Shady back with another review for you, as promised! Let's jump right in!
Jesús, his brother,
You don't need to have this tag anymore. At this point we all know well that Raffie and Jesus are brothers, so you don't need to keep adding "his brother" after either of their names.
Another man was in there, a tall, rough-looking, middle-aged standard with wavy, unkempt, even greasy, brownish hair.
I don't know if you are intentionally having this in here as a testament as to how sketchy this Children's Home is, cause I'm getting vibes that's not a great environment, but in case this is an oversight I thought I'd point it out. It is absolutely not okay for an adult to be using the children's restroom in places like schools/state homes/etc. where there's a bunch of vulnerable children. That's just... not okay, by the standards of any reputable institution.
I must be going mad, Raffie thought, because it seems I am watching people too closely. I shouldn’t be so jumpy around these strangers, who will become my temporary guardians for two weeks.
Here's another example of pretty unbelievable thoughts. He's a child. A traumatized child at that. He's not going to be thinking so rationally, and even if he does force himself to slow down and rationalize his thoughts, he's not going to think about the adults in his life as "temporary guardians" you know? A kid his age would be more likely to think about "the people who are going to take care of me now" or something more along those lines. Think about making it age-appropriate terminology when you're writing the kids.
Raffie gasped in terror as he witnessed the uncovering of the person’s identity - it was the man with the bow in his upper back, the one whom Raffie distrusted from the moment they briefly passed each other in the lavatory.
Oh, grrr. >:( I thought that this dude was going to turn into a creepy predator but I was really really hoping that I was wrong about that. That's... grrr.
She took a sturdy foot and savagely kicked him in the solar plexus. The man doubled over in agony.
YES! Okay, whew, I am okay with this resolution. That is NOT at all where I thought you were taking the story and I was so worried about poor Raffie. I'm so glad that the creepy man didn't succeed. <3
“My point being, Mrs. Chetty, that it is quite possible you will also take the fall for this.”
Hmmm, I'm also not really buying this. If she did a background check that's really all she can be expected to do on her employees. It's not like she's the cops or the FBI (yes I recognize that this is London but I'm American and I don't know what their equivalent is -- Scotland Yard? Whatever it is) for her to have access to all those police files. In theory, I would think that those complaints would come up in a background check for someone who is applying to work with children. But if they didn't, then it's really not her fault.
The only way I would think that she would also be responsible is if she "forgot" to send off his background check or knowingly helped him cheat on it or something like that. If she did everything she could for screening then it's really not her fault if she accidentally employed a pedo -- especially since she had such a strong reaction against him the moment he showed himself. Not really buying that she's also going down for his choices.
~ ~ ~
Wow! Another chapter packed full of things... and also waaaaay too long. This is another two or three chapters packed into one. I'm honestly probably going stop reviewing after this chapter for the simple fact that I just can't focus long enough to get through your chapters and that's not fair to your work for me to just be skimming the last third of your chapters.
I would STRONGLY recommend that you break the rest of your chapters up into smaller sections to make them easier to read and review.
The other thing that made me scratch my head is the way the siblings are being split up. I know that that was to add some drama to the story and probably has a strong impact on the story later on -- and I also don't know how they do things in London -- but in America that wouldn't fly at all.
I know of a situation where a couple were fostering two young kids and then their birth mother had a third child. The couple originally said that they would keep the two kids but they couldn't handle a newborn at that point -- and the child protective services told them that they either had to take the baby as well or they'd lose all three kids. So, like, the two older kids had never even met the baby before -- but they were adamant that the siblings were not to be split up.
And here it's like they're not even attempting to find a resolution to keep the brothers together. It's only been less than 24 hours since their parents died and they're already being thrust into separate homes. It doesn't feel realistic. At all. Even though it does add in drama.
Again, I hope this review wasn't too harsh! I do think you have a good idea here and a promising concept. By far your biggest issue in this chapter is just how extraordinarily long it is. It definitely needs split up into smaller chapters.
