Last Days

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The colours of the trees were vivid in contrast to the greys of the camp. Inside, the people seemed to take on the same colour. They walked with slumped shoulders, directed by smirking men. Colour was the product of hope, evidenced by seeming neutrality of the prisoners.
Birds chirped outside, their sweet songs halting and dying when they reached the boundaries. Even they did not dare venture inside.

The prisoners’ gaolers gave orders with a gesture of a hand or the nod of a head. There was no noise, aside from the cries of young children when they were torn from their parents.

It wasn’t a place where humanity could survive. Inside its walls, atrocious acts were committed, unknown to the outside world. They were forgotten afterwards and would never be spoken of again.
The men marched about in their uniforms, some of them smoking. Tendrils of smoke curled into the air. A few of the officers exhaled into the faces of passing prisoners, causing them to cough and wrinkle their noses. They didn’t look up, quivering and hastening their pace. The men laughed but didn’t follow, apart from with their searching eyes.

There was something different about their faces. They had changed since they entered the camps. It was possible that they were different again when they left, but the prisoners only saw the hard-faced men within the walls.

They were cramped into tiny spaces. The officers relaxed in spacious quarters, the epitome of luxury. They were ornately decorated and allowed for all kinds of debauchery in the night. When the prisoners heard laughter in the middle of the night, they closed their eyes and minds.

It was impossible to know what would happen, but they knew that the prisoners who had gone before must have gone somewhere. They heard word of a sanctuary when the sun always shone, where people could live their lives in peace and happiness. It seemed too good to be true, but the children painted wishful fantasies of wonderlands to each other.

Night fell, its grey fingers stretching out to push daytime aside. After the prisoners were locked away, they watched from barred windows. The sunset’s final rays struggled to keep colour in the world, its mixed pinks, purples and oranges swirling into exotic and dizzying blends of colours. However, night prevailed once again in the eternal battle.

One woman sat in the corner, separated from the others. Her knees were pulled to her chest. She was shivering and mumbling to herself. The other prisoners didn’t approach. They cringed when she let out wails. They were all thinning, three days after they had been delivered into the camp, but their deterioration was nothing compared to the woman in the corner. She had refused food from the officers. Already her ribs were beginning to show through her worn and ripped clothes, now little more than rags.

Catherine stood and made her way towards the woman. People raised their heads to follow her approach. She sat down beside the other woman.

A trickle of saliva ran down her chin as she stared at Catherine. She wailed. Catherine put an arm on her shoulder and rubbed it. Others began to turn away. They huddled together for warmth and slept.
The light had faded. The two women didn’t say anything. It would have been difficult to hear if they had. Already, several women were beginning long, droning snores.

They sat side by side for several moments. Catherine lay on the hard ground, and the other did the same. The two of them drew warmth from each other and fell asleep.

The first beams of sunlight shone through the window and struck them in the face. They were forced into consciousness. Soon after, the door was unlocked and a bleary eyed commander opened the door.

He was squinting, his eyes almost shut. He stared at the women and blinked. As he turned, he gestured for them to follow. He staggered away, holding a hand to his head and wincing every time a bird chirped.

The women picked themselves up from the floor. They flooded from their cold cell into the word and breathed the fresh air. Several of them cried out and fell to the ground. Officers intermingled with their group and pulled prisoners to their feet. They formed a barrier and herded them towards an isolated structure.

Communal showers, said a sign on the building’s side. It was squat, the same dull grey as the others.
All of the officers but one left them. He had a slight build. His mouth opened, but no words emerged. After a time, he opened the door and gestured inside, shaking his head. The door swung shut behind them.

Some light illuminated the room, allowing them to see the chamber. It was almost empty, but it was still cramped. They were pushed up against each other. There was a door at each end of the room.
Someone pulled at the door they had entered through, but it didn’t budge. A woman pulled at the other door and it swung open, coming close to hitting several of them.

They stampeded into the room. It was a shower, the ceiling-mounted nozzles pointing down at them like machine guns. Several women went back to the other room and stripped, understanding what was happening. They hadn’t showered in weeks. No one spoke. They followed the lead of the others and soon stood naked and shivering, at the mercy of their captors.

