Story Last Part

Confessions of Marks (Part 4, Modified version)

He recited this poem. So he did not have anything to lose; he just wanted to die. With this idea I went out of the room. I was too tired to write anything. So I just went to sleep. That night my head was filled with all these characters and books. I had the fears of the Mariner, with the evils of Dorian, the sharks that killed my fish, with Lorenzo’s head on my plate, and then I was falling from the cliff.

The next day I was confused. I finally learned that he was innocent and it was just a suicide. I went back to prison to fill my report. But they told me that they found a new proof and he actually killed his wife. Last night he told the police where he had hide the blade and they found his finger prints all over it. “it’s impossible!” I said with shock. I asked to meet him again; because of my good reputation they gave me that chance, so I went into the same room again. He was siting there like the first time I met him. He looked at me and smiled. “You don’t want to give up. Do you?” he said with his casual voice.

• how could you do that?
• Well you seemed like a person who liked to get confused. I told you the problems with intellectual people. They make everything so complex.
• I believed that you were innocent. All the stories that you told me! Everything was a lie!
• You know that it wasn’t a lie. I couldn’t hold you for three days with lies.
• Than how is that possible? Which part of the story you didn’t tell me?

I ended up shouting this into his face. He looked up with his amazing blue eyes. He was smiling. “I have one more assignment for you.” he said with his casual smile.

• tell me the truth!
• Have you ever read the book The Road?
• No.
• Read it.
• Is it another game?
• This is our last meeting. I would not play a game with you. You want the truth, here it is, in that book. When you are reading it think about the connection between the boy and the father. You would realize how I feel. Put me as father and my wife as the son. Good bye my friend!
• Have a good life in prison Mr.Marks.

I did not want to read that book. I could not believe I wasted my energy on that lunatic. But I knew that the moment I get out of the room I would go to the closest book store and buy that book. An hour later I had the book in my hand and I was reading it in my bed. “When he woke up in the woods in the dark and the cold of the night he’d reach out to touch the child sleeping beside him...”(McCarthy, The Road, page1)

The End

Abtin

Story Part 3

The Confessions of Marks (Part 3)

When I left the room I had only two things in my mind, Oscar Wilde and John Keats. I spend the night reading about them and their work. Two nights without sleep made me really tired. By the afternoon I was devastated. When I walked in into the same room again, I saw him standing and looking toward the sun. He started to talk when he notice my arrival.

• Sun. I’m always fascinated by how beautiful it looks. I love sun. The same way the Old Man loved sea. My wife and I spend many afternoons looking at the sun. Well of course it is not easy to look at the sun in the afternoon, but we got used to it.
• You know that you cannot ever look at the sun with her again.
• You are mean.
• Why did you kill her if you loved her so much.
• Why did the old man killed the fish?
• Who are you talking about.
• The Old Man and The Sea. I have to admit it is my favorite.

Now I remembered. He was exactly like the image that I had from the Old Man in that book. “Really? I hated that book.” I said with surprise.

He got excited and sat behind the table. “so we can have a discussion about it.” he said like a teenage boy.

• sure Mr.Marks.
• The Old Man and The Sea was beautiful. It had a beautiful story, with a simplistic writing style. It was all about love and it was completely useless.
• It was boring. I could not think about it. There was nothing special about that book.
• Don’t you see it. It was very special. Everything in that book can be taken as a symbol. I think the boy does not exist at all. He was just a reflection of the Old Mans life.
• I understand that this part of the story was nice. But the story did not have many things to allow my imagination to flourish. It was a blank book that I did not have anything to think about after I finished it.
• Well I understand your point. I assume this is just the difference in out view about beauty.
• So your point about the poem is that you made her die. Someone killed her to protect you. If it is like that who killed her?
• She killed herself by shooting the albatross!
• What are you talking about?
• Did you read “ The Rime of the Ancient Mariner”?
• Oh... Now I remember. So by shooting at the albatross, she killed herself. But you should not stop leaving because you lost someone. Why did you confess you killed her?

- “Is there a solitary wretch who hies

To the tall cliff, with starting pace or slow,

And, measuring, views with wild and hollow eyes

Its distance from the waves that chide below;

Who, as the sea-born gale with frequent sighs

Chills his cold bed upon the mountain turf,

With hoarse, half-utter'd lamentation, lies

Murmuring responses to the dashing surf?

In moody sadness, on the giddy brink,

I see him more with envy than with fear;

He has no nice felicities that shrink

From giant horrors; wildly wandering here,

He seems (uncursed with reason) not to know

The depth or the duration of his woe.”

(Charlotte Smith, On Being Cautioned Against Walking on an Headline Overlooking the Sea, Because it was Frequented by a Lunatic.)

