I'll critique scenes!
Started February 21, 2018 by @WriteOutofTime

I would be happy to crituqe the scene, but the formatting is a little off. I think the site glitched, so that makes it very hard to read. The song lyrics don't help, either. I've never understood the point of using song lyrics in an original story/book. For a fanfiction, it's cool, but in a book? Kinda disrupts the flow of the action. If you repost the excerpt, i'll try to offer more critiques, but right now it's just really hard to read.

@Story_Siren

Lollipop, Shots: Laura popped a lemon yellow lollipop in her mouth and adjusted her backpack, jostling the glass jars inside.
With a glance behind her, the sunrise gilded her blond hair as she started to walk. The woods stretched miles, the perfect place to hide an insane asylum. Laura’s flowing black dress brushed the top of rubber boots, squelching through the damp foliage. Birds flew through the cloudy sky, and squirrels chattered. The city girl swallowed at the multiple sounds of nature, lollipop bobbing on her lips. But it was necessary!
She needed to get away from all the bad people in her life, cut them all off. And, and she had to leave him. Laura sniffled, eyes glimmering. “He-he’s fine. He’s fine. He’s fine..”
She swallowed, and squared her shoulders, “He’s fine. I’m fine. I need to do this, for his own safety.” The words kept the desolate teen walking. It was early in the afternoon when she found the asylum.
She stepped through the doorway. The stench of mildew and animal droppings permeated the air. Laura grimaced and then shrugged, “I’m only going to be here for a couple of hours. I’ll be fine.”
“Perfectly, perfectly fine,” Laura muttered as she climbed over a pile of rotten wood and rocks.
She passed through different rooms, a lively heartbeat among the stillness. Broken down beds and scattered equipment filled the dusty places, abandoned dolls or a mislaid boot.
She paused in the middle of one room, and nodded. It was the perfect place to have the ritual. She took multi-colored jars out of the backpack and set them in a circle in the middle of the room. Laura unscrewed the lids and placed a colored candle in each one, set on top of the ingredients inside; angelica and basil leaves, fennel seeds, dittany of crete flowers, ebony stones. Candlelight lit up the walls, giving a macabre feel to the scrawled graffiti, “Get out before they harvest your corpse.” “Dead people down here”. It wavered over Laura’s face, filling in the hollow grooves in her cheeks and dancing over her ribs, stuck out through her dress.
“I’m too-too damaged to be with you. I’m sorry.”

Daffodil & Carnation, Shots: With one hand, Anthony adjusted his sleeve and gulped. These woods were where Laura had been reported to be last. Doing his research, he had found that an old insane asylum resided in the woods, where spirits supposedly lurked. The insane asylum that he was currently standing in front of; Anthony rolled his eyes. It was just the thing to lure her in. He hoped this would work; if it didn’t, well, maybe they’d find his body in five or ten years. Taking a deep breath and clutching a bouquet, he nervously walked through the doorway.
The first hallway was white and choked with weeds, seeming more like a greenhouse corridor than a hall of an insane asylum. Years of seasons had dumped autumn leaves onto the floor through the cracked windows and squelched underneath polished Armani shoes. Passing through the other side, Anthony did not expect the darkness. It was midday, the sun directly overhead, and yet the entire building was plunged into gloomy black. The teenager scrambled to pull out his phone and turned the light app on, slowly peeking into rooms. It wasn’t long before one stood out.
Multi-colored jars sat in a circle in the dust, candlelight flickering slowly. He walked through the doorway and approached the circle. “Let’s hope this works.” Anthony stepped inside the circle. The dust and cobwebs in the middle looked disturbed. He set a bouqet of white and yellow daffodils and dark red carnations in the middle, before a sudden wave of heat blasted onto the teen, and ushered him into darkness.
“-ony? Anthony? Are you okay dear?” A white face shoved into his vision, causing the young boy to go crosseyed.
“Yes, I’m okay mother, I’m just tired,” Anthony smiled, “am I okay to go?”
“Of course dear, just make sure you don’t go near that Laura!” His mother’s words forgotten as soon as he heard it, Anthony first caught sight of the forbidden girl dancing by the fire, twirling her dress. He was mesmerized by her. Hours passed, and the girl had slipped by him once, twice, three times. Her golden hair turned corners as giggles followed in his wake.
“Where is she?” Anthony growled. He was determined to find her, and sweep her off her feet!
Suddenly he felt a hand take his from behind, and before Anthony knew it, he fell into a waltz with the girl. Time stood still as the music wrapped around the dancing pair. Anthony smiled as Laura grinned.
“C’mon!” She pulled the boy through the ballroom door, and into an adjacent room.
“Where-where are we?” Shadows wreathed the room. The darkness pressed on Anthony’s eyes. He gripped the girl’s hand tightly, relieved for one of his senses to work. He had lost almost all his senses; darkness clouded his vision, while the static white noise of nothingness grated his eardrums. Anthony accidentally sucked in dust, and the taste of fear alighted on his tongue.
“W-what is this-?” All of a sudden, the girl’s hand slipped from his grasp, “No-no please don’t leave me here!”
The flick of a match being struck assaulted his ears. A flame bloomed in the dark, the mystery girl’s face beside it. They stood facing each other, the candle a bobbing light. She smiled darkly, and without a word, blew out the flame.

