RATED PG-13 FOR VIOLENCE AND DISTURBING IMAGES
CHAPTER ONE-- UNTOUCHABLE
The thump of footsteps on the cold ground made Émon’s head snap up. Despite the frosty weather, sweat slid from his forehead down his face like tears. But the sound came from a fellow laborer, limping by, bent under a load of bricks. Émon watched him. His almond-brown eyes fixed on the man with his usual intensity; he always looked at people. Really looked, never glanced.
Their gazes met. Émon smiled. The man’s face hardened as he turned away.
Émon rubbed his shoulders, reminded yet again of the crime he’d committed earlier that day and the inevitable consequences. He drew a deep breath and ran his fingers through his hair, pushing the dark locks out of his eyes. He forced his stomach to unknot. Why didn’t an overseer just confront him and get it over with?
Heart beating a little quicker, he picked up another mud-and-straw brick and fitted it snugly between two others on the load in front of him. The bricks formed a large cube, tightly stacked on the burlap sheet.
Émon frowned at the load for a moment, retucking his tunic into his sash to hold it in place. What do I care if the bricks are stacked right? Most of the other workers just piled the bricks in a heap.
He didn’t know why he felt the need to do a good job. He tried not to care.
Émon sat back on his heels. Once again, he would hoist the hundred and seventy pounds to his back. Once again, he would trudge the ninety yards from the brickyard to the storehouse. Two hundred and sixteen steps. Émon had counted.
He touched his breastbone, running his fingers over the spider tattoo that marked it. The picture was a sign to everyone in Naryen-Mair. Stay away—this creature is defiled! A few drops of ink beneath his skin had cursed him as an Untouchable and chained him to a work camp since his birth.
He stood and stretched his arms, hearing the joints in his back pop. Again he heard footsteps and pivoted to face the newcomer. Every muscle tensed, then his shoulders slumped in relief. “Hello, Traistal.”
Traistal, black-haired and sun-browned, always kept his chin up as if he were nobility instead of a slave. Though twenty years older than Émon, he had been Émon’s only friend in the past two years. He set down his load of bricks, shaking his head slightly. The somberness in his gray-green eyes made Émon’s heart sink.
“They know it was you,” Traistal said.
“Is someone coming to—?”
“Yes.”
Émon rolled his shoulders, and felt the scabs that striped his back wrinkle. They’ve just begun to heal, too. He tried to speak calmly. “Should I expect a bad beating?”
“They’ll lay your guts open for this one.”
“Oh.” Émon could never fault Traistal for being too optimistic.
Traistal spoke offhandedly. “Afraid?”
Émon cleared his throat. “Traistal, when am I going to learn to stop getting myself in trouble?”
“When you allow the overseers to break your spirit.” He laid a firm hand on Émon’s shoulder. “If I can keep going at thirty-seven, I think you can at seventeen.”
“Sixteen,” Émon corrected.
“Your birthday’s tomorrow.”
Émon’s heart sank further. “Oh.” He gazed into space, the pale gray sky above the walls that caged him in the work camp. Suddenly, he remembered the dream he’d had last night. “Traistal, about tomorrow—”
Traistal shook his head, and Émon read in his eyes what his mouth wouldn’t say. You might not be here tomorrow. Traistal bent to pick up his load. “I’d better get back to work before an overseer catches me dawdling.”
“Traistal, it was another dream about Eiamar.”
Traistal straightened, raised his eyebrows. “And?”
Émon hesitated, remembering the image from his dream: a muscular, blue-eyed man standing on a fog-shrouded hill. “He was gazing up at the stars, I don’t think he saw me. And I just… felt this voice.”
Traistal’s face settled into an expression Émon had never been able to decipher in the two years he’d known him. “What did the voice say?”
“‘Behold, it is Eiamar. He is the answer, the key to the Untouchable’s freedom.’” Émon shivered as he remembered the chilling whisper that had haunted so many of his dreams. “Then the voice faded. And I knew, I don’t know how, that something wonderful or horrible would happen tomorrow.”
Traistal knelt beside his load and absently ran his fingers over a small white scar along his left temple. Émon waited for him to comment, but he didn’t. At last Émon said, “Traistal, why won’t you tell me about him?”
“Haven’t I already?”
“All you said was that you two were friends and then you split ways before the camps were formed.”
“That’s all you need to know.” He touched his scar again. He always did when Émon mentioned Eiamar.
Émon sat down heavily, cross-legged, and massaged his bare toes for warmth. “What does it all mean?”
“It means you have to live through this beating.”
Émon sighed. “Why can’t you tell me?”
“What makes you think I have something to tell?” He heaved up his load. “I’ll be back to gather up your remains after your overseer’s through with you.”
“You’re encouraging.”
“When am I not?” Traistal smirked. “If the advantages of your work outweigh the disadvantages of your rebellion, you’ll survive.”
And if not… Well, those were the terms. Émon and Traistal both knew it.
Traistal laughed grimly. “I hope to see you later.”
“You too.”
“Well…” Traistal paused. “Stay warm.” He turned and strode out of the brickyard. Émon swallowed bile and prayed he would live to see another sunrise.
* * *
An explosion of pain plunged Émon into the world of unconscious. He swam furiously away from it when he first passed out, then slowed when the coolness of sleep obliterated feeling. He sank deeper, savoring the nothingness— he wouldn’t wake, not for a long time. Just floating in the void, heedless… until he descended into a dream, a memory of nearly twelve years ago.
He was five, sitting on the floor and running his fingers over the dirt. Several other children near his age played together in a corner of the shack. Some sort of singing and hand-clapping game. A few of them were probably his siblings, but Émon was never sure. As usual, they didn’t include him in their game. Émon stared at the dirt, listened to their chorused rhyming, a ritual he would never be part of. The only time he’d ever tried, the other children covered their ears and yelled at him to stop.
Émon’s mother, Shaitha, sat cross-legged on the ground nearby, hugging to her breast a sickly baby whose only parent was working a late shift. The child tugged a lock of Shaitha’s silver-brown hair as Shaitha talked to another mother.
Émon didn’t listen to them much, too absorbed in the dirt, too distracted by the children’s game. Just fragments of conversation— something about incomprehensible concepts such as “freedom” and “the old days.” He stopped for a moment when he heard the other woman say, “We have our young emperor to thank for our chains.”
“Feron-Shious,” Shaitha breathed.
“Curse his name.”
Émon raised his head and spoke a rare comment. “Someday,” he said, “I’m goin’ ta punch Feron-Chious in the face.”
Both mothers laughed. Émon smiled, and somehow felt that everything was going to be all right.
With a flash of white light, he was torn from the comforting moment and plunged two years ahead, into a dream of dust, of sweat, of fear.
He was seven, a scrawny boy whose sunburned skin clung to him. He hunched over a tray of bricks molds and pressed mud into them with his hands. His stomach gnawed at him. Food… When will I get food… He glimpsed movement and turned to watch Shaitha kneel beside him. She ruffled his hair. “Rations soon, son. Just one more load and we can rest.”
Émon held up his palms. Blood seeped from raw scrapes where he’d run his hands over the rough mixture hour upon hour. His voice quavered. “They hurt, Momm.”
“I know, Émon, I know.” Shaitha embraced Émon and kissed his head. Émon snuggled against his mother, closing his eyes tightly. If only the pain would go away, the constant ache of his legs and arms, his stinging hands, the knot in his stomach.
Shaitha began to hum softly. A lulling tune, a sad tune, one that made Émon want to cry every time he heard it. Still, it was oddly comforting. Shaitha gently rocked him, Émon clung to her, soothed by the mournful melody.
At last she released him. “Be brave,” she whispered. Shaitha kissed him on the cheek, and her cracked lips left a bloody mark.
She stood. Émon missed the warmth of her embrace, nothing could hurt him when he was in his mother’s arms.
With a deep sigh, Shaitha stacked three sets of molds on top of each other and heaved the load up. She took a single step, wavered.
“Momm?” Émon said uncertainly.
Her breath came a little faster, louder. She quickly dropped to her knees, setting down the trays.
Émon sprang to his feet and bounded over to her side. “Momm— don’t— it’s all right, I can take one.” Hands throbbing, he lifted a tray. It weighed nearly as much as he did, but he vowed he wouldn’t fall.
“Thank you,” Shaitha gasped. She stared for a moment at the trays as if they weighed a thousand pounds, then slid her arms under the burden and lifted it again. “Follow me.” She shuffled toward the kilns. Émon trailed behind, gasping with the effort.
They filed through the gate to the brick-baking yard. A wave of heat blasted them as they entered. Shaitha staggered.
No, Momm. Don’t fall, don’t fall. Émon’s arms felt like they were on fire now, burning with effort. Don’t fall…
“Hurry up!” An overseer snapped his whip in their direction. This was the first day Émon had seen this young man. The new overseer’s face was hard, jaw set; some of the Untouchables were mocking him behind his back, others asking stupid questions and pretending not to understand. Even in his short time of work, Émon had seen this happen before— most Untouchables took great delight in pushing new overseers until they snapped.
A murmur of singing from a corner of the brickyard became intelligible: “Gi-rec, Gi-rec, son of a werak…”
So the new overseer’s name was Girec. Which rhymed with werak, mongrel. Girec turned sharply toward the corner and demanded who was singing. Shrugs, muttered comments, but no one had obviously been singing.
Émon followed his mother toward the kilns. He could feel Girec’s anger rising as the song broke out in another part of the area. It immediately silenced when he turned to face it, only to return, louder, in another corner.
Shaitha faltered again, slowed. Émon focused on her, trying to ignore Girec’s growing rage. Hurry, Momm, please hurry! Shaitha’s thin arms strained, sweat dripping down her forehead.
Now the chant sounded in spurts from different areas. Girec seized his whip, turning from side to side, unsure who to attack. He was losing control, Émon could see it. He turned sharply toward the loudest chorus of the song— directly into Shaitha’s path.
