The Manger

A/N: For Galerius, Kylan, and smorgishborg's contest. (Links provided at the end to avoid spoilers.)


*

He sleeps. He's cold. But he has to sleep. He knows he's usually not cold when he sleeps – maybe this is not sleep. But it must be, because he's not eating. He's alone. Therefore, it's sleep. Not nice sleep, though – too cold. His face is stinging.

*

I don't like ants to be creeping up my legs when I make breakfast. Yesterday, when I opened the dishwasher, I was greeted by not only the steamy stench of clean utensils, but also an earlier undiscovered domain of ants that kept crawling over each other. There were loads. My sister had been scared of them.

I say "make breakfast" and I say "kitchen", but in reality I'm just trying to force the bread into edible pieces in the room where we keep it. Sometimes I don't, and then I'm hungry.

I wonder if the ants could be led out of the house somehow. Maybe make a path of syrup drops from the kitchen to the front door?

But when I've made it, I see all the ants settled on – and in – the syrup bottle that I forgot to close and return to the cupboard. If the bottle weren't almost full, I would just throw it away, with the ants on it. And then they would be gone.

"Dear?" The frail voice of my mother climbs over the threshold. Sometimes I wouldn't mind if she was gone, too. Still, she hasn't chosen to be taken care of. Her essence tells me she wants me to see people and start building my life. But I've stayed behind to make sure she's fine, because the corners of her eyes say that we can't afford any better. And if we did, well, then it would be obvious. Now we can just think of it as a flu.

If there hadn't been an upward intonation in her voice, I wouldn't go. And when I leave the room, the syrup on the floor clings to my soles.

*

Someone has again knocked over the trashcan when I step outside. My town isn't a metropolis, but there's always a handful of people who have a tendency to sabotage. It wasn't even windy last night.

The snow reaches higher up than yesterday. If I stepped off the street, I'd be standing knee-high in it. With my sister, we always made tunnels and burrows in the drifts, but I haven't felt like that in years. It simply doesn't interest me anymore.

Pushing the trashcan up makes even more noise when the street is empty. The lack of people isn't surprising – even though it's Saturday afternoon, it's biting and a snowy suburb isn't particularly an amusement park. I stand in the middle of the street with my back turned to the possible cars that might show up behind the curve. Maybe one of them will push me forward so I don't have to walk.

I wait for a minute or ten, but since nothing happens, I keep walking. All window blinds are down. I don't remember what I told her before I left.

There's a creamy house to my right that I have passed many times on my way to somewhere. All houses are creamy around here. I can't understand how people can live here knowing they're exactly like the next person.

Get out of here, I shout into the drowsiness. Get out of here and leave me alone. Usually dogs start to bark when I scream. But I can hear nothing. No footsteps in hallways and locked doors opening and go homes backed up with shaking fists.

I know people who've got the police after them. But shouting is not a crime.

*

"Hey, how's it."

There's a baby in the carriage in front of the creamy house. It's sleeping. I don't know why babies sleep outside in winter time. But this one's got a lot of clothes on.

"You know, I like you." Its nose is soft and cold. I think we might become friends. It's quite heavy when I lift it up and lean on the creamy wall to look at it closer, but it feels like a human. I hold it under its arms and weigh it up, down, up and down, like I remember they did to my sister.

It looks at me. It has blue eyes. I want to show it my favourite places. All the creamy houses and their front yards.

"You in?"

It doesn't look away. "Okay. I'm glad." So we go.

The first step I take with my friend almost lands on a piece of jewellery. We squat next to it, but it's just a lump of snow with sun on it.

"You don't talk much, do you? Me neither. I don't really like it. Some think I talk to myself though, but I don't – what's the fun in that? Once a woman wanted to take a walk with me because she thought I talked to myself lots, but I didn't go. I locked the door and put the lights out. I'll much rather walk with you."

I sit on the pavement. "You have time until you stop being lucky," I tell the baby. "When you're old, people don't want you to do anything or go anywhere anymore. I go because no one's holding me back, but they wouldn't want me to, you'll see."

