Second Chances

Second Chances

A Story by bookishmuggle
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A couple gets a phone call from their daughter... whom they murdered fifteen years ago.

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If you happened to be on Melrose Avenue, Los Angeles, at approximately 7 pm on April sixteenth, 2019, you would see a man in a green jacket walking down the street. You might have seen him pinch his arm or run his hand through his hair. You probably would have thought he was in a hurry to be somewhere, perhaps running late.

This man wasn’t running late, nor did he have anywhere in particular to be, but he was in a hurry. But instead of running towards something, he was running away, putting distance between himself and what just happened. He kept going until he found himself at an empty park. Darkness had nearly settled over it, with the last dying rays of the sun piercing his eyes. He sat on one of the benches and put his head in his hands as hundreds of questions raced through his mind, all demanding answers, but he had none.

What would he do? Should he call his wife? She would come home to an empty house any minute. It was likely that his daughter would call back...

He took a deep breath and gathered himself. He had to keep it together for Melania’s sake.

The man stood up and walked back to his house. Leaves crunched under his feet. He took the time to mull over the situation and ponder what he would tell his wife. He would have to break it gently to her. After all, it wasn’t every day you got a call from your daughter that you murdered fifteen years ago.

***

He remembered the first time he saw her. He was holding Melania’s hand when the doctor came into the hospital room and handed her the baby. She cradled her and bent her head, blocking his view.

Her face contorted in surprise and disgust. “Elijah…”

“What’s wrong?”

“Look at her.” She moved out of the way so he could see the baby.

The child did not look normal. Her face looked flat, and her almond-shaped eyes turned up at the corners. Her lower lip was downturned. Even for a baby, her neck seemed rather short and fat.

She was beautiful.

“What’s wrong?” he repeated. He didn’t see the issue.

Melania rolled her eyes and thrust the baby at the doctor. “You gave us the wrong one. Take it back.”

The doctor peered at the baby’s wristband. “I can assure you she’s yours.”

“Fix it, then.”

The doctor tilted his head in confusion. “What do you mean? Is there something wrong with her?”

“Just look at it!”

He held his hands out. “May I see her?”

His wife seemed too glad to get rid of the baby.

The doctor peered at her. “She does look unusual. She may have a disorder, perhaps down syndrome. We can test her if you like.”

“Will that make it better?”

“We can make both of your lives easier, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Do it.”

He nodded. “We’ll need to take a blood sample. Results will be available after 2-3 days.”

He took the baby away.

Elijah wanted to wait for the doctor to come back with the baby, but Melania insisted that they leave. They were gathering their things and about to head out when the doctor came back in with the baby. His eyebrows were raised. “Were you going to forget your child?” He handed her to Melania, who held her at arm’s length.

The corner of Melania’s lip curled up in disgust. “I thought you needed to test it.”

The doctor shook his head. “We just needed a blood sample. We’ll call you with the results in a few days, and if they turn out to be positive, then we can discuss treatment options.”

“Wait, so you’re not keeping it until the results come back?”

The doctor gave her an odd look. “She’s your child.”

Melania huffed and handed the baby to Elijah. “You carry it. Let’s go.”

Elijah didn’t know what to say. He didn’t have a problem with the way their daughter looked. He opened his mouth to say something, but then flashbacked to himself twenty years ago, hiding under his bed while his parents’ screaming matches echoed throughout the house. 

You promised you would never turn out like your parents.

He closed his mouth and shook his head. It was better to keep the peace.

The drive home was not pleasant. Melania was crying into her hands in the passenger seat.

“I’m a failure, Elijah! I gave birth to a monster!” Melania wailed.

He looked back at Aurelia, who was babbling to herself. He smiled. Why was Melania so upset? He didn’t care that she was different. She was adorable all the same.

When they finally arrived home, Melania stomped inside and left Aurelia by herself. Elijah sighed and brought her inside.


Three days later, they were all sitting in a small office in the hospital. Elijah was seated next to Melania, Aurelia in his lap. 

“But this will fix it, right?” 

The doctor rubbed his tired eyes with his hand. “Mrs. Wessex, my answer will not vary from the last time I told you this, nor the time before that, nor the time before that. The treatment will help Aurelia’s mental condition, but it will not fix her, and it will not affect her physical appearance.”

