Prelude.

[anthorn]

Hi all. Busy at work here.

Here is a piece of work I am working on? I think my grammar and punctuation has improved.


There was… a memory.
It was a fleeting memory, one that came and went in the blink of an eye. In this memory she saw a girl with bright red hair and a wide smile, was this her? For the briefest of moments, she thought it was but then she could never remember her being happy, or much of anything really. The rain felt good on her face and the turmoil in the sky had seemed to calm. I was somebody once, who was I again?

The memory flashed again and she winced and cried out, banged her head against the ground until her scalp bled fresh. Fresh dirt mingled with old dirt and blood as she crawled through the dirt, branches wet from rain hurt her scalp. A name, she remembered her name, what was it again? Like everything else it was fleeting and it hurt her to recall. At last she came to a clearing and her home; she crawled inside the hole hoping it would bring back more memories. A shudder wracked her frame and a name came to her. It hurt to speak but the need was overwhelming, “Faelii,” her name was Faelii, how could she have forgotten this?

With this remembrance came a flood of images and more pain. Faelii screamed, sat up and climbed with haste out of the hole, fell on raised mounds of earth and screamed again. Crawling back through the forest she saw the iron tower in her minds eye, sought to take shelter. After what seemed an age Faelii reached the end of the forest, came face to face with the woman from the tower.

“You poor thing,” the woman said and knelt. Faelii could not resist as the woman reached out and grabbed her face, lifting it so they looked at each other in the eye. “Have you been broken? I think you have. Do not worry it is normal for someone who comes back from death to be scatterbrained. Ah, but most of us have never had to crawl out of our own grave either.” The woman smiled and though it wasn’t unkind neither was it friendly. “You poor wretched miracle, what am I going to do with you?”
There was a storm coming.

 

[Blackrook]

People don't remember seeing their own face so you kind of threw me.

Also, you said there was rain on her face but after that you said a storm was coming. Which is it?

Is this the whole story, or just the beginning of a story?

 

[J Riff]

Other than using the word 'dirt' three times inna row, just a couple little things.

There was… a memory.
It was a fleeting memory, one that came and went in the blink of an eye. In this memory she saw a girl with bright red hair and a wide smile - was this her? For the briefest of moments, she thought it was her, but she could not remember her ever being happy, or much of anything really. The rain felt good on her face and the turmoil in the sky seemed to calm. I was somebody once... but who?

The memory flashed again and she winced and cried out, banged her head against the ground until her scalp bled. Fresh dirt mingled with old dirt and blood as she crawled, branches wet from rain scratching at her scalp.
A name, she tried to remember her name. Like everything else it was fleeting and it hurt her to recall.
At last she came to a clearing and her home; she crawled inside the hole, hoping it would bring back more memories. A shudder wracked her frame and a name came to her. It hurt to speak but the need was overwhelming. “Faelii,” she said aloud, her name was Faelii, how could she have forgotten this?

With this remembrance came a flood of images and more pain. Faelii screamed, sat up and climbed with haste out of the hole, fell on raised mounds of earth and screamed again. Crawling back through the forest she saw the iron tower in her minds eye, sought to take shelter. After what seemed an age Faelii reached the edge of the forest, came face-to- face with the woman from the tower.

“You poor thing,” the woman said as she knelt. Faelii could not resist as the woman reached out and grabbed her face, lifting it so they looked each other in the eye.
“Have you been broken? I think you have. Do not worry, it is normal for someone who comes back from death to be scatterbrained. Ah, but most of us have never had to crawl out of our own grave either.” The woman smiled and though it wasn’t unkind neither was it friendly. “You poor wretched miracle, what am I going to do with you?”
There was a storm coming.

 

[anthorn]

Thanks J-Riff and Blackrook. I think some of those changes may have to wait until I am published. I read several guidelines that they don't like you to do the-between-the words.
And Blackrook, this is one of the final scenes of the prelude in my second novel. There was a storm coming is metaphorical.

Faelii was a woman in the first book, although a minor one. She had no idea who she was during that novel and the last time she was seen, she was getting butchered.

 

[psychotick]

Hi,

I think the piece is too short to do more then a cursory look at, mainly I think tightening up the writing a little so that it moves a little quicker, and spreading things out a little more with paragraphs etc because things seem a little pushed together. Each paragraph should cover just one idea, stream of thought or event.



There was… a memory.
It was a fleeting memory, one that came and went in the blink of an eye.
(I'd suggest the second line be - A fleeting memory, that came in the etc.)

In this memory (it?) she saw a girl with bright red hair and a wide smile, was this her? For the briefest of moments, she thought it was but then she could never remember her being happy, or much of anything really. (I think drop the never, she's just woken up so she doesn't know what she could ever remember or not previously, and also shorter tighter sentences. - She couldn't remember being happy. She couldn't remember much of anything really.)

(New paragraph here, and some linking text. Its a big step going from total amnesia and the fear that that surely brings to the rain on her face.)
The rain felt good on her face and the turmoil in the sky had seemed to calm.

(Again a new paragraph needed. Something to move her from the soothing rain to the question of who she was.)
I was somebody once, who was I again?

The memory flashed again and she winced and cried out, banged her head against the ground until her scalp bled fresh. Fresh dirt mingled with old dirt and blood as she crawled through the dirt, (As said elsewhere this third dirt is a little too much. Also from the branches I'd imagine she was crawling through a thickett or similar.) branches wet from rain hurt her scalp. A name, she remembered her name, what was it again? Like everything else it was fleeting and it hurt her to recall.

(New paragraph.) At last she came to a clearing and her home; (How does she know that this place she's come to is her home if she doesn't remember anything?) she crawled inside the hole (her home is a hole?) hoping it would bring back more memories. A shudder wracked her frame and a name came to her. It hurt to speak but the need was overwhelming, “Faelii,” her name was Faelii, how could she have forgotten this? (it?)

With this remembrance (the memory?) came a flood of images and more pain. Faelii screamed, sat up and climbed with haste (hastily?) out of the hole, fell on raised mounds of earth and screamed again. Crawling back through the forest she saw the iron tower in her minds eye, sought to take shelter. After what seemed an age Faelii reached the end of the forest, came face to face with the woman from the tower.

“You poor thing,” the woman said and knelt. (the woman knelt down beside her?) Faelii could not resist as the woman reached out and grabbed her face, lifting it so they looked at each other in the eye.

(New paragraph) “Have you been broken? I think you have. Do not worry it is normal for someone who comes back from death to be scatterbrained. Ah, but most of us have never had to crawl out of our own grave either.” The woman smiled and though it wasn’t unkind neither was it friendly. “You poor wretched miracle, what am I going to do with you?”

(New paragraph and how does this sentence link to the rest?You need to explain.) There was a storm coming.


Over all I liked the idea of someone diggingthemselves out of a grave, except that apparently the grave wasn't filled in and she wasn't in a coffin or things would have been much harder (a la the second Kill Bill movie). Juxtaposing the weather, rain and storm with her mental state is good too.

Cheers.

 

[anthorn]

Thanks. They are paragraphed on Word, for some reason it deletes them when transfering so I just separated them and did not bother do indent.

It's from my second book, the first of which is currently being sent off to Agents.
And yeah, a short piece, but one from a longer piece.

She's not in a coffin as those who buried her and the others were in a hurry.

There was a storm coming is the link between this and the next scene.

I've also replaced the final dirt with mud