Young Writers Society

I often wonder why Mummy never came back.
You were only a baby at the time and I was just a kid myself, to be honest. I was certainly an optimistic six year old, and you were my little sister, so I had to make sure you didn't get sad. I couldn't always keep you happy though, especially when the big wide world got too much. I wished that grown ups told you about the real world when you were little, when you still had the chance to prepare for it. Mummy never really warned you though. I don't think she warned me either.
I was staring at you in my arms with my emotions shattering as every rain drop splashed against my paper-thin skin. Your bright eyes had dulled down in the grey lighting, and your hair was so blonde, it could have easily been mistaken for an angelic white. It fell flat to your head, sticking to your boiling forehead. You were a beautiful little girl, but right now, your pale face made you look like an old rag doll.
I didn’t understand. Mummy had told me that she was going to help us build a rocket. Fly us to the moon was what she said. That was something like twenty minutes ago. Mummy never did come back though, and she just left us waiting in our not-so-rocket-like-box. It was a good thing we were behind that club with all of the really loud music, and the people who were yelling at each other with those special drinks (like the ones Mummy said she drank to make her happy) in their hands, otherwise we would have looked awfully out of place. I stared at the rubbish that was stacked up against the brick wall as some of the wrappers often blew away from the pile. There were a couple of other boxes as well, ones that didn't look too different form our rocket. The sun was gone now, and I could smell something funny, something stale in the air around us.
The box was a little uncomfortable for me and you didn’t like it very much either. That might have been why you started crying, Jodie. I tried to shush you like Mummy did, but it didn’t work, no matter how hard I tried. I started shouting like Mummy did too, but that only made you cry louder. You kept on crying and crying. It was okay though because it got to the point where I could drown your shrieks out and pretend that we were, in fact, on our way to the moon in our magical rocket.
You started smiling when I made all of the space noises. By pressing all of the special buttons, we set off to the moon in our cardboard box. We passed a billion stars, gazed at the universe, watched the sun as it ruled the galaxy, and were back in time for noon.
That was when it started to rain, and our rocket was no match for the raindrops that fell from the grey sky like meteorites. You started crying again, but this time, the rocket wouldn’t start back up. It wasn't fair; I wasn't supposed to let you get sad. I was just wishing Mummy would come back. She was always good at making you smile, even when she was drinking her special drinks and eating her grown up tablets that made her eyes be really big and open. She told us that those tablets helped make sure she could see us all the time, but it was weird because I always thought they made her talk funny until she got sleepy.
I don’t remember much after that. There's a vague memory of the box moving and waking me up, but I didn't know that I'd been asleep until then. Maybe it was the rocket starting back up. There were warm hands on me as well, hands that took you from my wet arms. I mumbled something. I think I told them to leave us alone. The hands took hold of me then though and lifted me up. The hairs were sticking up straight on my arms like tiny daggers while I tried to get away when the hands removed me from our rocket, but my memory struggles to remember what was happening exactly. The only clear thing I remember is waking up and seeing a pair of bright eyes looking back at me. We weren’t in our rocket anymore, and you were nowhere to be seen. All around me were lots and lots of white lights, and there were strange machines that kept on beeping loudly. It didn't make sense.
I gazed up at the eyes that were watching me. The woman those eyes belonged to smiled and gave me a big hug, but I don't know why she did that because I didn't know her. Strangers weren't supposed to hug you, and Mummy said I wasn't supposed to speak to them, especially when they were wearing suits like this woman was. She said they would have stolen you and me from her. This woman had a smile that was brighter than the moonlight though, and she looked anything but nasty. She said that her name was Hayley and that she was going to look after me, but I didn’t want Hayley to look after me because that was my Mummy's job. Our Mummy.
One of my arms was in a bandage, hiding the purple and blackish colours that were covering some of my skin. Mummy had said that I got those colours on my skin because I was naughty, that her special friend gave them to me because I was a nasty boy. I didn't mean to be nasty though and I always tried being nice to you, Jodie. Besides, I didn't like Mummy's special friend because he always shouted at me and told me I was dumb, even when I read a whole twelve page book to him. I think Mummy liked him though because she was always kissing him.
I tried to tell Hayley that Mummy would look after us, but Hayley told me that she couldn’t look after us anymore. When I asked if I could see you, she said that we shouldn’t disturb you. She said something about you being very cold when they found us, so you needed to stay in the hospital for a little while longer to warm up. Grown ups were always right because they were bigger and smarter than me, so I did as I was told.
We were sent to the kid's home the next day. They let us keep our box--I made sure of that. It had crumpled and shrivelled a bit from the rain, but it was still our box, no matter how damaged it was. From that day onwards, you and I were thrown around different kid's homes, but none of them were real homes.
