Young Writers Society

Good Morning/Afternoon/Evening/Night(whichever one it is in your part of the world),

Hi! I'm Knight Hardy here on a mission to ensure that all works on YWS has at least two reviews. You will probably never see this but....Imma do this anyway.

First Impression: This sounds like a really fun little that really surprises you quite a bit with the emotional depth that you can get out of it. It was really fun to read and it conveys its rather simple point quite well. The pacing is on point and it all happens quite nicely and very smoothly.

Anyway let's get right to it,

The little block of wood was half a foot tall and three inches wide. He held in his little hand a small carving knife he had taken from his father’s drawer.

He sat on a rocky outcrop, on the largest boulder of the group. Frothy water washed up around its sides with every wave and then receded. Small black crabs picked their way amongst the rocks. Phaleodon watched one scuttle past his foot and disappear.

Phaleodon’s father did not approve of his art. He said real men did real work. He had told Phaleodon he could be a carpenter. All the children that lived in the village seemed to have the same idea. They would tease Phaleodon when he would carve instead of playing with them. But Phaleodon wanted to be a sculptor.

Suddenly, the little man blinked, and looked up at the towering figure of the boy. Phaleodon’s eyes widened in disbelief and his mouth hung agape. Wait until I show this to daddy! he thought in wonder.

This time he would carve out someone who wanted to be his friend.

I liked the carving story more, you know. At least I did, now I'm not so sure. The second one is written in a folklorish kind of way that I quite like.

He did not know why. He was too young to wonder.

Instantly he was enchanted

Instantly he was spellbound and speechless.

*

                                                       Too Beautiful


The most beautiful woman in the world lived alone by a river.

          She had a small white home, pristine, and made of stone. White curtains fluttered through the small round windows. Wildflowers grew all around it, in a myriad of colours; pink and crimson, teal and honey and more. A lovely forest of towering trees surrounded it. Many of them bore a bounty of plump ripe fruit.

          The river itself was immaculate and clear, and shimmering fish with rainbow scales swam lazily through it. Butterflies fluttered slowly through the air, and bees hovered from flower to flower, collecting pollen. White-peaked mountains lined the south, and above them the sun burned gold.

          She perched upon a rock on the riverside as was her custom and sang. Her skin was light bronze, smooth, unblemished; her eyes a rich sparkling green, and her long thick hair was luxurious obsidian, spilling freely down her back. Her sinuous, fleshy figure she draped in a white robe.

          Through the woods her voice chimed. It was sweet and pure, an angel’s voice, and a man hiking through the woods one day chanced to hear it.

          Instantly he was enchanted, and tracking the music with the zeal of a hound he came upon the woman, sitting beside the river in all her unearthly splendour. Instantly he was spellbound. Eventually, she realized his presence.

          “Hello?” she said, rising with the delicate grace of a flower seeking the sun in spring.

          “Hello,” he whispered. He could force no more from his paralysed lips.

          “Is something wrong?” she asked. A faint expression of concern passed across her features. He swooned.

          “You are beautiful!” he blurted. He ran his hand over his face and through his hair.

          “Is this so?” she asked. His face flashed with surprise.

          “Indeed! The most beautiful thing I have ever seen!” he cried.

          She looked around wonderingly, puzzled that this man could think her more beautiful than the nature surrounding her.

          “More beautiful than these flowers?” she asked, gesturing to those that grew alongside her small stone home.

          “Of course!”

          She furrowed her eyebrows, not diminishing her charm in the slightest. “These rainbow fish, these jewelled butterflies? They are not lovelier than I?”

          “Nay!” the man said fervently, running to clasp her hands, his face twisted in the agony of trying to convince her.

          “What of these mighty trees, grand and old, with their fruit like gemstones?” she inquired. Her marvellous voice grew more and more curious.

          “Never! Your beauty dwarfs them as their size dwarfs you!”

          “Those faraway mountains, so magnificent, with their white hats? They are surely a more dazzling sight!” she pointed toward them.

          “No!” the man shouted. “Nor are they more beautiful than you. I have travelled far and wide and have witnessed many fair maidens, but never have I seen a face so enchanting as yours, a figure so dazzling and flawless as if sculpted by the gods! A mere glance and I am in the throes of ecstasy!”

          Still, she was unconvinced. “Here! Look into the sky! The mighty Sun, she who bequeaths us all with life, shining golden and brilliant above! And what of the moon, her silver lover, who rises in the dark with their children, the glorious stars?”

          “No!” he said. “You are more beautiful than anything in this world, anything in this entire universe! You are a goddess, perfection incarnate, and blessed am I that I should not be struck dead by the power of your loveliness!”

          “Oh,” she said. A shadow slowly crept across her face as she considered his claim. “Then I am alone in this universe. If what you say is true I am unique in my charm and stand above all else. Nothing is worthy of me! Now I shall stalk this earth ever knowing that all else resents me for I am more fair!”

          With a moan of despair she turned and fled into her home. Worried, the man pursued her. To his horror he found her lying dead on the cold stone floor. The knife with which she had slit her throat lay in her open palm. She was more beautiful in death than in life.

          So passed the most beautiful woman in the world.