Young Writers Society

Bravo! Bravo! you should be very proud of yourself! i have been hooked on this story since the moment i started reading it

Ah, narrators POV this time, interesting it didn't affect the story in any way it was actually nice to finally just look at what was going on . And I only had a feeling that the person in Alexei's shop was Felicion. I was glad to find out it actually was because I was starting to get scared when he asked where Fleur was, I was thinking somone was coming after her. But it was only her brother *sigh* lol thank god, If poor Fleur was killed.... I don't know but I'd probably be very very sad.

I loved this one! Great job!

Can't wait for #7 !
~Rieda

This, Mlle. Clau, is a placeholder then?

I've a first read through and impression, but no too much time.

Brief notes:

-Alexei sounds less American than Lev, but not distinct enough from Felicion, or distinctly Russian. Naturally, there's got to be a solution as well as a problem. You've been working on your Russian, yes? Do you notice how the sentence structure is completely unlike anything in English, and very unlike French?

Try inserting some of that into Alexei's (and earlier on, with Lev) diction and speech pattern. Russian doesn't use articles; uses noun declensions, etc.

-Drop needless words, if you can. You've often inserted an extra 'from' or an 'up' when your sentence makes perfect sense, and moves more smoothly, without them.

-The dialogue seemed much too straightforward. Alexei is a crook. Felicion is...what? How could you address the cop issue without having Alexei ask and Felicion bluntly deny over and over again?


Now I'm running; class and fencing. Good luck, Clau - I will try to get to all of it eventually. ^_^



IMP

I forget how much I edited of Chapter five. You all must keep in mind I have lost almost all will and want.
--

Chapter Six

Alexei stood outside the store, lightly puffing a cigarette. Above him the sign read: Artwork and Collections. He was the owner and manager, which could have been why the shop was only open from ten in the morning, to four in the after noon. The rest of the time, Alexei was either recovering from a hang over or building up another one for the next day.

A freckly red head walked up to Alexei nervously. The man looked confident, though nervous: his evergreen eyes couldn’t keep still.

“Do you want something?” Alexei muttered. Smoke rose out of his lips.

“I’d like to look at some artwork; this is an art shop, right?” The man was sarcastic.

“Don’t be a smart ass,” Alexei replied. He threw his cigarette on the ground and led the man in.

The man was calmer now as he walked through the store. Alexei wondered what he was doing; the way he only briefly glanced at the work made it look like he was looking for something specific.

“If you are a cop, I swear on my mother’s grave, I didn’t steal those paintings from—”

“I’m not a cop. I’m looking for something by a specific artist. Lev Kozovich, have you heard of him?”

Alexei paused for a moment. He tried to make the moment as short as possible. “Well, yes, I have heard of him, but I have nothing by him. I do, however, have some art work by someone who was his student. Do you like his style?” From behind the counter Alexei rubbed his hands together in a panicked way. Stupid cops.

“Oh, I was sure that I heard Kozovich sold here? No, I’m more interested in Kozovich, his style doesn’t interest me.” The man stood still, as if contemplating whether to leave. He looked like he would vomit.

“You realize you look like you are going to be sick, don’t you? If you are going to vomit, please, leave. Can’t have this store smelling any worse than it already does.”

The man smiled, and the disgusting look on his face faded. “I have changed my mind. I will look at those paintings.”

Alexei lifted his hand, “You don’t happen to be a very poor spy, do you? That sick face you had looked like nervousness.”

He laughed, but his voice cracked. “I just want to buy artwork.”

“If you actually plan to buy something, that’s well with me.” Alexei led him to the front of the shop, where he had some of the work in the window display.

The man flipped through the paintings, still barely glancing at them. Then he stopped on one: a red headed girl leaning over a chair and smiling, though it was made from geometric shapes.

“This is Kozovich’s student?”

Alexei nodded. He ran his fingers through his hair, hoping the man would buy something and leave. He wanted to go back outside and smoke another cigarette.

“What is your name?” Alexei asked.

“Why do you ask?” He continued flipping through the paintings, ignoring the one he had stopped at before.

“Well, I could ask Pierce to paint something for you personally. What are you looking for?”

The man paused, “You know the artists personally?”

“I buy the paintings from him as he paints them, but I do not know him personally.” Alexei tried to restrain his urge to pace the room and smoke five cigarettes at once.

“Where does he live? I’d love to come by his studio.” The man’s question seemed reasonable enough, but Alexei could feel under his skin that something wasn’t right.

“Pierce likes to keep his studio a secret.”

“You know, this art work looks a lot like Lev Kozovich’s. Are you sure this isn’t his? He isn’t painting under a false name?” The man spoke with confidence, far from ready to back down about anything he said.

Alexei wasn’t sure whether to ask him who he was or kick him out and accuse him of trying to steal. “Would you like to walk yourself out of the store, or should I throw you out?” He didn’t try to hide his frustration.

“You really are hiding something, aren’t you?” The man laughed. “I’m sure you’d recognize my name, I bet Lev curses to it. Which is fine with me, I curse by his.”

Alexei stood silent trying to run through a list of Lev’s enemies: everyone. “Again, would you like to show yourself out?”

“Where is he hiding her?”

“Who? If you weren’t so fucking mysterious you might be a better spy.”

“Fleur Kozovich.” He spit out the surname like it sung his lips.

Alexei’s mustache curled up as he smiled. “Well, you obviously suck at being a cop so you must be the flower’s brother.”

The man stayed silent, careful not to deny or admit anything. He shifted uncomfortably, and put the paintings away.

“Are you going to ask me something, or should I throw you out while I still have the chance?”

“Where are they living?” Now that the man had nothing to hide, he seemed less nervous.

“I’m not telling you. You really could be a cop pretending to be the little whore’s—” Before Alexei could finish his sentence, he felt the air knocked out of him and he was on the floor. The red head was on top of him, holding him down.

“Don’t you talk about her like that,” he muttered through gritted teeth. The man held him down, but was unable to keep him down. Soon Alexei rolled over on top of him, and now the man was pinned down.

“Can I throw you out yet or do you want me to insult your sister more?” Alexei got up off the man, assured he wouldn’t try to knock him down again.

“I’ll just leave; I can see you won’t tell me anything worth knowing.” He got up roughly, and walked to the door way. He pulled a card from his pocket with a number written on it, and handed it to Alexei. “If you do change your mind though, as I know Lev can be somewhat difficult to deal with, do call me? I really want to get my sister away from him.”

He took the card and laughed. “I’ll let her know that when I visit.” He cornered the man and got him out of the door. He stood on the street and glared at Alexei. “You know, Felicion, your sister has the cutest curves I’ve seen yet. Think you could convince her to show me more?”

Felicion took a step forward but Alexei stopped him. “Don’t even try to play brave brother again. I’m holding all the cards in this one, right? No other way you could figure out where your pretty petal is staying. Fuck off.”

Felicion walked off, cursing under his breath. Alexei pulled another cigarette out and lit it. “I’m glad I’m an only child.”

Sam. I love you. But I'm sure you already knew this.

Yes, one of the largest things I've noticed: I have no action. It's horrible. Stuff starts happening eventually, but it's stupid. You're supposed to start books when the action happened, I started before hand to lead you into the characters and the action; but that gives us no action for now because I have this so mildly thought out XD I figure if the beginning sucks that bad when I'm done, I'll truncate it somewhere closer to the action and fix things up.

Your idea to think of each chapter as a short story was helpful, I'll keep that in mind for six. (I'm sure it won't come around for a month or so... I'm so darn slow)

Thank you SO MUCH! How can I repay thee?

Heya, Claude! I very nearly threw confetti about when I saw that another chapter was up.

THE NEW POV: Interesting- in a good way. It was just sweet, just sentimental enough to really make you feel sorry for Fleur.

However you've got to really make sure that it doesn't turn into a romance novel, the type you buy at Walgreens that has a painting of a bronzed, muscled man with long hair and a ripped silk shirt on the front. Yeah. With this situation, and Mr. Borderline Creepy- a.k.a. Lev- it'd be easy to do that. How to avoid it?