“No! I won’t accept that. You did something wrong to my baby, and you’re going to fix it.”

“Mrs. Wessex, there’s nothing we can do, except tell you about how this will affect her everyday life, and the increased risks of developing other diseases-”

“Other diseases?!” she shrieked. “This will make it even sicker?”

“She’s not sick, Mrs. Wessex, she just has down syndrome, which is a genetic disorder, not an illness. And please stop referring to your child as ‘it’.” He handed her a pamphlet. “This explains the disease risk in more detail.”

Melania threw the pamphlet to the ground and huffed. “Come on, darling. We’re done here.” She strode out of the room and slammed the door behind her.

Elijah picked the pamphlet off the ground, apologized to the doctor, and followed her.


“That doctor was an idiot. There has to be something we can do,” Melania said later that day. She sat on the couch, huddled under a blanket.

Elijah continued reading the pamphlet and said nothing. He looked down at Aurelia in his lap and poked her nose. She gave him an adorable baby smile.

“I can’t send a child that looks like… that to daycare! What am I supposed to do? What did I do wrong?” she put her head in her hands.

“Can’t you just watch her at home?” he suggested. 

“You know I have to work, Elijah,” she snapped. 

He stopped talking. 

Melania sighed. “I suppose it’s the only option.” She turned to him. “Will you drive it there? I don’t want to be associated with it.” She gestured to Aurelia. “Why can’t you just be normal?” She glared with disgust at the now-sleeping baby. 

Elijah nodded, too scared to say anything in Aurelia’s defense.


The next two years zoomed by. Elijah may as well have been Aurelia’s sole caretaker. He drove her to daycare every day, and he was the one who picked her up. He rocked her to sleep every night, and he took care of her at two AM when she cried. Every day before he dropped her off, he would boop her nose, and she would giggle.

For her first birthday, he made her a purple smash cake. For her second, he gave her a purple teddy bear. She beamed ear to ear and squeezed him tight in thanks. Purple was her favorite, as she often reminded him. 

Melania’s relationship with Aurelia didn’t get any better. It got to the point where she refused to be in the same room as her, unless absolutely necessary. Of course, since Elijah was always with Aurelia, this meant he hardly spent time with Melania anymore. He didn’t have a problem with this situation. He would choose Aurelia’s company over Melania’s any day.

Aurelia, on the other hand, grew from a happy baby to a goofy toddler. She was funny and sweet and he loved her to pieces.

“Mommy! Look what I made!” Aurelia held up a crayon drawing of three stick figures that could only be herself, Melania, and Elijah.

Melania rolled her eyes, shoved the drawing aside, and stomped out of the room.

Aurelia’s hopeful face fell. “Why doesn’t Mommy like me?” she asked Elijah, who had been watching nearby.

Elijah picked her up. “No no no. Mommy does like you!” he lied. “She just… has things to do.”

Aurelia didn’t look convinced. A single tear rolled down her rosy cheek. The two-year-old was smarter than he gave her credit for.


“Elijah! Darling! I have an interview for the promotion!” Melania came running from her office.

“Huh?”

“You know, the promotion I’ve been talking about for the last four months?”

Elijah had no idea what she was talking about. “Oh, yeah, that one.”

“I have an interview for it! Tomorrow!”

“What time?”

“Three.”

Elijah bit his lip. “I have a meeting at 2:30. Can you bring Aurelia with you?”

“I can’t bring a toddler to a job interview!” She scrunched her nose. “Can’t you bring her with you? Or maybe get a sitter?”

“I’m supposed to be leading the meeting! I can’t entertain her while talking to a group. Also Mrs. Floyd is out of town, and all the professional sitters require at least two days’ notice. Email your boss and see if you can reschedule.”

“No!” Melania stamped her foot. “This might be my only opportunity, and I’m not missing it because of that monster!”

Elijah cringed at “monster”, but then shrugged. “There’s nothing I can do. Email your boss. She’ll understand.”

Melania spun on her heel and left the room, muttering angrily to herself.

Although Melania managed to reschedule for the day after, her boss decided that Blake Meyers was the best one for the job without seeing any of the other applicants. If she had gotten the interview in that day, she would have gone before Meyers, and she might have gotten the job. She ranted about this to Elijah for the next two weeks.