Someone's turning the doorknob inside. I pounce back on my feet and it's not so heavy anymore. But I'm sure they're going to take it away. I start running. I'm so slow I can still hear how a terrified voice calls Elias and help. I only know it's terrified because I've heard terrified people before – the tones are screechy and out-of-breath. I only know I never want to sound like it.

"They don't want us to be friends."

It starts to wail.

"I know. I told you so. Looks like you had less time to be lucky than the average kid."

I was always told not to run on snow, because there can be ice under it and it's dangerous if you fall. But I'm quite pleased to notice how balanced I am. Maybe it's the baby that helps me stay on my feet.

The street feels like a wind tunnel with only one entrance that is behind us. It's so long, and everything around us blends into a creamy blur. I want to get away.

"We have to hide somewhere. And when they've calmed down, we can come back." It's still howling.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. We'll stop soon, I promise."

There's a little woods at the end of the street. No one's coming after us. I guess I just misheard things. But it's not a good idea not to hide anyway.

It's not until 20 feet and my two legs in the snow that I realise my footprints can be seen. Maybe we could find a better place. But when I'm about to step out of the woods and back in the street, the merciless blue lights on the roof of a car make me retreat.

It's not after me, I tell myself. Shouting is not a crime.

But I have to get away. I can't take my friend with me. They would take it. What I'll do is I hide my friend and come get it when they're gone.

The snow is like fire to my gloveless hands. "Listen, I need to go for a while," I explain to the parcel that is my friend. "I'll come get you. I promise. Just wait for me. Please."

The hole I've made looks like a manger, like the one Jesus slept in.

I place the baby in it. It has stopped crying. It makes me glad.

"You can wait here. I'll be right back. I promise."

Looking back I notice that my friend's colourful clothes stand out against the white snow. I can't have it. If the men in the car come here, they'll find it and take it away. I have to hide it better.

I'm extra careful when I start to scoop some snow on it. I'm not happy until I manage to cover it thoroughly.

"They won't find you now. I'll be right back. I promise. You'll be safe here. Just don't leave without me."

It's funny. The last time I made burrows in snow drifts was with my sister. We were playing hide-and-seek with someone I can't remember. I told her I'd hide her so well she'd win the game. And she did. We never found her again.

*

He sleeps. He's cold. But he has to sleep. He knows he's usually not cold when he sleeps – maybe this is not sleep. But it must be, because he's not eating. He's alone. Therefore, it's sleep. Not nice sleep, though – too cold. His face is stinging. And he's alone. He can't see her anymore. She held him. She liked him. But he's alone now.

*

"Dear?" The frail voice of my mother climbs over the threshold before I'm even properly in. I kick the shoes off my feet and warm up my hands on her cheeks.

"You're cold. Where have you been?"

"You're hot. I hope it's not fever."

"Where have you been?"

"I took a little walk. Out and about."

"Alone?"

"I was alone."

I was alone.

*

A minute or maybe an hour later, there's a knock on the door. Usually people go away when they realise the doorbell isn't working. But this one's stubborn.

"Dear?"

"I'm going."

The woman on the doorstep is beautiful. She has strong jaws and something shiny on her hand. What she says escapes me.

There's a man behind her. He takes a step toward me, but she holds him back. Sturdily. I think I want to be like her.

"Pardon?" I say.

"Would you come with us, please?"

She said 'please', and they look nice, so I go. They want me to walk between them. Our sides are almost touching.

"We have our reasons to suspect you of abducting a child," the woman says and I don't understand her. "A lady we talked to saw you running in the street with the boy in your arms. His mother is devastated. Do you have something to say concerning this?"

I don't say anything. I don't know what they're talking about, can't understand them.

"Look, kid, we need to know where you're keeping him. It's the middle of January. He won't survive for long," the man says. His outfit matches with the woman's.

I tell them how I found a friend today. Then we're again between the creamy houses. They oppress me. I want to go away, but then we meet another woman who's crying. She screams at me. I can't hear it, but I see her open mouth.

