This is a story I wrote for Lilymoore's contest and my prompt was this picture: http://rai-mond.deviantart.com/art/Loneliness-158731864 Enjoy!
I was dreaming a wonderful dream, I was dreaming of the fields in the summer, how I would run across them, greeting the warm wind…but it wasn’t the warm wind I was feeling, it was heat wafting into my window from the night. I smelled the burning before I heard the screams. I opened my eyes to my dark room, but the lights were on downstairs. There was shouting and my mother screaming.
I opened the door, crawling across the floor silently and coming to the stop of the staircase. Looking down, I saw them.. The Nazis, the spidery brand on their arms like a flickering flame, showing exactly who they were.
“Where are you taking him?” my mother screamed. “We haven’t done anything wrong!”
I watched a soldier fasted my mothers arms behind her back, his hands like iron grips. “I’m sorry.” I could almost hear the words he whispered into my mother’s ear through the cacophony, almost, but not quite.
“You’re going with him,” the first soldier holding my father snickered. “Quickly! Check upstairs!” he shouted to the rest of the soldiers that were invading our house like rodents.
“No!” my mother’s voice cried. I stood up and ran into the bathroom, locking the door firmly behind me. The smoke smell was stronger in here, and I stood up on the toilet, looking outside the window. There, was the synagogue down the street, burning, like a giant candle in the night. The burning candle was the only light, no moon shone to brighten the street, only a few stars were scattered across the indigo sky, all the rest were coverd by a gray blanket of cloud. I could see glass glistening on the street to my left, the fire reflecting off of the clear pieces that once were windows of a shop or home.
Glass shattering seemed to echo throughout the streets and shouts could be heard from the tiny room in which I was encaged. “Open up in there!” a voice said and I heard kicking on the door. I looked at the trash can by the toilet, only to see a pair of boots, my father’s boots sitting there. I slipped on the boots and stood on the counter.
Tears were filling my eyes. I was so scared, so terrified, what would they do to me if they caught me? Climb out the window, I thought. I looked out the window, the drop was long, but I should be able to make it.
I stepped on the windowframe, scrabbling to get out. The bangings on the door were getting louder, and I didn’t think the men would stop there. Eventually they would shoot, not caring if I remained dead or alive. The windowframe felt slippery as moisture from my hands slowly leaked onto the wood. Despite it being the middle of November I felt unusually hot, maybe it was the fires, or maybe it was just me. Maybe, it was the burning rage and fear that was trapped in my heart.
One, two, three. I counted half in my mind before I jumped. I felt as if I was flying, my heart was racing, maybe I wouldn’t have to land. Perhaps, I could just fly away from it all, just fly away from this terrible, dark night. Suddenly, I couldn’t breathe, all that came out of my mouth were moans. I hadn’t flown away, I had landed, and not rolled. I pulled my knees up to my stomach, hoping it would block the pain, but it didn’t. The pain was still there, clearer than ever, and so was the burning synagogue. I slowly rolled over to where a plank of wood lay, the wood that was going to be used to make me a tree house. I crawled behind it, closing my eyes and breathing softly. They wouldn’t find me now, I had to be safe.
* * * *
I woke up to the sun gleaming. The shouts had stopped, and all was quiet in the small town. I climbed out from under the board and stood up, my ten-year-old knees wobbling from laying for so long.
I walked to the gate to our backyard and opened it, a horrifying landscape greeting me. The synagogues, our places of worship were burned. The houses were filled with ash instead of happy families, shops were empty of their goods, and the street was littered with shards of glass. All because we were Jews.
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Hey forest! Here for one of your reviews!
You’ve got a lot of commas here. The only one you really need here is the one after ‘street.’
Your use of dialogue marks is really weird. You only need one in front of “one” and one behind “three.”
Okay, I love to see that you went historical on this. I love historical stories when they’re done well. “Slaughterhouse Five” is one of my favorite books of all time.
There were a few things I think you should worry about. The first is that a lot of your sentences started the same way: with the word “I.” It can make reading the story very tedious. Another thing to be careful of is that you don’t leave out little words that help clean a story up. Sometimes simple articles like “the” and “a” can make things read with a better flow.
But overall, this is good it just needs a little spit shine!
~lilymoore
Hey there Forest! I'll be reviewing your work today, you can see my suggestions in this purple.
So, so!
I really enjoyed this piece and I hope you take in some of my points to improve! Keep writing and PM me if you like my reviews and would like more more more! :]
~Ben
Hi, Em. Since this only has one review I'm not gonna hold anything back.
I. NITPICKS
First of all, Reichskristallnacht, is spelled with an s after the c
Here, my should be capitalized because of the question mark.
The same here because of the exclamation point my should be capitalized. There are other pieces of dialogue in here where you haven't punctuated it correctly but if you read through it, you'll see where they are.
What's with all the commas? You can take out the one after there and the one after burning I think. I'm not one hundred percent sure about that.
Put a period after terrified and capitalize What
"One, two, three!"
Should be a semi colon not a comma
Misspelled it again
II OVERALL
I think you could have done a lot better with the description. I couldn't really picture anything about this. I didn't even know if your MC was a boy or a girl. There were a lot of times I had to think about what was going on because there wasn't much detail. I had to make it up as I went along. When you write a historical fiction piece especially about the Holocaust (or prefacing the Holocaust) the reader wants to be able to imagine themselves there, in the story. But I couldn't really do that because the most in depth description you gave was the dad's blue boots. I think the fact that it was so short and so much stuff was going on also took away from the details.
You could also show things through the dialogue. Not only the words that they say but how they say them. Like here for an example:
Instead of telling us that he snickered. Say something like: the soldier cackled, his black mustache dancing above his lip. Beside him his partner was quiet waiting for an order.
That shows us that the man with the mustache (a feature that makes him stand out from the other soldier) is in charge and that he is enjoying torturing this poor mother.
It was a good story and I love reading about this time period but the absence of detail made me think it was a little rushed. I hope this helps and I'm sorry if any of that sounded harsh.
~peanut~
Wow! This is great, especially for the escape part. I thought a kid like the lead will just stay at home but instead, he ran out of the house. Are you going to continue this?