Young Writers Society

It had been two months since my father, my king, was condemned to the Guillotine(this shouldn't be capitalised). The committee was after the whole royal family but my mother had taken me and my two little sisters into hiding after my father’s death. They were calling it the reign of terror, more people were being murdered everyday, they didn’t just lock you up anymore, not after the fall of the Bastille. Now it was just a matter of time before it was one of us facing the blade.
It was strange, us being in hiding. To go from of a time of prosperity to us (this is unnecessary as you have just in the previous sentence used "us" and it furthermore adds nothing to the sentence) hiding in the shadows and squandering for food. It’s not that I missed the money, no I was always different form (from) my family that way, but to be living like this, being on the run, hiding from a violent death. It was almost unbearable.

(Here you take a leap from establishing the story's situation to actual concrete story events with the protagonist and her family. Try to somehow tie up the two without such a hole as exists here.)

“Rayne, go fetch some water. Be careful, okay?” my mother called to me from the makeshift kitchen.

“Okay Ma’ma, I will Ma’ma.” I took the metal bucket from its place by the door and wrapped my long, black coat tighter (if it is being wrapped *tighter*, it was being worn already inside?) around me. I cracked open the door to our small hut slowly an and peeked out. It was snowing heavily, but not enough for the spring to have frozen over. Other than the thick white blanket on the ground, there was nothing outside. I ran to the shelter of bare trees anyway, not feeling safe unless I was within them. Once I got to the trees I slowed my running to a quick, steady pace looking around me every few seconds, to be safe. If it was any other winter day in Paris, I would have stopped to admire France’s great beauty. But it was too dangerous to stop for anything now. This revolution had changed many things for me, taking away the only life I knew. The only upside to these violent times was that it’d freed me from my cruel and selfish father.

I sped up once I heard the slow flow of tinkling water from the spring. It was just through the last little opening of trees. As I saw the flow of water I stopped and let my gaze slide around, looking for any immediate danger. My gaze widened and I held my breathe as my gaze (try not to use the same word three times in succession (= ) spotted a hunched over figure, kneeling for water from the spring. He didn’t look like a solider soldier, but could never be to sure. I finally let out a breath of air and the figure looked up, his green eyes going from shock, to confusion and finally stopping at recognition. He stood straight up, he was tall, at least 5”11 (this sounds odd to give a certain number), and he was covered in a plain black coat, (a period should be here instead of a comma). to say he was handsome would not have done him enough justice (this sounds flat and doesn't evoke any feelings in the reader. You've given no description of his handsome features, so the reader can't understand at all why the character is handsome).

He stuffed his wet hands into the pockets of his coat and spoke. “What’s a princess doing out in these part of the woods?” his voice was a whisper, but I heard him clearly.

So he had recognized me. “I could ask the same of you,” I retorted. “Who are you?” I knew he wasn’t a solider soldier, although he had the build of one, even more so than some of the men we had come across in the past month. He lacked certain seriousness, meanness, to be a solider soldier. Far more laid back than one (here a description of how Oliver seems "laid back" would be in order).

“Oliver Dunlay, and what name may I have the pleasure of calling you, Princess?” he approached me, hand extended, (period instead of a comma) I grabbed it cautiously.

“Laraynea, but everyone knows me as Rayne,” his hand was cold, but it had certain warmness to it, perhaps an inner warmness. Whatever it was, it caused me to hold his hand an embarrassingly longer time than necessary (this is awkwardly phrased). I dropped his hand and looked up, my cheeks burning. He simply smiled in return.

“Well my princess, I would say I’m sorry for your loss of your father, but I prefer to stay an honest man,”

His words had me smiling in return, “That’s quite alright, I’m not sorry either,” we both had a good laugh at that (this seems surreal to me. To laugh over someone's death even that of a nasty person in such a situation where as according to the beginning of the story Rayne feels uncertain in hiding and fearing for her life). Then the sound of approaching horses made us both fall silent. All of a sudden his arm was around my waist and his hand over my mouth and he was carrying me into the woods. We hid behind a bush and he wrapped me in his coat. His hand fell from my mouth but he signaled for me to be quiet. I ignored the brief thought of protest from being in this stranger’s lap and the warm tingly feeling I felt where his body touched mine, and focused on staying silent (once again an awkwardly phrased sentence). We sunk lower under the bush and his strong arms brought me closer to him, concealing me from sight. We both held our breaths as the two soldiers passed by on their horses.

