Young Writers Society

In the kitchen, Johnson scooped up piles of mush onto trays with a ladle

OnCeUpOnAtIm3Xo wrote:I feel bad for posting this story so many times, but I just edited a huge part in it and I need to know if it's okay, the previous version is here: topic27130.html

Also, thank you so much for any and all crits!


PROLOGUE

“NOOOOO!” he groaned.

“Haha, yes.” The guard slapped down his playing cards on the cheap plastic table. “I win. You owe me five-thousand credits.”

“What?! Five-thousand credits!” the other guard exclaimed. “I don't even have that much in my bank account[s]I’ve only got 2,600 credits in my bank account[/s]. Besides, that’s more than I earn in a month!” Credits were a certain type of money.

“Well, you shouldn’t have bet so much,” the first guard smiled. “You still owe me.”

The second guard groaned in frustration.

A woman came through the door, a folder in her perfectly manicured hands. “Johnson, you’re serving dinner to the prisoners, here’s the list of people to serve to in your shift.” She handed the first guard the folder.

Johnson’s exuberant face pulled into a frown at her words. “Why do I have to do it? Why can’t Gearson?” he pointed to the other guard.

The woman’s face showed indifference, as always. “Just do your job, Johnson.”

The fluorescent light above grew louder than the usual buzz, then popped, sending sparks flying. “Stupid light,” Gearson muttered. The woman glanced up at it, then dismissed it by walking away.

Johnson looked down at the folder in his hands and sighed. “I hate doing the food rounds,” he turned to Gearson, “you’re coming with me, I’m not going alone.”

“No way,” Gearson said.

“What if I just take the 2,600 credits in your account instead of the 5,000?” Johnson tempted.
I agree with the others, try not focus so much on the amount of money
“All right, fine.”


In the kitchen, Johnson scooped up piles of mush onto trays with a ladle He [s]coughed[/s] wrinkled his nose at the smells of the mystery substances and tried to breath through his mouth[s]held his nose with his free hand[/s].

While holding a tray out for Johnson, Gearson [s]noticed something[/s] said Try not to tell us. Show us, “hey, where’s your ID card?” he tugged at his own as an example. It was green with his name and picture printed onto it.

Johnson glanced down at his chest, where he usually kept it. “I don’t know, I must’ve lost it.” Shouldn't he be worried? He seems a little too indifferent for me to believe. Why even mention it if it doesn't seem to matter to him? Maybe have him say, I'll go look for it when my shifts over or something to clear it up

“Oh.”

After scooping the mush for a while, Johnson said quietly, “you know, I really hate my job.”

“Why? It’s the best one around, we get to play cards all day and get paid.” Gearson said. “It’s not like the prisoners need much tending to.”

“Yeah… but it’s just, it’s too boring. I mean, where’s the thrill? Where’s the action?”

“Well…” This conversation seemed a bit pointless. It didn't seem to go anywhere. It was also a bit incomplete. If you can keep it going, it would add a lot to your plot. If it doesn't really have anything to do with your plot, take it out.


After finishing the trays and placing them on a cart, they walked down the several hallways of the facility, serving food to the prison’s occupants. Again, you rushed through this. I'm curious to see what the prisoners are like. A while later, when Gearson asked the usual question “so, who’s next on the list?” he was only disappointed.

Johnson glanced down at his open folder. “Macnaire.”

“Oh,” Gearson’s tone dropped [s]and he seemed to be pushing the cart more slowly[/s].

“You know, I don’t understand why we even bother to keep the boy here, we’d all be better off without him.” Johnson said. He glanced over at the trays of yellow mush that Gearson was pushing and gagged.

Gearson grunted in agreement. They turned a corner and walked [s]through[/s] down a long hallway with multiple [s]many[/s] doors.

As they came to the cell, their hearts sank. Shouldn't they be panicing, not having their hearts sink? Shouldn't they be frightened? To the left of the door was a gaping [s]w[/s]hole in the wall. And, looking through the window, they could see that no one occupied the room anymore.

“He’s escaped.”

“Not again!”

They cursed and dashed off, leaving the cart behind them.


The siren alarm went up and the sound of barking dogs could be heard throughout the facility.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Meanwhile, hiding in a nearby corridor, Tanner Macnaire snickered. He searched the tangles of his long blonde hair and smiled as his grubby fingers closed around his most prized possession, still hidden and secure. He grabbed it out and grinned, staring at [s]it was [/s][s]some[/s] the guard’s ID card that he’d swiped. Not only was it used for identifying people, but it was also a pass card.