I don't know what they want me to do. Some men are approaching us. They have my friend. I don't know how they found it. But they did, and they took it away.

"He's alive. We all got very lucky," someone says.

Lucky. It stopped being lucky when we ran.

"I thought I hid it."

The woman – the one who is now holding it – sounds screechy and out-of-breath when she calls me things and I don't know why. I just wanted to be with my friend. Maybe it's because I shouted earlier in the street. But shouting is not a crime.

The woman who knocked on our door is talking and holding one hand on her ear. She says words that don't mean anything to me, floating in the air without a body. Just like everyone here. I can't understand how they can be there knowing they're exactly like the next person. In the middle of the creamy houses where everything is everything else. It makes it twice as bad.

You're robots, I shout. You're robots and you should get out of here. And then I do it myself. I run. They're probably after me. But I don't know why. I feel better when I shout, it helps me know that I'm not like the next person. It feels really good. And it's not a crime.

The hole I made doesn't look the same anymore. It's not as pretty and round and smooth as before, but it's empty and that's all I need. Maybe I have to be alone again, but at least I can be safe. They're not going to find me here. And I scoop some snow on me to prevent them from ever finding me. I'll disappear like my sister, and then I can be with her again. We haven't seen each other in a long time.

This is the manger and I'm the child in it. And under the Christmas star, the child falls asleep.


*

Spoiler

The articles on the case that inspired this story are here, here, and here. Since it's a Finnish case, I couldn't find any better English versions of it.

Hi Demeter!

How are you? I'm going to try things a little differently and give this a line by line critique, okay? Mostly because this a little long and it's going to be somewhat hard to sum up my general thoughts.

Demeter wrote:He sleeps. He's cold. But he has to sleep. He knows he's usually not cold when he sleeps – maybe this is not sleep. But it must be, because he's not eating. He's alone. Therefore, it's sleep. Not nice sleep, though – too cold. Face is stinging.

A few things. First, as noted by the boldface, you repeat the word sleep way too much. I understand it's a pivotal word in this beginning, but you have it six times in eight sentences-I'll bet you could condense it a little bit. Secondly, I'm not quite sure why this bit is in italics. I understand that you may want to differentiate this bit from the rest of the text, but try to do it some other way. Italics are a grammatical tool.

Thirdly, I just have no idea what you're talking about here. You mention sleeps. Then he's cold. Then he's not sleeping. I have no idea what you were going for with the "He must be sleeping because he's not eating" bit. We don't constantly eat when we're awake. Check your last sentence. It's a fragment.

There were loads.

This is redundant as you already refer to the ants in plural and we can sense that it's probably bad and there are a lot.

My sister had been scared of them.

This is kind of jarring. Elaborate on it a little bit more. Who is his sister? How old is she? How did she react exactly to the ants? Did she scream? Start shaking? Hug her brother? Show, don't tell.

I say "make breakfast" and I say "kitchen", but in reality I'm just trying to force the bread into edible pieces in the room where it's kept. Sometimes I don't, and then I'm hungry.

This is a bit confusing. If your MC can't afford food besides bread and doesn't have a real kitchen, how in heck does he have a dishwasher? They may not seem like much, but for someone with his social status, it would be a definite unattainable luxury.

I wonder if the ants could be led out of the house somehow. Maybe make a path of syrup drops from the kitchen to the front door?

I like this part. The idea made me chuckle slightly; it's cute and definitely plausible!

But when I've made it, I see all the ants settled on – and in – the syrup bottle that I forgot to close and return in the cupboard. If the bottle weren't almost full, I would just go and throw it away, with the ants on it. And then they would be gone.

But, why can't he? What difference does it make if the bottle is full or not? If they're attached to the syrup bottle and drinking it, I'm pretty sure that they'll stay attached to it.

"Dear?" The frail voice of my mother climbs over the threshold. Sometimes I wouldn't mind if she was gone, too. Still, she hasn't chosen to be taken care of. Her essence tells me she wants me to see people and start building my life. But I've stayed behind to make sure she's fine, because the corners of her eyes say that we can't afford any better. And if we did, well, then it would be obvious. Now we can just think of it as a flu.

