Having wearily shuffled up the long winding flight of strairs (stairs) to his apartment in the third floor of a 17th century house that stood in the midst of the Austrian capital, (space) Vienna, Phillinte fumbled unsuccessfully in his coat pockets for the keys for some time before recalling having always hid them underneath a pot of withered roses beside the door. When he finally got into the apartment, he carelessly threw his small leather brief-case (briefcase – one word) on a random table, and plunged shoes and all into his squaking bed. The eight long hours spent attendting (attending) on piles upon piles of papres (papers) everyday as a patent clerk had recently began to take their (a) toll on him. The vitality and vigour with which he had attended (his in work) confusion when he first started now began to wane as he approached (approached) his thirtieth birthday.

As he lay(s in) on his bed fully conscious that sleep would never overtake him untill (until) the last rays of the sun had been completely extinguished in the western sky, he rose up, despite the prodigiousness of his fatigue, and opened the broad curtained window that surveyed the now tranquilizing street below as the shades of the evening drew on sending the lousy street- (no hyphen) (venders) vendors (why do you call them lousy street vendors? The main character hates them? I suggest that you use another word to replace this one), and other busy bodies to their wives and children. Opening the window, Phillinte went back and laid on his back in bed and waited for that convivial guest (Nice expression. I would expect hosts to be convivial instead of the guests) that never failed to pay him a visit every evening. As he waited, basking in the fresh and cool breeze that flowed into the room (comma) purging it of the stifling air from the various sets of dusty books and other objects that lay mouldering in the four corners of the room, the thought of his recent heated argument with Miss Loman was suddenly brought to his mind. He had successfully predicted the inevitable outcome of that brief (space) laison (liaison) long before even meeting the charming lady. The amourous (amorous) relationship lasted for no more than a brief period of three days and had only constituted another mere unwanted adventure to which he would never have consented if it had not been for the emphatic insistence (insistence) of his closest friend, Pyrene. Pyrene had been (Phillinte’s) most cheriched (cherished) friend ever since their early childhood. They went to school together, played around those splendid medieval Viennese streets together, sneaked upon naked women in public baths every now and then and now they were both at the service of the same company. In short (Â), it can be declared with complete confidence that there was (were) no other being(s) in the whole world that could understand Phillinte more fully and better(ly) than Pyrene did. However, the great deviation of the former from his conventional ways of behaviour to which the latter had recently been made witness for so long a time had left him in a mist of doubt. With undescribable (indescribable) horror, Pyrene had helplessly watched Phillinte's (space) metamorphosis and gradual descent into abysses, his gradual loss of all interest in his work and the myriad(s) other occupations to which he had formerly clung with outmost enthusiasm. Gone, Pyrene witnessed, were those fervent and constant comments on prominent works of literature, those deeply held opinions of this and that celebrated painting and above all his immutable readiness to be one of the first supporters of any new-sprung revolutionary scientific theory that puts forth it (space) âs blossoms in the scientific field. In vain (comma) Pyrene had tried time and time again to rekindle Phillint(e’s) interest in the arts, in his work, or in life as a whole. Even his plan to lure Phillent into a blind date with Miss Lowmans is merely a vain attempt to shield off the ghastly melancholia (melancholia) that had now lay(ed) a tight hold on the latter. In all accounts however, the laison (liaison) was doomed to (for) failure due to the sheer fact that with or without his melancholia, our hero (why is this suddenly switched to a first POV? Any reason for this?), if he could be called a hero, had always held scynical views with regards to womankind. This (misagony) misogyny was greatly intensified by what he perceived of women'(âs) shameless conduct inside the confines of the firm in which he worked. He would always blabb (blabber) about their superflous (superfluous) and insatiable pursuit of luxurious lives and willingness to put their dignity and honour at the service of bosses and other people of rank at the company so as to indulge in the high life they so avidly sought.

Favourite Parts:
Your description of stuff is really good overall... I like this a lot...
As he lay in his bed fully conscious that sleep would never overtake him until the last rays of the sun had been completely extinguished in the western sky, he rose up, despite the prodigiousness of his fatigue, and opened the broad curtained window that surveyed the now tranquilizing street below as the shades of the evening drew on sending the lousy street vendors

Favourite Parts:
Please do not get discouraged by the low ratings. You have to admit there are lots of typos in this piece and I had to give a fair rating but I will do a rate and review again should you edit this piece. All will be well. Don't give up. Keep on writing. You are doing great! Thanks for sharing your piece too.

Elycia Lee ☮



Image #597425 over display limit. -?-

Image #1668209 over display limit. -?-