/lit/ - Literature

[Anonymous No.1603909]

story time: do your worst

Crapshoot

I’m an atheist. I don’t believe in the presence of a deity or deities who are omnipotent, omniscient, or omnipresent or who are the first cause or who really give much of a shit about us at all. I don’t believe in the efficacy of intercessory prayer or the healing power of prayer for oneself. I don’t believe in revelation, whether through studying translated Hebrew, Aramaic, Greek, Latin or Arabic texts or through direct mystical communion with the divine. I don’t believe in an afterlife, or any metaphysical realm of spirit, soul or other immaterial form of self. I don’t believe in the accumulation of virtue via following the 10 commandments, the lessons from the sermon on the mount, the five pillars of Islam, the noble 8 fold path, Vedic rituals or any other such system of ritual morality. I also don’t believe in Goetia, séances, ghosts, demons, spirits, Ouija boards, animism or druidic rituals. In short, I believe in nothing that cannot be empirically falsified and, if not falsified, then replicated under rigorously controlled scientific conditions.

[Anonymous No.1603910]

Even so, I went into an Episcopal chapel one day near my apartment to pray. I prayed for my mother, that the lesion in her lung was only a benign abnormality and not actual lung cancer. I considered that this was not an abdication of my firmly held beliefs, but merely a superstition – yet, one that I could not do without. A superstition, but a strong one like an insatiable obsession, a bone-deep itch to prostrate oneself before something radically Other and beg for help. I could not explain it; the meaning was in the ritual, not the idea, and even the ritual itself was ineffable to the core.

When I arrived at the chapel, I found four homeless men scattered about one of the side alters in which I had intended to pray. They lay about the pedestal of the stone alter in the fetal position, dressed in rags. Some had laundry sacks, or plastic sacks from grocery stores in which they kept their belongings. Some had nothing at all. Their hair was in disarray, their clothes slipping off their slight bodies. Also, they smelled like the smell of earth. The scent was similar to that of wet cardboard or old wet paper sacks that sometimes blew down the street and stuck to your shoes. It was not an unpleasant scent, just not one you’d associate with a human being.

[Anonymous No.1603915]

My presence there did not seem to disturb any of the other homeless supplicants, if supplicant’s they were, and I went about my business.

Dear God, I said. Please don’t let my mother die from lung cancer. I know she has to die sometime, but let it be something else, like dying in her sleep, or instant death upon impact. Above all don’t let it be now. Even though I don’t believe in you, and the outcome of this small prayer will neither strengthen nor weaken this belief, it feels like something I should do…

And then I scowled and slid off from my seat in the pew so that I was kneeling. I hate you, you know that, I said to God. But if you exist you have power over me. And so I am here with my small request. Do what you will with it. Then I reclaimed my seat on the dusty wooden pew.

I solemnly stared at the ground for a few more minutes after I said my prayer or rather my incoherent sacrilege. Perhaps they are the same thing to the Almighty, who knows? Then when I raised my head again to depart, I noticed something peculiar on the alter. It had been stripped of anything valuable for fear that the homeless people might steal it. There were however two hard stones that someone had placed in the middle of the alter. Upon closer inspection, they turned out not to be stones at all, but dice. At first this struck me as profane that an instrument of gambling should be placed – no, offered – to the God’s above. I reached out and turned the dice over in my hands. The white plastic was cold to the touch.

[Anonymous No.1603918]

So then, I thought, is all this prayer business just a crapshoot? If I come up snake eyes on this next roll will my mother die? Did I get lucky, being born to an affluent family in the northern suburbs of Chicago because the dice had come up sevens? What about these homeless people? Were their fates merely the result of a bad roll of the dice? I could see no rhyme or reason to it. I, a clean, well-dressed, well-educated, cynical atheist held the dice in front of the holy alter while these others, these impoverished souls surrounded me. I held the dice in my hand ready to test my theory.

Then I pocket them. Fuck the game, I thought. If my mother dies of cancer then it won’t be because of a 7 or an 11 or snake eyes. It’ll be because one of her cells developed a malignant mutation that metastasized throughout her body, slowly usurping her organismic functions until they collectively failed. Fuck your game God. I will not roll your dice. I may not be a real atheist – an atheist for whom the lack of a deity is inconsequential. I know I need you to survive. But still, I will not play your silly games. If tragedy happens, it’s not because it’s fated, nor because it’s in the roll of the dice. It’s because of the ineluctable logic of the natural world. Such tragedy may not be as comforting as believing in a metaphysical reason for one’s loss. But at least it will be defiant. And this defiance I will wield like a weapon against you – you with your mass of homeless supplicants who use you for a place to sleep rather than for worship. It seems that they have more wisdom than I.

