The Widow (Please review!)

Today you were murdered. Fourteen years ago on this very day. It doesn't feel like such a long time has passed. It feels like the police officer was just here yesterday, two hands placed firmly on my shoulders, telling me to control myself for God's sake, for the sake of the little children; that you'd been found in the river. floating face down for hours and hours. That you'd been shot thirteen times all over your body, that they couldn't take hysterical me to identify you because of your face.
"Christ almighty, his face..." The police officer had muttered, shaking his head at whatever grotesque image flashed across his mind. Instead of your face, they'd shoved your blue shirt into my hands, the shirt you'd worn that very day. The shirt I'd gifted you on our anniversary.
"That his?" The man at the morgue had asked, filing his nails with a bored expression on his face, chewing gum like a cow.
And I'd slapped him right there. Right then. Hard. He'd stumbled backwards, an expression of utter shock replacing the bored one. The police officer had held me back from clawing that hostile man's face out, had taken me outside, given me water. They all blamed it on trauma. I blamed it on them . Why did they have to find you? If only they'd searched and searched and given up, putting down your disappearance to abduction. At least, there would've been the possibility of you being alive somewhere. Alive. Breathing. At least I wouldn't have to break down every time the little ones asked when you were coming back. Who could have done such a terrible thing? You didn't have any enemies, that I'm sure of. Then why? Did the criminal know how many other lives he had ruined by taking away one? Money? Was that the motive? Why couldn't the criminal have just taken the wallet and spared your life? Was that too difficult?

They're not little ones anymore. They're all grown up, dear. They understand (hopefully) that you've gone to heaven because God was getting awfully lonely and needed the company of good, intellectual men. I look at the world outside and day by day, it's getting worse. It needs people like you, dear. People who have felt the real pain shoot through them. We're all here today, by your grave and...No, I mustn't lie. I'm here alone. The children are off to their own activities. By missing your love, they have forgotten you. I'm the only one who comes by willingly to visit you, to put fresh flowers - roses, your favourite. And every time I visit, I try not to cry. But I can't. The tears flow out abruptly and endlessly; they're all the moments you weren't there, smiling and laughing about at silly trifles. Funny isn't it? You used to joke around and say you'd outlive me because you were "oh so young and handsome". We'd laugh at that. No one knows when a demon straight out of hell is going to arrive at your doorstep and just shoot you off with a .45 caliber. I have to go now, dearest. The kids have probably returned home by now. One more thought before I leave. I must say, taking a part-time job at the laundry has really given be some benefits. I take your blue shirt every weekend and have it laundered for free. It's just a little preparation, you know. When I join you, I want to see you in that blue shirt.
And then you can show me around our new home.

Great opener. Pointed and vivid.

that they couldn't take hysterical me to identify you because of your face.

The "hysterical me" part is slightly off-putting. It took me a double take to figure out what you meant. Perhaps you might reconsider putting the hysterical aspect in an easier to understand syntax. "That I was too hysterical to see your remains because of your face" or something.

I'm not a huge fan of the past perfect tense ("had verbed"), especially when you contract it. Lines like this:
"they'd shoved your blue shirt"
"The man at the morgue had asked"
"And I'd slapped him right there"
"He'd stumbled backwards"
"The police officer had held me back...had taken me outside, given me water."

The past perfect tense is not nearly as straightforward and powerful as the past tense. The past perfect tense is meant to be coupled with another event that has a relationship with the main idea. Like:
"I had not lived before today" or "She couldn't compete because she had broken her leg."
Used alone to say, "I had punched a cow" or "I'd punched a cow" just sounds weird and not as compelling as "I punched a cow."
And furthermore, I found myself second guessing your meaning, thinking I read "I'd slapped him" as "I would slap him."

I blamed it on them . Why did they have to find you? If only they'd searched and searched and given up, putting down your disappearance to abduction. At least, there would've been the possibility of you being alive somewhere. Alive.

This part was powerful. I liked it. Also, the past perfect tense is being used in a logical way. "If only they had searched [before giving up]."

Then why? Did the criminal know how many other lives he had ruined by taking away one? Money? Was that the motive? Why couldn't the criminal have just taken the wallet and spared your life? Was that too difficult?

I think anyone would realize that to shoot someone 13 times is in the realm of psychotic/crime of passion. Your average mugger/robber/or any criminal has no need or desire to shoot a man more than once...let alone 13 times...especially in the face. So the whole bit about "Was it for money?" seems a bit superfluous.

They understand (hopefully) that you've gone to heaven because God was getting awfully lonely and needed the company of good, intellectual men.

I understand that the kids are at least 16 or 17 years old (with 14 years having passed and with the kids being able to talk at the time of the murder). You'd think that any teen who grew up so long without a father would not be so gullible to think that his father's brutal murdering wasn't simply because God was lonely. Seems more like something a 6-year-old would "understand." Y'know, kinda like doggy heaven.

I look at the world outside and day by day, it's getting worse.

Any elaboration on how it's getting worse?

People who have felt the real pain shoot through them.

And I'm not sure what this line even means.

shoot you off

That's a strange wording. Especially the "off" part.

No one knows when a demon straight out of hell is going to arrive at your doorstep and just shoot you off with a .45 caliber. I have to go now, dearest. The kids have probably returned home by now. One more thought before I leave. I must say, taking a part-time job at the laundry has really given be some benefits. I take your blue shirt every weekend and have it laundered for free.

That section is all over the place. "No one knew you'd be shot. I have to go. One more thing. 'I must say' this part-time job at the laundry has really given [me] some benefits."
I suggest:
1) putting some more thought into the "No one knew you'd be shot" part and
2) Taking out the "I have to go, dearest, the kids have probably returned home by now, one more thought." That whole thing is very formal and weird. She's almost being funny here, but she's saying it so stiffly.

