Young Writers Society

I don't generally talk about what I remember, because I know that most of it never happened. Never could have happened. Vague recollections of impossible scenes are strewn across the ruins of my memory, and I decided long ago not to share them with anyone. But, for whatever reason, certain episodes in my memory are stronger, sharper—more real. I have recently realized that a few of these, if ordered correctly, tell the story of a life. Whether this is the history of my life, the life of another man, or even a complete figment of my madness—well, I suppose that may never be determined.

In any case, some of these memories are, I think, worth sharing.




I had been told the flight would last three hours. At the time, I couldn't decide whether that sounded like a long time or a short one, because I had never fully comprehended the distance between Finchtown and the border. I knew it had taken my aunt several hours to drive to the nearest city and back, and I knew it had taken a friend of my father's a day each way to drive to the coast and back, but I had never heard of anybody going to the border except for soldiers—and they seldom returned.

The grid of farms started to ripple as the plains turned into hills, and I remember noticing the way the clouds cast shadows over the ground. Up there, it was obvious (clouds block the sun from the earth; of course they cast shadows!), but it had never occurred to me to notice it from the ground. I remember wondering if, had I been adopted by a family other than the Ramsons—or had I never been orphaned in the first place—I would have grown up as one of those boys who sees every continent before he's ten. Maybe I would have flown on more airplanes than I could remember. Maybe I would have been used to looking down upon the earth and watching the shadows of clouds drift over the ignorant hills....

“Hey Tod, you've been quiet,” someone said from behind me.

I twisted my neck around to see the pale, thin face of Lenny Reed in the seat behind me.

“Never been on a plane before?” he asked.

I shook my head. He wore that pitying expression most of them wore when they thought about how underprivileged I was. Recognizing that the conversation was in danger of getting centered around “that unfortunate kid who'd been adopted into poverty, never even meeting his own parents,” I was careful not to mention the subject. Instead, I settled into an absurd opinion. An argument, I knew, would distract him from talking about me. “No, I haven't,” I said with a shrug. “But I don't think there should be airplanes anyway, do you? I mean, people used to walk everywhere—or ride their horses, or whatever—so maybe if we didn't have airplanes we'd be more like them. You know, happier. If there weren't airplanes, I'm pretty sure there would be lots more jobs, too. And then there'd be more money for everyone and that would, you know, solve lots of problems.”

Lenny shook his head, his face taking on the solemn thoughtfulness that we all wore when we were debating. “Nah, you've got it all wrong, man! That's not how it is. If there weren't airplanes, do you know how much the suicide rate would go up? Face it, it would skyrocket—no pun intended, of course. People wanna fly, man! It's—it's just part of human nature! If it weren't for airplanes people would be jumping to their deaths right and left off of, you know: cliffs, high buildings, the whole deal!”

“Yeah,” said a round-faced boy next to him. I didn't know his name, but I knew I'd seen him in Finchtown. “Then places like that would be roped off, and tourism would suffer, right? And movies would have to be filmed in the studio instead of on location. And if movies had to be made in the studio, then the movie companies or whatever would just start animating all their stuff because, why not? So lots of actors would lose their jobs.” He nodded sagely at this conclusion.

“Ah,” said Calvin Ross from across the aisle. “But is that a bad thing? Wouldn't fewer actors be better? I mean, what happened to knowing the faces you saw on the screen? There's too many to keep track of now. Not to mention that they all look the same. And they're not even, you know, that good—most of them, anyway. They get jobs because they have good names. It's true! Really, there are so many people auditioning for each role that the casting people just pick the ones with names that they can picture on posters.”

I nodded. “Then that makes people—actors and stuff, I mean—change their names. It's this whole idea that being false will make you more noticeable. It's what's destroying our foreign affairs, I tell you! There's nobody who'd diplomate—or diplomize—or... you know, be diplomatic with a place whose emblem claims to be a blue jay, when actually it's clearly just a bombastic thrush. It's no wonder the prisons are overflowing!”

It felt good to argue again. Back in Finchtown, arguments were a regular part of our life—only we would generally be standing in clumps on street corners, not sitting in the cold metal chairs of an airplane, and we would be wearing our loose, colorful clothes, not stiff military uniforms that itched so much they almost hurt. But I liked debating—I was good at it, and my absurd, outlandish arguments helped me fit in with the other boys. They were nonconformists, and in order to be one of them, I needed to be a nonconformist as well. Besides, I remember it felt good to see them all opining with their usual relish. It almost made me forget where we were going.

Then I felt my stomach lurch again, notifying me of the plane's descent. Looking out the window, I saw that the the landscape had become sharper. The farms had given way to thick black patches of forest, and winding paths of snow marked the topography. Even I knew that the border was in the mountains.




