Die Kalte Brise

The cold breeze charged into the house, filling every recess and shadowy hollow. It was the only living occupant, the only breath that could be heard. The crisp air searched every crevice in the house for a friend, some company, anything that could melt the icy loneliness in which it was encased, frozen. Outside it was tormented by heavy, dusty rain, ripping through its collective presence like bullets through rice paper. It had turned to the house for salvation and in it had crawled, damp and dejected.

The silence inside the house accentuated the footsteps of the pounding rain outside, pacing, impatiently waiting for its hostage to emerge. The hostage felt itself being sucked out and it fought tenaciously, clinging to the walls in defiance. The cold plaster provided little traction and the wind began to lose its grip, slipping tentatively towards the shuddering doorframe. In an instant, its hold was broken, the door slammed shut and the wind was vacuumed back into the outside world. It once again fell under the mercy of the rain’s wrath.

Tossed about like a rag-doll and flailing, the wind carried with it the unmistakable odour of death, the gut-wrenching stench of spilt blood, of murder. Inside the house, the remnants of the wind, trapped after the exodus of their brothers, choked on the stale foetid air, withered and died. They fell to the blood stained linoleum, writhing in agony amongst the wet, cold crimson. There they were left to rot, to decay next to the bodies of the Jewish family slaughtered in their own home by the Nazi Secret Police.

Outside, the rain continued to pound, washing away the so-called filth deemed to be eroding the streets of Berlin, and in doing so superficially cleansing Germany of the poverty that plagued it. The rain would eventually stop, the puddles would eventually dry, and the dirt and grime, the eternal companions of paucity, would return to fill the cracks in the street, etched deeper into the earth by the ferocious rain. The roads of Germany would be in worse condition than before, cracked, dirty. And now they would be stained in blood.

Hello, there. =) I'll skip grammar nitpicks and focus on the story itself.

The hostage felt itself being sucked out and it fought tenaciously, clinging to the walls in defiance.

You see, I have no idea what this hostage is. Sometimes, people confuse vagueness and ambiguity for being abstract; I do not. I think that we need some more indication as to what the hostage is. At least define its nature. Is it a monster? Or a metaphor? Either way, it's not something that will entice the reader on because they'll be so perplexed. The wind description was nice, and I liked it.

Once I'd read on, I saw that the hostage was, in fact, the wind? Ask yourself, why is this breeze a hostage? Who's controlling it? Then describe it, avoiding the usage of confusing words.

the wind carried with it the unmistakable odour of death

I don't like descriptions like this. It's so general that it annoys me. You do, however, go on to talk about the spilled guts which is good, but does murder have a particular smell? What are they?

blood stained

= "blood-stained"

There they were left to rot, to decay next to the bodies of the Jewish family slaughtered in their own home by the Nazi Secret Police.

Hmm. I don't know. It goes from the wind's perspective of not really noting anything human to an almost historical transcript. I think this could be far more effective if you didn't actually say this, but you showed us the Torah scrolls around the room, perhaps a boy clutching onto his mother. Throw in some Jewish content but avoid naming them. You see, if you just throw in a few characters without us knowing about them, the shock won't have a lot of effect. It's just depressing more than anything. Also, why would the wind have clutched onto the wall if it was going to die there? That's where I suggest giving the wind some character. Personify it a lot more, and even go as far as it weeping for the bodies, as an example (rain=tears?).

Okay. That was well-written, I liked both your choice of words and sentence structures, but it was too short. I felt that I couldn't get into the story because there wasn't one there--it was how you used words like "superficially cleansing" that drew away my guilt; you want me to feel for these people who were killed, but I can't if you just state that they were slaughtered and that's it. I think a contrast would be good. Switch from some Nazi official laughing and joking at the victims' expenses to the streets of mutated Berlin. There'll be a contrast and we might just feel sad. You can't rely on history to make us care--heck, someone could write a novel about the cuddly side to Hitler if it were done correctly. It's about showing us the horrors in a descriptive piece, and not dictating them.

Your descriptions are, for the most part, well done. But you need to cut down on the adjectives and include more sensory imagery--does the wind howl around the corner? Does it worry that it might scare off its friends? That's making a character out of the most inanimate things and, at times, it can add a lot of effect.

I hope I helped! PM me if you have any questions.

Best,
Blinky

It was the only living occupant

youre talking about wind here, and according to my diagnoses, wind is not a palpable living creature, but... a natural phenomenan that no one can explain... and still not living... also, Ive been to berlin germany and found there are no more nazis living there. Even at dacow i could find none. I do believe your a few years behind my dear

Hi Statik! June here

Nice work on this! I like the overall picture of this-- very catching. Let's take a look at some minor things, however .

Spraynard mentioned that the wind does not actually live. When I first read this, that sprang to my mind as well-- but you're good using it that way, since it's meant only figuratively. After all, it does actually "live"-- meaning that it can move about and such.

In the first paragraph, dear, you need a comma after "Outside".

Also! What is the hostage you're speaking about? I can't tell if it's wind, or a human-- or what? I think that part needs a touch of clarification, dear, so that we can better understand how you mean it.

And, let's take a look here:

It once again fell under the mercy of the rain’s wrath.

Because you have not mentioned outright that the hostage had fallen prey to the rain's wrath, it is not necessary to use "once again" to precede the line of action.

Also, mercy and wrath are presenting an oxymoron here, dear. Mercy is like, peace, good stuff, you know? And wrath is torment-- so, I think that mercy should be changed to merciless .



I really like your word choice here, dear. It's very, very descriptive-- and even though this is so short, you're giving us a lot to think about here.

But, I do wish it was longer. After such a detailed, descriptive opening, I wish that you would have kept going to give us more of a "feel inside the story".

Either way, it was well written, dear. Nice work on the imagery and great job overall.

June

(Keep it up!)

Hi :]
I won't nit-picks, as those before me have covered that. But I do agree with Blink on one point, and it is something that stood out:

next to the bodies of the Jewish family slaughtered in their own home by the Nazi Secret Police

It would be perfectly fine in most cases, but the rest of the story was very floaty, descriptive... you know what I mean. And this just sounded very false and brash. I think you could say this in another way that goes with the rest of the prose more fittingly. In other words, what Blink said.
Otherwise, wow. Completely amazing. I'm always impressed with that amount of imagery, of an atmosphere summoned so meticulously, and yet without the melodrama that many of us would fall into. It was just great: moving without sentimentality, descriptive without dragging, short but not brief.

Lauren