Sin of the Fathers (Working title)

[BrianEtrius]

What?! Brian's writing a story that has nothing to do with the Grim Reaper? That's impossible! In fact, I don't believe it! That's completely ridiculous!

end sarcasm

Yes, a non-Nightfly story. (For now, at least. I might revisit the setting in the future, but that's not now). I too find it hard to believe. But in the meantime, I decided to write something a little bit different. This working piece is obviously influenced by The Gangs of New York as well as other movies and books I've read along the way. And Ryan Lucifer is not in it. (I swear)

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~

The streets of Saint Wycon were of the old variety; cobblestone, narrow, and for the most part worn out. Many immigrants had walked on these paths as they departed from the passing zeppelins, hoping to find a better life among the new factories that opened up along the river. What they soon found, however, was a somewhat better level of poverty among the crime-ridden streets. Cops, when not crooked, were hard to find. Housing was a cramped can of sardines. One would be lucky even to have running water. The overall architecture of the city didn't help either; unfinished skyscrapers stood still, reminiscent of the Tower of Babel. Apartment buildings were jammed to together like their tenants. Sewers were often clogged.

Yet despite the level of poverty there was money to be made. Construction was fairly common despite the unsafe conditions of the oil machinery. Digits and arms lost were daily occurrences, but it didn't stop the contractors from hiring. Factories, when hiring, were popular among many immigrants. From the crowed apartments green workers would proceed to an equally crowed factory. Still, neither job paid particularly well, but money was money.

The local government did nothing to help these poor people. Most of the city's council agreed on the same principle: if people can't pull themselves up by their own bootstraps, then they shouldn't need our help. Politicians that rose from such slums quickly forgot their origins and settled into lifestyles of luxury, never looking back to their brethren. Such people often lived in the gated community known to many as "the Hill", referring the long climb one had to take to reach such lavish mansions.

With the absence of a strong government and the need for a better life, crime bosses took over. Most were ordinary folk who somehow got power through lucky means, like becoming the manager of a factory or the foreman at the construction site. Other people looked up to these bosses who became spiritual, political, and social leaders of their respective groups. Sure, there were boot leggings, gun running, assassinations, prostitution, gambling, and whatnot, but for the most part the people of Saint Wycon were willing to overlook that aspect. After all, such vices not only gave people jobs but also took away the strains of their reality.

Fell Liverstone was one such boss. His parents emigrated from Wales, seeking work as unskilled weavers. Fell was born an American citizen, meaning that the only difference between him and his parents was most people could pronounce his name. He began to work at age 4 at the same factory as his parents, so by the time he was 27, he was promoted to overseer. Granted, this was not based purely on his skill and by no means did he deserve it, but most people in the factory looked up to him so securing the promotion through bribery and strong arm was not terribly difficult.

Under his control the people of the community known to others as "the Fish", a pun on the name Wales and the fact they lived near the water began to flourish. Streets were cleaned up. Water from the river was diverted into pipes. Drugs were taken off the streets (back behind closed doors, mind you, but Fell was a family man, so he would have none of that) and schools somehow were started. Peace agreements were made with the "Guts" (Germans) and the "Wise" (Chinese). Many Fish bragged that the city would be better run if Fell ran for mayor.

Fell was now 43, an old timer by many standers. No longer the overseer at the factory, Fell limped to and fro the neighborhood. His left leg had become amputated from an infection caused by a bullet during the riots a few years ago. An unsatisfied Fish tried to take Fell out personally, but the gun misfired and despite hitting the target was not lethal. (The traitor would later be shot himself and then hanged in the public square.) One could tell Fell was coming from the clack of his personally craved hickory walking stick that he carried everywhere.

Was Fell happy? It's hard to say. Many other people were certainly happy because of Fell, but Fell himself was not. Fell had a beautiful wife and 3 wonderful children, not to mention numerous mistresses on the side, but family didn't help him. There was something missing in his life, a sense of self redemption. Fell had never forgiven himself for the death of his parents due to a factory fire. Fell himself told his parents that they should work that day, as it was Fell was just beginning to build his empire. Fell was about to give up hope one day, but that's when Durham Macken stepped off the zeppelin.

[4urentertainment]

Very interesting story. I notice you have this distinct style, I'm not sure how to describe it, but I just get the same vibe from all your stories.