My memory of the camp is not very clear.

I remember that it was set up around a large, open cave cut into the mountainside. The cave was furnished with food, first aid, and lodging, but only the high-ranking officers slept there. The rest of us had to make do with the tents, which housed sixty people each under thin roofs that didn't do much to keep out the cold.

I also recall noticing that some of the officers didn't look much older than myself, and wondering if, had I grown up with another family, I would have somehow reached whatever exalted level would have permitted me to sleep in that cave.

Hundreds—no, thousands—of fresh soldiers were housed in the tents that night. Dressed in matching uniforms and with identical haircuts, we were all so similar that I wonder, looking back on it, how I didn't confuse myself with my comrades. The only soldiers we saw who had been there longer than us were the ones laid out on stretchers in the cave. It didn't occur to me to notice how meager their number was next to our swarming crowds, or to wonder what we would be reduced to on our second or third days at the border. I didn't wonder which of us would survive. Or if I did, it's not one of the memories that I have been able to piece together from my tattered mind.

I do not remember sleeping. Nor do I remember being served breakfast the next morning. (I think they probably didn't want to waste food on people who would be lucky to last until the afternoon.) But even through my exhaustion and hunger, I couldn't help but notice the beauty of the mountains. A thin mist clung to the deadly cliffs, blurring the snow over the black rock. The sheer height of those massive walls of stone was so much grander than anything I'd ever even imagined. I remember thinking that no matter how many far-fetched concepts I had thought of in my arguments back in Finchtown, there was no way I could ever have pictured anything so preposterously fantastic as those mountains.

We received our final commands at the edge of a ridge, before a sort of rocky plateau. We were told that if the enemy made it to our side of the plateau, the war would be lost and if we crossed to their side, it would be won. It was simple, really. The plateau was only a few hundred feet long, and barely wider than that—just a few slabs of barren black rock, painfully exposed to the sky. The mountains were so jagged that it was almost impossible to cross the border anywhere but here. It was like the geography had been designed to force us into battle.

For a moment, there was perfect silence as the officers who'd given us our commands retreated.

We crouched behind the ridge in a massive flock, guns held ready and knees poised to pounce. For whatever reason, I was at the front. When I looked back across the crowd of shivering boys, I knew I didn't stand a chance. The officers wouldn't have set up so many soldiers if they expected ones in the front to survive. I gazed jealously down the slope. I wondered if, had I been adopted by another family, I would have ended up in the place of one of those who were so far away in the valley that I could hardly see them. But then, I had to wonder if being back there would even make a difference. Was their chance of survival really much better than my own? While we waited, snow began to fall, muffling the already silent morning. It piled up lightly on our shoulders, but none of us dared brush it off.

It was the first time I'd seen snow falling.




Don't ask me what I was thinking when I did what I did next. I can't remember. And I honestly doubt I was thinking anything at all. All I know is that the boys around me stood up and started off across the plateau. So I did too.

At first we walked, slow and resolute, and numb. Our footfalls were the only sounds in the silent landscape. And then we were running. I don't know where they came from, but there they were, charging towards us—the enemy.

Soldiers ran. Guns fired. Soldiers fell.

Smoke and snow and cries filled the air. I couldn't think. I couldn't sit back and observe. I was in the middle of it. I was it. I fired my gun again and again, running and dodging and shooting almost randomly. All around me, boots were crunching on twigs and snow and I didn't want to think what else. The rock was slippery with snow, and I grabbed at the people next to me in order to stand up. A body fell against me and I kicked it aside, not looking at the face. Not caring. I couldn't afford to care. My breath was sharp in my throat, burning cold. The snow was coming down so hard now that I could hardly see.

Black rock. White snow. Gray uniforms. Green uniforms.

I pulled the trigger again.

And then I saw him. One of the enemy, running towards me with his gun ready. I remember his face coming into view through the snow—my face. He had my thick eyebrows, my square, pale jaw. For the briefest of eternities, our eyes met. They were the same dark gray color. They had the same, slightly slanted shape.

The last thing I remember is watching him fall.




When I came to, I was lying on a bed. Apparently, I'd passed out from shock when I was shot, and I rolled into a crack between rocks, where I passed for dead until the battle was over. I was trampled badly. I had also been shot three times, and though none of my wounds were lethal, the field doctors didn't think they could adequately tend to them. So they flew me to a hospital in the capital for better medical attention. I do not remember any of this.

It turned out to be a long recovery, and I still don't have feeling in one arm, but at least I am alive. Whoever I am. You see, what I have just recounted, or tried to recount, is only one of the stories I found in my memory. I have also found one other.

