Father and I

     I remember it like it was yesterday. It was the summer of 89' and school had just ended. Like any other teenager, I would wake at noon and watch a profuse amount of television. Crossing my legs on our rustic leather couch that had the most comforting smell, eating my snack mother had made me.

     That summer vacation wouldn't be like the others though.My father worked a hard job at the mill and my mother stayed at home and helped with the church committee. Our house was ancestral, it was old and felt alive; like the wooden walls would talk at night, somewhat comforting in its own strange way. 

     My best friend Chelsea, lived five houses from us. We would often hang out at each others houses and do everything together. Her backyard extended into the forest where we played, but weren't allowed to wander in too far as they were plenty of wildlife to be wary of. We would often hear wolves and foxes cry at night.That summer upon my fifteenth birthday, my father decided to pass on a family heirloom. He gifted me his fathers rifle an old rusted thing. 

    I was unimpressed but apparently it's the sentiment that counted and there was a part of me that wanted to shoot the damn thing. I couldn't wait to show Chelsea my new toy and so I did. I had rushed over that day to her house. She wasn't impressed either, unlike me she wasn't much of a tomboy, she liked spending time at the mall and doing girly stuff. I couldn't stand any of it, even though I would get more attention in school from the boys if I had done so. It wasn't really my thing. I enjoyed watching wrestling on the TV, playing sports and driving my dads truck around without permission. I considered myself pretty 'badass' and Chelsea was the complete opposite but we somehow got a long. We decided to take the rifle and headed to her backyard. My father disapproved of me taking the rifle anywhere without his permission and through his disapproval I would still learn he had noticed me leaving with the rifle and watched me walk along the forest to show Chelsea. He drove down to Chelsea's backyard, knowing that he figured out what I was up to made me nervous.

     He asked Chelsea to meet me later as he indirectly meant for her to leave us alone. Quickly reading the situation she said "I'll call you later Rebecca" and ran back inside her house. He started walking ahead and noticed me following him as I took small steps not sure how he was going to react. He said, "So you're curious to know what it feels like to fire that thing eh?"

    I nodded and told him that I would like to give it a try. He smiled a different way than usual, something I've never seen revealed on his face before, not to me at least. It was elated and I followed him into the woods.

     "Becca", he called, "Stay close and try to keep up".

     Not knowing where he was taking me or what we were doing exactly, I followed him. We walked through the dense forest for about twenty minutes till father came across some fresh tracks. He started to pick up the pace as we trailed along the tracks till we finally spotted a huge deer. It's antlers were the size of my outstretched arms. I was intimidated at the sight of this creature. It knew we were there watching it, as much as we were studying it in return. My father got behind me and whispered instructions in my ear.

     "Be as calm and silent as possible.Clear your head of calculations and focus on your breathing. Now rest the top of the stock slightly above your shoulder and keep it steady, aim for its shoulder and when ready squeeze onto the trigger and don't let go."

     I did exactly as he said. The weight of the rifle was a bit to much for my feminine physique to handle and my heart pounding in my throat didn't help my situation. That was when my father held the rifle with me and before the deer decided to sprint away, he squeezed the trigger along with me. My hand trembled beneath his.

     In the flash of the moment, I felt pressure against my shoulder like the intensity of a snake bite and the  next thing I realize is a cry and then a huge 'thud' as the deer hit the floor.

     "I shot a deer", ignoring the pain in my shoulder I yelled hoping my father would be proud of me and I could see that he was. My first shot and in that moment I felt like a natural.

      The deer made it back up to its feet although severely injured and started to limp and stride away in desperation, hanging onto whatever life it had left within it. The gaping wound inflicted upon its lower neck left a trail of blood on the forest floor. He took the gun from me and swung it across his shoulder. Following the trail of broken vegetation and blood we walked  towards the spot the deer laid injured and dying in a pool of darkened blood. I felt overjoyed and mortified at the same time. I couldn't help but look the other way. 

      My father told me to look. I had to force myself and then he said I couldn't have asked for a better child. I somehow didn't feel scared or sad anymore.  

     "Here," he said as he handed me his hunters knife."Slit its throat."

     Fear rushed through me. He repeated what he said and I took the knife tentatively from his hand. He bent down along side me, lifted the animals head by the antlers and showed my were I should cut. I was terrified and the fact that the deer was looking up at me with its deep black eyes worsened it.

