Published June 7, 2007
Vampire: Of Roses And Daggers
Prologue: Once White Field Now Tainted Red
0O0
I’m an angel sent to give man immortality
Live forever if you’d drink from me
Bleed for me and I’ll save you from reality
0O0
--June 13, 2001--
A green leaf gracefully danced as it cascaded, falling soundless on a white field of roses. The leaf appeared as a lost substance shrouded amongst the white roses, the silent wind elegantly whispers as it blew the irony from the field. The meadow seemed like an ethereal bliss, the roses leaving the breeze to sway them gently, and the combination of burgundy and white constantly kept the atmosphere florid and elaborate. It was those times when everything seems to be flawless and perfect. Those moments were meant to be remembered, and Terra Fauntree recalls every single minute of it.
Terra squinted as she slowly slides the garden door open to peek. A sudden shockwave of dread penetrated her innocent mind, flowed down her body towards her limbs, preventing her to move, or even twitch at the abrupt view. Like death, volatile events can take place at the moments where all is faultless. She just wished she lived a life with fairness, with an equal amount of bad and good. But everything was good, and all good things must come to an end. Her heart skipped beat, but continued to pump at a rapid rate. Her azure eyes grew bigger, dazed at the unexpected sight.
A tall man dressed all in black stood out from the field of white roses, appearing like a fiend in haven. A couple stood still, scared to take a step back from the man who was now walking towards them. His silver hair enhanced the paleness of his face, his black robe neutralizing the ashen tone. A small brooding smirk escaped his pallid lips, suggesting a hint of joy, as if happy to threaten a petrified couple. The woman held her husband’s wrist tightly, her face veiled in a mask of innocence, though her eyes give a slight intimation that she knows this man. Her husband glanced at her, desperately looking for an answer in her midnight blue eyes. She could only give out a soft, tragic sigh at both of them, tilting her head down, giving the man beside her an inkling that this was her liability. The man in black could only chuckle more.
He remembered her every curve, every movement she’d make, and the way she’d kiss him on the lips. Every time she’d near him, his skin would feel undeniably torrid, as if her lips burnt him and saved him from feeling so hollow. And when their tongues would lock, he would abruptly feel a burst of bizarre lust, and he would not let her go, his arms encompassed her frail body, desperately wanting more. Years have passed and he could still feel her scorching heat, the one that would ease his unnatural stress. He did not hesitate to storm into the white garden and put a stop to his unwanted pain.
The man disappeared, leaving a small whirlwind of cold air in the place he was in. A small giggle was heard from behind them, and before the man could turn to see, he buried his white teeth on the husband’s neck. The collision of the teeth and the skin triggered the man in black to have a sudden feel of unfelt pleasure, the joy of revenge. He grasped the man’s head as he buried his teeth deeper, drawing out crimson blood that swiftly cascaded down his mouth and the man’s neck. Blood stained the husband’s body and shirt, and a traumatized woman stood still beside them, her eyes grew small in the sudden sight. The scornful feeling of fright lingered in her delicate body, causing her breathing to skip involuntarily. The man drained the husband of blood, laid him down slowly on the now red-stained field of white roses. More blood trickled down his neck, gracefully flowing down the ashen roses, tainting them heavily in wine-red. He rubbed his lips with his hand to clean the dirty stains the husband left as he scowled with a menacing smile at the baffled woman. Her watery eyes let tears trickle down her dainty cheeks, her mouth wide-open, wanting to say something.
He never saw her this vulnerable, this woman changed, she now allowed warm tears pour from her exquisite eyes, she now let herself be caught off-guard in front of the man she used to be madly in love with. And he could only smile at the thought. He took a step forward, brushing off his dire smile to appear more casual. She did not run as he slowly approached her, there would be no real point in escaping. His heart raced as he neared her, the memories of years passed returned to him to like a sudden deja vu, the feeling of lust instantly entered his haughty mind, and his eyes grew big wanting to feel her again, to rekindle the flame she burnt from before. His blood-stained hand elegantly brushed off the hair from the woman’s face, carefully caressing her delicate cheek, feeling the warm tears that trickled from her now closed eyes. His other hand slowly grasped her fragile waist into an unfathomable feeling of unrequited passion. The man’s eyes remained dry and unemotional, not letting the sensation of love seep through his cold façade. He neared his delicate lips to hers, closed his eyes and felt her incinerating his heart once more. He held her neck tightly and moved his lips to hers; embracing both of them in a passionate kiss they haven’t felt ever since. His heart burnt like hell breaking loose, her lips stifling his body in a vortex of voluptuous heat, blazing his lips to want more. The woman pushed him back with a small groan. Interrupted from his feeling of wanting, his eyes grew bloodshot with anger; he grasped her body tightly and buried his red-stained teeth onto her frail neck.