Shaitha came to an abrupt halt, nearly crashing into Girec’s back. She tried to retreat, but her foot snagged on uneven ground. She lost balanced, stumbled sideways, crashed into a stack of bricks that were dry but still unfinished. Mud exploded everywhere, dotting Émon with clay. The pile of bricks toppled and shattered.
Girec whirled, his wrath focusing on Shaitha. “Idiot!” he yelled.
Shaitha lay face down on the ground for a moment, then struggled to her knees. Her blue eyes shone with terror. Girec seized her arm and yanked her up, shouting in his rage. “That was two hours’ work you shattered, bitch!”
“Sorry—” Shaitha gasped.
“I don’t make quota, I don’t eat! You realize that?” He flung her to the ground.
Émon didn’t breathe.
Shaitha staggered upright again. “I’ll work extra tonight, I’ll—”
Girec struck her with a blow that sent her sprawling to the ground. “Not good enough!” His whip was out now; Émon stared as the cord sang through the air, slashed her arm.
She screamed. Émon’s tray slipped from his hands, crashed to the ground. Momm! She screamed again— he dashed toward the overseer, seized his burly arm. “Stop!” he yelled. “Stop!” Girec shouted an obscenity and flung him aside. Émon hit the ground hard, stunned for a second. Another shriek—
Émon staggered to his feet, grabbed a heavy kiln-fired brick and threw it as hard as he could.
The brick hit Girec in the chest with a dull thud. The overseer stumbled back, gasping.
Émon didn’t hesitate. He ran.
Two, three, four bounding steps; Girec’s whip curled around his legs and sent him flying to the dust. Before he could move again, the cord lashed his chest, again and again, ripping his flesh, scattering drops of blood. Pain— blind, burning pain— He screamed until his lungs hurt, and then unconsciousness finally rescued him.
Points:
Time spent:
Canary word: Present
Possible AI signals:
Original Text:
Are you sure you want to delete this comment? This cannot be undone.
Mark this comment as a review? Points will be awarded to the poster.
Your comment was posted, but it wasn’t long enough to count as a review. Reviews need about four complete sentences (at least 250 characters). Try writing another review that explains your thoughts in more detail — the author will appreciate it, and you’ll earn points for it.
125,021 Literary Works • 672,740 Reviews
This is amazing! I can't find anything wrong with it, but I wasn't really looking for anything wrong with it... Still, this is amazing!
After so many different people have nitpicked this through for you, i don't have much to crit on!!
Very good. I really enjoyed this, and hope to read more of it soon! Although the end of the scene is somewhat predictable, considering the circumstances you've set up for them to live in. I can live with that, considering it's just a flashback.
I like how you've created original names that sound foreign. It all really reminds me of World War II, but less ... traditional. I hope to hear something magical in this. Some more explanations on the spider tattoo, which I'm sure is to come, would be good. Although that might be left for later explanation.
The only things I really have to nitpick are small.
1. Why does the boy not remember if he has siblings, but remembers his mother?
2. "She lost balanced, stumbled sideways, crashed into a stack of bricks that were dry but still unfinished. " I don't think you meant balanced, i think you meant balance.
I've got high hopes for this. It's coming along very nicely!
Good job!
--Claire
I'm ba-ack!
Moving right along then...
I would say this "the two of you" as it sounds a bit more pleasing to the ear, but if it's an aspect of the character that he doesn't always speak with the most proper form and all, then that's fine.
(Just don't let him talk much.)
"And that's all you need to know." Again, that's what I would say, it sounds less formal, more like friends talking.
Tell us it's Traistal, for clarity. Sure, we're smart, but just to make sure we don't get lost, tell us it's Traistal.
Did he ever stop touching his scar? Yeah, I know you shouldn't have to put down every jot and tiddle of what the character's do, and you don't have to. I'm just pointint out that, to me, it seems odd for Traistal to mess with his scar when he did the same thing not two seconds ago, give or take.
Eh. Sounds funny/odd/awkward. And we already know that Traistal dosn't have an aversion to contractions, like a lot of my characters do, argh. So there's no need to be so poetic/proper. I would rephrase it.
Nice principle. Now that I understand it, that is. It took me a little while to understand what he was trying to say. You may want to clear it up a bit.
What about everybody else? Does everyone else know it? Why do Emon and Traistal get to be in a bubble? Do they not know that everyone else knows it? Is it "hidden knowledge"?
Why? Usually when someone I know laughs grimly it's because the person they're talking to doesn't understand them or they're about to make a threat. I don't see Traistal doing that here. So I am wondering why he laughs thus, unless I'm completley misunderstanding the concept.
Ah... poetic narrative. *ahem*
First section. "passed out, then slowed" and all the stuff relating to it. It works, but just felt funny to me. Sorry I can't offer more about it.
Second section. "n't wake, not" First off, don't use contractions in narrative. There may or may not be a rule about this, but regardless, there should be. Contractions are fine and even necessary in dialogue, but please do not use them in narrative. Second, having a contraction of the word "not" so close to another instance of the word "not" where you spell the whole word out... that feels really awkward. I think eliminating the contraction is all you need to do with it. But that's just me.
Third section. "..." Elipses, elipses, elipses.
Really?
First section is self-explanitory.
Second section. Put an "and" between these two words.
Okay, I'm going to stop there for now.
Don't worry, I'll be back with the rest of it. Eventually...
That's all, for now...
-tjmk
Well met, Shafter...and rather a later meeting here as far as my intention. ^_^"
Emon's story now. It's moving, isn't it? Rather quickly - but I think the sense of stumbling speed is more a matter of the hints and remarks you drop within the narrative...telling ones and sometimes superfluous. Sometimes it seems as if you repeat things, worried they haven't been said clearly enough. The narrative says it - then Emon confirms by thinking or worrying about; then the atmosphere confirms by mirroring bleaks moods... ^_~
Oy, it comes up a few times - not too badly. I'll note it as I go.
The Emon-interjection of 'years ago' sticks out like a nail in the polished maple dining table. Its brevity, and the way it falls really as more of a thought than part of the narrative... It could be its own paragraph, if needed. But you won't lose the meaning or implication without it.
They get days off then, for the mere threat of rain?
I love the picture of the shacks and rippling rags. But the sentence preceding it may be a bit adjective heavy. You've 'cold', 'faint', 'bare', 'small' all in line. ^_^
The question of 'spring' is plaintive and poignant - it feels deeper than mere weather-chat, and adds that to the exchange.
But somehow, Emon's poetic response - so suddenly - describing the dew sounded out of place. He must be in pain, yes? He almost forgot what part of his life he's in - and then without a stutter he describes the dew as living crystals. It's fathomable, but circumstantially feels awkward.
What if it harked back to something else? For example, has Emon ever seen real crystal, or diamonds?
I could imagine Emon picturing the dew like tears; and changing it for his mother's sake.
Ah well - just some thoughts. ^_^
Above, your propensity to re-state things slips in, I'm afraid. ^_^ If the coughing fit seized her, we assume she wasn't speaking...and adding it just drags.
They must live very far North? February is all that follows; and a bit of March?
Double the proper noun - only one needed, all in all.
'Further', generally, is meant to imply the furthering of an arguement, a remark, an idea. 'Farther' deals with distance.
As to searching for fish - how did he manage that? I can see the river; and the desultory children. But then 'searching for fish' sounds as if he might be looking behind trees or under rocks. Is he splashing in the water? Poking at it? Worried about getting his wounds soaked; or unreasonably disgusted by his impression of its bloody hue?
I think, "he sighed" would be more neatly placed in the preceding paragraph. It dulls the suddenness of movement catching his eye; sticks out there.
Again, I wonder if the rat is scuttling down an embankment, scuttling on stone. Where it scuttled will be more vivid for the reader, and how, than why here. Why has no bearing on the incident - if it were scuttling with the heroic intent to throw itself into the river after having disgraced its family and name, it couldn't much bother the storyline or Emon. ^_~
Back into repetition. First, Emon thinks its kind is the only thing that gets fed. Then the narrator makes the comment that it's fat enough to for Emon to eat and his mother. Why not - 'Rats seem to be the only things that get fed here, he thought - but it wasn't as rotten a thought as it could have been; at least it was big enough he could eat without bringing home mere bones.'
Don't mind me making it longer and impish. Write it your way, by all means - but tie the things together or say them one way. ^_^
A note: He's eating a rat, raw? Tearing filthy fur off it with his teeth? Do Untouchables have natural stores of anti-biotics or some such thing in their biological make-up? 0o]
You have another tendency of putting dialogue between action, almost never tags and rarely un-accompanied. The tension and pace might benefit from some talking left alone - it speeds things beautifully. Set up the scene - here especially - and then let the words work themselves out until the crisis - and there pull things together with narration again. ^_^
As in this bit. Where's the tension? It all comes at the same pace. Sentences take similar length. Structure remains.
How does the man posture? His speech really doesn't change up, casual to threatening - at least not in the way it's written.
Apart from any sentence structure: Emon, at the beginning, nearly collapses - falls down in agony - from his wounds and standing up a bit quickly. How he throws a rat some yards(?), has spasms, but manages to run...? I assume he escaped by a good sprint and dodging.
Oy, quite an understatement, isn't it? ^_^''
Anyhow, that's as far as I've gotten and can go now. Time runs. I have a few notes to add.
Character & Dialogue:
You have interesting characters and situations. But Emon, as an example, doesn't have much of a voice, obviously distinguishable as his - his diction, his speech pattern. (Traistal does - very nicely.) Then there's the Untouchable fellow who knocks him, threatens, etc. He has nothing about him at all.
In short, as I noted about the way dialogue is presented, change it up a bit. Emon ought to have some verbal quirks. All the side characters - whether as obscure as the Untouchable who drops in and out, nameless - or recurring side characters, ought to be people. The scene with Emon and the rat could have been deftly tense. After all, Emon is starving, beaten, trying to get anything to eat for his mother and maybe, for himself - and now some brute wants to take it away? He'll either be a lie-down, pathetic, resigned sort - or he'll be furious - whether overtly or otherwise. Yes?