- Make sure you've got description mixed in that's not sexually related. Sounds simple, yes, but it's very important- it'll give your readers a break from all the hip rubbing and slow undressing. Also, this story's got quite a soft, antiquated feel too it- which is good, but there tends to be less opinion and 'feeling' to it when you're describing a rug. That way, you've got a little more in there that people will take seriously.

(We're mean readers, really. )

- Make sure that your characters are brought to one extreme or another in their personalities when they're faced with such a situation. Ergo, Mr. Borderline Creepy should be excruciatingly so, and Fleur...you could pick up either side to her. Why? Extreme human emotions bring out the best or worst in their owners, so any author with a brain should remember that. More forethought= more believability.

MOTIVATION AND HOOKS: Hmm...between all the pretty dialogue and descriptions, there's not a whole lot going on. In every chapter, Lev complains about his situation and then paints Fleur nude. It's not a bad thing, but after five chapters, we need a little excitement.

Want the slower pace, but still want people reading?

- Start with a bang. You could use either a cool first line- which is always tough, unless you're the kind of person it just 'comes' to- or start with some action. And no, not scaling a building action, but something out of the ordinary that'll make people want to go on.

Example...erm...Hourglass starts off with Luke spinning a globe and naming world capitals. Eh, snore, when you think about it- but then the schoolmaster comes in and all Hell brakes loose. That's only the first page, but in theory (since I started with action), it'll keep people going because they're looking for more thrills.

- Think of every chapter as a mini-story, or a descriptive piece. That either means no action, or pulling out the English book for beginning, middle and end. Snoink's 'Freak' is a grand example of this.

- End with the same bang...recycled. Foreshadowing is nice, as well as good lines and cliffhangers. The same chapter of Hourglass *cue audience groan* ends with:

All gathered in the room stood completely still, wrought with a tension that Verplanck seemed to savor in his wavering lips. “Essentially, little Irwing, you have no future.”

Well... you have got a penchant for the taboo, Till - but there's nothing wrong with that. Taboo isn't vile, after all, it's just forbidden. And a bit daring.

As for culture and sensibilty, here's what Wiki has to say about it:

Cultural Studies
French Culture
Russian Culture #1
Russian Culture #2


I hope all that's of some use. Also, it might help to read a few books by modern European authors, watch some modern (or close to modern) European films - get a feel of how the actors/character on the screen interact and view their circumstances. It might give you some pointers on how to touch up on that aspect withFleur and Lev.

(Note that bold and free doesn't necessarily mean taboo. XD)

Notes on character and plot - as commanded. As I've read all of your chapters, I'll give you the general rundown here, rather than the line-by-line.


Action:

- Your action is pretty good throughout, it flows well. One thing to watch for, though, you want to make sure you don't get too redundant. Lev, for instance, shouts a lot, and mainly in instances where it seems illogical for him to shout, or too abrupt. I gather that he is not a particularly reserved man to begin with, but I think it would help to eschew some of the random shouting. If he really feels the need to shout, set it up a little more. It's very abrupt. Here, for instance:

“Nyet*, did you really think I would?”

“We need the money!” I shouted.

It….it was,” Fleur hesitated, “Felicion.”

“Your brother!” I shouted. “But isn’t he in France with some horrible factory job?” I felt myself shaking though I wasn’t sure if it was with surprise, anger, or a combination of the two.

Sure thing, Till, I'll work on that for the next chapter - forgive the line-by-line, then, Chapter Two's crit shall be gloriously decked out in a confusing jumble of overall scene commentary.

No problem - I just feel bad for taking so long to get to it. I'll try to get Chapter Two finished tomorrow. The Chair has taught me not to stall. ^_~

Ahhhh Darling, you don't really need to do line by line for me! (And I'd perfer you not to! I'm lazy! What a surprise?) but thank you anyway Maybe I'll go back and edit it.

Really, my goal is to see my major holes and things, with character flaws and over all scenes, because this is a first draft and I'd prefer line by line editing for perhaps my second or third but... I probably should take it into consideration anyways, eh? ((I suppose it feels odd going all the way back to 1 and editing it. Oh well!))

Spasiba for finally getting to it

Alas - DD has wandered about the forums and found her way to Secrets. ^_~ I'm going to start back at Chapter One, if you don't mind, and work my way on through. This is long to crit line-by-line - if you like, I'll add in my suggestions in green, that way you can see what is yours and what're my ramblings. ^_~



Chapter One


“Don’t worry," I said, shutting off the car engine and pulling the key from the ignition. I bought it under the name Alfred Douglas. They won’t know it’s me and they won’t be able to find us. They don’t even know I’m married.” [s]I shut the car engine off and pulled the keys from the ignition[/s].

I had chosen a cottage on the outskirts of [s]a German city[/s] [Insert Name, German City] by running my finger[s]s[/s] over a map until I decided to stop. I spoke no German but my wife did well: French, German, the occasional English—but never, under any [s]occasion[/s] circumstances, Spanish.

While parked in the [s]drive way[/s] driveway, I managed to slip my hand onto her knee and squeeze between palm and [s]finger[/s] thumb.

“How do they not know we are married?” Her lips quivered.

“I married you under the name Parker Hesse.”

Fleur was a mix of sick genetics. She looked Irish (red hair, blue eyes, freckles), spoke French from birth, and her parents were American. She grew up in England (not learning English until she was seventeen) then moved to France. Not a year later, she met me.

“I guess we should go inside.” She looked like she was going to vomit, but made no effort to open the door. “Lev, I’m so worried.”

“Just get out of the car and we can talk about it later.”

“But I have this feeling that if we get out of the car, we will die because they’ll be able to find us. [s]The[/s] It's like the car can protect us somehow.”

“Forget your feelings; just get out of the damn car!”

Once inside, I persuaded her to think that the only reason I had yelled was because of the stress I was under. It makes me laugh now; I am a terrible liar, yet no matter how foolish [s]the things I say are[/s] my words she will always believe me to the end.

The house smelled like dust[s],[/s] and I was beginning to regret not having taken the tour before buying it.

“It’s so bare," said the incompetent housemaid who also played wife. "Where is the furniture?”

“I just bought the place; should it really have furniture? They’re shipping the fridge, stove, dishwasher, mattress, [s]etcetera[/s] everything else, today.”

Those were bought under the name Alfred Douglas as well, but Fleur would be the one answering the door. She had a fear of strangers, so I didn’t let her in on this small detail. If I could have answered the door for her, I would have, but I [s]cannot[/s] could not risk being seen.

“Did you get a coffee maker?," she asked. "I hope you did.”

“In fact, no, I didn’t. Will that be a problem?”

“No, I suppose not." She wandered into where the kitchen was supposed to be. “Mon Dieu! You should see the stain on this wall!”

“Is it glowing?”

“What? No, but it’s huge. It looks like someone vomited on the wall and just left it there for a few days.” Her voice sounded far away and it made the house feel [s]hollower than I knew it was[/s] even hollower.

“Then I don’t care.”

“You never care. Do you think I should clean before the furniture comes?”

“Clean with what?” I walked through the different rooms and tried to imagine what it would be like if we lived here for more than a year. I would have to shoot myself if that happened.

“Well you know…We do have water, after all.”

“Just leave the place alone. It's not our home, it’s our hideout.”

“Can’t I just make it comfortable?”

“What for?”

“Oh fine, you win…”

I heard her slump against the wall like a toy being dropped by a distracted youngster. I stepped out into the front room [s]to stare[/s] and stared down at her, maybe even thought of sitting [s]sit[/s] beside her. I wasn’t completely sure.

“You look really pretty when [s]you are[/s]you're trying to be cross.”

“But I [s]really[/s] am cross!”

As I sat down, I kissed her lukewarm temple and rubbed the dimple on her chin. Fleur was soft; her face rested easily in my palm. She was as soft as the petals [s]of her name[/s] that were her namesake. Fleur is flower in French, for my readers who are not as lingual as my darling. Her delicate cheeks turned rosy and a giggle escaped from her lips.

There was a heavy knock on the door before our lips could [s]finally[/s] come together in their own form of intercourse. We were so ready to act [s]as newlyweds would[/s] like newlyweds in an unfurnished house, but my rose jumped and her head hit mine. I found later in the spot a quarter shaped bruise.

