Oblivion

Hello there, BG!

Here to review.

My dreams are haunted by nightmares. Images of terror and despair.

I had one a few nights ago, about the world bombing itself, each country turning on the others, fighting until it was nothing but black.

As that thought sunk in, I suddenly felt stifled

dust seemed to float in the air, mixing with the air and moisture forming what seemed like a never-ending grey curtain blocking out the horizon.

Hey H-Dawg

For a diary entry this was great, it seemed to hit all the right spots. I sympathized with your MC and followed her through her torturous journey of insomnia and thinking about death. It's shortness only made it every bit more effective, and my only real nit pick is the fact that it doesn't seem as though this is really an historic piece. I felt as though you simply shoved the bit about Cuba into the end, and went about making a dairy entry about a girl thinking of death.

Reading about your MC's worries was the high point of this story for me, especially the bit where she talked about her little sister, and the child having no worries about the war. I think you interpreted the naivety of kids through your character. The description was very vivid, although I think you overdid it a bit.

I hope (lol hope) this helped.
Anger

Hey,

Thanks for re-posting the link and sorry for taking so long to do this I think that this was good but maybe you overdid it on the descriptions. To tell you the truth, I think I liked the first version better (the locked version). Your descriptions were vivid and great but you didn't really have to add that extra 'smudged' in the photograph comparison, I got the idea. It came to a point where the sentences seemed awkward and just teemed with extra words. I really liked the concept and the end was killer. Whatever you do, don't take out the ending. It really impacted on my mind. That was basically the only problem I saw.


~Jas

Okay so everyone else pointed out all the nitpicks I saw, but I'll tell you what I thought of it.

I really liked it, I think you used a lot of good description and your grammar seemed pretty smooth. I could feel the fear in her heart and it really made me think about what maybe I would do if I was her age. I had never really known a lot about the Cuban Missle crisis and this really helped me learn some things. It was entertaining and informational all in one! Great job!

I think that your diary entry is good. I think that you will get an A. I only have a couple of suggestions...

Walking alone, in the wreckage of once was a city, was now reduced to a pile of dust and debris.

Annie snoring slightly, and I can make out the faint outline of her tiny sleeping form.

BondGirl007 wrote:My dreams are haunted by nightmares. Images of terror and despair.

I had one a few nights ago, about the world bombing itself, each country turning on the others, fighting until it was nothing but black. Walking alone, in the wreckage of once was a city, was now reduced to a pile of dust and debris. Everything took on the appearance of an old photograph, faded, smudged and grey. I remember walking through the rubble, the air warm and damp, dust seemed to float in the air, mixing with the air and moisture forming what seemed like a never-ending grey curtain blocking out the horizon. I could feel the rubble and debris under the soles of my sneakers, and my dress clung to my thighs. There was a slight breeze felt like it was pushing me into the ground, which seemed to radiate heat. Even the breeze, instead of being cooling it was hot- yet brought a chill down my spine.

The world seemed empty, and all I could hear was the wind whistling by my ears. No sound cars going past. No construction racket. No hum of music, no noise of the people walking around, or going about their daily lives. There were no people, no roads, no buildings, only rubble. Then a thought hit me. These rocks and debris that I was stepping on-they weren’t only chunks of buildings, they were plants, sidewalks, subway cars, people…

As that thought sunk in I suddenly felt stifled. The air I was breathing, the ground I was walking on, the moisture now made my skin crawl. I squirmed as if trying to shake off the feeling of nausea and repulsion. I fell to the ground screaming in grief and realization.

I woke up in my cold bed; a thin layer of sweat covered my body, my sheets twisted and contorted around me. I could feel my heart racing in my chest, pounding against my ribs; my breath quick and heavy.

Now I cannot sleep, it simply refuses to come to me. As I lay wake staring at the ceiling my mind begins to wander, so I decided to accept my insomnia and get up. Everyone else is long since in bed, Mama and Poppy down the hall, Annie snoring slightly, and I can make out the faint outline of her tiny sleeping form.

I envy the freedom she has, she’s only six. Spending her days playing jump rope and hopscotch, blissfully unaware that everything she ever knew could end in a moment. I remember being that age, where I could be entertained for hours building fairy houses out of sticks, and my biggest worry was trying to color in the lines. It’s sad to think she’ll have to grow up and realize that the world is a lot harsher then you ever anticipated. What scares me even more is the idea that she won’t have the chance to grow up…

I told this to Mama, (And?) all she did was give me a sad look, and turned around back to the dishes, telling me not to think about it. I can see she worries about it too. When we’re watching the news programs I can see the lines in her face deepen. It reminds me of President Kennedy; he used to look so young and handsome. I remember all the girls at school thought so, now he looks old, and weathered. He may look weary, but he still has spirit and fire in him. We listened to his speech the other night announcing that Russia was placing missiles in Cuba, and you could hear the passion in his voice as he spoke, his love for his country, and his want to protect it. Even still I am scared. What if we do go to war? We could at any second go into the first nuclear war. Innocent people would die. All for the pride of their country, for a flag.

Death has been on my mind lately, even more so since I heard about Cuba. What would happen if I died tomorrow? What would happen? Who would mourn? Would I go to heaven? Would I miss being alive? Even though it is somewhat of a morbid thing to think about, I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m not afraid to die.

But (I'm?) more afraid that I’ll die without ever really having lived.