Blood poured from the woman’s neck, gushing down her thin body, onto the white roses that lay below. The man sucked her blood, giving the heat he needed from her. The feeling of passion returned to him as he buried his teeth to her gossamer neck, his eyes grew big as he drained her of blood. The lifeless woman was now tainted in red, leaving the meadow fill with an aura of death. He lay her down softly, and neared his mouth to her ears. He uttered words in a silent whisper that he’ll never fail to recall. “I’m sorry, I missed you.” A soft chuckle came after the sarcastic words.
Terra Fauntree stared in shock at the lifeless couple and the man that killed them both. He gave Terra a quick glance then looked back at the dead woman. He smirked and stood up, headed towards the innocent girl. His hand reached the garden door and swiftly opened it, leaving the girl to tumble back on the wooden floor. The man slowly opened his mouth as he approached her, like a looming monster looking for chaotic oblivion.
--January 9, 2007--
“Shit!” Terra woke up from the deep slumber and the terrifying nightmare she had. “Fucking dreams.” She whispered to herself, but still hyperventilating as she sat up. She calmed herself down and rubbed her temples. A thought of realization came to her mind as she felt a small scar on her neck. “Oh wait, that wasn’t a dream.” Instantly, that flashback in her dream reminded her of her initial objective, to kill that man. She glanced at the clock, 4:54 am. She smacked her palm to her head, cursing her nightmares. A sudden ring was heard from the phone. She hastily got up and ran across her room to grab it, the tiled floor caused a feeling of cold death to penetrate her body. Shoving it aside, she answered the phone.
“Hello?” Her soft voice rang like an angel.
“Terra, I need you to do something.” Stine Jacobs, she thought, judging from the cold and stiff voice.
“What?”
“Get to New York now.”
(Not yet sure with the plot but tell me what you think please!!! I posted this on fictionpress, which the most unfriendliest site in the web, and no one reviewed. Sure my friends read it but they dont have a fictionpress acount! Anyway, if you got any ideas, please tell me. Lolz. Thankyou!)
(If you dont understand, Terra just had a dream about a guy killing her parents. Then woke up...)
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140,533 Literary Works • 673,403 Reviews
Hehehe... it's time for a mad-lib critique! You know what that means. Fill in the spaces with the appropriate words and then see what this happens to your critique. Remember that adjectives are descriptive words and adverbs are words that describe an action (aka, anything with an -ly ending). Ready? Set? Go!
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Okay... ready to fill in the blanks?
When you are writing a/n _______ piece as this, you must ________ make sure that _______ _________ words which quite possibly superfluous and _______ are not expressed in a/n __________ ____________ ____________ ___________ __________ way and rather in a/n _________ ___________ ___________ way that makes the _________ reader want to ______ and sing ________ in the ______ fields of ________.
...as you can probably see, many of the adjectives you added (and there are quite a few) do not really add to the critique very much and it is quite understandable without it. There may be several colorful adjectives that stick out for you and that you in this critique, but chances are, there are few and the ones that do stick out are shadowed by the other, weaker adjectives.
Adjectives do not make a story. Wait... let me repeat that...
ADJECTIVES DO NOT MAKE A STORY.
There are many other aspects of storytelling which are much more important than description. Think about it... there's characters and action, and those should always be at the forefront. Without characters or action, there can be no basis for description, for how can you describe a story when there IS no story?
So... the question is, is there really a story behind all these murky descriptions? Let's see! If I cut away all the adjectives and adverbs, what would happen?
Without editing, the word count of the dream is 1155.
Word count of edited dream? 1036.
What does this tell you? You have spent over 100 words in adjectives that are superfluous at best and irritating at worst. And mind you, there were some adjectives I didn't take out. I took only what I could so that it would still make sense. This version, I think, is definitely better than the one you have simply because it isn't so cluttered.
Once the adjectives are taken away, a scary picture of the story reveals itself -- and it is very scary. Without the adjectives, a feeling of repetion happens. You have many adjectives describing a _____ feeling of _____. When that first adjective is taken away, all you have is a feeling of something. When all is said and done, this seems even more awkward...
And is it even worthwhile to have a dream like this? At the very beginning, we don't even know Terra and we really don't have a reason to care about her dream. Maybe later, but even then, that's unlikely. I like what you have below this, with New York and all. That's a catchy opening that will snag people. The dream is just repetitious with too many adjectives thrown in to make me really care. Scrape it from the first chapter.
Mind you, you may be able to use it later on (hopefully very edited...), when the readers actually care about the characters, but for now, it's useless. Don't dawdle... get on with the story.
