I cheated a little this week and wrote a post about the process of providing a critique. Next week I'll be sharing all of the edits I made from both rounds of CP edits.
So the blog post is here
https://arianascribbles.wixsite.com/arianascribbles/home/constructive-feedback-wim-week-3But the changes I actually made as per Morgan and Natalie's amazing feedback are below. Some of them added too many words, so I held back for now. I will probably go crazy and break this word count rule on my final pass through and take advantage of even more of these suggestions, but we'll see. I always have enjoyed the challenge of certain constraints like word counts. We'll see.
Here's the story where it currently stands:
Beacon
It?s hard to find settlements in the dark these days. The swarm is nocturnal now, descending like a demonic hoard on any scrap of light that shines from dusk until dawn. It?s forbidden to so much as light a candle in the evenings. One of those laws that?s easy to keep because the punishment for breaking it is death, and far as I know there?s no judicial system set up with the bugs to beg for mercy.
I?m rushing to boil water. The sun is dancing below the horizon, and I?ll need to put out the fire soon, even though we?ll want for the heat. The twins are coughing and these long, cold nights don?t help. They need a doctor, but we?re still a half-day?s walk from the nearest village hunkered inside a rusted out Volkswagen Beetle. The irony of this does not elude me.
We?ve been walking over a week since our village was decimated by a single careless man who?d fallen asleep smoking a cigarette. The fire spread from house to house, attracting a full swarm. We barely made it to a bunker ? steel sheds strong enough to ward off mandibles the size of hands, but not strong enough to block out the sound of them clicking and scraping along the length of it.
There were only so many rations to go around after that, and people grew feral in their competition for goods, so we left. Nights on the road are miserable and dangerous. There?s the odd chance that a swam will happen upon us, even in the dark, but if we?re quiet and we?re careful we should make it.
Bubbles form around the edges of the pot, and I pull it from the fire, stamping hard on the coals to ensure no stray spark remains. My eldest, Rebecca, walks up clutching a handful of dirty flowers. ?I found some marshmallow by the river.?
?Are the roots intact?? I take the plants from her, eyeing their thick, gnarled bottoms which taper into a thin filament. Perfectly preserved. Her brothers will need every inch of it to soothe their throats.
?Yes, mama.?
?Excellent work.?
Her face glows with pride. She?s grown beautiful, an unfortunate curse these days. There?s no rich men seeking pretty young things to bear them fat children in exchange for a comfortable life. Only men with appetites that exceed their honor.
We soak the roots while darkness gathers around us, the twins? coughing the only sound in the night. A shiver crawls along my spine. I?m old enough to remember crickets and nightingales and the lonely cry of distant wolves. My children know no such sounds.
The twins slurp thin tea and pass along a collection of greens Rebecca gathered earlier. We ran out of food yesterday. I rummage through the car for supplies without much hope. Most houses and cars were cleaned out long ago, but there?s an emergency kit tucked under the passenger seat. Astounded by my luck, I rip into it. That?s when I remember there?s no such thing as luck these days. There?s nothing inside. No band-aids, no polysporin, just a good-for-nothing emergency flare.
I sigh and settle into the seat, pulling the boys into my lap and stroking the dingy curls that cling to their heads while they rock me with their hacking.
Just one more day.
I?m fighting sleep. There?s only nightmares on the other side: scores of bugs pulsing through the air, crawling along my skin, rending it with their fangs. Worse still, watching my children buried beneath the swarm, the sounds they make as they?re eaten alive. It?s not a leap of imagination. I heard other children make the same sounds, abandoned by parents who were too afraid to open the bunker doors.
So I close my eyes, but some back corner of my mind shocks me awake every time I start to drift. I swear I can hear the thrum of wings drawing near. The third time I jar awake, I shake my head to dislodge the sound, but it refuses to dissipate.
They?re coming.
I scramble up, dumping the twins onto the ground. Simon begins to cry, but Sebastian just gives a weak cough and lies there. Rebecca rushes to him.
?Fever,? she says.
Our eyes meet. The swarm will be here soon and there?s nowhere to hide. The car doors won?t close, and even if we run it will take two hours to reach the village.
?Mama?? Rebecca?s lips tremble, but her voice holds steady. She?s waiting for instructions.
I cast my eyes down in shame and see the flare. Grabbing it, I turn to the children. ?Simon, you have to run, ok? As far and fast as you can. Rebecca, carry Sebastian. If Simon tires, place him on your back. Do not stop until you reach the village.?
Rebecca?s eyes falter. ?What are you going to do??
I grip her chin and force her to look at me. ?You?re a strong girl. You can do this. Now run!?
Rebecca begins to cry, but she scoops Sebastian into her arms and grabs Simon?s hand, pulling him to the road.
There was a large hill off the road earlier, and I run toward it. I find the place and begin to climb, feeling the distance between myself and my children growing, straining. At the top I straighten, flare in hand, and hesitate. The insects are droning far below me, making my heart race, but somewhere along that silvery, moonlit road are my children. I yank off the end cap and strike the flare.
The light blinds me, and I shield my face. The outline of a black cloud reforms, shifting and racing toward me.
Soon they?ll arrive. Those legs, those teeth ? every horror that kept me awake at night. Except the worst one. There will be no childish screams tonight. I will not close the door on my children.
I hold the flare high into the night and close my eyes.
Topic: Beacon (Read 946 times)