Thanks to all who helped
xxx
heisst street
Ari
Whereas Mr Cohen’s was a more poignant, emotional approach.
A large house, with many windows, overlooking luscious greenery.
dreary routines, her usual warm smile
everyday
with it’s
covers and observed Orli.
He began to eat, not even bothering to check what he was eating.
Haruno Sakura wrote:This is miles better than the first piece I read by you.
It's very long...
let's see how far I get...
First of all. Communism? In Germany? Nah-uh. Germany was facist, kiddo.
Very hard to explain, basically, to begin with this piece was set in a whole different country, a whole different time. So I've accidentally left little fragments of the old piece in
Do you like the characters? Are they well developed... The usual.
The language - I need a lot of help here! People who have read some of my work know I have a huge problem with writing 'I be' and I really need help on that the language used is perhaps a bit too formal for the time period but I don't really want to change it.
Overall opinions. Should I carry on with it?[/b]
How can I improve the start? I'm having real problems with it and I hate it. Help ? ! 
My Father - much to our surprise was back at work, much more concealed now.
His workplace was at the end of heisst street, a tall grey sandstone building, that seemed to my young eyes as though it went upwards forever.
A rotting placard hung limply above the small windows:
“Benidikt Schwartz
Rechtsanwalt und Anwälte”
My father had been fighting-unsuccessfully- a particular case for many months now.
The case of the Cohen’s, one of my former friends’ family.
Ari, she was averagely built, long chestnut curls coiled around her sharp chin, hypnotic chocolate eyes were set in line with small elfish ears.
She had an interesting sense of humour, rather trivial. She was a quiet girl, shy amongst strangers, flawlessly polite, with impeccable manners.
He was always dressed perfectly, down to the last smudge of polish upon his spotless hob-nailed boots.
He indulged upon life’s pleasures without shame.
His wife - Eli, was an elegant woman, pretty and charming in nature and appearance, she had a natural mothering instinct, and Ari was treated very well - almost spoiled in a way, not in the way Orli and myself were though, a more subtle way, my father’s approach to spoiling involved money, lots of it. Whereas Mr Cohen’s was a more poignant, emotional approach.
The Cohen’s had lived on an expensive estate.
I had wandered imperturbably past it many times, pondering over exactly how many rooms the house contained, how many nooks and crannies, were stuffed into the mansion.
I often smiled to myself at that - the way no one is perfect, everyone has their flaws; myself no exception - perhaps even supplementary. I suppose I have always been a good comparison, a perspective, a way to realise that your worst fears are not frivolous, that they don’t really exist.
Resulting in Orli becoming monotonous, her usual emotional state had been dejected amongst the angst of my father’s ever changing moods.
Her latest days were filled with dreary routines, her usual warm smile replaced with a grimace, her lime green eyes had lost their sparkle, now sadly placid.
Despite our family’s depression the world went on, everyday the sun would rise, with a satisfying normality, the day ended and we were bathed in glints of moonlight, refracting Orli’s wearied eyes as I curled up in my small bed, with it’s scratchy covers and observed Orli.
During the course of my observations I had discovered a change in Orli, she was different now, more thoughtful. I often caught her deep in thought, her eyes wrinkled in concentration, lost in dreams, pondering upon subjects that I did not care to think about. Philosophies.
Her predictability had eased slightly, now that her soul seemed to be engaged in a subject that not only interested her, but captivated every piece of her to an extent that she was absent from the real world, her body was lifeless and still, a mere presence I didn’t contemplate over where her heart and soul really belonged, where they longed to be more than anything, I considered her behaviour simply a mark of who she was. A way to identify her from the rest. I knew that I was being typical of myself, I did not have a way to escape the realities of life, I didn’t have my own world to disappear to and unlike my sister I didn’t have a world to disappear into plainly because I had no desire to disappear, at least until the war. I wasn’t like Orli, I didn’t see point in disappearing, instead I concluded that life would be easier if I faced up to reality. If I lived in the real world, however harsh that world might be, and in doing so I inwardly accepted all shortcomings.
