Falthor
My boyyyyyyyy
[ TARNISHED SCARS : THE EPIC ØF THATCHER GRESLIN ]
An Action/Adventure Original Trainer novel by Falthor.
[ Førewørd ]
“When he approaches the light, his eyes will be dazzled, and he will not be able to see anything at all of what are now called realities.”
~ Plato, The Republic
[ Dedicatiøn ]
An Action/Adventure Original Trainer novel by Falthor.
[ Førewørd ]
“When he approaches the light, his eyes will be dazzled, and he will not be able to see anything at all of what are now called realities.”
~ Plato, The Republic
[ Dedicatiøn ]
For inspiring me, challenging me, and reshaping my way of thinking, I truly idolize this man. You’ve done so much for me, and you know little about it. You truly are the greatest being on the face of this earth, and I am glad that I could be under your tutelage these past few years. I dedicate it to you, Bob Smith (I will not disclose your real name because of the lack of safeties on the Internet), but I know whom you are, and I’m glad you’ve done so much for me. Thank you.
[ Letter frøm the Authør ]
One eventful day, as I was searching through the old remains of The Cave of Dragonflies forums for some of my old works, I found Tarnished Scars, and began to read it. I was immersed in the world of Goldracone, the land in which everything took place. As I read, I saw my tendencies to over-describe many of the places, objects, and sceneries that were very unnecessary. The plot was gone; it just seemed to be a journey about a boy and his Cyndaquil. Of course, the original premise was that, as well, but he would eventually be known as a “Chosen One” of some variety.
The second revision will be much similar to the original two in terms of premise, but stylistically will be significantly different. Thatcher will no longer be a ten-year-old, angst-filled individual, but an eighteen-year-old whose life is seemingly normal. He is a normal teenager who has just graduated from high school who must make an important decision: spend four years of his life in college, another three in medical or law school; or embark on a journey as a Pokémon Trainer, discovering who he is as both a Trainer and as an individual. The Pokémon journey he eventually decides to go on is an example of the odyssean archetype, as elements from novel(la)s and epics such as The Epic of Gilgamesh, The Iliad, Moby-Dick, The Odyssey, Heart of Darkness, The Voyage of Argo, Ulysses, and The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, which all provide both a physical and metaphysical aspect to humanity.
The story itself, in my opinion, is my greatest work. I plan, unlike all of the fics I’ve written over the past four years, that this one will be completed, hopefully by the end of the summer. I will work on a chapter a night, getting all thirty chapters (ten chapters per each book, almost to the style of Avatar: The Last Airbender, which does twenty per book) done within a month. Each chapter will be very elaborate, since I will, instead of writing seventy chapters for a novel, which is humanly impossible, write more of the significant things in each chapter, so maybe instead of ten pages on Pages (the Mac equivalent of MSWord), I may write twice as much, or 1.5 times as much, who knows?
I truly hope, as a member of all forums I am on (including this one), an author, and as a human being, you appreciate and properly criticize my work. Much has been done to perfect my writing style: I’ve spoken with my school’s Creative Writing teacher on many occasions, since I could not take his course this or next year, discussing how I could tweak this; emphasize that; make description as powerful as it could without overdoing it; using other writers such as Clemens, Conrad, Hemingway, Poe, Melville, Hawthorne, Joyce, Shakespeare, Austen, and many more, as inspiration to help mold my style to one of theirs, yet retaining and evolving the elements that I am good at (supposedly my characterization is so complex that it astounds him greatly).
I hope you enjoy Tarnished Scars. In it are amazing characters, a potentially great plot, and an effective use of language and I wish that this story can be just as influential as many of the novels you’ve read in your lifetime. It is greatly moving if you revere it, criticize it heavily, and, in the end, make me a better writer and a better person. Thank you for taking the time out to read this fic, this masterpiece, this work of aesthetic quality that deserves both appreciation and reverie.
Keep in mind, that for disclaimer purposes, this work is entirely fiction. The names, characters, and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or localities, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved.
Peace and love,
Falthor, author of Tarnished Scars.
__________________________________________________
The following is an excerpt from the first chapter, "Genesis."
Thatcher, wake up...
