sat facing a wooden pulpit. A few feet behind the pulpit stood a stone statue. The faint candlelight reflected off two narrow trickles of water running down the statue’s face, one from each eye. Butler realized that they were in a church devoted to the Weeping God.
“The Weeping God, eh Mr. Greenway?” Carver called out. “Perhaps you should have kept running until you’d found a nicer church to hide in?”
It was true that the religion of the Weeping God was not particularly affluent. One couldn’t very well have a church devoted to the Weeping God and not have one of the weeping statues such as the one before them. The water flowed in a continuous stream from the eyes down to where the statue’s hands were cupped over its heart, where it flowed back into the statue. Keeping the water constantly flowing that way required a sophisticated system of clockwork and counterweights. Such things were expensive to build and to maintain, and that left little money to pay for all of the other things required in the upkeep of a church. The Weeping God supposedly wept for the many follies of man. Butler couldn’t help thinking that one such folly might be expending so much of the church’s meager resources on what was essentially a complicated fountain. Perhaps the faithful saw it differently.
Carver’s taunting had not provoked a reaction of any kind, and so Carver motioned for Butler to take the right side of the room as he moved away to search the left. Butler looked carefully at each row of pews as he went by, making sure Mr. Greenway wasn’t hiding behind or under one of them. Carver’s inspection was less thorough, and he quickly reached the pulpit. Carver was approaching the statue when Greenway suddenly leapt out from behind it and swung a heavy iron candelabrum at him. Carver leaned back out of the way and frowned in disdain.
“Really, now, Mr. Greenway. Such an unseemly display,” Carver said, taking a step back to avoid another of Greenway’s clumsy attacks. “Don’t you realize that this is a church? Though I confess I am not well versed in the teachings of this particular institution, I have little doubt that they would frown upon us brawling on their holy ground.”
Greenway continued to swing wildly at Carver, who was quite content to let him tire himself out doing so. Butler quietly moved forward to stand between Greenway and the doorway that led to the back rooms of the church. After a moment, Greenway took one last desperate swing with his makeshift weapon and then turned to run again, only to find himself facing the looming bulk of Butler. Greenway hesitated, and Carver took the opportunity to step in behind him and slit his throat. Greenway staggered away from him and crashed into the statue, which rocked precariously. Butler rushed forward and righted it before it could topple over. As Butler stepped back he realized that his hands and clothes felt wet. At first he thought he had Greenway’s blood on him, but it turned out only to be the tears of the Weeping God.
Butler looked down at the still form of Mr. Greenway, then back up at Carver. Carver had an eyebrow raised in silent inquiry, something very out of character for him.
“I didn’t think we should let the statue get broken,” Butler said, hoping that answered the question that was being asked.
Carver nodded in agreement. “Indeed, Butler, we may have violated the sanctity of this place with our heinous crime of murder, but that is damage to an intangible and perhaps even imaginary thing. Breaking the statue, on the other hand, would have resulted in a material loss to the church, which is a far more serious matter.”
For a moment, Butler thought Carver might be mocking him, but upon further consideration he realized that Carver was probably being sincere. Butler wasn’t sure how holy the place might have been before they arrived, and whether it was really any less holy now, but he knew he would have felt guilty if they’d broken a god, even if it was only made of stone and metal.
“What a mess,” Carver said, looking at the pool of blood on the floor that centered on Mr. Greenway’s neck. “I do so prefer it when we can act in a more leisurely manner. It’s ever so much tidier. Well, there’s no help for it now. Let’s get Mr. Greenway to the river and put this long night behind us at last.”
Butler knelt and lifted the dead weight of Mr. Greenway’s corpse, heaving the body up onto his shoulders. He frowned. There was an awful lot of blood on the body, and he couldn’t help getting some on his clothes. It looked like he was going to need a new jacket in addition to new boots.
Carver held the door open for him as they exited the church, and together they made their way towards the river. In the church behind them, the Weeping God continued to shed his tears over the follies of man.
brigits_flame community. The topic for week #4 of July is "The Tears of God," for which I have written the following:Note: As a personal challenge, I’ve been adding to one continuous story this month, incorporating each new topic as it’s presented. Each part should stand on its own, but if you want the whole story you should read the other parts, though of course you could read them after you read this one if you don't want to influence your reaction to this one on its own.
