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Hanging



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Sun Feb 27, 2005 11:12 am
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Willow says...



My feet trudged slowly down the beat path. One in front of the other, walking resignedly toward my demise. Rotten vegetables pelted me every so often, one putrid cabbage hitting me full in the face. I shook my head with an indignant sneer.
The guard’s hand was gripping my elbow so tightly I couldn’t feel my fingers. He had a look of utmost triumph on his face. Grinning down at me, he mumbled about justice finally being served.
“You think this justice?” I asked in out rage. Justice doesn’t exist. How many innocent people have face the gallows before me? How many people have been sacrificed for another’s foul mistake?
The guard grinned satisfactorily. I spat at his feet, causing him to jump backwards and let go of my arm.
I took my chance, punching him square in the nose. A yell of pain and fury greeted my ears as I tried to push my way through the sniveling crowd. They parted as though I had some kind of sick disease, leaving me to run through them. Looking back I saw the guard and one of his fellows on my heels. I quickened, thinking they’d never catch me.
Out of nowhere a dark figure moved in my way so fast I ran into it. I thick hand closed around my throat and pulled me clean off the ground. I sputtered, glaring at the broad figure of my father.
He handed me back to the guards without a word, a sickly satisfied smile gracing his repulsive face.
“Thank you my Lord,” the guard said, clasping my hands behind my back and forcing me back toward the raised platform.
I struggled, but to no avail. They fixed the coarse rope tightly around my neck, shoving me forwards.
A vicar had started preaching. His words rang through the now silent crowd.
I gulped down tears. For the first time I was scared. Up until now, escape had still been possible.
My father’s brown eyes looked up from the crowd with sick satisfaction. It had been his fault. He was the one with the blade in his hands, he had thrust it into my mother’s chest, whispering manically as blood ran over his hands. I had watched, horrified from a corner. When she’d fallen, I ran toward her, trying to stop the blood that seeped into my clothes. He threw the knife at my feet and disappeared. When he returned the guards were with him. They had to drag me off my mother, into the carriage and through the dungeon door.
Drums sounded behind me. The air was thick with catcalls and jeering. I felt the rope constrict, felt coarseness rip at my skin as my feet left the ground, I felt the break and heard the crack as my eyes rolled and the wind carried me away.
  





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Sun Feb 27, 2005 10:15 pm
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Sam says...



This is pretty good, Willow, however, you don't really capture the emotion very well. This person has seen their mother get killed and is about to be hanged for it. I don't think they'd be all calm about it, they'd be majorly freaking out. You do say that this person is scared at some point, but it's overshadowed by the lines that follow. You need more emphasis on that aspect of this piece!

Other than that, I do think it captures the injustice and barbarity (?) of the hangings. Very well done!
Graffiti is the most passionate form of literature there is.

- Demetri Martin
  





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Mon Feb 28, 2005 4:18 pm
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Firestarter says...



Yeh, I think this was decent but could be improved by entering the mind of the victim a little more and letting us feel the emotions through your language, rather than stating it.
  





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Wed May 25, 2005 10:48 pm
nickelpickle says...



Show dont tell...put us in the mind of the person being portrayed....capture more emotion... you started well, you just need to expand on it. It def. shows the injustice and I liked it... you should do MOREEEE
"There's a light at each end of this tunnel,
You shout 'cause you're just as far in as you'll ever be out
And these mistakes you've made, you'll just make them again
If you only try turning around."
  





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Wed Jun 01, 2005 8:26 pm
Rei says...



Yeah, I think I'll have to go along with nickelpickle and say that it was a decent start, but you need more. What I'd like to know is that if the narrator was innocent and the father wasn't, why wasn't he was the one being hanged? What made them think she had done it?

My usual pickiness : "My feet trudged" There's nothing particularly wrong with this, but I didn't like it. I dunno. Maybe it made it sound like her feet were not a part of her, yet you gave no sence that she had become detached in anyway to make her feel separate from her body. Also, one rule of writing is to say as much as you can in as few words as possible. Reducing it to "I trudged." would just sound better.
Please, sit down before you fall down.
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“Isn't it nice to think that tomorrow is a new day with no mistakes in it yet?”
— L.M. Montgomery, Anne of Green Gables