Alright! First review. In order to make these a little easier to read, I'm only going to keep the paragraphs I have a statement to make on. Let's get started!
“Here we have our common area, basically the living room where we all meet and mingle during the day. Over here is the kitchen, where we’ll make food for everyone three times a day.” They walked down a whitewashed hallway. “And down here will be where your room will be, in fact, I believe it’s this one.” She unlocked a whitewashed door with a master key and swung it open. Inside was a sterile, bare room, and in the corner was a stark-looking bunkbed - yes, another bunkbed. Bunkbeds were always present wherever there was budgeting and expenses that were hard to meet. It was as if bunkbeds were mass-produced for penny-pinchers and middle-class strugglers with too many children and not enough room. It always had the impression of slapdash caring, of “just stuff ’em all in these little white rooms and feed them three square meals a day, and you’ll be called heroes.” Maybe not everyone felt or acted this way, it was sure to Raffie and his brother that this was not the intent their parents had when they bought a bunkbed - indeed it was because they had no money, and therefore didn’t really have a choice in the matter.
Ha! My old house was really small and I used to have a bunkbed! Honestly, that's really true. It was a three bedroom house. Not great for six people! Thankfully, we have a much better, five bedroom house.
It was also sure that Margaret Chetty did not have the intent to just be recognized as a saver of lives and a protector of displaced children. She had something personal in that game, something from her past that drove her to do what she was doing; Raffie wondered if it had anything to do with the picture on her desk.
Mysterious! I like this subtle introduction of the background of the character.
At least they were fed, and with decent food. At least they weren’t shoved onto the streets where no one would care about them at all, and would let them starve. At least they had a place to stay for two weeks, a roof over their heads that could be promised every night for that specifically planned time. They finished the lunch meal, tossed the plastic in a close-lid bin, and remained in solitude, not interested in mingling with the other children.
Hmm... I think this is good. However, the kids kind of lack character. They're just very atypical, obedient children. All good kids have a little rebel streak in them. Try to bring that out. Or maybe give them an interest, like art or music. Just give them a little 'flavor'.
A short time later, Raffie had separated from his brother and was walking alone for a few minutes. He wanted some space to think about what had happened to him and his family, and what was yet to come. He found himself down a sterile, white hallway, walking towards the restroom. He wasn’t rather sure why, but let his feet guide him. He swung open the door and entered the lavatory that had a faint odor of chlorine and bleach. Another man was in there, a tall, rough-looking, middle-aged standard with wavy, unkempt, even greasy, brownish hair. There was a bow in his upper back from hereditary kyphosis; his neck, too, seemed to jut forward. He was wearing a tattered leather jacket and common blue jeans, and something about him made Raffie wary. The man was just washing his hands when Raffie walked in, and he greeted him with a wild look of sadistic pleasure; it only flashed for a moment, and then was gone.
Ughrrdjfdjklfl;sa! That's kind of an accurate representation of the sound I made when I read this description of this guy. Shivers literally went down my spine. I find it hard to describe a character well without over-describing them, but you did a really good job.
“Hello, child,” he said in passing, then left the tiled room. Raffie’s eyes followed the man as he walked out; he couldn’t help but feel uneasy from being near him. I must be going mad, Raffie thought, because it seems I am watching people too closely. I shouldn’t be so jumpy around these strangers, who will become my temporary guardians for two weeks. He shuddered. A part of him wondered for a brief, unlikeable second that his wary notions could hold truth, but he pushed that thought away.
I can understand that the fact that his parents' and brothers' death caused him to become kind of wise for his years, but really, his languge and his mannerisms are not very accurate to a seven year old.
With a rough paper towel - a texture like sandpaper - Raffie ran the cross necklace under the steamy water, rubbed ferociously to remove the blood. No matter how hard he tried, it did not remove. It was permanent now, a constant, immortal memory that might haunt him ’till the day he perished. He scrubbed and silently screamed in agony; no one heard his pain, for he kept it contained within the room; his face was lit up red with fiery grief and uncontrollable rage - a feeling he had never felt before, especially at that magnitude. Tears came down his face as he beat at the blood-stained cross to get it clean of all painful memory, and in its incorruptibility he cried without making a sound.