     "Press down hard and drag it across. From here to here," he pointed out. He explained that we were being humane and so I did it. I wanted the suffering to stop. I watched in excitement and horror as more blood gushed from his throat as the angry red smile was left behind by the knife.

      "Good job Rebecca, let's get it back to the shed," he said with a smile.

      We dragged the carcass through the forest vegetation till we reached our truck that was parked close to Chelsea's backyard. The carcass was extremely heavy and took both of our combined strengths to lift it up and place it at the back of the truck. We drove back home to our shed and placed the deer on a hook attached to the foundation pillar. It was no easy task hanging the deer upside down. It took us a while to get the hook to pierce through the deer's thick hide. Father then pulled out his hunting knife and asked me to cut the deer open. 

       I shook my head and said "No, daddy, please, eww."

       He repeated what he said in a sterner voice this time, "Cut it open from here to here. Press hard use all your force, the skin is tough." 

       So I did, I took the knife from him, my hands started trembling again.

"If you don't cut this deer open and preserve it's meat then it's death will be in vain and a death without purpose is murder, are you a murderer Becca?" He uttered those words with disgust. 

        "What, No!" I replied in an annoyed tone. I just wanted to get it done with, so I cut into the thick hide of this unfortunate animal and started removing the organs as father guided me through the entire process. The smell of the decomposing animal was something so terrible even describing it makes me sick to my stomach. It was like a whirlpool of smells; such as feces,wet grass and somewhat of a metallic sent of blood.  We then proceeded to skin and cut the meat up with a none saw together when we were done he took the meat and stacked it in our freezer. The texture of the dears meat against my skin sent chills down my spine. It felt so gross and disgusting. 

       Mother cooked us venison that night. I told myself I couldn't eat it but I did and I enjoyed it. This became a routine over the course of my summer vacation. We would hunt rabbits, deer and even a few species of birds. My aim got better and my conscious pricked a little less.  Summer had ended and it was back to school, as the days progressed, the time I spent with my father had reduced more with each passing day. I made new friends and spent more time with them and there was also my previous group of friends, my life was busy and I wasn't complaining. 

          School let out at 4 pm that evening and like any other day I cycled my way home with Chelsea. We would always accompany each other home as we were close neighbors and best friends. We reached Chelsea's porch and I waved goodbye to her as I carried on cycling to my house. An hour later mother and I heard police sirens and a bunch of chaos outside Chelsea's house. Mom yelled out to Mr.Teller our next door neighbor and asked him what was going on. Mr. Teller informed my mother that there was a body found in Chelsea's backyard. I was curious to know what exactly was going on but my curiosity had gotten me in trouble before. 

         I walked towards Chelsea's place cautiously and saw a bunch of police officers removing what looked like the remains of a girls decomposing body, bagging up the evidence and securing the crime scene. My best friends house a crime scene, scary to even think about it. The girl was later identified as Kelsey Plackard, a seventeen year old high school student from the neighboring town. She had similar features to me which didn't quiet strike me at that time as alarming. Freckles, burnt red hair and dressed in black. Police couldn't identify who was behind this killing or a motive as to why this teenager was brutally attacked and placed in these woods. 

         I was immediately stopped on my way inside Chelsea's house by the police on guard outside. I told them i'm her best friend from five houses away and made a fuss that I needed to see my friend and be with her. Reluctantly. they finally let me go see her. I hugged her as she just stood there, this cheerful girl I've known all my life stood there trembling, arms to her sides motionless and scared. She told me whiles tears rolled down her eyes how she came across the body whiles walking her dog Skit in the woods behind her house. 

        After spending some time with her and consoling her as much as my fifteen year old self could I was told to head home by her mother. That evening I had a conversation with my mother on how Chelsea was affected by this unfortunate event. Mama always being the worry wart told me to be safe and asked me to come straight home after school, to which I gave her one of those classic, "I don't think so" looks. 

       Father came home late that night from his job at the mill, later than he usually did at least.  Mother questioned his where about's, he said he had gone to the local pub with some of his work buddies and sat at the table and ate his dinner in silence. Police had met up with him and other folks in the town trying to search for clues and answers. All their alibis checked out. We ate dinner like we usually did but for some reason it seemed quieter than usual as I could hear my mother chew every bite over and over again looking at my father with a stare that would make anyone uneasy.