This other story tells me that my name is Tod Shallot, and that I'm from Larktown. It is so similar to the story of Tod Ramson from Finchtown that it took me a great deal of time to appreciate the differences between them, but there are differences. Many differences. And many contradictions. In fact, there are only two ways in which the two tales overlap exactly: the first way took me a very long time to pinpoint, but I am certain of it now. It is a feeling, a wondering about what would have happened had I been raised by a different family. The second way is the image I have imprinted on my eyelids whenever I close my eyes. The image of a man on a snowy plateau, his gun raised and the barrel pointed at me. His eyes, too, are looking straight into mine. It is the moment just before he falls, apparently dead, onto the black rock. Both stories lead to the same battle at the plateau, but that image is only in my mind once. I am sure of it. Tod Ramson and Tod Shallot both saw the same image before passing out.

Try as I may, I can not remember whether my uniform was gray and the other man's green, or mine green and the other man's gray. And I don't remember which army was which color. My uniform sits in a sealed plastic bag to this day, and I look at it occasionally, but it's too filthy for me to know its original color.

Even after all these years, I have yet to see its color. Yet to see whether either of the lives I remember is really my own. Maybe I will wash it, someday, and know a little more about my past. But not now.

I think I'll wonder a little longer.

-----------------------

So I took the guts to review this (LOL), when I knew that you're an awesome writer. Anyway, since I owe you a review (after failing and being late with the "Forger's Apprentice") I figured out to give you one now. You love contests, do you? XD

NITPICKS!

Nitpick # 1

I also recall noticing that some of the officials didn't look much older than myself....

So I do not know if this was intentional, (after all, it's in first person!) but I'd still like to say that that was supposed to be "I". =)

WOW. So that was it. *claps hand*

As I expected, I weren't going to see anything wrong with this. The previous nitpick may be intentional. Whatever. You're awesome. You're writing is awesome. Wow...

BUT...

after all those praises, that doesn't mean I don't have anything else to say.

OVERALL

First, I'd probably start blabbering about the story itself--the theme--but I'm not so good into pinpointing weak points in short story themes. I'll still try my best.

To be honest, I couldn't decipher what you were trying to impart here. Was it my poor reading? Or because it was intentional that this "memory" be one of those memories forever locked up in the MC's mind? I was a bit confused, quite disappointed still. The first paragraph struck me. "Wow..." It hooked me. The way you play with words was amazing. The order, the words. But the more I read, the more I didn't know anything about the plot; and, sadly, after reading everything, I still didn't get to feel the character.

Don't go whining on me now.

You said to be brutal.

Here I am.

Trying my best to be brutal.

But...

You're just too good.

You see, why I'm telling you that this fail as a short story, because I WANT IS AS A NOVEL.

As I was reading, I wanted to know more about your character. Why is it so? I kept on wondering, what if more memories were disclosed, will something be known about this guy? He intrigued me. Wow. So, now you know, I'm just being honest. I'd hoped this was a prologue, or a first chapter, instead of a short story. I wasn't satisfied with what I had read. LOL

Anyway, that's still bad news for you I think? This was meant to be a short story, and a short story was never meant to be a novel. But what if what we intended to create wasn't really what that particular thing was meant to be? See! Your character's madness is contagious. Kidding. I'm already insane myself.

I'll drop off this review. Last thing I'll have to say:
Nice job portraying this person. Though some times, I felt he was a bit neutral, still he wasn't some kind of man stereotype, so yay you! You've accomplished making you MC actually sound like a madman. Hihi...

Sorry for the rant. I'm in need of sleep right now. Maybe next time, I could actually make it up to you again.

See around, Azila! I'm only a wallpost away if you have any questions. Though I doubt it, 'cause I sound like a madgirl right now. Now who would want to ask questions from a madgirl? A physiotherapist perhaps?

~ Jash ♥

P.S. I dislike Weisly for this. He influenced this kind of thinking. HAHA... kidding.

Hi Azila! I don't actually have time for a review right now, but before I go, here are a few of my first thoughts upon reading this:

1. Gender and POV. I think you did the male pov quite well, but I can't tell if that's because I walked into the piece knowing what it would be or not. There were a few places were it got very dramatic and poetic, however, such as :

I could ever have pictured anything so preposterously fantastic as those mountains. 

or

Maybe I would have been used to looking down upon the earth and watching the shadows of clouds drift over the ignorant hills. 

I'm not saying he can't be poetic, or that these specific places need to be changed--rather, he just didn't seem the kind to use metaphors/descriptions like this.

3. Wordiness

This drags on an awlful lot. (I know you mentioned this) It isn't that the plot itself is too long, but the sentences themselves. I think it could easily be half this length. Seriously, sometimes axing every single word that does't help does wonders. : D



Ok, I'm outta time. *reserves spot *

Here to review!