Lily, Shots: Laura woke up and groaned. Then she blinked. She was lying sideways on the ground in the middle of the the witch circle, next to…
“Anthony! Oh nonononono, please nononono!”
Laura trembled as she slowly laid Anthony on his back. A gasp scaped from her lips as tears started to spill out of her eyes. Laura wiped blood off his forehead, his mouth open in a silent scream. “I’m, I’m so so sorry..” Blood slowly trickled out of the corner of his mouth as his glassy eyes seemed accuse her.
People said they saw Laura Heck-that Laura? Yeah I know right?-walking through town. Everyone had different theories-was that a body? I think it was her boyfriend! Where did she go? She has to be a murderer-but in the end, none of them were right.
“I’m so sorr-“
“What the hell happened?! Is that blood on you?!? What-what, what happened to my-my son?!?”
“He, I, it..he was trying to climb over a rafter to-to r-reach me and-and it was too rot-rotten..”
———————————-
“I’m-I’m so so sorry,”
“We-we know, you keep saying that-“ “But if our son sacrificed his life,” Mrs. Rare’s eyes glistened as she mustered a smile for the desolate girl, “to save yours, then I’m proud that he was able to.”
Tears streaked Laura’s red face as she stammered, “I-I-I will make it up to you, I-I swear.” Mr. Rare slung an arm over his wife’s shoulders as they walked away.
Laura stared at the snow-white headstone. A lily was carved over the words, “Anthony Ross Rare, 2/5/02-9/18/17. Loved and missed by many”.
Laura’s face was a mask as she laid a bouquet of daffodils, dark red carnations, and white lilies on the grave.
“I promise.” Laura whispered to the empty air. Walking back to the front of the cemetary, a piece of paper peeked out of her clenched fist. Scribbled hastily across the top were the words, “Things to Stop Doing”. Heading the list- “No more witchcraft.”

White carnations: pure love and good luck.
Light red carnations: admiration.
Dark red carnations: deep love and affection.
Daffodils: rebirth and new beginnings.
Lilies: associated with funerals, symbolizing the soul of the departed has received restored innocence after death.

The parts with a flower name then "Shots" are the three different parts to it. I didn't see the screwed up font, sorry! Plus I took out the lyrics. I'd reccomend listening to Shots before reading, but you don't have to. Thanks!

@WriteOutofTime

I've heard the song before so no worries there. It fits this excerpt really well! I like the emotion and mystery, and the tone you set up through a slow build up. My pointers:

Adjectives are great. But too many can weigh down the narrative. The first part suffers from this problem way more than the other parts. Lemon yellow, glass jars, blond hair, flowing dress, etc. It's better to use a few key adjectives to describe important details than to overflow your sentences with random adjectives to describe everything. I like some of the details –like squelching through the damp foliage –but damp is unnecessary in that sentence. If her boots are squelching through foliage, the reader can figure out 1) that her boots are rubber, and 2) that the foliage is damp. No need to explicitly state things that you can effectively imply.

You repeat one grammatical issue a few times. You begin the sentence with a gerund phrase (Passing through the other side) and follow up with a kind of unrelated phrase (Anthony did not expect the darkness.) I'm not sure how to explain this and make sense, because my English major sister is the one who told me about this, but I'll try. "Not expecting the darkness, Anthony passed through the other side." Does that sound right? No matter which way you rearrange the sentence, the two phrases don't…flow. I think "Anthony passed through to the other side. He wasn't expecting the darkness." sounds better? Ignore this critique if it makes no sense, but maybe look it up if you kinda know what I'm saying.

As you can see, I'm grasping for something to critique. This excerpt was very good, albeit dark, and I really enjoyed it. Thanks for letting me read it!

@The Enigmatic Wayfarer

I just put this together in about an hour and it is far from a final product. However, I was interested in getting a critique of my basic quick storytelling ability while still advancing some of my ideas for a novel:

In the back of the inn a striking figure sat. He wore robes of brilliant blue and his magnificent snow white beard belayed the polished baldness of his head as it reflected the light of the nearby lanterns. Despite this, no one in the room spared him as much as a glance except a single woman. She glided across the rough wooden boards of the tavern as if they were the polished stone of a ballroom. Her elegant black satin dress and silky straight raven hair seemed to dance just above the ground without touching it. The man in blue watched with narrowed eyes as the woman in black seated herself across from him with a big smile.
“Sister,” the man grumbled menacingly, “Why have you come here?”
“Why?” the woman laughed softly, “For the boy of course. How naughty of you to keep him for yourself brother dear. Especially while your sister is wasting away in these peaceful times.”
“He isn’t yours. With the Maestro as my witness, his story is mine to oversee.” The man’s sapphire eyes shone with a cool light.
“Don’t be so cold. Quality stories like his aren’t easy to find in this day and age.” The woman’s onyx eyes also began to shine.
The two figures regarded each other briefly.
“It seems as though we are at an impasse” the man in blue shook his head slowly.
“How about a compromise then,” the woman in black spread her hands “Unless we want to go to mother about this?”
The man looked up warily, “What would you propose then Black Dragon of Betrayal?”
“How rude of you Blue Dragon of Blessing,” her voice positively dripped with mocking sarcasm “I merely propose that we share his story. Don’t you think it would make it so much more interesting? And don’t pretend that you have the moral high ground with me. Not everyone appreciates your so-called blessings.”
“Very well,” the man stood up and thrust his hand across the table “Do we have a deal?”
The lady in black smiled as she firmly took his hand.
“Deal.” She declared and in the distance thunder boomed.