The day of the Cohen’s court case. My father was up at the crack of dawn, racing around the house frantically, he held small sheets of yellow tatty paper, which curled at the edges with hoariness. His writing was scrawled all over them.
Lost_in_dreamland wrote:Note:[u]
My Father - much to our surprise, was back at work, much more concealed now. His company worked solely for Jewish people, before the war he had focused on Jews, but his desire for justice led him to allowing others into his office. His workplace was at the end of heisst street, a tall grey sandstone building, that seemed to my young eyes as though it went upwards forever. A rotting placard hung limply above the small windows:
“Benidikt Schwartz
Rechtsanwalt und Anwälte”
My father had been fighting-unsuccessfully- a particular case for many months now. The case of the Cohen’s, one of my former friends’ family. Ari, she was averagely built, long chestnut curls coiled around her sharp chin, hypnotic chocolate eyes were set in line with small elfish ears. She had an interesting sense of humour, rather trivial. She was a quiet girl, shy amongst strangers, flawlessly polite, with impeccable manners. Her father, Mr Caleb Cohen, was the local doctor, a stout man, strict both in conduct and manner. He was always dressed perfectly, down to the last smudge of polish upon his spotless hob-nailed boots. He indulged upon life’s pleasures without shame. He had never been one to put on any sort of façade, always preferring to see things the way they were - hence the way he spent money. His wife - Eli, was an elegant woman, pretty and charming in nature and appearance, she had a natural mothering instinct, and Ari was treated very well - almost spoiled in a way, not in the way Orli and myself were though, a more subtle way, my father’s approach to spoiling involved money, lots of it. Whereas Mr Cohen’s was a more poignant, emotional approach.
The Cohen’s had lived on an expensive estate. A large house, with many windows, overlooking lusciousLush greenery. I had wandered imperturbably past it many times, pondering over exactly how many rooms the house contained, how many nooks and crannies, were stuffed into the mansion. Cuit that sentence. Clumsily worded and I can't see a way to fix it.The problem they now faced was to do with money, an ironic prospect within such a rich household. Mr Cohen had been overthrown, Fired simply for being Jewish. His job had been given to a semi qualified German ’moron’, as quoted by Cohen himself. His house and possessions had been given away, for the best offer, Cohen and his family had been thrown onto the streets, all solely because of prejudice on the Germans’ behalf. His property now housed a different occupant. A German soldier and his family; Kurt Weiss, a tall, broad shouldered man, patriotic down to the very last detail, with ash blonde hair and liquid blue eyes. Not with many academic prospects. I often smiled to myself at that - the way no one is perfect, everyone has their flaws; myself no exception - perhaps even supplementary.Remove perhaps even supplementary, it sounds rather twerpish I suppose I have always been a good comparison, a perspective, a way to realise that your worst fears are not frivolous, that they don’t really exist.
What on earth are you talking about? The language is not only that of a child, it is not how someone would talk at that time, or any other. Will talk more on this later
Upon the case of Mr Cohen my father had began to doubt his talents, his depression resulted in my family becoming quieter- a strange spectacle with regard to our usual talkative spirits. Resulting in Orli becoming monotonous, her usual emotional state had been dejected amongst the angst of my father’s ever changing moods. Her latest days were filled with dreary routines, her usual warm smile replaced with a grimace, her lime green eyes had lost their sparkle, now sadly placid. Little bit of an over-reaction, don't you think? The father wouldn't influence the child so much and besides, it's just work. There were many more pressing problems at that time
Despite our family’s depression the world went on, everyday the sun would rise, with a satisfying normality, the day ended and we were bathed in glints of moonlight, refracting Orli’s wearied eyes as I curled up in my small bed, with it’s scratchy covers and observed Orli. During the course of my observations I had discovered a change in Orli, she was different now, more thoughtful. I often caught her deep in thought, her eyes wrinkled in concentration, lost in dreams, pondering upon subjects that I did not care to think about. Philosophies. Her predictability had eased slightly, now that her soul seemed to be engaged in a subject that not only interested her, but captivated every piece of her to an extent that she was absent from the real world, her body was lifeless and still, a mere presence I didn’t contemplate over where her heart and soul really belonged, where they longed to be more than anything, I considered her behaviour simply a mark of who she was. A way to identify her from the rest. I knew that I was being typical of myself, I did not have a way to escape the realities of life, I didn’t have my own world to disappear to and unlike my sister I didn’t have a world to disappear into plainly because I had no desire to disappear, at least until the war. I wasn’t like Orli, I didn’t see point in disappearing, instead I concluded that life would be easier if I faced up to reality. If I lived in the real world, however harsh that world might be, and in doing so I inwardly accepted all shortcomings.
