Here is a short piece I was working on, if it is received favorably, I'll write more.

The Ninth Circle

Prologue: Musings

"I've seen more with my one eye in one lifetime, than you would with a thousand," that cantankerous old man who resided in the trailer across from Dave Cinder's, would say repeatedly every night. Tonight was no exception, of course. There was something about Old Man Virden that made Dave believe him, a vacancy in those worn-out eyes, a tragic twisting of the lips that formed a seemingly permanent frown. Virden had claimed to be a former slave, and a ex-"spiritual leader," the old man didn't elaborate on that part much.

Virden's past seemed to be almost written on his stooped form, with the blood-red rays of the rapidly receding sunset lying firmly across his face, forming elongated bars that lay still on his bare forehead. Prison bars, Dave thought. The man is a prisoner of his past, and his anger.

Cinders turned slightly in his makeshift, rickety chair. The next trailer housed Mr. Palmer, a self-proclaimed business entrepreneur, but a widely proclaimed failure. After his last failed attempt at making a fortune in this barren wasteland, he had taken to drug use. The prior occupants, killed by raiders, had left him a copious stash of Jet. Palmer seemed to unravel more and more with each day that passed. But Cinders noticed something in the man's recent glances that unnerved him. A vague malevolence that seemed nearly animalistic.

Then, there was Lady Ember, a prosttute that traveled to the nearby towns to hone her "craft." Rumor had it, she gave birth, only to sell to someone who apparently had connections with the slavers. She could be seen passing the time sun-bathing, or reading from some worn-out black book she had acquired from one of her clients who couldn't pay her. Dave suspected it was of a religious nature. It seemed to reinforce her already cynical view of the world, for some odd reason.

A circle of broken-down trailers, housing inhabitants battling their own inner demons, basking in the almost hellish red sunset, made Dave give his home the nickname the "Ninth Circle." He also questioned what his own personal evil was. For, if he was any type of virtuous man, wouldn't he have left a long time ago?

Good work, I might just be pick and say you should change Chapter 1 to Prologue? It'd make more sense as your introducing all your characters etc. As well as that, have you been to Underworld? The bar there is called the Ninth Circle, coincedence or picked out? Either way, good intro and I hope for more.

Thanks for the comments. Yeah, I knew the bar in Underworld is called the ninth circle, just coincidence. Anyway, any other comments? I know it is short, but...

This was just awosome!!!!! 10/10

I liked the detail, and how you made all th people in the town unique, interesting characters. But as Francois said, it should be titled Prolouge. I made that mistake once, too. 10/10, my good man!

A well written prologue. Good base with everything covered. No problems I can see, though I have to see more to give a real opinion. One thing I noticed is that you seem to use the comma just a bit too much, but I suppose comma usage is more a matter of interpretation than an actual rule, so take that as you will.

In any case, it's not that big of a deal. It's just that it can interrupt the flow of a sentence, you know? I tend to use the comma a bit too much myself though, so I guess I'm not one to talk about that anyway.

Keep writing and you may have something.

Yeah, I see what you are saying about the commas. I'll try to be more prudent with my usage of them. Also, I edited my first post to say "prologue" but something weird seemed to happen with the formatting. I'll try to post more today.

Okay, here is more. I apologize in advance for any grammatical errors.

Chapter 1: Shadow Devil

For the next several days, the only “activity” in the small settlement was the slow permeation of fear and malevolence in the minds of those that dwelled there. Cinders continued to watch the outskirts of the settlement for any sign of attacks from raiders, or slavers. But he did so in a detached manner, as if he didn’t care if the other three inhabitants were slaughtered mercilessly in front of his eyes.

Palmer became even more reclusive, rarely leaving his trailer, and if he did so, it was at night. Lady Ember continued on reading the slightly burnt black book she had been given on her makeshift “porch”, murmuring to herself all the while. Virden was the only one absent, saying he needed a spiritual “re-awakening,” and wandered off into the wastes. That was days ago.

Loneliness was a constant feeling here in the Ninth Circle, even if the opportunities for socializing were a short distance away. The corruption of the wastes seemed to cling to them, and their own peculiar evils acted as repellents towards each other.

It was this night, however, that their lives would take a subtle, but crucial step onto the road to hell. Mr. Palmer shambled up to Cinders while he was stoking the camp fire with a large stick. “Cinders!, hey, C-Cinders, we got some trouble in that old shack. You know, the one behind Ember’s trailer. One of those zombie freaks moved in there, thinking we wouldn’t notice. But I was extra alert tonight, saw his shadow stretchin’ across the sand,” here Palmer paused, awkwardly, his eyes downcast, waiting for Cinder’s reply.

You’re always extra “alert” aren’t you, Palmer, Cinders thought with contempt. Then he said “You have something against ghouls, Palmer? I’ve met a few, most of them aren’t twisted animals waiting to devour us.” But, upon looking at Palmer’s obstinate stare, he realized if he wanted peace, someone would have to look into this ghoul “problem.”