I hope that makes some sense. I'm intrigued by the story thread...rather like poor Emon as well. ^_^ Good luck, Shafter. I'll get the second part of the chapter eventually.
IMP
Right then, where was I?
Oh yes! The critique.
(Here we go...)
I think you should attribute this thought to Emon. Adding "he realized" or "he thought" at the end of the sentence for clarity and to help the flow. You may need to change the next sentence a bit then, but for some reason it feels off right now. Especially if you read it out loud. Almost seems as though Emon is speaking his thoughts, when the text clearly shows differently.
This bit of dialogue feels unnatural. I think it's because he's speaking with a complete thought. If I were expecting a bad beating, yet was trying to be all cool and calm about it, I don't think I'd be speaking nearly as coherently. Just a thought.
1. We already know it's Traistal speaking as he is the only other person there.
2. Avoid adverbs in describing your dialogue. It could just be because I've read the chapter already, but I seem to think that we already know Traistal's kind of a casual fellow and doesn't take too much seriously. So this isn't needed.
Then again, I could be completely misinterpreting his character. Just my impression from this chapter.
Eh... it works, but it feels kind of off. I think it's the proximity of two "to"s. And yeah, what I just said feels off, but that's my point.
Also, it took me a while to fully understand what Emon was saying, but that's just because I'm slow.
(That's for sure.)
{*ahem* I would advise that you not bother him while he is critiquing.}
(...right.)
Again, dialogue feels... off. Forced or vague or something. Took me a while to understand what Traistal was saying, but again, probably just because I'm slow sometimes.
*waves hands frantically, clearly agitated by something*
I think this is the least graceful piece of dialogue you have in this chapter. It may or may not sound forced, I don't really know nor do I care because I'm too bothered by how... awkwardly you tried to feed us information. And on top of that, it's information that we already know.
Drop this, or drop the section earlier in the chapter about their difference in age. Better yet though, drop both of them and tell us their ages in some other way.
(I'm going to disagree with my gracious host here. He is forgetting one very important detail. Because Traistal says something about Emon's age here we find out about Emon's birthday, which may or may not be an important detail, but if you drop the age discussion here then you lose your vessel for bringing up the topic of Emon's birthday. So I would say keep it, if Emon's birthday is important, but it could probably use a little change.)
What about it? Showing us the world, nice. Thank you. But you're either missing a preposition or you didn't finish your thought here, because it does not sound good at all.
Why? What caused him to remember the dream? Was it the sky? Maybe I'm missing some detail of the description that you see. Maybe I'm just slow again. But I don't see why he would remember his dream, aside from the fact that you need him to in order to advance the plot.
I could be wrong, but I think you should use a different word. I don't know, because I don't know the character, but I would advise describing him differently. Say big or something. There's just something about the word "muscular" that doesn't sit well with me.
Was it bright enough or clear enough in Emon's dream for him to see the man's eyes and discern their color? Also, as a general note, this is a lot of description again. However, because it's a dream and because it's dialogue I can accept it. Emon is trying to explain what he say, and if the things that stick out in his mind are the facts that this guy was muscular and blue-eyed, then cool. But...
Wow. I have this whole paragraph marked up in all kinds of blue. Um... I think the general idea of what I'm trying to say is that I think Emon should have a bit more difficulty conveying what he's trying to say. Break up the conversation a bit, perhaps. Have Emon say a few things, stammer a bit, have Traistal ask questions to get Emon going again, things like that. I guess Emon is just a little too eloquent for my liking or something. Maybe I'll get back to you on this one.
Physical description!!!
Actually, this one is fine, it is both physical description and action description, so it's fine. Just pointing it out is all.
Course, now Traistal suffers from the "Harry Potter syndrome."
Oh bother. I have to go once more. Choir practice and all that.
I'll get the rest of the critique up tomorrow, perhaps.
That's all, for now...
-tjmk
Chapter One:
Maybe I’m picky but I think it would sound better with their.
EDIT - Sorry about this repeat. It took me a while to post and someone else posted the smae thing.
I don't think that part is necessary. Obviously he's counted if he knows the number.
Everything else has pretty much been covered… I’m a little late.
Chapter Two:
Forced himself to smile would sound better.
I liked the Momm thing when he says it. It seemed like a nickname or whatever for her. However it kind of lost that effect when other people said it. Also, If you use it alone as a name (without my, your, ect.) it needs to be capitalized but with my/you it doesn’t. Just a tip.
Like I said earlier, with the nickname thing. ‘for my mother’ or just ‘for Momm.’
You said 20 years. Wouldn’t that make him 35?
See above. Oh, and just so you know, when he’s talking to people he’s close to (like Traistal) I think it would be better to say Momm and around other people ‘my mother’.
I agree about the rat-eating thing. I know it shows how desperate they are but... still.
Keep writing!
All right, Shafter, you asked for it...
Ah well. Here is the review, take it or leave it.
I'm just going to go through this the way I reviewed/edited it. Top to bottom and then some overall stuff at the end.
One last note, I realized as I was editing that I get really, um... sarcastic might be the right word, when I edit, so if some stuff seems a little harsh. Well, it probably is.
This needs a little reworking for clarity. I did not realize until perhaps my third overall read-through that Emon was initially afraid. Also, I first thought he was asleep, not working.
Good description and detail about both the eyes and the character. But I would prefer if you did so in a more subtle manner only because listing physical traits can tend to diminish characterization as the character may have a tendency to become just that, a list of physical traits. One more thing, I like this fact about the character, but if it does not come up again in the story, or is unimportant, then it needs to be nixed.
Needs to be "their" because you are talking about his eyes and they are plural.
Again, physical description. I like being able to visualize a character, but I'm just warning you that if a character is merely what he looks like and not who he is, then he is not a character. So I'm just pointing out the places you use physical description, whether it be for good or ill.
When I first read this I thought he had been asleep a few moments ago and this did not make any sense. I understand it now, but it could be made a bit clearer.
This seems like unnecessary detail. However, when taken in context it does make sense. Not sure how I feel about it, just pointing it out.
I don't think this is the right pronoun, but I'm not sure. I think it should be either its sash, talking about the tunic, or else it should be the sash, just talking about sashes in general. Don't know.
...and? This is an interesting, kinda cool, detail about the character. Something about the way it's conveyed doesn't sit well with me. I dont know if you are either too blunt in telling us this, or if I am waiting for you to explain why he cares. If it's the latter then there is no problem, because I don't expect you to explain everything about the characters in the first chapter.
How does he know all of these precise measurements?
This helps to explain the above section, as well as unify the paragraph into a nice theme about monotony and all. So... the paragraph is a keeper, I just want to know how he knows the precise measurements of pounds and yards.
(How about wondering why they are using pounds and yards in the first place? Ever think of that, Mr Editor?)
This sentence feels choppy to me. I don't want to do any rewriting for you, but maybe something along the lines of, "He ran his fingers over the spider ta too that marked his breastbone." The sentence is shorter and flows a bit better.
This word... it doesn't fit. I guess I would classify it as too "flowery" or something, but it doesn't fit. Simply using "turned" would work just fine.
Ack! This whole paragraph, while filled with great content, is just... clunky. First, you start with a physical description, now, I've already established my opinions on physical descriptions, but this one is particularly troublesome. The guy walks on stage and then it's as if you shout at him, "Freeze! Hold everything, Traistal. Now class, notice his black-hair and noble chin, isn't that interesting?" Meanwhile, the poor guy is sitting there with a load of bricks on his back, sweat dripping down his face, and before you get to finish with your dissertation about his appearance... he collapses. Please let him set his bricks down first, then tell us what he looks like.
Also, you give us a detail about Emon's and Traistal's relationship to one another that really is not all that important right now, and comes up later anyway. Plus, I don't think many slaves really care how old they are or how old they are in relation to one another, but I could be wrong.
(You probably are.)
Somberness in the gray-green eyes, fine, but the rest of the paragraph needs some work.
The fact that Traistal thinks of himself higher than his position, or whatever, is also a really neat detail. I think it could be worked into the paragraph, or the entire story, a bit more subtly, but it is an awesome detail.
...well, that got vicious.
(Really?)
I've still got plenty more notes, however. But I've got to get ready for class. I'll just post this up, let you digest it a bit, and then move on with the rest of my review.
I hope I'm helping. I don't expect you to accept or agree with all, or any, of my critiques, but there they are for you consideration. Well, they aren't all there yet, but it's a start.
Take care, and keep up the good work. I'll try to say a few more positive things next time.
That's all, for now...
-tjmk
I'm really enjoying this! Sorry, I know we're supposed to crit and be constructive, but I'm pushed for time now, and the whole thing was great anyway!
-ST
I loved it!!!
I was so absorbed in the story that I didn't notice any errors!!
More, please!!
Thanks a million for the crits, Myth and Elein!!! I hope to have an edited version of C2 posted "soon." (You know me and the word "soon."
)
Green = Comment/Correction
Blue = Suggestion
Black = Review
*
I felt that this could be reshaped a little by chaning a few of the words, right now it was awkward to read. Something like: ... waking (up?) from a three-day coma after Girec’s beating.
I’m sure you can come up with a better sentence than my suggestion.
Just a typo, ‘dirt’ = dirty
I’m pretty sure, or I may be wrong, that ‘smelled’ ought to be ‘smelt’.
That goes a little overboard. Maybe: ... a maze of thousands of gray shacks ...?
I know this is Émon speaking but with ‘She smiled weakly’ it seemed as if his mother had spoken. Maybe change it around a little?
^^^ See quote
^^^ See quote
^^^ See quote
XD You should just go for: ... and smiled.
I agree with ’Sari. Would his teeth be able to bit into the rat and pull the flesh/fur out so easily? What about the blood? Surely he would want to cook it first, skin it and also leave some for his mother.
Adding to ’Sari’s suggestion, perhaps: ... slumped across the stack of bricks he had been loading.