@WriteOutofTime

Ooh, mysterious. I like the idea.

First thing I notice is the clichés. A sister and brother who speak formally and juggle the life of some poor chap? Lots of fantasies have it. Clichés can be used cleverly if done well. I recommend keeping them siblings, but instead of having them speak so formally, change up their dynamic some. Maybe they're overly casual. Maybe one is casual and one is formal. Just something different than everyone else has done.

Another thing I notice is the excessive use of adjectives. Adjectives are good in their places, but you use them a lot. Not a huge deal since this is a rough draft, but something to think about. "brilliant blue" and "magnificent snow white" are just a bit extra. Tone down the descriptors and focus on the action.

A grammatical tip: For dialogue, use dialogue tags! Don't be afraid to use "said, asked, replied, etc." because they help set apart the dialogue from the rest of the story.

"Use commas," I said, "to punctuate when using dialogue tags."

"When there's only an action, you don't have to." I sit down, finished with my spiel.

To use an example from the excerpt: “It seems as though we are at an impasse” the man in blue shook his head slowly.

Becomes: "It seems as though we are at an impasse," the main in blue said, shaking his head slowly.

"It seems as though we are at an impasse." The man in blue shook his head slowly.

Overall, an interesting concept that I think you'll be able to spin and put your own original flair on. Good luck.

@LittleBear

@writelikeyourerunningoutoftime
((Thanks so much for offering to do this! This is my first draft of this particular scene. So, there were some portions I was too lazy to write and they are denoted like this (()). Also for a little bit of background: Erion is the adoptive father of Natiselle and Kraiotan (who are not related by blood). Strisen is an unknown character at this point. Also it wouldn't let me format paragraphs without it getting wonky, so sorry for how long it looks.)) _________________
The two weaved through the crowds and seemed extraordinarily unremarkable. Having demanded to be put down a while earlier, he held his daughter’s hand as she walked besides him. She looked about five or six and even though her face was obscured underneath her hood, it could be seen that she was a pretty child. The rain drizzled on the city streets and the citizens hurried on their way, all of them huddling under their cloaks.
“Papa” She asked, “will Kraio be alight? He looked so pale.”
He turned to her, picked her up, and placed her on his hip. “Nati, your brother will be perfectly fine as long as we finish our task. Now do you remember what I told you about being in the city?”
She nodded solemnly and whispered, “In the city we have to be like spies and spies have to be sneaky and silent.” He kissed her cheek and nodded.
They stepped up to the Apothecaries’ window, grateful for the awning’s shelter from the rain. With his back turned to Natiselle, Erion began describing Kraiotan’s symptoms to the little man inside. Natiselle took this time to watch all of the people go by. This was nothing like the main street in Holvim, They were moving so urgently, everyone here looked as if they had very important places to be. The mix of different people baffled young Natiselle, the range in clothes – from laborers worn rags, full of patches to the fine garments of important looking ladies under big umbrellas. She was especially captivated by a sleek carriage that rolled to a stop just in front of the apothecary. It was black and covered in ornate gold filigree, and, it was hard to tell, but it seemed as if it was also covered in emeralds. The door swung open with abandon and Natiselle could hear the shrill sound of a woman scolding someone. A boy around her age appeared in the door, his face turned to the woman inside. He must have been nervous, for not two seconds passed before the trinket the boy was fiddling with slipped from his fingers.
She watched as the pretty little box tumbled down the steps of the carriage and rolled to her feet. She bent down to pick it up when she noticed how frantic the boy looked as he jumped out of the carriage. As she stood up and held out the box to him, her hood slipped off and shiny black curls bounced around her face. A single beam of sunlight peaked through the clouds and she squinted against it. Little Strisen had never seen a face so pretty. He stood there dumbfounded before he noticed the box and snatched it from her fingers. “Thanks”. He said hastily after realizing he had been rude and thinking of how his nurse would reprimand him if she saw. Usually, Natiselle would have said something snarky in the way that only children can, but she was too stunned by how closely this boy resembled Kraiotan, almost exactly except for the color of his hair. Her mouth fell into a little “o” and she would have said something if Erion had not whisked her up into his arms. With the ease of a spymaster, he slipped into the crowd.
Strisen tried to see where the bearded man and the little girl went. But in that moment the clouds decided to retreat and with the sun in his eyes, she was gone. “Come Strisen. Stop being naughty, we have to go to your lessons.” His nanny chided as she steered him in the opposite direction.
“Papa, who was that?” Natiselle asked Erion, whispering shakily into his ear. He reached over and pulled her hood up.
“Who are you talking about?” He asked her, the pit of his stomach sinking as he thought of how this would traumatize her.
“The boy. The one who looked like Kraio. With the white hair.” At Erion’s silence, Natiselle began to panic. “Papa don’t say that, you’re scaring me.” He stayed mum for a beat. “Nati, darling, there was no boy.”
She almost kicked him with her little legs. “Papa, he was there! He had a little box!”
“How much did he look like Kraio?” He asked her, hating himself every step of the way.
“Just like him,” she whispered as wrapped her little arms around Erion, “but he had white hair, just like old lady Camran.” She felt Erion stiffen and she grew a little louder in her fright. “Papa! What are you not saying?”
“Shh, quiet my little spy.” He took a breath and wondered how dearly he would pay for this in the future. “It just means that we need to get back to Kraio faster. We have what we need, I know I promised you I would take you to see the fountains, is it all right it we come back another day?” Little Natiselle burst into tears.
“Yes Papa! I want to go back now! I know that I fight with him all the time but I don’t mean it. I – I, I – don’t want to see the Kraio ghost again.” She was close to a full on wail.
He put a protective hand on her back, “We will get there in time. Don’t worry.”
((On the road))
“Maybe don’t tell Kraio you saw his spirit. I think he’s been through enough, wouldn’t you say?” Erion asked Natiselle and she gave him a very serious nod.
((After a full day’s ride they finally arrive home, to be written later))
When they did eventually get back to the house, Natiselle ran straight to Kraiotan’s bedside and threw herself on top of him, causing him to cough in surprise. She hugged him with all of her little might and stammered “D-don’t ever do that again. You’re not allowed to be sick anymore,” she hiccuped, “who will I play with?”
Kraio, confused and very feverish, patted her little head and wheezed, “Get off me fatty, I can’t breathe.” She leapt off him and whipped her eyes with her fists. “You get to be mean just because you’re almost dead.”

