Bullet Wounds

So this is a short story I submitted for Skins' contest Review/comment. Thankss (:

I didn’t mean for anyone to get hurt. Yet there’s blood smattered on the pristine white walls and all over the cold, hard
floor. I can’t think. I can’t breathe. The weight of the coal black gun is heavy in my hands. It’s coated with a sticky substance---blood, maybe. All around the library, bodies are slumped over. Red is everywhere I look, it covers everything I see. “Good,” Trevor says, as he saunters in the library with his own gun. “I thought you would chicken out.” He counts the bodies. One, two, three, four. . . On and on he counts. There are eleven casualties in all. Eleven. How could I, Raleigh Goode, kill eleven innocent people? Some part of me wants to snap at my conscious: They deserved it. Some of them were mean. But then again, some of them weren’t. Like Chelsea Osborn, the nicest girl in school who was due to graduate in two weeks with honors and valedictorian. Even in the last few weeks of school, she was studying a book when she was shot. Unexpectedly, I might add. Her hair covered her face as her head fell onto the table. I choke back sobs. No one deserves to die.
“Hey,” Trevor snaps, his eyes flashing violently. Instantly, even with the power of a gun in my hands, I recoil. Trevor is liable to kill me. He hates everyone. And I’m just a pawn in his little game. I wish I’d never met him at that party three months ago, never given myself to him, never trailed behind him like a puppy. “This is no time to be wistful. What’s done is done,” Trevor says slowly, gesturing to the people I’d murdered. I was a murderer. And I’d killed people for no reason. Trevor presses me against him, his lips on mine. This was his way of reassuring me. Every kiss made me melt. But I didn’t want to kill anyone else. I want to curl up and hide. His lip ring grazes my lips again and he flips his charcoal black hair out of his beautiful green eyes. “Come on, Raleigh Goode. We have some more damage to do,” Trevor says, tugging on my hand playfully as if we were playing Halo in his basement.
I never liked my name. Raleigh Goode sounds like ‘Really Good’ and I’m anything but. With this gun in my hand and the piercing in my bellybutton and the tattoo on my ankle, I’m a rebel. And I don’t have a reason, except I fell madly in love with this rebel guy. Trevor rakes his fingers through his hair. “Come on, Raleigh.” Trevor urges, jumping on his toes. How had I become so bad? Just last year I was blond, beautiful, and captain of the LAX team. Now I was dark haired, edgy, and I was in charge of nothing. Not even my life. “We have to hurry! The cops will be here soon,” Trevor’s voice is getting annoyed more and more. I glance around at the bodies. I see a girl on the floor, blinking nervously. Her stomach is bleeding, gushing red. She’s scared. Just as scared as I am. I realize then how wrong this is. It’s Columbine. Maybe even worse. And they’ll remember me as the girl who killed eleven.
“I can’t,” I tell Trevor, my legs wobbling beneath me. My eyes focus on the struggling girl. She didn’t do anything and now she’s trying to stay alive. And I shot her. I shot her. The words sink in. “I can’t do this.” Trevor’s eyes narrow and he grimaces.
“Either you come with me, or I’m going to kill you,” Trevor threats, thinking I’ll come along. I refuse to move. My legs are shaking and my heart is pounding. The gun is in my hand. I feel its’ weight, I feel its’ power. Trevor raises his gun. And suddenly, I realize, if he kills me, he’ll just kill everyone else too. He’s got to be the one to die, not me. I aim. And there’s one trigger pulled. One bullet fired. One life taken. And it’s not mine.

trhwrites wrote:So this is a short story I submitted for SKin's contest Review/comment. Thankss (:

Probably should take this author's note out/put it in spoilers. Also, when writing an author's note, take care to write everything correctly. You don't want the reader's first reaction to be, "zomg, they capitalized the 'k' in Skins name, and added another 's' to the end of 'thanks' for no apparent reason!"

Other things I noticed straight away:

1) You have little paragraph breaks. Whenever a new person speaks, generally you should place a new line. Whenever a new idea is introduced, this idea should have its own paragraph. For example, if you've been talking about roses for a few sentences, then start to talk about horses, the sentence that starts talking about horses is the place for a new paragraph. In terms of starting a new paragraph for dialogue, this:

The weight of the coal black gun is heavy in my hands. It’s coated with a sticky substance---blood, maybe. All around the library, bodies are slumped over. Red is everywhere I look, it covers everything I see. “Good,” Trevor says, as he saunters in the library with his own gun. “I thought you would chicken out.” He counts the bodies. One, two, three, four. . . On and on he counts.

Becomes this:

The weight of the coal black gun is heavy in my hands. It’s coated with a sticky substance---blood, maybe. All around the library, bodies are slumped over. Red is everywhere I look, it covers everything I see.

“Good,” Trevor says, as he saunters in the library with his own gun. “I thought you would chicken out.” He counts the bodies. One, two, three, four. . . On and on he counts.

2) When I skimmed over this, I saw the words: gun, blood, casualties. Then in the next blocky paragraph I saw the words: kiss, melt. Probably not the best combination...

