Young Writers Society

Masus fell to the ground causing bruises to bubble on his greasy skin. The jeers of laughing children howled over him as feet forwarded and added to the mass of wounds forming. Masus looked up at them, their faces gleaming with evil, gleaming with success and power, strength and might; something Masus never had, and something he craved more than life itself. A tear dripped from his grey eyes and dripped off his hooked nose, melding with a pool of blood from the lesion on his leg. Tightly, he clutched a stone in his hand, he emitted all his fears onto this, his palm sweltered.

He gripped it tight, trying to stop the pain, it didn't stop for the pain inside continued nor the pain of rejection from his peers, the awful sorrow and woe of being oppressed everywhere he went. He was the "Ghost Boy" or "The Thinning One" as they liked to mock before knocking him out cold. "You don't deserve to be here, Oh Thinning One," Screamed a young girl in pure hate, "Oh please kick him, please hurt him, I want to hear him scream like a girl." A huge kid obliged by sending a kick to his stomach. Masus clenched it and roared with pain.

"Please no," He whispered as blackness fogged his vision. "Please leave me, stop it..." He felt himself being dragged up against a wall, he could see his young pale reflection in the eyes of the boy doing it. He was an inch from Masus' face, he made a sound with his throat before spitting in his face and throwing him down again. An adult’s voice sounded, it had been there the whole time, joining in the laughter, making the wittier of the comments.
His tutor, old Mr Fisk cleared them away as Masus closed his eyes to shelter the chaos around him, he allowed himself to be physically beat again as he was brought to the headmaster for making a mess on the yard. He gritted his teeth at the echo of the cane, his face flooding with tears, flooding with pain and misery.

After school he went home. He sat, hurt, on the sofa, he dared not look around to his old mother, he dared not look at his father behind him for the shame he knew would be on their faces would drive him to insanity.

“We are disappointed son,” spoke the eerie voice of his father, nothing more than a whisper. A cold hand was placed on his shoulder, he felt its anger run through him. Masus would sooner face the beating at this point, nothing hurt him more than the dramatised shame of his parents. A single finger pointed up stairs. Masus rose and followed it, every step he took seeming like a death sentence, a sentence that was gladly welcomed. His life was like a constant interrogation, torture, only not for information, for pleasure. Masus didn’t blink once until he was safely in his room

Slamming the door he went and looked out of the window at the world he never had. He took a kitchen knife from under his bed and slashed it along his wrists, watching the blood stream from it onto the ground, his eyes flashed with passion. At least when he was alone he could hurt himself, be in control of his own pain. Another stream of tears left his spectral eyes, as the ghost boy left the world he knew for a life of the dead.

I'm liking this at the moment, but there are ways you can improve it.

This needs more paragraphing, and possibly some semi-colons as well.

It was also a bit too factual in places - you might be able to change parts of this so that it's more personal.

After school he went home to his parents, who bruised him with verbal abuse for being caned, he was sent to his room, he looked out of the window at the world he never had.

^ Here, it's a bit "he-did-this, he-did-that" at the moment, which is a shame, 'cause I think the beginning was really well-written. You can easily improve this though, and make it seem a little less rushed. Just try to get inside his head more. Maybe make it a little longer. Something like that...

Good luck with this. I'll post again if I can think of anything else.

Thankyou Kay, Ill be extending this when the time comes to include it in my main draft, I agree with everything you said, it is a little rushed at the end.

Part 2:

Masus, forgetting about the days wounds found strength, a new courage that could stare death in the face and command it with the lifting of a finger. He ran out of the house in his fathers grey robes, he took an oil lamp and little food with him.

No stars guided him, only the steering of a fiend. Whispers reverberated all around, repeating only one word “Hell”. Taking a horse from the stables Masus mounted it and rode on, faster than the wind, his eyes spiralled from grey to a blood shot red, his rage that had built up from so many years spun out of control and unleashed itself on him in so many ways.

The horse followed his every command, a forceful steer made the horse turn, a crack of the foot made it forward. In realisation Masus smiled crudely, he knew why the children at school did it, he knew why his parents burdened him with guilt, he knew it all now. It was for power. Only with power was there law, those who have the power write the law. There were laws for all things, the laws for the horse were to ride, ride onward at his master’s dictation.

His greasy hair was washed clean as it sprang back in the breeze, his face became ugly, his gauntness was expressed with greater detail than ever before.

He was far out of the city now, no one would see, no one knew. Not even his blasted father would be able to stop his desire now. The world he longed for so was his, he was the window, the seer of all.

Masus kneeled on the soft grass; he reopened his fresh wrist wound and formed a circle around himself in blood. He looked down to the ground. The whispers that haunted his journey grew louder, the world “Hell” embalmed itself around Masus being itself, the world shook around him, and the jeers of the children sounded over and over again. They were nothing; Masus looked around knowing Hell’s test, his blood burst into flame. Masus’ looked up at the sky, his eyes filled with a new bode. Slowly he opened his dried up lips and emitted a soft purr of laughter.

What can I say? That was completely awesome. I loved it.

Real surprise at the end, but a very fitting surprised. If you ever paln to do something with this, I encorouge you whole-heartedly!


Very cool. Oh yeah, and :thumb:

That was a awesome story. I've got absolutely no comments.you should get that published in a magazine.

I read the first part, it was pretty good, I liked it. At first I was imagining it in medieval times but then you changd it. Sooo, I shall read the second later. So far: Good, I felt sorry for the character, mad at the parents, etc. etc.

--Torpid

Yes Masus as a grown up is the main villain in a victorian type worled Fantasy I am writing. I wanted the reader to understand how he became the way he was and not just another Darth Vader knock-off.