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The darkness was too deep, the silence was too dead. The lights flickered as if winking at him, the subliminal whispering goodbye to him. Also goodnight because, soon, they were to be dead – along with the still night.
Cheap hugging b… ! Stupid tree-hugging losers who want him to save the world.
Lights – ever heard of lights? He muttered with the scar on his upper lip bouncing against his pronounced nose. With his hair darker than his black eyes, gently rubbing his snotty nose, he gazed out the ocean as the waves combed the shore. It sounded like a lullaby; as the waves gently hit the rocks like drumsticks against a drum.
He chuckled uncontrollably like hiccuping, thinking of how in grade school they used to say ‘friends before money’.
Money bought him this nice prison cell, this 4×10 prison cell overlooking the massive ocean which looked like dark oil.
He thought about Patrice; how he was the most important person in her life. She was The Chosen One, she loved him so much she died for him – what an exulted thing she committed!
He thought about her in that white dress, the way her eyes reflected like a knife, their shade so pale that tears that were falling were the same color as her eyes. Mimicking his heartbeats, not a beat out of rhythm.
The light went out, nothing left to see now but the stars trapped in the sky. He was just as strapped in as the stars. Tomorrow was the day to brake out, tell the world what he really was! Fame, fame, fame – newspapers will be printing, bigger than any famous stuck-up, no-good loser. (jejune) characters that are going to wish they were him.
He looked down at his concrete whole, for the first time after escaping. Going to be that no good, cop that was jealous of his fame, who got him in this mess in the first place! He put his painting back to the whole when he heard the words starting.
I-I-I wa…w-want a cigarette! hey ! -the voice stuttered, as if an earthquake was in his voice.
He looked over to find a young 19-year-old Jim there. He killed his parents for calling him ‘good old chubs’. The killer gazed at him, his stomach sunk into the bars as far as they went. Sections of fat rolled over the bars. Pure fat cells, just flapping as if it wanted to fly away. It was clear that nothing on this boy was capable of flying, or even clearly being able to lift past it’s gravity.
P-pa pa-a pap leas- Jim jeered, as if protesting.
The killer began singing, chanting in a voice ‘I shot the sheriff but I didnt shoot no deputy, oh no! oh!
I shot the sheriff, but I didnt shoot no deputy, ooh, ooh, oo-ooh’.
Yeah! All around in my hometown,
They’re tryin’ to track me down;
They say they want to bring me in guilty
For the killing of a deputy,
For the life of a deputy.
But I say ‘Have a cigarette! Chubs
in what little light there was to light up the room, the killer grabbed a cigarette, lit it and began to smoke.
Jim stared at him as if he were to do a trick, breaths quickening. He approached with his arms out, his stuttering turning to pronunciations a newborn could make. Then the killer’s eyes lit up like a candle with rage, remembering: ‘no distractions till then’.
He could feel his blood boil.. He wanted to compress his face into the bars. Make his skull into mash potatoes. Watch thin blood pour, to the floor. Same color as thin, crimson, Chianti wine.
Yet, this caged bird would sing again. Life outside the big house was looking to pulchritudinous.
He tossed the cigarette right after getting a whiff, the red light rolled across the floor and that was going to be him. He was going to roll away; no more gambling for cigarettes, it was real money now!
It made him think of the deadman’s hand, aces and 8s. They call it deadman’s hand because a man was killed for winning when a guy bet a lease on his house. Bam shot him, for having 8s and aces in his hand, back in cowboy times.
The cop that got him here was going to get dealt a deadman’s hand now.
Before I start in, thank you for being coherent. You’re miles better than most of the people on here, and you have a great start. I don’t know you, I don’t know how long you’ve been writing, but I can tell that you’ve put a lot of effort into this, and it just needs a little fine-tuning.
However, you do have a few issues. Feel free to take it or leave it, but please be aware that I’m not saying this to be mean–I’m saying it because I like commenting on people’s stuff, and as self-inflated as it sounds, because criticism makes the world go ’round. 
Okay, for one, use quotation marks. You’re not Cormac McCarthy.
Second, stop with the metaphors. It’s possible to describe things without going into cliche.
Third, pulchritudinous. Unnecessary. It doesn’t make you look smart; it just makes you look like you flipped through a thesaurus. Especially because it doesn’t agree with your verb.
Finally, you’re trying too hard. It should feel natural to read, easy, flowing, and completely effortless. Or rather, it should feel like the writing was that way, even if every word is soaked in blood, sweat and tears of the writer.
