something I did for english (and not for england)

Hi, new here. here's something I did for my english-mock-thing. I got a D for it. lets hear what ya'll think.

They gave me these pieces of paper to write. As soon as I came in this windowless grey room I saw an overused chair and a desk to mach with pen and paper on it. As I came over to the chair, the metal door behide me slammed shot, making me torn around.
“You have 10 minutes” Came a voice from the over side, “No, make that 15.” And walked away.
I sat myself looking blankly at the pale papers, distantly hearing ‘Ave Maria’ coming from the hall way. I taught of writing ‘good bye cruel world’ at first but I new that where was some thing I had to write. The hall reason I was here. And even that I didn’t know.

The photograph. I didn’t know what it was doing my bedroom. It was sepia and had a starger on it. My curiosity took over and I ran to the kitchen.
“Mum?” I said.
“Yes, Dear?” she said not looking up as she chopped potatoes.
“Who’s this?” I pointed at the photo.
She looked up, only to give me an unreadadol look. There was a long and tense silence, Interrupted by the sound of my younger brother coming into the room. He went over to Mum. She looked at him and he nodded. She looked back at me and whispered something. I passed out.

I woke up to find myself walking down a never ending hallway wearing a sticky grey plastic suite with my hair open and nothing on my feet. Behind me there was what looked like a nun, lamp in hand, leading me down this dark place.
Every so often we walked past big doors. The sounds of crying and begging in other toughts eccoed in the hallway.
At last we came to a door. The nun put her hand on the handle.

The door opened.
“Come.” she said.
Seemed my 15 minutes were up. I got up leaving the blank pages behind. Ave Maria was still playing. I felt a tare roll down my check. We keap walking down, past the sounds of crying children.
We came to a big wooden door. She pushed it open and in we walked. Walked into a room filled with shouting. I was standing on a stage. Below me were millions of poor beggars. Infront of me was a hanging machine. Above me was a man in a black chape trying to hush the crued. When he got hath of them quiet he said:
“You, Diane Zara Johnson, have seen the Forbidden Picture of Life. For that you will be hanged.”
My mind wasn’t thinking right. Someone put a sheet over my eyes. I wasn’t even strugerly.
A thought came to me. I wish I used the pieces of paper they gave me to write.

END!

I agree with the grade given. Ok there are some flaws in the story, plenty of grammatical errors. There is little suspense, little build up. THe main problem here is you are telling us and not showing. Lets have your characters "feel" things such as coldness. Appeal to the senses.

Im not going to go into depth here. Id like to see you review some other peoples work. On YWS its encouraged to do 3-5 reviews before posting your own work.

Good luck.

They gave me these pieces of paper to write on. As soon as I came into this windowless grey room I saw an overused chair and a desk to [s]mach[/s] match with pen and paper on it. As I came over to the chair, the metal door [s]behide[/s] behind me slammed [s]shot[/s] shut, making me [s]torn[/s] turn around.
“You have 10 minutes,” [make "came" lower case.] Came a voice from the over side, “No, make that 15.” And walked away.
I sat myself down[?] looking blankly at the pale papers, distantly hearing ‘Ave Maria’ coming from the hall way. I [s]taught[/s] thought of writing ‘good bye cruel world’ at first but I knew that [s]where[/s] there[?] was some thing I had to write. The [s]hall[/s] whole reason I was here. And even that I didn’t know.

The photograph. I didn’t know what it was doing in my bedroom. It was sepia and had a [s]starger[/s] stranger on it. My curiosity took over and I ran to the kitchen.
“Mum?” I said.
“Yes, Dear?” she said not looking up as she chopped potatoes.
“Who’s this?” I pointed at the photo.
She looked up, only to give me an [s]unreadadol[/s] unreadable look. There was a long and tense silence, Interrupted by the sound of my younger brother coming into the room. He went over to Mum. She looked at him and he nodded. She looked back at me and whispered something. I passed out.

I woke up to find myself walking down a never ending hallway wearing a sticky grey plastic suite with my hair open and nothing on my feet. Behind me there was what looked like a nun, lamp in hand, leading me down this dark place.
Every so often we walked past big doors. The sounds of crying and begging in other toughts [I'm not sure what word this is supposed to be] [s]eccoed[/s] echoed in the hallway.
At last we came to a door. The nun put her hand on the handle.

The door opened.
“Come.” she said.
Seemed my 15 minutes were up. I got up leaving the blank pages behind. Ave Maria was still playing. I felt a tare [again, I don't understand this. Tare?] roll down my check. We [s]keap[/s] keep walking down, past the sounds of crying children.
We came to a big wooden door. She pushed it open and in we walked. Walked into a room filled with shouting. I was standing on a stage. Below me were millions of poor beggars. [s]Infront[/s] In front of me was a hanging machine. Above me was a man in a black [s]chape[/s] cape trying to hush the [s]crued[/s] crowd. When he got [s]hath[/s] half of them quiet he said:
“You, Diane Zara Johnson, have seen the Forbidden Picture of Life. For that you will be hanged.”
My mind wasn’t thinking right. Someone put a sheet over my eyes. I wasn’t even [s]strugerly[/s] struggling[?].
A thought came to me. I wish I used the pieces of paper they gave me to write.

Well, I won't comment on the grade you were given.

Some of the major problems in this were your sentence structure, spelling, and grammar. Without at least somewhat knowledge of these things [I still struggle with some things when it comes to grammar ^_~] you can't properly be understood, and so it doesn't even matter what your story is. You're only fourteen, so perhaps you haven't studied it much, I wouldn't know. But I suggest you do read over your work more before you post, because in many places this is hard for me to understand only because your sentence structures are so odd. Of course, the story it self jumps around and I get confused.

The story is very simple, and like Phorcys said, it does a lot of telling. I think you need to work on your grammar first though, before you work on your writing skills. Learn to say words, before you learn public speaking, you know? I really hate to completely ignore the writing but I do not think someone can write if they cannot use grammar.

My only suggestion is that you read more, and do pay attention in your English class. I know once I got past middle school, they quit teaching grammar and spelling skills, but pay attention anyway. I don't always enjoy my English class, but I still learn. Reading more will improve your own writing skills.

Be sure to use spell check and read over your posts a few more times, also. Hope this helped, best of luck.

Although it is a short story, I find that there is very little chaarcter developement, or that the character seems real. As the others have pointed out, there are also grammatical errors. Work on it, and you're certain to improve.

Fantasyartist wrote:Although it is a short story, I find that there is very little chaarcter developement, or that the character seems real. As the others have pointed out, there are also grammatical errors. Work on it, I used to suck at english and such but now I'm getting A*/+ for every essay. Read lots of books (not Eragon please) to give you ideas.

D+

Fantasyartist, I don't think you should be bragging about your grades nor on how many books you read -.-

I was rather trying to show what hugpatrol could achieve if she improved rather than bragging. Anyway, removed the offending sentence should anyone else find it vain. Sorry for the wrong impression.