Good paragraph. Very Jane Eyre
I cared not to delve into business that was not mine to delve into, however, it was obvious that the Cohen case had improved, my father now walked to work with a skip in his step, and a whistle as opposed to his usual despondent frown. A kiss was deposited upon my small cheeks every-day before he left eagerly for work. And so arrived the 12th of September. The day of the Cohen’s court case. My father was up at the crack of dawn, racing around the house frantically, he held small sheets of yellow tatty paper, which curled at the edges with hoariness. His writing was scrawled all over them. On a rare inattentive moment on my father’s behalf I caught a glimpse of them. Desperately inquisitive as to how the case was managing I attempted to read; the illegible hand writing refused to make it easy for me, and much to my annoyance I had to give up. At around nine Father left, running back only to plant the kisses he had forgotten earlier upon our heads. Upon my asking of how Father managed to go through all these cases without shedding a single tear he told me that when he left for work he left his heart in our hands, asking us to look after it for him until he returned. Aww, that's very sweet. Lovely.
Chapter 3
Cohen.
My father returned from the Cohen case with remorse abstracting his face. He did not wish his heart to be returned that night, I was to keep it for him, until he wished to redeem it. The case had not gone well, not only was it not going my father’s way but there were people there - a certain type of people - people that sent controversy everywhere they went. Tall men, it seemed apparent to my father that they all dressed the same, in long coal black jackets that trailed down to their ankles, and shiny boots. However I knew this to be untrue, my father, ironically, went against his cleverness and did not administer to his usual inclinations of scrutinizing every detail about a single person, instead he seemed wary, reluctant to discover the truth surrounding these people. He began to eat, not even bothering to check what he was eating. After his meal he rose from the table and declared that he was going to bed. Slowly after me and Orli followed.
Orli was talking to me as usual, her normal sparkle returned at long last to her green eyes; she was talking of the Cohen’s, about Lizza Cohen, the late grandmother of Ari. Of late Orli had become particularly friendly with Ari Cohen, consoling her, sympathising with her. Lizza Cohen was an elderly woman, both in mind and physique. She was schizophrenic, living a life of solitude in a mental institution, for she did not live alone but she lived within herself. Unintentionally alone. Rumours fluttered around the town, conspiracies flew around the town that Caleb Cohen had disowned Lizza as soon as she had become ill, although the precise details were unclear. Orli was stating that she would rather die than be mentally ill, I had answered wryly that I wasn’t so sure. She hated the idea of not truly being herself, not being slightly tuned into reality, as much as her own little world mattered to her she had decided that staying slightly tuned into reality was important. I thought differently. Perhaps not really being yourself would be good, perhaps letting go of the real world would be a rewarding prospect, an interesting spectacle even to me. The irony of the situation made me laugh, Orli was the creative one, the one that loved to disappear, who’s soul remained vacant from the real world almost every minute of every day, where as I; I didn’t like my world, I was a realist, choosing reality over anything else and I was willing to totally let go of the world. I was left pondering over my incongruity inconsistancy as Orli put out the light and bid me a goodnight.