They were talking loudly, angrily. “Do you see any sign of the prisoner?” one of them called.

“Dunlay’s a smart one, if he doesn’t want to be found, he won’t be.” The other called back. I stifled my gasp of shock, Oliver was a prisoner? My father had imprisoned him. I wracked my brain for anything I might of have overheard about what he did. Nothing came to me.

“Well let’s hope for his sake that you’re right. If not it’s the Gguillotine for him.” The first solider soldier called back, and then herded their horses forward, farther into the woods. Oliver and I stayed hidden for a minute or so longer, making sure they were really gone. When he stood, he helped me to my feet, staring down at me searching my face for anything relating to what we’d just heard.

“So, um, you’re a prisoner?” I asked him finally, my voice low.

“Yes. I escaped when they stormed the Bastille and have been on the run ever since,” his eyes were still on my face, watching for a reaction.

“What did you do?” I whispered, not wanting to know that answer. But I had to know. I didn’t think he was dangerous, in fact I felt immensely safe with him.

“I didn’t do anything. It was my father, he went against yours. And in turn he threw my whole family in prison. My father, me, my two brothers. I was the only one to survive, and then escape.” His eyes were sad and his face was twisted in the agony he felt from the loss of his family.
I raised my hand and rested it on his cheek, my eyes never leaving his. “I’m sorry,” my voice was filled with the shame I felt for my father’s actions.

He put his hand over mine and closed his eyes. “It’s not your fault Rayne. (this should be a comma)” He told me sincerely.

“No, just my father's.” My voice was filled with obvious hate and I looked down ashamed, my eyes fell on the bucket that I was gripping tightly. I dropped my hand from his face. Oliver didn’t have anything to say about my last remark. “I…I have to get back. My Ma’ma will be worried; I was supposed to be fetching some water.” I raised the bucket as if to give him proof of my statement.

He took it from me and walked over to the spring to fill it with water. As he walked over to me he said “I will walk you, to make sure you get back in one piece.”

“O-okay.” I nodded and turned to walk the path I had taken to get here. He took my hand to stop me and the same tingly feeling as before came back, (this should be a period) I ignored it and looked up at him, a question in my eyes. “Let me lead, just to be safe.” (Here it is not clear who says this.) He squeezed my hand as I nodded and then dropped it and walked in front of me, leading the way through the forest.

Other than me telling him how (Try to rephrase this, it sounds peculiar) to get back to the hideout, it was a silent walk. The only thing I had to focus on was him. The back of his head, where his light brown hair was beginning to curl at the ends. How it fell over the top of his neck and stopped where the collar of his jacket rested. The broadness of his shoulders, the strength visible even through his thick coat, a coat he probably stole. The look on his face, the sparkle in his eyes every time he turned back and caught me studying him. The feel of his hand as he unnecessarily helped me over fallen trees. He was undeniably handsome, and even that was an understatement. Needless to say, I was enjoying this leg of the trip far more than the first.

When we approached the clearing up ahead we heard the scream. The scream that sent me shooting forward despite Oliver’s warning. And even though I ran faster than I’d ever had, it was still too late. I got to the middle of the clearing in time to see the two French (as this takes place in France, I don't think it is necessary to state they were French) soldiers from before carrying my mother away, leaving my 5-year old twin sisters crying in the snow.

“NO!” I screamed and lurched forward. But Oliver was quicker, grabbing me and restraining me in with the strength of his arms. “Let me go! I have to save my mother!” I half yelled, half sobbed, struggling in his grip.

“They spared your sisters, they won’t spare you.” He whispered urgently in my ear.

“I don’t care! I cried, still struggling,. His grip tightened.

“I do. Laraynea please, for your sisters. They need you. Please.” He begged, his voice breaking over the last word. We turned so that I would have a view of my sisters huddled together crying in the snow. I relaxed in his arms and he turned me so that I could bury my face in his chest. After a few calming stokes down my back he released me, and I ran to my sisters.

“Lacey, Lucey come here.” I gathered them in my arms and we sobbed together for a while, mourning our mother. Because as innocent as my sisters were, they knew death was the only thing for her now. “It’s okay, it’s okay. I’ll protect, I’ll take care of you.” I comforted them, hoping they wouldn’t here hear the pure agony in my voice. I wasn’t sure I could keep them safe, and that thought terrified me. I looked up to Oliver, who was standing besides, waiting for us to get ourselves together. He was looking away, respecting our privacy, but stood close enough to let me know he was there.