Do you remember the first orphanage we went to, Jodie? I think that one has to be my favourite. They used to let us keep our box in our shared bedroom sothat we could play whenever we wanted to. That was the only kid's home where we shared a bedroom, and the only one where our box was allowed into our room. Every time we moved home after that, they'd make us keep it downstairs all alone. It didn't matter though; we still tip-toed downstairs every night to play. Sometimes we got caught, and often we got a row for it. I wasn't bothered in the slightest though because our box was worth getting into trouble for.
Playing racing cars was one of my favourite box games. You were brilliant at making all of the engine noises, and that was why when you told me you wanted to build cars when you grew up, I knew you could do it. We could do anything with the dreams we had because our imaginations were almost spilling out of our heads. You stopped liking to play in the box when you got older. You no loner begged for me to drive you to McDonald's, or take you on a boat trip around the ocean. That didn't stop us form using the box though. Whenever the darkness of the galaxy above us crept in through our windows, or the dreams that gave us headaches began, the first place we'd go would be to our box; it was the only place where we could be safe.
We would sneak downstairs in the dead of night and gather in our box for our nightly meetings. You made me laugh all of the time, especially when we joked about the ghastly social worker with the funny, twirly bun at the top of her head. We’d discuss how one day, we would run away from the kid's home and catch an aeroplane to Hollywood. There, we would become rich and famous, and eat gigantic grapes off silver plates for the rest of our lives. We’d dream about watching our enormous television as we heard about how the kid's home was burnt down along with that horrible social worker.
Our dreams were what destroyed us, Jodie. Those dreams--or you could call them predictions--caused the fire. I know they did. I was just so tired and my teacher had given me a huge pile of homework. I didn't mean to fall asleep with that candle still burning. I promise I didn't.
I couldn’t breathe when I woke up that night. I was chocking. The only thing I could do was hear your voice, crying for me to wake up. I opened my eyes and then I saw you. Your face was so white, it almost looked transparent as tears streamed from your eyes like a leaking tap. Harsh, black smoke filled the air, giving me no choice but to keep my head low. Taking hold of you, I wrapped you in my arms. I promised that you’d be okay, promised that I’d look after you. I tried to make a run for the door, but it wouldn’t budge. I pushed it again. Nothing. I could hear sirens outside. People screaming.
That was when it happened. I can’t remember how it fell, but it hit you out of my arms: the heavy lamp in the corner of my bedroom. I kept on yelling and crying, just like you had when Mummy put us in the box. Your head was bleeding, but I couldn’t stop it. I tried. I swear I tried so hard.
The last thing I saw that night was our box. Almost everything in the room was burning to ashes, but our box hadn’t even been touched. That’s why I did what I did next. Carefully, I placed you into it as tears splashed down my cheeks. After getting in with you, I closed the top and begged for the smoke to go away. I couldn't do it though. Nothing I tried, nothing I did worked. All I wanted to do was look after you. I just wanted to get rid of the heat and the smoke that was burning my throat. By the end, I was simply too weak. I just gave up. Instead, I shut my eyes, then whispered an adventure into your ears.
We were going to take our rocket to the moon again. We were going to pass a billion stars, gaze at the universe, and watch the sun as it ruled the galaxy. It was okay though because we were back just in time for noon. I told you the story a thousand times until I couldn't tell it anymore. Until my eyes were hidden behind their lids.
The moment I woke up, I could breathe again. The air was nipping at my nose and the damp grass beneath me instantly cooled me down, but it wasn’t at all soothing. Far from it. It made me feel sick. There were people around me and they were crying, smiling, talking, shouting. Everyone I knew was there. Everyone besides you, Jodie.
I tried to ask them where you were, but my words were stuck in the back of my dry throat. I kept on trying and trying, but all that came out of my mouth were coarse coughs. People were telling me to try not to speak, but they didn't understand. It was as if they didn't care that you weren't here. It was okay though because eventually, I saw you. You weren’t like me though because you were still asleep. At least I thought you were.
When they took you away, I didn’t see the dent in your head or the blood trickling down your cheek. I didn’t see the ashes of the orphanage sprinkled over your face either. I saw your deep, chestnut eyes, and your messy blonde hair. Your plump lips, your tiny freckles. You were the definition of silent beauty, but even beauty dies eventually.
All we needed was a miracle. I guess that was too much to ask. Nine years old, you were. Too young to have lived, and not old enough to have died. You were my sister: the girl of a million dreams. I told you I'd look after you. Jodie. I didn't mean to lie. I don’t know what I am without you. We came as a package: me, you, and our little brown box. There’s a part missing now, and I fear--I know--that I will never be able to replace it. And now all that I have left is a tattered box.
Nothing special.