Father was gone by the time I had got up. It was a shame, I had forgotten to ask him if he wished his heart back! The sun had risen earlier than normal, ebbing away all traces of the previous darkness that had engulfed the whole countryTake it out, the sun rises, it happens everyday, who cares?. Mother
You have a mother?? Then why didn't you mention her till know? Surely she would be more influenced by the father's mood. Give her a character too.
had awoken me at around six, to inform me that school had finished, at least until times were safer. I had asked her when times would be safer, and she had replied that she did not know. And so began my boredom. Orli would sit beside me and tell me stories all day long, but I grew uninterested, as I could not allow myself to disappear, I couldn’t understand her stories with the imagination she had told them with, and so I grew tedious. Orli preferred then to tell her stories to no one, but the scrawls of paper upon which she spent many hours staring at. The journal that I had given her for her 14th birthday had been well used, it was frayed at the edges, from being used so much.
Change to: Had been so well used it was fraying aorund the edges.
I contented myself by sitting talking to mother, no commaabout recent matters of interest whilst listening to the scratching of Orli’s pen scrawl across the pages of her exhausted journal.
Father arrived home later than usual, an abnormality amongst his usually perfect timing. He came jogging into the house breathing in ragged uneasy breaths. He looked at us first, as if for the first time ever, surveying every one of our faces one at a time, swallowing up every detail. He sat down, not saying a word and turned to me.
“Eden.”
“Yes Father.”
“I’ll have my heart back now”, I smiled brightly, him doing the same; mirroring my actions.
“You’ve won!?” , I asked intrusively.
“Not quite ,Eden.” “Almost.”
“The most curious situation came about today, Mr Cohen did not attend court. His own court case and he did not attend, how odd?”
The room was silent as it was enveloped in intrigue.
Orli came running up to father, the prospect of optimism upon her face. Her eyes flickered brilliantly in the dark room, sparks of fire reflected her deep orbs, shimmering wildly. She looked up at father, catching his attention, they exchanged a look of apprehension, which vanished as quickly as it had appeared.
Father had beamed up at me, and placed his hands upon my face:
“Eden, I want you to know that whatever happens, no matter what, I’ll always love you, and although I’ve accepted my heart, I never truly want it, I want you to have it. You, and Orli, and your Mother.”
“You look after mine and I’ll look after yours”, I replied truthfully.
I reached up and wiped his face as a tear began to gently roll down his cheek.
Much to my surprise I was sent to bed early that night, it had merely reached seven upon the old wooden clock, which rested against the mantelpiece, instinctively I had left the room, careful not to anger father. His recent evocative speeches had tired him. Upon my departure from the room I heard Father arguing, not of a pugnaciousum, would anyone say pugnacious in real life, ever?
nature, but nevertheless arguing. I was inclined to inquire as to what they were arguing about, but thought it favourable on behalf of both parties- if I just stayed out. I stood loitering beside the door for some time, staring at the spiralling oak patterns, that glided up the doorway, eventually ebbing away into nothingness. There was a voice coming from inside- one that I did not recognize, a rather elderly man I guessed, by the sound of the muffled voice coming from within, interrupted regularly by fits of coughing. I wandered further through the hallway, contemplating over no over necessarywho the visitor was.
It was only when I passed the front room that I realized who the presumed speaker was. It was none but Mr Cohen himself. A crippled version of Mr Cohen. His hands were black, burnt to a crisp, charred to a cinder. His clothes were ragged and bloody. Holes formed almost every area of the thin material. The little that remained was drenched in blood. Crimson red stained his face, like war paint. He was breathing intermittently, irregularly. I could not stand to look at him one more minute. I closed my eyes tightly, willing them to stay shut forever.
