Dostoevsky is most known for his works on physiological theories and focus with his characters almost always being deeply troubled and having internal dilemmas as opposed to outside conflicts. With the physiological aspects being furthered deeper into his works it eventually causes his troubled character to meet a breaking point with the main theme is finding their religion as a saviour. Dostoevsky writes imperfect and flawed characters who find their truth in the later half of the book. Among the topics he has written about the most prevalent would be his topics of grief, suffering, religion, and redemption as he finds they were his bread and butter.
Dostoevsky often frequents first person point of view for his books as he excels in a characters thoughts and mind. He loves to develop one's mind and really crawls into the mindset of his characters. He tends to use dreams and flashbacks to resemble symbolism. He loves his symbolism and his books are very often seen with it. His flashbacks and symbolism often have relation to his real life experiences and many of his books have those elements with his worst character being named after himself.
He walked through the filthy humid streets of the city he once loved. How could she do this, the women he would once kill for now asking for death. He walked with a timid breath. Dragging himself down the crowded streets almost as if he was possessed. Maybe it was the years getting bashed into the head or maybe it was the years around those leeches sucking away his soul. His fingers trembled with the anticipation creeping over him. It grabbed him by the side and slivered up his back into his pores. “I have to do this… I have no choice” he told himself. Why did he have to do this? He poured through old memories under that night sky and the betrayal and lies captured his essence. He relentlessly played every bad memory he stored and it overcame him entirely, he was set. Now he was waiting in the dark. Breathing sharp and aggressive breaths he continued to mutter “I have to do this”. So there he waited, lurking in the shadows of a house he knew like the back of his hand. All the injustice and lies have taken him to the darkest place, the place he often found on those Saturdays during gameday. His dark twisted vision had become clear and he pulled those undersized gloves onto his hands and took more dark sharp breaths.
He pulled open the door to his Bronco, grabbed the knife from his seat and his pride swallowed him whole. He would feel no guilt for his sins as he deemed he was correcting an injustice. He was made for the moment, right? That is what every coach he had ever had told him. With each step anger grew like roots from the ground. He walked with the crunch of the grass beneath him and the air had sinister humidity that felt like souls watching, knowing what came after. He tightened his grip, destroyed the door and scanned the dark house for life form. There she was, along with the jew neighbor that she had sinned with. Her eyes grew wide like a deer preparing for the car. He ripped into her flesh with that knife, his breaths the only thing that matched the tip of his knife. She fought hard pushing through the door but by then it was when rather than if. She stumbled and her breath grew near. Then his head snapped like a hunter trailing a scent. He was barely human; he thought to himself what had he come to. He tracked him down and butchered the poor neighbor's soul. Covered in the blood of his sins, all the momentum he had used had halted in his actions. Looking at the remains of his acts he acted quickly. Throwing his gloves in a trashcan nearby, he acted so quickly he didn’t even have time to reflect on what he had just done. “Keep moving, you had to do it,” he muttered to himself over and over and over and over. He drives into the night still in his soulless state, where he would live for the rest of his life and he accepted that.