This was so incredibly sad, I can't stand it!
I almost didn't want to finish but I pushed on and I'm glad I did, this was very good!
The whole part before you mentioned about putting her in the box, I knew that's what was going to happen, I just had a feeling, but then I actually read it and it made it ten times as sad.

Beginning to end it was solid, great job and congratulations on a very unique story idea!
*daydreamer

This was good. I think it's fine. Your narrator's voice was unique and your descriptions were enough. The only part which I'm confused about is did they move from the orphanage? You said that it was the first one they went to and that they were allowed to keep the box. Then you describe the fire, but you never tell us if they went to another orphanage or not. You also don't tell us if they were allowed to keep the box or if they snuck it into their room. Otherwise this was very good. I don't think you pulled off the vagueness though. It was pretty clear to me what happened. Good job!

Skins wrote:They called us the dumpster kids, the ones with a box full of dreams. Kind of ironic, I guess. We lived on our dreams, Jodie. As long as we had each other, along with our little, brown box, that was all we needed. We could be, and we could do anything we wanted to.

You were only a baby at the time, and I was one myself, to be honest. I was certainly an optimistic six year old, not that it paid off in the end. Reality slapped me right in the face. I remember staring at you in my arms, my emotions a jumble. Adding a metaphor here, jumble of ______ could add effect here

I didn’t making this didn't into hadn't would make it more believable as it seems this narrator is telling the story after it happened. understand. Mummy had told me that she was going to help us build a rocket. Fly us to the moon, was what she said. Mummy never came back though, and she just left us waiting in our not so rocket like box.

The box was a little small for me though, and you didn’t like it very much either. That might have been why you started crying, Jodie. I tried to shush you like mummy did, but it didn’t work, no matter how hard I tried. You kept on crying and crying. It got to the point where I could drown your shrieks out and pretend that we were, in fact, on our way to the moon in our magical rocket.

You started smiling when I made all of the space noises; I think you liked it. Pressing all of the special buttons, we set off for the moon in our cardboard box. We passed a million stars, gazed at the universe, watched the sun as it ruled the galaxy, and were back in time for noon.

That was when it started to rain, and our rocket was no match for the raindrops that fell from the grey sky like bullets. You started crying again, but this time, the rocket wouldn’t start back up. I wished mummy would come back. She was always good at making you smile, even when she was drinking her special drinks; the ones she said that made her happy.

I don’t remember much after that. I only remember waking up and seeing a pair of bright eyes looking back at me. We weren’t in our rocket anymore, and you were nowhere to be seen. All around me was a petite room with lost and lots of white lights, and there were strange machines surrounding me that kept on beeping. What was going on?
I gazed up at the eyes that were watching me. The woman those eyes belonged to smiled and gave me a big hug. She said that her name was Hayley, that she was going to look after me. I didn’t want Hayley to look after me though, I wanted my mummy. Our mummy.

I tried to tell her that mummy would look after us, but Hayley told me that mummy couldn’t look after us anymore. When I asked if I could see you, she said that you were asleep and we Unless this is a direct quote, which it isn't, it would make more sense to say they shouldn’t have disturbed you. Grown ups were always right, so I did as I was told.

We were sent to the orphanage the next day. They let us keep our box; I made sure of that. From that day onwards, you and I were thrown around different orphanages, none of them a home. Do you remember the first orphanage we went to, Jodie? I think that one has to be my favourite. They used to let us keep our box in our shared bedroom, so we could play whenever we wanted to. Switching from switching orphanages do remembering the orphanages is a change in subject that messes with the flow. Moving 'Do you remember...' and everything after it to the next paragraph would help with that. It would make the other three sentences would be a short paragraph, but paragraphs can be short.

That was the only orphanage where we shared a bedroom, and the only one where our box was allowed in our room. Every time we moved after that, they'd make us keep our box downstairs all alone. It didn't matter though; we'd still tip toed downstairs every night to play in our little, cardboard box. Sometimes we'd got caught, and often we'd got a row for it. I wasn't bothered in the slightest though because our box was worth getting into trouble.

Playing racing cars was one of my favourite box games. You were very talented at making all of the engine noises, and that was why when you told me you wanted to build cars when you grew up, I knew you could do it. We could do anything with the dreams we had because our imaginations were almost spilling out of our heads.

You stopped liking playing in the box when you got older, and so did I. We still used it everyday though. We would sneak into each other’s rooms in the dead of night, and gather in our box for our nightly meetings. You used to make me laugh all of the time, especially when we joked about the ghastly social worker with the funny, twirly bun at the top of her head.

We’d discuss how one day, we would run away from the orphanage and catch an aeroplane to Hollywood. There, we would become rich and famous, and eat gigantic grapes off of silver plates for the rest of our lives. We’d dream about watching our enormous television, hearing about how the orphanage was burnt down, You don't need that comma there. along with that horrible social worker.

Our dreams were what destroyed us. Those dreams - or you could call them predictions - caused the fire. I know they did. I didn’t mean to leave that candle burning, Jodie. I promise you, I didn’t. I was just so tired; my teacher had given me a huge pile of chemistry homework.

I couldn’t breathe when I woke up that night. I was chocking. The only thing I could do was hear your voice, crying for me to wake up. That was when I opened my eyes and saw you. Your face was whiter than a polar bear’s fur, Unneeded comma. and tears streamed from your eyes like a rippling river.

Harsh, black smoke filled the air, giving me no choice but to keep my head low. Taking hold of you, I wrapped you in my arms. I promised that you’d be okay, promised that I’d look after you. That was when I tried to make a run for the door, but it wouldn’t budge. I could hear sirens outside as well as people screaming.

That was when it happened. I can’t remember how it fell, but it hit you out of my arms; the heavy lamp in the corner of my bedroom. I kept on crying and crying, just like you had when mummy put us in the box. Your head was bleeding, but I couldn’t stop it.

