Pirate_Lad
22nd January 2004, 09:45 AM
Girl 6 mentioned to me at TAM2 that the JREF has a writer's group and encouraged me to join.
I read a lot, which gives me some skill at writing. I can sort of "feel" when something isn't jiving. Other than that, I have a single semester of a community college writing class. As you may imagine, getting an "A" and/or praise for your writing there doesn't carry much weight.
So as an offering, I'm going to post my Narrative Essay. It's short. Very short. But I would still like to hear what you guys think. Critique the hell out of it.
P.S.
Upon re-reading it just now, I'm seeing all kinds of little things I would like to redo. Oh well. Commence with the critiquery.
__________________________________________________ __
I lived in a duplex on a Cul-de-sac with overgrown fields surrounding us, doing the usual kid stuff. Catching snakes, riding bikes, chasing girls. Then, one day my best friend and I got bored. The boredom of children is universally recognized as a precursor to trouble, and this story is no different.
We had worn many a trail through the tall grass in the fields, from running around & bike riding. Following one of them, we came to a fence that for some reason, we had never noticed before. Upon closer inspection, we could see a hole just big enough to fit an 8 year old through. Being the cunning lords of all we surveyed, we decided to take stock of this new territory. Perhaps suitable fort-making materials were contained therein. Taking a deep breath, I slid through, followed by Arune.
We found ourselves in a huge backyard, with nothing but overgrown weeds and a big house a few hundred feet away. Being the intrepid explorers that we were, we decided to have a look around these new surroundings and see what we could find.
Suddenly, a voice rang out from the direction of the house. “Stop! Don’t move! I’m calling the police!” Frozen in horror, I chanced a peek toward the direction of the house, and saw a group of teenagers all screaming at Arune and I.
Now, a teenager might not classify as an “adult” to anyone but an eight year old boy, but when you’re 8 years old, if it’s got a deep voice then it’s a grownup and you had better listen to what they say.
There was nothing we could do. The police were coming. I imagined the look on everyone’s faces when I, hated criminal David Doody, was handcuffed and shoved into a police car to prevent the angry crowd from killing me before the trial.
I watched the teenagers go back inside, presumably to alert the FBI and Secret Service to our whereabouts. For five minutes, ten, we stood there, feet anchored to the ground, looking into each other’s eyes. Finally, Arune spoke: “Let’s run, the cops aren’t coming”. Obviously, Arune had never seen any episodes of “COPS”.
With a start, he ran to the fence and dived through the hole to the safety of the grass, leaving me alone to face the relentless interrogation & beatings. Pondering this new development, I decided that I would sell him out for a deal at the first chance that presented itself. Yes, that would suffice. He would get the electric chair, certainly. With luck, I might see my family again in just a few decades.
I imagined my mother, weeping as she held my brothers, wondering what she could have done differently to save me from my wretched life of crime. Would she speak to me when I got out of the big house? Would she even recognize her son, the monster?
The hole in the fence beckoned me, whispering promises of clemency. With every passing second, my feet grew more leaden, unresponsive. The torture of indecision was grinding away my last vestiges of sanity.
But hark! The unmistakable sound of my mother whistling rang through the air. This was the alert to come in, that dinner was ready. In a millisecond, I considered the beatings, the sodium pentothal injections, the years of solitary confinement, but nothing could sway me from one last home-cooked meal. With superhuman effort, I moved my 4’3, 10,000 lb frame across the lawn, and through the fence.
Through my heavy breathing, I could barely make out the sirens. Police, FBI, CIA, all were devoting their full resources to my capture. It wouldn’t be long now. Perhaps just enough time to take a bite of free man’s meatloaf.
Sprinting with the energy borne of mortal fear, I ran home, feeling the sniper’s scope over my heart the entire time. Through the field, down the street, into the backyard and through the door to the kitchen I raced. I could hear the TV on in the living room, my father watching the evening news. I was surprised that no alerts had been issued for me yet. Perhaps it would be a special segment on the 11 O’clock news. That made sense, as they wouldn’t want to alert me prematurely.
Looking toward the dinner table, I saw that the meal was already laid out & ready. I sat down, expecting to see the SWAT team come flying through the window any second. But nothing happened. Dinner went along as it always did. I sat through the meal in silence, wondering when the authorities would strike. Every passing minute cut like a knife, until it was time for bed. I laid awake and confused until my eyelids grew heavy and I could resist the siren’s call of slumber no longer.
In the morning, I began to suspect treachery. An evil trick had been played upon me, but I said nothing. As I approached the bus stop, I could see that Arune was waiting for me. Neither of us said anything about the previous afternoon, though we both were surprised to see the other alive.