Catherine searched for the woman she had slept beside the other night. They had been together in the first room, she keeping a strong hold of her wrist, but they’d lost each other amidst the stampede to get inside the next room.

She pushed through the crowd, scanning each face. Several women made to push her back, but she vanished.

The woman came into sight. She was standing in the corner, isolated once more. There was a nozzle above her head.

She walked to the woman and smiled at her. There was no response. A slow grinding came from above them, and the sound of something spraying into the chamber. Tears poured from the Catherine’s eyes as she hugged her companion.

She tried to hold her breath, but she became dizzy. The woman she was holding slumped and fell, forcing her to the ground. Catherine’s head hit the concrete and she gasped. Others fell as she inhaled again and again. Her vision went dark.

Well, this is the first thing I've posted in months. Since June or July, I think. I've written a lot, but most of it isn't worth going up here. It's part of a challenge for Pengy not to use dialogue in a story. I may have failed, but it was enjoyable to write.

Note that it's in an alternate future, a short story companion to my NaNo. I didn't notice exactly what I'd written until the end, so just keep that in mind.




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A few of the officers exhaled into the faces of passing prisoners, causing them to cough and wrinkle their noses. They didn’t look up, quivering and hastening their pace.

< I thought that here you could kind of combine the sentences? I’m not sure but I felt as though the wrinkle and coughing needed to be in tandem with the moving faster. You don’t let the reactions be furtive until they’re not looking up, and it feels like and odd way to phrase it, or see it.

Night fell, its grey fingers stretching out to push daytime aside.

< This is lovely. ^^

Catherine stood and made her way towards the woman. People raised their heads to follow her approach. She sat down beside the other woman.

A trickle of saliva ran down her chin as she stared at Catherine. She wailed. Catherine put an arm on her shoulder and rubbed it. Others began to turn away. They huddled together for warmth and slept.

< Somehow there’s not enough here. It’s this and this and this without any of the what, if that makes sense? I’d like some of the middle bit, this is where you can talk about where her gaze went, and how the other woman kind of slipped both away and to her all at once, creating a rocking awareness without ever seeming to move. Or something? More description. Also, this is all statements. I’ll mention that later, though. ;)

The light had faded. The two women didn’t say anything. It would have been difficult to hear if they had. Already, several women were beginning long, droning snores.

< I would have liked a comparison to how rich or how... solid the sounds were compared to their states. The long droning is deep, almost tangible. But where they are is thing, almost a fragment of existence.

The women picked themselves up from the floor. They flooded from their cold cell into the word and breathed the fresh air.

<“world”

I really liked this, Matty! ^^
You haven’t failed at all and I look forward to reading the final edit and giving you the results. I think that a lot of this is statements, which detracts a little from your flow. In general I love how this is; the style is perfect for the narrative and the amount of description is good in the most part. I do think a little more filler description will help a lot of the flow. Read this aloud and I think you’ll really see where it’s going wrong.

*Hearts* Le Penguin.
I like you as an enemy, but I love you as a friend.




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Hi Insomnia, I'll be giving you a review today! :)

So, while this was a good story, it didn't really do a lot for me. In fact, it seems to be a little mediocre. I think the main reason for that was that we never really got to know Catherine. The story only really got close to her twice, once in the middle and again at the end. While, due to the subject matter, this story does have a lot of emotional impact, I feel as though it would have quite a bit more if you could tie into Catherine even more. Get into her head. Show us what she's thinking, how she's feeling. These two things can be done without the use of dialogue, and they need to be done if you want this story to rise above mediocrity.

So, despite my negativity, it was a good story. You just need to do a little more work before it can be a great story, which it does have the potential to be. Good luck with this, and PM me if you have any other questions.
Garrus Vakarian is my homeboy.



In short, Mrs. Pontellier was beginning to realize her position in the universe as a human being, and to recognize her relations as an individual to the world within and about her.
— Kate Chopin, The Awakening