The last thing I saw that night was our box. Almost everything in the room was burning to ashes, but our box hadn’t even been touched. That’s why I did what I did next. Carefully, I placed you into it, my tears falling. Getting in with you, I closed the top, begging for the smoke to go away. I shut my eyes and whispered an adventure into your ear. I love that last sentence, it just allows the flow into the tale in the next paragraph. Great job.

I told you we were going to take our rocket to the moon again. We were going to pass a million stars, gaze at the universe, and watch the sun as it ruled the galaxy. It was okay though because we were just back in time for noon. I told you the story a thousand times until I could no more. Until my eyes were hidden behind the lids.

The moment I woke up, I could breathe again. The damp grass beneath me instantly cooled me down, but it wasn’t at all soothing. There were people around me and they were crying, smiling, talking, shouting. Everyone I knew was there. Everyone besides you.

I tried to ask them where you were, but my words were stuck in the back of my dry throat. I kept on tyring and trying, but all that came out of my mouth were coarse coughs. It was okay though because eventually, I saw you. You weren’t like me though; you were still asleep.


When they took you away, I didn’t see the dent in your head, or the blood trickling down your cheek. I didn’t see the ashes of the orphanage sprinkled over your face either. I saw your deep, chestnut eyes, and your messy blonde hair. Your plump lips, your beautiful, brown freckles.

Nine years old, you were. Too young to have lived, and not old enough to have died. I adore that line. You were my dumpster sister; the girl of a million dreams. I don’t know what I am without you. We came as a package; me, you, and our little, brown box. There’s a part missing now, and I fear – I know - that I will never be able to replace it. And now all that I have left is a tattered box. Nothing special. Maybe putting in how the magic of the box had been spoiled would add to that. Before, the box had been full of something that both the narrator and the younger sister had treasured. For it to be nothing special is incredibly important. It wasn't until the second time I read this that I really noticed the nothing special part so accenting on it would make it really pop as it really is something important.

I promised you I’d look after you. I didn’t mean to lie. Great last line.

I really liked the fragmented sentences. It adds a little something to the narrator's voice. The story is just...I love it. The age of the narrators definitely brings something to the heart wrenching manner of the story. The vagueness does add to the story; children don't remember things clearly so it's very true to the characters. If it had been too clear, there would have been a nagging sense that something was off, so good job.

I really like this story and commend you for it. I hope I helped you!

Write on,
Lacey

I'm not great at reviewing, so i'm just going to tell you that i loved this story! The last sentence was great. Just awesome, great writing. Well done!
Keep writing!

Hullo!

We could be, and we could do anything we wanted to.

This was a tad confusing to me. You mean that they could be anything they wanted and they could do anything they wanted, right? If so, I would suggest replacing "and" with "or," taking out "we could," and putting a comma after "do" like so: "We could be, or do, anything we wanted to." Or you could use em dashes instead of commas: "We could be -- or do -- anything we wanted to."

Mummy never came back though, and she just left us waiting in our not so rocket like box.

I would hyphenate that: "...in our not-so-rocket-like box."

She was always good at making you smile, even when she was drinking her special drinks; the ones she said that made her happy..

The way this is worded comes off as a bit awkward to me. Maybe something like this would be better: "...the ones that she said made her happy."

All around me was a petite room with lost and lots of white lights, and there were strange machines surrounding me that kept on beeping.

I don't like the choice of the word "petite." I don't think it really helps to set the mood because it (to me, anyway) has connotations of quaintness and delicateness and it doesn't sound scary or imposing or startling at all. I think you can just take out the whole mention of the room and cut to the description of it: "All around me were lots of white lights, and there were strange machines that kept on beeping."

I tried to tell her that mummy would look after us, but Hayley told me that mummy couldn'tlook after us anymore. When I asked if I could see you, she said that you were asleep and we shouldn’t have disturbed you. Grown ups were always right, so I did as I was told.

Sentence 1:That should be "Mummy" rather than "mummy," because you're using it like a name now (e.i. you're just saying "...that Mummy would look after us..." not "...that our mummy would look after us...")
Sentence 2: I think it should just be "...shouldn't disturb you." You probably wrote what you did because you wanted it to be in past tense, but saying "shouldn't have" makes it seem like they did, but it was the wrong thing to do. Catch my drift?
Sentence 3: I loved that sentence! Great mood and character.

That was the only orphanage where we shared a bedroom, and the only one where our box was allowed in our room. Every time we moved after that, they'd make us keep our box downstairs all alone. It didn't matter though; we still tip toed downstairs every night to play in our little, cardboard box. Sometimes we got caught, and often we got a row for it. I wasn't bothered in the slightest though because our box was worth getting into trouble.

You reeat "box" a lot in this paragraph. I think the second one could just be "...make us keep it downstairs..." and the third one could be nixed completely: "...every night to play."

You stopped liking playing in the box when you got older, and so did I. We still used it everyday though.

I think that second sentence would be better as "But we still used it everyday." I'm not sure why I think that -- I just do.
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.
.
Okay, I should give a reason. It *might* be because I feel like the way it is now, the two sentences are too similar in structure because they are both a statement ("You stopped liking playing in the box when you got older" and "We still used it everyday") with something added on in the end ("and so did I" and "though"). Making that "but" rather than "though" changes the structure. Then again, that might not be the reason at all. :/

I told you the story a thousand times until I could no more. Until my eyes were hidden behind the lids.

