A short story written by a 14 Year old

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lacktheknack

Je suis joined jewels.
Jan 19, 2009
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Interestingly enough, I immediately thought of Fire Coming Out of the Monkey's Head by Gorillaz.

<youtube=4nxMrRXHqpo>

I personally preferred Gorillaz's version, more detail and allegory.
 

TheYellowCellPhone

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Sep 26, 2009
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My big beef about the story is that it could easily be split into more than one paragraph, because it gets messy, unsightly and repulsive to look at the so-called "wall of text", but your story-thing isn't a Wall o' Text.

Another is, and it may to be attributed that it's 10:30PM and I haven't slept in fifteen to sixteen hours, is that I don't quite get it. It stops raining in a valley, everyone's happy, a bunch of unprovoked monsters attack the happy village because it's a happy village.
 

katsumoto03

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Feb 24, 2010
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No offense to the author, but this story just seems so... Bland. Like something sloppily spat out with an attempt to make an "edgy" story, and not a lot of it makes sense. I see what the author was trying to do, but this definitely looks like a very rough draft.

Also, the writing style could use some work. You seem to be slathering the adjectives on rather thick, and using certain words too many times. I'd recommend giving it a second shot, probably with a thesaurus at hand.
 

badgersprite

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Sep 22, 2009
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I'm not sure, but I think this might have been the web address you were looking for:

http://www.fanfiction.net

Hope that helped! Your writing style is remarkably similar to a number of authors I have come across there. :)
 

default

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Apr 25, 2009
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Well, lets compare it to something I wrote at about 14, shall we??

It's generally the same kind of thing, but a very different style...

Warning- it's pretty long...

17:23 hours, 19th October 2012
----------------------------------------------
U.S Military UH-60 Black Hawk assault helicopter, 132nd SOAR division
[[UNDISCLOSED LOCATION]]

Jonathan Carmine, Sergeant, U.S Marine Force,

The rain whipped past the Black Hawk as it thundered through the deluge. I adjusted my goggles, wiping droplets of moisture from the plastic, and struggled to keep my equipment dry. The roar of the rotors above blocked out all noise of the storm. The rain came at us sideways, whipped into stinging mist by the wind. I grimaced. Visibility would be terrible.
?Two minutes??
The pilots voice, slightly garbled by the radio, spoke through my headset.
I motioned to my squad, holding up two fingers. They nodded and grimly began their last equipment checks, faces shrouded by heavy-duty gasmasks which we had been assigned to wear in the brief. We had no idea if the virus was airborne yet, and all precautions had to be taken.
I checked my own M4A1 carbine, making sure the mag was secure in the receiver, and tried to clear the fog from the ACOG. I flipped the safety off.
?1 minute, prepare for touchdown??
I quickly adjusted the mask on my face, and pulled my helmet down lower. My body tensed. Behind me, no-one was moving, locked in a psychological struggle against terror.
Sweat began to bead on my face, despite the freezing cold.
None of us had ever faced anything like this before?
?30 seconds??
I pulled back the charging handle and let it snap back, feeling the round go into the barrel. I adjusted my grip on the weapon?
?10 seconds??
I shifted my position, and took a final glance at the rest of the chalk. I couldn?t see through the masks, but I could tell several of them were on the verge of nervous breakdown?
?Touchdown!! Go, go, go!!!?
I leapt from my seat and felt my feet hit the soft, slippery ground.
Like someone had flipped a switch, I heard the yells of soldiers, the clatter of gunfire, and the spine-chilling screech of the undead.