( Heavy - http://hwango.livejournal.com/188814.html )
( It Hurts When I Do This - http://hwango.livejournal.com/189366.html )
( Happiness is... - http://hwango.livejournal.com/190296.html )
Butler’s feet hurt. On another night he might have mentioned this to his associate, Carver, but they had already discussed that fact earlier in the evening. Carver loved to talk, and so Butler tried to offer a conversational gambit from time to time just so Carver would have something to which he could respond. Unfortunately, Butler had already exhausted every topic of conversation that he could think of. He had already mentioned that his feet hurt, that he was tired of walking, and that he was looking forward to finally reaching Spring Street so they could finish their business for the night and get some sleep. Carver had quickly tired of each of these subjects. Butler was forced to agree that they weren’t very interesting things to talk about.
In his desperation, Butler had ventured a few topics that, compared to his usual fare, bordered on being philosophical – would Greenway, the object of their search, really be with his mistress at the address in Spring Street? Why did their employer want Mr. Greenway dead? Why did they always dump bodies in the river? In the end, Butler began to suspect that as much as Carver loved to hear himself talk, he was not interested in doing so if it meant dwelling on the difficulties that they had experienced while trying to locate and deal with Greenway.
The silence in which they walked was alien to Butler, and he found himself listening to those few noises to be heard in a city in the depths of a dark night. Mostly, he could hear his own footsteps. He noticed that his left boot made a different noise than his right. He needed new boots. He opened his mouth to mention this fact, remembering just in time that this too was a topic that had already been explored.
“We are here at last,” Carver said, and Butler flinched a bit at the sudden noise. Butler looked from side to side, taking in the public gardens on his right and the row of apartments on the left. At the end of the street stood a small church with a bell tower. Butler had lost track of time, and he wondered how many times the bell would ring if it were tolled while they were here.
“We have now but to locate number thirty-two, where we will at last find the elusive Mr. Greenway, and then we shall finally….” Carver started to say, but stopped abruptly.
Butler looked curiously at Carver, wondering what could possibly have caused him to abandon a sentence while it was still unfinished. Carver had stopped walking and appeared to be staring at something up the street, and Butler turned to see what it might be. Butler was not a clever man, but he realized immediately what had unsettled Carver so badly. There was a man standing in the street several yards away, looking at them. He looked as if he had just emerged from one of the buildings on the left, quite possibly number thirty-two. In the dark it was difficult to be certain, but he looked about the right height and build to be Mr. Greenway, and he was dressed in clothes befitting someone of Mr. Greenway’s social class. At this hour, in this place, it was quite inconceivable that it could be anyone else.
This was most unfortunate. Carver and Butler preferred to take care of their business quietly and with the element of surprise. Meeting one’s target face to face in the street was hardly an ideal scenario. The fact that he had probably overheard Carver talking about where they were going and who they were looking for only compounded the problem. Considering the time of day, their visit was unlikely to be for any sort of legitimate business. Mr. Greenway would almost certainly deduce that he might be in personal danger, and flee. Butler’s face crumpled and fell as he realized that if Mr. Greenway ran, they would have to chase him. At this rate, Butler’s blisters would have blisters by the time morning arrived.
Butler was still thinking about his feet when he noticed Carver hesitantly begin walking forward again, probably hoping that Mr. Greenway didn’t realize that he was in danger. Sadly, this was not the case, and Greenway turned and fled back to the door he had come from. Discovering that he had already locked the door behind him, he turned and ran up the street, towards the church.
“Most unfortunate,” said Carver as he and Butler started to pursue the fleeing figure. “It would appear that luck is truly not on our side tonight, Butler.” Butler only nodded in reply. He watched as the retreating man scrambled up the steps in front of the church and crashed through the doors, slamming them behind him. “But wait,” said Carver, “a bit of luck has come our way after all! Our quarry has foolishly boxed himself in, rather than force us to give a more extended chase.”
“But Carver,” said Butler as they reached the steps, “it’s a church.”
Carver paused at the foot of the steps. “And of what significance is that? Surely, Butler, you are not a man of the faith? What difference should it make whether we kill Greenway in one building or another? Indeed, I look upon this particular choice of his as most fortuitous. Any other building might have had more people inside it. We can expect a church to be sparsely populated.” This made sense, but Butler still felt a sense of unease at the idea of committing murder in a church. It made little difference that Carver was the one who usually did the actual murdering, whereas Butler’s role in these matters consisted mostly of heavy lifting.
Carver took the steps two at a time and then paused at the top to gently push on the door. It opened easily before him. Either Mr. Greenway was counting on the presence of holy ground to save him, or he had been unable to find a way to seal the portal against pursuit.
Inside, Carver and Butler found the church dimly lit by a few cheap candles. Several rows of pews sat facing a wooden pulpit. A few feet behind the pulpit stood a stone statue. The faint candlelight reflected off two narrow trickles of water running down the statue’s face, one from each eye. Butler realized that they were in a church devoted to the Weeping God.
