Charles Pendelton

	Charles Pendelton
	© 2008 Marty Langdon

Chapter 08

The rise and fall of progress

Everyone had left, and the house was now quiet,
except for the silent shifting of time.

Downstairs in a far corner of the living room toward the back of the house,
the grandfather clock sits ominously. It is set to go off periodically but has
a malfunction in its works to where it will occasionally ring thirteen times.

Thirteen. . .

Ever watchful is the scowl of the moon locked in its lunar phase,
preventing the sun from ever shining.

All things break down in time, even grandfather clocks.

I listened to the gentle sound of birds waking as they communicated to one another in the
form of a song. How soothing is the voice of nature that floods the ears and encaptivates
one's spirit in its tranquility? Where we lived, there were only two houses on one side
of the street and four on the other, surrounded entirely by a vast expanse of woods.

That was until progress came several years later and turned our refuge
into a melting pot of multicultural hodgepodge. It had nothing to do with
the fusion of ethnic diversity. It also had nothing to do with the denizens
of foreign lands who genuinely strive for a better life, so they leave their
war-torn and poverty-stricken countries to settle here.

No, this was about the domino effect it created.

Houses began to spread like wildfire until nothing remained of our
woodlands. It was a desperate attempt to fit as many houses as humanly
feasible on sixty-four acres of land, and during those days, it felt as though
we were living on three-mile island, waiting for the reactor to blow.

Our peaceful little community had been taken over and transformed into a
bustling city block almost overnight. The endless traffic and overpopulation it
produced made me feel sorry they bought the house in the first place. We went from
living in the country to living in the bowels of an inner-city slum, where people
no longer cared about their neighbors or the environment they resided in.

The noise and confusion of people coming and going at all hours of the night and the
screaming and yelling from parents and children at all hours of the day made the block
seem threatening. Just walking up the street to your own house after nine or ten in the
evening was like passing through a back alley in the heart of gang territory, where
nameless delinquents resided and would congregate to conspire.

Money was being funneled into various channels to appease man's greed while
stirring a cesspool of filth, which were the breeding grounds of our new inhabitants.
The peaceful serenity that was generated by a slow-moving brook through a bed of
stone was now gone, and the wonderful trails which led to an enormous weeping
willow tree would become nothing more than a fond memory.

It couldn't have been worse had they built a skyscraper.

                                            The Deverons - Unnoticed

Our lavish community, which had once flourished, was now dead, and there was no getting
around it. A host of unsavory characters took hold of it and burned it to the ground.

                                                          Pg 37
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Through the cracks, they took root and would grow. The late-night whisperings of bitter
gossip were a hush-hush out and a tiptoe back inside. Draw the shades and lock the doors;
the wayfarers were coming. We turned toward these people with open arms and were met
with sneers and slamming doors, for they seemed to have their own agenda.

As they marched in, our little community took a turn for the worse. It first
started, you could say when two of the neighborhood dogs were found dead,
and everyone moved on but us. At least we could say we were warned.

It's not like we didn't know what was happening.
I think we were just living in denial.

The rise of progress gave birth to a host of insipid and immoral creatures, while
the foreigners couldn't be bothered communicating with anyone who wasn't of
their own race and creed. We weren't about to go door to door, introducing
ourselves to these people. Nor would we be defeated by them in our leaving.

Eventually, with the passing of time, we became friendly with several families
in separate dwellings. They would come over to share small talk and stay for
a hot dinner on a cold winter's eve or a barbecue in the breast of summer.
All was good with them, for they were quaint and charming, and together
we would discover what the ground had unearthed.

Within the first year, our street was littered with garbage. Plastic bags blew around and
ended up in trees, making it appear that you were now entering a white trash neighborhood
while candy wrappers, old newspapers, and tissues turned up in our driveway on a daily
basis. Alongside the road, we would find flattened White Castle boxes, used condoms,
assorted porno magazines, and emptied-out cigarette butts from car ashtrays, among
other debris. This went on for years and became a part of the scenery.

                                  The Troll - Professor Pott's Pornographic Projector


Two months after this all started, my mother read in the Sunday paper that a bust
had been made a few miles down the road. It appeared that a certain shoe salesman
named Zoran, who bought the house directly across the street, had been polishing
more than shoes down at the shoe mart. It seems that this Yugoslavian fellow had
taken quite a shine to little boys, and so for the next twelve years, he'll be thinking
about them in and out of lockdown. Before the ink had even finished drying from
Zoran's caption, a man who moved into one of the end houses lost control of his
Dodge pick-up, apparently in a drunken rage over a layoff, and plowed into a family
of four crossing a Brooklyn Street in the late evening hours. The parents were both
pronounced dead at the scene, along with their oldest daughter. Only the youngest
child survived but would be cursed to live his life confined to a wheelchair.