I never went near that fence again.
I read a lot, which gives me some skill at writing. I can sort of "feel" when something isn't jiving. Other than that, I have a single semester of a community college writing class. As you may imagine, getting an "A" and/or praise for your writing there doesn't carry much weight.
So as an offering, I'm going to post my Narrative Essay. It's short. Very short. But I would still like to hear what you guys think. Critique the hell out of it.
P.S.
Upon re-reading it just now, I'm seeing all kinds of little things I would like to redo. Oh well. Commence with the critiquery.
__________________________________________________ __
I lived in a duplex on a Cul-de-sac with overgrown fields surrounding us, doing the usual kid stuff. Catching snakes, riding bikes, chasing girls. Then, one day my best friend and I got bored. The boredom of children is universally recognized as a precursor to trouble, and this story is no different.
We had worn many a trail through the tall grass in the fields, from running around & bike riding. Following one of them, we came to a fence that for some reason, we had never noticed before. Upon closer inspection, we could see a hole just big enough to fit an 8 year old through. Being the cunning lords of all we surveyed, we decided to take stock of this new territory. Perhaps suitable fort-making materials were contained therein. Taking a deep breath, I slid through, followed by Arune.
We found ourselves in a huge backyard, with nothing but overgrown weeds and a big house a few hundred feet away. Being the intrepid explorers that we were, we decided to have a look around these new surroundings and see what we could find.
Suddenly, a voice rang out from the direction of the house. “Stop! Don’t move! I’m calling the police!” Frozen in horror, I chanced a peek toward the direction of the house, and saw a group of teenagers all screaming at Arune and I.
Now, a teenager might not classify as an “adult” to anyone but an eight year old boy, but when you’re 8 years old, if it’s got a deep voice then it’s a grownup and you had better listen to what they say.
There was nothing we could do. The police were coming. I imagined the look on everyone’s faces when I, hated criminal David Doody, was handcuffed and shoved into a police car to prevent the angry crowd from killing me before the trial.
I watched the teenagers go back inside, presumably to alert the FBI and Secret Service to our whereabouts. For five minutes, ten, we stood there, feet anchored to the ground, looking into each other’s eyes. Finally, Arune spoke: “Let’s run, the cops aren’t coming”. Obviously, Arune had never seen any episodes of “COPS”.
With a start, he ran to the fence and dived through the hole to the safety of the grass, leaving me alone to face the relentless interrogation & beatings. Pondering this new development, I decided that I would sell him out for a deal at the first chance that presented itself. Yes, that would suffice. He would get the electric chair, certainly. With luck, I might see my family again in just a few decades.
I imagined my mother, weeping as she held my brothers, wondering what she could have done differently to save me from my wretched life of crime. Would she speak to me when I got out of the big house? Would she even recognize her son, the monster?
The hole in the fence beckoned me, whispering promises of clemency. With every passing second, my feet grew more leaden, unresponsive. The torture of indecision was grinding away my last vestiges of sanity.
But hark! The unmistakable sound of my mother whistling rang through the air. This was the alert to come in, that dinner was ready. In a millisecond, I considered the beatings, the sodium pentothal injections, the years of solitary confinement, but nothing could sway me from one last home-cooked meal. With superhuman effort, I moved my 4’3, 10,000 lb frame across the lawn, and through the fence.
Through my heavy breathing, I could barely make out the sirens. Police, FBI, CIA, all were devoting their full resources to my capture. It wouldn’t be long now. Perhaps just enough time to take a bite of free man’s meatloaf.
Sprinting with the energy borne of mortal fear, I ran home, feeling the sniper’s scope over my heart the entire time. Through the field, down the street, into the backyard and through the door to the kitchen I raced. I could hear the TV on in the living room, my father watching the evening news. I was surprised that no alerts had been issued for me yet. Perhaps it would be a special segment on the 11 O’clock news. That made sense, as they wouldn’t want to alert me prematurely.
Looking toward the dinner table, I saw that the meal was already laid out & ready. I sat down, expecting to see the SWAT team come flying through the window any second. But nothing happened. Dinner went along as it always did. I sat through the meal in silence, wondering when the authorities would strike. Every passing minute cut like a knife, until it was time for bed. I laid awake and confused until my eyelids grew heavy and I could resist the siren’s call of slumber no longer.
In the morning, I began to suspect treachery. An evil trick had been played upon me, but I said nothing. As I approached the bus stop, I could see that Arune was waiting for me. Neither of us said anything about the previous afternoon, though we both were surprised to see the other alive.
I never went near that fence again.