“Fleur, darling, go answer the door,” I whispered. I pressed another kiss to her forehead and went into another room to hide.

She followed behind me, protesting, “You know I’m scared talking to strangers!

“Just let them in…”

“But I don’t—“

“Let them in!”

From the other room, [s]I thought[/s] I could hear the stupid pigs talking to my flower as she answered in [s]with[/s] her nervous voice. Hello, mattress delivery. He-hello, could you bring it in for me? What, no one to help you? No, I’m…home alone. Well then, we’ll have to bring it in, won’t we Jeb? Yes sir we will! I could see the creepy smiles those pigs [s]might have[/s] had on their faces as they glared at my wife’s ass.

Fleur stayed quiet while they brought it in. I’m sure she stood in a corner, arms crossed, trying hard not to scream. After I heard the mattress drop, there was no discussion, no question, not even a flirt or proposition with my wife as I assumed might occur. Door closed, tires squeal[s]s[/s]ed, and I was out of [s]my[/s] hiding.

They had laid the mattress in an unsuitable place: where I had planned the kitchen to go. It made me wonder if they had seen the vomit stain, and thought we might like to sleep near such a vulgar thing. I didn’t give it much thought; instead I came back to what I had been doing before anyone had interrupted.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” I asked as I sat down on the mattress. Fleur had already been seated, as if she knew we were to continue our game.

“You know I don’t like talking to strangers.” She stared down at her feet.

“Come on…You’ll get over it soon, right?” I kissed her temple [s]as a way[/s] to cheer her back up

“Maybe.” She giggled and pulled at the buttons of my shirt.

Never would she unbutton my shirts but instead pull at the buttons as if her efforts to undress me were futile and I would have to help her. I guided her fingers through the task, and soon we acting just like the newlyweds [s]pictured in my mind earlier[/s] that I had pictured earlier.


--

Over-all, Till, I like it - both the story you're setting up here and the characters you're introducing. Your writing style works for this. Spare, but not so spare that the reader misses anything. ^_^ Just make sure you watch your tenses and your punctuation in some places. And with that, I shall return to get Chapter Two typed for you.

I liked this chapter. The change from Lev's POV to Fleur's. It also makes me hate Lev more and like Fleur better. The flashbacks to Felicion and Fleur when they were children was a nice aside to the fact that they may be incestuous.

Now on to my little critiques!

Claudette wrote:He dropped them inside the can like you would throw away a gift from an estranged ex-girlfriend.

Claudette wrote:I whipped the tears out of my eyes and nodded.

Wow, I love the perspective you put it in, it really works. Fluer's point of view is very interesting, I mean, I always felt that he was seriously going to hurt her, but it was more scary when you were actually her and feeling her fear. Great job on that. One thing though:

He nuzzled his face in my head, and kissed the base of my neck.

*against, rather than in?

I loved this. Make sure to write more dear Clau!

Keep at it!
~Rieda

Yep, the point of view works perfectly and I already told you I love your story!

Finally edited Chapter Four. I also finally wrote chapter five, too I'm hoping readers like it. The ending was chanted in the last edit of it, from one paragraph, to real action. I think it is better, but I'm also wondering if I came out with it too strong. Also, if you don't critique anything, at least answer this: Does the POV work?

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Chapter Five

He came back into the room, crushing the roses in his fist. As he paced towards the waste basket he looked up at me, perhaps to be sure I was watching. He dropped them inside the can like you would throw away a gift from an estranged ex-girlfriend.

“The flowers would be better if they came from me.” I whipped the tears out of my eyes and nodded.

“You are right. Of course they would be.” My own words surprised me. Shouldn’t I be angry with him? No, I seem to be agreeing with his statement that he is better than my brother. How could I betray Felicion like that?

“See, you are agreeing with me. Now let’s finish putting the groceries away and maybe I’ll find the inspiration to finish painting you.”

I felt ill inside thinking of posing for him naked again. I did it so often, that is true, but I never enjoyed it. I could not deny what he asked of me; as the wife I was in the position not to argue. I loved to pretend I was a model, but I had never wanted to pose nude. I was not only stripping myself of clothes, but of my dignity.

As I continued putting foods in the cupboard, Lev came up behind me and leaned against me. He breathed heavily in my ear, that beastly pant of his, and caused me to shiver from the end of my spine to my eyebrows.

“Can’t you put them away faster?” he whispered.

I smiled to choke back my real feelings, and laughed to cover the choking. Sure enough, everything was put away quicker than I would have liked.

He took my hand in his and pulled it up to his lips. “You are not mad at me for what I said about your brother, are you?”

“No.” I pulled my hand back, and walked to our room.

“Then why are you being so quiet?”

“I just feel uncomfortable, that’s all. Your friend made me uncomfortable.” It was a good lie, and I knew he would take to it.

“Ah, Alexei, he is a fool and I’m sorry for it, dear.” He was chasing me down the hall.

I lied on the bed curled in a ball. I tried to ignore him though I knew he stood in the doorway, as heated as a teenager. Lev finally came past the border of the room, and lied next to me. He smothered me with his over-loving caresses.

“Are you sure that is all bothering you?” It seemed that for once he was paying more attention to my feelings, rather than his own inner beast. Or maybe it was his way of getting me to undress.

“Yes, he bothered me. The way he looked at me felt wrong. He stared at me as if I was a piece of meat.”

“Alexei is insensitive to women. To him, they are only made for one purpose.” He rubbed his hand from my elbow up to my shoulder, and I laughed inside. Did he see the irony in what he had said?

“You want me to pose, don’t you?”

“You know you like posing. Doesn’t it make you feel like a model?” He pulled the sleeves of my dress down over my shoulder, and soon the whole dress was coming down. It slid past my breasts, past my hips, right past my ankles. I had made no effort to stop him; it was like willingly being raped.

He kissed me on the temple and stood. “Finish undressing yourself for me, will you? I’ll get the easel.” I complied with his requested, and before he had come back I was entirely nude and in the pose from this morning.

“I am ready, mon beau,” I cooed when he walked in. His smile had become all too wide. He set up the easel, placed the canvas on it, and stared at me intently. What did he really think of me?

All I could do was stay placed as a statue of artwork for him. My mind would not sit still, though. I couldn’t even decide what to think about. Should I worry over what he had said about Felicion, or should I question again why we are locked in this house? Felicion came to mind like needles in my skin.

“Can’t you just leave?” Felicion began, “I don’t want you staying in that house with him. You don’t even know what he has done, do you? He killed a woman! Aren’t you in the least curious what he was doing with another woman?”

“Lev wouldn’t love anyone other than me. Sadly, he is too much like you.”

“Your words are cold. Fleur, I’m only trying to help you. Do you know how guilty I would feel to find out I had let you stay there, and he had killed you?”

“You should be guilty anyway.”

Lev walked towards me and tapped my chin upward. “Sit up more, your chin is down too far and it makes your breasts hang ugly.”

“I was unaware breasts could hang beautifully?”

“You would be surprised by what artists can do with the ugly.” He panted with such vigor; I doubt he realized exactly what he had said.

I wished to catch him off guard, and I knew this would work well at it. “Are you saying that I am ugly?”

He stopped painting immediately and came to me, shaking his head like a clock would tick. “That was not what I meant, not at all. You know I think you are the most beautiful creature on this earth.”

“I know…It was just how you said it, it didn’t sound that way.”

He nuzzled his face in my hair, and kissed the base of my neck. “May I continue painting now, my dear model?” I nodded, and let him go back to the easel.

“And what am I guilty of?” Felicion asked me. I could see the worry in the way he brushed back his hair.

“You’re a horrible person. You say Lev is, but I wouldn’t doubt that you both are. Why couldn’t you have fallen in love with each other? I’m sure you’d be happier that way.”

Felicion was in complete shock. “How dare you compare me to him? You know how well I took care of you! I worked two jobs to get you through university and you turned around and married some—“

“You took care of me so well because you felt guilty.”

“I hate the way you twist my words.”

It was true he felt guilty. Why else would he spend his good money on flowers for his pitiful sister? Because he knew I was right.