17:25 hours, 19th October 2012
----------------------------------------------
Boots on the ground
[[UNDISCLOSED LOCATION]]

Jonathan Carmine, Sergeant, U.S Marine Force,

The first thing that struck me was how dark it was. It was barely evening, and it was almost as pitch black as midnight. I switched on my rifle-flashlight and raised it to my shoulder. I had no idea what to do next. What are we supposed to do now? Where do we go?
I heard someone behind me yelling my name, and turned to see the rest of the chalk running away in the opposite direction. I turned and followed them, my boots churning the wet ground into mud. The flash of gunfire illuminated the area briefly, and I saw the silhouetted figures of fellow marines, firing from fortified positions? and the swarm of writhing, screaming creatures charging up the street, barely kept back by the hail of gunfire.
I gritted my teeth and pushed harder, trying to catch up with my squad.
I was already drenched to the skin. I heard a scream behind me, and I spun around to see a soldier struck to the ground by a twisted grey figure, claws ripping at the man?s flesh.
My first thoughts were drowned by a mixture of horror and fascination. I automatically raised my rifle to my shoulder. Then it seemed to look at me. It?s pale, milk white eyes glared, and it started to shuffle towards me, emitting a low, growling moan, rain dripping from its ruined body.
I pulled the trigger and fired a burst of three bullets at it, the cracking reports muffled by my ear protection. Blood sprayed onto the ground and the creature emitted a high-pitched screech. It recoiled backwards at the waist but stayed upright? And then it jumped. Shit, it was like lightning. I still can?t believe it. I dodged to the side as its claws ripped at my shoulder, then I spun around. I jammed the trigger down and ripped the bastard to shreds. It was the first time I?d ever shot anyone before?it fell into the mud, writhing, tearing at itself. I almost pitied it? almost? I walked up to it, put my rifle in its face, and put its suffering to an end. I stood upright and looked around, wincing at the claw marks in my left shoulder. Blood ran down my arm.
The radio on my left shoulder crackled to life.
?Carmine, where are you??
I hit the reply button.
?Sorry sir, I?m on my way.?
I turned and sprinted down the street, in the direction I had last seen my squad go. I went past another squad running in the opposite direction, the Sergeant yelling orders to his men. I saw two marines attempting to restrain a man who seemed to be having a panic attack, but worst of all, illuminated by a fresh flash of lightning, the silhouettes of the creatures running along the rooftops above us. Then they started leaping down among the marine defenders, screaming, screaming? My eyes widened in terror.

I saw men torn apart by the savaging of the creatures, thrown to the ground, yelling in pain, smothered by the grey, dead bodies of the undead.
I tore myself out of my dazed horror. I raised my rifle and fired at the nearest creature. It crumpled to the ground, dead, but a dozen more took its place, charging at me and screaming bloodlust?

17:26 hours, 19th October 2012
----------------------------------------------
Boots on the ground
[[UNDISCLOSED LOCATION]]

Jackson, Delta Sniper, U.S Marine Force,

Keep calm and steady, I thought to myself. Remember your training. Calm and cool. People who panic die.

I adjusted my prone position and lifted my M40 to my shoulder. From the building I was in, up on the second floor, I had a perfect view, right down the main street. Pockets of marines were piled up on both sides in whatever cover they could find. Armoured vehicles, behind them, and closer to me, fired heavy machine guns? at the massive writhing black horde that stampeded up the street, leaping over civilian cars, and tearing each other apart in their madness to get to the defenders.

My job was to make sure none of the infected personnel flanked our troops. It was my job to cover the rooftops, as it was Tramp?s, my backup, my spotter.

?Infected personnel?? what a joke. The word was already spreading through the ranks. Whispers of what the creatures were? zombies. Like one of those stupid fucking horror movies.

?Five of ?em, left side, office block.?
I looked to where Tramp indicated and saw a group of figures climbing up the concrete wall, in an attempt to get onto the rooftops.
?I got it??

