How To Save Your Life (H2SYL) Prologue Re-written

Okay, I know that I only posted the original a few weeks ago, and I am only three chapters in, so I should not even be thinking about changing anything... but it isn't too much of a change. I made it longer, and if it makes you feel better, then you can skip out everythig bar the last papragraph once you start to hit the old stuff. I didn't change that part much. Anyways, Enjoy! I re-wrote it to make the story feel more real, but feel free to tell me if you don't like the changes!

The soft covers of your duvet press against you, enclosing you in a cacoon of warmth. Without meaning to, your lips stretch out and you exhale in a long, relaxing yawn. It has been a long day, after all. Your prickling eyes trace around the room, taking in the never-changing view. It is a mission to keep them open until you reach the light switch, above your head and slightly to the left. You reach out, fingers brushing against the wall, feeling the uneven coating of dull yellow paint.
The room is plunged into darkness, but it doesn’t make a difference. Your eyes are closed, and that irritating soreness is starting to dissolve. Your thoughts return to the warmth of the blanket, remembering that you have already turned off your electric blanket. No fires tonight, a weary voice warns, even though you know that the electric blanket cannot generate enough heat for a fire. You have left it on full blast a few times, and nothing bad, bar the overheated dreams, has happened.
Somewhere in the house a click reverberates through the darkness – much like a light switch being thrown. You can’t think of who it might be, as you know that everyone else is either out, or asleep. Yes, you think. All the lights were turned off, all the doors shut before you had skulked into your room. Maybe it’s just the neighbour’s cat.
Another click, but it is already too late to bother you. The warm sheets pull you down, enveloping you. A smile creeps onto your lips as a sleek mist flows through your mind, isolating you from the world. Sleep is only moments away.
But then you hear a creaking noise. It is much too loud to be a cat, you think. Much too close, much too imposing. Alarm bells are ringing in your head, trying to snatch you back into the real world. You should listen to them. But it is too late by the time that they take effect, by the time that your eyes open.
I am already in front of you by then, and that is exactly what you see; what I want you to see. You perform a type of manoeuvre that I can only describe as a jump. Every muscle in your body tightens, but the bedcovers restrict your movement and you fall back before you can really do anything. After about half a second your muscles relax again. But your insides are churning at breakneck speed.
Your blood gushes through your veins, your heart pumps so fast it could cause you a heart attack. But your body has more sense than that, not that it matters. You open your mouth to scream.
You catch a reflecting from some unknown light source. A sharp, silver object glimmers as it hangs in the balance - half way between me, standing on the side of your bed, and you, lying utterly helpless, trapped in a multi-layer cacoon that only spells out death.
Before you can vocalize your terror, it is over. Too fast, too fast, you would think. If only you could think. In that last second of your life everything is on fire. Every inch of your body will resist me, but it only makes it better. I want you to suffer, but I grew tired of the screams. Each is the same; just another task, just another target, just another stiff. They pierce my head, bounding off the walls of my brain until it drives me mad. But long ago I learnt how to muffle them. Yes, I grew tired of the screams.
But the killing? That is another thing altogether. The planning, the anticipation. The feeling of resistance from your heart as my dagger slices through it. I like to think that it is the only thing keeping me alive. Maybe it is. It certainly makes my like worth living.
You may think that this will never happen. You are wrong. It will, but maybe not by me. There are hundreds of others like me though, all too very capable of doing the job.
As you are reading this, at home, on the bus, at school, someone dies. Look around you. To your left, and to your right. Who will die first?
You?
Or one of them?
It’s not survival of the fittest. No, it is nothing like that.
I suppose you think I’m lying? Okay, you can go around thinking that; it’s not like I care. But one day, you’ll regret not taking my advice. And that day is coming soon. By the time you realize that I am right, it will be too late. You will either be dead, or living out those painful last seconds of your life.
And believe me; they will be painful.
My advice: Run. While you still can. Travel to some remote island and bury your head in the sand if it makes you feel better about it. But I am telling you now. It won’t make any difference, so you might as well not bother.
I’m not your average kid, as you may have guessed. I’m not a psychopath, either. I’m just who I am, what my childhood made me, and that’s not something you’ll want to know about. But I suppose you would, if it has any chance of saving your life. That’s why you picked up this book, and that’s why you’re still reading.
Big mistake.
I wrote this not to have it read, but to have it written, for me. A record of what they did to me, of those dark years spent in the mud, on the concrete; what I had to endure just to survive. And if I didn’t survive - tough luck. There were dozens of others that would do the job just fine, even better. They survived, after all. But I suppose that it’s good someone like you has decided to read; it might give you a chance.
Unlikely.
Or it could open your eyes right now and give you a chance to run while you still can. But if you heed my warnings, then you shouldn’t be here. There’s no time to waste as you read this.
Go, now - before it’s too late.
The only way that you could save yourself would be to join them. But I can’t see that happening; they can breed anyone they need. Quite ingenious, actually. Self-sustainability keeps people like you out.
But me, or someone just like me, will be after you sometime soon. And you will die, even if you run, even if you hide. With a single swish of my finger, you could be dead. Right here, on the spot I could think of twelve different ways to kill you without giving you any chance at all, not that you would ever get a chance. The others and I are too good. We have to be, or else we wouldn't have survived.
Or I could leave you alone, save you the sweet embrace of death. But I can’t see that happening either. It’s not what I was born to do.
Still don't believe me? Well, that's your problem. My word is the only reference you will ever be able to find; but then again, I don't exist. Not officially, anyway.
But If I were you, I would check your house is locked before you go to bed tonight. If it makes you feel any better about it.