“You move too much, hold still or this will never get finished.” Lev was demanding in everything. Sometimes it was refreshing to be demanded, rather than constantly be asked what you would like to do.

“But I am tired of sitting still! And I am getting chilly. May I put my clothes back on, great artist?”

He grinned at me and put his paint brush down. “Please, don’t. I like you better this way.” He crawled on top of me and began pushing his tongue into my mouth. Though I wanted to bite the revolting thing off, I could not deny that I enjoyed it a little.

“So are you finished painting?” I asked, grinning just like he had.

“Oh, yes. I’m very finished.”

I was glad to have him come at me like this, rather than have him stare at my unclothed body. He never looked at me too closely while we made love.

He took off his shirt, and came at me like the beast he was. I could see it in his eyes, he wanted me. But that is too strong of an understatement, because he always wanted me.

Lev kissed me all over, but something inside of me didn’t see this. No, he wasn’t kissing me. Felicion was.

“We’re going to play house together: you are mom, and I am dad. So go make me a sandwich!” Felicion giggled at the way he had made fun of Dad.

“Wait, stop!” I pushed Lev off of me.

He was in the middle of some insane act upon me, and I had pushed him right off the bed. He looked up at me with fire in his eyes, but I saw the embers dull.

He jumped back onto the bed, “What’s wrong?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re crying. What’s wrong? Is what I said still bothering you? I’m sorry, but you know—“

“No, It’s not that…” my voice left my lungs.

“What should Mommy do for Daddy?”

He ran his fingers through my hair, and I shivered.

b]
Prologue[/b]

Reader, can I ask you what a crime is to you? Is it the rape of an innocent little girl who put herself out on the street in the first place? Is it making a scam to receive money from the government? And, without said government, would there be no laws? We are told there are rules of nature: life, liberty, the pursuit of happiness.

Crime:
1. An action or an instance of negligence that is deemed injurious to the public welfare or morals or to the interests of the state and that is legally prohibited.
2. Any offense, serious wrongdoing, or sin.
3. a foolish, senseless, or shameful act

Chapter One

“Don’t worry; I bought it under the name Alfred Douglas. They won’t know it’s me and they won’t be able to find us. They don’t even know I’m married.” I shut the car engine off and pulled the keys from the ignition.

never, under any occasion, Spanish.

Fleur was a mix of sick genetics. She looked Irish (red hair, blue eyes, freckles), spoke French from birth, and her parents were American. She grew up in England (not learning English until she was seventeen) then moved to France. Not a year later, she met me.

Once inside, I persuaded her to think that the only reason I yelled was because of the stress I was under. It makes me laugh; I am a terrible liar, yet no matter how foolish the things I say are she will believe me to the end.

Those were bought under the name Alfred Douglas as well, but Fleur would be the one answering the door. She had a fear of strangers, so I didn’t let her in on this small detail. If I could answer the door for her, I would, but I cannot risk being seen.

“Mon Dieu! You should see the stain on this wall!”

“Is it glowing?”

“What? No, but it’s huge. It looks like someone vomited on the wall and just left it there for a few days.” Her voice sounded far away and it made the house feel hollower than I knew it was.

“Then I don’t care.”

Merci I really needed that, otherwise, it would gone on forever, unmarked with the good pen of anyones edit.

Claudette wrote:He took one long puff, then stomped it out under foot; he knew how much I hated the smell of smoke, and probably lit the cigarette solely to bother me.

Claudette wrote:He took off his French style beret and pushed back his black hair.

Claudette wrote:It was long and looked matted; he always tried looking homeless, he said it got him attention.

Claudette wrote:“In the other room. Why are you dressed so much like a French fellow?”

“You should know—your wife is French. French women fuck the best.”

Claudette wrote:He tilted his head one way, and then held one work to the light.

Claudette wrote:Alexei reached into the pocket of his coat (another piece that made him look homeless, the coat was old and dusty) and pulled out a wallet.

Claudette wrote:As he paced the room (still analyzing the paintings) his boots clicked on the hard wood floor like gun fire.

Claudette wrote:The sound of fun fire was making me nervous.

Claudette wrote:“No, it’s just that you know what I think of Felicion. Sometimes it seems like he loves you too much.”

Claudette wrote:“The flowers would be better if they came from me.” I looked back up at her. She was still crying, but she nodded.

“You are right. Of course they would be.” Her voice was tainted with disdain.

This was brilliantly done Clau!!! You did have a few spelling errors here and there mostly in Chapter three, but otherwise...Bravo! Great job with this. It was a different and new idea and plot setting. Great cast of characters and I esspecially liked how mysterious your main character was. I also like his bi-polarness!!!!! I think I told you that I like bi-polar people before though, right? Anyway, excelente' I loved it Clau. I'm waiting for the next chapter... this plot keeps me going and waiting to read just like Chionophobia......so don't stop, and that's a warning. lol.

Keep at it!
-Rieda

Wow! Excellent! Although, I think her husband is too hard on her! I mean, it is her brother! And, I don't like the language! I know that it is his friends and not him, but still! Does it have to be there? And, again, I think he is too mean! After all, Felicion is his brother and law. He should be happy that he is so sweet to his sister! Just my thought. Writergirl.

I felt to lazy to edit, so I haven't done much yet to the previous chapters. But here's number four! I hope it pleases and teases.
----

Chapter Four
With a cigarette hanging from his lip, Alexei smiled at me as if his arrival was a surprise.

“Privyet*,” he said, blowing smoke from his nostrils. He scratched the side of his face where a shadow of facial hair was beginning to show.

“If you are going to come in, you should put out your cigarette.”

He took one long puff, then stomped it out under foot. He knew how much I hated the smell of smoke, and probably lit the cigarette solely to bother me.

“Can I come in now or are we going to stand in the door way to talk?”

He followed me in and we stood in the front room for a few moments. The room was empty, I had never thought of anything to fill it with. We both kept quiet, staring each other down and trying to find the changes in each other. I hadn’t seen him for a few years, though we had always been in contact through letters or telephone calls.

“So where is the art?” He took off his beret and pushed back his black, stringy hair. Despite the beret, he still kept his usual homeless appearance.

“In the other room. Why are you dressed so much like a Frenchman?”

“You should know—your wife is French. French women are the best fucks.”

“You are vulgar, Alexei. Not in my house.”

“But I helped you buy it, no? It should partially be my house. And so, I can be as vulgar as I want.” He smiled and made his mustache curl a little. Like me, he had been an artist, but rather than giving it up for a real job, he gave it up for women. “May I see the work?”

We walked down the hall to my study, where I had left the art work to dry. Alexei stood over the canvases and looked at them as if he were an authority of art. He tilted his head one way then held one work to the light. He made it critical to me through his actions that he was studying them with all his might.

“They look like shit. How am I supposed to sell shit?”

“You want your money back, don’t you?”

He made a moaning sound, and cursed under his breath. “Should I expect better next time?”

“Maybe. Oh, and did you bring any money?”

He laughed like my mention of it was a joke. Alexei reached into the pocket of his dirt smeared, and patched coat and pulled out a wallet. He opened it, showing that there was nothing inside but a photo of a girl too young to be sixteen, and a condom.

“Nyet*, did you really think I would?”

“We need the money!” I shouted.

“Then you shouldn’t have killed someone and you should hope this artwork of yours sells.” He laughed and put away the beat up, empty wallet. “It’s really ugly, how did you let yourself paint this?” As he paced the room with an analytical form, his boots clicked on the wood like gunshots.

“I didn’t kill anyone. You know that.” The sound of gun fire was making me nervous.
“You know I’m only trying to irritate you.”

“When can you bring the money by?”

“As soon as they sell. Can I take a 50% profit for the money you—“

Alexei’s terrible bargain was interrupted by the sound of the front door opening, and my darling’s voice:

“Lev, why is there another car in the drive way? Is everything alright?”

I rushed out to greet her, or rather, tell her to avoid Alexei.

“Don’t worry it’s just my friend, here to get the paintings.”

When I came to the kitchen, she had set all of the groceries out on the table but something was there that did not belong. Among the paper bags filled with goodies, lay a bouquet of coral-colored roses.