Sentence 1: That last bit sounds awkward. The rest of the piece is pretty conversational and this feels too literary. Maybe try: "...until I couldn't tell it anymore."
Sentence 2: I've never heard anyone say "the lids." I think "their lids" sounds more natural.
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Wow. That was so sad, and so sweet. You did really well with portraying the characters and their relationship. The main character really felt like an older sibling, protecting and playing with his little sister, complimenting her engine noises because he knows a compliment from him means the world to her. I got quite attached to them in a very little amount of time and even though I had a sense from the beginning that Jodie would die, I was willing it not to happen the whole time. In the end, I had a very vivid sense of the main character's hollowness. I agree with idraax; the vagueness didn't really happen. But I think it's fine. Some details were vague (like what ever happened to Hayley?) which was excellent to create a sense of confusion, but the overall story was clear. If you really wanted it to be vague, you may want to do something to it, but personally I like it the way it is. I also agree with idraax in that I would like a bit of clarification about whether the box was allowed in their room.

My other issue was the end. No offense to her, but I think that extra paragraph that LaceyDreadth suggested is not necessary. In fact, I don't like it. I'm sure you've heard the phrase "showing not telling"? Well, when I was reading it I felt like I was being told things that I had already been shown. I could tell by the way that the story was written that the box was really nothing special -- that it was only anything at all because of the memories and games it had been part of. However, I do agree with Lacey that the "nothing special" needs to be emphasized. Now I know this is going to be controversial, because everyone loved that last line, but what if you got rid of it, and also got rid of Lacey's paragraph? Then "Nothing special" would be the last line. And what a potent last line it would be! In my humble opinion, anyhow.

In any case, I liked the story quite a lot! Hope the review doesn't come across as overly harsh. Please let let me know if I was unclear about anything or if you want to debate any of my suggestions.

And good luck with the contest!

a

RAWR, this review means ten penguins are saved on Penguin day, got it?
Back to the review...
Too bad, I'm so late. Now, everyone has picked the grapes and I'm left with the little vines and nothing to pull and tug at unless I want to be repetitive. Blast me and my tardiness, I hate being a late reviewer but I do it anyway and that just makes it all the harder to criticize. Not that I had much to critique to begin with, though I will state a few things that I noticed.

I didn’t understand. Mummy had told me that she was going to help us build a rocket. Fly us to the moon was what she said. Mummy never came back though, and she just left us waiting in our not-so-rocket-like-box.

What kind of mother leaves her kids in a box? D:
She is terrible. I would've at least put them somewhere that was complimented with some food and shelter or leave them on the doorsteps of a church or orphanage. Not...in the middle of a junkyard? Thinking about it now, I'm not sure where this setting is. All I know is that they're in a box. I don't know whether or not they've always been in a box, outside or inside. Where are these kids? How long have they been like this? Where do they get their food? The mother doesn't always show up to feed them, does she?I suggest clearing up the setting because suddenly I feel very confused. D=

You started smiling when I made all of the space noises; I think you liked it.

I would cut out the last bit here, it's a given that she liked it.

When I asked if I could see you, she said that we shouldn’t have disturbed you. Grown ups were always right, so I did as I was told.

This is a confusing sentence, mostly because of the 'you'. See you as in the mummmy? Then again, the character is not talking in second person, right? And what do you mean by disturbed you?

You stopped liking playing in the box when you got older, and so did I, but we still used it everyday.

You say they stopped liking playing in the box but they still used it everyday? So...how did they stop liking it exactly? Do you know what I mean? Haha, if you don't like something, the occurrences in which you use that object or play a certain activity would be lessened to perhaps close to once a week, month? Everyday means you still liked it. However, I know where you're going at with this and I think you could have reworded it. Perhaps...state something like how they didn't like 'playing' in it but when lonely nights came to haunt them, the siblings would crawl back into the box, back into their familiar zone? Something along those lines. I can't really think of anything spectacular right now...

Our dreams were what destroyed us. Those dreams - or you could call them predictions - caused the fire. I know they did. I didn’t mean to leave that candle burning, Jodie. I promise you, I didn’t. I was just so tired; my teacher had given me a huge pile of chemistry homework.

Dreams>Chemistry homework?
Dreams destroyed them? Candle destroyed them? Am I missing something? D=
Is there a connection between Chemistry homework, dreams and fire/destruction/death?
Also...at the end of the story, you said they were nine years old right? Then again, our protagonist was older by a few years I think. That means 11-12ish, no? Do 11 and 12 year-olds get chem homework?
Correct me if I'm wrong, since I don't remember, lol. =]

Nine years old, you were. Too young to have lived, and not old enough to have died.

This is the line that made me frown and actually almost say, "aww!" out loud. Congrats, Fingers.

here’s a part missing now, and I fear – I know - that I will never be able to replace it. And now all that I have left is a tattered box.

Nothing special.