First of all, I'm going to have to agree with Canis about the whole wordiness issue. I can see the theme of individuality in your story, but it is buried deep beneath lush descriptions and not entirely necessary scenes. What you have feels more like a condensed novel than a short story - there's too much going on for it to really be a short story, but not enough plot threads for it to be a novel.

Having said that, I do like the solemn feeling that permeates the whole story. It's everywhere, and it really works quite well to set up the mood. The character is interesting, although amnesia is just a tad overused in stories like this (on the flip side, I don't really see any other way this story would work). Not much to say in terms of grammar and spelling, except the occasional purple patch (I really can't think of any time you would absolutely have to use the word "undulate" in lieu of a simpler word like "rock" or "wave").

I'm not going to go super in-depth like I did for your previous contest entry, mainly because here the theme is pretty obvious, despite the wordiness. I preferred your first work, if only for the feeling of mysticism about it. Still, by its own merits, you've written another strong piece.

Your servant,
cC

Wolf here to review!

These are some of my memories from a certain winter many, many years ago.

There's nothing strictly wrong with this sentence, but I feel like it's not the best to get the reader's attention. I've heard more than once that a good opening sentence is crucial, so you may want to change it a bit. For example, mentioning how these events couldn't possibly have happened would be (in my opinion) more likely to get the reacher's attention right off the bat.

Vague recollections of impossible scenes are scattered across the ruins of my memory, and I have long ago decided not to share any of them with anyone.

Hmm ... I think there's too much description here. With that said, though, I don't think the sentence would work without it. Still ... too many syllables? Maybe if you replaced 'scattered' with 'strewn'? Just a suggestion, though.

But, for whatever reason, certain memories are stronger, sharper, more real.

In my opinion, this sentence would be more powerful as: But, for whatever reason, certain memories are stronger, sharper - more real.

In any case, these memories tell a story worth writing.

For some reason, this sentence just feels awkward to me. I think it would make more sense as "In any case, these memories are a story worth telling" or something similar. It's up to you, though.

It was so completely different from the lives we were used to that we didn't know what to think or how to act.

'So completely different' stood out to me because it seems different from the rest of your writing - less professional, more casual sounding?

I remember cursing my bad luck: if I had only been adopted by another family when I was two, I thought, I could have ended up in a unit with some people who actually knew how to be unique.

Unless this part is relevant, I think you should get rid of it. It seems kind of tacked-on and unnecessary.

We were all so good at copying and following that after only four days of training, the twenty of us functioned like one, well-oiled machine.

This is really nit-picky, but I think it would sound better as "a single, well-oiled machine".

I remember our silence was stifling.

You use quite a few 'I remember's - this one feels unnecessary. However, if you keep it, I'd suggest saying "I remember that".

We were all too scared to make noise.

I feel like this should be "... to make any noise", but maybe that's just me.

I distinctly remember the air being thick with a mute excitement so hideous that when the roaring of the engine filled the compartment, we were all relieved—even if the plane's lurching and shivering disturbed our already turbulent stomachs.

Sort of adjective heavy. Also, the use of 'turbulent' is kind of confusing here - I know what you're saying, but I associate the word here with the motions of the airplane since, you know, it's called "turbulence". It's up to you though, I just think a word like 'upset' would be better. :S

I had been told the flight would last three hours, but I couldn't decide whether that sounded like a long time or a short one, because I had never really comprehend the distance between Finchtown and the border.

Should be 'comprehended' or 'understood'

The grid of farms started to undulate as the planes turned into the hills, and I remember noting the way the clouds cast shadows over the ground.

Maybe it's just me, but I feel like it should be "as the planes turned into hills".

Opinions flew around the compartment so strong that I remember feeling them hit my ears.

Correct me if I'm wrong, but shouldn't it be 'strongly'?

I remember that it was set up around the a large, open cave cut into the mountainside. The cave was furnished with food, first aid, and lodging, but only the high-ranking officials slept in the cave. The rest of us had to make do with the tents, which housed sixty people each under thin roofs that didn't do much to keep the snow out.

I remember noticing that some of the privileged officials didn't look much older than myself. And I remember wondering if, had I been adopted by another family, I would have volunteered for the army the previous year.

Are you seeing what I'm seeing?

Or if I did, it's not one of the memories that I have been able to untangle from my tattered mind.

I think these two descriptions don't work that well together. In my opinion, it should be "untangle from my twisted mind" or "piece together from my tattered mind" (or something similar.