I think you should slow down a little bit and expand upon the plot points that you introduce in this paragraph. So, the mother wants him to get out and do stuff, but he wants to stay behind and help his mother? That's potential for an entire short story, yet you cover it so quickly. And you just tell. Maybe what you could do is have his mother call him, and play out a scene between them that will bring up the plot points through dialogue. It would be a lot more realistic.

It wasn't even windy last night.

This is redundant. I think you established in the first couple of sentences that someone knocked over the garbage. Also, trashcan is two words.

Pushing the trashcan up makes even more noise when the street is empty.

This is also redundant. If there's less outside noise, whatever sound being made is going to seem more amplified because there isn't any background noise to match it against, right?

Maybe one of them will push me forward so I don't have to walk.

Wait, what? If you were pushed forward by a car you would die or get seriously injured.

There's a creamy house to my right that I have passed many times on my way to somewhere. All houses are creamy around here. I can't understand how people can live here knowing they're exactly like the next person.

If all houses are creamy, what makes the specific one that you mention? Also, you might want to mention cream-colored. I know no one is going to mistake these houses as being made out of whipped cream, but still, it makes you pause for a minute when you read through it. Also, when you say 'somewhere' in the first sentence, it's kind of awkward, like the narrator doesn't really know where he's going. Maybe "various places" would be better.

There's a baby in the carriage in front of the creamy house.

What creamy house? Aren't all the houses creamy?

I don't know why babies sleep outside in winter time. But this one's got a lot of clothes on.

I don't think that your narrator should be smart enough to know that babies don't have their own minds and are %100 percent dependent on their parents. And about the second sentence-should it really matter? Even if he has a lot of clothes on he can still be cold.

but it feels like a human.

Because babies aren't human? This is redundant.

I want to show it my favourite places. All the creamy houses and their front yards.

This is confusing, as you seem to establish that your narrator doesn't really like where he's living. And about the transition to the next park, how does the narrator make it clear to the baby that he's going to take him places? Also, this is just minor, but it's kind of annoying having your narrator refer to the baby as 'it'. I understand that he may not know the gender and may not want to get things wrong-but he should be able to recognize from the appearance of the baby whether it's male or female.

I'm so slow I can still hear how a terrified voice calls Elias and help. I only know it's terrified because I've heard terrified people before. The tones are screechy and out-of-breath.

You don't need this elaborate couple of sentences. Just tell us the tone is screechy and out-of-breath and I think we'll be able to pick up that he's terrified.

"I know. I told you so. Looks like you had less time to be lucky than the average kid."

I think this is kind of rude of your narrator. It's not a very nice thing to stay, especially at that kind of time. While the baby isn't going to understand anything, that still doesn't make it right.

Maybe it's the baby that helps me stay on my feet.

I'm not quite sure how this works. Wouldn't carrying a heavy object hinder his balance a little bit?

It's not until 20 feet and my two legs in the snow that I realise my footprints can be seen.

What I'll do is I hide my friend and come get it when they're gone.

This doesn't seem like a very good idea to me, leaving a baby who knows basically nothing all alone in the freezing cold? If he doesn't die before your narrator gets back, someone is going to find him. Surely your narrator is smarter then this.

Looking back I notice that my friend's colourful clothes stand out against the white snow. I can't have it. If the men in the car come here, they'll find it and take it away. I have to hide it better.

It's funny. The last time I made burrows in snow drifts was with my sister. We were playing hide-and-seek with someone I can't remember. I told her I'd hide her so well she'd win the game. And she did. We never found her again.

Wait a minute, whoa. Back up. Is the same sister you mention at the beginning of the story? Even if it's not, you mention something pretty big. The sister's death has obviously affected your narrator for him to mention it, so why don't you go into a little more detail about this event?

"I was alone."
I was alone.

I don't get why you feel the need to repeat this section. We know he's not lying.

The woman on the doorstep is beautiful. She has strong jaws and something shiny on her hand. What she says escapes me.