‘busted’ is informal and here it didn’t really fit (or maybe I just hate that word). How about ‘throbbing’? Or ‘sore’?
I think you should replace the ‘strode’ with ‘walked’, just my opinion. After getting a critique from Jack I realize it is sometimes better to use ‘walk’ etc.
I’m just a little unsure here but would the Emperor really trouble himself with bricklayers? Wouldn’t there be some sort of a guild that deals with different sectors, lays down rules and just has the Emperor approve it rather than think of it himself? The Emperor has far more important things to deal with than worry about a few brick workers.
20 + 15 = 35 unless the Emperor’s birthday hasn’t passed.
^^^ Something missing there.
‘laid’ = lay
Somehow that seems ... wrong. Usually it is the heart breaking and not the inside
I don’t think ‘I miss her’ would be right just now. His mother has died, probably when he was working, so he would be more likely to think ‘I wasn’t here with her,’ or ‘I’ll never speak to her again’, etc. Maybe the next day or a few hours later he will miss her. It is like when a family or friend is away, you don’t miss for for a few hours and then realize there is an empty feeling and you connect it with missing so-and-so.
Maybe ‘drying’ or ‘making his face sticky’?
*
About the ‘Momm’ thing. It is always so awkward to see the double ‘m’. I wouldn’t want you to change it but perhaps you could, make it look a little familiar otherwise it looks like you deliberately spelt ‘Mom’ wrong (and I’m sure some others will think this).
Now on to Émon. He has been whipped and it really hurts yet he is able to dodge past an Untouchable that wants his rat, then is attacked by the same man and he can’t lift a load of bricks(?). Later, after his mother has died, he runs to Traistal’s house/shack when earlier he had to keep up with the elder man. Try keeping track of Émon’s day on a separate sheet, that way you know if he had been limping in one scene so you can continue his limp in later scenes.
And that takes me back to the rat. These are humans and I think most people wouldn’t eat an animal without it being cooked (or nearly cooked as best as possible). When Émon gets home it is ‘half-eaten’, what happened to skinning the rat or whatnot? I don’t know, this is coming from a vegetarian, I’ll move on before I’m sick.
I really like the Traistal scenes. I always imagined him older than 38, at least 50 or something. What will they do when they escape? If Untouchables are outcasts will they expect sympathy or shelter? Where will they go? Is there someplace that allows Untouchables?
Sorry if this was explained in the first chapter, my memory of that is not too great which is why I’ll be re-reading.
If there is anything you want explained from my critique (or anything else you want looked over) then PM me.
-- Myth
it was really good u have amazing description and i like how you show emotion and how the mood is set. its great!
lyndzi
Quote:
For a moment he felt that he was seven, waking out of a three-day coma after Girec’s beating. No, that had been years ago. Now he lay on his stomach, cocooned in a pile of straw; his back pulsed dully.
Okay, so the sentences are grammatically correct, but I somehow get the feeling that this doesn’t flow right, As I really can’t tell you why, don’t change it until two more people tell you the same, lol. Maybe you should add an ’-’ (forgot how it’s called, hehe) before the ’No’? Oh, I don’t know.
Quote:
He was alone on the muddy bank except for a few children further down; most of the other Untouchables were headed to work by now.
I have objections to the ‘were headed part’. ‘Were heading’? But that would mean that he indeed was not alone, so I suppose that’s not what you mean. The Untouchable ‘were headed’ by someone? Oh, lets just stop at ‘I don’t get it’.
Quote:
He picked it up, took a few bites, spat out the fur, and headed home, hoping the man wouldn’t seek revenge and kill him.
I found this a bit melodramatic. I suppose that the ‘seeking revenge’ part is okay, but ‘kill him’? Especially since you have it in one short sentence.
Also, about the part when the he ate the rat. ‘He spat out the fur’. Like, only the fur? I mean, rats have bones, etc., too. Okay, so I’m not a rat expert.
Quote:
He jerked upright from where he lay, slumped across the stack of bricks he was loading.
He can’t be laying and loading at the same time. Maybe: ‘(…) he was supposed to be loading’?
Quote:
It was Ria, a slight young woman who’d recently been transferred to the camp.
‘Slight young woman?’ Update: I looked it up in the dictionary (grrrr). Apparently it can mean slim ?? Nevertheless, in my opinion it looks weird.
Quote:
He was more severe, his jaw lined with a scruffy beard, his eyes cold and gray as iron— but it was the same man who had beaten him into a coma ten years ago.
I had to reread this sentence, but not because pf the meaning, I understood it quite all right, but the ‘more’ up there is making me think (ouch). Okay, so you have ‘more’. Without the ‘more’ you couldn’t have placed the ‘but’, right? Sp the ‘more’ is essential. (Ha, I’m explaining this too myself. Still have to figure out what is wrong, lol).
Oh, I think I have what’s bugging me. You describing how Girec looks now, but in a bit of a contrast to the past. Yes? If not, then don’t read what I write next, lol. ‘his jaw lined with a scruffy beard, his eyes cold and gray as iron’. You have ‘more’ in the first part, you should have something similar here. ‘His eyes cold and grey as iron - but’. -Now here, the but is kind of awkward. You would have to do something like the ‘more’ on the first part, I think.
Wow. And all that to one sentence? Geez.
Quote:
“I know.”
His eyes were dry now. Why couldn’t he cry? “Traistal, what should I do?”
Who said the first ‘I know’? Because that is not clear. Traistal? Traistal was the last one to speak, so that should have been included. Emon? Emon is talking now. You have an ‘I miss her’ in italics, was that supposed to be in quotes.
Okay, so that’s all. Haha, I hope you have a copyright on this, lol.
One thing that caught my attention in Emon (what is the shortcut to that ‘E’, lol.) was that he doesn’t seem to have any major flaws… He’s too perfect for me, somehow. No, he won’t leave his mother. He doesn’t really feel any anger, or any negative emotion, to tell the truth. Give him a flaw, something.
Oh, but when his mother died - that whole part was really good. Especially the dialogues.
Also, when he first met the Untouchable who tried to tale his rat - I think that there you should describe the pain he felt more. After all, he’s after a serious beating, isn’t he? Not a while ago he couldn’t stand up to quickly, and here we have him dodging and kicking someone. Again, a bit down, when the Untouchable hit him - he hit him and that’s basically the end? How does he feel?
And no, Emon does not feel anger. No. -but that’s an assumption. I have no idea what he’s feeling.
(Ah, but the Geric part was good) Now, why exactly Girec did not beat him isn’t too clear. Why?
Oh, here’s something I omitted (was rereading the ‘rat and Untouchable fragment’)
Quote:
He kicked him in the back of the knees to fell him, then ran, flinching whenever another spasm seized his legs.
‘He kicked him in the back of the knees to fell him’ - Unclear sentence alert.
Traista; rules, lol! Nice name and character, hehe. And, who is Shaitha to Emon?
CHAPTER TWO-- ELUSIVE HOPE
Émon slowly opened his eyes. For a moment he felt that he was seven, waking out of a three-day coma after Girec’s beating. No, that had been years ago. Now he lay on his stomach, cocooned in a pile of straw; his back pulsed dully. His gaze swept the room and took in the familiar lines of the ten-by-ten-foot shack. Shaitha lay nearby on a straw pallet, shivering in her sleep.
He pressed his palms to the dirt floor and pushed himself up. True to his word, Traistal had carried him home and bandaged his back and arms with rags. Émon smelled the distinct odor of mud and yarrow, a salve that eased the pain of slow-healing wounds. He brushed straw off his chest, then peeled back a bandage. The bloody gash beneath was only skin-deep.
Not nearly as bad as I expected.
The wind moaned outside. Émon crawled to the rag that hung over the doorway and pulled it aside. Maybe the sky would threaten a winter rain, and he wouldn’t have to go to work. The sun wasn’t up yet, but a cold dew caught the faint light and sparkled on the bare branches of the small apple tree that grew outside their door. Beyond the tree stood a maze of over a thousand gray shacks, rag doors rippling in the breeze. No sign of rain.
His mother coughed, and Émon crawled to her side. “Morning, Momm.” She smiled weakly. “You feeling any better?”
“Y-yes.” Her voice was a broken whisper.
“The apple tree’s beautiful this morning.” He smoothed the hair from her pale forehead. “The dew looks like living crystals on the branches.”
“Spring is coming, yes?” she whispered.
Émon glanced toward the door and the gray January sky. “Soon, Momm. Very soon.”
Shaitha tried to speak, but a coughing fit seized her before she could. Émon tucked her thin blanket around her shoulders. “Stay right here, I’ll catch you breakfast.”
The fit subsided. She shook her head.
Émon was already on his knees, rewrapping long strips of cloth around his arms to help keep himself warm. “You have to eat if you’re going to get better.”
Her voice came out hoarse. “You’ll be late.”
“No arguments, Momm.” He refolded his tunic around his chest, tightened his sash to hold it in place and stood up. Too quickly. Blood rushed to his head as a spasm of pain ripped down his back. He collapsed to hands and knees, sucking breath through his teeth.
He could sense his mother wince. Clenching his jaw until it hurt, he ground out, “I’m all right.” He got to his feet again, much slower, and stepped outside. He touched a branch of the tree and watched the dew drip from the twigs. The poor tree had budded already, even though there were months of winter ahead.
Émon strode between the hovels until he climbed down to the bank of the Sa-trani River. Émon thought it looked like a pool of brown blood. He was alone on the muddy bank except for a few children further down; most of the other Untouchables were headed to work by now. Émon halfheartedly searched for fish, but saw none.
He sighed. Movement caught his eye, and he turned to see a rat scuttling toward the water to drink.
Émon dove for the creature, seized it and broke its neck before it could even squeak. He held up breakfast and frowned at it. Rats seem to be the only things that get fed around here. At least it was big enough for him to take a few bites without guilt. He turned to start home.
An Untouchable nearly a foot taller than him blocked his way.
