“We’re just kids. We aren’t supposed to be the heros,” the boy stated to his crowd one evening. “It is true, however, that throughout our lives we are destined for greatness and excitement for the future. Some of us will be the villains, whose stories are not yet told. While others will be the heroes, whose stories are lied about. In that time of being ourselves, deep down there is still a little part of being a kid we don’t know about. We are all villains. We are just waiting for our stories to be told.” This earned a clap from the group as the boy excused himself, walking his way back home. Different types of people walked around the town center, holding ancient offerings and native food to passersby. The boy, stunt in his form, would gladly reject the people and continue on. It was a continuous pattern; day in and day out, dusty roads and muddy trails. Most people ignored the beggars while others would generously give coins for useless items.
It was a long walk to the boy’s house as it was on a mountain west of the local village. The steep cliffs were hard to climb, especially in the winter and rainy seasons but seemed easy during the summer and windy seasons. His family urged the boy to create a path where the goats would wander but he refused, climbing the cliffs with sore hands. As he came home, his family was gone, doing their jobs in town or outside leaving the house to the boy. Smoky grey walls with broken family pictures, their dull eyes would watch the boy walk towards his bedroom at the end of the hallway.
The paint was peeling on the walls as well as the colorless carpet, bent at the corners. The windows were dusty and covered with a raggy blanket, trying to keep out the cold. A clock was mounted on the wall, displaying the correct time only twice and the wind’s whispering chilled the bare book covers. The boy shivered, reaching the door that leads into his bedroom and twisted the knob. His bedroom was a small room with blue faded curtains, a maple wood table was placed askew to his bed, and clothes were left on his wood floor. He went to the open window and stared at his father, working relentlessly in the field. The father felt as he was being watched and looked up towards the window.
“Hello there son!” he exclaimed, raising a hand above his eyes.
“Hello there father. How are the berries this year?”
“They seem better than last year. Your mother has promised to make jam and jelly with the berries we pick from this year’s harvest!”
The boy nodded, adjusting to his elbows. “Sounds fun. Where is sister and mother at, by the way?”
His father looked to the east momentarily before looking back up at the boy. “They went into town to fetch wood and food for tonight’s dinner.” The boy nodded, residing to his bedroom. The evening wind blew softly into the boy’s room, moving the papers on the floor around the room.
“I’ll have to clean my room later,” the boy mumbled to himself bending over and picking up some of the papers. It was mostly just poems and reminders of the day, or letters that could preoccupy his little mind, as his mind liked to wander. If the boy ever got a chance to clean around the house, it was very brief and half his room remained dirty and unswept. He sat down in the middle of his room, a pile of letters surrounding him as he read each one. Each held a secret, a time and a place. Milestones, memories, and heartbreaks. All of it was contained in a single letter. Words were the veins while the paper was the heart.
The boy mumbled under his breath, reading the letters as a headache dung its way into his brain. The letters whispered goodbyes as he placed them gently onto a nearby table. The boy got up from the floor and walked back to the window, only to see his dad disappeared from his berry picking spot.
“Maybe he went back into the house.”
The sun was setting in the south, with birds softly tweeting a song. The fog was rolling in like thunder while the sound of crashing clouds softly entered the scene. The atmosphere was thick when the boy realized his father was dead, lying on the kitchen floor with a butter knife in his left hand. He screamed his name a couple of times before he began sobbing. His mother and sister didn’t return from town yesterday, leaving him alone for the night. He left the body on the floor and continued on his way, to begin his day as if nothing had happen.
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125,007 Literary Works • 672,815 Reviews
Hey again! Thought I would drop by for a Review Day review!
Another interesting chapter you've got here. Sone thoughts:
Try ti be consistent in the type if language that you use. It's understandable that your MC speaks differently to his father than to the crowd, but there were a few moments - both in the dialogue and in the narration - where the language felt a little more modern than it should have been. Like when he asks where his mother and sister are "at" (which is very colloquial), and there's also thr use of the word "dad" in there somewhere which struck me as a bit modern. Just make sure that you're as consistent as possible.
I thought the constrast between the boy's private life and the way he acts around the villagers a nice touch. The normality of his conversation with his father about picking berries is so different to his dramatic tales that it does help in enhancing his character development. Showing different sides of him. Which is definitely cool, and hopefully something that you could go more in depth with.
The death if his father was a bit blasé-feeling in the way it was written, which I think mostly came down to it feeling too rushed. There is A LOT going on in that last paragraph, what should probably be a full scene, maybe two - finding the body and then they waiting alone. It is a bit of tell vs show here, because at the moment you're telling us that he discovers the body, that he screams his dad's name, etc etc, but it doesn't feel like actual action. There's no sense of emotion or shock or anguish - it's too detached (and not in the sense of the character feeling emotionaly detached, which is a fair enough response, but the writing itself feeling distant). Pacing is definitely lacking here. It also feels a little out of place - there's no real suspense or lead up, but there's no sense if shock either. A bit of a let down, since the rest if the chapter, and the chapter before it, was considerably stronger.
The bit with the letters was rather lovely. I wouldn't mind a little more exploration of how the character feels about the letters, but the writing was quite gorgeous.
Can't think of much else to say for this chapter. Needs some work, but there's a sense that something really good could come out of it.
Any questions, let me know!
Thank you! I'll take some of the thoughts into consideration when re-writing . Thanks again! c:
I am rather enjoying your story so far, Stegosaurus, and I must say you are doing an exceptional job of telling such an intense tale with so much lore to be told!
The characters are very interesting, most especially the young boy, whom seems to know a lot about the fables and histories of people and creatures. It's almost informative about the world that this character lives in. It's a shame that the father died so soon, I was hoping to know a bit more about him, but I suppose his story will come out somewhere in the future chapters. I am beginning to wonder if the death of the young boy's father was intentional and not necessarily of natural causes. I guess your readers will just have to be patient and wait and see what happens!
Though your story plot, character and dialogue is quite strong so far, I have a few suggestions. Perhaps shed a little light on where the character is: the world he occupies. It can be concluded that they live in a historical period, based on the villagers and the styling o of his home but there is no indication of where this place is. Giving more information on this will create more understanding in the readers.
Also, do not forget that you have left this boy unnamed and in order for a reader to become fond of your character, knowing the name of him will make him more likeable. Despite the fact that he is already likeable, being an adventurous and curious child!
You have left the story unnamed as well. Hmm...I do not exactly have any suggestions, but have you ever thought about using name generators. That might help you name the world you have created and quite possibly the name of your story. I am unsure of where you intend for this story to go, but maybe, if you so wish, starting the title off with something along the lines of "Tales of...." and just add the name of the world your characters live in. It appears that the main character is so fascinated by ancient stories and eventually he may be curious to find out if any of them are true. So, "the tales" could refer to the stories he has been told and also the story of how he discovers their existence and perhaps other fantastical worlds. His adventure into the unknown, so to speak.
It's just a suggestion, of course, you do not have to accept it if you wish not to. But I hope my advice has helped you all the same, my friend.
I hope you continue to write this story and I wish you all the best with your future chapters!
MissLyricz x
Thank you so much
You're welcome, my friend!
Wow, you have a title already! Nice choice!