She blamed her lost opportunity on Aurelia, glaring at her as if she were to blame for her own existence. When she wasn’t making Aurelia miserable, she was working. She came to bed after Elijah was asleep and was already at her computer when he woke up. It was like she thought if she worked hard enough, her boss would take the job away from Meyers and give it to her.

“This is all her fault!” she exclaimed. The fury in her eyes seemed to exaggerate the dark circles surrounding them. Elijah was glad Aurelia was asleep in the other room, unable to hear what her mother was saying about her.

“Why do you hate her so much?” Elijah blurted. “If you just spent some time to get to know your daughter-”

He stopped after seeing her appalled expression. “It’s a freak,” she hissed. “And that thing isn’t my daughter.”

He put his head down. He shouldn’t disagree with her. Disagreements led to arguments, arguments led to fighting, fighting led to yelling, and yelling led to divorce. He was miserable when his parents got divorced. He hated having to move from house to house, having to share his parents with stepparents and stepsiblings, and feeling alone. Worries that his parents would stop loving him burdened his waking hours. If his parents could leave each other, what would prevent them from leaving him?

Aurelia is going through enough without having to worry about her parents separating. She comes first.

Melania took a breath. “I just don’t understand. I did everything right. I ate healthily. I made you paint the nursery and not me. I didn’t drink. Why is she like this? I failed. My daughter is a ______.”

Hearing his wife use that word to describe Aurelia was like an electric shock. He had never liked that word, even before Aurelia was born. To hear his wife say it was unreal. His shock turned to boiling rage, like a volcano threatening to explode. His fists were clenching and his teeth were grinding and he opened his mouth-

Before he could, however, her face relaxed. The corners of her mouth twisted into a simpering smile.

“You know, darling, you might be right. Maybe I just haven’t given our sweet little Aurelia a chance,” her voice dripping with saccharine sweetness. “How about I take her into town for some ice cream? Talk to her, get a chance to know her.”

Elijah should have seen the signs. He should have known her attitude wouldn’t change that quickly, that she would never want to be seen with her in public.

But he was too happy that she was finally coming around. He grinned, then woke up Aurelia. He told her to go with Mommy, that they were going to have some girl time, and that she would see him later. She looked a little wary, looking from side to side and tugging on her curly blonde hair. It wasn’t often Mommy wanted to spend time with her. He gave her a reassuring hug and booped her nose. She giggled.

He waved as they pulled out of the driveway.

That was the last time he would ever see her alive.

Or so he thought.


He got a call from an unknown number about an hour later. It was Melania, calling from a stranger’s phone. The sounds of her sobbing flooded his ears. He had to ask her to repeat herself several times before she got the message across. She and Aurelia had been in a car accident.

Elijah probably broke several traffic laws on his way to the site of the accident. He nearly got into one himself. He finally arrived at the street Melania directed him to, but he saw no signs of a crash. No flashing lights, no taped off zones, no shattered glass. He was about to call her again when he saw a woman with blonde hair sitting on the shore of a lake. Melania. 

He pulled over and rushed to her side. “Melania, what happened? Did you call 911?” He looked around. “Where’s Aurelia?”

She pulled her head out of her arms. Her eyes were red and swollen. “I-” she hiccuped. “I was driving her back from the ice cream shop. A deer came out into the road and I swerved and-” she looked at the lake. Her eyes were filled with an unreadable emotion. “I couldn’t stop.” Her voice was a dead whisper.

Elijah looked at the lake in horror. “Where’s Aurelia?” he repeated.

She looked up at him, her splotchy face pleading. “Darling, you have to understand. I could hardly get out myself; we were sinking so fast. I tried to get it out of its car seat, but I was running out of air and it was dark, so so dark…” she trailed off.

“You left our daughter in the lake?” When she didn’t meet his gaze, he dove into the water.

At first, he could see just fine. But the deeper he went, the darker it got. His arms pulled him down, down, down.

His burning lungs felt tight in his chest. All his instincts told him to go back up, but he ignored them. He could breathe after he found her.

Pressure built up in his ears until he felt as if they would explode. Yet, he kept going. He didn’t return to the surface until blackness invaded his vision.