                                                          Pg 38
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The following year, police are called to one of the new houses by a concerned
neighbor. They arrive on the doorstep but are not permitted inside. All seemed to
be calm, and so the police went about their way. A week later, cops arrive at the house
for the second time. They gained entrance into the home, and everything appeared
to be normal. Since there were no signs of any physical abuse, and when taken into
account that everyone had been cooperating with the officers, there was no reason
for them to push the issue. The third time, however, a woman was taken from the
house on a hospital gurney and brought into the awaiting ambulance.

Only then did she have the courage to press charges against her abusive boyfriend,
who pummeled her so badly, that she needed to undergo surgery to mend her wounds.
He was later caught trying to reenter the home through a broken window and was
immediately apprehended. From there, he was led into the patrol car and taken away.
As he was being escorted from the premises in handcuffs, he shouted, “I'm coming
back for you, bitch.” Tests showed she had suffered a broken jaw, a fractured pelvis,
and a ruptured spleen in the attack, not to mention abrasions to her face and neck,
along with a series of defensive wounds to both arms and one of her breasts.

A month later, she testified against him in court, and from there, upon sentencing,
he would spend the next four years in the slammer.

This is but a sample of the misery that came down our street like a great flood and
washed away any hope we had left. We went from a quiet lovers' lane to a crowded
city street in less than a year. Our paradise would soon become a ghetto because of
the overpopulation of migrants who do not care about themselves or anyone around
them. They wish to live on top of one another like rats with ill regard for the problem
it causes. What was the attraction that prompted the general public to drop what they
were doing and flock to this island?

They came running as if we had just struck oil. . .
It was like watching what would happen if someone opened a free food court in Biafra.

Within six months, we were to witness firsthand the death of the modern family.

It didn't seem to bother them that they paid top dollar for a sliver of a house.

To start with, their front yard is a sidewalk. Secondly, the walls are so thin
you can hear your neighbor’s conversation from your own kitchen.

And lastly, the driveway leading into the garage is so inverted that they would
immediately have to call a tow truck to hoist it out if they ever pulled a car into it.

All they possess is a slice of the American dream that they will abuse until it is gone.

Every year the list would metastasize like cancer, with people growing more
and more unfriendly by the hour until finally, the birds would sing no more.

But let us cast aside these woes, for they are merely things to come.

Instead, let us contemplate the acres of woodland
that are home to serenity and that of a new morning.

It is June the 11th, 1982, and the day is just beginning.

                                      The Flowerpot Men - Now and then

                                                          Pg 39
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This review was posted on May/10/22

Lameez' review

Beta-Read Report for 'The Embryo Man and Other Tales of Woe - Chapter 8'

Beta Reader: Lameez Rushin (Lameezisreal)

Overall Impression

I loved how this chapter highlighted the downsides to progress because
sometimes ‘progress’ means erasing what has already been established.

Chapter Notes

It’s immediately addressed that the Observer loves the flora and fauna, and
why they feel that way from the serenity to spaciousness. It’s also very clearly
emphasized that the overpopulation of this small street, trudging on the forest
is the problem. Not necessarily the people themselves but just the general
claustrophobia and how that brings on little to no privacy.

Character Notes

In this chapter, the character was more of an Observer and the third person
view provided so much more depth. It added to the idea that there the street
became to clustered that all it takes is one long look and you’d see everyone’s
personal problems on display.

Thoughts After Finishing The Chapter

Progression can be either a beautiful thing or truly scary. Most depictions always
show progress as this wonderful thing while avoiding how disastrous it can be.
But this chapter chooses to show all of it. Even the side we choose to avoid
looking at. Thank you so much and I’m excited to see your next chapter!

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                                            This review was posted on May/22/22

                                         nehanegi1905 's review

The Embryo Man and Other Tales of Woe: Chapter 8 - The rise and fall of progress

                                           Reader's Report by nehanegi1905

Hello Chas. Thank you so much for sending me the eighth chapter.

I read the chapter and overall I think it was quite good but now as a reader
I'm getting a bit sceptical as to where this story is actually leading because
with every new chapter the primary subject is changing and I'm finding it a
little difficult to connect to the story when I'm being introduced to so many
new things at such short durations.

Maybe the reason of my specific experience is the chapter by chapter
progression which is slower when compared to someone who will read
the book in one go.

Other than that everything was on point and fantastic. The description of
the landscape change was quite smooth and well thought out. The entire
chapter was quite gripping and made me excited with each progression.
But when we are dedicating an entire chapter to this topic, I was expecting
a little more about the neighbourhood and the typical things that go around.