         I broke the silence by asking my dad. "don't you miss hanging out with me pa?" 

        To which my father replied, "I do Rebecca, I miss it very much so."

       The next day at school everybody was talking about the murder. 

        "It happened really close to your house didn't it Becca?" Shylee questioned me.

        "Ermm yeah". was my arrogant reply.

        Classes carried on that day like they normally would although the day felt longer than usual. Everywhere I went there was talk about the murder at Chelsea's place. Rumors spread and different versions of the story emerged.                                        Who was this girl, this "Kelsey Plackard", what was she doing in Langley and why was she found dead in the woods behind Chelsea's house? we're a few of the questions circling around school.

      Chelsea didn't show up at school that day. The teacher said that she called in sick but we all knew that it was because of the traumatic situation. Chelsea wasn't ready to face us after finding out what a gruesome thing had taken place in her backyard was everyone's assumption. She was still in shock and none of us would really understand the extent of damage she suffered.

       As her best friend I defended her in school from all the cruel remarks that high school students make but that wouldn't stop them from making the remarks.

       "Chelsea, that b***h must have murdered that girl herself." said Pauline, the head cheerleader and plastic girl of our school.

       "Chelsea quiet a w***e, must have been a fight over some guy." replied Trisha, Pauline's minion.

        I rushed over to see Chelsea after school, I just really needed to know how my friend was doing. I brought her ice cream from the general store, the kind she really liked, Cookies n Cream. Her mother told me she had locked herself up in her room. Without questioning the situation I ran up and pounded on the door only to realize it was unlocked. 

       I pushed it open yelling "Hey babe," and that's when I dropped the ice cream on the floor. My first reaction still sends shocks through my body. I couldn't move, my eyes filled up with water which now I realize was my tears. I was afraid and sad at the same time. The shivers took over my entire body and I couldn't hear myself screaming but somehow I knew I was screaming on the top of my lungs. What I saw was a memory I've been trying to forget since that day but I know I could never forget.            

        Chelsea, my best friend and my neighbor for fifteen years laid sitting up against her bed rest with a bottle of sleeping pills in her hand. She looked frightened as her mouth was frothing and black tears trickling down her cheeks from the makeup she had been wearing. What was really scary was that she didn't look like the friend i've known forever she looked pale and lifeless. Her mom came running upstairs hearing my frantic screams and pushed me out of the way and cried hysterically.

       "Call 911 NOW!!!!" she yelled.  

        Fumbling I pulled out my phone and dialed 911 and as far as I remember this is how the call went. 

        911 dispatcher: "Langley Police Department how may we be of service?"

        Becca: "Help, (Sobbing hysterically)uh, uh, my friend, my friend, she's swallowed sleeping pills"

        911 dispatcher: "Is she breathing, can you feel a pulse"

        Becca: "Her mother is with her trying to give her mouth to mouth at the moment, help us please help us"

        911 dispatcher: "Can the mother feel a pulse? I need you to be brave for me, focus and give me the address?"

        Becca: "its, its 503, Solace Street, Langley, BC"

       911 dispatcher: "Alright stay on the line, we're sending units to the address right away"

       Becca:"Hurry please, she's dying, my friend is dying (swallowing words and panting for breath)"

       911 dispatcher: "Stay on the phone with me and keep updating me about your friends condition young lady"

        The blue and red flashing lights against Chelsea's bedroom window arrived minutes to late. We lost Chelsea that day. It was the saddest day of my being. It was the beginning of everything wrong that was about to take place in my life. I don't know why but when they were taking her body out I hid her black mascara liner in my bag and never told anyone about it. I guess it was my way of holding on to her final moments, even in death she had her mascara on. Something to remember my friend always.

        I sat at home for a week, I couldn't eat, swallowing food became a task. Completely devastated but somehow I had to move on. I alienated myself from my other friends at school, from my teachers, most of all from my mother. I couldn't stand them or anyone that felt sorry for me. No one even spoke about Chelsea anymore, and even if they did it was never anything about her being the good person she was. No one cared for her and worst of all the police couldn't even come up with answers to why she had killed herself.