“The Weeping God, eh Mr. Greenway?” Carver called out. “Perhaps you should have kept running until you’d found a nicer church to hide in?”
It was true that the religion of the Weeping God was not particularly affluent. One couldn’t very well have a church devoted to the Weeping God and not have one of the weeping statues such as the one before them. The water flowed in a continuous stream from the eyes down to where the statue’s hands were cupped over its heart, where it flowed back into the statue. Keeping the water constantly flowing that way required a sophisticated system of clockwork and counterweights. Such things were expensive to build and to maintain, and that left little money to pay for all of the other things required in the upkeep of a church. The Weeping God supposedly wept for the many follies of man. Butler couldn’t help thinking that one such folly might be expending so much of the church’s meager resources on what was essentially a complicated fountain. Perhaps the faithful saw it differently.
Carver’s taunting had not provoked a reaction of any kind, and so Carver motioned for Butler to take the right side of the room as he moved away to search the left. Butler looked carefully at each row of pews as he went by, making sure Mr. Greenway wasn’t hiding behind or under one of them. Carver’s inspection was less thorough, and he quickly reached the pulpit. Carver was approaching the statue when Greenway suddenly leapt out from behind it and swung a heavy iron candelabrum at him. Carver leaned back out of the way and frowned in disdain.
“Really, now, Mr. Greenway. Such an unseemly display,” Carver said, taking a step back to avoid another of Greenway’s clumsy attacks. “Don’t you realize that this is a church? Though I confess I am not well versed in the teachings of this particular institution, I have little doubt that they would frown upon us brawling on their holy ground.”
Greenway continued to swing wildly at Carver, who was quite content to let him tire himself out doing so. Butler quietly moved forward to stand between Greenway and the doorway that led to the back rooms of the church. After a moment, Greenway took one last desperate swing with his makeshift weapon and then turned to run again, only to find himself facing the looming bulk of Butler. Greenway hesitated, and Carver took the opportunity to step in behind him and slit his throat. Greenway staggered away from him and crashed into the statue, which rocked precariously. Butler rushed forward and righted it before it could topple over. As Butler stepped back he realized that his hands and clothes felt wet. At first he thought he had Greenway’s blood on him, but it turned out only to be the tears of the Weeping God.
Butler looked down at the still form of Mr. Greenway, then back up at Carver. Carver had an eyebrow raised in silent inquiry, something very out of character for him.
“I didn’t think we should let the statue get broken,” Butler said, hoping that answered the question that was being asked.
Carver nodded in agreement. “Indeed, Butler, we may have violated the sanctity of this place with our heinous crime of murder, but that is damage to an intangible and perhaps even imaginary thing. Breaking the statue, on the other hand, would have resulted in a material loss to the church, which is a far more serious matter.”
For a moment, Butler thought Carver might be mocking him, but upon further consideration he realized that Carver was probably being sincere. Butler wasn’t sure how holy the place might have been before they arrived, and whether it was really any less holy now, but he knew he would have felt guilty if they’d broken a god, even if it was only made of stone and metal.
“What a mess,” Carver said, looking at the pool of blood on the floor that centered on Mr. Greenway’s neck. “I do so prefer it when we can act in a more leisurely manner. It’s ever so much tidier. Well, there’s no help for it now. Let’s get Mr. Greenway to the river and put this long night behind us at last.”
Butler knelt and lifted the dead weight of Mr. Greenway’s corpse, heaving the body up onto his shoulders. He frowned. There was an awful lot of blood on the body, and he couldn’t help getting some on his clothes. It looked like he was going to need a new jacket in addition to new boots.
Carver held the door open for him as they exited the church, and together they made their way towards the river. In the church behind them, the Weeping God continued to shed his tears over the follies of man.
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Re: Editor #2 here!
Date: 2008-07-29 09:02 am (UTC)I'll definitely take another look at the sentence you mention. I'm glad you know what I meant, but I can see how it could be clearer.
It's true that parts 1-3 do most of the work establishing the characters and establishing their differences, mostly from what they say with their dialog. Then, in #4, I don't have much dialog. Still, I thought that Carver was the more active of the two in part 4, whereas Butler mostly reacted to what Carver did. As much as both of them want things to be done with, Carver seems to be the more impatient of the two, with Butler being the only one paying attention to anything else. I can see how that doesn't work as well to provide contrast as the dialog does in parts 1-3, though. Maybe if I revisit these I should try to give them a little more to say in part 4.
Thanks for the edits!