Innocents Path

The pale grey sky hovered like a thick smog. The wind was blowing her charcoal colored hair around her face. The young girl with raggedy clothes, and a dirt powdered face was clinging to the leg of her mother “Where are we going?” “We’re being transferred, they want us to work.” The womans structure was that of a skeleton, her cheek bones protruding from her face, the only fat on her was from the heavy coats she wore, to keep the blistering cold out.

Pulsing vibrations shook the ground, the train slid into view and stopped with a hiss. The troops rounded the men, women, and children into a boxcar, void of all windows. The woman and child were pushed up against hundreds of others. The men slid the doors closed. Darkness stole the light.

The train pushed on in seemingly endless days, none of us the wiser as to what time of day it was.  Each breath was filled with toxicity, sweltering heat encompassed the darkness.

When the train finally stopped, the troops unlatched the door,  a sickening aroma escaped the open doors; the men were prepared for the smell, this wasn’t their first encounter.

They rushed the men, women, and children onto the platform, separating them into two groups.

They motioned me to go to the right, I obeyed the instructions. The air was smothered in a thick smoke, smell of chemicals, and fire clung to the space.

The young girl from before stood with tears in her eyes; her mother was no longer by her side, she asked the question we were all afraid to, “ Where are you taking us?” The man answered her with menacing grin, “We're sending you to the showers.”

We marched to a dark brown building, the soldier told us to undress. We obeyed the men without hesitation, the fear was enough.

They handed each of us a bar of soap, we walked down the muddy path to the building, the young girl was in front of me; she had a smile on her face. She turned around to face me, tears still welled in the corner of her eyes, but she smiled anyways. They closed the doors behind us; we heard the crank of someone turning the water on, a strange scent filled my nose, it wasn't the smell of water.

Author's Note

I need honest feedback about anything really, I'm very passionate about this story, and it's no where near where I want it to be, but I am at a loss of what to add and or fix. So anything would be EXTREMELY helpful!

Thank You
~Bri

Reviews

[Kelsey Schadt]

This is an intense piece of writing, I am assuming it is concentration camps you are writing about. Is it holocaust or a more modernized version. If it is holocaust, no soap was given out--the ss aren't going to waste resources on the soon to be exterminated. I love the ending, in which the reader infers death. A suggestion would be on your dialogue formatting. Each time a new person speaks, they get their own, indented line. http://webs.anokaramsey.edu/wrobel/1121/Course%20Materials/Exercises/basic_dialogue_format_for_narrat.htm is a quick and simple source for referencing how to fix your dialogue

[T. Adams]

I had two thoughts while reading this. First, with so much time in the boxcar there is a very short description of that time. Secondly, regardless of fear, undressing in a large group is unnerving and I felt that more description was needed here. The smile of the girl at the end was very poignant.

[William Dandy]

The descriptions were nice and you painted a vivid picture and clear sense of foreboding. The biggest single thing I wanted was a clearer sense of the narrator. You show what's happening in the present very well but I just don't know how she/he got there, or what from their own experience paints the experience of the narrative. I think the girl clinging to her mother could be a way in. What does he or she think of watching her? Her own childhood or mother, her own child, her lack of children, etc.

[Aarea]

Very good. Your descriptive terms are very nice, and your writing impressed me. I liked that you didn't quite know it was meant to be the Holocaust until almost the end. It had a foreboding feeling the whole time though that you built on nicely. One thing I did notice though was in the first paragraph, when you have the girl and the mother speaking to one another, you should begin a new paragraph both times. Other than that, it seemed good. Keep up the good work!

[Stephen Bell]

Amazing! For me it read closer to poem and it's not a criticism at all but I would do a bit more to capture the fear and confusion that these people faced. The boxers for example, a lot of people died in there standing on their feet and people would spend days travelling next to a corpse on their way to places like Dachau.

[Marie]

You don' need to add or fix much of anythingI would suggest a slight change to the end: "..'a strange odor filled my nose. It wasn't water."

[Justin]

that was really great :) it is something to u can build into a book :)

[Ryan Henderson]

I like the writing style in this piece, I like how it is original, if not, rare. I have a writing style that, from what I have read by published authors, is very rare. Very good work, Brianna!

[Laura Lynn]

What a lovely, refreshing writing style. I am completely honest about reading it to the end of the page, but my favorite sentence is still "The young girl with raggedy clothes... was clinging to the leg of her mother “Where are we going?” “We’re being transferred, they want us to work.”

I'm not saying anything needs fixings or to be fixed. Of course, there is always something, but where are your readers going with this? Is this another Nazi Holocaust