I'm just gong to assume that there's something mystical going on here, because there's really no way that all the blood managed to stay on the cross .
The two brothers found themselves rather bored for the next five hours. Then dinner came around, and they had something to occupy the slow-moving time. The dinner that was served was a standard burger buffet, nothing special. The wheat buns were small, but comparable. The meat and additives were good for what they were, and served to satisfy the children’s hunger. It was a ponderous meal with ponderous mastication, and went in ponderous silence. It was the kind of thing only deemed necessary, not enjoyable. It went on for thirty minutes, no more, no less.
Okay, I'm going to repeat something that I said in a n earlier review, but you have to tone down your language a little bit. Your use of vocabulary is excellent, but use too much of it and it sonds pretentious.
The evening drew on. No one ever left the place to go on walks or errands; it was like a prison, a prison that was necessary. Raffie didn’t like that place, but knew there was no other way, and it wouldn’t be for long, only two weeks. It was almost unbearable to sit around doing nothing for hours at a time; both of the brothers felt the need to do something and go somewhere, especially Raffie, but they’re position couldn’t be helped at the moment.
LND: 'they're' should be changed to 'their'.
The silence of the remaining evening felt empty, though contrasting to what Raffie thought it might feel, it was not indeed lifeless; he would have liked for the silence to be dead, but it was not dead - indeed, it was teeming with nightmares that could not be explained.
This is an amazing paragraph. I just want to acknowledge that.
Three hours later, however, a shadowy, bent silhouette of a human figure appeared through the frosted window of their door. It frightened Raffie so; it was like a head suddenly flashing into appearance out of nowhere with a startling jerk - it scared the hell out of him. But what was someone doing there, at their door? The shadow of the head grew darker and larger, showing that whoever it was, they were attempting to see through the fogged-up glass and inside the room, and did they succeed? Raffie had no way to know. He was too terrified to know, or of knowing how to know, if the unidentified figure at the door could see through the glass. Suddenly the door handle jiggled back and forth in rapid, staccato movements, then the sound of a key inserting into the lock, and the slow, terrifying turn of the handle, and opening of the door. Raffie gasped in terror as he witnessed the uncovering of the person’s identity - it was the man with the bow in his upper back, the one whom Raffie distrusted from the moment they briefly passed each other in the lavatory. He scrambled to the back of his bed in a vain effort to escape the approaching figure, who upon his shadowy face had a wicked look - wide, disturbed eyes, a mouth hanging open and salivating, the bony cheeks appearing more sinister with the darkness shading them; like the mask of a sadistic joker, he walked toward the bunk, arms outstretched. The man suddenly lunged at the bunk where Raffie desperately tried to escape from, but only pushed himself deeper into the corner of the wall. Raffie screamed in a high-pitched voice, and the man suddenly became filled with rage at that; the rage came from his fear of others being roused by the frightened cries of the boy. He advanced, and ducked under the top bunk to get at Raffie, and lunged forward, attacked him, tried to grab his crotch. Raffie screamed even more horribly, and put up a fight, desperately trying to kick and punch the man who was trying to assault him. Raffie looked down at his hands for a split-second, saw his ragged nails, and leapt forth with fingers outstretched, like a pouncing animal, and clawed at the man’s face. The blood felt cold under his fingernails; the man yelled out in horror, the blood streaming down his wicked face. Jesús awoke and immediately sprang into action to save his younger brother, jumping down to the ground and ramming his small body into the man’s legs, even throwing savage jabs into the man’s groin. With surprising strength and ferocity the two brothers went after the perverted monster, beating at him with their small but rock-like hands. Moments later came rushing in Margaret Chetty with the straw-like hair, two burly men beside her with their fists clenched.
“What the hell is going on?” Margaret screamed. The fight abruptly stopped, the two brothers moving far away from the man who now had a bloody face.
