Requiescat in Pace : Part 1

[Zuproc]

Well, after being influenced by that epic line in Assassin's Creed II, I decided to write a short story about it, and this is part 1 of 3. Tell me what you think!

With every step I took, that one phrase returned to my head, nearly stopping my entire movement each and every single time:

Requiescat in pace. Rest in peace.

For years that single line had pierced through my mind's defenses in my sleep, instantly waking me. I had not the slightest idea of the origins of the words, nor the reasons behind them appearing in my dreams. And every time the words appeared in my head, a deep, somewhat raspy voice would always accompany it. I had never heard the voice itself other than when using the phrase. Every dream was the same. It mattered not the contents or the events of the dreams themselves; the results were always the same. I would suddenly freeze, my eyes looking to the sky.

And there were the words, spread across the black space above me.

Requiescat in pace.

The dream would last for only a second longer before I felt a spark of electricity in my head.

Then I would awake.

Every night was the same thing, no exceptions. In fact, I had actually become accustomed to its arrival and waking call. That is, until about six months ago, when the phrase stopped appearing. I didn't understand why it was gone, yet I couldn't really care less anyway. I had just graduated from high school and college was going to start before too long, so that was all that occupied my mind.

But when I began to hang out and study in a secluded area to the east of my school, the phrase suddenly struck me not during my sleep, but rather during the daylight hours, when I was conscious. It startled me that I came out of nowhere, yet it didn't do me any harm.

College was enough to occupy my mind.

Over the next few months, however, I began to grow extremely scared and worried about my studies, falling deeper into my own personal darkness. I became addicted to drugs and alcohol. My friends slowly began to avoid me all together, but I didn't even care. The 4.0 grade point average I had worked so hard to earn fell to a 2.5, and dropped down to a 1.5 soon after.

I had started ruining my life, and putting my education at risk.

My parents sent me e-mails and phone calls clearly displaying their rage. My father even threatened to disown me. My mother grew clinically depressed.

I didn't care. My father was a cruel dictator to me when I was growing up, and my mother often ignored me. They could die for all I care. Requiescat in pace.

After the rapid switch from "perfect student" to "college fund waster," my counselor grew worried and started calling me into her office for private sessions. She tried to tell me that something was wrong, but I honestly couldn't care less about her. She was an idiot trying to "help" college students and treating us like elementary kids. Her list of idiotic recommendations included sitting in a cemetery thinking about death and the meaning of the words.

Like hell I'm going to sit in a cemetery and waste my time with stupid "philosophy."

After ignoring nearly everybody for weeks, I finally decided to sit in the cemetery. However, I sure as hell was not going to "think about my actions." I'll save that crap for the high school drama queens. No, I was going there to ruin somebody's tombstone and smoke my stash and drink my beer. It was Saturday after all. Smoking and drinking was my Saturday tradition.

* * *

Today was the day I was going to do my dirty work. I tossed my text books in the closet of my dorm room and threw the still-lit cigarette in the trashcan.

I'll let my roommate handle the little lightshow that'll ensue.

Anyway, back to me. I grabbed my backpack now filled with my Budweiser, my bag of pot, and a can of spray paint and set out. I flipped off the football jocks on the way out of campus, but they weren't going to chase me; they had potential girlfriends they were talking to.

About ten minutes later, I made it to the town cemetery. There was one car in the parking lot with a man and a woman praying near one of the tombstones.

Requiescat in pace.

I swore under my breath, ignoring the newly-awakened words in my head. I decided to blow off my anger at the phrase by vandalizing that one tombstone when the shroud of night came by.

Satisfied with my plan, I headed to a nearby tree and sat myself down nearby, emptying the contents of my torn and frayed backpack. The beer tasted good, but I was pissed that the phrase had come back after its hiatus. I tossed the can to the side and pulled out my stash.

The heat of the smoke felt so inviting to my stressful mind. It was comforting to know that my pain could be subdued for a few moments just by the contents of this little brown bag. I rubbed my rough hands together before running them through my black hair, pushing the sweat to the back of my head. I seriously needed a haircut, but I didn't want to waste the money on something stupid and trivial like that.

Requiescat in pace.

I gritted my teeth, pulling out another beer can. A vulgar message nearly escaped my lips, but I held it in. I took another whiff of the smoke before snapping open the can. I was sick and tired of that stupid message.