He gasped as the cold air filled his lungs, and the blackness went away. He had barely caught his breath before he went down again.

Down and up, down and up. His endurance quit on him faster and faster every time.

But he couldn’t quit. If he just found the car, Aurelia would be there waiting for him, and it would all be ok. It had probably been, what, fifteen minutes since he got the call? A two-year-old could hold their breath for fifteen minutes, right? There was still hope...

After what must have been the fifth or sixth time, he dragged himself back to dry land and collapsed next to Melania.

Melania was gazing at the lake. Her arms were crossed over her chest, and her mouth was slightly turned up, the way someone would look after they accomplished something. She seemed satisfied, almost… content. Elijah didn’t know what to think of that.

He sat up and ran his hands through his hair, a nervous tic he’d had since he could remember. This wasn’t happening. There was no way. He must be dreaming.

He pinched his arm. Wake up wake up wake up.

The police arrived soon after. He answered all their questions and watched as the scuba divers pulled his car out of the lake, but he didn’t feel like he was actually there. He was someone else, watching from afar. 

They never found Aurelia’s body. She was presumed dead.

The loss didn’t hit him until her funeral. She was gone. He pinched the bridge of his nose as silent tears ran down his face.

It wasn’t until Aurelia’s would-be seventh birthday when Melania confessed that the accident hadn’t been an accident. She had driven into the lake on purpose. She killed Aurelia.

Elijah wished he could say he was surprised, but he wasn’t. He had seen the way she had treated Aurelia, the look in her eyes before she took her for ice cream that day, the appeased look on her face after he couldn’t save her.

“I got a scholarship for acting, darling. I know how to fake tears,” was what she told him when he stammered about her relentless sobbing after the accident.

Elijah didn’t tell anyone. 

He should have done more to protect her. He shouldn’t have let Melania take her that day. He should have taken her in the middle of the night and driven her far, far away, somewhere Melania could never touch her.

He may as well have been the one to kill her.

He could tell no one. After all, Melania was all he had left. He had lost so much, and he couldn’t bear it if she were taken away from him. Even if he were to tell someone, they would surely blame him. He was obviously at fault. He murdered her.

Melania whispered in his ear. Her words slithered through his ear canal and twisted around in his brain and eventually took root. 

It was for the best. Aurelia was driving a wedge between them. They could never have been happy while she was around. Things were better without her…


***


Now, fifteen years later, Elijah was entering the house.

Melania was leaning on the counter, a glass of wine in hand.

“Hello, darling.” She greeted him with a kiss on the cheek. He recoiled at her touch. He didn’t know why. He hadn’t even intended to.

She looked taken aback. They stood in awkward silence before she broke it.

“Well, how was work?” She was pretending nothing had happened. He jumped on her prompt.

“Good. And you?”

“It’s going well.”

She was acting normal. That was good. It meant that Aurelia hadn’t called back while she was home. 

He opened his mouth to tell her about the call, but something stopped him. Maybe it was her wine breath, which made his nose wrinkle. Maybe it was the constant looke of superiority on her face. Or maybe it was because a part of him missed Aurelia and knew it was her fault. 

Whatever the reason, he didn’t tell her.

“Hey, it’s been a long day, and I’m going to go to bed early. I’ll see you later?” Elijah slowly backed away from her and retreated to their bedroom, grabbing the house phone on his way.

He plopped on the bed and scanned the recent calls, then dialed the most recent number.

“Hello?” A young woman answered.

Elijah gulped. “Aurelia? I... I’m sorry. About earlier. I panicked.” Dropping the phone and running away probably didn’t leave the best impression.

“Dad?”

“Yeah.”

Elijah heard a choking noise from the other end, but no words.

“How… How are you alive?”

“Can I come see you?”

Maybe she didn’t remember. Or maybe she didn’t want to talk about it. Either way, he couldn’t believe he was talking to her.

“Of course! When? Where?”

“Can Mom come too?”

Elijah hesitated.

“Mom’s really busy, honey.”

“Oh. That’s ok. I’m in Los Angeles. Can you meet me for coffee?” She rattled off an address.

Coffee. His little girl was drinking coffee. “Absolutely. I’ll be there in fifteen.”

He stepped outside the room and almost ran into Melania.