“That man tried to attack me!” Raffie shrieked back at her.
“What do you mean, attacked?” She yelled angrily.
“He lunged at me, tried to grab me in the crotch!”
“He WHAT?”
“You heard me!”
Margaret Chetty was in a fury. She went over to the man with the bloody face, stared directly into his swollen eyes. “You will pay dearly for this heinous crime against my children!” She took a sturdy foot and savagely kicked him in the solar plexus. The man doubled over in agony. “I’m calling the police - right now!” She screamed. Raffie and Jesús stayed as far away from the man as possible, the elder brother watching over the younger.
Raffie was horrified, stunned, confused, mentally shocked. He couldn’t understand what would prompt the man to attack him in such a terrifying way. Something was very wrong with that man’s brain, something wrong in a disturbing, unforgivable way. Margaret came back, her face red with rage, and she screamed murderously at the perpetrator with a tone of pure, agonized wrath and acrimony, with gravitas and hatred: “YOU WILL GO TO JAIL FOR THE REST OF YOUR CURSED LIFE YOU GOD DAMN ANIMAL! YOU FILTHY SCUM! YOU VILLAINOUS MONSTER! YOU COWARDLY CREEP! IF I WERE THE JUDGE, JURY, AND EXECUTIONER, I WOULD GIVE YOU THE FUCKING DEATH PENALTY!” She took the hands of the terrified young boys and marched them out of the room. Her two guards kept the evil man under close watch, and whenever they felt like it, they would beat him ferociously.
Wow holy hell. I really wasn't expecting that. Jesus. That freaked me out hardcore. The only thing I would change is that it sounds really silly when you say 'whenever they felt like it, they would beat him ferociously'. That's not really legal.
Okay I'm going to cut this a little short becuase there's not really anything fo rme to criticize, but great job! As always, you're doing great. Keep writing!
Thank you so much for the in-depth review! It is really helping me a lot.
Post Info
Points:
Time spent:
Canary word: Present
Possible AI signals:
Original Text:
Delete Comment
Are you sure you want to delete this comment? This cannot be undone.
Mark as Review
Mark this comment as a review? Points will be awarded to the poster.
Edit Comment
Review counted!
Posted as a comment
Your comment was posted, but it wasn’t long enough to count as a review. Reviews need about four complete sentences (at least 250 characters). Try writing another review that explains your thoughts in more detail — the author will appreciate it, and you’ll earn points for it.
Maybe what most people wanted wasn't immortality and fame, but the reassurance that their existence had meant something. No matter how long... or how brief. Maybe being eternal meant becoming a story worth telling. — Roshani Chokshi, Aru Shah and the Nectar of Immortality
Hey Amadeus,
Shady back with another review for you, as promised! Let's jump right in!
You don't need to have this tag anymore. At this point we all know well that Raffie and Jesus are brothers, so you don't need to keep adding "his brother" after either of their names.
I don't know if you are intentionally having this in here as a testament as to how sketchy this Children's Home is, cause I'm getting vibes that's not a great environment, but in case this is an oversight I thought I'd point it out. It is absolutely not okay for an adult to be using the children's restroom in places like schools/state homes/etc. where there's a bunch of vulnerable children. That's just... not okay, by the standards of any reputable institution.
Here's another example of pretty unbelievable thoughts. He's a child. A traumatized child at that. He's not going to be thinking so rationally, and even if he does force himself to slow down and rationalize his thoughts, he's not going to think about the adults in his life as "temporary guardians" you know? A kid his age would be more likely to think about "the people who are going to take care of me now" or something more along those lines. Think about making it age-appropriate terminology when you're writing the kids.
Oh, grrr. >:( I thought that this dude was going to turn into a creepy predator but I was really really hoping that I was wrong about that. That's... grrr.