* * *

When night finally came hours later, I removed the paint can, threw my back pack aside and slowly stood up. I rubbed my eyes free of fatigue and advanced towards my targeted tombstone.

As I approached it, I noticed a bouquet of flowers rested on the grass covering the buried casket. I rolled my eyes, sick and tired of that cliché and overdone act.

Requiescat in pace.

I swore once more, my knuckles growing white as my fists clenched. Regardless, I advanced closer to the tombstone, reading its surface:

De Luca

Giovanni De Luca

Born August 19, 1968 - Died May 8, 2006

Apparently, this guy died at a fairly young age. I wasn't sure the cause, and I didn't care the person. I pulled the pocket knife from the back pocket of my jeans and readied the spray paint.

Requiescat in pace.

"Shut up!"

The grip on my pocket knife tightened before slowly easing the pressure. I shook my head, and pulled my arm back to thrust it into the stone.

Requiescat in pace.

It came out of nowhere and I nearly struck the hand that lay against the stone in the process. The words came closer and closer to each other, and it was incredibly strange. I continually stabbed the knife blade into the stone, trying to ignore the words as they shot into my head with every stab.

Requiescat in pace.

Requiescat in pace.

Requiescat in pace.

Finally, I gave up and tossed the knife and spray can away. My hands gripped my head as I fell to my knees. "Shut up!"

Requiescat in pace.

After hearing it more than I could stand, I stood up and starting running back to my dorm, completely forgetting the back pack I had left at the cemetery.

With every step I took, that one phrase returned to my head, nearly stopping my entire movement each and every single time:

Requiescat in pace. Rest in peace.

"Shut...up!"

I finally made it back to campus, leaping over the fence at the back of the school. My eyes were completely shut as I moved, my hands clenching my head. I once again fell to the ground.

Requiescat in pace.

I opened my eyes to head back to my dorm, but was shocked by what I saw.

The school was on fire, and I could hear the screams of students.

Requiescat in pace.

Thanks!

[Zuproc]

Damn, forgot to put "Requiescat in Pace" in parentheses.

[Zuproc]

BUMP!

[ZeeAk]

At 1/1/11 10:07 PM, Zuproc wrote: With every step I took, that one phrase returned to my head, nearly stopping my entire movement each and every single time:

When is this opening line taking place? Is this after the cemetery, or before? You need to specify when this occurs, and why you've already gone and broken the rules you start setting up in the next few paragraphs.

For years that single line had pierced through my mind's defenses in my sleep, instantly waking me. I had not the slightest idea of the origins of the words, nor the reasons behind them appearing in my dreams.

Then why is the reader? This entire piece reads like a homage to Assassin's Creed II, and it doesn't do it overly well. It's quite obvious you've just taken the phrase and liberally applied it to a story in which it lacks context and explanation. It doesn't make for a mystery; it makes for confusion.

And every time the words appeared in my head, a deep, somewhat raspy voice would always accompany it. I had never heard the voice itself other than when using the phrase.

Awkward verb use, here. 'Outside of my dreams, I never heard heard the voice. It only ever spoke the phrase.'

Every dream was the same. It mattered not the contents or the events of the dreams themselves; the results were always the same.

You've just contradicted yourself, here. If all the dreams are the same, then there would be no reason to imply that the 'contents' (which should just be content) and the 'events' are different from dream to dream.

I would suddenly freeze, my eyes looking to the sky.

So unnecessary. You seem to keep forgetting that it only appears in his dreams. You're establishing rules, and breaking them instantly. Their eyes can't look to the sky when they're asleep - especially when there's, presumably, a roof over their head.

Then I would awake.

Then I would wake.

Every night was the same thing, no exceptions. In fact, I had actually become accustomed to its arrival and waking call. That is, until about six months ago, when the phrase stopped appearing.

You have an issue with tense at the beginning. Using the word 'was' implies that it's currently ongoing, but you go and negate that by saying it had stopped six months ago. Replace this with 'had been'.

But when I began to hang out and study in a secluded area to the east of my school,

Didn't you just say that he graduated from school, and that college was about to start?

It startled me that I came out of nowhere, yet it didn't do me any harm.
Over the next few months, however, I began to grow extremely scared and worried about my studies, falling deeper into my own personal darkness.

Wait, what? It didn't do him any harm, yet now you're stating that he suddenly became a manic depressant? Your biggest problem is consistency, and it's really starting to frustrate me. This is a comparatively short piece, yet you're failing to follow your own rules and frameworks.