Émon retreated a step and made his mouth smile. “Didn’t see you.”
The man grinned. “Thanks for bringing me breakfast.” He held out his hand.
Émon imagined how easily the hand could fit around his neck. “It’s for my mother.”
The grin disappeared. “Give it over.”
Émon took another step back. “You know, I don’t have much energy to spend in a day. You’re not worth it.”
“Good to know.” The man shoved him hard, knocking him into the shallows. “The rat. Now.”
Émon gained his footing in the icy water, trying to hide the pain that raced down his back. “No!”
The Untouchable lunged at him. Émon threw the rat as hard as he could over the man’s head and dodged to the side. He kicked him in the back of the knees to fell him, then ran, flinching whenever another spasm seized his legs.
He found the rat in an alley. He picked it up, took a few bites, spat out the fur, and headed home, hoping the man wouldn’t seek revenge and kill him.
His mother smiled in thanks when he brought her the half-eaten rat. Émon placed the food in her hand, then stroked her cheek. His voice barely remained steady. “I’ll see you tonight.”
Shaitha drew his hand to her lips and kissed it. Émon gazed at the flecks of blood her lips left and felt a knot in his throat. “Love you, Momm.”
Émon stepped out the door and limped down the deserted footpath that led to the work area just as the sun’s rays slipped over the walls. The clear light brought a little warmth, but it also reminded him that he was behind schedule. I can’t be late, not again. He quickened his pace. Come on, faster—
A hand from behind seized his shoulder and whipped him around. Someone punched Émon hard in the stomach then struck his jaw. Stars flashed across his vision, he collapsed, landing hard on his back.
The man who’d tried to steal his rat stepped over him and continued toward the work area.
Émon rolled over onto his stomach and pulled himself up again, joint by joint.
This is not going to be a good day.
***
“Émon!”
He jumped, dropping the brick still clutched in his hand. When had he fallen asleep? He jerked upright from where he lay, slumped across the stack of bricks he was loading. A white winter sun shone in his eyes as he looked up at the figure in front of him.
It was Ria, a slight young woman who’d recently been transferred to the camp. She set down two trays of dried bricks on the piles beside him and clapped the dust off her hands. “What’re you trying to do, get your back ripped open again? Your overseer’s going to be here any minute.”
Émon licked his busted lip and tasted blood. “Thanks, Ria.”
She started to leave, hesitated. “How’s your Momm doing?”
“She’s getting better.”
Ria nodded. She understood. “Oh.” She turned slowly and strode away.
Émon shook his head, slapped himself a few times, making his cold face sting. Wake up! Good thing Ria had caught him sleeping instead of—
A shadow fell across him. He looked up.
Girec scowled down at him.
He was more severe, his jaw lined with a scruffy beard, his eyes cold and gray as iron— but it was the same man who had beaten him into a coma ten years ago. Émon could still hear the Untouchables’ song running through his head. Girec, Girec, son of a werak… He hunched over his work and arranged the bricks on the burlap sheet as fast as his numb fingers would let him.
“You’re lagging.” Threat edged Girec’s voice like a blade.
“I’m working as fast as I can.”
“Work faster.”
Émon folded the burlap over the bricks. “I can’t.” He tied the ropes correctly, stalling for time. He didn’t want Girec to know that he could barely even lift the load today, much less carry it to the storehouse.
“You don’t have a choice.” Girec slammed his foot onto the load and leaned forward. “Our dear and gracious emperor has issued another Decree.”
Émon’s head jerked up to meet Girec’s gaze. His stomach knotted.
“Emperor Feron-Shious, may his reign endure forever, has decreed that brick-working camps have to increase their production by a fourth.”
“A fourth!” Émon couldn’t conceal his horror. The camp had been forced to put out more bricks before; an eighth more, a tenth more. But a fourth? Was that even possible? “Why?”
“What am I, a fortune teller?” Girec yanked his foot off the load. “To the storehouse. Now!”
Émon couldn’t stall any longer. He stared at the load, grabbed the rough knots with his hands and heaved it up. The bricks lay heavy against his chest; usually he carried them on his back, but that would be too painful today.
Girec tapped his fingers on the whip in his belt. Émon took a step, feeling with his toes for obstacles. His lungs restricted with the effort, tendons in his wrists strained, calf muscles quivered. He clenched his teeth. Don’t fall. Don’t fall!
His legs ignored the command and buckled. He crashed to his knees, still clutching the load.
Girec stepped in front of Émon. With one quick motion he drew his whip.
Émon looked him straight in the eyes.
Girec paused.
“Don’t beat me,” Émon said.
Girec’s arms fell to his sides.
“I haven’t done anything wrong. Don’t beat me.”
Girec stared at him.
Émon got to his feet, still gripping the load. Girec didn’t move. Step by step, Émon limped toward the brick storehouse.
He ducked inside the boxy brown structure and jostled his way past other Untouchables. He set down his load in the proper place. Then he stood up straight.
And collapsed.
His legs cramped, twisting his muscles into knots so tight his limbs kicked without his consent. He closed his eyes, knowing he was powerless to stop the spasms until his muscles unclenched. Émon forced his mind away from the pain.
Girec hadn’t beaten him.
Why?
His muscles suddenly relaxed. Someone leaned over him, and when his eyes focused he realized it was Traistal. Émon tried to smile.
Traistal frowned in return, helped Émon to his feet and propelled him out the door and back into the sunlight.
As soon as they were a few paces away, Traistal said, “Why did you come to work today?”
Émon struggled to keep up with his stride. “I wanted to get bread rations for my momm.”
“You’ll be lucky to get any rations today.”
“I can hope.”
“Have fun doing that.”
“I will.”
This remark evoked the resigned smirk Émon was hoping for. “You’re unusually cheerful today. Haven’t you heard the news about the brick quota?”
Oh… that’s right.
Traistal slowed his stride a little. “I wonder what kind of a monument Feron-Shious is building now.”
“Another tower praising his mercy, I’m sure.” Émon breathed in sharply pain shuddered down his spine.
Traistal didn’t break stride. “He’s arrogant. That’s always been his problem.”
“Arrogance?”
Traistal smiled thinly. “I was at his coronation.”
“How’s that possible? I thought—”
“Twenty years ago, Untouchables were allowed to walk the streets in relative freedom.” They had arrived at the loading area; Traistal knelt to help Émon stack bricks. “Sure, they’d get spat on, jeered at, beaten sometimes, but they were free.”
He said “they” instead of “we.” Strange… Before Émon had time to think about it, Traistal moved on with his thought.
“Feron-Shious was fifteen at the time. His smug smile told the crowd he wasn’t going to be a puppet for his father’s aides. And he hasn’t.”
Émon tried to work some calculations. “He was my age when he put the Untouchables in camps?”
“Just about.”
Émon blew on his hands, flexed his fingers. “I can’t imagine someone so young being that cruel.”
“Well, he’s thirty-four now.”
Émon blinked. “That was fast adding.”
“I remember because I was eighteen when he came to power.”
“Oh.”
They stacked bricks side by side for a while in silence. It occurred to Émon that this wasn’t Traistal’s job, and he must be staying for a reason.
He was right. After a long moment, Traistal spoke. “Any more dreams about Eiamar lately?”
Émon shook his head. “Not since last time.”
“Ah.” There was another silence, which Traistal finally broke. “I have another plan.”
Émon froze. All other thoughts fled from his mind. “You’re going to escape?”
Traistal shook his head. “You are.”
Émon’s mind shut out the possibility. “Traistal, my momm will die without me.”
“If you escaped, I would take care of her.”
Émon rubbed his cold fingers. “I won’t leave her.”
“Émon, you have a calling in life that doesn’t involve an Untouchable camp.”
“Neither does yours.”
“Émon…” Traistal hesitated, made sure no one was within earshot. “Even now, I’m working to escape. But not in the usual way.”
“What do you mean?”
“I can’t tell you, but my point is this: I already have a chance of escape. You don’t. If I escaped and you didn’t, how would that feel on my conscience?”
“I would feel the same way.”
“Émon, if both plans work, we’d both be free.”
For a moment, Émon imagined what it would be like to be free. He would never be beaten or starved again, ever. He wouldn’t have to submit to anyone, he wouldn’t…
Then he remembered his mother.
“No. I can’t— won’t think about escape until she recovers.”
He strode away, and didn’t wait to hear Traistal’s reply.
***
The sky was streaked with purple and scarlet, the colors of the Naryen-Mair flag, when the dismissal bell tolled. Émon scuffed his feet along the ground as he walked toward the gate to check out.
The glared at his chart as Émon approached. “Number?”
“K63582.” His voice was a dusty rasp.
“Well, K63582, you’re charged with Disregard of Schedule and Insolence to an Overseer. You’ll work three extra hours today.”
Émon’s torn back flared with pain. “Three hours? You can’t do that to me, I’ll—”
The gatekeeper met his gaze grimly, and Émon cut off short. “You’ll work under Pachar. Get to it.”
“You beat me yesterday. What did I do today?”
“You were late.”
“By five minutes.”
“You were insolent.”
“No more than usual.”
The gatekeeper looked up again and rested his weight on one foot. “Are you asking for another beating? You’ve been torn up enough lately. Just do as I say.”
Émon didn’t have strength to protest any more. He turned to obey.
A cold breeze whispered over his face. Suddenly, he felt hollow, as if all the life had been drained out of him. He shook his head, trying to clear the feeling, but it persisted. Aching and exhausted, he went back to work.
Three hours later, Émon limped homeward, hands tucked beneath his armpits, shivering in the chill breeze. His legs wobbled with each step. And his hands were cold. Powers, his hands were cold.
At last he pushed the rag door aside and stumbled into his house. His mother lay on her pallet, eyes closed.
“Momm?” Émon said. “I’m home.” She didn’t move.
Dread clawed his throat. “Momm? Sorry I’m late.” She still lay motionless, her face a pale mask.
Émon spoke once more. “Momm?” Trembling, he reached out and touched her hand.