Suspicion tainted her otherwise cheery face. “Who was that, darling?” she asked, tapping her toe.

Elijah’s eyes widened. How much had she heard?  “A colleague. I need to meet her right away so we can talk about our newest project. I’ll see you in an hour or two.” He tried to slip past her, but she blocked him and raised her eyebrow skeptically.

“I thought you were too wiped out and had to go to bed? Can’t you talk to her tomorrow?” Her face was smiling, but her eyes, laced with wariness, said otherwise.

He gave her a weak smile. “Well, things come up. Now, I really do have to go.”

Her bottom lip stuck out, making her look like a pouty toddler. “Well, at least have a glass of water before you go. Don’t want you to get dehydrated!” She rushed to the kitchen.

Elijah bit back a sarcastic comment about her not being his mother. It was odd that she was suddenly worried about his health. It wasn’t something she usually concerned herself with.

Melania came back a minute later, carrying a glass of slightly cloudy water.

“What’s with the color?”

Melania frowned. “Oh. I think our filter’s broken. But it should be fine. Drink up!”

She stayed until he had drunk every last drop. It tasted weird, slightly bitter, but he paid it no heed. He was much too excited.

A bell jingled as he walked into the coffee shop. He scanned the small round tables. Nope, nope, nope. 

Then he saw her.

A girl of about seventeen or eighteen. She had curly blonde hair and an abnormally flat face. Her neck was short, and she had almond-shaped eyes that tilted upwards at the corners. She was stirring her straw in her coffee nervously.

“Aurelia?” he whispered.

She nodded. He pressed his hand to his mouth as he looked her up and down. She was all grown up. Unexplainable wetness leaked out of his eyes.

He wasn’t sure if a hug was appropriate, considering he hadn’t seen her in fifteen years, and she probably didn’t remember him. 

She launched herself at him. “It’s so good to see you,” she said with a smile.

Apparently she did remember him.

They made small talk until Elijah was brave enough to mention the “accident”, and Aurelia explained what she knew.

She remembered being completely submerged in water, then floating up to the surface and latching onto something. Everything after that was fuzzy. There was a blurry face, and warm hands carrying her and drying her off.

The family that took her in assumed she was abandoned. They explained that they had found her floating to shore, clutching a piece of driftwood. They didn’t know about the accident, and they wouldn’t have known if Aurelia’s adoptive mother hadn’t found an old newspaper clipping in the attic during spring cleaning. It mentioned a little girl who had supposedly drowned in an accident in a lake, the same lake where they found her. The picture in the article looked exactly like her.

After Aurelia expressed her desire to reconnect with her biological parents, her adoptive family helped her track down Melania and Elijah.

It was difficult for Elijah to wrap his head around it. It was like he was being given a second chance to be with Aurelia. He couldn’t believe his luck.

He asked her if she remembered her life with them.

“I do remember something about the color purple. And someone poking my nose. I’ve been remembering more and more since my mom found the article.”

After he said goodbye to Aurelia, he called a lawyer and picked up some papers. The moment he walked in the door, he slammed the documents on the counter in front of Melania’s face.

“I want a divorce.”

Melania was speechless. Her mouth formed an “o” of surprise. “How…?”

“How what? How can I want a divorce? Maybe because you murdered our daughter, you witch!”

Only he didn’t say witch.

Seeing his daughter had filled him with new energy. If Aurelia could come back from the dead, he could stand up to his wife. No longer would go with whatever she did. He refused to live under the same roof as a killer any longer.

“The same daughter you just talked to an hour ago?” Melania said, that disgusted expression he was so familiar with made another appearance.

Elijah’s jaw dropped. “What…?” Now he was the speechless one.

Her eyebrows furrowed in anger. “You think I didn’t notice the odd way you were behaving? Do you think I didn’t follow you to our room and listen to you talking to a girl named Aurelia? How could you, Elijah? I thought we agreed that demon was a burden to our lives-”

“No! You’re the one who’s a burden! Aurelia’s worth one hundred of you! I wish you were the one who was dead, not her!” he yelled.

His voice suddenly felt hoarse, which didn’t make sense. He hadn’t been yelling that much…

A hacking cough burst out of him. He leaned over and clutched his chest, which felt like it was on fire.