Strong jaws makes me thing muscular and crammed, not beautiful. Maybe mention something about her hair or eyes?

"We have our reasons to suspect you on abducting a child," the woman says and I don't understand her. "A lady we talked to saw you running in the street with the boy in your arms. His mother is devastated. What do you have to say concerning this?"

I don't say anything. I don't know what they're talking about, can't understand them.

"Look, kid, we need to know where you're keeping him. It's the middle of January. He won't survive for long," the man says. His outfit matches with the woman's.

I like how you're starting to address this, but I'm waiting to see a good explanation as to why your narrator doesn't know that abducting a child is a crime.

So, I'm going to stop now and give my general thoughts on the piece. It was okay, but over all it just left me cold. This is for a few reasons. You create such an interesting story with a narrator that obviously has some mental disability. Either that or he's very very young. Now, you may want to give your character an edge of mystery, but you should tie everything up in the end. If the article doesn't give a reason that this was committed, you should use your own imagination to structure reasons. A lot of fiction can be inspired by non-fiction, and although they should stay close to their source materials, their authors should take the liberty to make something like a news article, factual, boring, into an exciting, original story.

Basically yeah. I've rambled on for much too long now, and I think you can collect my other thoughts about this story from above. Hope this helps! I wish you best of luck in the contest, and you can PM me if you have any questions.

-Elinor xo

Elinor did a much better review than I can/have time for (sorry for not reviewing earlier!) since you need to submit this, but! Here are some thoughts:

Face is stinging.

This seems a little tacked on to an otherwise brilliant opening. I think “his face stings” would work better – blunter.

but in reality I'm just trying to force the bread into edible pieces in the room where it's kept.

I love the idea behind the sentence – but I don’t entirely understand it? Just trying to “force the bread into edible pieces”? I think this just needs to be made a little clearer.

Just after this, she goes outside – perhaps you could describe how cold it is, or how it’s no colder than inside. It would really build on the vulnerability she’s in.

But I have to get away. I can't take my friend with me. They would take it.

“it” should be “him” – otherwise, it’s as if the woman is treating the baby as an object, which kinds of mutes the relationship that you’ve been building up. Same with:

“"I thought I hid it.” / The woman – the one who is now holding it”

It’s up to you, of course – but I’d suggest you change them.

"We have our reasons to suspect you on abducting a child

= “... that you have abducted a child”. Seems a little forced, as you have it here.

The woman who knocked on our door is talking and holding one hand on her ear. She says words like "someone", "check", "living conditions", "obvious", and "sick".

I don’t like this bit. I’d rather you changed the first sentence to incorporate the idea that she says words about her, and then remove the second sentence, because the reader by this point has already worked out why she’s done this.

Demi? Brilliant. Honestly. It was very powerful, and the woman herself seemed so very natural and real. You could understand what she was doing, but more importantly why. She's been deprived from luxury; she has been haunted by the loss of her sister. And now, she's as numb mentally as she is physically from the snow.

Elinor made some great suggestions, but I don't think the overall message was lost in the piece's faults. Ah, I ramble.

Anyway! Sorry for being so vague and brief. But, you know I'm only a PM way.

Best
Blinky

Hey Dems!

Since I know you have to submit this tonight I'm just going to do a nit picky review and not all the overall stuff. Hope that's ok!

There were loads. - I feel like the word loads here doesn't fit well with the rest of the style of your writing in this piece, it feels a bit too ordinary so maybe you could find a replacement for it.

the syrup bottle that I forgot to close and return in the cupboard. - A better phrasing here would probably be 'and return to the cupboard.'

If the bottle weren't almost full, I would just go and throw it away - I think you could do without the go here and just have it 'I would throw it away' the sentence still makes sense without the go and flows a little better.

I stand in the middle of the street with my back turned at the possible cars that might show up behind the curve. - I think this would be better if it were 'with my back turned to possible cars'

No footsteps in hallways and door locks that open and go homes backed up with shaking fists. - The phrasing of the middle of this sentence is a little off, perhaps something like 'No Footsteps in hallways or locked doors being opened and go homes backed up with shaking fists.'

