Young Writers Society

I origionally wrote this for a competition for my school, with the theme 'reconnect'. I don't really havce a name for it, and I don't really know if it belongs in this fourum or not, but any ay - let's get onto it. Hope you like!

My name is Nahila.
I am thirteen, and this is my story. Before the war, things were peaceful-like. I was a ten year old girl, and the year was 2039 when war broke out – I attended school, had several friends, life went on. You know how it goes – going to the markets, weddings… and funerals. We were a diplomatic family – that is, my mum, dad, Cassie and I.
But then there was war. My dad and older sister were sent to war – women over forty were unable to go. Anyone could be enrolled as nurses, though; but in the state the world was beforehand – lazy teenagers with their erratically coloured baseball caps, older businessmen with their silver belt-tops flashing pointedly in the sun as they walked across the road to KFC or OzzieBeef – not many volunteered. After two years of war my mum volunteered – I caught a ferry with her to a city in Sri Lanka with a name I am always forgetting and can’t pronounce anyway. From there I was taken into a small city called Clodagh Eastern Colony for shelter. War broke out in the small city – us kids worked hard to escape the rapid gunfire, hauling wailing younger kids and dragging the dead or wounded. Sisters and brothers and cousins wept for the fallen; a clap of lightning in the storm that night revealed a small toddler standing in the blood-splattered mud, crying, looking around, lost and scared. The leaf-shaped streams of fire from the guns lit up the night. Another clap of lighting revealed more horror – a young woman lay in the mud, a terrible wound from a ricochet shot imbedded in her leg. I ran and grabbed the toddler, screaming for help for the woman. Two kids – one that looked about nine, the other thirteen or so – came to help. We dragged the woman down the road, but we lost her on the outskirts; if I had had my current range of knowledge, I would have known to stem the flow of blood with pressure around the leg. Now every day I say a silent prayer for her and curse myself for my stupidity.
It was 2041 and I was 12 when I headed North with the 13 year old boy right after the fight in the town, and found his name was Hakim – the other boy was taken by a gently crying older girl, who graciously took the toddler as well. Hakim and I became great friends – same interests, same favourite colour and favourite food etcetera – but we also depended on each other to survive. Hakim found food by killing shot chickens or gathering food from veggie patches in abandoned towns, while I made the fire every night and chose the site where we would stay. Mostly we broke into vacant houses – it was warm there, and we could each get our own room. We only washed every fortnight or so – we became quite smelly, after a while. After nine more months of war the country settled; the war was over, victory won. People began returning to their homes, and on what was to be my and Hakim’s second last night together, a squadron of soldiers came along gathering up the refugees and taking them to hotels or hospitals, and we had baths for the first time in who knows when. I was given some clothes by a small lady with a machine gun poised under her arm; her male partner lent some to Hakim. Planes and ships carried refugees home free of charge, to Adelaide and Brisbane and New Zealand. I booked for a plane to Brisbane, Hakim a boat to New Zealand. We had an emotional goodbye, as for months we had been keeping each other alive – I told him what I would call my e-mail when I got home, so we could stay in touch. I shed some tears as we gave each other a hug before I deported.

Now it has been three months since the end of the war and I sit before my touch-top, playing an off-line card game. With as smile, I finished the level, and was about to go onto the next one when a bubble appeared on my lower screen. At first I ignored it, but then my eyes were drawn back to the name of the person who had sent it.
From Hakim, it said, and I gasped in amazement. Forgetting the game, I moved to the bubble and lightly touched it.
You have no idea how long it took me to find you, I read. You are a hard girl to track, Nahila. I breathed in so hard my lungs hurt. My eyes widened in shock.
“Mum!” I shrieked over my shoulder. “You’ll never guess…!”

Thanks all!!!!

Hello! I'm Hawkie and I'll be your reviewer today.

You have a very interesting concept here, and your characters seem interesting as well.

However, your writing leaves a lot of stuff out; it uses telling instead of showing. Telling is when you tell the reader directly what's happening: "We had an emotional goodbye." Showing is when you actually describe the goodbyes, the words, the tears, step by step. As you can probably imagine, showing is much more powerful. The war and the friendship between your MC and Hakim has a lot of potential for many dramatic, vivid scenes, so don't gloss over all of it so quickly!

That's my advice. Keep writing!

-Hawks-

Thank you for the help!!!

Before I review this, tell me from which country are you? Sri lanka or Australia?

First of all, this story belongs in the Non-Fiction section as it contains a biographical story although it is based on a year ahead of us.

Okay, back to the story.

The first person idea for this story is better than having it from a third person view. It gives the reader the feeling that he/she himself/herself is in the story and feeling same feelings, emotions, etc as the character. But, what you wrote is a bit too far from the original path. Meaning, that you explained everything as a paragraph or just a journal depicting the life story of a person. It sort of lacked the creative side, as in, it went abrupt and it did not let the reader visualize or sense through the character's eyes. Feel what the character is feel, feel her pain, her suffering, her emotions. Without these, your story had become dull and grey. The addition of these and making it more like a story would help out a lot for this.

Before the war, things were peaceful-like.

It's better to say, "Before the war, everything was calm and peaceful."

I was a ten year old girl, and the year was 2039 when war broke out – I attended school, had several friends, life went on.

This sentence is a really confusing. It seems as if you are trying to cram shred of information you have into a single sentence. Break the sentence into smaller parts and let the reader catch up with flow of the story. Or, you are making them disoriented and confused. Example :- "I was a ten year old girl back then. I attended school, had several friends, normal life. The year was 2039 when the devastating war broke out"

The sentence, "The year was 2039 when the war broke out" is not necessary here as you were explaining about this girl. Try inserting this in the next sentence.

After two years of war my mum volunteered – I caught a ferry with her to a city in Sri Lanka with a name I am always forgetting and can’t pronounce anyway.

I don't think that ferries would be a transportation source at the time of 2041.

War broke out in the small city – us kids worked hard to escape the rapid gunfire, hauling wailing younger kids and dragging the dead or wounded.

This sentence is written in present continuous tense, while the other parts of the story is written in past tense. Fix this error.

Sisters and brothers and cousins wept for the fallen

Change, cut the 'and's

Hmm, thank you again! Will be re-writing soon.

All together an interesting story that captured my attention, I must admit, although it was short, I was glued to it till the end.

Not many dialogues though, it would have been more interesting with some more speech.

I just didn't understand one thing.
I breathed in so hard my lungs hurt.
How can your lungs hurt when you breathe in, even if it's hard?

Still, good story.

Because they hold so much air, Pen! It's happened to me before!

Wow this is awessome i love it thank you so much for writing this i could read it all day long you are a awesome writer i really hope to see alot more writing from you i can't wait until your next post! ps. thanks for sharing your work. your fellow writer for Jesus..........




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