A thin, gray mist clung to the deadly cliffs, dispersing the brightness of the snow over the black rock. The sheer height of those massive walls of stone was majestic, I remember thinking, so much grander than anything I'd ever even imagined. No matter how many absurd, far-fetched concepts I had thought of back in Finchtown, there was no way I could ever have pictured anything so preposterously fantastic as those mountains.

This bit is kind of adjective/adverb heavy ... I think you can make it less so by getting rid of less necessary ones like 'black' and 'absurd'.

The plateau was only a few hundred feet long, and barely wider than that—a small area, really, just a few lifeless slabs of black rock.

I feel like you should either get rid of this, or replace it with a word like 'dark'. Just a suggestion, though.

While we waited, snow began to fall on us, muffling the already silent, gray morning.

[In my opinion] this is unnecessary.

It piled up lightly on our shoulders, and none of us dared brush it off.

I feel like it should be 'dared to brush it off', but it's really just a matter of personal opinion.

They had the same, slightly slanting shape.

[In my opinion] the comma here is unnecessary and interrupts the flow of the sentence.

And I am not even certain that they are the only stories that can be made from the shards of memory that remain in my mind.

You can elaborate a bit on this by saying: ... from the shards of memory that remain embedded in my mind. (Or something like that.)

The other story I found tells me that my name is Tod Shallot, and I'm from Larktown.

Something about this just seems ... off ... to me. Maybe it should be "and that I'm from Larktown"?

_____________________________________

1. Things I didn't like:
• There seemed to be more telling than showing in several places (lots of "I remember"s)
• I'm unsure as to how the narrator being non-conformist relates to the rest of the story
• I feel like it could have a stronger beginning

2. Things I liked:
• As usual, your description is beautiful
• The story moves along at a smooth pace
• The ending was quite good, very thought provoking

Overall, I quite like this. I think you should develop the character a tiny bit more - why did he want to be non-conformist? How does it relate to the war scene?

Good luck in the contest!

•

Ah Aliza! Here on request..
I am going to be especially mean as I submitted my entry for the competition a couple of days ago! Mhaw ha ha haaah! ;D

Ok so I guess I was a bit confused when I read this. I mean I'm not really sure what the plot is. As Jashy asked, Is it my bad reading? I too tend to skim over stories and miss things so let me know if I'm being ignorant. I too have that tendency. xD

Overall, I can't point out any other grammar errors other then what's already been pointed out. I guess I got here a little too late. XD
Your word choice and decription was really quite good, even amuzing. I like the way the story in its self seemed effortless. I don't mean that in a bad way. It was so fluant and all of it just rolled of your tongue in a pleasent way. It was just a really easy read. I hate a story with too my speech. Thats I weird thing of mine. I just hate it. I mean I love a little of it becuase you need it in a astory but I had a story based on speech. Then its not a story? Its more like a written audiobook? Anyway I liked how you had not too much speech-it was just right! It was informative and humorous at the same time.

Your imagery, well you didn't use that much of it but the bits you did were almost forbidden, if that makes sense. Its like you caught a glimpse of your amazing talent and then you caught us peeking and shut us out. Show us more! We want to be wowed by your work even more then we already are.

The plot as I already mentioned, was a little confusing. I seemed to be a little too... jumpy? Too choppy and unsure. I never really felt comfortable or at home with where it was all going. The ending too was a little blunt. I mean it was a really good ending it just, it felt like we were stuck in mid air. But in a way I liked how it ended too. So overall ignore me-I'm utterly confused!
The pace was a litttllllee slow for my liking. Maybe pick up the pace a little and to be honest I think you can cut out a whole load more. Some bits I felt were just there to lenghten the story. But it was good. I did like it but you can change some things and make me lovvvve it! <3 xD
So well done and may the best man lady win! ;)
Kaka xo

I'll just jump right in.

(clouds block the sun from the earth; of course they cast shadows!)

As mentioned in a previous post or two, the narrator is very solemn. He registers only what he sees and knows and does so with almost helpless matter-of-factness. "[This and that was so...oh well. This happened...another thing happened]" Which there's nothing wrong with, but with the above line, you definitely break character too much.

“Hey Tod, you've been quiet,” someone said from behind me.

It's a strange and almost forced way to introduce dialogue and the main character's name, since you spent so much time telling us how everyone was being quiet.

“Hey Tod, you've been quiet,” someone said from behind me.
I twisted my neck around to see the pale, thin face of Lenny Reed in the seat behind me.

I know there are a lot of sticklers on this site about repeating words of ANY KIND. While I'm not so strict about it, the "in the seat behind me" does feel redundant.

I shook my head awkwardly.