"Hey, how's it." - This first line of dialogue is a little odd. So is she asking something like "Hey, how's it going?" or is it just a way to say hello? either way I think you might need to change it for something different because I keep reading it over and over like How is it? How is what? If you see what I mean. Just doesn't seem like a natural thing to say.

I'll much rather walk with you. - It should probably be I'd and not I'll

It's so long, and everything around us blends into creamy blur. - it should probably be 'into a creamy blur'

What I'll do is I hide my friend and come get it when they're gone. - probably should be 'What I'll do is hide my friend'

She has strong jaws and something shiny on her hand. - probably should be 'She has a strong jaw'

"We have our reasons to suspect you on abducting a child," the woman says and I don't understand her. "A lady we talked to saw you running in the street with the boy in your arms. His mother is devastated. What do you have to say concerning this?" - This dialogue is a little odd and seems somewhat unnatural. The first line should probably be "We have reason to suspect you of abducting a child." and then the last line is a little odd too, maybe something more like "What do you have to say?" or "What do you have to say for yourself?" "Is this true?" or something like that.

"He's alive. We all got very lucky," someone says. - I'm not sure what you mean by we all got very lucky? Do you mean lucky they found him? If so then it should probably be something like "He's alive. Lucky we found him."

Ok I think that's it! I told you my opinion on the story earlier anyways! lol

Bex x

Phoenix lands to review.


*

He sleeps. He's cold. But he has to sleep. He knows he's usually not cold when he sleeps – maybe this is not sleep. But it must be, because he's not eating. He's alone. Therefore, it's sleep. Not nice sleep, though – too cold. Face is stinging.

I agree with Elinor on sleep being used too much.

"Dear?" The frail voice of my mother climbs over the threshold. Sometimes I wouldn't mind if she was gone, too. Still, she hasn't chosen to be taken care of. Her essence tells me she wants me to see people and start building my life. But I've stayed behind to make sure she's fine, because the corners of her eyes say that we can't afford any better. And if we did, well, then it would be obvious. Now we can just think of it as a flu.

This could be developed a lot. For example

Someone has again knocked over the trashcan when I step outside. My town isn't a metropolis, but there's always a handful of people who have a tendency to sabotage. It wasn't even windy last night.

Word choice: This dosen't seem to be the right word.

I can't understand how people can live here knowing they're exactly like the next person.

They people aren't the same the houses are the same. The way you have it set up makes it sound like you're saying the people are the same.

Someone's turning the doorknob inside. I pounce back on my feet and it's not so heavy anymore.

More is less. I jumped to my feet would work better because pounce indicates attacking. I picture a lion or other predator pouncing.

The street feels like a wind tunnel with only one entrance that is behind us. It's so long, and everything around us blends into creamy blur. I want to get away.

The hole I've made looks like a manger, like the one Jesus slept in.

Calling it a manger already alludes to Jesus. Actually saying it is redundant.

I'm extra careful when I start to scoop some snow on it. I'm not happy until I manage to cover it thoroughly.

Wow.

It's funny. The last time I made burrows in snow drifts was with my sister. We were playing hide-and-seek with someone I can't remember. I told her I'd hide her so well she'd win the game. And she did. We never found her again.

How didn't they find her again elaborate. I mean the snow melts and the body should easily turn up.

"You're cold. Where have you been?"

"You're hot. I hope it's not fever."

"Where have you been?"

Wait did your character say the one in the middle. If not then why is it separated?

"I took a little walk. Out and about."

"Alone?"

"I was alone."

I was alone.

All these quotes need tags. Including the one I quoted above.

The woman on the doorstep is beautiful. She has strong jaws and something shiny on her hand. What she says escapes me.

I may be wrong but don't you have only one jaw.

"We have our reasons to suspect you on abducting a child," the woman says and I don't understand her. "A lady we talked to saw you running in the street with the boy in your arms. His mother is devastated. What do you have to say concerning this?"

Why was the child out in the open anyway.

