Following is a very small part of a story I started to write today. It is very obsurd and confusing, but just keep in mind that I wrote the majority of this after midnight. Feel free to comment, good or bad (not too mean though, no use in giving mean critiques) Constructive criticism is very welcome although some of it is not.
EXAMPLES OF BAD CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM:
"Good try"
"I don't understand it."
"I think it was lacking"
"Make it longer."
In other words, please try to help rather than make me feel bad...please. :D.This is a small part of chapter one and the introduction. Everything isn't in place yet and it isn't supposed to make complete sense. If you are going to be constructive please state the problem specifically. I know there is alot things I should fix, and I would love your help. :D! Comment over on the tagboard! Oh yes, and be completely honest. Don't tell me you like it if you don't.
Thanks,
Becca
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I breathe death. It freezes the air; and it scares me. Everywhere I go it follows after me, there’s no escaping it. It makes me have crazy feelings; makes me insane and unproductive. I get so scared sometimes it’s all I can do but collapse. I know I must be strong; so it was written, it must be true. I stay indoors, try to make little contact. Every person I meet and learn to love stabs me in the back, bringing forth more pain and agony then ever imagined. I must find my Utopia.
It started when I was young, barely able to communicate effectively with others. I didn’t mean for it to happen; it was written. It said that I would bring death to all that loved me, thus leading a forbidden life. My family soon perished, not physically but emotionally. They turned me away to find someplace where I would be accepted. They said it was written, therefore it must be true. They said they loved me too much to see me live this life, and they would rather not to see me at all than to suffer. What they don’t understand is that I suffer everyday without them, and will continue to until I find my utopia.
Chapter 1
“You can’t”
“Why not?”
“You know why not.”
The voices alternated, one being mine and the other being the guard’s. He wasn’t letting me in. “I really don’t, sir. Could you refresh my memory?”
“It was written. Now I’m sorry but I can’t let you in. We just can’t deal with this right now.” He turned his back on me and refused to speak when I spoke.
I started toward the next city. It wasn’t different, only a few would actually let me in. I knew that the ones that did had something to give me; not materialistic but emotionally and spiritually. A high good; something intellectual. That’s what I was interested in finding, after all. It hadn’t been long since I was turned away from my family, forced to live a life of lack of love and belonging. I wander, that’s what I do. I bring horror to some towns, and relief to others; some just want to know that what is written is actually true and they aren’t the ones suffering. I suppose seeing my face, dirty and scratched being turned away countless times brings them pleasure. Somehow it’s right to see me loveless.
I had been on my own so long I had forgotten how to make words into sensible sentences. With the aid of a prisoner at a jail in the first city I had visited I learned quickly enough to eventually ask for help. That jailbird was one of the only organisms in the entire town that had tried to trust me, but by the time I had left he was hung, for offering help to something disapproved of. Sometimes I look at these things like they’re not my fault; and then I realize that these things can’t just be coincidences. Several have died offering me aid and love.
Once word of these deaths had spread I was not accepted in many towns. I wasn’t accepted before, but these brought it to an extreme, more than 70% were cruel; a lot more so than the guard I had just spoken to.
No comments:
Post a Comment