“Bloody….” I couldn’t hear the conversation, I was somewhere else, for the first time ever I wished I was in Orli’s world, I wished I could be lost forever, and never found again. I slowly unlocked the blinding force of my eyes, that was shutting out the world. I couldn’t take it anymore. Mr Cohen was rich, more than rich, he was respected, whoever would dare do such a deed to one such as Mr Cohen must have been fearless to say the least, and gullible at best. A gasp escaped my mouth, not portraying half of the remorse that was engulfing my body. Mr Cohen turned to me, his eyesight obviously impaired.
“Who…(cough)…is thaaa(cough)…?
“Who goes there?”, my father had pursued in Mr Cohen’s wonderings.
“Sss..sorry, Father.”, I replied careful to keep my tone normal as not to disturb Mr Cohen.
“Come here child…(cough)…I have not seen you in …(cough)…a long time”
I came closer to Mr Cohen, careful as not to suddenly lose my poise.
“I..bbbeg your pppardon ssirr, but whaaat exactly happened?”, my words were slurred and came out in raggedy syllables.
“Hmph… (cough) sir.” “Call… me by my (cough) name child”
“Sssorry Mr Cohen.”
“No child … (cough).”
“Caleb”, he said his own name as if for the first time, throwing the word around his mouth. It reminded me of the time that I had first embarrassed myself on that day in July. It seemed childish now, the embarrassement at having said ’lookerafterer’. This was the real world, the world that I had once told Orli was better than her world. I thoroughly doubted my theories now.
Aw, beautiful. The death of innocence.
“Whaa.. (cough)… whaaat dignity do I have now?”, he asked sadly.
I did not know how to answer such a question, so I proceeded to sit on the floor beneath him as he recalled his story, letting the tears sail like gondolas down my cheeks.
It was none but the day before yesterday, that they had come; tall men, dressed in suits, all rather similar. They had passed Mr Cohen, on his way home from court, making a shrewd comment upon his court case, what a pointless man he was, for attempting to pose a threat to the ‘others’, as they had called them. He had questioned them upon their hypothesis, resulting in their anger at being talked to by ‘scum’. Caleb had ran, ran for miles, as fast as he could until he was a safe range from the men. He had dreaded returning to his family, in case by any chance these ‘people’, should be obliged to track down his family. By the time he had returned theories had ignited in his head of what these people had done to his family. Upon his arrival he had found his family safe and well. Perfectly serene, no change to their composure except perhaps, maybe, Mrs Cohen’s eyes had widened by half a millimetre, at the spectacle of how on earth her husband had become so roused over matters that she had no concern over. Momentarily anyway. That night he had gone to bed, yet not slept peacefully nor serenely. He had longed for apathy, not one moment did he spend perfectly tranquil. As night had finally passed, and daylight enveloped his bedroom he had got up and put his best suit on. Kissed his family, and said his goodbye’s. That evening he did not return, nor did he show up at court. Caleb claimed that after that morning he did not remember a thing, he could not recall what had happened or who was involved. All he was sure of was that his wearies were all directed at the men. No one had seen any of the men since the first day of court; they had simply disappeared.
Chapter 4
Splinters.
Christmas arrived, and life had grown too arduous to survive. We were to leave the country. Forever. An air of childish innocence had passed over our household; at the idea of regaining our grip on reality. In the past months Orli had become even more distant; her soul completely vacant from the world. The Orli I had previously known had gone. She had simply vanished from the world. Her eyes were different now too; they were no longer set alight with every spark of excitement; they were darker now - more mysterious. She didn’t exist anymore. I knew deep down; somewhere lost amongst her newly angst ridden trait; she existed. Shying away inside of herself had driven her to sheer madness; somewhere inside her the illustrious Orli we all loved lived, waiting to be brought back up to the surface. Went on about Orli too long. We don't care that much about her yet.
And so we were to escape. My cynistic Cynical nature doubted that life would become completely customary; we would be affected forever by the war. I contemplated upon that mere fact; the way such a few people had made so mamy lives living hells. A single person could ruin the world; one person, tearing the souls from so many - it wasn’t right; what gave one person the right to do so? My world was very much full of less riches now. CommunismFacism affected my family in every possible way - wrenching all goodness from our lives - taking our wearies and mingling them amongst even more troubles. My father’s’ wage had been cut; we lived upon meagre necessities.But it's not like anything has even happened to you yet. Where is the fear?