I love this ending. =3

First of all, I must agree with Azila about showing and not telling. It seemed like you were telling the whole thing instead of showing it to us. Which meant I didn't enjoy many descriptive scenes or deeper emotion concerning our protagonist here. Though, you might have been pressed for length considering that you mentioned something about not really writing short stories and I feel you on that one. I don't write short stories because they're epically hard for me.

1. Characters: I would have liked to see some more descriptions of them in the beginning. Things like names, hair, color and gender. I honestly thought her 'sister' was her brother until the very end and I have no idea why. I don't know if it's just who saw it that way or if anyone else had the same problem.
2. Plot: It was wonderful and you tied the postcard with it well but I don't know where you inserted the 'I don't believe in miracles' part of it. Not the exact words but something that chimes the meaning behind it all. I'm guessing it's something to do with her sister dying but I can't be exactly sure about it.
3. Grammar/Punctuation: I had no problem here besides the 'show don't tell' thing.

Overall, I thought this was a wonderfully put together story and quite the bittersweet tale between two siblings. Now, I've explained the few things that I wished to explain so this is where I'll stop. Thanks for participating in the contest, Fingers.

-Punk

Oh. My god. I've tried to do this review like 20 times, and AGH my computer keeps dying.

OKAY. Lets do this.

They called us the dumpster kids, the ones with a box full of dreams. Kind of ironic, I guess. We lived on our dreams, Jodie. As long as we had each other, along with our little, brown box, that was all we needed. We could be - could do -anything we wanted to.

Mega fantastic opening line, loved it and it drew me right in.

Reality slapped me right in the face. I remember staring at you in my arms, my emotions a jumble.

This doesn't really fit to me, when I read it it just seemed out of place.

I didn’t understand. Mummy had told me that she was going to help us build a rocket. Fly us to the moon was what she said. Mummy She never came back though, and she just left us waiting in our not-so-rocket-like-box.

The "Not so rocket like box" part again I think is a little awkward, it's not too bad but maybe you could mull it over and come up with something better .

We passed a million stars, gazed at the universe, watched the sun as it ruled the galaxy, and were back in time for noon

I like it, but try "back by noon" instead?

That was when it started to rain, and our rocket was no match for the raindrops that fell from the grey sky like bullets. You started crying again, but this time, the rocket wouldn’t start back up

I really liked this part, it gave me a kind of visual of their space adventure being interrupted and bringing her back to reality. I think if you tied it more into a space thing though it might work a little better, like asteroids instead of bullets or something, ya know?

I don’t remember much after that. I only remember waking up and seeing a pair of bright eyes looking back at me. We weren’t in our rocket anymore, and you were nowhere to be seen. All around me were lots of white lights, and there were strange machines that kept on beeping loudly. What was going on?

I don't know, what is going on? This I think you should be a little less vague about. Did someone find them on the street? Where did they go after it rained? How long were they by themselves? Was one of them hurt since they're in a hospital? I love this so far and it really frustrated me that it was so vague at this part.

I tried to tell her that Mummy would look after us, but Hayley told me that mummy couldn’t look after us anymore. When I asked if I could see you, she said that we shouldn’t have disturbed you. Grown ups were always right, so I did as I was told.

Ehhh! D: Schtop being so vague I wanna know what happens! So is she dead or like in a coma? Also they shouldn't have disturbed her? What does that mean exactly? I'm confuuused and I want you to fix it. D:

They let us keep our box; I made sure of that. From that day onwards, you and I were thrown around different orphanages, none of them a home.

Buuut wasn't the box destroyed in the rain?

Do you remember the first orphanage we went to, Jodie? I think that one has to be my favourite. They used to let us keep our box in our shared bedroom, so we could play whenever we wanted to.

Having "shared" in there isn't really necessary since "Our" implies they share it .

Playing racing cars was one of my favourite box games. You were very talented at making all of the engine noises, and that was why when you told me you wanted to build cars when you grew up, I knew you could do it.

When you say talented it feels very impersonal, like something you would say to someone on TV, someone you didn't know. Try using a different word, one that sounds more like a child would use.

We could do anything with the dreams we had because our imaginations were almost spilling out of our heads.

You used to make made me laugh all of the time, especially when we joked about the ghastly social worker with the funny, twirly bun at the top of her head.

We’d discuss how one day, we would run away from the orphanageand catch an aeroplane to Hollywood.

Your face was whiter than a polar bear’s fur and tears streamed from your eyes like a rippling river

Not really diggin the description here, it doesn't really work.

The last thing I saw that night was our box. Almost everything in the room was burning to ashes, but our box hadn’t even been touched. That’s why I did what I did next. Carefully, I placed you into it, my tears falling. Getting in with you, I closed the top, begging for the smoke to go away. I shut my eyes and whispered an adventure into your ear.

Loved loved loved this part.

It was okay though because eventually, I saw you. You weren’t like me though; you were still asleep.

This too, they both have this childish feeling to them, and they're great.

Nine years old, you were. Too young to have lived, and not old enough to have died. You were my dumpster sister; the girl of a million dreams. I don’t know what I am without you. We came as a package; me, you, and our little, brown box. There’s a part missing now, and I fear – I know - that I will never be able to replace it. And now all that I have left is a tattered box.
Nothing special.

