Young Writers Society

CHAPTER SEVEN
Arie

It was all a blur. A man in a white lab coat spoke first: “It’s almost finished.”

My vertigo turned everything into a dreamlike half-reality. Walls were nothing but blurs of blue, floors foggy expanses of white. A moment of clarity revealed a black door that I was pushed through via hospital bed, but it drifted as fast as it had come.

Is she stabilized?

Will be, but don’t touch her!

Keep her in Room 13B.

Suddenly a white light overcame the dizzying shapes. Now I was watching my mother…in a way. In another way, I was her.

I – she – peered around a corner. “We’ll have to keep her clueless,” said Dr. Parson, a balding man with a laurel of white hair. “We’ll just take it all away. Clean slate. She won’t remember who she is or was. She’ll believe what she’s told to believe. The surgery is sure-fire. The drugs will do the rest.”

Another man stood there too, someone with copper eyes and dirty-blonde hair. A man with a tag that identified him as N. Sinclair.

Mr. Sinclair, sighed. “I’m feeling guilty about this, Pete. I know it’s for the greater good, but this seems selfish.”

“You love her,” said Dr. Parson earnestly. “She loves no one. The world won’t miss her, and the MRC needs her. We all knew it would require a community to do what it is we do.”

He nodded, and Dr. Parson patted his shoulder. “Atta boy. Now, let’s go get the--”

As my heartbeats drowned out all else, my arm involuntarily reached for security. I was about to faint. My eyes widened as I latched onto an insecure surface, a pile of medical supplies falling onto me from the tray. Footsteps hurried around the corner. “Get her!” Parson yelled. Sinclair reached for me, and the last thing I saw were a pair of sympathetic eyes, boring into me.

He leaned over, whispered “I’m sorry,” but the world had already faded to black by whatever was injected into my arm.

I was pulled out of my mother's field of view. I stood at the foot of a hospital bed as she woke up, clearly remembering nothing. "Mercy," she mumbled.

"Yes," Dad,no longer dressed in his Mr. Sinclair nametag, said gently. "Death gave us a hand of mercy this time."



Then I myself woke up. I was in a white-tiled room, soft blue walls surrounding me. They were surprisingly calming, for all my fears of where I was. Before I was able to do anything more than sit up, a hand clasped over my mouth. There was no point in all of my squirming, as I turned to see a pair of piercing green eyes and mop of jet-black hair. The boy from the woods. His right hand, which had grabbed my neck, now released. He whispered, "I know I'm going to owe you one." Then, with a clever grin, “I’m sorry.”

And again I fell down a dark rabbit-hole of unconsciousness.

Hey there Weaver,

Well, I just read chapters 5, 6 and 7. I haven't read the previous chapters, so I'm going to give you my opinions of these ones.

I thought you had quite an interesting concept, although I'm slightly confused as I haven't followed from the beginning. I'm intrigued by what's happening and how this will turn out.

My only comment, which is quite a big one is this: I read books about writing, a lot. And what they say is that you should be able to open a book, and without dialogue tags, know who's talking. Each character should have disctintive voices, much like we do. If you walk into a room with your friends and family, you'll know who each of them is by voice, or manneurisms. Same applies to your characters.

Here, I couldn't differentiate any of them. Nothing stood out and if you didn't write their names at the beginning of the chapters, I wouldn't know who the were. then again, maybe it's just because I'm writing this after having read only three chapters. But they were three chapters of three different characters and I couldn't decipher one thought from the other. Know what I mean?

That is it for nitpicks. As I said, I'm quite intrigued by where you're going with this. Keep up the great work!

Tanya

Okay, so I have a couple things about this. One, I was confused about how she was seeing this. You said it like she was watching/was her mom, but it still didn't make very much sense, and I wasn't sure what I was seeing this from. I'd say make it clearer, or pick: one or the other. Oh, and where exactly in the room is her mom? Because right now, I have little sense of where everyone is.

The other thing is, from the last chapter I picked up that Mrs. Sinclair didn't really know what was going on. Now, I'm still not sure who knows what. It kind of seems like her mom is the one in the bed, who had the kid, but that's not right I've gathered from the other chapters. I just want to be able to see this more clearly. I may be having a lapse and that's why it's so foggy, but I'd suggest going through this and clearly stating where people are, who's saying what, what's going on, partly.

And also, like borntobe said, and I've said, probably your biggest weakness in this novel is that the characters sound the same. Work on giving them unique voices. If you have any questions about that, how to do that, or anything else, PM me. I'll gladly help.

I'd say a little more, but I have to go. I'll try to get to your other chapters later tonight.

loveness, ultraviolet <3