I looked down the scope of my rifle, and levelled the sights on the figures.
A tricky shot. I estimated them to be about 600 metres away. I chose the uppermost of the climbers, dragged the crosshair across it?s centre of mass, and fired. The crack of the high calibre rifle echoed through the building.
?Perfect! Right through the chest?? Tramp crowed in triumph.
I looked back through the scope and saw that the creature I hit had fallen, taking one of the other climbers with it.
I cycled the bolt, and then held my breath for the next shot?
This time, the bullet took one of the thing?s legs off. It lost it?s footing, and fell back into the horde at ground level?
I cycled the bolt again. By this time the two creatures left were on the top of the office block, and were running down the street, leaping from roof to roof.
I took my third shot, and this one was a direct hit. The creature was cut in half as it leapt through the air. I cycled the bolt and prepared to take my last shot? I held my breath, my finger squeezed the trigger?

Suddenly there was a deafening scream behind me, a throaty yell? and the sound of ripping, and a body hitting the floor. I spun around, and leapt to my feet, ripping out my sidearm as I did. Tramp lay on the floor? dead. And above him stood one of the grey, twisted figures? I?d never seen one so close before. My enemy?
It pulled back its lips in a chilling snarl, blood dripping from its hands and mouth? Its eyes seemed to glow.
I was caught in revulsion. This thing had once been a human being? reduced to this, half-lived corpse. I hit the safety on my pistol, pulled back the rail? Then it struck, it was so fast, it caught me by surprise. My pistol went spinning out of my hand. It attacked again, aiming for my face. I ducked and dove into it, pulling both of us to the ground.
I struggled to get on top. The creature was going mental, twisting and writhing. It clawed at my chest- it ripped straight through the material but was stopped by the layer of armour in my vest. I forced it into the ground, stood up and tried to pull out my bayonet?
It was up on its feet before the blade had left the sheath. Then it seemed to shudder? it convulsed and thrashed, it opened its mouth? and spat a globule of some burning, black liquid. I raised my hands to protect my face. The liquid spattered all over my arms. Immediately it started to burn through the material, and into my skin. I yelled and attempted to rub it off on my jacket, but it stuck like glue. I grimaced through the pain and looked up. The creature was stalking towards me, opening its blood stained mouth again, reaching towards me. I ripped my knife out of its sheath, pulled back my arm and threw it. The eight-inch blade spun through the air and with a wet crunch embedded itself in the creature?s skull. It collapsed immediately, hitting the ground with a thud. I knelt to the floor, panting, holding my acid-burnt arms carefully away from my body?
I turned to Tramp?s body? my backup, my friend?
I knelt beside him, my hand on his chest. Then I took his dog-tags, tucking them away in my chest pocket.
My radio crackled?
?We?re being over-run! Fall back to second positions!?
I looked out through the window, the one that looked out onto the street, and froze in horror? The creatures were swarming all over the rooftops, leaping down behind and among the marines, compromising the defence. The central mass of creatures surged forward, engulfing the front line.
The armoured vehicles were turning around, and survivors on foot were running for their lives.
The radio crackled again?
?Sir, we?re finished. We can?t hold them back!!?
I reached down and picked up my rifle?
The screams and panicked orders of men gargled over the radio?
I turned and made my way out of the building?
Desertion was a crime punishable by death, not that I care?
I have nothing left to live for.

I hefted my rifle and strode out into the city, ignoring the sounds of death behind me?

I am a traitor.
But a traitor survives.
That's just a small part of a series of stories I wrote called Darktide... It was a good concept and I'd like to re-explore it some day with a little more taste.

I think during that phase we all like to explore a little of the dark side, but it's generally done badly and with little or no maturity, as you can see from my writing. It's all just part of the learning curve :)
 

Morty815

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Mar 10, 2010
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You horrible, boring bastards with your pathetic critiques. Why you would want to deprive a 14 year old of having his own unique writing style and instead contort it into a characature of your own, I do not know, the 'reading' world would be a very dull place if every writer followed your shitty guidlines. @maxibonito, you show EXCELLENT promise, please don't take any of these 'opinions', because that's what they are, into account. The only fixed known version of error in standard English resides in spelling and grammar, and there were no defining errors in your short. Keep up the good work and don't listen to these wannabe afficianado's of academia, and certainly don't let their reactions demotivate you. :)
 