YES! Okay, whew, I am okay with this resolution. That is NOT at all where I thought you were taking the story and I was so worried about poor Raffie. I'm so glad that the creepy man didn't succeed. <3
Hmmm, I'm also not really buying this. If she did a background check that's really all she can be expected to do on her employees. It's not like she's the cops or the FBI (yes I recognize that this is London but I'm American and I don't know what their equivalent is -- Scotland Yard? Whatever it is) for her to have access to all those police files. In theory, I would think that those complaints would come up in a background check for someone who is applying to work with children. But if they didn't, then it's really not her fault.
The only way I would think that she would also be responsible is if she "forgot" to send off his background check or knowingly helped him cheat on it or something like that. If she did everything she could for screening then it's really not her fault if she accidentally employed a pedo -- especially since she had such a strong reaction against him the moment he showed himself. Not really buying that she's also going down for his choices.
~ ~ ~
Wow! Another chapter packed full of things... and also waaaaay too long. This is another two or three chapters packed into one. I'm honestly probably going stop reviewing after this chapter for the simple fact that I just can't focus long enough to get through your chapters and that's not fair to your work for me to just be skimming the last third of your chapters.
I would STRONGLY recommend that you break the rest of your chapters up into smaller sections to make them easier to read and review.
The other thing that made me scratch my head is the way the siblings are being split up. I know that that was to add some drama to the story and probably has a strong impact on the story later on -- and I also don't know how they do things in London -- but in America that wouldn't fly at all.
I know of a situation where a couple were fostering two young kids and then their birth mother had a third child. The couple originally said that they would keep the two kids but they couldn't handle a newborn at that point -- and the child protective services told them that they either had to take the baby as well or they'd lose all three kids. So, like, the two older kids had never even met the baby before -- but they were adamant that the siblings were not to be split up.
And here it's like they're not even attempting to find a resolution to keep the brothers together. It's only been less than 24 hours since their parents died and they're already being thrust into separate homes. It doesn't feel realistic. At all. Even though it does add in drama.
Again, I hope this review wasn't too harsh! I do think you have a good idea here and a promising concept. By far your biggest issue in this chapter is just how extraordinarily long it is. It definitely needs split up into smaller chapters.
Hope this helped! Keep writing!
~Shady
Thanks for the review!
Alright! First review. In order to make these a little easier to read, I'm only going to keep the paragraphs I have a statement to make on. Let's get started!
.
“Here we have our common area, basically the living room where we all meet and mingle during the day. Over here is the kitchen, where we’ll make food for everyone three times a day.” They walked down a whitewashed hallway. “And down here will be where your room will be, in fact, I believe it’s this one.” She unlocked a whitewashed door with a master key and swung it open. Inside was a sterile, bare room, and in the corner was a stark-looking bunkbed - yes, another bunkbed. Bunkbeds were always present wherever there was budgeting and expenses that were hard to meet. It was as if bunkbeds were mass-produced for penny-pinchers and middle-class strugglers with too many children and not enough room. It always had the impression of slapdash caring, of “just stuff ’em all in these little white rooms and feed them three square meals a day, and you’ll be called heroes.” Maybe not everyone felt or acted this way, it was sure to Raffie and his brother that this was not the intent their parents had when they bought a bunkbed - indeed it was because they had no money, and therefore didn’t really have a choice in the matter.
Ha! My old house was really small and I used to have a bunkbed! Honestly, that's really true. It was a three bedroom house. Not great for six people! Thankfully, we have a much better, five bedroom house.
It was also sure that Margaret Chetty did not have the intent to just be recognized as a saver of lives and a protector of displaced children. She had something personal in that game, something from her past that drove her to do what she was doing; Raffie wondered if it had anything to do with the picture on her desk.
Mysterious! I like this subtle introduction of the background of the character.
At least they were fed, and with decent food. At least they weren’t shoved onto the streets where no one would care about them at all, and would let them starve. At least they had a place to stay for two weeks, a roof over their heads that could be promised every night for that specifically planned time. They finished the lunch meal, tossed the plastic in a close-lid bin, and remained in solitude, not interested in mingling with the other children.