Melania crouched and met his gaze. “And soon, you’ll be the one who’s dead.”

He squinted. Why were the lights suddenly so bright? 

A glass of water sat on the table in the next room. It caught his eye and brought on a realization that hit him like a punch to the gut.

“The water…” he whimpered.

“Yes, the water.” She chuckled. “The poison was supposed to kick in thirty to sixty minutes after consumption, which was why I was so surprised to see you alive after ninety, but no matter, it seems to be doing its job now.”

He stuck a finger down his throat. Vomit spewed everywhere, even on Melania’s shoes. On a typical day, she would freak. But this wasn’t a typical day. She just laughed.

“Oh, don’t bother, darling,” she said, using that term of endearment he had come to despise. “It’s already in your system. Nothing can save you now. Except for this.”

She held up a small bottle, which blurred into three bottles, then six. He reached for it, but she danced away.

The world turned upside down. Dizziness overwhelmed him. He tried to stand straight but somehow ended up lying on the floor instead.

“If you want the antidote, you’ll have to tell me where it lives.”

Coincidentally, Aurelia did mention her address, in case he ever wanted to visit.

“Never,” he gasped.

“No need for mock bravery. Just tell me where it lives, and you get to keep your life. It’s that simple.”

The pain in his chest multiplied tenfold. He blinked away the welling tears.

“You… just want… to kill her,” he managed to get out.

“Yes, of course!”

“You’re insane.”

She shrugged. “Insanity is relative. I should have made sure the little brat was dead the first time around. But this time,” she pulled a gun out of nowhere and held it up, “I won’t mess it up.”

And neither would he. This was his second chance, but not in the way he thought it would be. He wasn’t going to get to see Aurelia again, but he could still protect her.

“Over my dead body.”

Melania’s eyes went livid. “So be it.”

His throat swelled, blocking his airway. He fought to take in a breath, but no air came.


If you happened to be on Sierra Bonita Avenue, Los Angeles, at approximately 10 pm on April sixteenth, 2019, you would see a young man of about twenty walk past a rather expensive looking house. You would see him perk up at the sound of violent coughing coming through an open window and peer through it to see if everything was alright.

If you stuck around after that, you would have seen him quietly dial 911, and then record several minutes of a blonde-haired woman confessing to attempted murder, and her plans to do it again.

If you were there even longer, you would have seen several police officers shove the handcuffed blonde-haired woman into their car, screaming hysterically. You might have seen several EMT’s carry a covered stretcher and place it into the back of an ambulance.


If you were visiting Rose Hills Memorial Park at approximately 11 AM on April twenty-seventh, 2019, you would see a teenage girl with curly blonde hair walk slowly through the graveyard, carrying a bouquet of purple flowers. You might have caught her shedding a few tears. 

You would see her set down the flowers at a gravestone that read:


Elijah Wessex 

1978-2019















© 2020 bookishmuggle


Author's Note

bookishmuggle
Thank you for reading! I hope you liked it and I would really appreciate any of your criticism, thoughts, or advice. :)

My Review

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Featured Review

The plot of the story is really good. Melania being a ferocious b***h and his husband, a poor man with several unsolved psychological conflicts from his childhood. Ironically his oath to protect his child from the issues he faced lead to her murder, divorce was way better. The woman is toxic and this man never learns. I felt the characters are linear. There could me mote emotions from Aurelia though

Posted 4 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

Lia Columbus

4 Years Ago

OK.. I love stories too... I don't write them though
bookishmuggle

4 Years Ago

You give really good story advice for someone who doesn't write them :)
Lia Columbus

4 Years Ago

Thank you friend :)



Reviews

Firstly you've written this well B. What I think you need to reconsider are the details of the girls attempted murder in the car. For me they don't add up. Would the police not be suspicious at not finding the girls body. How would a toddler be expected to escape a submerged car. Also why would the wife or her husband or the police not have seen the couple that rescued and then adopted her. You really have to figure out how to make it hang together. I've written a crime mystery and it's helpful to let a few people read it and make suggestions. Hope this helps.
Good luck!
Alan

Posted 4 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

bookishmuggle

4 Years Ago

Thank you for your review Alan!
I didn't put this in the story, but the car windows just happ.. read more
alanwgraham