The buzzing of my alarm clock began as soon my eyes opened. 6:00 exactly. I sat up, ran my hand through my hair, and shook my head, trying to get my locks of hair out of my line of sight. I lifted the sheet off my bed, threw it on the floor, and slid my feet into my slippers. I slowly arose out of bed and plodded to my bathroom. I rubbed my tired, baggy eyes and looked at my reflection in the mirror. My eyes were completely bloodshot, dark circles developing underneath. Insomnia was beginning to become my best friend. I turned the faucet and no water spewed from the tap. I nudged the faucet to see if the water would come out, but it was to no avail. I began to jimmy it, shaking the faucet rapidly in a bit of an angered rage, but no dice. My parents probably didn't pay their water bill again. Great.
Don't worry…I can make it work.
After hearing the voice speak inside my mind, the faucet turned on by itself and water began to spew from the tap smoothly, even if the faucet was turned completely clockwise, which was odd. I looked around with shifty eyes, trying to interpret what was going on. I shook my head once more and opened my medicine cabinet. In it lay seven different types of sleeping medicines, shaving cream, razors, and other crap. I grabbed my toothbrush and squirted some toothpaste (which was conveniently on the sink) onto the bristles and began to brush my teeth. I was tired, so my movements were not thorough. Suddenly, a bright, blue, pulsating aura surrounded my toothbrush and the thing brushed my teeth all by itself. Somehow amazing, but mostly just weird.
"What the hell?" I said, muffled. I was quite bewildered, but on the other hand––which may sound more logical––I'm just delusional. I splashed water on my face, fully waking me up. I wasn't delusional; the toothbrush was brushing my teeth all by itself! I opened my mouth and the toothbrush moved aside so I can spit the toothpaste out. I filled my small, six-ounce cup with water and spat out the remaining toothpaste and smiled at myself in the mirror, checking for any missed spots. Somehow, my teeth were even whiter than they were before. This was incredible, but above all, the weirdest thing I have ever seen in my eighteen years of living.
"Damn good toothpaste," I said, trying to block out the awkward events that just occurred. I left the bathroom, the faucet of my bathroom sink turning by itself as I exited. I turned around, realizing that the same aura that surrounded my toothbrush was there. It disappeared a nanosecond after I looked at the faucet. I looked around in different directions, trying to determine what was going on. The morning just began, and already it was off to a weird start. I then flicked the switch to my bedroom, but the light wouldn't turn on. I looked at my alarm clock, it was working properly. I then realized and muttered to myself, “It’s on battery power.” Ah dammit. My parents didn't pay the electric bill either. I turned off the light switch to prevent any danger from happening. But the light bulb in my room flickered and brightened the room ten times brighter than my original incandescent bulb.
"What the hell?" I inquired towards the heavens, my hands in the air, further showing that I was completely bewildered by the day’s events. I scanned the area for something electrical in the area. But there was nothing to be found. I was a bit disturbed, but if there were someone in the city who was kind enough to do this, then by all means, I definitely would let him do so. God knows my parents wouldn't do this. They probably got wasted last night, as usual, and forgot to take on their parental responsibilities and pay their damn bills and nurture their son.
I gathered my belongings and began packing. Apparently, today was the day that I would receive my companion for life. They were called "Pocket Monsters," better known as Pokémon. I had anticipated this moment all my life; it was the day of my legal emancipation from my parents. I had saved enough money from my job working as a busboy at the diner to provide for myself and my partner, and perhaps a traveling fellow Trainer whom I may encounter from time to time. I was nothing but prepared for this life-changing event.
I closed my knapsack and snapped my fingers. The light bulb didn't flicker off, but as I left and closed my door, it did. My room was bare; all my possessions were in a bag slung over my shoulder.
I walked into the living room, which was also my parents' bedroom. Liquor bottles, cans of beer, and other forms of alcohol were scattered about. My parents were on the floor, completely hung over, holding bottles of whiskey in their hands. My father's bottle was dripping, a puddle of the smelly crap forming underneath. I trudged to the kitchenette and saw that there were no paper towels, napkins, nor any kind of liquid absorber whatsoever. Home sweet home, huh?
No point in telling them "good-bye." Half the time, they didn't even care about their own damn son, more so not knowledgeable of the fact that they even have one. I put one hand on the doorknob, took one last look around the apartment, and closed it, leaving the key to it on the table at the entrance.
Good-bye.
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