It was cold.
He felt like someone had just thrown him off a cliff. He sank to the ground beside her. Oh, Momm… Émon pressed his face to her hand, numb with sorrow. His last light had gone out, and he was lost in a dark world. Alone.
He laid slumped against her cot for nearly an hour, staring at nothing, thinking of nothing. Emptiness swallowed him up. He felt weightless, drifting in a current of fear and grief. It became a stream, and then a river, a black, pounding river…
Something inside his heart broke.
He was on his feet, bolting out into the sharp night air, dashing between the shacks, breathless— he didn’t know where he was going— just running, trying to outsprint the knowledge that his mother, his protector, his friend, the love of his life, was…
Émon stopped suddenly in front of one of the hovels. Of course he had ended up here. He tried to regain his breath. “Traistal,” he gasped. Then, louder, “Traistal?” No answer. “Traistal, it’s me.”
He heard Traistal stir. A few seconds later Traistal pushed aside the rag door and stepped toward him. Traistal’s wife, at least Émon thought it was his wife, poked her head out before returning to the darkness of the shed.
“My momm’s dead,” Émon blurted.
Traistal didn’t answer. Émon strained to see his face in the darkness. Still nothing.
“She’s dead.” His words sounded so small, so childish.
Traistal’s voice was soft. “I heard you the first time, Émon.”
A huge knot formed in Émon’s throat. “I miss her,” he whispered.
Traistal remained silent.
Émon wanted to cry. He wanted to break into racking sobs, to weep, to scream at the sky about the injustice of life. But he couldn’t. The tear-trails on his face were already evaporating. “Traistal, please say something.”
“What can I say?” Traistal said gently. “She’s dead. She’s escaped from hell into heaven.”
I still miss her.
“I know.”
His eyes were dry now. Why couldn’t he cry? “Traistal, what should I do?”
Traistal considered him for a moment. The light of the twin moons was finally bright enough for Émon to see the older man’s face. His expression was composed, grim.
“You ready to hear my plan now?”
Émon felt a tiny spark of excitement which was quickly drowned. He was wretched, feeling hope when his mother had just died.
“There’s no shame in it, Émon. You loved her in life, and now she would want you to move on.”
Émon forced himself to nod.
Traistal drew a deep breath. “Here’s what you have to do.”
Thanks for the crit, elein!
Don't feel like you're being too nitpicky-- you made valid and helpful points. Thanks so much for taking the time to look over it!
Cheers, Shafter
Quote:
The thump of footsteps on the cold ground made Émon’s head snap up. Despite the frosty weather, sweat slid from his forehead down his face like tears. But the sound belonged to a fellow laborer, limping by, bent under a load of bricks.
I am fully aware of the fact that I am going to be picky right now, and you have every reason not to agree with me. Émon’s head snapped up, didn’t it? So the third sentence in the extract above is like the answer to the ‘snapped up’ part. What is the second sentence doing there? I know you wanted to describe your character a little, but that takes the flow out of that bit. You could take out the ‘but’, of course, but I think it would just make it a bit worse… Oh, I don’t know. I would just delete the second sentence. Wow, that was… Eh, I don’t know… The best of it all is that I probably didn’t make no sense at all.
Quote:
Émon put the last brick on the load and sat back on his feet.
Pardon me, but I can’t really imagine ‘sitting back on your feet’. Is that an English expression? I’m Polish, so don’t think that I’m being ironic or something.
Quote:
Two hundred and sixteen steps. Émon had counted.
Just wanted to say that I liked this part.
Quote:
Émon swam furiously away from the pain when he first passed out, then slowed when the coolness of sleep obliterated feeling.
I can’t truthfully say that this sentence is, or sounds, but or incorrect. I think that I would say that he passed out first, then add the first part. -Eh, there I go again, changing people’s work when its probably perfectly fine… Sorry, I just couldn’t stop myself, hehe.
Quote:
Several other children, near and below his age,
I would cross out the ‘below’ part. After all, you didn’t write above, did you?
Quote:
“Momm?” Émon said uncertainly.
Two ‘m’s? Oh, I see that later on you use them too. So I guess it’s okay.
Try not using ‘but’ at the start of the sentence. Avoid it when it’s not necessary. -Then again, I’ve always been picky to the ‘but’ sentences, hehe. Of course, at some points its okay, but nevertheless…
I liked the way how you described Émon throughout the story; you gave information without making it less interesting. I found the whole story very absorbing; there will be more, right? One of the best I read on this site,
-elein
DANG! That makes the prologue I just wrote seem like a five year old wrote it. It was amazing. I kept trying to find mistakes, but all I can say is how much I liked it. Bravo!
Wow, it looks like people have given you a lot of critiques. Well, overall I really liked the story and can't wait for the next installment. Hope it comes out soon.
You know what this thread is missing? MORE STORY!!! (yes, I've entirely given up being objective here, just please post the blasted thing!)
Have a nice day.
wow thats crazy good! I actually piactured it in my mind, and i havn't done that with any body elses writing on here! That was seriously good!
Lyndzi
Yay! Critiques! Thanks everybody.
Right now my story can go one of three or four ways, and I have to decide which way I'm going to take it before I post again.
I'll be posting chapter two "soon." (To quote Aslan: "I call all times soon.")
Thanks again for the crits!
Green = Comment
Black = Review
*
Babies don’t normally run their fingers through peoples hair. They are more likely to grip or pull, it has happened to me often enough as is a rather difficult job to free yourself from them. Remember, a baby isn’t developed enough to do something like that.
Wow! This brings up my earliest memory of playing with dirt and not caring what others would say about that.
Was that extra ‘m’ intentional?
I wasn’t sure whether this was from his memory or if this is Émon being punished for whatever he did in the start or if it is both. It does suit to be both.
Some of the ellipses were annoying to read, as usual I missed them out. You’ll find it is better not to have them in as it slows the reading down.
And I think you really should consider what Snoink has said. I know I could never work for too long in the cold, no matter what the punishment for not doing as I’m told would push me to do that. Plus he has no top on, bare-chested in the cold is very unlikely.
The dialogue between Émon and Traistal was very natural and flowed well. I’m sorry to say the end was a little cliché, Émon should have moved or at least run to his mother’s side. Time and time again I’ve seen/read of characters rooted to the stop when something/someone is about to approach them.
I don’t know if you found that to be of any help.
-- Myth
The story was very good, but I think you should pick some simpler names. Reader hate nothing else, but for names they can't pronounce. I'll admit, I have the same problem, but Sometimes, you get a feeling for the character by their name.
There were some grammatical errors in this peice, but I think over all, the story was very good and I think ti was written well.
Unfortunately, I'm not as observant as Imp, so I can't really nit pick, so count yourself lucky.
Good work. Keep it up.
-Pros
Snoink is right about the whole weather thing. The temperature can actually be above freezing if the wind chill is cold enough. But in a city, with all of the people and buildings, temperature can actually be higher than outside of the city. Now all of this really depends on how cold it actually is in your story, but you should have at least some effects. Is absolutely necessary for the weather to be "frosty"? Perhaps another word would serve better.
Now on to the story.
I'm interested to see where it's moving. It's fairly solid so far. Nothing that makes me not want to continue reading. The dialogue is good, your characters are developing nicely.
I didn't like this. Firstly, people normally don't talk like this. Secondly, it's somewhat redundant and I sort of just passed it by. This is an opportunity for you to show some quirk in your characters as they say bye to one another, and a simple "good-bye, Emon" does not do justice.
I didn't like the word "bravely" here. It's almost as if you're trying to impose on us that he should be seen as brave, but we can already see that by his actions.
Perhaps Girec was a bit too over the top at the end? Since he's just an overseer, I don't think he would be so mad because they knocked over the bricks, but that he will probably catch slack over it. Maybe you could work that in there?
Another thing I noticed is that Emon seems to go into darkness a lot. I don't know if that's a good thing so early along.
Overall, nicely done. I'm not quite sure where this is headed, but I suppose I'll just have to come back if you post more.
Well, since you asked nicely...
I didn't even know there was a third draft up! Apparently the 'watch this topic' option doesn't work for edits. *ahem* Anyway. To business.
Great imagery. I can tell he's tense. But 'the sound belonged to' is a bit awkward to me; perhaps 'was made by' or 'came from' instead?
'Since he was born' would suffice, and be more in keeping with character, methinks.
I know, I know what you're trying to do, but what five-year-old would think that? He'd be more likely to say something about how the other kids said he couldn't sing, or how his momm oh-so-gently let him know that this was one talent he just didn't have. Five-year-olds come to absolutes by what other people tell them, not their own decisions. It's called being impressionable.
Nice background. But the words 'something about' could be omitted.
Ahhh, beee-YU-tiful! Fragments! Italics! Immediacy! *wipes proud tears* So much better.
That's all I've got. Now...*puppy eyes* Chapter Two?
Merci beaucoup, Snoink!!!
My dad actually knew someone who was friends with some kids who had grown up in the backwoods of Appalachia (sp?). Lived outdoors a lot, slept outdoors a lot, even in winter. They walked barefoot through the snow without a second thought.
I had thought of those issues-- in passing.
However... you're right, I can't expect the reader to believe that no one's got frostbite unless I do a little explaining. Thanks a ton for all the links, I'll check 'em out (except for the last one-- I don't have a strong stomach)!
That was the most unique crit I've gotten yet... Helps me think...
Thanks again, Snoink!
Cheers! ~Shafter
*twitches*
Okay... um... it really wasn't that bad. No seriously. If I were a writer, committed solely to the I can look at this and say, "Hey, this is fairly well written piece of work." The problem is, I'm not. I'm studying to be a biochemical engineer. Which might seem irrelevent at first for the critiquing of this story... but... um... yeah. Just know that I see things in a peculiar way. And right now? My brain is hurting from the strange lack of biology involved.
...shall I explain?
