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What do you think of this writing? (It's kind of rough, and quite unhappy)?

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The coming of nightfall, slow and unrelenting, had masked the surrounding trees in a cloak of darkness; a shadow that made them loom starkly ominous against the pale night sky, drawing sharp contrast to the beauty and life they possessed under the light of the sun.

As the night grew darker, the trees seemed to grow closer together. Seemed to form a barricade that forbid she pass, forbid she find her way. She knew this was true, for as she pulled her own dark cloak closer around her slender frame, she felt the folds of fabric being pulled as it scraped across thick trunks of scarred bark and was whipped by low falling branches.

Growing later still, the night closed into a deep jet hue. As she looked up towards the sky, seeking some type of reassurance, she felt a pang of deep loneliness as she realized all that was visible to her were the tops of the trees, forming a thick canopy of leaves blocking out the light of moon and stars.

Falling to her knees, she hunched over, covering her face with her hands until her forehead nearly touched the damp ground. When would these wretched feelings go away? When would she feel clean again? Walking farther and farther from the man she now feared with her whole being, she felt a weight descending over her being rather than easing.

She cried in vain, sobbing with no restraint. Alone, so alone, she allowed her body to convulse with her tremors.

It was only once she had run her eyes dry of tears and subsided into a steady rhythm of repeated rocking did she realize her body was exhausted horribly with the exertion. The fit she had just started to bring herself out of, coupled with her desperate run away and hike deep into the woods, had left her a hollow shell among the damp leaves and bracken.

I said no! I screamed! I screamed it to him! Her mind raced through all she had said, all she had tried to do, all of her futile attempts against his strong arms and forceful mouth. As if she had just remembered, she placed a hand to her swollen lips, bringing tears to her eyes once more.

As she closed her eyes, a muffled sound of foot steps from the underbrush shook her out of her reverie.

“Oh God! Oh God! Who’s there?” she bellowed through a dry throat. Rising to her feet, she shook in the knees. “Stop! Don’t come near…”

Her voice was cut off shortly after the dark figure emerged from the shroud of blackness, stepping calmly towards her. Was it him? Could it possibly be him? Could she not get away? Her heart beat frantically, and she worried she may faint.

“Anna, I…” the voice of young Charlie began. In his early twenties, he was only a few years older than she. Though, with a voice as deep and compelling as his, like velvet over chestnuts, it was easy to believe he had existed well over his years.

“Oh, Anna…I saw you running away, and him…him buckling his pants…” His voice cracked miserably as he said the last few words, confirming that he knew what had happened, that he knew, and that he cared. Somehow, he felt for her.

“Charlie?” she began, feebly. Why had he followed her so deeply into the dark? A man she had only passed between such chores as laundry and tending the animals, it seemed fantastic that he would wish so much to share her pain. “What…what are you doing?”

“I, I’m afraid I don’t really have an answer. I couldn’t just let you run off like that, I suppose. I figured you couldn’t find your way back.” The practical answer he gave hid much more, hid a sorrowful note in his tone.

He gave her no chance to answer speaking again. “I…just need to see that you’re alright.” He moved then.

Anna’s eyes opened wide with a choked fear as his strong arms closed around her. With a fit of choked rage, she tried to fight him, to flail her arms and kick and scream. As drained as she was, she gave up suddenly, sinking into his chest and the warmth of his embrace.

“He…he…was my father.”

Her words hung between them, stark and ugly in the surrounding skies. There was no further explanation she could give, and no comfort he could possibly give through speech. Lowering her to the ground, he cradled her softly, rubbing her shoulder until all he could focus on was her shaking body, flowing tears, and his desperate need to shoulder her pain, to see her through this horror and never, ever, let her go.

I'd love to hear what you think about the writing, any opinion, advice, or crticism you could give would be greatly appreciated. Thanks!!

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2 ANSWERS


  1. nice! :D ...and i think happy because at the end he saw her father....


  2. First things first - White Space!

    Don't make your story look like one gigantic paragraph.

    I understand that you're trying to set a mood here but tone down the metaphors and adjectives.  Too much of it can cloud the meaning of the story.

    The tones of the narrative and the dialogue conflict with each other.  The narrative sounds formal and more prose-like while the dialogue sounds like something out of a teen novel.  Go with one or the other.

    The main idea and conflict has potential to be a good read.

    My suggestion would be to cut out the 'cobwebs' and focus on the story.  SHOW Anna's fear, panic and rage, don't TELL us.

      

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