You're trying too hard to make the main character feel out of place. How does one shake a head awkwardly? Like bobbling around? I guess he has his body twisted so he can see Lenny so shaking your head from an extreme angle might be awkward, but that requires too much deduction to come up with. You lose more than you gain by adding "awkwardly."

“But I don't think there should be airplanes anyway, do you? I mean, people used to walk everywhere—or ride their horses, or whatever—so maybe if we didn't have airplanes we'd be more like them. You know, happier. If there weren't airplanes, I'm pretty sure there would be lots more jobs, too. And then there'd be more money for everyone and that would, you know, solve lots of problems.”
...
my absurd, outlandish arguments helped me fit in with the other boys.

The first argument already seems so outlandish (without ringing with humor), followed by the second and third outlandish arguments. You wait too long to let us know that they're purposely being weird, so the whole dialogue reads as...weird.

but only the high-ranking officials slept in the cave.

Might I suggest using the word "officer" instead? "Official" tends to denote government officials: guys who make laws, vote on stuff, etc. But "officer" has that nice military tone to it.

I wondering if, had I grown up with another family, I would have somehow reached whatever exalted level would have permitted me to sleep in that cave.

There's a lot of mentioning of this "unfortunate family", but we know nothing about how unfortunate it is except for him telling us that they're poor. If it were mentioned but once or twice in passing, I could deal with a simple "We were poor." But it soon becomes a running theme for his life, a major focus of his character, so now we have to know more.
It's like if we have a one-armed character who repeatedly mentions that he can't do things because of a horrible accident...and he's just waiting for us to ask, "What horrible accident?" (Whereupon he says with fake surprise, "Oh, how kind of you to ask!")

I could ever have pictured anything so preposterously fantastic as those mountains.

I think you should lose the "preposterously." You've already shown us how in awe he is of the mountains, so the mouthful adverb "preposterously" only takes away from the flow.
A rule some choose to write by: No adverbs. Of course, a couple are fine, but you shouldn't need to qualify your adjectives/verbs. Instead, your first tool should be word choice.

It was the first time I'd seen snow.

Great line after all that tense speculation.

And I am not even certain that they are the only stories that can be pieced together from the shards of memory I have found in my mind.

Not a fan of this line. It doesn't make much sense and doesn't add much.

The other way is the image I have imprinted on my eyelids whenever I close my eyes.

I appreciate this line very much. However, in that paragraph, there's so much "In this story [so and so]. In the other story [blah blah blah]. But in the first story..." that I get confused about which you're actually referring to and which is the image imprinted on the eyelids.

Even after all these years, I have yet to wash my uniform. Yet to see whether either of the lives I remember is really my own. Maybe I will wash it, someday, and know a little more about my past. But not now. I think I'll wonder a little longer.

I like this ending. I think it can be made stronger if we know even a hint of why the MC is afraid to find out the truth, though.

So overall!
You're a convincing man, man.

Your word choice is mostly excellent with the only stumbling blocks being balance of words and focus.

The story is entertaining. You don't get melodramatic about the war, itself, which is good. But take note: In all the best war stories I've read, the MC is not melodramatic...but you can tell something lurks under the surface. Some wishes, some fear, some moral confusion, some feeling that it all must've been some bad drug bender. It's boring if the MC is completely divorced from the events.
I think, if you wanted, your story could benefit greatly from subtle hints at inner turbulence. There's an author, Tim O'Brien, who writes some good books about his experience in/with/around the Vietnam War. The Things They Carried is my favorite.

The MC's voice could be tightened. He's solemn one second. Then getting excited about the cloud shadows. Then moody about his upbringing. Then weaving crazy arguments. Then solemn throughout. Not that you have to necessarily get rid of any of it, but they have to be believable exceptions. What I mean is: I'm okay with a badass bodybuilder painting faberge eggs on the weekends, as long as it's a believable transition that you've prepared us for.

Rock on.

Tiger here to review. Hopefully this time I'll say something that's actually helpful unlike my last review of yours. It's strange though; lasting time I was reviewing you it was my contest, this time we're competing in a contest. Anyway, time to review away!

In any case, some of these memories are, I think, worth sharing.

I think this should be I've decided. Seeing as he didn't used to think any of his thoughts were worth sharing once, and to differentiate his belief then and now.

Our silence was stifling. We were all too scared to make noise. Too scared by our predicament, too confused by our fear, and too embarrassed by our confusion. I remember the air being thick with a mute excitement so hideous that when the roaring of the engine filled the compartment, we were all relieved—even if the plane's lurching and shivering disturbed our already-nervous stomachs.