THANKS GUYS (and girls)!

I've re-red it, and I think writing the beginning that way confuses the reader (don't be discouraged, it was a good way to begin a story, just not this one) since the reader would expect you to continue in the 'you'(second person) format, but it switches to the 'I' format, leaving the reader to wonder about the 'you' person. Just a minor detail.

Oh, how creepy!

Your thoughts return to the warmth of the blanket, remembering that you have already turned off your electric blanket.

This just stood out to me. I would suggest changing the first "blanket".

As you are reading this, at home, on the bus, at school, someone dies. Look around you. To your left, and to your right. Who will die first?
You?
Or one of them?

So delightfully eerie it just can't be ignored.

And believe me; they will be painful.

I just think it would sound better if you changed it to a comma.

My overall thoughts are that you dragged out the second part (the part where you are warning the reader) of this for far too long. I got the feeling that towards the end you were sort of rambling and almost repeating yourself. If you cut about a quarter of the second part, then it should be fine.
But I did like how you described the sleepiness of the victim. It almost made me fall asleep! (In a good way... O.o) And the fact that you used "you" really got me involved in this, and made it creepier because I was the victim. But you already know this because you've intended for it to happen.

Keep writing!

~EmmaJane

or living out those painful last seconds of your life.

And believe me; they will be painful.

You shouldn't have put painful twice, it seems akward.

I’m not your average kid, as you may have guessed. I’m not a psychopath, either. I’m just who I am, what my childhood made me

I've read more into this story and from an educated guess, I can tell this person isnt a kid, so theirs no point in saying, I'm not your average kid.


In general it was a very well-written for a prolougeas many people just leave the prolouge empty and useless. I liked it much better than the last one. Good Job!!

It certainly makes my like worth living.

should be "life"

I’m not your average kid, as you may have guessed.

"Kid" sounds like the wrong way to refer to this "killer". When I read this is seemed to me like this person had to be more than just a child. Thinking of them as some deranged child probably isn't what you were going for anyways.

Even if the character appears as a child, don't refer to them that way. You hint at the character being bred, and bred to kill. Maybe just refer to him as not your average person, or something like that. Kid comes with thoughts of innocence and youngness, probably not what you're going for.

Great job with this, I enjoyed it much more than the first draft. Keep with the "you" in my opinon, it really brought me into the story. Can't wait to read more.

Keep writing!

-Lauren

Thanks for all of your comments YWS-ers! I have put the first/ second chapters up, and they should be accesible on either the first or second page of the action / advent forums.

Kay, got your message and I'm here to drop a comment.

Nothing personal, but I like the other one better. It was shorter, like a prologue is supposed to be. It's just a pet peeve, but I don't like those lengthly annoying intros. I usually skip 'em. But, your choice. They're both good.

I read the other chapters. I may not have commented all all of them, but I read them. They're good! Keep up the good work!