Hmm... I think this is good. However, the kids kind of lack character. They're just very atypical, obedient children. All good kids have a little rebel streak in them. Try to bring that out. Or maybe give them an interest, like art or music. Just give them a little 'flavor'.
A short time later, Raffie had separated from his brother and was walking alone for a few minutes. He wanted some space to think about what had happened to him and his family, and what was yet to come. He found himself down a sterile, white hallway, walking towards the restroom. He wasn’t rather sure why, but let his feet guide him. He swung open the door and entered the lavatory that had a faint odor of chlorine and bleach. Another man was in there, a tall, rough-looking, middle-aged standard with wavy, unkempt, even greasy, brownish hair. There was a bow in his upper back from hereditary kyphosis; his neck, too, seemed to jut forward. He was wearing a tattered leather jacket and common blue jeans, and something about him made Raffie wary. The man was just washing his hands when Raffie walked in, and he greeted him with a wild look of sadistic pleasure; it only flashed for a moment, and then was gone.
Ughrrdjfdjklfl;sa!
That's kind of an accurate representation of the sound I made when I read this description of this guy. Shivers literally went down my spine. I find it hard to describe a character well without over-describing them, but you did a really good job.
“Hello, child,” he said in passing, then left the tiled room. Raffie’s eyes followed the man as he walked out; he couldn’t help but feel uneasy from being near him. I must be going mad, Raffie thought, because it seems I am watching people too closely. I shouldn’t be so jumpy around these strangers, who will become my temporary guardians for two weeks. He shuddered. A part of him wondered for a brief, unlikeable second that his wary notions could hold truth, but he pushed that thought away.
I can understand that the fact that his parents' and brothers' death caused him to become kind of wise for his years, but really, his languge and his mannerisms are not very accurate to a seven year old.
With a rough paper towel - a texture like sandpaper - Raffie ran the cross necklace under the steamy water, rubbed ferociously to remove the blood. No matter how hard he tried, it did not remove. It was permanent now, a constant, immortal memory that might haunt him ’till the day he perished. He scrubbed and silently screamed in agony; no one heard his pain, for he kept it contained within the room; his face was lit up red with fiery grief and uncontrollable rage - a feeling he had never felt before, especially at that magnitude. Tears came down his face as he beat at the blood-stained cross to get it clean of all painful memory, and in its incorruptibility he cried without making a sound.
I'm just gong to assume that there's something mystical going on here, because there's really no way that all the blood managed to stay on the cross
The two brothers found themselves rather bored for the next five hours. Then dinner came around, and they had something to occupy the slow-moving time. The dinner that was served was a standard burger buffet, nothing special. The wheat buns were small, but comparable. The meat and additives were good for what they were, and served to satisfy the children’s hunger. It was a ponderous meal with ponderous mastication, and went in ponderous silence. It was the kind of thing only deemed necessary, not enjoyable. It went on for thirty minutes, no more, no less.
Okay, I'm going to repeat something that I said in a n earlier review, but you have to tone down your language a little bit. Your use of vocabulary is excellent, but use too much of it and it sonds pretentious.
The evening drew on. No one ever left the place to go on walks or errands; it was like a prison, a prison that was necessary. Raffie didn’t like that place, but knew there was no other way, and it wouldn’t be for long, only two weeks. It was almost unbearable to sit around doing nothing for hours at a time; both of the brothers felt the need to do something and go somewhere, especially Raffie, but they’re position couldn’t be helped at the moment.
LND: 'they're' should be changed to 'their'.
The silence of the remaining evening felt empty, though contrasting to what Raffie thought it might feel, it was not indeed lifeless; he would have liked for the silence to be dead, but it was not dead - indeed, it was teeming with nightmares that could not be explained.
This is an amazing paragraph. I just want to acknowledge that.