“W-w-will you st-ay?” I asked him hopefully, my voice breaking, from sobbing so much. The thought of him leaving made we want to bawl all over again. As irrational as it sounded, I mean come on I just met the guy (this informal addition which addresses some imagined narratee seems out of place here), but I had some intense feelings for him. Feelings I didn’t quite understand but, regardless they were there.

He looked down at me, meeting my swollen eyes. “Here? No we can not do that. It’s to dangerous. They could come back for you and I can’t let that happen. We’ll have to find somewhere else,” My heart raced at the word we, and I looked away nervous. “That’s not what you meant is it?” he asked me, his voice soft. I looked back up at him andnodded my head no shook my head. “You wanted to know if I would stay with you?” he asked me smiling. This time I nodded my head yes and felt my cheeks burn red. He extended his hand to me to help me and my now quiet sisters to our feet. When I was face to face with him he finally answered. “Always, my princess.” And behind the confusion in his eyes, I could see that he really meant it.

I cleared my throat; I was thrilled of course, but still confused (confused seems an odd word to choose to describe someone who has lost her mother and remaining protection) about the whole situation. “Sissy, who’s that?” Lacey asked me pulling on my coat, her voice hoarse from crying.

“This is Oliver. Oliver these are my sisters, Laceile and Luceile.” The girls hid behind me, not trusting the stranger. I shot him an apologetic smile, he shrugged it off.

He bent down in the snow before them and tried to make eye contact. “Well hello girls, you sure are pretty.” He smiled and bowed his head slightly to them.

Lucey was the first to approach him, followed quickly by Lacey. They looked him over (I'm not sure what you mean by this) cautiously and then finally, I guess finding something there that made them trust him, smiled up at him. “Your You're pretty to too. (replace this with a comma)” They said in unison, and I felt a surge of relief that they were somewhat able to be their normal selves even after everything that has happened. Of course that feeling fled quickly. “Isn’t he, sissy?” Lacey asked me, looking up waiting for an answer, and so was Oliver.

I blushed beet red. “Um…I… uh… y-yeah…sure.” I looked anywhere but his face, which I somehow knew would be smiling cockily.

“Well thank you ladies.” Oliver kissed each of them on the cheek then stood up to face me. , His face serious again. “We need to go. Get whatever you can carry; some blankets, a sack of food. We’ll have to sleep outside, so if you have warmer clothes, wear them. Okay?” he put a hand on each side of my face. “okay.” I whispered. He leaned down and kissed me lightly on my forehead. “hurry.” His hands left my face and I led him and my sisters inside to get our supplies.

(Here there follows again an unexplained fast-forwarding. If you're going to do it, at least somehow give a clue to the reader about it)

“I’m tired!” Lucey whined. “Me too!” Lacey cried. We had been walking for hours and it was almost dark, and getting colder. The girls were dressed in the multiple layered dresses we usually wore for balls. (this is a nice detail to emphasise the reversal of fortunes and change they are experiencing) Lacey’s a thick pink dress that covered the top of her feet and had lace on the sleeves and neckline. Lucey’s was identical, but blue. Both had thick blankets tightly wrapped around them. Me, (this is unnecessary and once again seems to give the impression Rayne's aware of her role as a narrator, which sometimes can be interesting but seems to serve no purpose in telling this story) I decided to wear some of my father’s clothes that my mother had taken with us. A thick, simple, white, long-sleeved shirt. And thick brown pants that were way to long, which forced me to roll them up five times so I wouldn’t step on the legs. Which were tucked into black boots that were to big for my feet. All that under my thick, black coat, and I was still freezing.

“We’re stopping soon girls. I know a little place we can hide for tonight.’ Oliver reassured them.

“It’s cold, and we miss mommy!” they said together this time.

Oliver sighed softly. “I know girls (the repeated use of "girls" in Oliver's speech makes him sound as if he wishes to remind the girls about how young they are. Perhaps that's what you're going for, but it sounds odd to me), but this place has dried wood so we can start a fire, and no soldiers will see it. We’ll be safe and warm for tonight, I promise,” He said scooping up Lacey and putting her on his soldiers shoulders, although he was already carrying most of our supplies. He didn’t seem to mind.