You have these characters working hard in the frosty weather. Now, I don't mean to be as optimistic as Traistal, but being beaten is the least of their worries. Their worries should be concerned with staying alive in this cold weather. No, not all of their fingers have to fall off or anything, but you must realize that, with the amount of clothing that's covering them, hypothermia is going to affect them. Forget the torture, consider this...
Several Symptoms of Hypotherma:
* Mild hypothermia (32-35°C)
o Lethargy
o Confusion
o Shivering
o Loss of fine motor coordination
* Moderate hypothermia (28-32°C)
o Delirium
o Slowed reflexes
* Severe hypothermia (<28°C)
o Very cold skin
o Unresponsive
o Coma
o Difficulty breathing
o Abnormal heart rhythms
From http://www.emedicine.com/emerg/topic279.htm.
And, to reinforce this critique so that it doesn't seem quite like a medical textbook, I have had frostbite before. And it sucks. But the first thing I noticed was your body starts to shut itself down and you have to struggle to stay awake. It was actually kind of bad, but since my sister and I were together, plus we were close to a fire, everything turned out okay. But it's funny... when you're in your room, you don't actually think of the weather as anything special, but out there, it affects your life greatly. O_o
So! It's not just going to be a battle against the bad guys to survive. In fact, that would be cheating your story. You have all this potential REAL conflict going on, but you have decided to go with the usual, cliched fantasy story of oppression. Whatever for? Make this something new and exciting! You're too good of a writer to let this go past you.
More interesting links about cold exposure:
Using the cold weather as a means of torture.
Emedicine's take on frostbite (which is also something you're going to want to look at).
On gangrene... because some of your characters might get it.
Also... this might be a little disturbing, so don't look at this if you don't have a very strong stomach, but I find it helps to have a picture to describe, rather than just describing it alone. So here is a picture of bad frostbite:
Once again, a caution -- nasty picture alert.
Hahaha... nah. You're a good writer. But you can be much better with some research, my dear.
Ahhhh....muchmuch better. And yet here I am, nitpicking again...
On the first bit, that was the paragraph where the repetetive 'He' really jumped out at me. Technically, there were a few other, small bits where it was, too, but I didn't find them distracting.
On the second bit, where he's hugging her and thinking that he'll never see her again, I'm not so sure because I don't know if your intent is foreshadowing or just a simple statement of how he felt. If it's how he felt...well, then. *knowing smile* But if it's supposed to foreshadow, oh, do take it out. It's not necessary.
That's all I've got this time, dahling.
Seeing as you asked nicely, here's my crit.
First of all, I have to say bravo - and this is not a sarcastic bravo. It's rare for me to find anything as immediate and visceral as this by writers our age. Fantastic.
Your strength (and ironically your weakness) definately lies in three things. 1) Specificity. 2) A quickly paced, active voice focused on action. 3) Solid, real dialogue with a brevity that makes it genuine.
In terms of specificity, little details like, "Two hundred and sixteen steps. Émon had counted." work well. They make the reader's experience more immediate and personal. And there's a flare of cynical undertone there that adds nicely. Throughout, there are many details that at least give the impression of a fleshed-out world. Names, world-specific lingo etc.
However, you run the risk of overloading the reader with so much detail and action in such a short space. You want to squeeze the action out sparingly, drop by drop: make the reader beg for those explosive moments. If you want to build tension, the pace needs to actually be brought down a notch, which is a lot easier than it sounds. It's certainly easier than kicking the pace up a notch.
The key to keeping good pace in terms of plot and action, and what may be a help to your 'repetetive structure' problem is spending a bit more time on the development of the main character. To me - and this is just me - Emon fell a bit flat. While there are hints of a human poking out from the text, I didn't get a really good gauge of Emon as a person, just as a symbol: beaten down slave. Character is, of course, especially important at the beginning of a book. That said, you don't want to just toss in background for the sake of background, or you'll overload the reader in another way, but you do want to drag out the scenes a bit more. Give Emon a few more choices that show the reader who he is while not deviating from the plot you've set. Even the most mundane of actions and details (at least, mundane as far as Emon is concerned) can make the story and characters seem more real. I know that's probably what the Momm scene is attempting, but for that purpose the scene is too explosive. What may help is, not adding more scenes, but fleshing out the existing ones. You want the action to slowly rise. Have some more casual interplay between Momm and Emon. Make us dread her being beaten when we see it coming, and delay the abuse for as long as possible, until the reader can't bear it, then make us care that these characters are being violated. (And caring starts with the initial groundwork of making them human.) I can't tell you how to do that because it's not my story, but hopefully you can come up with some ideas.
In terms of the actual sentence structure and repetition/pacing etc. It looked alright to me. There were a few trouble spots, ie. right at the beginning: "Their gazes met. Émon smiled. The man’s face hardened as he turned away." All of these sentences have the same simple sentence structure. Noun verb. Noun verb. Noun verb as noun verb. Just add a dependant clause somewhere in there and presto. (Do not add an adverb!) Because... in some places there's just a few too many adverbs. Cut a few adverbs, add a few metaphors, play around a bit with sentence structure. Really it's just trial and error. Take pleasure in playing with sentences, and if you need inspiration, read an experimental piece like Lolita.
And finally, there's one specific little nitpicky thing I noticed:
"Everything within Émon said Run! But fear rooted him to the ground"
Might read better with a simple change. Something like: "Everything within Émon said - Run! - but fear rooted him to the ground"
Gotta go curl now. Keep up the good work.
Hey again, Shafter. ^_^
The new draft is definitely tightened--near the beginning a bit more clear; and the sentences vary somewhat more.
Here, as far as sentence structure, you have a the tone, feeling vague--but you're repeating again. Emon--he--slowly HE... It tends towards listing events, rather than experiencing or being in them.
In something like the above, you have the chance, the freedom certainly, to fragment sentences. You're in Emon's experience, afterall. Begin a sentence where you wouldn't usually, perhaps. In the middle. For presence, start with present progressive sometimes -maybe? For example: "Resting in the knowledge that [...] he floated in the void--he wouldn't wake soon..."
Don't, by any means, think you've got to write like me or my example. ^_^'' But do change-up the sentences still ^_^
A good summary of events--not passive, but distant enough; fit well for memory and dream. The detail of the finger in the dirt, Emon's solitary distance--all good. It gives some past, and characterises.
Not entirely necassary--but I wonder how was she cradling the baby? Tells a lot about a woman. ^_^ Awkwardly, wearily?
Is it silver-streaked then, too soon grey? Or is it like elm-bark, silver-brown, grey?
Telling here, telling--and does it add anything to narrative? Does it apply to the tale whether she knew her or not? If not, but you still want the detail of familiarity, I'd suggest describing how they spoke, easily, old friends, familiarly, rather than telling that they'd known eachother.
'Tis good background; and shows Emon was rather precocious for a quiet child. ^_^
Rather...conversational, more informal there. Fewer words and a clearer sentence maybe, if you drop 'got'. So--"...and somehow he felt/had the feeling that everything would be all right."
I'll reitereate--bloody-cracked lips, a good detail.
Second bit there--'quavered'. It tends to describe a sound. 'Quivered' is shivering. 'Wavered' is hesitated. Perhaps 'waver' is closer to what you meant?
Oy, 'ran' wavers on the edge of being dull, to say the least. A reader will gues what Emon does--how does he do it? Rather than 'ran to her' could he 'start up'? Stumble? A suggestion again--your thought and choice.
"Slowly" you use quite a bit--and like to begin sentences that way. ^_^'' Watch the tendency; perhaps use 'sluggish', 'painstaking'...something more vivid.
Again, a word you use as a connector--"but". Try weaving "though" and "yet" in maybe; in some case, no connector needed at all.
Paragraphs above all start (I believe) in subject/verb. This is the action here. If anything could use variance, this could. ^_^ Short sentences. Fragments interspersed with long?
--
For now, that's all. The question of what and Untouchable is, and why, is still there--but in a way in which it keeps the reader asking. ^_^
IMP
If you must know only one thing about dialogue, it is that dialogue is to always serve a purpose. What does this do for the story? Nothing. But we know that they said good-bye. and not only that, they repeat each other, which is unneeded. And lastly, they call each other by name. I read in an article that you should only call a character by name when it is most important.
to me, this sentence makes no sense. It's too...abstract.
I don't like the use of the word probably in this sentence. I think its because the were in front of it. It's me being picky, but I think you should say "Some may have been his siblings, but Emon was never sure."
I'd liked to point out how I loved the bloody-mark detail
It's a good story, but it feels like its a slow start and doesn't jump us in quickly enough; but you soon have the reader on a leash of emotions with the second half. I only have one comment to make, about the names. It may just be that I don't read fantasy, but real obscure names are hard for me to read, I connect less to the characters because I can't pronounce them. But I might be alone in this. So there is your requested critique
Hey bud! Well I made a promise and I always keep my promises, because you must always keep your promises if you want to keep your friends! Lol and plus I love your story anyways so I will enjoy critiquing it
Notice Before I Start: I will be concentrating mainly on things like plot, characters, and those types of elements of your story. It looks like grammar mistakes, etc.. have already been caught and I think you're very capable of catching those yourself.
Chapter 1 Critique
Blue Italics = Comments on quotes above the actual comment.
Red Wording = Just random thoughts that I will mention while critiquing on stuff I like in the plot, characters, etc...
Ready?
I really like your beginning; it has instant immersion, in that you show us that Emon is on edge by how he snaps up and he sweats even though its cold. It shows us that he is nervous and ready to spring. I already have the question why is he like this? Good job!
The thing I like about this is how you show us that Emon has compassion for people (very good trait in a main character) and really cares about them.
Okay, lets just say this...your opening paragraphs are amazing, you have already given us two questions to ask about the main character and have shown a lot about his character.