@TryToDoItWrite

@writelikeyourerunningoutoftime Thank you so much for the critique!! I was concerned about the parentheses, so this is a good second opinion. And I agree with you about Samantha…she's gonna need to be 6-7, especially with how the story is going to go down. As for posting it anywhere…I don't know where would be a good place so if you have any suggestions I would be happy to look into it! I'm super excited about this story and I'm glad you liked it!! It's the kind of thing thats been brewing in my head for a while now and I'm finally putting pen to paper or -ahem- fingers to keyboard. also, I need help on the rest of this chapter, because it's got an action scene. I struggle with those. Can I send it to you on this thread? (the reason I'm asking is because it's almost 3k words long and that's almost too long for this kind of thing)

@WriteOutofTime

@TryToDoItWrite I guess you can PM it to me? Or post it here. I don't mind. I'm excited to read more!

@WriteOutofTime

@[email protected] Ooh. This excerpt is really interesting. I like that it's written from a child's perspective –it gives the narrative a kind of skewed, unreliable feel. A few notes:

Watch for gerund phrases that modify the wrong thing. Sounds confusing, I know. Trust me, it still confuses me. Example: "Having demanded to be put down a while earlier, he held his daughter’s hand as she walked besides him." The gerund phrase at the beginning of the sentence "having demanded to be put down earlier" modifies "he" which makes no sense. The gerund phrase has to modify whoever is doing the action in the following sentence. Instead, it could read "Since she had demanded to be put down earlier, he held his daughter's hand as she walked beside him." Or anything along those lines. I don't think you repeat the mistake, but it's something to think about when writing/editing.

Another pointer: be careful of perfect children. That probably sounds really weird, but let me clarify. A kid needs to have flaws, and a fully developed personality, same as any adult. With your character being so bubbly and apparently beautiful, you need to be extra careful of this. A lot of older classics fall into this trap, actually. Ever heard of the book series Elsie Dinsmore? I don't recommend reading it –it's kind of racist, and the main character is the most unrealistic kid I've ever read about in fiction. Elsie is obsessed with being a perfect Christian and a good daughter, going so far as to let people walk all over her and hurt her. She's also shockingly beautiful and smart for her age. As a kid, I felt really indifferent to this character. I couldn't relate to her…at all. Make sure your character is nothing like Elsie. Give her flaws, motivations, etc. just as you would an adult character.

Other than that, I really enjoyed the excerpt. You do a good job of building suspense and mystery. The limited third person POV is particularly effective since a kid's narrating. Good job.

