Lethal Secrets

This was good. I liked the topic the whole way through. I thought it was really grafic if you to describe his paarents like that but that would probably be how it actually would be. I'm just a little squeamish is all. The ending needs alittle revising though. Firstly, he went from a bewildered young man to what sounds like a spunky teenage boy when he steps out the door. I find this odd that you would change his personality like that. Also, how did the paparazzi find his location? Is he in inferno or the hosital? I feel like there is a large chunk of information missing. Maybe a conversation between the two. And why would the man let the paparazii get near to his new assassin? How did he get his girlfriend? Is she an assassin too? And lastly, why would an assassin get a limo? Aren't assassins supposed to blend in? Sorry for all the little nit picking! Overall I thought it was a good story. Keep writing!

Hey (:
I'll write my corrections and commentary in blue:

Fire. That was all I saw everywhere I looked. I wasn’t sure who caused this, but surely I wasn’t planning on waiting to find out. #0000FF ">I would write 'but I surely wasn't' rather than 'surely I wasn't', as this sounds like he's questioning what he is doing. It just doesn't really sound right to me.

I hurried through the hallways, trying to find my parents room. It was hard to see and breathe through all the smoke, but I still went on. #0000FF ">I would use something stronger here, to show his determination. Maybe 'fought'?

I used my sleeve to cover my nose as I coughed, the shrill laughter of the culprits ringing around me. It entered my head, sending a massive headache through my brain. The sound of firemen yelling and the wails of #0000FF ">the trucks was deafening.

Through the smoke and my teary eyes, I found the door to my parent’s room. I kicked it open, its hinges already weak from the fire.

“Mom?!” I called in the room, coughing. There were wails, laughter, the shout of orders... #0000FF ">It (capital letter) was all too much. I felt like giving up; letting the fire take me away.

Never, ever, give up.

That’s what dad would have said. Never, never, never... #0000FF ">I like the repetition here, it echoes his determination.

I went on in the smoke filled room, my eyes desperately looking through the blazing flames. I could only make out their burning bed and the chair my mother was sitting on. Well, her charred corpse, that is. #0000FF ">I think this sounds nonchalant with the 'well'. I think you should get rid of it.

My eyes darted away from her as I doubled over and vomited. It was all just a horrible dream. A nightmare. I’ll wake up soon, jump out of bed, and get breakfast...

Due to my lack of focus and the world swimming around me, I tripped on something big. I looked over at the object. My father’s empty sockets stared back at me, his face burnt black from the fire, his mouth forever formed in a shocked O.

The breath I was hanging onto escaped out of my lungs.

It was over.

I felt myself lose consciousness as hands desperately tried to grab after me.

Never give up. Never, never, never... #0000FF ">I like the repetition of this sentence again, and the ellipsis shows how his thoughts are fading out.





By the time I woke up I was in a dark room, only lit by the dim florescent lamp beside me. I recognized #0000FF ">(I think 'realised' would be better here) that I was laying down on a steel table, my arms and legs restricted. Maybe I was still in the nightmare.

I shut my eyes and counted to ten. I opened them again. Two brown eyes stared down at me.

“This isn’t a dream,” The man said. “So might as well stop trying.”

I didn’t listen. Instead, I shut my eyes again, ignoring the cool sensation of the bars against my wrists. When I wake up, everything will be back to normal. This is just a long, torturing, nightmare.

I opened them again, the man with the brown eyes smiled.

“Believe me now? No waking up from this mess.”

“Who are you?” My voice sounded foreign to me. So raspy; dead. #0000FF ">I like the dialogue. His short, snappy sentences, statements, actually, make him seems like a strong character from the start. However, in 'So raspy; dead.' I would put a full-stop, rather than semi-colon.

“I’m the one who saved your pathetic life. I see a promising future for you. I believe you’ll work pleasingly for us.” Work pleasingly for us. I couldn’t help but wonder who the ‘us’ was. #0000FF ">Nice using of with-holding information.

