The Cottage

Hey there! June here!

So! Everyone else has basically covered your grammar issues that lay up there, so I won't do the broken record move and repeat them. Instead, I'll just give you... a review!

So, this was good! I liked it alot. It held that tense air from the beginning and kept it until the end. Very well done. I could see that you are a poet in this. Your usage of description and imagery are very much like the ones used in poetry. And that's a good thing.

There were a few places that could use a touch here, a touch there, but on the whole it was good. Nicely written and all. I liked it; the lack of character interaction was done brilliantly. Normally it would irk me, but here, it was done well.

I would love for you to continue this! If you do, please PM me!

Great job!
June

Wow, for a poet you write some gewd fiction. One problem for me is that George's relation to the persona is hard to grasp.

“Are you going to get out then?” he glared at me through the window and slammed the driver’s door shut.

The cold air hit me like a hundred knives, all stabbing at once and I shivered.

“It’s not that cold, for god’s sake.” he spat the words out aggressively and looked away.

I’d never seen him smile before, it would’ve been a refreshing change from the constant grave look always glued to his face.

Hello Helen xD My reviewing system might seem quite strange at first, but it's easier once you get used to it The numbered parts are mentioned at the bottom, they're the bits I comment on. Confusing? It's so I don't make huge long comments on the quote and then I lose where I am etc. You'll get it eventually

The cottage


The car journey was long and awkward. 1 George drove fast, but carefully, sitting far forward in his seat, his hands clenched tightly around the steering wheel as if his life depended on it. Neither one of us attempted to make conversation, for the loud drone of the engine would have drowned out any speech. George’s eyes were constantly focused on the road ahead, burning onto the tarmac lying before us as far as I could see. We were alone on the country roads, never passing a single car. Our only companions were the foxes, darting across the roads stealthily, surprised to see an audience to their nightly events. 2

After an hour or so of driving, George turned left onto a narrow lane surrounded by conifers. The lane seemed to continue perpetually, meandering and winding as George’s old escort jolted up and down over every crevice and bump in the road. Finally, we approached a drive leading up to a small building, no bigger than one floor of my house. The cottage emerged wholly as the headlights scanned it. George backed the car onto a rectangular section of brick, which I assumed had been laid for use of a parking space. I didn’t see the point of a designated parking space when the grounds of the house were so vast, but I didn’t question the logic of George’s mind. I guessed that to truly understand a mind like his, years of arduous study were required and I definitely wasn’t prepared to do that. 3

The cottage was broad, but lacking in height, I doubted if George, in all of his six foot three glory, would be able to stand up inside. Bordered by a low picket fence, the house was double-fronted with a little red door in the middle with two leaded windows either side. The left half of the house was covered in deep red ivy, tinted by autumn and the woodland behind provided the perfect backdrop, the leaves divine colors of gold and burgundy. It was the kind of house my mother had always dreamt of living in, a perfect, secluded retreat in the country. She could slouch in a deckchair in the garden sipping lemonade whilst Jude and I climbed trees and played tag in the woodland. She’d bake cakes in the kitchen with the windows wide open, the smell wafting across the fields as I roamed the woods, picking wild flowers… 4

This house could’ve been like that, but it had an air about it that made me uncomfortable. It was unloved, neglected, and almost sinister, as if it were withholding a secret. Beneath the beautiful exterior was something less inviting, I just couldn’t put my finger on what it was. 5

George stopped the car abruptly, pushing his foot down on the brake violently. He yanked the keys out of the ignition and flung the door open, swinging both legs and heaving himself out.

“Are you going to get out then?”6 he glared at me through the window and slammed the driver’s door shut.

I hauled myself out of the car reluctantly, watching George rummage through the pockets of his jeans in search of the front door key. The cold air hit me like a hundred knives, all stabbing at once and I shivered. George looked back at me, not with consideration but with disgust. He had a way of belittling people with just one glance and this particular look wasn’t an exception.

“It’s not that cold, for god’s sake.” he spat the words out aggressively and looked away. For a moment, I could’ve sworn that I saw remorse upon his face, an emotion that George never portrayed.

“Let’s get inside,” he brandished the key in front of my face and then put it into the lock, the hinges squeaked and he had to kick the door before it would open.

“After you.” He stood back and held out an arm, insinuating that I should go first. I scanned his face for sarcasm, but I couldn’t detect any. His expression softened, almost as if he was trying to fight back a smile. I’d never seen him smile before, it would’ve been a refreshing change from the constant grave look always glued to his face. 7 The corners of my own mouth turned up into a slight smile as I passed him in the doorway. Almost as soon as he realized that his serious front was dropping, he straightened up and frowned again.

“Hurry up.” He demanded with a sense of threat in his tone. He closed the door behind us with a bang and we were inside.

helenelizabethclarke wrote:The car journey was long and awkward. George drove fast, but carefully, sitting far forward* in his seat, his hands clenched tightly around the steering wheel as if his life depended on it. Neither one of us attempted to make conversation, for the loud drone of the engine would have drowned out any speech. George’s eyes were constantly focused on the road ahead, burning onto the tarmac lying before us as far as I could see. We were alone on the country roads, never passing a single car. Our only companions were the foxes, darting across the roads stealthily, surprised to see an audience to their nightly events.

helenelizabethclarke wrote: The cottage was broad, but lacking in height, I doubted if George, in all of his six foot three glory, would be able to stand up inside. Bordered by a low picket fence, the house was double-fronted with a little red door in the middle with two leaded windows either side. The left half of the house was covered in deep red ivy, tinted by autumn and the woodland behind provided the perfect backdrop, the leaves divine colors of gold and burgundy. It was the kind of house my mother had always dreamt of living in, a perfect, secluded retreat in the country. She could slouch in a deckchair in the garden sipping lemonade whilst Jude and I climbed trees and played tag in the woodland. She’d bake cakes in the kitchen with the windows wide open, the smell wafting across the fields as I roamed the woods, picking wild flowers…

Hi, Helen I'm Peanut. For some one who doesn't normally write fiction this was really good.There really wasn't much wrong with it.

The car journey was long and awkward. George drove fast, but carefully, sitting far forward in his seat, with his hands clenched tightly around the steering wheel as if his life depended on it.

Finally, we approached a drive leading up to a small building, no bigger than just one floor of my house.

The cottage was broad, but lacking in height, I doubted if George, in all of his six foot three glory would be able to stand up inside.