I'm not sure I understand how excitement is meant to be used here. They wouldn't be excited as in happy excited, not after the previous sentence. So that leave the idea that they could be excited into {insert emotion here}. And I as you've mentioned, they're scared. So that part of the sentence could be something like: Our fear (or whatever other emotion) was excited so much so that the air was thick with it, and when...{insert rest of the sentence here}.

and I knew it had taken a friend of my father's a day each way to drive to the coast and back,

Seeing as you already mentioned a day each way, adding this underlined part is sort-of redundant.

Instead, I settled into an absurd opinion, knowing an argument would distract Lenny from talking about me.

This sounds...strange. Off. He settled into an opinion? But people don't just settle into opinions, that implies that they barely thought them through. That the opinion is a simple idea or misconception. The word settled just makes opinion seem unserious. Or perhaps I'm reading too much into simple words. Anyway, I feel that something like: I stated an absurd idea or I settled into the conversation and stated an absurd opinion (if you want to have your cake and eat it too ) might fit better here.

Back in Finchtown, I remember, arguements were a regular part of our life—only we would generally be standing in clumps on street corners,

Groups? Clumps just seems a little out of context. And is there an e after the u in arguments? Or is that the American spelling?

Besides, I remember it felt good to see them all opining with their usual relish. It had almost made me forget where we were going.

The reading was going smoothly until that one word. And it sticks out because up until then you were using average words, and then here you went up a level or two. Basically, I think this would fit better as debating.

I remember that it was set up around the a large,

Typo?

and I wondering if, had I grown up with another family, I would have somehow reached whatever exalted level which would have permitted me to sleep in that cave.

Another typo, I think.

It was the first time I'd seen snow.

You mean it was the first time he'd seen snow falling. According to a paragraph above, he noticed A thin mist clung to the deadly cliffs, blurring the snow over the black rock.

I remember his face coming into view as we ran towards eachother

Each other.

I was had been trampled badly. I had also been shot three times, and though none of them wounds were lethal,

All-In-All

This story was strange. After reading it, I feel like...like someone who paused in what they were doing to listen to a stranger, and now that the stranger's finished, I go on with the work. I'm waiting for the impact to come.

The story did have it's good points. The beginning lulled me in, the debate between Tod and the rest of the boys amused me, and some of the descriptions I quite liked. But there were things that broke the story's flow; the character's voice seemed monotonous, especially with the constant 'I remember's and the generally sad tone. Tod seemed to have only a single emotion throughout the piece, he didn't get particularly happy but he didn't get too sad, he never seemed very surprised and he never showed anger. He wasn't flat, just constantly calm. Constantly tranquil. And it does suit the ending, but in the rest of the piece it seems sort-of strange. And perhaps it's just me, but I don't understand the constant idea of being adopted by another family. I'm sure it has something to do with the different sides of the war, but I can't tell.

The ending itself was good, and cleared up the beginning, but I think you could have simplified it somewhat. What I mean is that it isn't at all confusing, but it drags on a bit. This whole part:

for there are still many things in my memory which do not fit with either, and which I know must be concoctions. And I am not even certain that they are the only stories that can be pieced together from the shards of memory I have found in my mind. But for now, I think I have enough to puzzle over.

basically repeats what you said in the very beginning. And in the second to last paragraph, I just have the feeling that some sentences could be shortened. Just a little bit. Oh, and you use the word other quite often in the end; it's slightly repetitiveness.

To round-up, this is a great, thought-provoking piece. Tod's predicament sort-of reminds me of Alzheimer's, and that only adds to the theme of the story, intentional or not. I did love the descriptions, although in some parts they become quite long; I think Canis mentioned this. I believe all you need is to add a little more to Tod's emotions, and try and cut down on the long descriptions. Then this'll be amazing. Great job, and KEEP WRITING!

Tiger

P.S. I hope this review actually helps.

H'okay, Azzi! I'm here to review. :3

Okay, so there aren't many things that I'd like to point out but this version sounds a lot less wordy and easier to follow than the previous one. I felt like the last one was a tad bit draggy since it was stuffed with adjectives in which you seem to like very much. =) Anyway, I can see the improvement here and it makes me smile. -> :] (See?)

The first thing I noticed was the little breaks in the secondary character's speech. I guess it gives him personality as someone who has a difficult time expressing their words correctly or having to think about it. However, it becomes a bit annoying to read. It could just be me and my personal opinion on it. Though, you keep it pretty light so I'm glad you did that and if you think about it, some people do talk like that so it's pretty realistic. Would've been nice if you gave us a physical description to match his voice thought, that way I'd feel more likely to believe the way he talks is because of the way his character is. Um, not sure if you know what I'm talking about but yeah. xD

There is one thing that I would like to compliment you on thought, that was your opener. I thought it was a very nice pull and it really got me reeled into the story. But after that, the conversation about the actors and planes was a bit boring but I pulled through it. If there's a way to make that bit interesting, maybe you should try since it felt awkward after that nice starter.