        Everyone assumed that it might  have been because she couldn't live with the fact that she found a dead girl on her property but I know it had to be something else. She must have seen something or someone to trigger that drastic step she took. Something she wasn't supposed to see perhaps?

       Father noticed me sulking everyday and I felt like he was the only one that noticed and gave me room to grieve in my own way. One day he told me to put on my coat and we walked to Chelsea's grave. We sat by her tombstone and he said to me,

       "Becca I miss you and I know you're hurting right now but it will only be for the best if you take your mind off things. How about we go hunting Becca?"

       I took in all he had to say and with a deep breath I told him I really didn't want to go today. 

      "I understand Rebecca and he held on to me, hugging me"  but behind that hug I could feel his heart hurt. Seeing his eyes drop down in sadness I couldn't let him down, I just didn't have it in me to let him down, I felt like I let my friend Chelsea down and father took the effort to reach out to me so I told him we would go hunting that evening.

         He and I started spending more time together and went hunting and camping often. One day we decided to go exploring deeper into the woods and finally he took me to a spot he wanted to show me for a while, he said. When I got there I saw a small cabin made out of logs and such.We weren't alone though as we soon realized. There was presence inside the cabin. Getting closer we looked through the window and caught a young couple in the act. Father and I watched in disbelief as these young lovers ravished each others bodies. 

        Smiling at me he asked "What do you think of that Becca?"

        I was flushed red, speechless as to why he would ask me such a question.

        I told him I think they're disgusting.

        He then said, "Becca, doesn't she resemble you a little?" I noticed it right as he said it, she had red hair like me and was almos as tall as I was, I screamed 

       "Oh my God, yes daddy"

        Hearing my voice, the couple noticed they weren't alone and quickly got behind a blanket they had carried. Father took control of the situation and yelled for them to come out of the cabin. Refusing to do so the confronted boy told father to, "f**k off and leave us alone." My calm father now a shade of furious pointed the gun at the young disrespectful man and told him to walk towards the wall. 

        I looked at father and asked him, "What are you doing?" He said to me "Hunting, Becca, just hunting." with a cruel smile setting down upon his lips. 

         His rifle rested against his shoulder, I watched as father jolted back from the recoil and quickly turning my head I saw the boy who was now bleeding from his head right above his left eye between his eye brown and ear. The girl scared started to scream and run, helter skelter. 

       Father told me,"Becca she's going to get away if you don't do something."

       I stood still, observing and letting my brain register the events that just took place. That's when I heard "Bang!, Bang!" two more shots fired as the girls screams got louder.Tagged on the right knee cap, the flesh wound exposed her bone. She fell straight to the floor and was covered with mud and blood. Conscious, bleeding heavily and barely alive. He walked up to her, smiled and  punched her face knocking her straight out.

     Father made me carry the girl as he lifted the boy over his shoulder, the dead weight of a unconscious human body is heavier than one can imagine. We carried the bodies back into the cabin as fear had taken over me I couldn't even question what just happened I was too afraid to think let alone speak.

       Taking out his sharpened hunting knife he told me, "Becca we better cut them up or it's just going to be murder" Crying and scared I did what he said, he guided me like a master craftsman, he showed me how to perfectly remove their organs and even in my state of shock I was astonished at how my father knew so much about the anatomy of the human body.The smell was some what of a reminder of my first kill on that deer but the emotion I felt overpowered the smell. Fear, anger and disgust took over my senses. Once completing the process I helped him bury the pieces of the bodies in the woods and we placed the organs under the soil of wild mushrooms. We cleaned up in the river and burnt our clothes in a canister with oil from the truck.

        That's the first time father saw my fifteen year old naked body. He looked at me with a glimpse of mystique in his eyes, I felt so beautiful in that moment, like my touch would kill a hundred men. I turned the other way embarrassed but curious to my own feelings and when I turned back around he had already gone, walking back towards the cabin. Something inside me wished that he had stayed and continued to look at me. I shook away these thoughts and  I walked towards the cabin and he put a blanket around the both of us as we walked home in the dark of night. Mother was already asleep as we entered the house quietly. He kissed me on the forehead and sent me to my room. 

