Young Writers Society

I didn't know whether to feel angry or relieved. Angry because he had dragged me here in the middle of the night when he could have done so in the morning. And relieved because I was no longer drowning in the rain.

He was walking back. His blank face made my decision for me. I turned on him.

"Why did you bring me here?!" I screamed. I hoped his ears would bleed. But I could have been mute for all it was worth. He blinked. Then he was walking again.

I should escape. But the doors were bolted. I was too tired, and the church was too warm. I could never find my way back with the whirling chaos outside. So I stayed seated on the front pew. And soon, he was sitting beside me.

"Elena..." he whispered, sending shivers up and down my spine. He took my hand in his. I was revolted. Holding hands was taboo. I tried to pull back. He had me in a viper's grip.

He leaned in. "I'm sorry, Elena. I truly am," he whispered once more. I could smell his breath, the smell of morning's dewy grass. A smell I'd always loved. I closed my eyes, breathing in his scent. The next second his lips were pressing into mine.

Blood began to boil in my veins. My heart was beating madly. I should slap him, I knew. I should kick his crotch and leave him bleeding on the floor. But I didn't want to. I was tired of doing what I should do. I wanted to kiss his lips. I wanted to believe that he loved me as much as I'd always loved him.

It took me a moment to realize that he'd pulled back. He'd trapped me in his embrace. One hand was running through my wavy, black hair. The other hand was in his pocket. That was strange.

"Elena," he crooned. "do you love me?"

If I could see myself in front of a mirror, I'm sure I would see myself blushing. I laid my head on his shoulder, something I'd always wanted to do. I decided to tease him.

"What if my answer was no?" I asked. I felt him stiffen. Laughter bubbled out my throat. He stared at me, bewildered.

"I was joking. Of course I love you," I said. Then I sighed. "More than you'll ever know."

He kissed my forehead. Then my nose. Then, once again, my lips. I felt the places his lips had touched tingle. "I love you too." he said, smiling with his widest smile. Yet it didn't touch his eyes.

"What's wrong, Miguel?" I asked.

He smiled that sad smile again. "I'm afraid of when I let you go."

He needn't worry. "I'll never go." I said, full of conviction.

I pulled back from his embrace. I curled my finger around a strand of my hair, and tugged. Then I took his hand, placing a part of me into his open palm. I closed his fingers around it, then brought his calloused hand to my lips. And I was trapped in his embrace once again.

There was a moment of contented silence. Then, "I'm sorry, Elena. But I love you too much." he said.

I was about to pull back, to ask him what he meant. But pain shot from my back. Something was piercing through my flesh. I tried to scream, but blood choked me into silence. Blood. It was forming a pool around me. It hurt.

I felt my position changed for me. My head was lying on his lap. He was crying. Then I remembered his hand in his pocket.

I stared into his chocolate eyes. He was hurting. I was dying and all I could think about was that my love was crying for me. The pain no longer mattered. Waves of unconsciousness were rolling over me. I gave up.

The last thing I saw was the crying eyes of my murderer. The crying eyes of my broken heart.


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Reminder: It's not really supposed to make sense yet. This is a prologue after all.

What do you think?

Wow. That definitely caught me. It doesn't make sense at all, but as you say, it's only a prologue. And as a prologue, it's a good one One thing that was a little confusing--at first she's screaming at him, as if she's furious, and the next, she says she loves him. It might just be me, but that seems like she switched emotions too quickly. There was no hint whatsoever that the two characters had any sort of loving relationship until much later. In fact, I thought he hated her and wanted to hurt her somehow from her reaction towards him at first. Of course, I was right in a way...but it still seems a little jumbled there.

Just a tip. But you've written a great hook!

Yeah I was thinking about that too. My only excuse would be to say that she was fighting against her feelings for him at first, because falling in love was 'improper'. But then she gives up as you can see in this part:

Blood began to boil in my veins. My heart was beating madly. I should slap him, I knew. I should kick his crotch and leave him bleeding on the floor. But I didn't want to. I was tired of doing what I should do. I wanted to kiss his lips. I wanted to believe that he loved me as much as I'd always loved him.

Anyway, thank you so much for that comment! I'm so gratef-- no. scrap that. I love you!!

I didn't find anything to critique .

One word though " more"

Nice job, I acually really like this in all its insane confusion. I didn't find anything to critique on though I am not very good at finding grammar mistakes.

I can't wait until the next part.

Keep up the good work
Cait

Thanks guys! Tough I think it'll probably take eternity before I post the next chapter.

Wooo! Yeah!

Haunting.
That gets a gold star from me

okay, im not a very good crituquer and i found nothing to critique.
but woah, this grabbed my attention immediatly.
very good , yeah. it doesnt make sense yet bu then in a way it does.
but its in a good way.
i really like this and cant wait to read the rest

Angry because he had dragged me here in the middle of the night when he could have done so in the morning. And relieved because I was no longer drowning in the rain.

Try to make this one sentence.

It's not really supposed to make sense yet. This is a prologue after all.

Why is it that everybody has this notion in their head that prologues don't have to make sense? Of course they have to make sense! You can't just say, 'oh, hey look a prologue, let's write about flipping donkeys and flying caterpillars when the story is about rape! It's a metaphor!!'

Your prologue has to make sense in some way. It can be vague, it can leave things out, but it cannot be used as an excuse to not do your only job as a writer: which is to tell the story.
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This was good, but short, so it was hard to find something to critique.

The one thing that stood out to me was:

CONSISTANCY!

One minute she's yelling. Then she's sitting on a pew in a church, then she's kissing him, but she's angry, but she loves him, but she hates him, but she's doing what she wants, but she's doing what she hates.

See what I mean? If she's going to yell, make her yell, and show it to. Don't just tell us she's yelling. If her blood is boiling, have her show it in some way. Why would she enjoy kissing him if she hated it?

Is she confused? Well, show it. Whatever it is that she's coping with, please tell us, because right now she is nothing but a dead girl in the arms of a crying murderer.

All in all, it didn't make sense. And not in the 'prologue' kind-of way, but in the plot/characters/what's going on, kind-of way.

Happy writing,
-JC