Close your eyes. Picture the scene. It should be clear in your mind, sharp, every detail sticking out, every emotion of every person present radiating through your head. Now–which are important? Pick those out. What do they look like? What is the first thing that comes to your mind? What would your narrator see as the most important aspects? What sticks out to him? Use those.
Let it flow. Drop the pretentious metaphors, the pretentious syntax. Let go. Good luck
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I am only eleven, and I need some feedback. Here is an exerpt.
It sat on the large rock they had used for the offering. It’s sickly ashen, wrinkled, skin was paper thin. It’s large bloodshot eyes were fixed on both of them. It’s lips curled up into a snarl, revealing sharp fangs that had turned green. It curled it’s talons around a small stone, and scurried off.
Aklika closed her eyes, wanting this nightmare to be over. Tenrek didn’t move. She wanted to cry. She wanted to tell Tenrek everything, but Tliko had forbidden her.
“Tenrek? Are you alright?” She moved over to him and found he was shaking with fear. “A-a-a demon. On the beach. On the shark island. It cannot be!” His eyes were distant. He didn’t seem himself. She stroked his clan tattoos, and put her arm around him. “It’s alright. It will not hurt you.” Her voice sounded more shaken than she would have liked. “It’s gone. It will not hurt you.”
He turned to face her. They stared at each other for a long time. Then, once Tenrek had stopped shaking, they went back to the village. Aklika had already been contemplating something as she was comforting him. She was endangering everyone. She was only trouble. There was no other option. She had to leave. And she had to find the Spirit Hunters soon.
That meant leaving Tenrek, and Tliko, and Sheshki, and Denrai. It meant leaving the life she was beginning to rebuild. It didn’t matter. She couldn’t endanger them any farther. If the demons were after her, they would follow her, and leave the shark island. It was the only way.
After she had lead Tenrek to his shelter and swearing him to secrecy, she left for her shelter. She no longer shared one with Sheshki, for they had now accepted her into the clan. Her decision pained her.
Aklika got everything in her pack ready. She had to have some way of letting Tenrek know what she was doing, to say goodbye. If she told him in person, he was sure to stop her by calling Tliko over. No. I should leave him something, something he can remember me by. She searched through her pack, until she found a few willow switches and feathers for arrow making.
She wove the switches together to make a bracelet. Next she wove the feathers in so that they dangled from the switches. She put it aside, then found a stone that was a bright green, like her eyes, and used some of the powder Magia had given her to paint her clan tattoo on it. He would know it was her who left it. She was almost crying the whole time she was preparing to leave.
She emerged from her shelter. It wasn’t quite evening yet. Aklika looked around for Tenrek. She saw him arguing with Denrai. She went over to them. “Tenrek, give it back!” Denrai shouted. “I told you for the last time, I didn’t take your boat! It must’ve floated away or something. I don’t know what happened to it!” Aklika felt a pang of guilt. She had taken a skin boat from the shore for her plan. It was too late to say anything.
“Tenrek, I heard there are supposed to be a lot of lichens washed up on the far shore. Wanna go try and catch some?” Tenrek loved roasted lichens. They were his favorite thing to snack on. He couldn’t say no.
They walked together down the beach. They talked a little, and Aklika tried to hide her regret and sadness. The sun was slowly hunkering down for a quiet sleep. They found the far side of the beach, and there were no lichens. Aklika had lied, she just needed an excuse to spend time with him before she left. “Oh well,” she said. “I guess they got swept away with the tide.” Tenrek could sense the sadness in her heart, and the regret in her eyes.
“Is something wrong?” he asked her. “I’m fine.” she lied. Tenrek knew she was lying, but he said nothing. They found a few pieces of driftwood and started a small fire. The fire blazed a pale green. The sun was setting and the sky was ablaze with color. Aklika had seen nothing like it before. She would miss this place.
It was beginning to get late, and time was racing toward Aklika till it was time to leave. She looked at Tenrek one last time. “It’s getting late.” she said in a sad voice. She looked his face over. She would always remember his bright blue green eyes that reminded her of the ocean, that made it impossible for him to lie. She would remember his face, the soft handsome features. She would remember his laugh, that held the happiness of the world. But most of all, she would remember the kindness he had showed her that first time she had met him. She had nearly drowned, and he rescued her. He had made sure she was okay before giving her off to Tliko. He was a true friend.