I'm not going to mention anything Pushca said; she was amazing for saying it.
. . . What? Irony - (sarcasm.) the use of words to convey a meaning that is the opposite of its literal meaning: the irony of her reply, “How nice!” when I said I had to work all weekend. (With literature.) a technique of indicating, as through character or plot development, an intention or attitude opposite to that which is actually or ostensibly stated.Wow . . . I picked this one sentence, but that whole paragraph is filled with action. So...yeah. She wakes up. she isn't half asleep, and she doesn't freak out about it not being a dream and she's just, "Yeah... I have to kill that guy... it isn't some major character-driven-thing that should be developed beyond one sentence yet." It's just kind of . . . unrealistic.
Not that I have seen an angel, but honestly, I don't think they ring.
I have so much stuff I want to say.
First: Shoot your adjectives. Holy goodness, kill them all. You let them run ramped, almost looming on purple prose if not hitting it harder than most, and made it painful to read. Goodness. Read more, as Pushca said. Adjectives are evil.
Second: I didn't get any of that. I was choking so hard on the adjectives and tense issues that none of it made sense. Not a bit. My head was spinning, but the action was senseless.
Third: This isn't a prologue, it's a chapter one. (Go hunt down the articles on prologues in Writing tips.) And, why am I reading this? Why do I want to read more? What is the hook? Why do I care what so ever that her parents just died? I think you should try to find a more successful way to begin. A beginning isn't about looking cool, it's about keeping your readers and convincing them to read more. You look cool throughout the whole.
Now, just one suggestion: Dialog. You had one line of dialog in the whole thing. Your characters are sticks. Lines, pretty much. They need to be more round and fleshed out (Try the Character Development usergroup) It'll save you a whole lot of trouble. Currently they're boring, I don't care one lick about them at all. Improving your characters improves your story. Dialog brings people in. Dialog is good. (If you can do dialog good, apparently it isn't everyones forte ><)
I'm pretty sure that's all I had to say. Hope I didn't miss anything. If I discouraged you, sorry but . . . That's how it goes.
If you have any questions feel free to PM me.
I could go for this.
Description is a bad bad way to start... well, anything, really. Go through the first pages Miss Snark (she's retired from the blog, but it's still up there) did for the Crapometer if you don't believe me. This is your chance to hook me into reading more. Don't blow it on gracefully cascading leaves.
Also, I am aware that when leaves fall, it is soundless. You don't need this.
Overwritten. Prune ruthlessly.
Your tenses are mixed up. This happens to me all the time.
Prune ruthlessly. If I read this in a book, my right eyebrow would be elevated. (Only one of course. I am far too sophisticated to raise both. : ) )
You are not Dickens. This is not 1852.
I think you mean Heaven. Whatever. Cut it.
Show, don't tell. The couple couldn't move. The man was walking toward them. Live the minimalism.
You just slaughtered the mood.
Yes, m'dear, that's what lust means.
effed up tenses again.
Yeah? 'Cause he could be miserable. At this point I am completely apathetic except when eyeing the fearful mountains of description ahead. Then I set aside my sophistication and quake.
Since when was fright scornful?
Yick. Gracefully? Come now.
Beg pardon?
...
No s***.
...What?
Oh. Good thing you said so. I would have thought he was doing that thing where you caress someone by bitch-slapping them.
As opposed to the cold ones.
Well, yeah.
I didn't. I think this is probably a bad sign.
Sit on this a month. Read "The Sun Also Rises" while your waiting.
Prune ruthlessly. Continue to read Hemingway.
Figure out what tense you're writing in.
Prune ruthlessly. And seriously, Hemingway is the master of minimalism. Read a LOT of Hemingway.
Take out all the places where you are repetitive and redundant.
Take out all the placed that assume the reader is a moron. These are generally the places where you are repetitive and redundant.
Sit on it. Read Miss Snark. (misssnark.blogspot.com)
Rewrite.
I like the idea, but the execution, not so much. I felt absolutely nothing toward or for your characters. This is not because I am a cold-hearted bitch, though this is also true. It is because you told EVERYTHING and showed nothing. You make people feel by showing them.
Work on it. It will be good.
Hey loved! Very promising, good plot so far and description. At first i didn't know if I would like it , but really i loved it. Hope you get more reviews soon, can't wait for an up date!
[Reminds me of the cartoons on Adult swim and the type of books a friend of mine is into. ]
Hi Lume-chan!
It sounds like a good beginning.
I'm kinda confused though.....you introduce Terra...then you bounce into the story.
I also don't get it-how many people were in this dream?
Who sucked the blood of who?
I was just kinda confused.
Clear a few things up and you have a fantastic story!
~Ninja-san