        Now re-living the memories of what just happened in my room I started walking up and down panicking about the events of the day, but I wasn't crying. I entered my shower and all I could think about was my father. How I though about his brilliance and the way he was such a quiet caring man but hid this dark powerful side to him. My body and mind craved him. I fell on my bed and looked at my ceiling remembering how that young couple passionately made love and started to in-vision the girl who looked so much like me but for some reason I couldn't picture that young boy all I could see was father mounted on top of me riding me in that secluded cabin in the woods. By the end of the night I was dreaming on my bed. I awoke with a scream as the climax of my dream had father shoot him in the head and her in the legs over and over again as he handed me the blade and ask me to cut the girl whiles she was still barely alive. I asked myself "What have I become?" but I already knew the answer, It was morning and far to late now."I've become just like my father".

to be continued....

Reviews

[Jake Botha]

Dear Kee,

An interesting read. I will review it as best I can, pointing out how I experienced it and if there is any room for improvement.

First part of the chapter: The Hunt.

The opening paragraph conjures up familiar feelings of childhood. The feeling of relaxation and not having a care in the world. I liked how you employed the sense of smell here. Our olfactory senses are one of the strongest and can stimulate great memories. Till this day, certain smells still conjure up memories of childhood in me. So great use of the comfortable smells.

However, the last part of the paragraph is a bit stilted. Especially the part where you say: "I remember it like yesterday." Why not try to cut this part out of the end of this paragraph and rather open it up. The flow would seem a lot more natural when read.

For example:

I remember it like it was yesterday. It was the summer of 89' and school had just ended. Like any other kid, I would get up at noon and watch a s**t load of television. Crossing my legs on our old leather couch that had the most comforting smell, eating the snack mother made me.

Or even add a bit more tension to this by starting it off with something more impactful, for example:

My first kill, I remember it like it was yesterday.... then follow that up with the rest.

By opening it this way, the reader will be immediately interested in this macabre statement of the protagonist.

The premise of the first part of this chapter is an interesting one. That first hunt. the first act of taking a life, albeit an animal's life. As I have gone hunting before this leaps of the page. I do not know if you have gone hunting before, the act in itself can be quite visceral and alarming if it is your first time.

What you used here as an opening is something with great potential. For a first shot, taking down the deer so easily is alarmingly good fortune. There are very few first time hunters who has the luck of taking down a deer with one shot. this might be attributed to her "I was a natural" statement.

Though I would advise you to build more on this part though. It feels to instantaneous. The deer would run away limping at first and then only collapse later. This could lead to first tracking the deer and the blood trail it left behind and then finishing it off with a second shot. Also, something of note is that the deer's throat would be slit first at the scene of its death to let it bleed out first. What would her emotions have been like if her father had at this point asked her to slit the deer's throat as it lay there dying a painful death? Would this have come naturally to? Would she be shaken by this ordeal?

As for the slaughtering of the deer, it would have been standard practice to hang the carcass upside down for ease of cleaning out its entrails and skinning. If you've ever been hunting, you would know that the pungent and overwhelming smell that accompanies the slaughtering of an animal can be to much for some. Especially if it is a persons first time. So here you can play some more with the sense of smell and how this would impact the protagonist.

These are just some points you can ponder about. I am however in no way trying to tell you what you have written isn't right. You are the author of this book, but I am just trying to make this experience more unnerving and realistic for you. If you feel you want more details and help in this regard... feel free to inbox me and I will guide you. Only if you feel the need for me to do so. I will help however I can.

As for the structure here, you would do well if you broke some of this up. Your dialogue is hidden away inside long paragraphs and can therefore be brought out more. For example I have edited a piece for you to look at:

___________________________________________________________________________________

He then pulled out his hunting knife and asked me to cut the deer open.
I shook my head and said, "No, daddy, please, eww."
He said it again this time in a stern voice, "Cut it open."
So I did, I took the knife my hands trembling unlike pulling the trigger this was completely different, I couldn't bare to see myself do this.
"If you don't cut this deer open and preserve it's meat then it's death will be in vain". "Are you a murderer Becca?" He uttered those words with disgust.
"What, No!" I replied in an annoyed tone. I just wanted to get it done with, so I cut into the thick leather hide of this unfortunate animal and started removing the organs as father guided me through the entire process.

