Young Writers Society

I muttered a string of rather vulgar swear words, and refined the plan in my head. I did not expect this many demons. Something was fishy here. Demons of this number could never band together, they always fought too much or ate each other, which I thought was disgusting.
I would have to do a rage attack. Dash out and kill as many as possible at once, then pick the rest off as quickly as I could. I pulled out two machete knives, which I had grabbed at the last minute, and ran out of the weeds. Hacking and slashing, I killed about nine of them before they even realized what was going on. Then, the oldest one, the one I had come for, screeched and spat at all the rest of the dumbfounded creatures, and almost immediately they turned to me and growled in unison.
I picked out the sound of a sharp intake of breath, and whirled to see a demon preparing to hurl a fireball at me. The flaming mass of blue and green erupted from its mouth and whizzed past my head. Without hesitation, I whipped the knife in my left hand at the demon, and it stuck right into the heart. Moments later, the machete clattered to the floor, nothing keeping it up. I slashed one along the chest, and skewered two more, all the while dodging flames and attacking demons.
The last one standing was the one I came for. The one causing all the trouble. It spit flames at me, knocking the knife out of my hand. Immediately, I slid my customized Jericho 941 F, 9 mm from it’s place at my belt and fired one single round into the center of the demon’s head. Seconds later there was a clatter as the destroyed bullet clattered upon the floor.
Finally, that was over. I turned to head out the gate, and as I did, a stinging pain shot up my arm. I looked down, only to see that one of the demons had succeeded in clipping me with its claws. Three long, deep gashes slashed along my forearm. I cursed quite profoundly, and then headed for the gate. Soon, it started to rain. “Great,” I muttered. “This is the icing on the doom-cake.”
The icy drops fell upon my hair, my face, my clothes, and my skin. It was so refreshing. A voice whispered through my mind. “The rain is the tears of the saint, my Nemzi. They cannot cry for themselves, so they save their tears and sprinkle them on the world.” It was my mother who had told me that. She used to tell me many stories about the saints before I even knew who they were…
Oh, my saint. My dead saint. Why had he died? Or rather, why had someone wanted him dead? So many questions I had, and none were answered. I decided to look into the riddle he had given me. I recited it quietly to myself. .
“Within the walls of ancient oak, lie a dagger, and a cloak. These items of worth are keys, to set your troubles at ease. Within your heart is magic, chiseled in your core. Within your past are secrets, your family has kept. Release, release, release them, or you shall be in debt.”
Huh. Within the walls of ancient oak… A really old tree? Lie a dagger, and a cloak. So, there is a knife and a cloak in a really old tree… what were my troubles? I had a lot of troubles… and as far as I knew, there was no real magic that I had in me. None at all. Why would my family keep secrets from me? How would I be in debt if I do not release the secrets? What is it that I owe?
The entire thing was quite confusing. I sighed. By now, I was soaked through and through. I had stopped in front of an old theatre, the kind with the grand entrance doors and pale wooden stages inside. I stared at the building for quite a while.

“Umm, excuse me… Is something wrong?”

Startled, I looked around to see a boy walking my way. I quickly did an automatic profile scan. Dirty blonde hair, brown streaks. About 5’ 7”. Dark skin tone, light brown eyes. He looked about my age, 17 or 18, and he was a bit wiry.

“No. Just admiring this old theatre. It’s a shame no one uses it anymore. A lot of things around here would be much nicer if they were still in use.”

He nodded. “Yeah, except someone actually does use this.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, me. Well, the group and I.”

Hmm, a group? Sounded fishy. “Oh, really? And what does your group do in this old theatre?”

“We practice, of course. I lead a small orchestra. Would you like to come in and see?” He quickly looked me over. “You look as if you could use a towel, and some rest.”

I considered. “Well…”

He quickly interrupted me. “Unless, of course, you have to be somewhere.”

“Oh, no, not really. I don’t really know where I’m going, actually.” In life… I added in my head.
“Well, then you are more than welcome to come in.” And he went to unlock the door.
I hesitated. Was this a trap? Well, why would it be a trap? That is just pure insanity. I really did need to get a bit drier, and there was no way this boy could plan the rain. I decided that getting dry, and possibly gaining even a slight friend, was better than having to walk the rest of the way home. I quickly -but silently- fled up the stairs, and halted just beside him. He glanced over at me, and that is when I realized I had forgotten to shield myself. His eyes bulged slightly as he stared at the scars lacing my skin, and the blood smearing them. I decided this was a bad idea, but too late. The door was open.