4 Years Ago

Thanks. Good, I think adding the details will help. It can get very complicated. My story is called .. read more
Greetings,
I like the idea of the story. The linear plot progression is very well defined, but perhaps a little bit too obvious. You get a good sense of the environment the characters walk through.
I have a hard time believing the insanity turn of the wife at the end. I didn't get a sense from the story of that moment that really tipped her over the edge. Once she had crossed the threshold, it was fine. That part of her character development just needs some more meat.
At the beginning of the story, for Elijah, the use of 'the man' and the paragraph breaks made the scene feel a bit choppy.
I like the way you tried to source Elijah's pliability and docility. At the points where this occurred, it would do to put in a little more of his self talk to drive home to the reader why he is the way he is, and keeps making the same wilting decisions.
Hope this helps. JNE

Posted 4 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

bookishmuggle

4 Years Ago

This definitely helped. After reading your review I was thinking "dang how did I not see that before.. read more
JNEthridge

4 Years Ago

You're welcome. If you can, please give my chapter a shot.
The plot of the story is really good. Melania being a ferocious b***h and his husband, a poor man with several unsolved psychological conflicts from his childhood. Ironically his oath to protect his child from the issues he faced lead to her murder, divorce was way better. The woman is toxic and this man never learns. I felt the characters are linear. There could me mote emotions from Aurelia though

Posted 4 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

Lia Columbus

4 Years Ago

OK.. I love stories too... I don't write them though
bookishmuggle

4 Years Ago

You give really good story advice for someone who doesn't write them :)
Lia Columbus

4 Years Ago

Thank you friend :)
wow , the end left me in tears , i am poet so i can't give you some advice on it .i absolutely loved. i too, am looking forward to readd more.

Posted 4 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

bookishmuggle

4 Years Ago

Sorry I made you cry XD, but I'm really glad you liked it!
Ankita Dwivedi

4 Years Ago

yeah ! i did:)
Well, you did ask. Just keep in mind, as you read, that what I have to say is unrelated to talent, the story, or how well you write.

Problem is, you’re both writing and editing from your chair, and so miss pretty much all the problems. Unlike the reader, you begin reading already knowing what’s going on, the characters and their backstory, and, your intent for how the words are to be taken. You even know what emotion to place into the words as you read—something the reader can’t.

To see how great an effect that has, before I talk about the “fix,” look at the opening as a reader—the acquiring editor you might send it to—sees it:

• If you happened to be on Melrose Avenue, Los Angeles, at approximately 7 pm on April sixteenth, 2019, you would see a man in a green jacket walking down the street.

I’d see lots of things. So what? This is you talking TO the reader, not the man living the story. So instead of becoming involved in the action, a voice devoid of emotion not suggested by punctuation, talks about what COULD be seen, not what matters to the one starring in the story. He's not the protagonist, and we don't learn his viewpoint, because he's YOUR focus character—the one you talk about. And how exciting is it to hear the details of a story second-hand, from someone we can neither hear nor see?

Basically, with this, a storyteller is trying to set the scene because they’re alone on stage and have neither actors to perform the play a set, or visual aids. But in a film we have actors pretending to live the story. Don’t we have them in fiction? Why not get off stage and let them do their job?

• You might have seen him pinch his arm or run his hand through his hair.

I might have seen him scratch his a*s. So what? SCREW THE MIGHT-HAVE-BEENS. Talk about what matters to the protagonist in the moment called now. Stories are NOT told in overview by a voice we can’t hear. They happen in real-time, not overview. In fact, every time you talk to the reader ABOUT the story you're "telling." And that is an instant rejection because in reality, "telling" means reporting, which is a nonfiction technique.

Bottom line: Although it’s not your fault (something I’ll get to in a minute), look at the story. From start to finish, this is someone not in the story or on the scene, talking about what happens, in overview, and generalities. Have your computer read this to you and you’ll hear how different what the reader gets is from what you intended them to get. It's useful technique you should be using, now.

In short, you, the narrator, are reporting and explaining. But look at yourself. Were you reading a horror story. At some point the protagonist will feel terror. Do you want the author to inform you of that? Or do you want the writing to terrorize you, and make you afraid to turn out the lights?