Fleur noticed I was staring at the flowers. “Could I meet your friend?” she said, trying to distract me as she pushed the flowers behind the bags.

“No, he will be leaving soon. Some other time, I’m sure? Why don’t you put the groceries away and I’ll be back soon to help you.”

She smiled and started to unpack bags.

I walked back to my study to find that Alexei was leaning out the door with a smile on his face.

“I forgot how luscious your wife looks. I’m glad to see her again.” He smiled even wider.

“Sukin Syn*, never say that about her again.” I muttered.

“You are so sensitive about your women!” he shouted, going back to pacing about the room and staring at the art.

“She isn’t my woman, she is my wife. Now take the paintings, and go.”

“Alright.” He gathered the canvases and left the room. I followed close behind, not wanting him get a chance look at my wife again. I guided him right to the door, and showed him out.

“Pakah*, Lev and good bye beau—“ I closed the door on what I assumed was becoming a perverse comment about my wife.

Turning around, I saw Fleur was behind me.

“That was your friend?”

“Yes,” I walked to the kitchen and sat at the table. The flowers were gone. “How was the city?” I pulled some foods out of bags and set them on the table.

“Oh, fine, I made it through the trip.” She put the food I was taking out into their proper places in the kitchen.

“You bought yourself flowers, I noticed. You know we don’t have money for those kinds of things.”

“I didn’t buy them!” I was surprised that she didn’t even try to deny their existence before admitting that she hadn’t been the one to buy them.

“So you let some random pervert buy you flowers?” I walked up behind her.

“No.” Her voice was quiet. “No, it wasn’t a stranger.”

“Than who?” I whispered in her ear. I ran my fingers through her hair. She smelled like lilacs; perhaps she was the bouquet of flowers I had seen?

When she turned, I noticed that she looked like she might cry.

“It….it was,” Fleur hesitated, “Felicion.”

“Your brother!” I shouted. “But isn’t he in France with some horrible factory job?” I felt myself shaking though I wasn’t sure if it was with surprise, anger, or a combination of the two.

“No, when I told him we were moving—“

“Did you tell him why?” I leaned close to her causing her to back up into the counter. I had her cornered.

“No, of course no! Though I wouldn’t be surprised if he knew by now.” She paused for a moment and stared down at the floor, “When I told him we were moving, he wanted to come with me. He worries for me you know.”

Fleur shifted uncomfortably under my glare. “He lives in a town thirty miles from the city. I didn’t want to be there alone so I called him.”

“And he came to you and he bought you flowers?” I tried to lean closer, remove the space between us so I could get complete honesty from her, but there was not much space to take now.

She nodded.

I sighed. “Does he know where we live?”

Again, she shifted herself. I saw that her hands were shaking and she avoided looking right at me.

“N-no…please don’t be mad at me!” she cried. She bit her lip and finally looked up at me; she looked like a guilty child caught in the act of lying.

I hugged her and felt her body quiver in my arms.

“No, it’s just that you know what I think of Felicion. Sometimes it seems like he loves you too much.”

She pushed herself out of my arms, shaking her head in strong denial of what I had said. “No, he is my brother and he loves me the way a brother should.”

I held her again, forced her into my arms, because I knew I was hurting her.

“Where are the flowers now?” I asked.
“Lying on our bed.” She looked down at the floor, and whipped tears from her eyes.

I went to our room and picked up the flowers. When I came back to the kitchen I made sure Fleur was watching me as I tossed the bouquet into the waste basket.

“The flowers would be better if they came from me.” I looked back up at her. She was still crying, but she nodded.

“You are right. Of course they would be.”

-----

*I'd like to thank Imp for the nice words to begin with! Here are the translations.
Privyet= Hello
Nyet= no
sukin syn= son of a bitch
Pakah= Goodbye

HOOOOKAY. So the critique to end all critiques. Yes, I am going to tackle all three chapters--plus prologue--in one post. Suicidal? I prefer to think of it as devoted. Your devoted critiquer ever, O Mistress. And don't you dare comment on that.

Prologue: A short comment for a short section. As I mentioned to you before, I really like this... I don't think I remember seeing anything set up quite like this before, and it really establishes Lev's voice as the narrator. Only one suggestion:

I have never so much as swerved from the “right path”.

Fleur was a mix of sick genetics. She looked Irish (red hair, blue eyes, freckles), spoke French from birth, and her parents were American. She grew up in England (not learning English until she was seventeen) then moved to France. Not a year later, she met me.

“Just leave the place alone, this isn’t our home it’s our hideout.”

“You know what I think of secretes!”[/quotes]

Secretes = secrets?

But you know how I feel—that secrets are kept for protect.

Protection?

“I was a painter before you knew me,” I whispered, “A friend..."

You do this a few times. Unless the "I whispered" part is interrupting a complete sentence--which in this case, it is--the punctuation after the action should be a period. Now, if it was:

"I was a painter," I whispered, "before you knew me. A friend..."

Then it would work.

Her fingers traveled over my body like bugs crawling on a corpse.

Fantastic! The imagery is perfect, and it really contributes to the reader's interpretation of Lev's feelings at the moment.

“You…you’re just as scared as mme, aren’t you?”

I edited all three chapters for various things.

Did a lot of dialog changing to hopefully give Fleur more character.

New comments would be appreciated

Thank you Snoinkums I eat up your critique, 5 points and all. Yum Yum Yum.

I'm hoping to write Chapter Four tomorrow. If not, Hopefully I'll have done some editing.

Yeah, I've decided not to rewrite anything until I have a full first draft. People can put up with the errors if they like it enough.

Things to think about:

1) You're not a bad writer.

2) It doesn't make sense to me that Lev is a painter. Maybe that he poses as a painter, but he doesn't strike me as a painter. Wouldn't Fleur know in that case? And yeah, she's kind of gullible, but it still doesn't make sense to me.

3) Fleur reminds me of that one girl in Player Piano... hehe. Shoot, what is her name? Anita! Yes. She reminds me of her.

4) Grammar! Gah... follow the dialogue grammar guide, located here

5) Lev is interesting. I can't wait to see his ass getting beaten at something/anything.

So yeah. Have fun revising or whatever you do. Don't put too much pesticide on it!

Thanks everyone. I will hack apart chapter three, and rewrite entirely (because I have a nasty hate for) Chapter two if I get the chance tomorrow while I am not doing math, cleaning, reading, writing source cards, and other things that are probably more important to do.

I really appreciate all the lovely comments I am getting! And the ones that want me to rip it apart! I can't believe I write this good...*drowns in ego*

It's pretty amusing how we disagree on everything, Brad...if we critiqued the same piece, I think the author would have a spastic fit or a run-in with cardiac arrest.

Now, Claude...*has fingers poised for 911*

FOREIGN IS BETTER: It's funny how, in America, we often pay a substantial amount more for chocolate or furniture that says 'European' somewhere in the title. [Even if, as in the case of Haagen-Dazs, it is actually made in New Jersey.]

Your story seems to have an air of, "Haha! Look! My characters aren't American!" to it- which is kind of funny, because they sound like Americans. They're fairly modern, and are ever hopeful their situation will improve, even though it's kind of suckish at the moment.

So, here's your assignment. Wherever your characters are from, research that country- its mindset, in particular. Is it looking toward progress, or revelling in the good ol' days? This'll make a difference in the way your characters are developed (do they have a can-do attitude, or wherever they are currently at they are stuck?).

MY DIALOGUE IS GREAT! LET ME SHOW IT OFF...INCESSANTLY!:

Your dialogue is really good- but there isn't enough balance between it and the rest of the story. This makes things that go on very confusing, because Fleur and Lev aren't exactly the most literal speakers. They don't narrate things that are happening ("I am writing a critique for Claudette," said Sam. "Oh, is that so? It seems to be very long and rambly." Brad shook his head as he watched her type rubbish onto the screen.), so it doesn't make sense for them to be the only source of information.

But then...there is the not so good dialogue. Let's have a quick fix-up, shall we?

“What’s the matter?” I looked up at her, hoping to show concern through my actions since I knew it had not come up in my voice.

