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who's
Staring at the words she’d just written, Yazra emitted a cry in frustration, realizing the immoral direction her thoughts had taken. “Why is it so hard to be good?” she wailed. “I haven’t even written a page and it’s already corrupted!”
The irony made her vivid green eyes sparkle, but she sobered quickly.
doing a quick search before she standing up
I’m pretty sure fat, greasy old men don’t die just because you stab them in the leg, right?
I blame my parents.
She got her powers
I went off pies at an early age.
“The forest takes care of it’s own
“Yazra, you’re six now and old enough that I think you’ll understand what I’m about to tell you,” she’d said, sitting me on her lap. “In this world, there are birds, and there are bees. The bees are every day people like the ones who come and see me here. They live normal lives, all bunched together like bees in a hive. Wasting their lives, trapped in a never-ending cycle. They work and work, slaving away mindlessly, eager to please a queen who cares nothing for them, and then they die.” It occurred to me that my mother wasn’t talking about the King, but rather a greater being that she blamed for man’s pitiful existence. “But there are always more of them, because even though she knows their lives are pointless, she keeps giving birth to more, maybe out of a cruel belief that somehow they are happy. But they aren’t, my love. They just think they are.”
because I had remembered a woman once coming to my mother with her son; if their lives were so meaningless, why had the woman guarded her son so protectively?
holding in it’s breath.
Apparently, the man who said ‘you are what you choose to be’ was a liar. A really horrible liar who took joy in making innocent little children believe that they could choose their own destiny and be whoever they wanted to be. If he’s still alive, someone should help him realize the error of his ways. It will start like this: “Sir, since you can choose your destiny, why don’t you decide you’re going to live while me and my knife decide you’re going to die, and see who’s will is stronger.”
Yazra tucked her new journal into a pocket hidden in the many folds of her multiple shirts and stood, pushing back the thick, wild, brown curls that framed her thin face.
He’d never notice them missing, he was dead after all.
It [s]will [/s] would start like this: “Sir, since you can choose your destiny...
You didn’t believe that ‘you can do and be anything you set your mind to’ crap either.
She reached into his cloak and retrieved his purse, doing a quick search before [s]she[/s] standing up and slipping her spoils into various hidden folds in her shirts.
I never found out why she decided to become a witch, [period instead] she always said it was just in her nature.
I know all about mud cakes: mix the [what?] with poison, coat them in special potion twenty-three, and when it is finished cooking, it will look and smell like the tastiest pie you’ve ever seen.
It seemed as if the whole forest had become a silent and frozen painting, yet a tenseness made it feel as if it was simply holding in [s]it’s[/s] its breath.
Feedback questions
1) Did you find Yazra's mother's metaphor on the birds and the bees to be a bit long?
2) What scene, if any, did you find could benefit from more description?
3) What do you think of Yazra so far?
Comparative feedback questions (for old readers)
1) I got rid of her putting the book in her pants. Happy? =P
2) I also got rid of the scene with Toby. I figure I can work how she feels about kids into a scene later on. Yes?
3) Added some description. Not enough?
Let me know if you want on this list, if not you won't get spammed when I post new revised versions or make major changes to already posted revised versions. ^_^
Apparently, the man who said ‘you are what you choose to be’ was a liar. A really horrible liar who took joy in making innocent little children believe that they could choose their own destiny and be whoever they wanted to be. If he’s still alive, someone should help him realize the error of his ways. It will start like this: “Sir, since you can choose your destiny, why don’t you decide you’re going to live while me and my knife decide you’re going to die, and see who’s will is stronger.”
Staring at the words she’d just written, Yazra emitted a cry in frustration, realizing the immoral direction her thoughts had taken. “Why is it so hard to be good?” she wailed. “I haven’t even written a page and it’s already corrupted!”
By the time Mr. Maybell, the owner of the tavern down the street, served her the dinner the kind doctor’s purse had provided for her, she’d completely put the afternoon’s sins behind her.
She looked one last time at her handiwork, wondering if anyone would believe he’d committed suicide.
The man who gave me this journal is dead, mainly because I killed him. I’ve never kept a journal before, but then again I’ve never killed anyone either. Not that I know of anyways. I’m pretty sure fat, greasy old men don’t die just because you stab them in the leg, right?
“But we birds are fewer than the bees, and this is what you really have to understand, Yazra. Alone, the bees are weak and hopeless creatures, but sometimes their fear drives them to unite and they kill the birds out of mindless fear. That is why birds must fly high and away from the bees.”
My father, for his part, believed that the world was filled with only two kinds of people: wolves, and rabbits. To illustrate this point, he once brought me a snow-white rabbit to keep as a pet. My mother made it into a stew. Rabbits, it turned out, existed only for the sake of satisfying the hunger of wolves.
“The forest takes care of it’s own, Yazra. You trust it to take care of you and it will.”
Finding herself walking quickly in the direction the sound had come from, Yazra realized it was just as obvious she wasn’t going to be able to sleep with a clear conscience unless she tried to help.
Yazra tucked her new journal into a pocket hidden in the many folds of her multiple shirts and stood, pushing back the thick, wild, brown curls that framed her thin face.
She reached into his cloak and retrieved his purse, doing a quick search before she standing up and slipping her spoils into various hidden folds in her shirts. He’d never notice them missing, he was dead after all.
“You brought this on yourself,” she said quietly, wishing she felt something stronger than indifference for her actions.
My mother was a witch, and not just any witch: The Dread Witch herself.
I kid you not. She used to be a healer, actually. I never found out why she decided to become a witch, she always said it was just in her nature.
Yazra heard a twig snap somewhere so she silently shut the journal and tucked it into her bag, her free hand simultaneously sliding towards her boot knife.
The best thing to do was get off the ground and stay there until the boar was gone.
Feedback questions
1) Did you find Yazra's mother's metaphor on the birds and the bees to be a bit long?
2) What scene, if any, did you find could benefit from more description?
3) What do you think of Yazra so far?
Comparative feedback questions (for old readers)
1) I got rid of her putting the book in her pants. Happy? =P
2) I also got rid of the scene with Toby. I figure I can work how she feels about kids into a scene later on. Yes?
3) Added some description. Not enough?
Staring at the words she’d just written, Yazra emitted a cry in frustration, realizing the immoral direction her thoughts had taken. “Why is it so hard to be good?” she wailed. “I haven’t even written a page and it’s already corrupted!”
Yazra tucked her new journal into a pocket hidden in the many folds of her multiple shirts and stood, pushing back the thick, wild, brown curls that framed her thin face. She went to lean over the doctor where he slumped in his chair and gave him a warm, flirtatious smile. The irony made her vivid green eyes sparkle, but she sobered quickly.
By the time Mr. Maybell, the owner of the tavern down the street, served her the dinner the kind doctor’s purse had provided for her, she’d completely put the afternoon’s sins behind her.
Feedback questions
1) Did you find Yazra's mother's metaphor on the birds and the bees to be a bit long?
2) What scene, if any, did you find could benefit from more description?
3) What do you think of Yazra so far?
Comparative feedback questions (for old readers)
1) I got rid of her putting the book in her pants. Happy? =P
2) I also got rid of the scene with Toby. I figure I can work how she feels about kids into a scene later on. Yes?
3) Added some description. Not enough?