I had started ruining my life, and putting my education at risk.
My parents sent me e-mails and phone calls clearly displaying their rage. My father even threatened to disown me. My mother grew clinically depressed.
I didn't care. My father was a cruel dictator to me when I was growing up, and my mother often ignored me. They could die for all I care. Requiescat in pace.
She tried to tell me that something was wrong, but I honestly couldn't care less about her.

Okay, seriously. He's gone from being a dismayed, confused character who's struggling with an external force he can't control, to a complete arse hole. There's absolutely not foreshadowing, no reason and no sympathy from the reader. It stopped being interesting at this point, to be honest.
I didn't want him to succeed anymore, and that's crucial to a protagonist; you want them to succeed in whatever they're trying to do.

After ignoring nearly everybody for weeks, I finally decided to sit in the cemetery.

Again, this is ridiculous. He has no reason to avoid everybody; the voice really isn't something that I can associate with driving someone insane.

Smoking and drinking was my Saturday tradition.

No foreshadowing, just an instant revelation that you expect us to be okay with.

Anyway, back to me.

At least you're getting consistent with the arse hole image, but that's far too easy. It doesn't make for an interesting character or an interesting story.

I swore under my breath, ignoring the newly-awakened words in my head. I decided to blow off my anger at the phrase by vandalizing that one tombstone when the shroud of night came by.

Which one tombstone? The one the couple was praying at? You need to clarify this.

Satisfied with my plan, I headed to a nearby tree and sat myself down nearby,

You overuse 'nearby'. Delete of them, and that sentence will flow better.

but I was pissed that the phrase had come back after its hiatus.

So he goes and becomes depressed, an alcoholic, a smoker, a drug abuser and a complete tool? I don't know anything that could piss someone off that badly, let alone a simple recurring phrase.

The heat of the smoke felt so inviting to my stressful mind. It was comforting to know that my pain could be subdued for a few moments just by the contents of this little brown bag.

What pain? It's three words. Hardly an excuse to start all this character anti-development over.

As I approached it, I noticed a bouquet of flowers rested on the grass covering the buried casket. I rolled my eyes, sick and tired of that cliché and overdone act.

Because teen angst, booze and drugs aren't cliche and overdone?

Giovanni De Luca
Born August 19, 1968 - Died May 8, 2006

Unless you're planning on talking about how he's suddenly going to have a change of heart and not vandalise the memory of someone that couldn't save themselves from death - like the main, stupid, character can - there's no need to mention the name and dates of birth and death. It seems to foreshadow something that never eventuates.

Finally, I gave up and tossed the knife and spray can away. My hands gripped my head as I fell to my knees. "Shut up!"

After hearing it more than I could stand,

What, three times? Pretty sure I heard it so many more times than that in Assassin's Creed II, and in Brotherhood. Your character is really starting to annoy me; moreso than when I was reading it.

With every step I took, that one phrase returned to my head, nearly stopping my entire movement each and every single time:

Is this where the opening line fits into place? It would make sense - one of the first instances in this story to do so - if it did. If that's the case, though, you need to make it more understandable. As it is, the second paragraph seems to be a jarring shift from the opening line, when really it's the other way around; the opening line is actually a severe shift from the rest of the story.

My eyes were completely shut as I moved,

Navigating by sonar, I see?

I opened my eyes to head back to my dorm, but was shocked by what I saw.
The school was on fire, and I could hear the screams of students.
Requiescat in pace.

The end is terribly weak. There's no sympathy and no connection between the reader and the protagonist. Your character lit the textbooks himself, inadvertently lighting the school on fire. That's also a really, really unnecessary plot point to introduce right at the end, even if this is part one. I honestly don't feel compelled to read the other two parts, because this character is so uninteresting. He started out with potential, but you lost that ball game early on.

Also, the story should be built around the phrase, as opposed to needing to fit within your story's framework. If you're going to base a story on a phrase, be sure to do it right. Here, there's no context to the phrase, aside from when he's referring to his want to kill off his mother and father. That's the only point in the story where it made sense to use the words.
I hope this story rests in peace. It needs a lot of work.

[iamgrimreaper]

Funny you should mention that line. I was just thinking about it. Assassin's Creed was inaccurate. "Rest" in Italian is "Riposa," not Requiescat. And if my Italian is any good, "is" in Italian is "è" (e with an accent.) So it should be "Riposa e pace."