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Short Story / The Dream (Analysis)
I danced with a small girl. She was pretty, small blonde Shirley temple curls, big grey eyes, and sun-kissed skin. I knew her name but I didn’t know how she told me. We clasped hands and spun in circles. The world kept going faster and faster about us and all that could be heard was the small innocence of our laughing. We fell down in a fit of giggles, too dizzy to stand. “Sophie, we will be friends forever.” I declared in the childlike innocence every adult remembers. When she didn’t reply to me I glanced over, her face had gone distant as if distracted with something. “Sophie?” I questioned, afraid of what she might say. She sighed and rolled towards me, “Mon Cherie, things always change, I cannot promise you that I will be here for you.” Mon Cherie was her pet name for me, something we always shared. The scene suddenly changed.
I was kneeling in front of another girl, in front of Sophie, crying. She laid there motionless, a porcelain doll for the world. The adults around me exchanged glances, some looked at me as if they could feel my pain. “Sophie, Sophie, wake up, Sophie please just look at me one more time. You promised that you wouldn’t leave me. You promised.” I broke into tears as I hugged the motionless body of the only person who had ever loved me and my dark secrets. I buried my nose into her chest, trying to memorize her scent. I would never forget her, not anything about her.
Time changed once again, and I was still wearing the baby doll dress that Sophie and I always wore. I was in a cobble stone courtyard, expect it was old, forgotten by time and the people who had taken care of it. There were cloaked figures all around me, I couldn’t see any of their faces due to the black hoods they had over their heads. Hiding who they were. Hiding the truth. Hiding the secrets. Sophie’s body lay on a table in front of me with a metal machine of some sort. Upon closer inspection I found that it was a hand powered meat grinder. I reached out and caressed Sophie’s cheek, tears threatened to well up once more. The adults closed in and one stepped forward with a knife. From his hands I could tell it was a man, I watched as he caressed the knife lovingly like a child. He stood beside me and in one downward swoop he cut Sophie’s arm away from her lifeless body. I screamed, helpless and terrified. I yanked on his robes, pulling with all my might, trying to get him to stop as I screamed more. The dark man murmured something and another dark figure came up to hold me. To keep me from trying to interfere as He cut the limbs of my dead best friend away from her body.
I screamed until I could no longer speak, both mine and Sophie’s dresses were covered in blood. I was trembling, a numbness washed over me as my mind tried to block out the horror of it all. The dark man dragged me up to the table when he was finished, he handed me Sophie’s arm and pointed to the meat grinder. Another cloaked figure was standing there, waiting to crank the machine. As if I had no control over myself, I marched over to the grinder and began grinding my best friend into pieces. Again and again the hooded figures made me do this until there was but Sophie’s head left. I stood beside the table, hands down to my sides, staring at the ground trying to convince myself this was a nightmare. The man who had cut Sophie up handed me her head ever so gracefully.
I held her head. Her curls just as bouncy as when we laid in the grass together watching the stars. Before she died I had tied a bow into her hair, a pretty grey to go with her stormy eyes. She had laughed when I gave it to her. I looked at the ribbon now and a tear fell from my cheek. If I just looked at her face it was like she was sleeping. Waiting for me to wake her up for afternoon tea. Suddenly Sophie’s flesh began to fall away from her face. It turned into a liquid ooze, falling all over my hands and my dress. Somehow I was able to scream again, my horror renewed. Her flesh kept melting off of her until all that was left was her skull. I looked at the skull and then looked around at the adults. Finally I settled back on the skull. Then I woke up.
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esmaril reviewed Version 1 -
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tarleisio reviewed Version 1 -
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icedsapphire reviewed Version 1 -
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First off I would lik to address the scores I gave you for the various criteria you have set forth.
The four criteria asking if this could be published I ranked as a 1. Lowest score. I did that because you have a lot of editing to do before this piece will be ready for publication. The concept may be publishable, but it is all about presentation.
The talent criteria, I ranked as a 6. I feel you have an interesting tale here, if you take the time to spit and polish it.
Clarity-I ranked as a 4. I see where you are going with this, but again you need to work on the presentation.
Book of your own writings, I ranked a 1. I can not say with any good conscience that you could publish a book of your own writings since this is the only piece I have seen.
Attract an agent or publisher. Ranked 1. (Please see section on publishable)
And finally Short story-Overall, ranked as a 5. Yes I identify this as a short story. It is unfinished, but it is a short story.
Ways to fix this: flesh it out a bit. Dreams are fragmented, so if it was a style decision…I got it. However when tellinga story, even a fragmented one, should have a flow. Here is an example of a place you might lose the reader: “I was kneeling in front of another girl, in front of Sophie, crying.” Are you standing in front of someone who is Sophie or are you in front of someone who is in front of Sophie? Don’t be afraid to use a few more sentences to make sure you are being as clear as possible.
Flesh the story out a bit, take your time with descriptions. Make them more vivid. Help your readers question a dream vs. reality.
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thefarmerswife reviewed Version 1 -
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It was certainly engaging. I liked the transition from the happy opening to the hooded figures and meat grinding machine ending. There is some great imargey in this piece and I think, yes, i would turn the page to read more to see what has this person dreaming such a thing and what sort of person is dreaming this dream.
Jim_Garnett reviewed Version 1 -
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The most effective way I’ve found to offer critical feedback is to copy and paste the artist’s words exactly as written. Then offer feedback. Be aware, this in NOT a ploy to fatten my critique. Not the way I role. Simply put, its a tool to offer the most helpful feedback I can as a reader of your work.
I’ve gotten some flak for the cut and paste method. So I’ll try to keep it to a minimum.
You wrote: ”I knew her name but I didn’t know how she told me.”
Food for thought. The protagonist knows her name, just not how it was learned.
You wrote: “I was kneeling in front of another girl, in front of Sophie, crying.”
This sentence is awkward for the reader. Consider restructuring.
FFT: The transformation from Sophie dancing, to her dying is ubrupt. Not connecting the dots as a reader so far.
Combining the “baby doll dress” and being old is creepy. Good job, if that is what your shooting for.
Here’s a big kudos. Loved this passage. ”There were cloaked figures all around me, I couldn’t see any of their faces due to the black hoods they had over their heads. Hiding who they were. Hiding the truth. Hiding the secrets.”
Ok. From one aspiring author to another. This work, needs work.
You have the dreams. Thats cool. Sick dreams. Cooler yet.
Hone your craft is my best advice.
Inspiration is there. That’s obvious.
Keep up the ghost.
Later.
Jimbo out.
kadiya reviewed Version 1 -
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Maiafay reviewed Version 1 -
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