Cinders grabbed his Chinese Assault Rifle, threw it across his back, and walked away from the welcoming warmth of the campfire. “I’ll take a look…you junkie,” Cinders called, murmuring the last words under his breath.

It only took a few minutes to reach the shack Palmer had been referring to. The shack looked like it had been built from semi-burnt wood. Cinders opened the door cautiously, “I’m here on behalf of the settlement, I just want to talk,” he said.

“How humorous, I could detect your presence minutes before you approached the door. Attribute that to my keen perception, something you should keep in mind when dealing with me. Oh, and you might as well leave your weapon at the door, that piece of Chinese scrap metal won’t do you any good,” the voice sounded almost hollow, disembodied.

Cinders bravely stepped forward.

Any comments?

lol is this too short, or just bad writing?

Waaay to short. But I loved it! 8/10! I deducted 2 for criminally short length.

Haha, point taken. The next installation of this will be a lot longer.

Chapter 2: An Exile Turned Revenge

"So, how has *peaceful* life been treating you, Cinders?," the ghoul asked. "Well, mostly peaceful I should say, I saw the corpses of the Deathclaws on the outskirts. You are a ferocious little killer, aren't you?," here the ghoul spun around, the lantern light illuminating his monstrous features.

Cinders tried to hide the gasp rising in his throat, and only partially succeeded. It was not his appearance that frightened him, but his implicit knowledge of Cinder's past.

Ignoring Cinder's silence, the ghoul continued. "Let us cut to the chase, as I am a man who values actions more than words. My name is Flintok, and I require the services of a executioner of your caliber."

"And you couldn't have found somebody else for this mission of yours?," Cinders countered, crossing his arms in subconscious defense.

"Oh, indeed I have, but this is no mere mission, Cinders, yes I know full well who you are. No, this is a puzzle that spans the wasteland. Albeit a dangerous one, that will prove quite lucrative for you if you assist me," Flintok smiled, a creepy soulless grin. A greedy soul pleading to another, how interesting, Cinders thought.

"I will indulge you for a few moments, state your case," Cinders let his back rest against the rickety wall behind him, relaxing a little. If this man needed him, he was in no immediate danger.

"I was exiled from a small community up north, called Pharaoh's Pass, for attempting to steal an ancient artifact the rest of the community held to be sacred. A sarcophagus, to be precise. I was caught and spared, as the ones in power favored me and my often "sage" advice. But I could never return, or I would be shot by anyone guarding the entrance," Flintok paused, and gave Cinders a level stare, devoid of emotion.

"I have a plan to retrieve that item, involving other mercenaries, and an attack upon Pharaoh's Pass. But, a few other errands need to be taken care of first," Flintok declared.

"I am no one's errand boy!," Cinders almost shouted, his back leaving the wall it rested against and he came closer to the ghoul, who's skin seemed to be a mixture of green and blue.

"Calm yourself," Flintok said, and handed Cinders a pouch. "Five hundred caps now, much, much more later. "Now, I need you to travel to a settlement to the west of here, many of the inhabitants call it Mirage, as they wish most travelers would view it that way. They are a reclusive sort. Find a ghoul named Gorgon, he has the key to this sarcophagus. When you have the key, meet me at a building near our destination. I will provide a map, both of these locations will be marked," Flintok finally finished.

"When must I leave?," Cinders asked. "Immediately, saying your farewells will only delay your progress. Remember, a fortune is built on being quicker than your competition. Regrettably, we are already falling behind. We must go our separate ways, now. I have much to prepare for," Flintok declared loftily.

Cinders walked towards the door, contemplated on turning back, but thought better of it. He would have to be a shadow to escape without being noticed. Cinders had snuck to his trailer successfully, gathered his gear, and was about to set off on his journey. When he heard the floor of his trailer creak.

He turned around to find Ember behind him, scantily clad, as usual. "I know you're leaving, Cinders, my eavesdropping skills are remarkable, I thought you knew that," she paused, giving him the first genuine smile since she moved in. "Take this book, if you ever want to find me again. I might has well leave to, this place, I just realized,?it's been draining me," she said, her gaze turning downward.

Putting his hand under her chin, he lifted her delicate face up. "Just so you know, I never believed those rumors, we might meet again, if whatever God you believe in deems it so," Cinders said almost in a whisper, then he walked out the trailer, silent and emotionless, like a wraith.

With the camp fire extinguished, Cinders was enveloped in utter darkness, with the promise of killing those that got in his way. He felt the surge of his blood rushing. The man was now in tune with the depraved nature in his soul. A cold comfort, but a comfort all the same.

Any comments?

If anyone wants to suggest what I should work on, let me know.

It's good?

Really good, but still, veery short.

This.

Okay, lol, I'll try and take my time with the next installment. Thanks for the feedback.