So that's it. Lemme know if you have questions.

Hiya,

So there are a lot of things I really like and a lot of things that I really don't like about this story. It's definitely very sweet and a lot of it feels realistic, because gruesome murder cases like this have happened and you seem to capture it well. On the other hand, a lot of it feels rushed and unfocused, which are a lot of the same problems which plagued the first draft of a similar story of mine. You have two major themes throughout the piece, that of a gruesome murder and terrible sadness. You start out strong with the murder, and just seem to forget it and talk about how sad the wife is. essentially did the same thing. Decide which theme you want to focus on more with the story. With the second draft of my story, I decided to focus more on the murder, while also showing how sad everyone was at the same time.

Sargsauce already caught most of qualms regarding this piece, so before I end, I also wanted to mention something about your ending. I can see why the wife would be sad and in mourning. But would she really want to commit suicide after fourteen years? While I can see her being extremely depressed and having suicidal tendencies, I think people would notice; her co-workers/boss, her parents and her kids. Besides, she's got to be in her mid-to-late thirties at-least, so it seems to me that she would be a bit more level-headed then love-struck.

By doing this, she also comes off to me as selfish. What about her kids? They may have been young when their father was killed, but they'll learn eventually what happened and wish they would have grown up with a father. Their mother is all they have; and she just doesn't consider how taking her life would affect them. Just because they're busy and don't want to visit their father's grave doesn't mean they don't care.

Hope this helps! PM me me if you have any questions--I'd love to see a revision of this.

-Elinor x

Hello peeps ^^
Thank you for commenting.
sargsauce, Thanks for explaining I'm going to start editing this version soon and notify you when it's complete. Thanks a lot for your help!
Elinor, I see now where Ive gone wrong. Though I didn't intend for the woman to come off as a suicidal person, I see that it sure implies her to be.

Thank you both! <3
The edited version will be coming out soon.
x

Hi Huff Puff! I'm here upon request. Sorry I haven't gotten around to writing your review yet.

All of the technical stuff has been pretty much cleared up, so I'll just give a general review. I like the premise of the story very much. Yet somehow, it's too simple to me. Wouldn't the wife be a prime suspect in the murder case, especially with the way she had been acting out against the police? Shouldn't there have been some sort of a trial or at least an investigation?

To make a story sad, you need to endear the readers to the characters. You need to make us love the husband. And just hearing about how he died doesn't necessarily make us sad. What was it about him? Perhaps you could describe some incidents before his death that [strong]show[/show] his intellect, charm, beauty, or whatever his traits may be. Remember, "show not tell" is key.

And other than that, you did a great job! *Applause* Keep writing! I'm eager to read the edited version.

Hello, I'm skutter and I'll be your reveiwer for today! Red for grammar and spelling, green for everything else, ok?

Today you were murdered. Fourteen years ago on this very day. It doesn't feel like such a long time has passed. It feels like the police officer was just here yesterday, two hands placed firmly on my shoulders, telling me to control myself for God's sake, for the sake of the little children; that you'd been found in the river. Floating face down for hours and hours. That you'd been shot thirteen times all over your body, Without the "they" it sounds better, I think they couldn't take hysterical me In all honesty, I find this line a bit wierd. to identify you, because of your face.

"Christ almighty, his face..." The police officer had muttered, shaking his head at whatever grotesque image flashed across his mind. Instead of your face, they'd shoved your blue shirt into my hands, the shirt you'd worn that very day. The shirt I'd "given" would read more fluidly here you on our anniversary.

"Is that his?" The man at the morgue had asked, filing his nails with a bored expression on his face, chewing gum like a cow.

And I'd slapped him right there. Right then. Hard. He'd stumbled backwards, an expression of utter shock replacing the bored one. The police officer had held me back from clawing that hostile man's face out, had taken me outside, given me water. They all blamed it on trauma. I blamed it on them. Why did they have to find you? If only they'd searched and searched and given up, putting down your disappearance to abduction. At least, there would've been the possibility of you being alive somewhere. Alive. Breathing. At least I wouldn't have to break down every time the little ones asked when you weren't coming back. Who could have done such a terrible thing? You didn't have any enemies, that I'm sure of. Then why? Did the criminal know how many other lives he had ruined by taking away one? Money? Was that the motive? Why couldn't the criminal have just taken the wallet and spared your life? Was that too difficult?

They're not little ones anymore. They're all grown up, dear. They understand (hopefully) that you've gone to heaven because God was getting awfully lonely and needed the company of good, intellectual men. I look at the world outside and day by day, it's getting worse. It needs people like you, dear. People who have felt this reads better, trust me! real pain shoot through them. We're all here today, by your grave and...No, I mustn't lie. I'm here alone. The children are off to their own activities. By missing your love, they have forgotten you. I'm the only one who comes by willingly to visit you, to put fresh flowers - roses, your favourite. And every time I visit, I try not to cry. But I can't. The tears flow out abruptly and endlessly; they're all the moments you weren't there, smiling and laughing about at silly trifles. Funny isn't it? You used to joke around and say you'd outlive me because you were "oh so young and handsome".We'd laugh at that. No one knows when a demon straight out of hell is going to arrive at your doorstep and just shoot you off with a .45 caliber. I have to go now, dearest. The kids have probably returned home by now. One more thought before I leave. I must say, taking a part-time job at the laundry has really given be some benefits. I take your blue shirt every weekend and have it laundered for free. It's just a little preparation, you know. When I join you, I want to see you in that blue shirt.

And then you can show me around our new home.

I quite enjoyed this story and felt real empathy for the character/ Good job and keep writing!