On to the review

I didn’t mean for anyone to get hurt. Yet there’s blood smattered splattered on the pristine white walls and all over the cold, hard floor. I can’t think. I can’t breathe.

Like Chelsea Osborn, the nicest girl in school who was due to graduate in two weeks with honors and valedictorian. Even in the last few weeks of school, she was studying a book when she was shot. Unexpectedly, I might add. Her hair hadcovered her face as her head fell onto the table.

Not quite sure I understand this. The last three sentences are confusing to read. I think you meant, "Chelsea was shot studying, despite the fact that there were only a few weeks left of school." At the moment, if you remove the comma you get, "Even in the last few weeks of school she was studying a book when she was shot." It makes no sense. Also, who shot her? If it was the main character, then say so.

“Hey,” Trevor snaps, his eyes flashing violently. Instantly, even with the power of a gun in my hands, I recoil. Trevor is liable to kill me. He hates everyone. And I’m just a pawn in his little game. I wish I’d never met him at that party three months ago, never given myself to him, never trailed behind him like a puppy. “This is no time to be wistful. What’s done is done,” Trevor says slowly, gesturing to the people I’d murdered. I was a murderer. And I’d killed people for no reason. Trevor presses me against him, his lips on mine. This was his way of reassuring me. Every kiss made me melt. But I didn’t want to kill anyone else. I want to curl up and hide. His lip ring grazes my lips again and he flips his charcoal black hair out of his beautiful green eyes. “Come on, Raleigh Goode. We have some more damage to do,” Trevor says, tugging on my hand playfully as if we were playing Halo in his basement.

Careful of overusing adverbs.

Wow, this was a nice read. I'm not quite sure why you didn't place paragraph breaks at all the dialogue points, but other than that and the few errors I noticed, this was really well written. I can't help but think of a few questions/statements.

* if she is a rebel only because she can be one, that doesn't provide enough motivation to suddenly shoot up a school (which is what I think happened)
* things like this don't happen today without the shooters committing suicide. There would simply be too much evidence at the scene that would convict these two people to prison for life/execution. It just doesn't happen. Maybe if this was in Africa or Zimbabwe, or if this was set years ago, maybe. But today?
* where did they get the guns? How would they bring those guns into the school?

Reply to this thread with any comments/answers/questions.

Thanks for the interesting read,
- Jai

Hello thar, I am Azrael and I am part of the Four Musketeers, pleased to make your acquaintance. I am here to review and reivew I shall. Let's get the show on the road! Before we start I need to warn you, my reviewing style is described as: Cruel to be Kind.

trhwrites wrote:I didn’t mean for anyone to get hurt. Yet there’s blood smattered on the pristine white walls and all over the cold, hard
floor. I can’t think. I can’t breathe.

Okay, first question: why is this in like... half-italics? It doesn't need to be, doesn't warrant such a use of it and just plainly the italics do nothing. Secondly, well, very attention-grabbing first sentence bar the aforementioned.

The weight of the coal black gun is heavy in my hands. It’s coated with a sticky substance---blood, maybe. All around the library, bodies are slumped over.

Coal black? I really... for some reason I blanch at that description. Use something a little more, what's the word... familiar. Who really knows exactly what coal black is? Only one hyphen is needed... ever. Okay, a new question for you. How does she know it's sticky? Remember this is first person. You need to immerse us into your characters mind. Maybe something like, "The feel of some sticky substance coats it - blood, maybe."

Red is everywhere I look, it covers everything I see.

Please give me an explanation of "everything I see," so that I know what's red. Or you could say, "it's the only thing I see." Which would take out the need for a scene description. Also, everytime a person speaks need to be on a new line.

“Good,” Trevor says, as he saunters in the library with his own gun., “I thought you would chicken out.”

If you want to continue speech put a comma.

He counts the bodies. One, two, three, four. . . On and on he counts. There are eleven casualties in all. Eleven.

How does he count them? Pointing the gun? Kicking them over? Eyes flickering on each one coldly? At this point all I see is this guy standing there and I don't even know what he's doing, except that there's a possibility (though low probability) that he's counting something.

How could I, Raleigh Goode, kill eleven innocent people?

No. Just... no. Please. Never have the character refer to themself in third person, even though it may tell you their name. Maybe a little description of her instead of her name would be more ideal. Like - "How could I, me - voted best smile, kill eleven innocent people?"

Some part of me wants to snap at my consciousconscience: They deserved it. Some of them were mean. But then again, some of them weren’t.

I don't think I should say this, but... what petty feelings does this girl have? Some of them were mean? Really? The deserved it? I know you tried to fix this up later, but... those thoughts aren't strong. They barely have enough weight in them to even think about, let alone use as something to back up an action.

Like Chelsea Osborn, the nicest girl in school who was due to graduate in two weeks with honors and
valedictorian. Even in the last few weeks of school, she was studying a book when she was shot.

I had to read this a couple of times. The last sentence is all out of wack. Really. A "though" should be after "Even." Please rewrite the sentence so that the "though" fits there.

Unexpectedly, I might add.

Do you ever [i]expect to be shot? Who does!?! This seems sort of ridiculous. If you're ever shot its mostly unexpected.