In other words do you want a lecture, or what E. L. Doctorow was talking about when he said, “Good writing is supposed to evoke sensation in the reader. Not the fact that it’s raining, but the feeling of being rained upon.”

And here’s the thing: At the moment you’re using the writing techniques you were given in school, because those are the tools you own. But the word “writing” that’s part of the profession, Fiction-Writing does NOT refer to that set of skills. It references the set of knowledge and specialized techniques the pros take for granted—tools that are character-centric, not author-centric like our school day skills. They’re emotion-based, not fact-based. And unlike nonfiction, whose goal is an informational experience for the reader, fiction’s goal is to provide an emotional experience so real to a reader that if someone tosses a rock at the protagonist the reader ducks. And no way in hell can the report writing skills you were given do that.

So why don’t you already know that? Because we pretty much all forget that professions are acquired IN ADDITION to the set of general skills we’re given in school. And how can we fix the problem we don’t see as being one? As Mark Twain put it: “It ain’t what you don’t know that gets you into trouble. It’s what you know for sure that just ain’t so.”

Why don’t we learn the skills by reading, and seeing how the pros do it? Because we no more see and learn them by reading than does eating teach us the skills of the chef.

But here’s the thing: Since the day you began to read you’ve been choosing fiction that was created with those tools. You don’t see the decision-points or why the author chose to show “this” not “that.” But you do see, and expect, the result of those tools being used—as-others-expect-to-see-it-in-YOUR-writing. And that’s the best argument I know of to dig into the tricks of the trade.

To show what I mean, in one of my articles, I’ve taken the prologue from a novel that sold, and deconstructed it, so far as the objectives and decision-points, to show what an author takes into account in constructing a story—something you can learn, as I did.
https://jaygreenstein.wordpress.com/2011/07/10/grumpy-writing-coach-7/

I know this was far from what you hoped to hear. Who would? But still, it is something you need to know, so I thought you might want to hear. And of most importance, the problems I pointed to are fixable. It isn’t a matter of a few “Do this instead of that rules,” because you will be learning the skills of a profession, so there’s a fair amount of study, and lots of practice.

I learned how screwed up my writing was after penning six many-times rejected novels. Then, I got started on acquiring my writers education via the library’s fiction-writing section. A year later sold my first novel-length piece. No reason you can’t do that, especially as 97% of what’s submitted is rejected for not being written on a professional level. Learn your skills and you’re ahead of 97% of hopeful writers.

And here’s the good news. At the moment, you, the author, are telling the characters what to think, say, and do, based on the needs of the plot. So everyone speaks with your voice and thinks with your mind and outlook. But…write from the viewpoint of the protagonist, from within the moment they call “now,” and the protagonist becomes your co-writer, whispering suggestions and warnings in your ear. Instead of being onstage alone, you’ll retire to the prompters box and work in service of the actors, instead of being one of the people on stage.

And, since we know you like to write, you’ll find the learning like going backstage in a professional theater. And the practice is writing stories. So what’s not to like?

I can even help you get started. For unknown reasons, the best book I’ve found in the basics of creating scenes that sing to a reader is being given away, here:
https://ru.b-ok2.org/book/2640776/e749ea

Pick up a copy (use the leftmost button) before they change their mind. It’s not an easy book, and it’s dated, in that he talks about your typewriter, and assumes the reader is male. But that aside I’ve found no other book that comes close, and it is the book that got me published.

So give it a try. He’ll make you feel foolish, over and over, for not seeing what seems obvious once it’s pointed out. But hang in there. It doesn’t get easier. But after a while, we do become confused on a higher level.

For a sort of overview of the issues, dig around in the writing articles in my Wordpress blog. The link is below. Like chicken soup for a cold, they might not help, but they sure can’t hurt.

Jay Greenstein
https://jaygreenstein.wordpress.com/category/the-craft-of-writing/the-grumpy-old-writing-coach/

Posted 4 Years Ago


bookishmuggle

4 Years Ago

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Added on August 24, 2020
Last Updated on August 27, 2020
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bookishmuggle
bookishmuggle

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Just a struggling writer doing her best :) I play soccer, read books, and I am a HUGE Potterhead. Please read my writing and leave some reviews! I would really appreciate some feedback so I can impr.. more..

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