___________________________________________________________________________________

There are some sentences in here that can be shortened up with better use of words that would sum up the over all meaning much better. I hope this does not sound to you as severe criticism. This is not my intention, I am merely trying to help you improve this piece even more. If you want some more guidance in this matter you can also inbox me.

Moving on...

Second part: The Murdered

There are some minor spelling, grammatical and punctuation errors that stand out here that could cause casual readers to move along. I can point them all out for you, but as a review this would become hopelessly to verbose. So again, if you feel I can help you I will inbox you and point them out for you so you can edit them.

As for the call placed to 911, this can be improved upon to make it fit in more seamlessly. As is, there isn't much to fault, but it can do with some restructuring to fit better into the flow of this chapter.

The rest of the chapter is chilling and very disturbing. Some if it felt a bit unnatural and happened to fast. It has the promise of being great. The story is very unnerving.

It has the potential of building to something far darker and more dangerous.

Again, what I have said I mean in the kindest way. I is a good story and very intriguing, but could do with some polishing work.

I will be more than happy to help you in this regard.

Spine tingling and chilling read.

Jake

[KeeD]

This is the most constructive and educational review I've gotten on this site till date, If you were here I would hug you. I definitely not only agree but will implement the changes you have suggested. I'll be sending a message your way for everything as I've only been writing poems and never ventured into writing a book my control over the language lacks and it's been far too long since I've written anything out of school. I could use all your help and just if anything better myself.

[Jake Botha]

Kee,

English is also a second language to me. So I know it can be challenging sometimes.

But feel free to inbox me.

I will be more than happy to help.

Jake

[Christoph Poe]

I'll remind you that I'm not a professional, so don't take anything I say literally. Keep my thoughts in the back of your head, and pull them up as others reviewers point out things as well.

Here it goes:

I would completely omit the first paragraph. It's not needed in any form or fashion that I can think of, and that would then place your first sentence at "That summer vacation wouldn't be like the others, though." which in my humble opinion sounds like a more interesting start.

You use 'to-be' verbs a lot, but in other areas, you don't. So I think you may already know that if you can avoid them PLEASE do. I think we all have that ability to read our own writing and pick out which paragraphs sound amazing in comparison to other paragraphs. Go through your paragraphs and pick some that you think are bad, and some that you think are good, and compare them. I can't promise you these results, but in willing to bet that you're better paragraphs aren't chopped full of 'to-be' verbs.

Now I'm going to move on and address your way of thinking when you write. A lot of people write as if they're personally talking to someone, 'telling' the story. You can't think like that--writing in a novel is much more deep. I think it was you who read the exercise I suggested about watching movies? Think about how people move. Think about their manurisms. Think about ACTION. Describing action is an art all on its own rather than describing what something looks like. I find that a lot of people want to explain what things looks like more than they want to tell us the story. Eliminating 'to-be' verbs will help you describe action better, and in that exercise, you'll see that saying: 'Captain Kirk was staring off into space..." is kinda boring versus: "Captain Kirk's brown eyes focused on nothing, the muscles beneath his skin more still than the nothingness that clouded space." (I hope that example works???) You can limit yourself to ONE 'to-be' verb per paragraph, and I find it better if its used in the first sentence or the very last sentence. (A wise teacher once explained that to me.)

I think it helps if I pull some paragraphs out of people's writing, and show them, so I'll do just that.

"That summer vacation wouldn't be like the others though.My father worked a hard job at the mill and my mother stayed at home and helped with the church committee. Our house was ancestral, it was old and felt alive; like the wooden walls would talk at night, somewhat comforting in its own strange way.
My best friend Chelsea, lived five houses from us. We would often hang out at each others houses and do everything together. Her backyard extended into the forest where we played, but weren't allowed to wander in too far as they were plenty of wildlife to be wary of. We would often hear wolves and foxes cry at night.That summer upon my fifteenth birthday, my father decided to pass on a family heirloom. He gifted me his fathers rifle an old rusted thing."

The first sentence is good. The second is good. And in the third sentence, you used 'was'. If it is difficult for you to rephrase the sentence, here you're describing an unmovable object, it can be used in a scene of action later. We don't necessarily need to know what the house looks like right now, and that's part of what I mentioned above: 'the writers way of thinking'.