NewClassic_v1legacy

Bringer of Words
Jul 30, 2008
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maxibonito said:
The sun would've been shining, if it wasn't for the rain. It always rained. Even during the hot summer days, the clouds still hung in the air, spraying forth an impossible volumes of water onto the valley below. The clouds were gray and lifeless, as were the houses in the valley, and the people in the houses. Any color the valley once had was washed away by the endless downpour. (Line Break. My biggest complaint would be how disjointed the writing sounds. The sentences are short and choppy, and they don't have a lot of meat to the description. The whole dark and dreary element is told ad nauseum, but never shown. It helps to show the depression of the people, the loss of faith and hope. It's in the darkness of the individual's actions that the darkness of the overall world appears.)

One day the unthinkable happened. The rain stopped. The clouds dissipated. Color returned to the valley, and so had happiness. For a long time, the valley's inhabitants smiled and enjoyed themselves. They thought it would never end. (LB. Another instance of glossing over, and telling rather than showing. It would help for us to see the joy. As soon as we can immerse ourselves - as readers - into the light, that makes the impending darkness and the previous darkness that much more poignant by contrast.)

But they were wrong, because darkness is always fighting with light, and today darkness sought to exterminate the happy valley. Over the lip of the valley, a large mass of crawling, writhing bodies flowed. Each clambering over the top of each other, with one aim: to exterminate the valley's happy inhabitants. The darkness destroyed homes, consumed bodies, burnt trees, and tore the people limb from limb. When the darkness had finished, it left, leaving endless destruction in its wake. nothing but destruction behind it. Then the rain returned, and washed the blood away, leaving nothing but a rainy valley behind. (I feel like this is supposed to allude to the beginning of the story again. It could be better, especially if the final line can be tied into the opening line.)
Aside from the disjointed syntax, the worst offender I can see is failing to show. The rule of thumb for good narratives is "Show, don't tell." Telling the reader that the valley and it's inhabitants are in perpetual darkness is one thing, but making them feel the perpetual dark is something different. The best narrative works manage to immerse the reader into the role, rather than pushing the settings onto the reader. It takes some practice, and a lot of doing, but it helps the writing gain more life and fluidity in very powerful ways.

As for the syntax thing, I might recommend The Elements of Style [http://www.bartleby.com/141/]. It's a lot to read for one sitting, but it is one of the best go-to guides for writing craft. Especially in terms of grammar and syntax. Hopefully this has helped.

Warmest regards,
Nuke
 

Illesdan

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Sep 15, 2008
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Thumbs up to Nuke for linking 'The Elements of Style'. Writers the world over have their own little quirks that need to be cleaned up in some way.

Here's something else that may help: After finishing a paragraph, say the entire paragraph out loud. If it sounds funny or redundant to your ears, chances are that you need to make some changes.

I can forgive alot of this; I started writing fiction at the age of seven, and I was not good. My problem with this is the exact same mistake I made when I first started writing: Huge wall of text.

Learn your passage breaks and try hard not to sound wordy.

Overall, not bad.
 

maxibonito

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Feb 5, 2011
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Plurralbles said:
Well, it's nothing worse than Eragon...
HEY. lay off of eragon. the movie may have sucked, but the book was still bloody brilliant!

badgersprite said:
I'm not sure, but I think this might have been the web address you were looking for:

http://www.fanfiction.net

Hope that helped! Your writing style is remarkably similar to a number of authors I have come across there. :)
last time i tried writing on those forums, my internet ended up going to hell. that and i ended up with a virus, so theres little chance of me using that site any time soon
 

TheRealCJ

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Mar 28, 2009
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Fuck me, I was writing sappy love poetry in a language on-par with Stephanie Myer at 14.

We all grow up (except for Stephanie Myer).