Another attempt at science fiction

[Prefx]

I plan to become more active in this area again once I come back from Disney World (at the end of this month). It will be my first trip there in ever, and the third time I've gone to Florida. I'm excited, of course. It's a little late for me, physically, I guess, but in my mind I'm still a kid.

Anyway, here's a medium-large excerpt (though I hope not overly large).

Manson

The church watching over him was the last house of God in the world.

All other Protestant residences had been destroyed by the riots of '52. Even after so many years between those events and now, Manson could still remember the cloud of smoke digging through the city streets and turning the sky a shade of drab gray. He recalled there being none such smell in the world, the smell of a dying faith. When the dust had finally cleared, twenty-seven great buildings were set aflame by angry mobs looking to blame someone for the Technocracy's absence in the spreading hunger. As befitted all places that sat north of the Poseidon River, St. John's House of Christ remained unburnt. The Technocracy had fallen before the entire city broke out in war, sparing the older districts from being torched by the angry Gaeans.

Thirty-one years later, and the building Manson grew up to admire now swallowed its share of old age and concrete-thick mud. The grander that was once there had disappeared almost entirely. Manson prayed before the standing cross with all his heart devoted to the lost religion of his forefathers. With a son to claim as his own, Manson asked the Lord Christ to grant him the same trip to paradise his parents underwent twelve years ago. He was sixty-three and had been spared by none of the symptoms associated with old age. More than anything else in the world, he feared death—he feared being wrong.

Only three believers still came to Sunday sermons these days: him, an elderly lady named Linda, and Father José, the peaceful and nimble priest who had been Manson's closest friend since childhood. They met each other while attending the Protestant Schoolhouse for Young Men. Back then hundreds of Christians still littered the streets, and bibles, scarce that they were, could still be carried in public without the owner having to fear for his life.

Today Father José draped himself in the same black robe and cape commonly associated with being a son of the Christian God. He stood aside the ivory cross with his head bowed. No one ever spoke during that first half-hour they were there. The only sound came from a row of lit candles place atop a Steinway grand piano. Their flames would slowly wither away as the wind swept between the cracks found in all four walls of the church house.

When at last Father José finished his prayers, the priest gave Manson a quick smile and took a seat at his left. The chair squeaked from the company of his weight.

"How's life been for you, old man?"

Manson squeezed the bridge of his nose. It was a nervous habit that had plagued him for many years. "Regular," he said. "And you?"

That seemed to displease his friend. "I'm fine." Father José's next words came after a long pause. "So . . . how's your son?"

"Oscar's fine." It was a lie. He turned his attention back to the cross and said a silent prayer.

Father José scratched the scars on his right cheek. "Something wrong, Manson? You look more troubled than usual."

Only if you knew.

"If there's something wrong, you can tell me," he went on to say.

Manson turned to the priest and searched his face for signs that this man was still his friend since long ago, that he was indeed the José Vargas who helped him through school and tragedy—and then would go on to say they were both one in the same. Of course it was silly to think of him as being someone else, but when his son left home three months ago out of spite, Manson felt like he was a different person altogether. While losing sight of himself, he thought he had also lost his friend.

However, the comforting smile Father José offered concluded this man was his friend.

 

[bendoran]

i like some things about this piece while i dont like others. first the dislikes and this isnt to do with your writing itself just a certain style thats commonly used nowadays. Even though you make a good attempt to show the reader the history of the city by making Manson recall it, i feel it doesnt convey eenough to really express the horror of the angry mob. perhaps it would be better to have him walking past the ruins of one of these places and the see the scars of that night. If this was the last place before the river for example, you could have him standing forlorn before it, then perhaps he smells something in the air and recalls the memory of the smell from that night. He looks back and begins to see the husks and shells of his former life laid out in the ruins in the distance. you could pack more punch into it then. really let us see what is driving his character.

then when he reaches the church its not just somewhere he goes, its the only place he can, its a redemption and a curse for its a reminder of all he has seen lost. Theres a lot of things can be done in such a simple way.

The reason i say this is because i am reading bakker at the moment and he does none of these things. It infuriates me in ways because his writing is only mediocre as a result when it could have been great. He lacks heart, when so much happens in the space of a few words it simply becomes like a tide of words,, and it loses all meaning.

now to the good. i havent only ever written very little scifi, but i prefer the more simplistic setting. you ground your story in a reality thats easily related to. Its a human story, an emotional one. Theres a very simple resonance to the lead, and it gifts the reader with an easy doorway into the story. by doing so you can reveal this future setting as you please, and so not overwhelm your readers with fantasy. This is a very sound method of writing and has always been one of my favourite. For when the major surprises appear later on its so much more effective.

good work

 

[Paradox 99]

Yep, no complaints from me Prefx. I liked this.
As bendoran has already said, its strength lies in it being grounded in reality and starting out with some good emotional charge between two friends.

I also like the idea of the "Technocracy". Not only is it a neat name, but combined with references to traditional Christianity it makes for some interesting opportunities in the writing. To me it's a faint echo of Dune where there were obvious links to traditional mainstream religions but there were some aspects of faith that had changed radically. I think that there are hints of this in what you've written here too. Good ammunition for your story.

I picked out a few grammar/spelling bits for you...

The grander that was once there

grandeur?

The only sound came from a row of lit candles place atop a Steinway grand piano.

placed?

Only if you knew.

Would this be better as "If only you knew" or "If you only knew"?

they were both one in the same.

and?

That's about it. Would be nice to see some more of this.

 

[FelineEyes]

Hm...everyone else has covered the the big things so I only have one itty-bitty, nit picky thing: if Christians are almost extinct at this time they are probably trying not to stick out. An expensive piano, like a Steinway, could stick out. And how does the church maintain its almost extinct existance? If they needed money, one of the things to go would be the very expensive Steinway. Addmittedly, they could be hanging on to it for emotional attachment or if it was in disrepair, but think on it.
Okay, done nit picking. Not a bad story though, omitting the stuff already mentioned.

 

[bendoran]

is the steinway harking toward hyperion by simmons?? also the christian theme is slightly liek that.