I was carrying Lucey in my arms, and she was getting really heavy. Plus (this sounds too colloquial and I am highly doubtful it fits the vocabulary of an 18th century princess) I was exhausted. I hadn’t slept but three hours the past week, and I was quickly running out of energy. And we’d have to eat soon and (try to figure out a way to avoid the repetition) we were in short supply of food. “Um, Oliver? I don’t mean to sound like a five-year-old here, but how much longer?” (the previous bit of dialogue once again sounds out of place considering who's saying it and under what circumstances) I’m pretty sure if the exhaustion, desperation wasn’t clear in my voice, he would of have laughed.

Instead he gave me a sympathetic smile. “Actually, we’re here.” He stopped in front of me and I looked around. In the midst of bare trees, there was a hut made of tree branches that were intertwined together perfectly forming a circle. It was both man-made and naturally made. The top of it had leaves covering any crack that the trees made. It was tall (tall refers exclusively to people) high and big. In fact it was pretty huge. We would be able to sleep comfortably, and set a fire without worrying about setting us on fire. It was perfect. I sat Lucey down, and Oliver set Lacey down and they walked cautiously into the shelter.

“The ground isn’t as cold in there, since the snow can’t reach it. The last time I was here I out (I don't understand what this means) some wood in there so that it would dry off by the time I came back.” (as the piece of dialogue continues, remove this) I have some supplies set up, but I wasn’t exactly expecting visitors,” He explained to me, smiling. He took the sack that I was carrying on my back and put an arm around me to still my shivering. I shivered anyway, but not from the cold. “You look exhausted. Come on, I’ll build a fire and you and the girls can get some sleep.” He led me into the shelter and set me on the ground in the corner.

“Can I ask you something?” I whispered, stifling a yawn. He was working on the fire in the middle of the hut.

“Of course,” He said, sending me a curious glance before he went back to the fire.

I cleared my throat. “Why are you helping us? I mean you barely know us.” The question had been bothering me all day. I mean (this isn't necessary) I knew why I trusted him so completely that I was willing to risk mine and my sisters’ lives. I was falling for him. Hard. But I couldn’t be sure that his motives were the same. I looked at him waiting for an answer. He was silent, just working on the fire until finally a flame came up, sending out instant warmth. He gestured for the twins to move closer so that they’d warm up quicker. Then he walked over to me slowly and knelt in front of me, taking my hands.

“I can’t quite explain it. But ever since our first meeting, I’ve felt different. When I first saw you my heart stopped. Those startled blue eyes of yours, your soft curly blonde hair, the shape of your lips, your rosy cheeks. You changed something inside of me. I’ve never felt so intensely for anyone, especially someone whom I’ve just met. I don’t know if it’s love; all I know is I can’t stand the thought of anything happening to you. It is crazy I know, but true.” He finished, his eyes boring into mine.

I took in his words one by one. The shock of each one hitting me as he said them. I could feel the tears pouring down my face. I was so happy. I couldn’t believe he actually care for me. I guess that meant I wasn’t crazy, unless of course we both were, which was a strong possibility.

“I didn’t mean to make you cry.” His voice was bewildered as he brought his hand to my face to gently wipe the tears.

“I-I-I’m sorry.” I stammered leaning into him, resting my forehead on his chest.

“shh,shh. It’s alright.” He whispered in my ear wrapping his arms around me.

I looked up at him. “I-I feel that same way. I whispered and we smiled at eachother (this is not written together).

“SissyI , Ollie! We’re tired!” the twins cried from across the fire. Oliver sighed and let me go. Both of us got to our feet.

“Alright, come here. We’ll tuck you in.” I called. I was glad that they accepted Oliver completely. They really need (change this to past tense as the rest of the whole story uses it) a strong male in their lives; it’s something they’d never had. We laid out one of the thicker blankets for them to lie on, and then wrapped them up tightly.

“Rayne, do you think mommy’s okay?” they asked me quietly, tears welling up in their eyes. .

Damn. How was I supposed to explain this? I looked to Oliver for help. Thankfully he knew exactly what to say. “Now none of that, girls. I’m sure your mom is fine wherever she is. But wherever that might be I’m sure she wants you to be strong, and brave. Can you do that for her, and your sister?” he talked to them like they were a lot older than they were which is probably why they responded so well to him. They nodded solemnly.

“Alright, now time to go to sleep. I love you both,” I whispered to choked up to (I don't understand this) project my voice any louder. I kissed them both and watched them as they quickly drifted off to sleep. Oliver and I sat there watching for a while. "I couldn’t live with myself if anything happened to them,” I whispered softly to Oliver.