[Anonymous No.1603924]

shameless self bump for readers.plox. If you can't make it through the firs two paragraphs just stop reading and write "revise" in the comment section please. No offense taken.

[Anonymous No.1603925]

Pretty gay.

[Anonymous No.1603928]

Here are my thoughts, please take them with plenty of salt.

I actually quite like this. It is pretty damn well made, much better then the usual trash posted on here, at least. Your descriptions are good. I felt compelled to continue reading.

However, I do think it is merely good, not great. It's well written, the vehicle is built well, but it's not carrying anything of value. This mainly seems because the metaphors are too obvious, and there is too little tension.

I actually like the inclusion of dice, but the way you included them is WAY too obvious, and then you go on and explicate it even more. I feel like you're kind of smashing me over the head with the metaphor. If you just had dice as a recurring theme, then I feel it would work perfectly.

Also, the fact that the protagonist is already a strong Atheist is missing a huge chance for drama and tension. I myself am a strong Atheist, so I agree but having such clear and defined views is not conducive to writing a gripping story. Maybe make him a weak Atheist, or Agnostic. I don't know. I feel it would make his actions more believable, and add another layer of internal struggle that lots of people could relate to.

For a more specific suggestion, tone down all the Atheist stuff. The reader will either have already heard all that crap a million times and believe it, or they will will firmly disagree with it and immediately be turned off of your protagonist. However the transition state, many people can relate to, from both sides.

[Anonymous No.1603929]

>>1603925
In what way... I'm looking for CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM here rather than "WHO WAS PHONE?!!!" SO in what manner is my narrative gay specifically. Really? I want to know so that I can correct it.

[Anonymous No.1603930]

>>1603928
Thank you for your advice. I think much of it will come in handy. This is only a first (drunekn) draft and so It needs lots and lots of editing. I"ll keep you suggestions in mind while doing so.

[Anonymous No.1603933]

BTW, since I have no imagination, this really happened. It was a small numinous occurrence in the midst of an otherwise banal day, but still... I felt like I had to write about it.

[Anonymous No.1603934]

>>1603929
The intro paragraph comes off as if a teenager wrote it, but purposely tried to sound more grown up.

You've used the word supplicant too often. Once is fine for this length of a story. Three or four times is just bashing the reader over the head with it and makes one want to stop reading.

Your topic is much too vast to really touch in this length of a piece. I would recommend jumping around the disbelief and mother's sickness without directly addressing the strong beliefs and conclusion all within just a few paragraphs. The brief amount of time that this character has just come to a conclusion makes him dumber than the reader, and someone to be pitied. If that was your aim, the rest of the story doesn't really fit in with that viewpoint. It seemed you wanted the main character to come off as enlightened.

[Anonymous No.1603936]

>>1603933
Oh I know how that is, you're walking around feeling like your hot shit and the whole world is bending down to your white middle class cock and the bees buzz to your footsteps.

Then I passed puberty.

[Anonymous No.1603937]

>>1603934
This I will also take into consideration kind sir. Any type of advice, even if it is harsh in nature, is appreciated. I'm writing all this down so I don't forget it. Remember, I'm shit faced and so this is only hte first of many efforts on my part.

[not OP No.1603939]

>>1603936
I find that those who mock youth are usually those still trying to be an adult.

[Anonymous No.1603941]

So is it worth it do you think to pursue this line of work and perhaps change it into something more engaging, scintillating, profound etc.? Or should I abandon it and start over with something else?

[Anonymous No.1603945]

>>1603941
Uhh I think anyone who has provided their opinion has made it explicit and complete as possible. Is it close to what you're trying to say? Continue with it. Do you not know what you're trying to say? Continue with it. Is it not what you're trying to say? Ditch it. Just do whatever you want, or whatever feels right.

[Anonymous No.1603951]

OP here. Thanks for the advice on my admittedly amateurish (and drunken) story. Maybe something will come of it. If it does I will post here for all to enjoy (or ridicule).

[Anonymous No.1603963]

>>1603934
>Three or four times is just bashing the reader over the head with it and makes one want to stop reading.

So you're saying constantly repeating the same words is not a valid literary device? I bet you have a hard time reading Bernhard, or even Joyce.

OP's spelling is faulty though and his writing full of crass archaisms and big words.

[Anonymous No.1603971]

>>1603963

Not at all, repeating words can be very effective and poetic.

They are not in this case, and I think you would agree with me.