Aklika had to look away for fear of crying. He was like a brother to her. “Goodnight,” she whispered. “Goodnight,” he replied. He wanted her to stay. He reached his hand out to her, but she kept moving. “Aklika, wait-” he called. She was gone. He sighed, and puts the fire out.
She moved quickly. Hurrying to Tenrek’s shelter, she left her gifts and went back to get her thin
things.
Sorry, that last word got cut off
Honestly my opinion is I think it is well written for only an 11 year old. Very descriptive and good choice of words. You seem like a naturally when it comes to writing at least what ive read from this story.
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I am only eleven, and I need some feedback. Here is an exerpt.
It sat on the large rock they had used for the offering. It’s sickly ashen, wrinkled, skin was paper thin. It’s large bloodshot eyes were fixed on both of them. It’s lips curled up into a snarl, revealing sharp fangs that had turned green. It curled it’s talons around a small stone, and scurried off.
Aklika closed her eyes, wanting this nightmare to be over. Tenrek didn’t move. She wanted to cry. She wanted to tell Tenrek everything, but Tliko had forbidden her.
“Tenrek? Are you alright?” She moved over to him and found he was shaking with fear. “A-a-a demon. On the beach. On the shark island. It cannot be!” His eyes were distant. He didn’t seem himself. She stroked his clan tattoos, and put her arm around him. “It’s alright. It will not hurt you.” Her voice sounded more shaken than she would have liked. “It’s gone. It will not hurt you.”
He turned to face her. They stared at each other for a long time. Then, once Tenrek had stopped shaking, they went back to the village. Aklika had already been contemplating something as she was comforting him. She was endangering everyone. She was only trouble. There was no other option. She had to leave. And she had to find the Spirit Hunters soon.
That meant leaving Tenrek, and Tliko, and Sheshki, and Denrai. It meant leaving the life she was beginning to rebuild. It didn’t matter. She couldn’t endanger them any farther. If the demons were after her, they would follow her, and leave the shark island. It was the only way.
After she had lead Tenrek to his shelter and swearing him to secrecy, she left for her shelter. She no longer shared one with Sheshki, for they had now accepted her into the clan. Her decision pained her.
Aklika got everything in her pack ready. She had to have some way of letting Tenrek know what she was doing, to say goodbye. If she told him in person, he was sure to stop her by calling Tliko over. No. I should leave him something, something he can remember me by. She searched through her pack, until she found a few willow switches and feathers for arrow making.
She wove the switches together to make a bracelet. Next she wove the feathers in so that they dangled from the switches. She put it aside, then found a stone that was a bright green, like her eyes, and used some of the powder Magia had given her to paint her clan tattoo on it. He would know it was her who left it. She was almost crying the whole time she was preparing to leave.
She emerged from her shelter. It wasn’t quite evening yet. Aklika looked around for Tenrek. She saw him arguing with Denrai. She went over to them. “Tenrek, give it back!” Denrai shouted. “I told you for the last time, I didn’t take your boat! It must’ve floated away or something. I don’t know what happened to it!” Aklika felt a pang of guilt. She had taken a skin boat from the shore for her plan. It was too late to say anything.
“Tenrek, I heard there are supposed to be a lot of lichens washed up on the far shore. Wanna go try and catch some?” Tenrek loved roasted lichens. They were his favorite thing to snack on. He couldn’t say no.
They walked together down the beach. They talked a little, and Aklika tried to hide her regret and sadness. The sun was slowly hunkering down for a quiet sleep. They found the far side of the beach, and there were no lichens. Aklika had lied, she just needed an excuse to spend time with him before she left. “Oh well,” she said. “I guess they got swept away with the tide.” Tenrek could sense the sadness in her heart, and the regret in her eyes.
“Is something wrong?” he asked her. “I’m fine.” she lied. Tenrek knew she was lying, but he said nothing. They found a few pieces of driftwood and started a small fire. The fire blazed a pale green. The sun was setting and the sky was ablaze with color. Aklika had seen nothing like it before. She would miss this place.
It was beginning to get late, and time was racing toward Aklika till it was time to leave. She looked at Tenrek one last time. “It’s getting late.” she said in a sad voice. She looked his face over. She would always remember his bright blue green eyes that reminded her of the ocean, that made it impossible for him to lie. She would remember his face, the soft handsome features. She would remember his laugh, that held the happiness of the world. But most of all, she would remember the kindness he had showed her that first time she had met him. She had nearly drowned, and he rescued her. He had made sure she was okay before giving her off to Tliko. He was a true friend.
