Young Writers Society

Wow, thanks for that! Thank you very much!

That's an excellent talent to have. I'll have to study this to learn how to do it correctly lol.. I can never describe things!

Anyway, if I don't have the edit up tomorrow, I should have it done by Friday.

okay, cool--thank you for the offer Crysi.

Anytime.

Besides, I usually don't get anything to edit.. Probably because I rarely offer it anymore lol. Now it's usually by request, and I've only received one in the past few months.

*HINT HINT* Lol. Anyway, if I completely rip apart your story, it's because I love it so much. The stories I love are usually the ones I criticize the most, only because I can feel the flow of the story and I want it to be absolutely brilliant. Not that it isn't already..

Gah, how do you go so long without sleep? *laughs*

Alright, here you go. I'm still uneasy about the small amount of errors I found..

He sees nothing, Hesitantly

That should be a period after nothing. Simple mistake.

Barely distinguishable through the darkness, he sees a door at the end of the long hall. As the he nears it, the details of it become more clear to him. Made completely of ebony, the massive door towers ominously over him. The golden doorknob is carved into the likeness of a howling demon, its fanged maw wide open in a shriek. The warped doorframe is etched in painstakingly intricate archaic runes, completely alien to the youth. Almost instinctively, he runs a hand over the minuscule runes. At his touch, they glow with sudden brilliance, shining with crimson light. Before he can even reach for the doorknob, the door flies open soundlessly. Beyond the door he can see nothing but the blackest of darkness.

The rhythm of this paragraph distracted me a bit.. The structure in each sentence is very similar. While I love all the details, you should break some of those sentences into two shorter sentences, just to break up the pattern of commas. That's just a personal preference, I guess.

A slight tingling sensation runs courses through his body

Take out either runs or courses.

Each body is different, yet chillingly similar.

While I understand what you're trying to say here, I never did like sentences that said two things were different yet similar. I don't know.. It's your call.

His parents had always objected to Mike and I as his friends

I believe that should be "Mike and me." His parents objected to Mike, his parents objected to me. *shrugs*

he towered over Bob and me.

Bob should be Aiden.

I raked my fingers through my long, dirty blonde hair.

You already described your hair earlier.. *looks* here:

Mike exclaimed. I ran a hand through my long, wavy blonde hair.

I think you should take the earlier version out, since you have this pattern later on where you describe each character. The hair description would fit better there.

standing in the middle of the cobble stone path

Cobble stone should be one word.

black coat which billowed in the wind like a cloak.

I'd take out the "like a cloak" part.. But once again, it's up to you.

*stares* That's all I found. I feel like I'm not doing my job, lol! I suggest you ask Mesh to look over it.. She's pickier than I am. But I absolutely love this story and all the details in it.. I WANT MORE!! Great job.

Ever the rebel, Mike glared at the man and called out.

“Who the Hell are you to tell us what to do!” he demanded. The man didn’t reply, just stood in front of us without a word. The stranger’s silence seemed to anger Mike. His hands balled into fists at his sides, and he was nearly trembling with frustration.

“We should have gone when we had the chance...” I whispered to Aiden.

“Shut up! He can’t tell us what to do!” Mike spluttered angrily. The dark man lowered his arm and slowly and deliberately unbuckled his coat. He raised his hat with his other hand so that we could see his face. His skin was very pale, contrasting heavily with the black of his clothing.

“Leave this place--it is not a place for children.” The man’s voice was barely above a whisper.

“We’re not leaving,” Mike growled, cutting the air with his hand. The man threw his coat out wide, revealing a long blade belted at his side. He plucked the hat from his head and dropped it to the ground, where it settled soundlessly on the cobblestone path. His long, jet black hair was pulled back and thrown over his shoulders. His skin was pale, almost deathly, but the determination and power that he radiated immediately dispelled the illusion of weakness. His eyes were an infernal, flaming red, and when he finally opened his mouth to speak, I could see long, canine teeth that no human could possibly have.

“If you will not leave this place of your own accord, then you must be forced to leave--in Death.” His eyes locked onto mine and flared with a crimson aura. He grasped the hilt of his ornate longsword and took a step toward me.