“Where am I?” The man straightened himself. I heard him walk around the room.

“You’re at a little place called Inferno. We’re the long lasting Mafia you’re dad worked for.”

“Is that the reason why our house—“

“Burned down, yes. Your father betrayed from some very dangerous people. Burning down your house was their payback.”

The way the man responded to me was off. I knew something wasn’t right.

“You’re lying.” I said. The man looked at me and smiled.

“See? I knew I wouldn’t regret saving you. You’re pretty good. Alright, we’re not a Mafia.”

“Then what are you?” He leaned in close to my ear and whispered,

“Assassins.” #0000FF ">I love the character you have made here. He is quick on his feet, and says no more than he has to. He seems clever, and this is a good stereotype that you have worked on, i.e. that of an assassin. Well done (:

The brown eyed man, whose name I now know was Scott Griffin, guided me out of the Inferno building. News reporters shoved microphones in my face and camera men desperately tried to get shots of me. I heard thousands of the same questions over and over again being spewed in my ear. So this was the mayhem Scott was talking about.

Scott pushed most of the reporters away until we got to the black limo. Inside, as Scott promised, was my friend Callie, who I had known since the dawn of time.

She looked at me sympathetically, which I was expecting from anyone #0000FF ">(I would write 'everyone' here, not 'anyone'). When you lost your house and family, forced to believe a man that he is an assassin, forced to live with him and call him your long lost cousin, and forced to agree for him to train you to become an assassin yourself, you’ll really need sympathy from others.

I looked away from her (I refuse to cry in front of a girl I’ve had a crush on since I hit puberty) and looked outside at the reporters shoving their bodies against the car. Desperate bastards.

“Cameron, I’m so sorry.” She finally said, as I was expecting. I didn’t say anything, which #0000FF ">(if you could put 'as' here, rather than 'which', then that would be a nice bit of repetition from the previous sentence) she was expecting.

Scott shifted in his seat, as if to acknowledge us of his existence. I rolled my eyes. #0000FF ">I like this! As the reader, I had almost forgotten him, too.

“This is Scott. He’s taking full custody of me from now on.” I said and waved my hand at him. “Scott, this is my insubstantial best friend, Callie.”

They shook hands.

“It’s nice of you to be taking care of Cam. He’s quite a handful though.” Jeez, she’s worse than my late mother.

“I’m up for the challenge. I’m pretty sure he has no choice.” Scott answered, glancing at me. I didn’t care. All I cared about was getting revenge on the Daoine Sidhe, the fey who ruined my life

Hello! You reviewed my piece so now I will do the same for you! Ok, so I liked this story a lot. I hope you're going to write another part. I'd love to read it. For some strange reason, up to the point when you told your readers that the person telling the story was a boy, I thought that it was girl. I kind of liked that: the fact that the reader is left to interperit the story for him/herself. Anyway, Nitpick time!

Kirahh wrote:Fire. That was all I saw everywhere I looked. I wasn’t sure who caused this, but surely I wasn’t planning on waiting to find out.

I hurried through the hallways, trying to find my parents room. It was hard to see and breathe through all the smoke, but I still went on. ( This last sentence could be made so much more exciting. Eg... I pushed on forward through the pain as the thick smoke infultrated my lungs and impaired my vision.)
I used my sleeve to cover my nose as I coughed, the shrill laughter of the culprits ringing around me. It entered my head, sending a massive headache ( you've already used the word 'head' - try 'a massive ripple of pain' or something like that) through my brain. The sound of firemen yelling and the wails of their trucks was deafening.

Through the smoke and my teary eyes, I found the door to my parent’s room. I kicked it open, its hinges already weak from the fire. ( perhaps spice up your vocab: Ie, blaze instead of fire)

“Mom?!” I called in ( into) the room, coughing. There were wails, laughter, the shout of orders... it was all too much. I felt like giving up; letting the fire take me away.

Never, ever, give up.

That’s what dad would have said. Never, never, never...