Smoke and snow and cries filled the air.

*Brings out the inner nitpicker*
I don't like the double 'and' in this sentence. Smoke, snow and cries filled the air, sounds a little better. xD

and I shoved at the people next to me in order to stand up

Do you mean pulled? I don't exactly find 'shove' to be the right word to use when someone is trying to stand up.

As far as the battle scene went, it was actually pretty good. I'm glad you used some of the five senses there, it made it sound so much more alive. My only advice in this part would be to show us what your protagonist is doing one action at a time. Your description were a bit random and scattered. Like, you showed us the little things he did but maybe you could have expanded it a bit more and created a small sequence of events that led up to that twin enemy of his or something. Gosh, what's wrong with me today? I can't explain anything at all. If you don't know what I'm talking about, PM me and I'll try to explain my thoughts in further detail.

And for the ending of the story, I really like it. It was emotional, deep and it really fit in with the rest of your character's thoughts. I did enjoy the ending but I wish you gave us more of a reason why he wouldn't want to find out which one of the soldiers he was and why didn't the meds try to figure that out? Anyway, if we get too much into the detail it will probably ruin the story. >.> Anyway, I would liked more his thoughts on that ending but in any case, I thought it was pretty well thought out.

Overall, it was very good. I enjoyed reading it and the ending, I didn't see it coming at all. I thought the twin was more of a mirror of what he saw himself or something but it turned out to be more than that. Good job! =]

-Pink

Ash: Pokemon, I choose you to review Azila's work!

Me: *jumps in* No problem!

Hey there Azila. *waves*

Your request has surely made me happy!

First of all, you have an interesting piece. I agree with the reviewers above me, your writing style is different, in a good way, from other writers. Imageries are written well and the events are flowing smoothly. ^^ (by the way, if you see any repetitive comments, I apologize since I didn't really have plenty of time to check all the comments.)

As what Pink has stated, the ending quite surprised me too. At first, I was a bit confused on the part when he saw this person who shot him and that looked like him. And then it was only at the ending part when I started to comprehend the story concept you have here. I'm guessing it was how the main character narrates the story. First he's on the plane, arguing and telling to the readers about his being nonconformist and then... cut- he talks about the camp... cut- the third thing that happens is the war. Though I understand that he's trying to remember his past, but still it looks like as if three papers, each with different events are pasted as one.

I'm not saying that's a bad thing of how the story is running, but perhaps it's the inconsistencies of events happening to him. But anyway, I think this is just me being nitpicky. ^^ *shrugs*

Grammar wise, there are just slight blunders I can spot on. I can't tell if you have really changed some things, but I say that you've improved, because as based on the previous critiques, you seem o have wordy sentences which I think now is lessened. And it's good on how you show more, less on telling. Even though the story style is changing tenses, which is pretty reasonable, I find very effective throughout the piece. All in all, grammatically speaking, your prose is good.


So here are some nitpicks, y'all. ^^

They gave us our final commands at the edge of a ridge, before a sort of rocky plateau.

Before this sentence is the paragraph where the main character describes the beautiful sceneries, so I think it would be better if you have a noun, not a pronoun because your readers might get confused as to who the people you're talking about.

and I still don't have feeling in one arm,

This is a bit awkward. I think saying "my arm is numb" is better and easier than saying that. Note: don't use longer words when one or just two can be used.

People ran. Guns fired. People fell.

Be specific. Who are those 'people' you're talking about? Soldiers, I assume?

and I grabbed at the people next to me in order to stand up.

I don't understand this sentence. Maybe this is just me... or this is just a typo and you meant to say "person" not "people"?

It is a feeling, a wondering about what would have happened had I been raised by a different family.

I think you need "if" between 'happened' and 'had', for a better flow.

At first we walked, slow and resolute, and numb.

Three adjectives in a row? uh-oh. I think you can replace them by showing. And I think you can just substitute the first 'and' with a comma. Saying 'twice' is being repetitive and repetition sometimes is never fun to read. (see?)

When all said and done...

Kicking aside those comments, this is a very good piece, Azila. I don't really have much negative things to say (and although I really want to be brutal. lol), because everything's pretty neat and clean and it's written well. I like the story idea, about a man being adopted and had been shot by his twin- who was one of them... the enemy, right? So this is a good read and you deserve three Starbucks' cappuccino and some sprinkled chocolate doughnuts. Well... if you don't want them, you can give it to me. lol.

So I hope you see this review still helpful, despite of all the good critiques you have here. Let me know if you have any questions or clarifications.

Keep writing and peace out,
Yuri