I would love to know what you think about my suggestions
and always eager to receive the next chapter. Thank you.
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                                               This review was posted on Jun/22/22

                                     krithika2001 's review

The Embryo Man and Other Tales of Woe: Chapter 8 - The rise and fall of progress

                                                Reader's Report by Krithika Ravi

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                                              This review was posted on July/2/22

                                          kanchanninawe's review

     The Embryo Man and Other Tales of Woe: Chapter 8 - The rise and fall of progress

                                                 Reader's Report by kanchan

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                                               This review was posted on July/15/22

                                      iqrabashir871 's review

        The Embryo Man and Other Tales of Woe: Chapter 8 - The rise and fall of progress

                                                        Reader's Report by Iqra

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                                              This review was posted on July/21/22

                                 aneelaiftikhar1's review

The Embryo Man and Other Tales of Woe: Chapter 8 - The rise and fall of progress

                                                   Reader's Report by Aneela

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                                             This review was posted on Aug/8/22

                                    Hajranoor's review

The Embryo Man and Other Tales of Woe: Chapter 8 - The rise and fall of progress

                                                  Reader's Report by Hajra

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                                             This review was posted on Aug/9/22

                                    Tayyaba17's review

The Embryo Man and Other Tales of Woe: Chapter 8 - The rise and fall of progress

                                                 Reader's Report by Tayyaba

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                                              This review was posted on Aug/15/22

                                                            Alysorrow's review

The Embryo Man and Other Tales of Woe: Chapter 8 - The rise and fall of progress

                                               Reader's Report by Aly Sorrow

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This review was posted on Aug/26/22

sidrahumar120's review

The Embryo Man and Other Tales of Woe: Chapter 8 - The rise and fall of progress

Reader's Report by Sidrah

And that line I love so much. . .

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This review was posted on Feb/1/23

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This review was posted on Feb/6/23

Reviewed by yashodha_95

This review was posted on Mar/2/23
Reviewed by andreamircheska

GG

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Reviewed by suma303755

WK

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Reviewed by aamnaaaa

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Reviewed by pazkou

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Reviewed by sarah1409

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Reviewed by tawhida560

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Reviewed by afrinjahan11

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Reviewed by nusratjahan603

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This review was posted on Jun/30/23
Reviewed by rupalrao

Saleha Zainab - July 18 - Chapter 8

The chapter 8 from the novel portrays a sense of loss and decay, with the protagonist reflecting
on the transformation of their once peaceful community into a crowded and troubled neighborhood.

The imagery of the malfunctioning grandfather clock (ring thirteen times)
and the scowling moon sets a somber and foreboding tone.

The author emphasizes the negative impact of progress and overpopulation, describing the influx of
new residents as insipid and immoral creatures who bring garbage, crime, and suffering to the area.

The passage also touches on themes of cultural diversity and the challenges of integration. While
acknowledging that not all newcomers are to blame, the author expresses frustration at the lack
of communication and connection between the existing community and the new inhabitants. The
examples of tragic events, such as the shoe salesman's criminal activities and the drunk driver's
fatal accident, highlight the despair and misfortune that befall the neighborhood.

The writing style is vivid and evocative, using strong imagery and detailed descriptions to convey the
deterioration of the community. The author employs a pessimistic tone throughout, emphasizing the
loss of nature, tranquility, and neighborly bonds. The passage ends on a glimmer of hope, suggesting
that the beauty of the woodland can provide solace amidst the hardships faced by the protagonist.

More precisely this chapter captures a sense of desolation and disillusionment, exploring the impact
of societal changes on a once idyllic community. It raises questions about the consequences of progress
and the loss of human connection in an increasingly crowded and impersonal world.

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This review was posted on Aug/2/23 (Morning)
Reviewed by ramshabaloch101

This review was posted on Aug/8/23
Reviewed by sampriktaada813

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This review was posted on Oct/11/23
Reviewed by ritikagoyal587

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This review was posted on Jan/4/24
Reviewed by namra

This review was posted on Jan/11/24
Reviewed by mariya

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Reviewed by adeeba

This review was posted on Feb/1/24
Reviewed by craftopia

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This review was posted on Feb/2/24
Reviewed by sababaloch292
SB

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This review was posted on Feb/3/24
Reviewed by aimanmengal3

This review was posted on Apr/4/24
Reviewed by jayamalir234

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PG 37) The old clock on the stairs by Edward Lamson Henry - http://edlamhny.com/l2wpkj4

PG 37) Family tree by Vladimir Kush - http://vladimirkush.com/

PG 37) The city is landing by Jacek Yerka - http://www.yerkaland.com/

PG 37) Fructus by Leah Palmer Preiss - http://www.leahpalmerpreiss.com/

PG 37) Arboreal office by Rob Gonsalves - http://trgonsv.com/985grkh

PG 38) Execution days by Gary Taxali - http://gtaxa.com/874/jcfgfdj

PG 38) Medicine show by Chris Mars - http://cmars.com74094557

PG 38) Help your neighborhood by keeping your premises clean - http://tinyurl.com/l2wpkj9

PG 39) L'homme au chaudron by Andre Martins de Barros - http://tinyurl.com/kpkhrvk

PG 39) Horn of Babel by Vladimir Kush - http://vladimirkush.com/

PG 39) Privacy by Joe Scorsone and Alice Drueding - http://tinyurl.com/lavecy7