*Tear* wowza, that was fantastic. Now little possible hint on this last bit right here, "Nothing special" might want to be taken out. I think it would make more of an impact without it.

But WOW. That was a fantastic story right there, yes yes it was. The beginning was really great I thought, but you kind of lost the feeling in the middle I felt. The very end I thought you got it back though, and overall I loved it.

So great job, keep writing, and thank you for requesting a BondGirl critic, have a nice day.

~Hope

Hi, haven't got much to add. Just that you handled the story well and the MC's emotions really come across. I like the fact he is looking back on his childhood, and occasionally you switch to the child's perspective. I love the bit when you describe the box as a rocket, and all the space imagery you included around that bit, the rain being like meteorites etc.
It was really good, keep writing

I love this. It has a certain dream-like quality that I just... well, love. It's faded, like childhood memories, but still vivid, which is one of the reasons I liked it so much. There were a few typos that I'm not going to get into (for example, in one place I saw a "chocked" that should be "choked" but I can't find it now...) but for the most part the prose was very solid.

One thing I would change is, like other have mentioned, the vividness of certain scenes. You're glossing over quite a bit in the interest of keeping the narrative short, which is good, but it's also lending a "this happened, then this happened" feeling. I think the whole thing would benefit from a few sharp, original metaphors and a few more short sentences. Actually, what I would do is focus on a few specific scenes and really describe them as if they are actually happening, which a more distinct break between each. This could just be me--you decide.

Another is the way we suspect what is going to happen to Jolie in the beginning. This is just a suggestion, but what if it was more of a surprise? Tone down the melancholy in the beginning, and make it up-beat till the end, to hammer in the conclusion? Again, a suggestion.

Also quite a few places where the narrative fell just flat of where it could have been. A more original similie here, a unique phrase there (you've shown more than a few glimpses of that here--I especially like the "Too young to have lived, not old enough to have died" line.)

I don't feel like I'm making sense (again). Here is an in-depth example:

They called us the dumpster kids, the ones with a box full of dreams. Kind of ironic, I guess. We lived on our dreams, Jodie. As long as we had each other, along with our little, brown box, that was all we needed. We could be - could do -anything we wanted to. This is a bit boring--try for something more in-your-face, unexpected, original. A desription of something awful they've been through? A direct statement perceived as normal to them, but abusive to us? The "kind of ironic" makes the narrator sound much older than I think you intend. How do they live on their dreans? This is also the point where I knew she was going to die. Something about the "that was all we needed" I think.

You were only a baby at the time, and I was one myself, to be honest. I was certainly an optimistic six year old, not that it paid off in the end. unnecessary clause--just sounds melodramatic. I think a bit of understatement would make the ending more of a slap in the face. Which brings me to the next sentence--it's a fragment, which I actually like, but don't think it really adds anything to the narrative. You're very very close to perfecting the little kid voice--it just needs a tiny bit of work. Reality slapped me right in the face. I wished that grown ups told you about the real world when you were young, when you still had the chance to prepare for it. It's too late now though. again, would delete that.

I remember staring at you in my arms, my emotions a jumble.I'd axe the "emotions a jumble" and add another description of the arms. Your bright eyes had dulled down in the grey lighting, and your hair was so blonde, it could easily be mistaken for white. It fell flat to on? your head, sticking to your red face. You were a beautiful little girl, but right now, your pale face you just said it was red? made you look like an old rag doll.

See what I mean? The pieces are there--it just needs a very thorough, sentence by sentence, going over. I really, really think this has potential. Two drafts from now, it's a masterpiece--you just have to get there. So, to conclude: Liven up the prose with more originality, and heighten the emotional aspect with more of a surprise. That's my opinion, take it or leave it. And good luck with the contest! I think you have a great chance.

Hope I helped a tiny bit.

Lupis

Skins! I saved this page some time ago, but never really got down to doing a review. Here it is now (nitpicks first, if you don’t mind).

We lived on our dreams, Jodie.

Here the direct address comes rather suddenly. It surprised me at first, forcing me to read again. After this one time you hardly refer to the younger sister by her name. I would suggest you either cut it or make it more subtle. “We lived on our dreams, right, Jodie?”

As long as we had each other, along with our little, brown box, that was all we needed

No comma between ‘little’ and ‘brown’.
Take out the ‘along with our little, brown box’ and read again. It says: “As long as we had each other that was all we needed.” It doesn’t make sense, perhaps: “As long as we had each other we would be fine.”

We could be, and we could do anything we wanted to.

I would do a little formatting here: “We could do –could be– anything we wanted to”

You were only a baby at the time, and I was one myself, to be honest. I was certainly an optimistic six year old, not that it paid off in the end.

At first you say you were one, then six. Confusing.

Mummy never came back though, and she just left us waiting in our not so rocket like box.

“Mummy never came back, though. She just left us waiting in our not-so-rocket-like box.”

The box was a little small for me though, and you didn’t like it very much either.

If it was that small, then how did they get in when they were nine and fifteen?