Thanks. I was just looking for the opinions on the re-written prologue anyway. I'm not too fond of long ones either, and the blatant switch halfway from being about 'you' to 'me/i' isn't that nifty either. I'm thinking of cutting out most of the second half (the old stuff, mainly) but keeping the main points in.

Thanks for commenting!

Hey, I got your message. I really like this one. The first one was a bit too short, and this one's just fine. Very interesting. I'm not really sure what else to say, because I'm not all that good at picking out the minor bits and pieces. So I'll just stick with, this was a very good prologue, and I can't wait to read the rest!

Got your PM and here I am. Anyway I like how the beginning seems to be second person, but when you introduce the I part it's like someone is watching you. It was a tad confusing, but not enough that I had to read it over or enough to ruin the story. This makes me so paranoid I'm looking around while I'm writing this. It was great.
Keep up the good work!

Helloo, Gracie here!
Review time! Yay! (My favourite time of the day)

The soft covers of your duvet press against you, enclosing you in a cacoon of warmth. Without meaning to, your lips stretch out and you exhale in a long, relaxing yawn. It has been a long day, after all. Your prickling eyes trace around the room, taking in the never-changing view. It is a mission to keep them open until you reach the light switch, above your head and slightly to the left. You reach out, fingers brushing against the wall, feeling the uneven coating of dull yellow paint.

This is a really good opening. Its really clever that you've chosen something that everyone can relate to. You get a pat for that. Pat pat.

The room is plunged into darkness, but it doesn’t make a difference. Your eyes are closed, and that irritating soreness is starting to dissolve. Your thoughts return to the warmth of the blanket, remembering that you have already turned off your electric blanket.

This is good. Little nitpick about you using blanket twice. Maybe put: Your thoughts return to the warmth of the duvet, your toes curling under. You remember that you have already turned off your electric blanket.

Somewhere in the house a click reverberates through the darkness – much like a light switch being thrown. You can’t think of who it might be, as you know that everyone else is either out, or asleep. Yes, you think. All the lights were turned off, all the doors shut before you had skulked into your room. Maybe it’s just the neighbour’s cat.

Ooh, Mystery, anticipation, Gracie like. Pat pat.

Another click, but it is already too late to bother you. The warm sheets pull you down, enveloping you. A smile creeps onto your lips as a sleek mist flows through your mind, isolating you from the world. Sleep is only moments away.

I really like the vocabulary you use: 'enveloping' is my favourite word. Pat Pat.
'a sleek mist flows through your mind, isolating you from the world' - I love this metaphor. Its beautiful.

But then you hear a creaking noise. It is much too loud to be a cat, you think. Much too close, much too imposing. Alarm bells are ringing in your head, trying to snatch you back into the real world. You should listen to them. But it is too late by the time that they take effect, by the time that your eyes open.

AAHH, TENSION. This grips me. Very good. Pat pat.

I am already in front of you by then, and that is exactly what you see; what I want you to see. You perform a type of manoeuvre that I can only describe as a jump. Every muscle in your body tightens, but the bedcovers restrict your movement and you fall back before you can really do anything. After about half a second your muscles relax again. But your insides are churning at breakneck speed.

Woah - you're the muderer. Scary.

Your blood gushes through your veins, your heart pumps so fast it could cause you a heart attack. But your body has more sense than that, not that it matters. You open your mouth to scream.

You catch a reflecting from some unknown light source. A sharp, silver object glimmers as it hangs in the balance - half way between me, standing on the side of your bed, and you, lying utterly helpless, trapped in a multi-layer cacoon that only spells out death.

I like that you're describing the murder weapon. Maybe go into more detail with it? How does the murderer feel about the weapon. Is there a connection between the weapon that they use? A preference?

Before you can vocalize your terror, it is over. Too fast, too fast, you would think. If only you could think. In that last second of your life everything is on fire. Every inch of your body will resist me, but it only makes it better. I want you to suffer, but I grew tired of the screams. Each is the same; just another task, just another target, just another stiff. They pierce my head, bounding off the walls of my brain until it drives me mad. But long ago I learnt how to muffle them. Yes, I grew tired of the screams.

But the killing? That is another thing altogether. The planning, the anticipation. The feeling of resistance from your heart as my dagger slices through it. I like to think that it is the only thing keeping me alive. Maybe it is. It certainly makes my like worth living.

This is really good. This shows real perception that you can put you'reself in the mind of a murderer. Slightly terrifying to be honest.