I don't say anything. I don't know what they're talking about, can't understand them.

I guess it's fair to say this character has a psychological problem.


I like this a lot, but the beginning is a bit confusing. I had to read it a few times to fully understand what was going on due to the narrators frame of mind.

I think it is all a bit rushed and slowing down a bit would make the beginning a little less confusing.

Overall the story is very good and the narrators thought process intrigued me.

Dems. You're crazy to think that this sucks and mine is "so much better". xD

I don't have time (or material to complain about, actually) for a full critique, but I thought I'd scope out the competition, and I am now officially depressed! This was marvelous. And I really don't say that lightly. And now I'm going to try to help make it even better. What's wrong with me?

I think the main thing that could lead to some confusion is that the mental issues and declining sanity are a little under-played. Almost too subtle, you know? I could tell that this character is meant to be not-all-there because of certain phrases and the general plot progression, but you're working with first person, and you can afford to take another step in that direction. This is propelled by the atmosphere of the narration, that eccentric tone, and although it was done really well I think you should heighten up the weirdness. You can do this by adding more run-ons and fragments to create a more disjointed pace.

Some of your sentences make too much sense, as well, for this narrator. For someone who's so far gone that they can't tell that burying a child in the snow is really, really wrong, they keep up with other, more complicated things. An example is her realizing that the footsteps might give her away.

Also, she says that she wants to show the baby her favourite places, like the creamy houses (love love love that repetition, by the way) but later she starts to hate the robots and their creamy houses that're all the same. Clarify.

Finally, I had some trouble figuring out what gender and what age the character was. I originally envision her as late middle-age with a really old, elderly mother, so you may want to clarify. And I had no idea as to gender until I skimmed the article-- mention maybe "we were sisters" to express that they were both girls.

As an observation, our entries have some similar points. ^_^ Both are about mental insanity and sisters that are important to the MC.

Anyway, fabulous! I'm so angry at you right now.

~Evi!

I would be angry at you too, actually, since like Evi, I see no reason in why I went and wrote mine, considering all the marvellous entries I'v already seen - but that's just it: it was marvellous, and that's why I can't really be annoyed. Only thankful that you posted it, since it was a delight to read.

Everyone else has already done a thorough review, so I saw no need to go and nitpick every little thing again - I'm sure yu've tidied it up fit for the contest already, actually. I just wanted to express my enjoyment in reading this. The character's madness is subtle, so they appear easy enough to relate to - until they start doing weird things - and even then, the plot is described in such a way that it sort of makes a twisted kind of sense, if you get my meaning. And, like your poems, it is deliciously intimate, while still retaining a pleasant air of mystery.

I find it funny that Elinor thought the MC was a man, while the others, myself included, thought it was a woman - probably from the 'Dear' form of address used, plus the baby-abduction is something I'd expect a mad woman to do. The age can be left vague - it's not really central to the story anyway - although I did wonder. A little.

Anyway, other than that, I thought it was very plot driven - again, understandable, considering the MC is crazy, so characterisation has to be done more through action than thought and speech, which might immediately alert us to the fact that something is 'not quite right'. But I like to see things tied up neatly - well, as neat as they can be, given the madness of the woman - how does the paranoia about ants fit in with the baby-abducation episode? Other than the fact they both highlight her madness, I didn't think they slotted in that well - the ants part was interesting to read, but I felt like it might have been there for the sake of itself.

DE TOUTE FACON - that's not really meant to be a review - just some thoughts that came too late(I'm sorry, I was out all day ), and best of luck for the competition!

Hey Ceres!

I say "make breakfast" and I say "kitchen", but in reality I'm just trying to force the bread into edible pieces in the room where we keep it. Sometimes I don't, and then I'm hungry.

This doesn't make sense!

Also, the dishwasher comment implies that the ants are coming from the dishwasher, which clearly doesn't happen... the ants would die!

Sometimes, you have a bunch of passive voice lines... active voice is better!

Also, watch out for past tense... I saw one line that was in past tense when it shouldn't have been. Can't find it now, but it's there!

Otherwise, very nice story!