I went on in the smoke filled room, my eyes desperately looking through the blazing flames. I could only make out their burning bed and the chair my mother was sitting on. Well, her charred corpse, that is.

note - Perhaps describe the heat aspect of the fire, how it effected cameron ect...

My eyes darted away from her as I doubled over and vomited. It was all just a horrible dream. A nightmare. I’ll wake up soon, jump out of bed, and get breakfast...

Due to my lack of focus and (the fact that) the world swimming around me, I tripped on ( over, instead of on) something big. I looked over at the object. My father’s empty sockets stared back at me, his face burnt black from the fire, his mouth forever formed in a shocked O.

The breath I was hanging onto escaped out of my lungs.

It was over.

I felt myself lose consciousness as hands desperately tried to grab after me.

Never give up. Never, never, never...




By the time I woke up I was in a dark room, only lit by the dim florescent lamp beside me. I recognized ( I think understood would be a better word choice) that I was laying ( lying) down on a steel table, my arms and legs restricted. Maybe I was still in the nightmare.

I shut my eyes and counted to ten. I opened them again. Two brown eyes stared down at me.

“This isn’t a dream,” The man said. “So (you) might as well stop trying.”

I didn’t listen. Instead, I shut my eyes again, ignoring the cool sensation of the bars against my wrists. When I wake up, everything will be back to normal. This is just a long, torturing ( torturous) , nightmare.

I opened them again, ( : ) the man with the brown eyes smiled.

“Believe me now? No waking up from this mess.”

“Who are you?” My voice sounded foreign to me. So raspy; dead.

“I’m the one who saved your pathetic life. I see a promising future for you. I believe you’ll work pleasingly for us.” Work pleasingly for us. I couldn’t help but wonder who the ‘us’ was.

“Where am I?” The man straightened himself. I heard him walk around the room.

“You’re at a little place called Inferno. We’re the long lasting Mafia you’re dad worked for.”

“Is that the reason why our house—“

“Burned down, yes. Your father betrayed from some very dangerous people. Burning down your house was their payback.”

The way the man responded to me was off. I knew something wasn’t right.

“You’re lying.” I said. The man looked at me and smiled.

“See? I knew I wouldn’t regret saving you. You’re pretty good. Alright, we’re not a Mafia.”

“Then what are you?”

He leaned in close to my ear and whispered, “Assassins.”

The brown eyed man, whose name I now know as Scott Griffin, guided me out of the Inferno building. News reporters shoved microphones in my face and camera men desperately tried to get shots of me. I heard thousands of the same questions over and over again being spewed in my ear. So this was the mayhem Scott was talking about.

Scott pushed most of the reporters away until we got to the black limo. Inside, as Scott promised, was my friend Callie, who I had known since the dawn of time.

She looked at me sympathetically, ( an expression) which I was expecting from anyone. When you lost ( lose) your house and family, (are) forced to believe a man ( who says) that he is an assassin, forced to live with him and call him your long lost cousin, and forced to agree for him to train you to become an assassin yourself, you’ll ( you) really need sympathy from others.

I looked away from her (I refuse(d) to cry in front of a girl I’ve had a crush on since I hit puberty) and looked outside at the reporters shoving their bodies against the car. Desperate bastards.

“Cameron, I’m so sorry.” She finally said, as I was expecting. I didn’t say anything, which she was expecting - scrap this, you don't need it and you're just repeating 'expecting'.

Scott shifted in his seat, as if to acknowledge us of his existence. I rolled my eyes.

“This is Scott. He’s taking full custody of me from now on.” I said and waved my hand at him. “Scott, this is my insubstantial best friend, Callie.”

They shook hands.

“It’s nice of you to be taking care of Cam. He’s quite a handful though.” Jeez, she’s worse than my late mother.

“I’m up for the challenge. I’m pretty sure he has no choice.” Scott answered, glancing at me. I didn’t care. All I cared about was getting revenge on the Daoine Sidhe, the fey who ruined my life.