@TryToDoItWrite

@writelikeyourerunningoutoftime okay here goes nothing: (warning: 2.9k words)

It was terror, not pain.
“Shut up!” someone yelled, and the screaming stopped, muffled. The overhead speakers crackled to life and the voice of the driver said, “A pack of daemons had been spotted coming from the east. Above all remain calm and quiet. Please pull the shutters on your windows.”
There was a murmur of fear and the sound of metal scraping and squealing in protest as the heavy shutters were pulled down. When I say heavy, I mean heavy. They were supposed to keep daemons out. The only problem was, I’m not strong at all.
I tugged on the lever, but it wouldn’t budge. Standing, hoping the extra leverage would help, I pulled harder.
“It’s stuck,” Samantha gasped. “Stew, it’s stuck.”
I stopped pulling, and examined the shutter. Where it was supposed to move smoothly, a light layering of red rust coated the metal.
“Move.” Fenin didn’t exactly shove me back into my seat, but it was close.
He tried his luck. Still, the stubborn metal wouldn’t budge. The bus gave a sudden jerk, and Fenin lost his footing, clutching at the wall for support. I pulled him onto the seat beside me before he simply fell over. Samantha instantly clutched his arm, huddling close.
It was easy to hear them, the daemons. They pounded along behind us, long claws digging into the dirt. The worst part was the hunting cries. The screeches were eerily high pitched, nothing like the snarling of a bear or lion.
One daemon, faster than the others, gave a piercing cry and leaped onto the bus. The thud was sudden, and I gasped loudly, flinching back.
Every eye focused on the slight dent in the roof.
The driver wrenched the wheel to one side, and the sound of claws on metal grated on my ears. A shiver crawled up my neck. My shaking hands covered my mouth. I had never seen a daemon before, and I had hoped I never would.
Then the driver slammed on the brakes. The bus stopped utterly and completely in the time it took to blink. I hurtled forward. Maybe if I had supported myself with my hands instead of covering my mouth like a coward, I could have done something to save myself.
As it was, I flew straight into the back of the seat in front of me. I groaned in pain, head spinning. Fenin hauled me back into my seat by the back of my shirt, like I was a stray cat. He motioned to be silent.
The driver had decided that the daemons would outrun us if we kept up the mad chase and gone into a “turtle” mode of defense. She had pulled the brakes, sending spikes into the earth to stop, anchoring us, then had covered her windows with the same kind of thick metal shutters designed to keep daemon claws out. Every square inch of the bus was covered.
Or at least it was supposed to be. I glanced at our open window.
The driver picked up the radio. “This is transport 85B from Eteri in route to Central City. Requesting diversion to the south. We’re trapped less than two miles out.”
Silence.
Then the radio crackled to life.
“We hear you transport 85B. Hold out.”
The passengers released a low breath of relief.
Hold out? How long? My eyes wouldn’t leave the window.
We could hear them trying to claw their way inside. One ran straight into the side shaking the bus, attempting to tip us over, but the anchor held firm. I could see their dark forms moving, passing by our window. They screeched to each other in what I hoped was disappointment. Slowly they stopped frantically clawing at the exterior, seemingly giving up.
It was inexplicably quiet.
Then, in a fraction of a second, a daemon shattered the widow. I screamed shrilly, but nowhere near as shrill as the hunting cry of the terror. It’s hand like-thing shot through and tried to claw it’s target–me. But, just as I was sure it would rip my throat out, Fenin leaped in front of me.
It dug into his shoulder instead of my neck, and would have pulled him out the window to his fate if he hadn’t yelled and pulled back. The two were now stuck in a tug of war for his life. I did the first thing I could think of doing. I punched the thing’s arm. That didn’t do much.
I looked wildly around for inspiration, my gaze resting on a larger shard of broken glass. I clutched at it and slashed as forcefully as I could at the dingy grey scales of the daemon. Its ear-splitting cry gave me a bit of encouragement, and I drove the shard deep into its flesh. As quickly as it had come, the arm was gone.
Fenin was inexplicably calm for someone who had just been mauled by a daemon. Samantha had said he worked for a private protection agency. He must have experience with daemon attacks.
“Help me with this.” He motioned to the shutter with his good hand.
I didn’t answer, but stood and grabbed the stupid lever on the stupid shutter again. We heaved down, and with the combined strength of him, me and desperation, it clanged shut.
Then he collapsed back onto the seat, grunting in pain. Blood dripped down from his shoulder.
“Here,” I reached for my bag under my seat, pulling out one of my shirts, “cover that. Stop the bleeding.” He did so without complaint.
I sat next to him, staring at the shirt slowly soaking in blood. My brain knew that it was time to move on, to do the next thing, but I couldn’t do anything but stare. I could hear Sam crying quietly. I could feel warm blood on my hands. I could sense the daemons still outside, wailing and screeching.