Story Part 2

Confessions of Marks (Part2)

I left him in the room. I bought the book, The Picture of Dorian Gray, and went back home. This book was fascinating. While I was reading it I could understand what he meant by corruption. I spent the whole night reading that book. By dawn I finished the book. It was fascinating. If he saw himself as Dorian and his wife was The portrait, then now he changed his place with his portrait. This theory would make sense if he was a criminal. But on the other hand, he was a person who owns a charity and helped a lot of people. How could he be corrupted? Every one who knew them a little came to the court and confessed that he and his wife was in love and they did not have any problems. No one ever heard them getting into an argument. I take a look at his file again. It seems that this man reads a lot of novels and his wife was a writer. With all these thoughts I looked at my clock. I had to go to work in an hour.

I had a meeting with him this afternoon as well. When I walked into the room he sightly moved his head an had glance from the entrance. “I have nothing more to tell you. What ever you want from me is in that book.” said the man with a disappointed look. I went closer and sat in front of him and put the novel on the table. “I read it!” I said with joy.

• oh... Thats unusual. Well what do you think?
• The book is fascinating. But I’m sure you made a mistake. The reason for Dorian’s corruption was Lord Henry not the portrait.
• All art is at once surface and symbol. Those who go beneath the surface do so at their peril. Those who read the symbol do so at their peril.
• I’m sorry Mr.Marks but I don’t understand your point here.
• Think my friend, was he even corrupted? Lord Henry was a genius and Dorian was basically so blank and thought less.
• And what does it has to do with you Mr.Marks.
• I thought you were different for a moment. Oh well. It seems I expect to much from ordinary people.
• Thanks for your insult Mr.Marks; but you did not answer my question.
• That part of the book has nothing to do with my life. Think about the portrait and Dorian. She was my portrait, what ever I did, whether it was evil or good, she was the picture of my soul. I was simply like dorian.
• You mean all the charities that you did was her idea and you wanted to be free so you killed her? If that is true how did you do that? There is no evidence that you killed her.
• No, I was free. Everyone is free. Even in this prison I am free. No one can enslave anybody else except themselves.
• I assume you really liked Lord Henry. You talk so similar to him.
• I take what ever I can from the people I enjoy, Good or bad.
• You did not answer me how did you killed her?
• Have you ever read the poem “Isabella or the Pot of Basil”?
• Yes, I remember it. I read it when I was 16. It was a long time ago but I can still remember it.
• I’m starting to like you. Do you remember how Lorenzo died?
• Yes.
• This is how I killed my wife. In my opinion it was not the brothers who killed Lorenzo. It was Isabella who killed him. Ok times up. See you tomorrow my friend.
• We will talk about this tomorrow Mr.Marks.

Story

This is a story I wrote for my english class. Enjoy!

The Confessions of Marks (Part 1)

Light was coming inside from the the little window at the top of the wall. The walls were all white and reflects the years of pain through them. I went inside the room. There he was. Sitting at the side of the table in the middle of the room, looking at his hand. He had a prison cloth on and he was playing with the hand calfs. He did not notice that I entered, or he was just not interested in another lawyer. I was in need of money so I had to accept this case. The last lawyer left the case in just two sessions. They told me that he was a sociopath and he thinks he killed his wife. I tried to mention my arrival by taking a few steps toward him; but he did not move. Finally I went and sat against him. He looked up. His face was dead. When he looked up his eyes were closed. I was scared for a second. I thought probably this kind of look from a 35 years old man was because of the death of his wife. He is a dead man, without any hope, he is nothing but a living shadow. I guessed that his wife had cheated on him and then he killed her. He start talking with a soft and beautiful voice. His voice somehow remind me of a character in a book, An Old man. “Are you my new friend?” said the man.

Then he opened his eyes. The blue color of his eyes was so beautiful that I could not take my eyes from it. It was possible to see life in those blue eyes. Those were the only living things in his face. “Well if you tell me the truth.” I said with a my broken voice. He smiled and shook my hand. “Truth is simply the opinion of a person. Ones opinion make their world the way they want to see it, truth is just a simple trick people use to justify their evil actions.” he said while smiling.

-Thats a bold statement Mr.Marks.

-There is no such thing as bold. Both bolds and cowards would die at the end.

-I’m not sure if I understand your point Mr.Marks.

-There is no point my friend.

He was starring at me with his beautiful eyes and he was smiling like it was a regular conversation he had in an afternoon with tea. I was beginning to think he was trying to focus on other subjects and he would not tell me the story; but with my surprise he started to talk again.

• You want to know the story? It is simple I killed my wife and now I’m here.
• Well there is no proof that you did it, and why would you kill your wife after 10 years of marriage. I’m sorry Mr.Marks but I cannot understand anything from your file.
• This is always the problem with intellectual people, they don’t see the most obvious solutions. I confessed it. I needed to kill her.
• What do you mean by “I needed to kill her?”
• You are awfully smart for being a lawyer.
• Mr.Marks if you want me to help you, you need to answer my questions.
• All these years she was corrupting my life. The story my life is like Dorian Gray. She was my Portrait.
• Ah... That is interesting. Well unfortunately I haven’t read that book.
• Then I’m afraid your answer is in that book. It was nice seeing you my friend.
• You too Mr.Marks.

Sorry Again

Sorry I can't write these days, again. Something happened for a friend of mine!

Good Luck!