Also, what happens in this story, really? Not a lot. It's okay to be filled with self reflection some times, but it is irrelvant when we don't care what the characters think. But you definately improved your turn of phrase and abilty to make me angry from last time
I love the subject matter, I love the time period, so this is a winner as far as I'm concerned.
My Father - much to our surprise was back at work, much more concealed now.Blah! You know, I liked this story a lot, but this opening sentence does not work. It actually makes no sense, and that it is wholly down to error in punctuation. Maybe it should be: My father - much to our surprise - was back at work, and much more concealed now. Okay, perhaps it sounds a bit long-winded, but at least it makes sense now.
His company worked solely for Jewish people,You mentioned this before, I know. There really is nothing wrong with saying Jews. That is a correct word. You can say Jewish people, but that is probably used more by people who try so hard to be PC that they are quite the opposite. This is just opinion here.
His workplace was at the end of heisst street, a tall grey sandstone building, that seemed to my young eyes as though it went upwards forever.Capitals needed for the name of the street has already been mentioned. Can I just say, though, that I loved your description of the building - it perfectly captures it in the eyes of a child.
My father had been fighting-unsuccessfully- a particular case for many months now.Eek, more abuse of punctuation I think. It's a shame, because aside from that your writing is quite faultless. Lucky for you, however, it is a skill you can learn, unlike suffering from telling not showing, etc. Why hyphenate? I think: My father had unsuccessfully been fighting a particular case for many months now. Try not to fall back on hyphens too much - they can be used cleverly and unnecessarily.
she was averagely built, long chestnut curls coiled around her sharp chin, hypnotic chocolate eyes were set in line with small elfish ears.Your descriptions are otherwise vivid and memorable, but this was a bit YA. It's like you tried to describe her whole appearance - WHAM - in one sentence. I think subtlety is required.
Despite our family’s depression the world went on, everyday the sun would rise, with a satisfying normality, the day ended and we were bathed in glints of moonlight, refracting Orli’s wearied eyes as I curled up in my small bed, with it’s scratchy covers and observed Orli. During the course of my observations I had discovered a change in Orli, she was different now, more thoughtful. I often caught her deep in thought, her eyes wrinkled in concentration, lost in dreams, pondering upon subjects that I did not care to think about. Philosophies.This is what I mean about vivid imagery in your narration. I pictured this - it was a touching scene. And subtle! Very moving, too.
I wasn’t like Orli, I didn’t see point in disappearing, instead I concluded that life would be easier if I faced up to reality.
“Yes Father.”
“I’ll have my heart back now”, I smiled brightly, him doing the same; mirroring my actions.
“You’ve won!?” , I asked intrusively.
“Not quite ,Eden.” “Almost.”
“Who…(cough)…is thaaa(cough)…?
“Who goes there?”, my father had pursued in Mr Cohen’s wonderings.
“Sss..sorry, Father.”, I replied careful to keep my tone normal as not to disturb Mr Cohen.
“Come here child…(cough)…I have not seen you in …(cough)…a long time”
I came closer to Mr Cohen, careful as not to suddenly lose my poise.
“I..bbbeg your pppardon ssirr, but whaaat exactly happened?”, my words were slurred and came out in raggedy syllables.
“Hmph… (cough) sir.” “Call… me by my (cough) name child”
My cynistic natureI think you meant cynical. Typo?
A single person could ruin the world; one person, tearing the souls from so many - it wasn’t right; what gave one person the right to do so? My world was very much full of less riches now. Communism affected my family in every possible way - wrenching all goodness from our lives - taking our wearies and mingling them amongst even more troubles.Punctuation, again, has gone a bit awry, but other than that, it was very affecting.
I look forward to the next installment.
and I shall find a way to fix that problemo
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