This happened in the emergency room once or twice during my first week on the job, when everything was so overwhelming and busy that I could do nothing. Sensory overload, one co-worker called it. Shock was another name for it.
I blinked, and looked at Steward Fenin. He was grimacing, focusing on his wound. His brow furrowed in the same way as when he had frowned at me at the bus station.
This entirely human detail brought me to my senses.
My med kit was right at the top of my open bag. I automatically grabbed the bottle of painkiller, shaking two out.
“Take these,” I said, holding them out to him. Noticing the suspicion in his eyes I added, “they’re painkiller.”
He took them.
“You’re going to need stitches, but first, focus on stopping the blood. I’ll–” I didn’t get to finish, because at that moment, the daemons gave one long cry in unison at a pitch that made all the passengers flinch and the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. I tensed, waiting for the next wave of attacks on the bus.
But they never came. Instead, the cries faded away, leaving nothing but the noise of the bus engine.
The radio suddenly spoke, breaking the brief silence. “You’re clear to destination, 85B.”
There was a rattle of metal as the shutters were lifted, then the driver didn’t hesitate, but accelerated towards the safety of Central City’s outer wall. No need to linger out in the open any longer.
I became aware again of Samantha. She had not stopped crying since the daemon attack, and she was curled into Fenin’s left side, the uninjured side. I squatted down to meet her eyes, placing my hand on her shoulder. She took a shuddering breath, and looked up at me.
“Hey,” I said as calmly as I could. “The daemons are gone. Your brother is going to be just fine.”
Hiccuping, tears still spilling down her cheeks, she nodded. Then, I held my hands out for a hug, and she responded instantly. She wrapped her arms around my neck, and buried her face into my shoulder.
Sitting down on the seat, I made eye contact with Fenin over Samantha. He was still grimacing in pain, but he nodded, as if to thank me in some small way. We sat in silence for a time.
“You need to go to a hospital,” I said, breaking the quiet.
“No,” he said, “out of the question.” The bus hit a pothole in the road, and he hissed as his shoulder jolted.
“You can’t just ignore a injury like that. It needs stitches and disinfectant.”
Samantha, who had stopped crying, squirmed out of my hug and sat in between her brother and me. She clutched my arm, tugging on my sleeve. “You said you were a nurse! You help people with this all the time. You can help us.”
Fenin shook his head, “No, Sam, she’s already helped enough.”
Samantha ignored him. “Please, please, please,” she looked at me with big, innocent eyes. “We can’t pay for hospitals or doctors.”
Fenin glared at her. “Sam!”
“Of course I’ll help.” I realized I had already made up my mind before Samantha had asked me. I locked eyes with Fenin. “You saved my life.”
I pulled the first aid kit out of my bag, sifting through various bottles and packages until I found what I was looking for.
“Here, Samantha, come sit next to the window. You can watch how close we are to the walls.”
I scooted over to Fenin after she moved, gently pulling my blood-soaked shirt off. Then I took scissors, and cut his ruined shirt away from his shoulder. It was an ugly sight, two gashes fairly deep, each about four inches long. But I had seen worse. I gently touched the edges, making sure there wasn’t swelling already. As I uncapped a bottle, I said, “This will sting a bit. It’s a mild saline solution.” He nodded. I cleaned the wound, then wrapped it firmly. “We’ll change those bandages when we can get to a place I can stitch you up.”
Now that I’d done all I could do, I sighed, sitting back, relaxing muscles I hadn’t noticed were tense.
“Thank you.”
I got the impression that Steward Fenin didn’t say those words very often. I smiled. He stared at me, and my smile grew. “Have you never seen someone smile before?”
His blank stare turned into a frown. “Of course I have.”
I shook my head to myself, still grinning. There’s no way to describe the feeling of smiling except to call it…sticky. A smile will stick to your face even after you mean to stop smiling, and it’s difficult to stop once you’ve started.
“How are we doing, Samantha?”
“The walls are huge! We’ll be there soon.” She turned to me and gave me a sudden hug. “You’re the nicest person I’ve ever met.” Then she paused, scrunching her face, struggling with a memory. “What’s your name again? I forgot.”
I laughed, “It’s Camille, Camille Duke. But you can call me Cam if I can call you Sam.”
She stuck out her hand and I took it in a formal handshake. “Deal, Cam.”
“Likewise, Sam.”
“Are you going to stay?”
The question caught me off guard. “What?”
“Will you stay with us?”
“I–”
But she cut me off. “Stew, please, she can stay, right?”
“Sam,” I replied for Fenin, “I can’t stay. I have a place to go, and I’m sure that you don’t have room.”
“Of course we have room! You can share Stew’s bed like mom and dad shared!”
I suppressed a laugh. “Sam, your brother and I aren’t married.”
She looked disappointed. “You have to be married to share a bed?”
Raising my eyebrows, I glanced at Fenin. He took the hint.
“She can’t stay. That’s final.”
“Aww.” But she accepted this as the answer, and didn’t pester anymore.