“You know I don’t like thinking about that. Felicion tried so hard to give me all the money I needed so I could reach my dream.” While she dropped eggs into a pot of boiling water, I gritted my teeth at the name of her brother. I had never liked the lad, and he had never liked me.

“I don’t like you keeping secrets” She stopped dropping eggs into the pot and looked at me with serious eyes.

“You know what I think of secretes! To not keep something secret is to leave your self bare. Even in our relationship, there should be something that is kept secret.”

“Please?” her voice whined more than her face. I knew I had to give into her, just this once.

"I enjoy deflating peoples' egos," said Sam.

“What’s the matter?” I looked up at her, hoping to show concern through my actions since I knew it had not come up in my voice.

“You know I don’t like thinking about that. Felicion tried so hard to give me all the money I needed so I could reach my dream.” While she dropped eggs into a pot of boiling water, I gritted my teeth at the name of her brother. I had never liked the lad, and he had never liked me.

“I don’t like you keeping secrets” She stopped dropping eggs into the pot and looked at me with serious eyes.

“You know what I think of secretes! To not keep something secret is to leave your self bare. Even in our relationship, there should be something that is kept secret.”

Dear Claudette:


re: Prologue

I was not hooked. This was uninteresting mumbo-jumbo to sound ominous and establish a sense of foreboding doom. I suggest you let your characters act out the Prologue instead of a direct and boring narration.


re: Chapter One

I can't agree with Sam here. Scenery and imagery are nice but not essential to a story. Given that this aims to be a historical/mystery novel, I see no problem with gross descriptions. If you abandon that and present us with flowery images and soften out the scenery, then it begins to simply be another Nabokov novel. Don't sacrifice your voice.

I apologize for selecting Sam alone to respond to here--it's not my intention to respond only to her. However, I think it's too soon for any of us to be passing judgement on your style and voice.


re: Chapter Two

Content-wise, it's much better than Chapter One, which I found slow but engaging. The first-person narration largely contributes to this feeling.

That as it were, Chapter Two doesn't have the same "feel" of Chapter One. It feels rough and sketchy, like you're still unfamiliar with your characters; albeit, you have admitted to loose editting and a general distaste for this chapter...No less, you should approach this again, and soon. Remember that your readers will have to read Chapter Two, and if you dislike it--how do you think they'll react?

It's important in the beginning to hook your readers.


re: Chapter Three

In your edits, you should be very attentive to awkwardness in your sentences. I was put-off by the first line in Chapter Three.

"I chewed the end of my paint brush in a suggestive manner and studied the bare body of my wife."

It's unwieldy and unnecessarily so. When writing, try to minimize these as much as possible without compromising your voice. If it's intentional, it isn't obvious, because the lines like this come and go freely and without basis.

It's an engaging story, and I'm interested in seeing it carried out.


All the best,
Brad

Claudette wrote:I may never get another chance to look at Fleur lying in such a way.

Claudette wrote:Finally, her sturdy bridge collapsed and she rolled over on the bed, sighing.

Claudette wrote:I smiled at her. I could see that her abdominal muscles were tight but quivering; she strained so much for me to paint this picture. Her body struggled to hold her weight up, and I wanted to keep her in this pose for as long as I could. I flushed like a boy who had seen his first peek of skin—though every peek was as good as the first.

I very rarely look anywhere but the fantasy section, and i'm glad i did this time. Normally i would have gotten tire of reading that much (im impatient!) long ago, but you really hooked me! There was nothing really to crit on, apart from gammar errors which i'm sure you'll catch.

Anyway, looking forward to the next part,

Kaz

Again you rock! This is one of the best peices of lit I've read. The plot leaves you on the edge in suspense and the characters come to life. The dialog is so realistic you make it so clear of what is going on and paint such a graphic picture of the setting. A little riske (as we disscussed jk lol). But definetly a fantastic work of art. Although Lev's character is a little messy and un certain a first you made him out to be very protective over his wife Quote:From the other room, I thought I could hear the stupid pigs talk to my flower. Hello, mattress delivery. Hello, could you bring it in for me? What, no one to help you? No, I’m home alone. Well then, we’ll have to bring it in, won’t we Jeb? Yes sir we will! I could see the creepy smiles those pigs might have on their faces as they glared at my wife’s ass. And she had clothes on yet he is going to sell painting of her with no clothes. Amazingly catchy though can't wait for the next chapter keep it up.

OK I really like this story! I am a bit confused though I find it really hard to determine what kind of man Lev is and what kind of relationship they have. Sometimes he is aggressive towards her
“Go away. I’ll be there in a minute,” I said in the most uncaring voice I could find.
and others he is loving and caring
"I came up behind her and wrapped my arms around her thin waist."
It is clear that they are in a strange and dangerous location but I still find their relationship hard to follow. Why does she remain so devout when he refuses to tell her so many important things? I think the plot is moving along really nicely and I like the way you are beginning to introduce the meaning behind the title and other characters. The suspense is really good and I can't wait for the next installment, just try and work on their relationship so that it is a bit clearer and easier to understand otherwise it is brilliant!

I thought it was good. I like how you added the French and definition at the beginning. It really makes the story come alive more. I didn't really see anything wrong. I thought that it was a good story. Sorry, I wish I could be more help. Writergirl

That was nice and descriptive.

I am bad at critiqiuing.And also it didn't have anything to point out I suppose.

ZOMGAZ! THIZ STOEIRY WAZ SO FRIGGIN' AWSUM!




I'll give you a better critique soon... honest.

Chapter Three

I chewed the end of my paint brush in a suggestive manner. Before me was the bare body of my wife and a canvas. Rather than painting for Alexei, I painted for myself. Nothing could get me to sell my wife’s nude body on a canvas.

“How long do I have to sit still for?” she whispered. Fleur strained not to move, taking too seriously what I had said about not “moving a muscle”.

“Until I have a painting.”

“You take forever to paint, why didn’t you tell me this before?” I saw her arms shake, her muscles were weakening. She couldn’t hold such a pretty head for long, her arms would snap.

So I stood longer, I chewed longer, I could not think of what colors to use or how to capture the light just the way I wanted it. Alexei was right, I would wait around for the ‘feeling’ or otherwise nothing would come. At least, that was when the artwork mattered to me.

“Your brush isn’t even touching the canvas. You know I can’t stay like this forever.”

I smiled at her. I could see that her abdominal muscles were tight but quivering; she strained so much for me to paint this picture. Her body struggled to hold her weight up, and I wanted to keep her in this pose for as long as I could. I flushed like a boy who had seen his first peek of skin—though every peek was as good as the first.

“Please, don’t move. I’ll let you take a break in a minute.” I said this more for my own pleasure of staring than for the gain of my artwork. What did it matter if I took longer to paint? I may never get another chance to look at Fleur in such a way.

Finally, her sturdy body collapsed and she fell over onto the bed.

“You make me pose, cruel man, but you haven’t painted a spot!” She laughed and pulled the blanket around her nude figure in a shy way, as if I was not to see her like that.

I set my brush down and walked towards her. Her crimson hair covered her face, but I could see that she was smiling at me.

“Are you going to paint me, or not?”

“Only if you take away that sheet,” I whispered as I curled up next to her, “If not then you might as well get dressed and go to the city. We need more food.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t eat so much? I don’t want to go to the city…”

I kissed her neck lightly, “But you have to, if I die of hunger it will be your fault.”

“But I don’t want to leave you in this lonely house!”

“It’s only lonesome when you are not around.”

“Then will you come with me?”

I lifted myself off of her, and sat up. A question such as that shouldn’t be asked. Fleur pulled on my hand and tried to get me to lay back down with her, but I refused.

“I know you can’t come with me, but I hate it! I hate being there alone!”

She rolled away from me and crossed her arms. “You know I’m uncomfortable with strangers yet you force me to do these things! I’m scared of them! What if I was kidnapped?”

“Don’t say that! I know you are scared, but we agreed that you would go to town because I cannot. For me, you are going to have to be strong.”

“But I don’t like being alone…” She turned towards me and sat up, forcing me to look her in the eye, “I hate that you can’t leave this house.”

“This house protects me.”

“Why are you hiding?”

“You know why I am hiding!”

I lost her gaze and we kept silent for a few moments.