“Nothing will, I’ll make sure of it. Now get some sleep, we’ll move on in the morning.” Oliver laid out another blanket next to where the twins were and motioned for me to lay down. After I did he sat down beside me and covered me up. “We’ll eat in the morning, but we must ration our food. We’ll have to walk until I kind find a horse or two to take. Then we’ll find a more permanent place to stay.” Oliver’s voice was soothing, it was like a lullaby putting me to sleep.

“Oliver?” I whispered sleepily.

“Yes, Rayne?”

“What if we’re sleeping and the soldiers come?” my voice rose with fear.

“Don’t worry about that. When your you've been on the run as long as I have, you learn to sleep with one eye open. He laid down beside me and got under the blanket so that he could wrap me in his coat. I wrapped my arms around him and buried my face in chest. "I won’t let anything happen you, any of you. Trust me.” He kissed the top of my head before resting his chin on it.

I sighed happily, content for now. “I do.” And then I went to sleep to the sound of Oliver’s beating heart and his shallow breathing. To the synchronized snores of Laceile and Luceile, and to the crackling of the on going fire (this is an odd phrase, but if you're going to keep it write "ongoing" together).




In my dream I was running. No I wasn’t myself, I was my mother. But I (she) was running fast, but it wasn’t enough. They caught me, they beat me but not enough to render me unconscious. No they wanted me awake for my death. They drug dragged me over to the dreadful, killing machine and strapped me so I wouldn’t run again. I closed my eyes thinking of my daughters. My neck was rested where several others have laid (rephrase please), the pool of blood staining my skin. The smell of death was in the air, and not only mine. Now I would be following my husband into the eternal pits of hell. And I thought I had escaped him when he died, but no he was my punishment for this life. The Frenchmen (again it seems odd to mention the man is French, as the setting is France and hence it is presumable for all the said the word that sent the heavy blade racing down towards the back of my neck. And then everything went black.


I sat straight up, sobbing loudly, looking for Oliver. He wasn’t beside be me anymore. My eyes scanned the hut until I spotted him at the now dimming fire. He looked up and a mask of concern painted his face. He got up and walked towards me. “Are you okay, my love?” he asked me softly. I shivered, not just because of the biting cold but from his words, his voice, him. He sat beside me and pulled me into his lap. I buried my face in him. “Shh, shh it’s okay, your safe. I’m here, shh,” He murmured softly in my ear. I was still crying to too much to talk. He stroked my back and whispered in my ear comforting me.

After a few minutes of that my crying slowed and he put a finger under my chin and tilted my head u to where our yes eyes met. He kissed my cheek to stop a remaining tear, then he kissed my nose, my other cheek, my eyes, and then finally he brought his lips to mine. They were cold, (this comma is not necessary) but soft and as they moved gently against mine my insides warmed up. I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him closer, deepening the kiss. He trembled, and to too soon he pulled away, leaving us both breathing heavily. I didn’t want it to end there. I took my arms from around his neck and laid my hands on his chest, sliding them down t to a button on his shirt. He trembled again, moaned, and grabbed my wrists, restraining them in my lap.

“You make it very hard to restrain myself Laraynea.” He sighed and kissed my forehead, then leaned his forehead against mine.

“I can’t think of any reason why you should,” I mumbled angrily. I felt my cheeks warm from the embarrassment of being rejected.

“Really? Because I can think of two.” He smiled and looked over at my sleeping sisters bundled up in the warmth of their blanket, inches away from us. Damn. He had a point. I looked down and pouted.

He laughed. “don’t look so disappointed my love, I promise you that if we make It out of these dark times alive, we will marry.” He let go of my writs wrists and grabbed my (her what?) to pull it to his lips.

“Why wait?” I whispered softly.

“What do you mean?” He lifted my face up to look me in my eyes.

“Well,” I said, clearing my throat: “I don’t know about you, but if we have to die, there is nothing I want more than to die being married to you.” I finished, my voice thick with emotion

He was silent, we just stared at each other, our eyes speaking the words our mouths were to too overwhelmed to speak. He brought my hand to his cheek, then to his mouth where he kissed the tip of each of my fingers.

“I-I love you Laraynea.” He murmured softly, his words caressing me in away (a way) he couldn’t right now.

We laid back down on our blanket and his stunning green eyes met my simple blue ones. “I love you to too Oliver.” I was thrilled that for once since we met, I was the confident one, and he was the one lost for words. And then I went to sleep for the second time that night, wrapped in the arms of someone I barely knew, but loved deeply.