Her hair covered her face as her head fell onto the table. I choke back sobs. No one deserves to die.

I'm lost. Is your character thinking about her death? Or did she just kill her? Also - choking back sobs... how does she do this? I've never had the opportunity, so please explain.

“Hey,” Trevor snaps, his eyes flashing violently. Instantly, even with the power of a gun in my hands, I recoil. Trevor is liable to kill me. He hates everyone. And I’m just a pawn in his little game.

I don't know about you, but the word "Hey" doesn't seem like a snap to me. If there were an exclamation mark, maybe I would reconsider, but otherwise, pick a more snappy word. Also... the word liable doesn't seem to fit. I don't know, maybe it's just me.

I wish I’d never met him at that party three months ago, never given myself to him, never trailed behind him like a puppy.

Did she fall in love with him? Also, you probably wouldn't call yourself a puppy. And thoughts would probably more bitter and judging by the age of your character it should be filled with swearing and obscenities.

“This is no time to be wistful. What’s done is done,” Trevor says slowly, gesturing to the people I’d murdered. I was a murderer. And I’d killed people for no reason. Trevor presses me against him, his lips on mine. This was his way of reassuring me. Every kiss made me melt.

Your use of murder twice in one paragraph so near each other makes me shudder. Never use similiar words in such close proximity, it feels repetitive. Okay, I'm getting this now. The girl is in it for the smex?

But I didn’t want to kill anyone else. I want to curl up and hide. His lip ring grazes my lips again and he flips his charcoal black hair out of his beautiful green eyes. “Come on, Raleigh Goode. We have some more damage to do,” Trevor says, tugging on my hand playfully as if we were playing Halo in his basement.

New line for new speaker.

I never liked my name. Raleigh Goode sounds like ‘Really Good’ and I’m anything but. With this gun in my hand and the piercing in my bellybutton and the tattoo on my ankle, I’m a rebel. And I don’t have a reason, except I fell madly in love with this rebel guy.

I didn't get that she was in love with him. I didn't see any sort of attachment nor feelings between them. Except maybe "melt". And if that is all that makes one a rebel, then I'm about half-way there! Also, maybe as a play on words you can have the word "cause" instead of "reason". (You know... rebel without a cause?) Hmmm, I want to add that "this rebel guy" isn't a very apt description of anyone.

Trevor rakes his fingers through his hair. “Come on, Raleigh.” Trevor urges, jumping on his toes. How had I become so bad? Just last year I was blond, beautiful, and captain of the LAX team. Now I was dark haired, edgy, and I was in charge of nothing. Not even my life.

Jumping on his toes? How does one succeed in doing this? Does he do ballet? Your character seems very... self-admiring in this part. And the comparisons are a little over done. I don't need a complete blast of then and now. Maybe bits sprinkled about everywhere, but not a sudden burst of them.

“We have to hurry! The cops will be here soon,” Trevor’s voice is getting annoyed more and more. I glance around at the bodies. I see a girl on the floor, blinking nervously. Her stomach is bleeding, gushing red. She’s scared. Just as scared as I am. I realize then how wrong this is. It’s Columbine. Maybe even worse. And they’ll remember me as the girl who killed eleven.

I don't see Trevor as one who can get "annoyed", irritated maybe, but not annoyed. Annoyed would suit someone who's being bugged by a fly. Okay, is the girl blinking nervously or the character? If its the girl, why "nervously"? Really? If I were shot, with my innards gushing out, I'd be perfectly pertrified! I'm not sure a stomach would bleed red so much... I think a little research into the human body wouldn't go astray here.

“I can’t,” I tell Trevor, my legs wobbling beneath me. My eyes focus on the struggling girl. She didn’t do anything and now she’s trying to stay alive. And I shot her. I shot her. The words sink in. “I can’t do this.” Trevor’s eyes narrow and he grimaces.

He grimaces? Why him? Also, it wouldn't be words sinking in. It would be something along the lines of "the reality of the situation" doing the sinking. And, I'd like to add that you need to describe thing.

“Either you come with me, or I’m going to kill you,” Trevor threats, thinking I’ll come along. I refuse to move. My legs are shaking and my heart is pounding. The gun is in my hand. I feel its’ weight, I feel its’ power. Trevor raises his gun. And suddenly, I realize, if he kills me, he’ll just kill everyone else too. He’s got to be the one to die, not me. I aim. And there’s one trigger pulled. One bullet fired. One life taken. And it’s not mine. [/i]

I like your ending, however I think taking away the last sentence will make this story even better. It will leave the audience to chose their own ending.

Overall:

I thought it was interesting. It has potential. Your characters seem a little flat, but I suppose you can only develop characters so much in short stories. I like the plot and emotional conflict that your character undergoes, but I think you could explain everything so much better. Take your time. This is a already a short story, adding little things here and there and expanding it will only make it a longer short story, so don't be afraid to have a little length. You need to fix up your writing and the such, but I could find no spelling errors (which I assure you is a very fine thing indeed). But I have to ask you a question, is this story written to your full capacity? And I shall leave you with that.

Have A Nice Day,
Azrael.