It got to the point where I could drown your shrieks out and pretend that we were, in fact, on our way to the moon in our magical rocket.

When you said, “It got to the point” I thought you would be referring to the screaming. Perhaps you could say, “It got to the point where I had to scream to drown out your shrieks…”, “It got to the point where you shrieks shook the box. I screamed back, pretending that we were, in fact, on our way to the moon…”

You started crying again, but this time, the rocket wouldn’t start back up.

I suggested cutting ‘back’.

All around me was a petite room with lost and lots of white lights, and there were strange machines surrounding me that kept on beeping. What was going on?

‘Lots’, not ‘lost.
Strange beeping machines? A hospital? Why would they be in a hospital? The worst they could get from a night in a box would be a cold. Rethink this part a bit. Maybe the social worker could find them in the box.

When I asked if I could see you, she said that you were asleep and we shouldn’t have disturbed you.

This doesn’t make sense. Re-word it like this, “…and that we shouldn’t disturb you.”

Grown ups were always right, so I did as I was told.

I would expect this six-year-old to have lost some faith in adults at that point.

They let us keep our box; I made sure of that.

Not possible. No orphanage would allow any of their charges to keep a raggedy cardboard box. Still, if you take out this element then the rest of the story goes out of wack. Keep it in, I was only mentioning it for realistic-ness’s sakes.

From that day onwards, you and I were thrown around different orphanages, none of them a home.

Orphans normally stay in one orphanage. They can circulate between several homes if they turn out to be belligerent, though.

They used to let us keep our box in our shared bedroom, so we could play whenever we wanted to.

Orphans do not have shared bedrooms. They have shared shared bedrooms with fifty to a room. From your wording, I think you were imagining an orphanage where the kids got smaller rooms. The real truth (at least for the orphanages I’ve visited) is that the kids are divided gender-wise, age-wise and then filed into rooms en masse.

Sometimes we got caught, and often we got a row for it.

A row? Do you mean a scolding? It is to my understanding that a row is an argument.

We would sneak into each other’s rooms in the dead of night, and gather in our box for our nightly meetings.

I thought the box was ‘downstairs’. Plus, into whose room did they sneak? If they both switched rooms at the same time, there would have been very little company for either of the parties.

You used to make me laugh all of the time, especially when we joked about the ghastly social worker with the funny, twirly bun at the top of her head.

All the time. I think the ‘of’ is out of place.

We’d discuss how one day, we would run away from the orphanage and catch an aeroplane to Hollywood.

Airplane? Unless you’re spelling the archaic (or British?) word.

I was chocking.

Choking.

I kept on crying and crying, just like you had when mummy put us in the box.

I think ‘did’ would sound better in place of that ‘had’.

Everyone I knew was there. Everyone besides you.

Everyone ‘except’ you.

I kept on tyring and trying, but all that came out of my mouth were coarse coughs.

Trying.



Enough of the nitpicks, now for what I liked.

She was always good at making you smile, even when she was drinking her special drinks; the ones she said that made her happy.

Very nicely done, how you portray alcoholism from a six-years-old’s point of view.

That was when it started to rain, and our rocket was no match for the raindrops that fell from the grey sky like bullets.

We came as a package; me, you, and our little, brown box.

These lines all show very good imagery, packaged children and rocket-boxes. I noticed that your best writing was when you described the painful parts: the ugly reality of life. Keep writing that way, few pieces on YWS do it well.

Too young to have lived, and not old enough to have died.

Fly us to the moon was what she said. Mummy never came back though, and she just left us waiting in our not so rocket like box.

That aphorism was lovely there, except that I think a ‘but’ would be better in place of the ‘and’.
The part about the mom and her rocket-talk was confusing at first, but when you came back to it afterwards in the fire, I understood your reason. Plus, after I read about the mom’s drinking problem I could see why she would choose that lie to tell her daughters.

I promised you I’d look after you. I didn’t mean to lie.

Clearly the best end-line I’ve seen in ages.

Overall, it was an excellent read. Very sad and rather believable. I found no grammar mistakes, few spelling mistakes and the other errors were all just form and style. Your plotline was built quite well, the action* pulling in the beginning and still pulling throughout the story.
Jenth

*There was no action in the sense of heavy, movie-like action, but there was glacier-sized emotional and ideaic** action.
**Ideaic: is that even a word?

Sorry if I've covered anything the others reviewed.

i must admit I did take issue with the overreliance of showing rather than telling, but it fits in this style, and that must be taken into account. The voice you create feels real, and doesn't force emotion upon the reader like many stories told from the perspective of children in dangerous situations. What i enjoyed most is the connection and innocence shared between these two characters, the bond they form pulls the reader in and the ending rings true for them.

I like the offhanded descriptions that mix with the more poignant descriptions, such as when he describes the girl, but I found that if this is a piece told from the perspective of a young boy (is this an older person looking back on this event?) then much of the description rings a little false. No one describes white angelic hair when you're a child, and this can drag a reader away from what is otherwise a realistically grounded story.

Again, I must say its a very good piece. Emotional, powerful, and very well voiced. Well done.