“Really, what they say on the radio isn’t true. I know it isn’t. But you know what the truth is. Why doesn’t the radio tell the truth, and why won’t you tell me!”

“Because I can’t! Why do you always have to ask?”

“Because you always have to keep things from me!”

She stood and walked out, granting me a gaze at her bare behind. Her spine curved in such a pleasing manner that I couldn’t help but follow in hopes of another glimpse of perfection.

But instead of her bare perfection, I found her already dressed and in the kitchen, writing up a list of things we needed from the store.

“You dress too quickly.” I came up behind her and wrapped my arms around her thin waist. She pushed me off and slid away from me.

She stayed quiet, even when I followed her to the living room.

“You have such mood swings. You can be so cheery sometimes, wanting to drink wine and waltz with no music. Why do you have to get like this?”

She stared at me, as if I had done something wrong. I must have, to be stared at in such a way.

“I don’t like you keeping things from me,” she whispered as she gathered her purse from the table in the hall. “Why can’t you tell me?”

“I can’t tell you because you wouldn’t like to hear it.”

“But you can’t even tell me that what the radio always says, that you killed that woman, you can’t even tell me it’s a lie!”

It’s marvelous how the media constantly misinforms the public.

“It’s not true! There, is that what you want?”

“No, I want you to tell me why the police—”

The ringing of a phone interrupted her.

I casually walked into the kitchen to answer it, confident in who would be on the other line.

I lifted the receiver, but said nothing.

“Pierce Aldernine?” said the talk box.

“Speaking.” I could see Fleur lingering in the background of my vision, still preparing to leave for town.

“Can I come by today and pick them up?”

“Give it a few hours. Right now, I have nothing.”

“And you will be able to paint beautiful art work in ‘a few hours’?”

“It will take longer for them to dry than it will to paint them.”

“Fine, a few hours?”

“Yes, and could you bring some money with you? I’m not sure we have enough to get by until the paintings start to sell.”

“Maybe, I’m not sure I have enough to live, since I did help you buy all that new junk for your house!”

The sound of Alexei hanging up, and that of the door closing, overlapped. Fleur had left without finishing her question and I had been given another escape from answering.

Chapter Two

The intruding delivery men had stopped coming and our hideout was beginning to look more like a household. I feared Fleur was becoming too attached; she had already scrubbed away the stain in the kitchen, and was now cooking with some recipe she had torn out of an issue of Good Housekeeping, an American magazine for women.

“What if we run out of money?” she asked.

“Don’t worry, we won’t.” I leaned in my chair to try and show that I was reading, and didn’t want to talk.

“But if neither of us is working, how are we not going to run out of money?”

“You had no money in France. Your brother paid for your living and you never complained then. Can’t you live off someone else’s money again?”

She was silent.

“What’s the matter?” I laid my book down and hoped she would keep this short.

“You know I don’t like thinking about France. Felicion tried as hard as he could to help me become a model.” She set a pot of water on the burner, and waited for it to boil.

“He must not have tried hard enough because you’re here with me, playing house wife, aren’t you?”

Fleur paused for a moment; she never liked me attacking her brother like I so often did.

She whispered, “I don’t like you keeping secrets.”

“You know what I think of secretes!”

Fleur stayed silent, as was her submissive nature.

“I love you, I trust you. But you know how I feel—that secrets are kept for protect. If I told you everything, I would be vulnerable, wouldn’t I?”

“Is this about secrets or about our source of income?” Her words were cold.

“I was a painter before you knew me,” I whispered, “A friend is going to help sell some of my art in the city. It won’t be worth as much, but it will still give us enough of an income to not work for a few months.”

“Are we only going to be here for a few months?”

“We will stay here as long as we need to, until they can clear my name.”

She bit her lip and held her hands together. We had both forgotten about the boiling water on the stove, as it rose over and splashed onto the floor. I got up and shut the stove off; Fleur was too concerned to do it herself.

“You should pay more attention to what you’re doing, you know.”

“I’m so scared! You know that, don’t you?” she blurted out, “I take longer to fall asleep at night because I worry about you. Is it true what they said on the radio?”

I didn’t answer. These kinds of cries were ones I had not heard from my wife before.

“I’m trying to pretend we’re on vacation,” she whispered. Fleur came closer and wrapped herself around me. Her fingers traveled over my body like bugs crawling on a corpse. “But I know we’re not. I miss living. It’s only been a week but I already miss living!”

I pushed her off and held her by the shoulders. “Don’t think about it, will you?” When I realized I had held her too tightly (a tear fell down her cheek) she had already pushed me off and turned back to the pot of water. She started putting pasta into the water and acted like I wasn’t there.

“Did I hurt you?”

She nodded. I came near to hug her and show my apologies, but she turned away from me.

“You…you’re just as scared as mme, aren’t you?” She held her fingers to her lips; she must have thought that it would keep her from stuttering.

“I’m not sure what’s going to happen. I wake up every day thinking that there is someone waiting outside to kill me, to kill you, too.”

Fleur looked worried about my last comment. “But you said they didn’t know you were married.”

“I know that, but even if they don’t know I’m married they’ll find you with me. They’re horrible people.”

“Are the police really horrible people?”

I never answered that question either.

We ate her out-of-magazine dinner (it looked prettier than it tasted), waltzed around the room, and then played cards until the sun went down. The night was beginning to get dull.

To fend off boredom, fleur rummaged through the fridge in search of alcohol. “By chance, did you bring any wine with you before we left?”

“I haven’t a clue, why don’t you look around.” I lay on our bed and flipped through one of her women’s magazines. Seeing a picture of a young lady holding a pie and smiling with pride, I wondered if my darling would ever turn into such a mechanical house keeper.

“But I am looking. I just can’t find any…” Obviously she wouldn’t, if she couldn’t even find wine in a fridge.

“Well I can’t remember if I brought any or not.” I laughed to myself; on the next page, there was an article titled, “Ten Ways to Make a Happy Husband.” Husbands are to be made happy? They don’t come that way?

“Oh, but we were planning to get drunk together like we said we would when we were old!”

“We have other drinks we could get drunk on.”

“But I want wine!” Fleur would never hold a pie out proudly, unless she was already drunk.

“Well don’t complain to me, because you could have grabbed the wine yourself.”

Enter: my darling, nonexistent wine not in hand, and a blank face.

“There is someone on the phone who says he wants to speak to a Pierce Aldernine.”

“Tell him I’m drunk and that I’m lying in a pool of my own vomit.” I laughed at my comment and hoped she really would tell that to the bastard.

“I can’t tell him that!”

“Then tell him I’ve died.”

She shuffled away, but came back a few moments later with the same blank face.

“He says he’s going to kill you himself if you don’t come to the phone and speak with him, he knows you’re kidding.”

“Damn it, Fleur, can’t you get him to hang up?”

“I’m sorry! You know I’m bad on the phone…”

I meandered into the kitchen (where the only phone was) and held it to my ear in an uncaring fashion.

“What do you want, Alexei?” I whispered, hoping that Fleur was far enough away not to hear me speaking.

“I was hoping you would come to the phone.”

“Alexei I told you not to call me unless it was important.”

“But it is! I want my money.”

I looked around to be sure Fleur wasn’t near. I covered the mouth piece with my hand, “I can’t get you the money right now.”

“Then when? You can’t expect me to drop everything to help you go into hiding; I’m just as poor as you.”

“I’m not poor!” I shouted. “Look, when you sell my paintings, you can take some of the money from the first few. I only owe you a little; it won’t be that hard to make up with the paintings, right?”

“When can I get some?”

“I’m not sure,” I saw Fleur walking into the room. She leaned up against a wall with a posture that said I’m going to find out what’s going on. “Go away. I’ll be there in a minute.”

“I need to know when, Lev, I can’t wait around for you to paint when you get the ‘feeling’ and when the ‘atmosphere is right’. I need the money.”

“I’ll finish them tomorrow.”

I hung up the phone. Fleur still stood against the wall staring at me; I could see the questions in her eyes.

“Who was that?”

“The man who makes us a secret.”

I did minor edits mentioned by bubble and Sam finally!