A couple minutes later, the sunshine outside darkened by a shadow–the shadow of the wall. The bus slowed. Ahead of us, a door raised to a bus stop like the one in Eteri.
It was quiet as we all filed off. I helped Fenin stand, and carried his bag. Luckily, he traveled light. We had to show our marked tickets, but other than that, the entry was much easier than the exit. Soon we were on the streets of the outer circle of Central City.
And…good heaven, it was huge. My mouth might have actually caught flies because, one, there were tons of flies, and two, my jaw hung open in awe. The second wall cast a shadow over the low buildings of wall one, and the third wall towered over that one. It gave the impression of a giant beast looming over us.
“Come on!” Sam took my hand. We walked along a track that was set in the center of a street. Many, many others walked with us, a crowd following the track.
Fenin explained, “The trollies follow the main street all the way around the circle, and they don’t stop. Sooner or later, one will come.”
True to word, a bell rang close behind us not a minute later. The trolley was going about 5 miles per hour, and we had to jog to keep up. I helped Sam grab a hand hold and was going to help Fenin, but he’d already done so with his left hand. My turn.
Others around were doing the same, hoping up into the trolley. Others still were climbing off, reaching their destinations. It was constant movement.
Once seated, it was easier to observe Central City. The crowd was the most noteworthy–throngs of people standing, walking, sitting against walls. Buildings were dingy colors, but mostly clean. I had a sudden thought and turned to Fenin.
“So what are you going to do about your job until that heals?”
“My job? Oh,” he hesitated, “this will heal quickly. I’ll be back soon, and my boss is an understanding guy.”
“I’m not sure you’ll be ready to work for at least two weeks with an injury like that.”
“I’ll be fine.”
I was curious now. “So who is your boss? Sam told me you work in a daemon protection place? Agency?”
“I work for Henry Greyson at Greyson Agency.”
He didn’t elaborate and I figured that’s all he wanted to say about it. I watched the city move past us for another ten or twenty minutes, then Fenin touched my shoulder. His hand was warm, unnaturally so. I’d have to check him for a fever later.
“Time to go.”
We hopped off, and Sam led the way to a tall apartment building. We climbed a set of stairs, turned a corner, then Sam stopped in front of a door that looked the same as all the other doors along the hall.
To them, it must have looked like home. There was a little pang in my heart as I realized I won’t find home inside these city walls. I had left it behind.
Fenin pulled a key ring out of his bag and found the right one.
“Ooo, let me do it.” Sam held out her hands for the keys and Fenin obliged. She struggled for a second, fitting the key into the hole, then turned it. She opened the door proudly.
“Home,” she declared loudly, as if it fundamentally wouldn’t be unless announced as such.
The first room was a tight living space, with two chairs, a table and an open kitchen. There was a short hall with one door on the left and one on the right. A tiny bedroom and a bathroom if I had to guess.
It was small, slightly untidy, but undeniably a home. Sam grabbed her bag and disappeared into the door on the right.
“Sit,” I said, gesturing to one of the chairs. Gently as I could, I eased his bandage loose. It wasn’t completely soaked through with blood which was a good sign. No visible irritation was also a good sign. I washed the wound again, then got out a needle and thread.
“I don’t have anything to numb it.”
“Then do it quick.”
And I did, as swiftly as I could. After I finished, I applied some ointment, and re-bandaged.
“You’ll need to reapply and change bandages fairly often.” I paused. “I’ll leave this,” I said, placing the ointment tube on the table. Then I remembered Fenin’s too-warm hand and put my hand on his forehead.
“What are you doing?”
“Checking for fever. Your hand on the bus felt weirdly warm, and fever is one sign of infection.” But he felt completely normal.
“Do you need something to eat?” I trailed off, looking at the kitchen area.
“There are cans of soup in the cabinet.”
After a pause I said, “I should go.”
Now that Fenin was stitched up, my purpose in their home was gone.
I was a stranger. I didn’t belong.
“What?” Sam was standing in the doorframe, “You can’t go now!”
“I told my new landlord that I would be here today. I have to go meet him and get my key.” This was true, but it felt like a poor excuse as it left my mouth. Sam’s face fell.
“Okay.” Then she gave me a hug. “You’re still one of the nicest people I’ve ever met.”
I gave her a smile and Fenin a nod, and soon stood outside their door, bag on my back.
I was alone.