He went over to the cart the guards had left and grabbed a tray of food. He tipped the tray upside down to let the food fall to the floor, but, it didn’t seem to want to obey gravity, so he shook it a few times until it hit the cold, cement floor and formed into a big blob. Then he stuffed the tray under his arm and searched the bare walls until he found what he was looking for.

He carefully observed the fire escape map that was tacked to the wall, but the siren alarm was blaring in his ears - a warning for him to get a move on. So, Tanner ran as fast as he could through the halls, holding tightly to the ID card. He didn't seem to be in this much of a rush before. Have him panic or something to show us he wants to get out of there fast He yanked open a door and raced up a flight of stairs, then tore through yet another hallway to wind up at his destination. He held up the card to a sensor near a large metal door, it beeped to let him know the door had unlocked. The room that he now entered was full of buttons, whirring machines, and blinking lights. He quickly pushed all of the buttons, hoping to hit the one he needed. Then, all of the lights and machines stopped. Excellent, he thought, grinning. He pulled open the door, glanced at the fire escape map again and started running. This felt a little too rushed again. Slow down. Show us what's going on, don't tell us

Once he got to the exit door, he took a deep breath. Before, while making up the plan, he wasn’t sure that he could get this far. But now, he realized that of course he could, he was Tanner Macnaire.

Since he needed his hands and had no other way of holding it, he stuffed the food tray into [s]his[/s] his shirt and had it so that his pants’ waistband would hold it. He desperately hoped that it wouldn’t fall out. Then he burst through the exit doors and for the second time in two years, he was outside.


It was a cool evening and he could see his breath as he ran. The sun was just starting to set in the distance and the air smelled like wet grass from the rain earlier that day. He could see the dogs a distance away from him and their presence pushed him to run faster. The last time he had tried to escape, he was caught by the dogs and they left a scar on his side from their claws. He was determined to not let them get him this time.

Dramayne Correctional Facility was not big on taking good care of its prisoners, hence Tanner’s long hair. But, to keep him alive they obliged to stitch him up.

He had never been able to go outdoors during his time spent at the prison (besides the previous time he’d escaped) and it felt good to feel the breeze in his wild hair, to smell the damp earth, and to feel the grass beneath his bare feet.

The dogs finally spotted him and bounded toward him, howling and barking to notify the guards. He ran even faster than he thought was possible to the electric fences nearby that blocked him off from civilization. He quickly snatched a twig from the ground and threw it at the first fence. (There were three, two behind the first for maximum security.) When it fell back down, he peered at it to see the results. No scorch marks, he had indeed succeeded in turning off the power. Again too abrupt. One second he's talking about his hair, the next, dogs are chasing him. Slow down

He scrambled up the fence, looking over his shoulder a few times to see where the dogs were [s]at[/s]. They were closing in on him, but he was almost near the top, so when they jumped up to get him he was too high. Their jaws snapped at him as they growled viciously; trying to get at him. [s]Meanwhile, the guards were quite a distance away from them - even though they were running[/s].

[s]Now was the tricky part,[/s] he had to somehow get over the barbed wire at the top without hurting himself. And, this was where the food tray came in handy. He grabbed it from his shirt and situated it on top of the barbed wire. He [s]somehow[/s] managed to get onto the other side of the fence with minor scratches by using it as a shield from the barbed wire. He climbed back down the fence and when he was a safe enough distance to do it - he jumped to the ground.

Overjoyed that he was on the other side of the fence he edgily allowed himself to laugh at the dogs who were now the ones trapped. But, when he noticed that the guards were coming closer, he stuffed the tray back in his shirt and started to climb the next fence, repeating the process of the first fence for the next two.

Once past the fences, he ran into the neighboring woods and sprinted on and on until he thought that he was far enough away from Dramayne, then finally he stopped and sat by a fallen tree.

His heart slowed to an even beat and his breathing became less shallow. Again, he laughed, this time at the dogs, guards, and the fact that he was free. His laughter increased by the minute until he was hysterical, a smile was plastered to his face.

He was free.

The dogs finally spotted him and bounded toward him, howling and barking to notify the guards. He ran even faster than he thought was possible to the electric fences nearby that blocked him off from civilization. He quickly snatched a twig from the ground and threw it at the first fence. (There were three, two behind the first for maximum security.) When it fell back down, he peered at it to see the results. No scorch marks, he had indeed succeeded in turning off the power.

“NOOOOO!” he groaned.

To answer your question, dear, yes, this one is much, much more realistic than the first.