Now, these descriptions in the second paragraph of the main characters 'best friend' are bland and really uninteresting. You can be DEEPER than this. Give me a scene where they're playing with toys--fighting over a toy maybe?--or a scene where the main character is mentally hurt by a traumatic event and needs some support from her best friend. Just examples to show that you can go deeper than what your 'telling' me now and instead 'show' me through a story. Like a movie, a good story is a series of small stories that focus on a set of characters.

Here's something to help you dialogue out among characters, write a screenplay--well, a 'kinda' screenplay. Don't include the other details in between dialogue though. Write like

A: "blah blah blah"

B: "blah blah blah BLAH!"

A: "blehh blah blah BLAH!"

B: "(I'm not writing that our again because autocorrect doesn't like it...)"

And come back to it in a few days. Read it, and if you'll probably see your dialogue running together--like all of your characters sound the same."

And I'll add this one last thing about the flow of writing. You need to control the mechanics of writing, and have them work like a roller coaster--moving up and down and up and down, but getting higher and higher until you reach the climax. Look at a novel, and it's literally physically there. You see a few meaty paragraphs, then a bunch of smaller ones with dialogue, then some bigger paragraphs, then some small snippets of dialogue.

As far as the story goes, I don't typically say much about people's stories because its too early to judge them. I will typically add if I found it interesting or not. It was enough to keep me going, but I'm a fantasy guy, so I probably wouldn't continue to the second chapter. That's a personal issue though--not yours. Haha.

Well, I think I hit the high points. I'm trying to write this while at work, so if anything seems confusing, ask me. And I apologize if it seems like I was short, but that's only Bc I keep getting interrupted!

Take care, and I hope to hear back from you soon!
--Christoph Poe

94/100

[Christoph Poe]

Just letting you know that I've started reading and I'm impressed. I want to near finish it before I really sit down and give my full thoughts, but my time is occupied right now and I want to give it the attention it deserves. I'll be back!

--Christoph

[KeeD]

You are :D? wow can't wait to have your thoughts on it over all, hopefully you grill it to the raw novice work it is so I can keep working on it and better myself.

[Fréyjä Helv..]

It lacked a bit of details and depth. It was as if you were so much in a hurry to spill out the entire story. The narration was fine at the beginning, but as I read through it further, I became engaged to the story. The ending left me to question, what else? What’s going to happen next? Although there were a few punctuations you might want to correct. ‘Its’ and ‘it’s’, commas missing in some places, but since it’s a rough draft, go on improving this. Nice job.

[Britt:)]

Oh my. This was quite interesting. Caught my attention, thats for sure. I will continue to read on. :P

[KeeD]

haha still working on these chapters, just a rough draft at the moment, gotta fill in detail.

[Britt:)]

well, its still pretty good lol :P

[chaotic katie]

Very original! i like it. Suspenceful and unexpected. Fantastic job!

[Death Girl]

I LOVE IT! This is so awesome. must keep reading

[minnie:)]

This is a REALLY good story, I couldn't stop reading. I felt like i was being dragged in or like i was already there. LOVED it :)

[ms. barrie]

Father teaching his son who for now is portrayed as being a sensitive soul, sadistic behavior and lack of respect for human life. the conclusion i agree with Divya, made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. This is very well descriptive in both the characters and scenery, especially the emotional make-up of Becca, his devastation of loss, is written very well. The ending was a well crafted cliff hanger, not giving a way too much but only leaving a morsel of taste for the reader leaving them hungry to hurry and turn the page to learn more. great job, Mr. D'souza!

[KeeD]

:P daughter not son xD Becca would stand for Rebecca. thank you for the awesome review so i take it you liked the plot so far? >

[ms. barrie]

yeah, i never get it 100% - you welcome, yep, it's intriguing. lots of options to play with which i'm sure you already have spinning in your head. have fun with it.

[AYVID N]

:) It made for a spine-chilling read. The conclusion raised almost all my hair on it's end, and that means the intended effect came through extremely well. The blood and gore and the Electra feelings all done very well. As was the shock factor.

Thanks for sharing. Pen on!

[KeeD]

:D wow such a positive review, I was hoping you'd trash the story so I could know what to work on since i'm not at all experienced in writing stories this is probably my second attempt at a story. I'm not the best with grammar and punctuation either. Any tips, criticism you have is much appreciated :D I'm here to learn :D