@WriteOutofTime

…Speechless. Lowkey speechless. It's kind of hard to critique a writer that's better than me. The action felt so authentic –your character wasn't suddenly gifted with amazing fighting abilities, and there were repercussions to the attack. I could feel her fear and her fight to stay calm. Sam and Fenin's reactions were realistic, too. I also liked how they all reacted in different ways.

The word choices you used were superb, as well. I didn't notice the words you used, as I was so caught up in the action. This means that the flow of the words was so professional I got lost in the action instead of noticing the writing style.

Honestly, I have no critiques. Maybe post it on wattpad or fictionpress or somewhere? It's good enough to be published, so maybe self-publish on amazon or something?? Idk. It's just…I like it so much!!! Great job!

@TryToDoItWrite

dude…thank you so much…now I'm speechless lol. I've read some of the little exerts you've written in the forums and I totally don't feel that your writing is any better than mine (i was actually nervous posting this for you)
Also: i love the reference in your username. ive been meaning to tell you :)

Mila

I don't write a lot of dramatic/romantic scenes, so just wanna know how I'm doing. Sorry for the cringe, the cliche, and whatever other problems are in there. Haven't really gone over it a lot. Just be honest :)

"While I've been with you, it has just been adventure after reckless adventure, just like those books I read. There's only one thing I am sure of by now. I love you, Nathan Seyrès. I’ve loved you since I received a Harry Potter book to the head.
I know you can't forget your family. I know I'll never be able to replace Tess, Will, or especially Charlotte. All I'm hoping for is to make you see the good I see, everyday day when your words are sucked up by sadness, when your eyes well up for guilt, or when your laugh dies out for fear of chasing away regret. I know you hate the sound of your name. I’ve seen you cringe when I compliment you. I’ve noticed you frown when I smile at you.”
"Lili, you can't-"
“Just stop. Stop. I'm not leaving you. Not after everything we've been through. This is what I want, Nathan.”
"This?” he said spitefully, jumping to his feet and waving a hand at their camp. “A rundown shelter, a dying fire, dwindling supplies and a broken boy?” His voice was rising. “Leave, Lili. Leave before I get the chance to abandon you too.”
She swallowed, hard. “No.”
“No?”
“I will not leave you. This might not be much to a stranger, but to me it's everything I could ever need.”
He stared her down. She shook her head.
“Stop this-”
She exploded. “YOU STOP! STOP ARGUING! STOP MAKING YOURSELF OUT TO BE THE ONLY ONE THIS IS HARD FOR!” Tears were streaming down her face now. “I have to watch the boy I love, everyday, turn away from me as if I'm nothing. Every day he’s angry. Every day he- you go on and on about how the kids and Charlotte are alone up there, and you're this terrible person, and I can't stand it! You hate yourself, you regret every decision you’ve made, and you're taking it out on the world! You're taking it out on me.”
He looked at her sadly, almost pitifully.
“Do you know what I saw back there?” she continued, more quietly. “I saw my mother. My father, my baby brother. My best friend Mia. All in pain because of one slip in the barrier. I had family too, you know. People who loved me.” She paused. “And then I saw you. You were kneeling on the ground. On a grave. Three graves, actually. Charlotte’s, Will's and Tessa's. You were crying, harder than I've ever seen anyone cry before. You sounded so… fragile, innocent. It really sounded like your heart was shattered, unfixable. It sounded as if you would never stop. You were out of control, sobbing and screaming and calling for them. The dirt and your clothes were soaked, you were tearing at your hair, hurting yourself on every inch of bare skin you could find. You were slowly killing yourself. I was chained down a few feet from you. There was nothing I could do for you.”
He looked at her. She saw him soften, just a little bit. But he pushed her away, turning his face, but not before she saw the tear weaving its path through the grime. She had found the crack in his armor, and broken down a fraction of his wall.
“If you stay with me, you'll only get hurt again.” he said finally, his voice, incredibly, unwavering.
“It will all be worth it, one day,” she smiled tearfully. He cocked his head to the side to look at her. Seeing the resolve in her posture and stare, the last of his strength drained away.

@WriteOutofTime

Okay, I love the passion. I can feel the emotions dripping from their words, and it's effective, for the most part.

My only complaint is that it may be a tad overdramatic. I think it'd seem less so if you had them interrupt each other more often. The long blocks of emotional speeches just feel so drenched in feeling that it gets…syrupy. I also recommend nixing the CAPS LOCK when you want it to be conveyed that they're yelling. If you use powerful verbs + a few careful adjectives and adverbs + proper punctuation, you shouldn't have any need to use full capitalization.

Speaking of adjectives and adverbs…cut back on em. Just a little. Use more specific verbs to convey your point, instead of a whole bunch of adverbs. I don't mean all of them, but "sadly, pitifully, quietly, tearfully, incredibly unwavering" etc. just seems kinda excessive. Adverbs should be used sparingly, where they are most poignant. As Stephen King said, "The road to hell is paved with adverbs." Just be careful of them.

Otherwise, I liked this. Very passionate and heartwarming and heartbreaking at the same time. Good job!

Mila

Thank you! I can definitely build up on this. I wasn't sure if it would appear as heavy to someone who hadn't read it as many times, so thanks for clearing that up. Sorry I couldn't do better with your scene, though.

@WriteOutofTime

No problem! And it's fine, I'm very flattered by your critique. :D

@LittleBear

@writelikeyourerunningoutoftime Thanks for the critique! (It's dpc.wateraddict, I'm pretty new to this site and didn't realize I just broadcast-ed my email address… whoops) Thanks for pointing out the gerund phrases, I'll be on high alert next time! And I love that you like the POV.
The overall plan is to have the narrative split into two parts. The first being the history behind the current state of affairs in third person, almost as if a narrator was giving a history lesson and the second is how the protagonists reclaim their kingdom with the protagonists taking charge of their story with first person. However, I'm afraid the reader will be too distracted with the changes. Thoughts? If you prefer, I could dm you and like @TryToDoItWrite could I send you more things to critique? (also TTDIW, your stuff was really lovely I liked how there was just enough realism to make a strange world familiar.)

@TryToDoItWrite

@LittleBear dude, thanks! also, I'm really curious about your story too so posting it here would be nice if @writelikeyourerunningoutoftime doesn't mind :))

@WriteOutofTime