Three hours later, however, a shadowy, bent silhouette of a human figure appeared through the frosted window of their door. It frightened Raffie so; it was like a head suddenly flashing into appearance out of nowhere with a startling jerk - it scared the hell out of him. But what was someone doing there, at their door? The shadow of the head grew darker and larger, showing that whoever it was, they were attempting to see through the fogged-up glass and inside the room, and did they succeed? Raffie had no way to know. He was too terrified to know, or of knowing how to know, if the unidentified figure at the door could see through the glass. Suddenly the door handle jiggled back and forth in rapid, staccato movements, then the sound of a key inserting into the lock, and the slow, terrifying turn of the handle, and opening of the door. Raffie gasped in terror as he witnessed the uncovering of the person’s identity - it was the man with the bow in his upper back, the one whom Raffie distrusted from the moment they briefly passed each other in the lavatory. He scrambled to the back of his bed in a vain effort to escape the approaching figure, who upon his shadowy face had a wicked look - wide, disturbed eyes, a mouth hanging open and salivating, the bony cheeks appearing more sinister with the darkness shading them; like the mask of a sadistic joker, he walked toward the bunk, arms outstretched. The man suddenly lunged at the bunk where Raffie desperately tried to escape from, but only pushed himself deeper into the corner of the wall. Raffie screamed in a high-pitched voice, and the man suddenly became filled with rage at that; the rage came from his fear of others being roused by the frightened cries of the boy. He advanced, and ducked under the top bunk to get at Raffie, and lunged forward, attacked him, tried to grab his crotch. Raffie screamed even more horribly, and put up a fight, desperately trying to kick and punch the man who was trying to assault him. Raffie looked down at his hands for a split-second, saw his ragged nails, and leapt forth with fingers outstretched, like a pouncing animal, and clawed at the man’s face. The blood felt cold under his fingernails; the man yelled out in horror, the blood streaming down his wicked face. Jesús awoke and immediately sprang into action to save his younger brother, jumping down to the ground and ramming his small body into the man’s legs, even throwing savage jabs into the man’s groin. With surprising strength and ferocity the two brothers went after the perverted monster, beating at him with their small but rock-like hands. Moments later came rushing in Margaret Chetty with the straw-like hair, two burly men beside her with their fists clenched.
“What the hell is going on?” Margaret screamed. The fight abruptly stopped, the two brothers moving far away from the man who now had a bloody face.
“That man tried to attack me!” Raffie shrieked back at her.
“What do you mean, attacked?” She yelled angrily.
“He lunged at me, tried to grab me in the crotch!”
“He WHAT?”
“You heard me!”
Margaret Chetty was in a fury. She went over to the man with the bloody face, stared directly into his swollen eyes. “You will pay dearly for this heinous crime against my children!” She took a sturdy foot and savagely kicked him in the solar plexus. The man doubled over in agony. “I’m calling the police - right now!” She screamed. Raffie and Jesús stayed as far away from the man as possible, the elder brother watching over the younger.
Raffie was horrified, stunned, confused, mentally shocked. He couldn’t understand what would prompt the man to attack him in such a terrifying way. Something was very wrong with that man’s brain, something wrong in a disturbing, unforgivable way. Margaret came back, her face red with rage, and she screamed murderously at the perpetrator with a tone of pure, agonized wrath and acrimony, with gravitas and hatred: “YOU WILL GO TO JAIL FOR THE REST OF YOUR CURSED LIFE YOU GOD DAMN ANIMAL! YOU FILTHY SCUM! YOU VILLAINOUS MONSTER! YOU COWARDLY CREEP! IF I WERE THE JUDGE, JURY, AND EXECUTIONER, I WOULD GIVE YOU THE FUCKING DEATH PENALTY!” She took the hands of the terrified young boys and marched them out of the room. Her two guards kept the evil man under close watch, and whenever they felt like it, they would beat him ferociously.
Wow holy hell. I really wasn't expecting that. Jesus. That freaked me out hardcore. The only thing I would change is that it sounds really silly when you say 'whenever they felt like it, they would beat him ferociously'. That's not really legal.
Okay I'm going to cut this a little short becuase there's not really anything fo rme to criticize, but great job! As always, you're doing great. Keep writing!
Thank you so much for the in-depth review! It is really helping me a lot.