Aklika had to look away for fear of crying. He was like a brother to her. “Goodnight,” she whispered. “Goodnight,” he replied. He wanted her to stay. He reached his hand out to her, but she kept moving. “Aklika, wait-” he called. She was gone. He sighed, and puts the fire out.
She moved quickly. Hurrying to Tenrek’s shelter, she left her gifts and went back to get her thin
sorry about any grammar errors, it;s just a rough draft and I’m trying to get what I imagine down on paper. I will fix it later.
wow for an 11 year old that’s amazing
i mean, there are a lot of grammatical errors but that’s nothing compared to how well written this is, for someone of your age group
looks like someone might be a bestseller one day
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The darkness was too deep, the silence was too dead. The lights flickered as if winking at him, the subliminal whispering goodbye to him. Also goodnight because, soon, they were to be dead – along with the still night.
Cheap hugging b… ! Stupid tree-hugging losers who want him to save the world.
Lights – ever heard of lights? He muttered with the scar on his upper lip bouncing against his pronounced nose. With his hair darker than his black eyes, gently rubbing his snotty nose, he gazed out the ocean as the waves combed the shore. It sounded like a lullaby; as the waves gently hit the rocks like drumsticks against a drum.
He chuckled uncontrollably like hiccuping, thinking of how in grade school they used to say ‘friends before money’.
Money bought him this nice prison cell, this 4×10 prison cell overlooking the massive ocean which looked like dark oil.
He thought about Patrice; how he was the most important person in her life. She was The Chosen One, she loved him so much she died for him – what an exulted thing she committed!
He thought about her in that white dress, the way her eyes reflected like a knife, their shade so pale that tears that were falling were the same color as her eyes. Mimicking his heartbeats, not a beat out of rhythm.
The light went out, nothing left to see now but the stars trapped in the sky. He was just as strapped in as the stars. Tomorrow was the day to brake out, tell the world what he really was! Fame, fame, fame – newspapers will be printing, bigger than any famous stuck-up, no-good loser. (jejune) characters that are going to wish they were him.
He looked down at his concrete whole, for the first time after escaping. Going to be that no good, cop that was jealous of his fame, who got him in this mess in the first place! He put his painting back to the whole when he heard the words starting.
I-I-I wa…w-want a cigarette! hey ! -the voice stuttered, as if an earthquake was in his voice.
He looked over to find a young 19-year-old Jim there. He killed his parents for calling him ‘good old chubs’. The killer gazed at him, his stomach sunk into the bars as far as they went. Sections of fat rolled over the bars. Pure fat cells, just flapping as if it wanted to fly away. It was clear that nothing on this boy was capable of flying, or even clearly being able to lift past it’s gravity.
P-pa pa-a pap leas- Jim jeered, as if protesting.
The killer began singing, chanting in a voice ‘I shot the sheriff but I didnt shoot no deputy, oh no! oh!
I shot the sheriff, but I didnt shoot no deputy, ooh, ooh, oo-ooh’.
Yeah! All around in my hometown,
They’re tryin’ to track me down;
They say they want to bring me in guilty
For the killing of a deputy,
For the life of a deputy.
But I say ‘Have a cigarette! Chubs
in what little light there was to light up the room, the killer grabbed a cigarette, lit it and began to smoke.
Jim stared at him as if he were to do a trick, breaths quickening. He approached with his arms out, his stuttering turning to pronunciations a newborn could make. Then the killer’s eyes lit up like a candle with rage, remembering: ‘no distractions till then’.
He could feel his blood boil.. He wanted to compress his face into the bars. Make his skull into mash potatoes. Watch thin blood pour, to the floor. Same color as thin, crimson, Chianti wine.
Yet, this caged bird would sing again. Life outside the big house was looking to pulchritudinous.
He tossed the cigarette right after getting a whiff, the red light rolled across the floor and that was going to be him. He was going to roll away; no more gambling for cigarettes, it was real money now!
It made him think of the deadman’s hand, aces and 8s. They call it deadman’s hand because a man was killed for winning when a guy bet a lease on his house. Bam shot him, for having 8s and aces in his hand, back in cowboy times.
The cop that got him here was going to get dealt a deadman’s hand now.
buy a quality writing instrument.
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