You may think that this will never happen. You are wrong. It will, but maybe not by me. There are hundreds of others like me though, all too very capable of doing the job.
As you are reading this, at home, on the bus, at school, someone dies. Look around you.

To your left, and to your right. Who will die first?
You?
Or one of them?

Rhetorical questions. Very nice. Pat pat.

It’s not survival of the fittest. No, it is nothing like that.
I suppose you think I’m lying? Okay, you can go around thinking that; it’s not like I care. But one day, you’ll regret not taking my advice. And that day is coming soon. By the time you realize that I am right, it will be too late. You will either be dead, or living out those painful last seconds of your life.
And believe me; they will be painful.

Good stuff. Very descriptive. I like the way you've build tension through subtle threats and statements. Scary... Pat pat.

I’m not your average kid, as you may have guessed. I’m not a psychopath, either. I’m just who I am, what my childhood made me, and that’s not something you’ll want to know about. But I suppose you would, if it has any chance of saving your life. That’s why you picked up this book, and that’s why you’re still reading.

This is very intreiging. I like the way you sort of.. trick us into wanting to read it - that it'll actually help us save our lives and I like the way that you make us understand that it isnt your fault. That you're not a 'psycopath'.

I wrote this not to have it read, but to have it written, for me. A record of what they did to me, of those dark years spent in the mud, on the concrete; what I had to endure just to survive. And if I didn’t survive - tough luck. There were dozens of others that would do the job just fine, even better. They survived, after all. But I suppose that it’s good someone like you has decided to read; it might give you a chance.

This is probably my favourite part of the whole thing. There is something terribly sad about the first scentence, which makes the reader really sympathise for the person in the book. 'What they did to me' really wrenches your heart. The rest of the paragraph intreigues us and makes us want to read more.

Unlikely.
Or it could open your eyes right now and give you a chance to run while you still can. But if you heed my warnings, then you shouldn’t be here. There’s no time to waste as you read this.
Go, now - before it’s too late.
The only way that you could save yourself would be to join them. But I can’t see that happening; they can breed anyone they need. Quite ingenious, actually. Self-sustainability keeps people like you out.

You have the talent of really gripping a reader. I love the way you try and help 'us'. 'Go now before its too late' is very emotive. It makes us question whether all murderers are bad. Whether its always their fault.

But me, or someone just like me, will be after you sometime soon. And you will die, even if you run, even if you hide. With a single swish of my finger, you could be dead. Right here, on the spot I could think of twelve different ways to kill you without giving you any chance at all, not that you would ever get a chance. The others and I are too good. We have to be, or else we wouldn't have survived.
Or I could leave you alone, save you the sweet embrace of death. But I can’t see that happening either. It’s not what I was born to do.

Its good how you built so much tension, through subtle threats, that the reader, unless they start analysing it, have no idea that it is happening.

Still don't believe me? Well, that's your problem. My word is the only reference you will ever be able to find; but then again, I don't exist. Not officially, anyway.
But If I were you, I would check your house is locked before you go to bed tonight. If it makes you feel any better about it.

Fantastic.

This is a really fantastic. I have found little (actully barely any) criticism with this. I love the way you build tension through threats. Make us rethink our opinion of murderers. And I love the way you state that the person is writing it for themselves - while trying to save people. Overall - its really good. A real acheivement. A lot of work must have gone into this.

[quote='Kate.Grace']This is a really fantastic. I have found little (actully barely any) criticism with this. I love the way you build tension through threats. Make us rethink our opinion of murderers. And I love the way you state that the person is writing it for themselves - while trying to save people. Overall - its really good. A real acheivement. A lot of work must have gone into this.[/quote]

Uh... I don't mean to sound ignorant about this, but it really wasn't too much work. I seem to have a mind that dwells on every little thing, wheter it be a story i recently wrote or a conversation, and something that I should have said. It's funny how things work out the way that they do, but I'll have basically forgotten about something, and then suddenly, out of the blue, my mind comes up with a brand new way to do things, or the write things. I guess it's just that whole thing about forgetting about something for a while, and the coming back to it, but it seems like somewhere I'm always re-working things.

Anyways, Glad you like it, and you can read the rest of the chapters (up till present) by the 'click to see possible related items' at the top of the page, about a centimetre above my avitar.