Hi, I have another vocab composition...
Could someone please check this for me for grammar, spelling and whether I'm using the bold (vocabulary) words correctly. It would be nice to know if the story is alright. Thanks!!!
Captain Richard Montero was a man who ignored his birthright. He was a man who laughed at his inferiority, longed for power, and clutched at his ambitions. There were no barriers which kept him from his goals except one. That barrier, that obstacle had a name - the people. The people were equally as powerful in raising him to glory, as they were in drowning him to perdition. And it seemed that they had decided to use their power to do the latter. The people did not hate him - they abhorred him. The passion in their loathing had been, for a time, the involuntary homage towards his person. A slight chuckle would escape from his throat when recapitulated
the atrocities he had done to the town with his power. It was no wonder that they hated him.
Yet, he had laughed at their hatred at first. To him their animosity had only been part of the fear they would inevitably feel. But he was wrong, very wrong. He had misunderstood the words of Machiavelli and now not even reading The Prince could give him counsel. What use was it now to read the book that had led him to his misfortunes? The people who he once believed dense enough to accept his false charity and kindness were in fact much more keen than he thought. They were accustomed to being fooled, tricked, and bribed. They never took his acts of benevolence, that were place on top of his crimes, as a reason to love yet fear him. Neither love nor fear ever came for Captain Montero and his little coup d'état.
And now he was under their lock and key. The very prison he was once leader of was now his cage. Albeit ran by the people. His overthrow had been displaced by one of their own. It was now, in the solitude of his cell, that he resuscitated
the many dreams and ideals that at one time had controlled his actions. The slovenly
state he found himself matched the turbulent and unclear future ahead of him. Every torpid
moment in his cell felt like an eternity. If death was the clarity of his confusion, then so be it. He did not want to be handled on the delicate strings of a puppet because that was worse than death. Perhaps they knew, perhaps they knew that their indecisiveness was driving him insane - would they kill him or would they let him rot? Would they torture him or would they forgive him? Not knowing what was to become of him was mind racking.
How foolish his supposition
was! To think he thought them unintelligent when he, in fact, was the stupid one. And that had been his deadly fault. He knew that the flaws of his character would eventually be the end of him. He just never thought it would be this soon.