One thing I'm noticing is that your sentence structure is mostly the same (I think Poor Imp mentioned this as well) the whole way through and it actually starts to take away from the piece. Try to vary your sentence structure. For instance...He continued to stack mud-and-straw bricks onto a sheet of burlap. The winter sun filtered through the clouds and cast pale warmth on maze of scars on his back.... Maybe try, He continued to stack mud and straw bricks onto a sheet of burlap as the winter sun filtered through the clouds, casting pale warmth on the maze of scars along his back. (also you had two on's and that didn't sound very good.) Most of your sentence structures are very similar and take away from the story at times, so try to vary a bit more.
Good visual.
Dialogue is very believable as well as the characters. Great job!
The Mother and Son portion is heart-wrenchingly beautiful.
I'm sort of questioning the ending; I found it a little redundant how he got beaten and was unconscious and then the dream/flashback ends with him going unconscious again, it kind of ruined the impact for me, but thats just me.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Okay, well I'm afraid I couldn't find anything much wrong with it lol. I loved it! I'm excited to see the next portion! It was phenomenal! Hopefully this critique helped, see ya!
~Aero
Thanks a billion for the crits!
Especially Sage, Cassandra, and Poor Imp-- EXTREMELY helpful! It makes me so excited to revise! I love editing! 
*does a happy dance*
Ahem, anyway. Just wanted to let you know that I really appreciate you taking the time to crit my stuff. I'm going to work on the first chapter now. Bye!
Cheers! ~Shafter
A-yup! My feelings exactly!
Hullo Shafter...I'm here to remark on and courteously tear to pieces your bit of fiction. ^_~
Here, first paragraph--the use of action to begin it involves the reader immediately. Footsteps and Emon's head snaps up... There's already something happening.
But there's little or no tension in the rhythm of the sentences--all near the same length, a majority the same pattern, rather brief, nothing complex. Try reading aloud; then linking ideas, sentences, use a semi-colon, perhaps.
For example:
Merely some suggestions. You've got the elements in the beginning down well; use some language that implies it as well.
Then, (italicised) you have 'with his usual intensity' followed by an explanation of his intent to truly look at something. It's a good facet to give of Emon, characterises. Can it be shown rather than told?
Apt hint--any reader will want to know what? It did catch my attention. ^_^
A very light note (something you've got to watch): character descriptions can easily help or hinder a narrative. Here, double adjective for Emon's hair, rather jumps out, as if you've pointed--dark hair, and shaggy, look!
Perhaps if it were tied back into the situation? You'll draw less attention to describing if it flows into conflict and action, and in this case, you could describe him as ragged, hair-uncut, black dulled by dust. Perhaps?
Sentence structure again drifting into repetition. 'He continued...' -- 'The winter sun...' -- 'He wore only...' and the length of them is little varied.
But the description of the day weaving into a description of him is lovely, smooth from one to the other and gives an impression of more than one thing at once. ^_^
Having him count, and the sentences repeat distance works very well in implying the dragging dullness, repetition of the work--and Emon's relation to it.
Oy--out of nowhere--we get an explanation of something we hadn't yet known existed. Again, more complex sentences (and parapraphs) will help. Let this be assumed, let it be experienced, let Emon touch the tattoo and flinch, remembering.
'Tis a description that intrigues and paints both aspect and appearance. ^_^
When you begin to explain, you change style and become more passive, more vague. Don't. You've got a good language sense, some lovely description and characters who seemed ready to act. Don't tell!
On the other side, it is an apt introduction to a new character--and one is immediately fond/interesting in Traistal.
Meant as a thought, Emon's, in present tense? If so, ought to be italicised. If not--ought to be past tense. ^_^ (It would be perfect as a thought.)
Cool inquiry met with Traistal's blunt reply and then the change to "oh"--I can hear it. ^_^
Weaving the place description in gives a needed distance and clarity to the piece. Again, "oh" says more than it is. ^_^
'Indistinct environment' is terribly indistinct. ^_~ It's a dream--was it vague round the edges? Fog-laced, dark, blurred, distant? It's not needed, but Emon seems like one who would have a strong way of putting what he'd seen, this dream in particular, even in vagary.
And now I'm out of time. Your pardon. I'll reiterate the good--you have a strong sense, it seems, of your character and even of the place, certainly of drawing a reader in. But your sentences, remaining simple or structurally unvaried, hinder the tension getting through.
All right--I will be back to finish. ^_^
I'm far too lazy to critique this simply because I find it extraordinary! So instead, I'll just comment on what I liked.
The dialogue was believable and as Cassandra said, in character. The detail was there, but not overbearingly so. I really enjoyed it and I eagerly await the next installment!
LUNA
First and foremost, I am so glad you asked me to crit this. I usually don't go into the fantasy forums, so I wouldn't have seen this great piece of work.
Either you meant for this to be dialouge, in which case you forgot the quotations, or you momentarily forgot that you were in past tense, in which case it should be they'd or they had.
-----
My biggest pet peeve with this piece is sentence structure. Why? Because I consciously noticed that your sentences throughout the chapter were all very similar. Examples:
All of these sentences are rather...military-esque. They feel, to me, to be rigid statements, all very much the same.
See what I mean? It helps to read it aloud: it's more noticeable. But obviously this isn't a huge problem; actually, it's rather insignificant. Just a nitpick I thought I'd point out.
-----
Put a question mark after the dash so that we know it's a question:
"Is someone coming to--?"
-----
^ And those, my friend, were the only problems I found in this piece! It's so nice to be able to read a story and not have to plow through loads of grammar issues. This was nice and clean.
I love the repetition of "Oh" here. I don't know why. Just do.
One thing that's really great is that you made me love your characters right away. Everyone loves an underdog, not to mention a rebel! And I'm also very interested in learning more about this society you've created. It sounds unique.
Your dialouge was good: realistic, and, from what I've seen so far, in character.
I am just so impressed. Great work with this, and please, let me know when you post more!
--Cass
Oh? Gushing reviewer, am I? *takes as personal challenge* I SAID I would do a real crit later…well, here it is. Please excuse my inability to use the ‘quote’ window; I haven’t yet figured out how to do that.
****Émon watched him, fixing his almond-brown eyes toward the man with his usual intensity. He always tried to look at people, really look, never glance.
Their gazes met. Émon smiled. The man’s face hardened in contempt and he looked away.****
This bit, about the way he looks at people, is good to know but it feels too much like you, the author, are telling us this. Maybe you could change it/add something he’d be more likely to think at that immediate moment, like ‘the habit had often gotten him in trouble’, or ‘he never realized until it was too late that he was doing it’. Is this something he consciously tries to do (which seems unwise, in his current position), or just a habit?
Also, ‘fixing his eyes toward the man’ is a little odd. On the man, maybe? And I don’t think you really need to say ‘in contempt’; it’s fairly obvious from the guy’s actions what his attitude must be.
****Émon rubbed his bare shoulders, reminded yet again of the crime he’d committed and the inevitable consequences.***
Something we’re going to have explained in the next chapter? Cuz right now, it looks like he’s in trouble for smiling…
***He continued to stack mud-and-straw bricks onto a sheet of burlap.***
Unnecessarily wordy, I think; you could just say ‘burlap sheet’. But that just might be me being nit-picky.
****Once again, he would have to hoist a hundred and seventy pounds to his back and trudge the ninety yards from the brickyard to the storehouse. It was two hundred and sixteen steps. Émon had counted.****
I’m pretty sure I get what you’re trying to convey—he’s been doing this a long time. But it feels like an infodump. It would probably work better if you cut that first sentence into a couple of smaller ones, or change with commas, more like he’s thinking; even cut the ‘it was’ off of the next one. It would give greater emphasis to the fact that he had counted them, many, many times.
****Traistal, black-haired and sun-browned, always kept his chin up as if he were nobility instead of a slave.****
Traistal! *happy wiggle* I love how you describe him here; yep, that’s pretty much all we need to know about Traistal…for now…;)
***They’ve just begun to heal, too.***
Was he supposed to say this? I think you forgot the quotation marks…
****“They’ll lay your guts open for this one.”
Traistal shook his head, and Émon read in his eyes what his mouth wouldn’t say. For you, there might not be a tomorrow.
“That’s all you need to know.” He touched his scar again. He always did when Émon mentioned Eiamar.
Émon sat down heavily, cross-legged. “What does it all mean?”
“It means you have to live through this beating.” ****
Ah, mysterious foreshadowing and character development, all at the same time! Hooray! Please explain to us who Eiamar is, sometime in the more-or-less-near future. Please?
*** As usual, they didn’t include him in their game.***
Hmm. I’m interested. What’s so different about him; still got his monitor attached or what? (See: Ender;)
***She shuffled toward the kilns, her breath grew harder with each step.***
Another nit-picky thing: that comma should probably be a period or (better yet!) a semicolon; otherwise, maybe ‘her breathing getting harder’ would be better?
That’s all I have. And, in order to avoid any more gushing-reviewer allegations, I shall limit my closing remarks to this: Post More!
Oh dear, gushing reviews...
Yes, Gyr, you're definitely in no place to give me a good crit any more than my mom is, but thanks anyway. You started my day on a happy note! 
Hopefully someone else will give me a real crit (no offense, Gyr and Sage). I'm from a family of writers, so please do not be easy on me!
Looking forward to the next crit...
Cheers! ~Shafter
HOORAY and HURRAH!!!
Love it! I'll post a real crit later, K? Gotta go!
*happy kitty dance*
So happy to meet the new Emon, dahling, although, as usual, your first chapter makes me wince...but I gather that was the point:-*
w00tw00t!!!!!!!
bird is happy, bird is very very happy!!! AT LAST! *sings* Caste is on YWS, Caste is on YWS!!! 
Can you tell I'm happy?
. But then, I am a little too close to this work to be of any real help anymore, but I wanted you to know that I love it, I think it does everything this chapter is supposed to do--it's brilliant! (I knew there was a sash in there somewhere 
) Don't let anyone talk you out of the "momm" thing, it works, it really does.
And it was loverly, dahling, I was REALLY looking for flaws and found nothing,
*Announces to all of YWS* Shafter is a genious!!! Everyone should read this!!!