Young Writers Society

Home » Literary works » Art » General

E - Everyone

Part of the gang

by Gurkensalat


The din from the garden seemed louder than usual. I could make out the voices of our three boys. Then, there were the two lads from next door, of course. But there were also joyful screams and squeals that I could not assign to any of our usual garden guests. Spraying and splashing from the hose implied full-fledged exuberance.

I sat at the desk in my dimmed office. It was already warm but not yet oppressively hot. Summer term was drawing to its end, requiring me to mark a pile of student’s project reports. I tried to atone for my sinful staying indoors by thoroughly paying justice to my student’s achievements. Blocking out the sounds of youthful joy, I focused on disentangling the commingled thoughts and arguments presented in the report before me. In my meticulous minute handwriting, I pointed out blatant blunders, fatal fallacies and obvious omissions, always commenting in kind words of fatherly encouragement, hoping to add a pinch of motivation to my judgement.

A sudden silence in the garden startled me. I knew that some scheming and planning must be going on. I chose not to worry but to benefit from a short period of silence and get on with my work. A few minutes later the banging of our front door ended the quiet interlude. I braced myself at the running of bare feet on the tiled stairs.

The door burst open, and the eldest stormed into my office. Water dripped from his bright yellow trunks onto the parquet floor. His tanned, triangular torso glistened with a moist mixture of sunscreen and sweat. Cheeks and ears were red from excitement and exercise, and his brown eyes beamed enthusiastically. His blonde, bushy hair was dishevelled from an afternoon full of wild play and pleasure. I could not stop wondering how big he already was.

“Dad, where is the old tent?” he asked wheezily. Before I could answer, he continued, “the Miller boys from down the street stay overnight. They are part of the gang, now. Their mother already said yes. And they need a place to sleep.”

“It must be in the loft above the garden shed”, I answered. “I might be done here in half an hour”, I said, vaguely gesturing towards the papers on my desk. But before I could finish my sentence, the boy already turned around and started for the door.

“Thanks, dad”, he yelled, “we know how to pitch a tent by ourselves.” And out he was.

I caught myself glaring at the empty door opening for a while. Then, I sighed wistfully and turned back to the project reports. 


Note: You are not logged in, but you can still leave a comment or review. Before it shows up, a moderator will need to approve your comment (this is only a safeguard against spambots). Leave your email if you would like to be notified when your message is approved.







Is this a review?


  

Comments



User avatar
66 Reviews


Points: 3381
Reviews: 66

Donate
Sun Jan 03, 2021 1:01 am
Yoshikrab wrote a review...



Hi Gurkensalat! I'm Yoshi and I'm here for a review! Belated welcome to YWS, by the way! I'm glad you're here!

Let's get started, shall we?

The din from the garden seemed louder than usual. I could make out the voices of our three boys. Then, there were the two lads from next door, of course. But there were also joyful screams and squeals that I could not assign to any of our usual garden guests. Spraying and splashing from the hose implied full-fledged exuberance.


Perfect introduction. You have made an absolutely wonderful Status Quo. The reader can infer that this boisterousness is a good thing-- meaning that something bad is going to happen.

I sat at the desk in my dimmed office. It was already warm but not yet oppressively hot. Summer term was drawing to its end, requiring me to mark a pile of student’s project reports.


Good! You've established that the Point of View is an adult-- a teacher, too.

One thing, though. There should be a comma after "warm".

I tried to atone for my sinful staying indoors by thoroughly paying justice to my student’s achievements. Blocking out the sounds of youthful joy, I focused on disentangling the commingled thoughts and arguments presented in the report before me. In my meticulous minute handwriting, I pointed out blatant blunders, fatal fallacies and obvious omissions, always commenting in kind words of fatherly encouragement, hoping to add a pinch of motivation to my judgement.


why does this sound like what we all try to do when writing reviews???

I love this descriptive paragraph. Although it has no highlights in it, it shows just how experienced the Point of View is-- and that is certainly very important.

I chose not to worry but to benefit from a short period of silence and get on with my work.


There should be a comma after "worry", and an em dash (or comma. Although em dash is preferred) behind "silence".

I could not stop wondering how big he already was.


I caught myself glaring at the empty door opening for a while. Then, I sighed wistfully and turned back to the project reports.


In those last two quotes, the PoV's character really shows. I can see that he's a loving dad, but also has work. This creates a seriously awesome contrast scene!

I don't know if you are going to continue this, but if you are, then please tag me-- your story is too interesting!

I hope you were satisfied with this review!

Remember the Alamo. Remember Goliad. Remember Fireworks

-y0shi




User avatar
20 Reviews


Points: 1051
Reviews: 20

Donate
Sun Jan 03, 2021 12:36 am
ChesTacos wrote a review...



This story was written very well. I felt like there was a good start and build up that kept me as a reader engaged. I couldn't find any grammar or spelling mistakes so props to you on that! This story has left me with a question though, what is the gang? Towards the end I was also a little bit confused. I felt there was a very good build up but the end felt a little undramatic and sudden. If you could work on that I think this story would be even better! Overall great story and keep up the good work!





We know what a person thinks not when he tells us what he thinks, but by his actions.
— Isaac Bashevis Singer