Is this part of a longer piece? Because the ending kinda confused me a bit.

I also really like how the story feels quite real with you describing these tiny details. Like how the unfinished buildings could remind a man of The Tower of Babel, and the various nicknames given, and the reasons behind it.

I liked it.

[BrianEtrius]

Durham Macken had been born somewhere in the Midwest but left as soon as he could walk. He was the type that constantly longed for adventure, which is why he signed up for the army as young as he could to see the world overseas. After a few tours of duty Macken joined up with French Foreign Legion and fought in the 5th Crimean War, creating a rare sight being an American. By the tender age of 23 Macken had the unique experience of seeing a good part of the world and, for the most part, tired of it. Still, his thirst for new experiences lead him to the infamous town of Saint Wycon. "Don't ever go there," a fellow soldier warned on a clipper ship to Sweden. "It's the hellhole of the US."

"Sounds fun," Macken replied, cleaning out the barrel of his carbine. On that day Macken made a decision to see this town that many disregarded, not because of the stories, but because mainly he wanted to see the place for himself. After being shipped home to recover from shrapnel injury, Macken caught the next zeppelin to Saint Wycon.

Macken walked down the plank with only a few select items he knew was all he needed. Besides the clothes on his back, Macken had a knife, a bottle of rye, a pistol, and a few bills in his bag. Years of warfare had taught him that the fewer the items the better, so packing light objects that have multiple purposes serves much better than alternatives. Macken bypassed customs fairly easily and headed for the local tavern where he hoped to find a drink and perhaps a place to stay.

What Macken didn't know was he walking straight into the tavern that divided the territory between Fish and the Guts. The owner of the bar was Welsh, but his wife was the sister of the leader of the Guts, Sven Faerber. Many battles were fought between the two gangs, but finally, after many disagreements and deaths, a truce was worked out. Both Fish and Guts could drink there, but neither would stray into each other's land if drunk. Macken was unware of the truce. The last thing either group wanted was a drunken slob to pick a fight and potentially start a turf war, but Macken was unaware of that as well.

A few drinks of rye later and Macken was talking up the bar. Macken normally
was the quiet type, but pour him a few drinks and he could be up there singing Camptown Races with the rest of the regular patrons. In the army Macken's CO was aware of his problem, which is why often times Macken was never allowed to leave base. So, when Macken had the chance in his off time, drinking became second nature, unless, of course, if he was seeing something new.

The bar, however, was nothing new to Macken. He had seen millions similar to this one, whether it would be in Paris where he found the wine terrible, or in South America where he had no idea what he was drinking. Either way, Macken had passed out shortly after, but not before starting a few fights. Most times Macken couldn't remember if he blacked out due to the alcohol or the fight. Regardless, he didn't care. All he wanted was to try to experience the same excitement he had when in combat.

The rest of the patrons, however, were uneasy. The bar was often spilt in two, the Guts on the right and the Fish on the left. Neither group even looked at each other, let alone talk to each other. In a city where cultural pride meant the difference between life and death, crossing the line often meant the latter. Even the owner and his wife didn't speak to either party; the owner served the Fish and his wife served the Guts. Still, there was level of mutual respect, so as long as one party didn't do anything stupid the other wouldn't retaliate.

[BrianEtrius]

At 6/22/11 10:11 AM, 4urentertainment wrote: Very interesting story. I notice you have this distinct style, I'm not sure how to describe it, but I just get the same vibe from all your stories.

Is this part of a longer piece? Because the ending kinda confused me a bit.

I also really like how the story feels quite real with you describing these tiny details. Like how the unfinished buildings could remind a man of The Tower of Babel, and the various nicknames given, and the reasons behind it.

I liked it.

Thank you for your review. This is part of a longer piece, but like I said in the opening, it's a work in progress. There are many many kinks to work out, so this is far from polished.

For reference: this is supposed to be a quasi-period piece in the late 1800s/early 1900s, but there are some elements of historical fiction (I have and will take liberties with dates as well as historical battles) so there is a sense of history behind this piece.

[Optimisticperson]

I have to say, I liked it. I'm not a critic (Mainly because I keep saying that a story is good or Boring) but I fairly enjoyed this.