Sam: I loved your advice, but I think I'm going to take it up and embrace it when I get to doing (Oh gosh, pray for me!) a second draft.

I'm going to work very hard on editing chapter two to my own satisfaction tomorrow or this weekend. I have it written, it just needs to be hacked to pieces.

Attention: Everyone, you need to hound me about writing. Otherwise, it will never happen. And I love this story, I'm just a procrastinator with other things on my mind.

This is sounding pretty polished already, so I don't have enough material to comprise a full critique, but there are two things that I think might help you out with the forties/fifties feel:

1. Pad your dialogue with lots of description- the scenery should be very prominent. Most historical fiction writers have this problem in reverse (i.e., they describe to much and their characters sound like Jesus when they speak) but I'd say try to copy them...you're a good enough writer to know when to stop describing because it's boring.

2. Some of the language is pretty abrupt. I'd totally scratch the use of 'damn', 'puke', 'rape', etc...you know how in Lolita, if it were written like a gritty detective novel it would be disgusting and no one would read it? Really censor yourself, and find prettier ways to describe things. And if you're not 'down with the man', think of it this way: it's not censorship, actually- it's more of a style thing.

Ooh...a chapter two would be very nice!

First of all, like I said -- I really like this. It does have a very Russian flavour, actually (not that I would know), and I liked Lev as a character; he has a very unusual voice.

Did it hook me? Well, kind of. I felt the intro to the prologue was a little bit awkward --- it just didnt flow for me. Something about being directly addressed in a book makes me uncomfortable, but that's probably just me being prejudiced, LOL. By the time I was into the actual chapter, though, I was definitely hooked. So no worries there

There are parts in the main body which made me itch for an editing pen, LOL. Nothing major -- a few sentences which could be smoother:

I spoke no German but my wife did well: French, German, the occasional English, but never, under any occasion, Spanish.

I think this goes better as: I spoke no German, but my wife spoke several languages: French, German and sometimes English - although never, on any occasion, would she speak Spanish.

While parked in the drive way, I managed to slip my hand onto her knee and squeeze between palm and finger.

Is the parked in the driveway part necessary? Or rather - is there a better way that their location could be introduced? This seems a bit abrupt.

She was a mix of sick genetics. She looked Irish (red hair, blue eyes, freckles), spoke French from birth, and her parents were American. She grew up in England (not learning English until she was seventeen) then moved to France. Not a year later, she met me.

You know what I think about this bit

“I guess we should go inside,” She looked like she was going to puke, but made no effort to open the door. “Lev,” she called to me, “I’m worried.”

“Just get out of the car and we can talk about it later.”

“But I have this feeling that if we get out of the car, we will die because they’ll be able to find us. The car is a shell from them.”

The word that makes this seem modern-day is....PUKE! Somehow, it just carries this whole modern THING. Like, an aura or something, LOL. Also, why is Fleur calling to Lev, when there is no indication that they've gotten out of the car? Why call him if he's just a foot away? Also, "the car is a shell from them" is kind of awkward. Maybe, "the car will protect us from them" or something.

The house smelled like dust, and I was beginning to regret not having taken the tour [s]of the house[/s] before buying it.

my good looks were one thing I was not willing to mar because of this stupidity.

Mar seems...awkward. Perhaps, "risk"? Because answering the door doesnt necessarily scar one for life, LOL.

"Should that be a problem?”

Perhaps, "Is that a problem?"

I could see the creepy smiles those pigs might have on their faces as they glared at my wife’s ass.

I could just imagine their creepy smiles as they eyed my wife's ass.

(this is also very modern, BTW)

Door close, tire squeals, and I was out of my hiding.

The door closed, tires squealed, and I was out of hiding.

They had laid the mattress in an unsuitable place: where I had planned the kitchen to go. It made me wonder if they had seen the puke stain on the wall, and thought we might like to sleep near such a nasty thing. I didn’t let myself have the time to think, though, I came back to what I was doing before anyone had interrupted.

This could use some smoothing out. Lots of unnecessary words, LOL.

Never would she unbutton my shirts but instead pull at the buttons as if her efforts to undress me were futile and I would have to help her. I guided her fingers through the task, and soon we acting just like the newlyweds pictured in my mind earlier.

Same with this. "Never" is a bit of a weird way to start a sentence!

Overall, a nice beginning. I like Lev as a character; he comes across very strongly through dialogue and action and he seems quite unusual so far. I will enjoy reading how he develops! Fleur is also well-done - kudos!

I do think some parts of the writing itself need smoothing out, but I'm OCD about things like that, so feel free to ignore at your leisure! The plot is nice and moves forward very easily - I never get the sense you're just filling in time; it seems relevant and interesting, which is good hehe. With regards the prologue -- I was uncertain about the questions you used (i.e. about rape and scams and so on). How do they connect? How are they relevant to each other, and the story, aside from the fact that they're all crimes? I thought you could perhaps draw this out a little more, and make the lead-up to the idea of government and natural law a little less abrupt.

Otherwise, I like this! Let me know when you post some more, pretty please

Cheers,
~bubbles

The above critiques have been taken into consideration and I've just changed it to the edited version

I upped the rating to PG-13 which may not be needed now, but realizing something I might have in the story later, I should have it like that...

I'm glad it hooked so strongly! I'm not sure when Chapter 2 will be coming out...

Im hooked like a fish out of water.

I found this a fresh read from my dwellings in the fantasy well, I rarely explore the Other forum but when I did I read this and felt blown away.

I love your narrative and characters and I think the way you have constructed speech is awesome.

Chapter 1 in this case should be a Prologue instead of a chapter. Its a rarity I suggest this but I think it fits better as a prologue UNLESS you have those types of talky chapters throughout the novel.

Well done and post the next installment.

Uhm, yeah, you got me hooked- from the front page, actually. Good job, Claude!

It's very rambly (in a good way); very Nabokov- especially in the confession at the beginning. However, it's original enough to pass under the radar. I might not even have remarked upon it if I didn't know you were such a fan.

The only thing I was confused about (and what would help get a much more constructive critique out of me) would be time period. It seems very World War Two/ fifties- ish, not quite sure why, but it seems to flip-flop from that to something much more modern.

If you've got a moment, just describe what you're going for, and I'll be happy to come back and re-critique.

This is a very good beginning, though...if nothing else, post the next chapter.

First up I think that Chapter 1 should be the prologue. There were a few typos, which I'll ignore, I'm sure you'll pick 'em up. Just a note on the character Lev; he seems awfully self-aware, especailly of his character deficiencies, such as being a possessive, jealous husband. I think, perhaps this is you the writer being a little too liberal. Or, was it an intentional thing? Whatever the case, it is unusual.

I am referring to this passage:

But I must admit I am suspicious of any man, which is derived from my possessive nature. I am stuck in the rut that she is mine and that no one else should even be allowed to speak to her other than me; though, I would have to be some cruel bastard to do that, wouldn’t I? Well, I can try.

For the quick answer? yeah, you got me hooked.

On the grammar side, you forgot a period somewhere, but it's not that hard to find.

She was such a cute child, never would she unbutton my shirts but instead pull at the buttons as if her efforts to undress me were futile and I would have to help her. I guided her fingers through the charming task, and soon we acting just like the newlyweds pictured in my mind earlier.

That didn't fit with the rest. Your style just went *POOF!* and changed. I think it was the use of "cute" that did it. I mean, the rest of this, the narrator is slightly sarcastic, with haughty undertones, and then, cute?? Plus, that makes it appear you can't make up your mind about Fleur. Is she suave or not? Playful isn't child-like, and someone who can speak what, three languages (speaking of, may I caution you with the use of "francophone"? I had to double check, as I couldn't figure it out in context right off, I had to sit and think for a bit, and that's a turn off for an early chapter) doesn't normally act like a child after fending off the mattress guys. And then "charming"... gah. It just didn't work for me. My gag reflex went off, and I wasn't prepared for it. It ins't some really odd character quirk, is it? She doesn't act helpless anywhere else, really. A bit bratty ("Oh, my god, look at these walls! They're digusting! Get the lysol, quick!") but not helpless.

Also, if you keep that part, up the rating, ok? It's not bad, but... you know.