Whoop, spacing's a little wonky here too. Goes from blocky to spaced out correctly to blocky again. Fix?

or ate each other, which I thought was disgusting

We think it's disgusting too. No need to point it out.

“This is the icing on the doom-cake.”

This made me laugh. I love her snarkiness.

The rain could have held so much more emotional impact about the saint's death if we'd gotten to know him a bit better. It's a little late to sympathize with her now. He's gone. We can't get to know him anymore, so we don't really care all that much about him. He's just a convenient plot device, not a person. Avoid this. Give us a little more about him last chapter before he dies.

Also, how does she remember the riddle so well? She only heard it once, and it's complicated. Most people, on hearing something like that, would remember the gist, but not the exact words. How does she remember it so well? What if she didn't? What if she only remembered pieces of it?

“No. Just admiring this old theatre. It’s a shame no one uses it anymore. A lot of things around here would be much nicer if they were still in use.”

Erm, this just sort of feels like an info-dump, or the set-up to an info-dump. I mean, who really says this when someone just asks if they are all right? She could just say "no" and be done with it. It feels like you're forcing the conversation.

“We practice, of course. I lead a small orchestra. Would you like to come in and see?” He quickly looked me over. “You look as if you could use a towel, and some rest.”

Mmm, again, this feels forced. Like you're making her go into the theatre. Would she go in if he hadn't invited her? Probably not. Why did he invite her? I mean, he's out of the ordinary enough in that he leads a small orchestra at 18, but even still, most folks aren't going to randomly be inviting random wet people on the street into their small practice. Seems a little... odd.

So why does he invite her in? Is he hitting on her? Did he feel some sort of connection? Why? Is he just outrageously polite? If so, she might want to comment on this. I mean, normally people just ignore other people on the street. It's not that we're rude, it's just that we don't know them and we tend to stay out of other people's business. He could fee bad for her, but still, the conversation leading to the invitation feels forced. Don't push it so much. Maybe she just decides to go in on her own out of the rain and then they meet inside?

Mm, story seems to have slowed down a little bit, while at the same time seems to be rushing through. I'm not as hooked by it as I'm lost and don't have a grounding in the characters, but at the same time, everything is happening too quickly for me to get a grounding in the characters. We go from fight scene to reminiscing to meeting strange boy and going into church. How does she feel about the fight? Was it easy? Hard? It was weird to see that many demons. What does she think it could mean? How does she feel about her saint being dead? Was she attached to him? Is she upset that he's gone, beyond just the fact that she can't ask him what he meant or who might have wanted him dead?

Slooow down a little. Let us get to know your characters. Pull up a little more. Give us a little more action.

As always, feel free to drop me a line.

~GryphonFledgling

Hello.

Seconding Gry again, about both the dialogue and the speed events progress. Slow down and take a look at the pace of your story. I'd take a look at that article and try to follow it a bit better, using the tips on slowing down chapters and drawing out tension. This story needs it.

Something extra I'd like to point out is the wounds and weapons. You mention she drops a few, one of which thanks to a fireball. The fireball thing struck me as very odd, because that heat should theoretically burn her, unless she was just shocked by the fire getting too close. Which actually happens needs to be mentioned in there, so readers aren't left wondering how a fireball leads to her dropping her weapon.

Next, it'd be a good idea mentioning the clean-up for all this. She needs to pick up her weapons so she still has them, and she needs to bind her wound. A bleeding wound could eventually cause a certain degree of hypovolemic shock, which is caused by loss of blood, if left untended long enough. Either mention the wounds clotting, her binding them, or something else so they're not just left hanging there. The boy she meets also doesn't notice them, which strikes me as really odd. Her clothes would be shredded (jackets automatically make me think of long sleeves) and they'd be visible. There could even be blood dripping down her hand, although the water washed it away.

A final thing— why doesn't she pull her jacket up over her head to try and stop the rain from reaching her?

Overall, this has potential, but there are still a few too many loose ends, both physical and emotional, to really make this shine.

PM me if you have any questions or comments.

~Rosey