Vampire. Unbidden, the word floated into my subconscious. I stared blankly at the man, and he seemed to glow with a pulsating blood red aura. I could feel the power of the being before me, greater than any mere man. His eyes were narrowed slits of determination, and his hand was clenched tightly around the gold-wrapped hilt of the longsword at his belt. He did not want to do this--but it had to be done. Because of Michael’s rash actions, he was forced into action. Killing was not in this man’s nature, but his hand has been forced by this stubborn child, his bluff called. He did not want to, but yet...there was something within him that welcomed it, even desired it...

The sound of ringing steel snapped me back to reality. The tip of the man’s blade cleared the scabbard just as Mike began to take a step back. He started to stammer a reply, but the man wouldn’t hear it. He took another menacing step forward.

“This guy’s insane,” Aiden whispered. I knew otherwise--every step was perfectly calculated, each movement honed to perfection. This was a man that had trained for years, even decades, to be a master of his art. He looked no older than thirty, perhaps, and yet, his eyes radiated a wisdom that would only be accumulated after a life of pain. He had endured countless tortures, both physical and emotional. His brain, however, remained untouched. He did not think this was his only course of action, he knew it was.

“God forgive me for what I must do,” the man whispered, to himself it seemed. Without a thought, I moved forward and grabbed Mike by the shoulder, pulling him behind me.

“Get inside--I’ll do what I can to stall him,” I said without looking at Mike or Aiden.

“But--”

“Go!” I growled. The man leapt at me just as I heard Aiden’s shoe hit the first step leading up to the porch. His sword, glinting in the moonlight, dove toward my throat.

Never again...as the seemingly meaningless thought faded from my mind, the blade that was flying toward my face began to blur, then slow, finally coming to rest at a snail’s pace. Confused but not stupid, I took advantage of the momentary reprieve from death and moved backward, out of the sword’s path.

The instant I was clear, time returned to normal, and the steel fell just short of me. The man’s yes widened when he realized I was not dead. He recovered quickly, attacking me with a quick slash that darted toward my midsection. Too quick to follow the path blade, I expected to impaled at that instant. The bite never came. Somehow, miraculously, my body had taken me just out of reach a second time.

“By Aluka, what is this?” The swordsman whispered.

“Hunter, hurry!” Mike’s cry made me turn away from the stranger. Aiden and Mike were standing in the doorway to the mansion, and as I turned, Aiden hurried through. Get up those stairs!” I heard Mike hiss to Aiden. I nodded to Mike, then turned back around in time to see the man’s longsword again coming at me. Without conscious thought, my body twisted away from the tip, its razor edge drawing a gash on my sleeve.

“Impossible,” the man growled. He pressed his attack, wading in to finish me off. I took a step back, not wanting to meet my fate at the end of his sword. Something about this man stirred a fury inside me, unlike anything I had ever felt before--

Persistent fool....for some reason, I began to feel a severe hatred for this man I knew nothing about--he was trying to kill me, yes, but there was something else--something...evil? I wanted to grab him by the throat and squeeze....squeeze the life from him, hear him try to draw breath to curse me, trying futilely to bring his weapon to bear while I grab his wrist with my free hand. Crush the vocal cords until he could not speak, crush his windpipe so he could not draw breath, tighten my grip until I hear his vertebrae snap and feel the fool’s body fall limp in my hand!

The traitor’s blade whistled past my eyes once more, my body having taken me out of its reach long before it drew near. I almost laughed aloud at the fool’s clumsy attempts to kill me. Who was this bumbling idiot! I could only assume it was one of their pawns--nothing but a scapegoat, a minion to do their dirty work. So like them, sending a lackey to do a master’s job.

“You’re just a child! What are you!” the neophyte demanded. “Answer me!” He roared when I said nothing. I bared my teeth at the idiotic oaf and growled,

“Your demise, traitorous bastard son of a man.” I wished I had had my blade, for I would have slaughtered this fool where he stood. He would have tasted my steel just like all the countless others had, those weak bodied mortals...I would have bathed in his blood as I had for years, until those closest to me drove the blade through my back...

The idiot drove his pathetic blade toward me, which I easily turned aside with a deft flick of my wrist. With his sword out of the way, I brought up my hand, now clenched into a fist, and delivered a punch that would have felled a man twice his size. That’ll teach the traitorous, good-for-nothing--


--My fist exploded in a shower of pain as the man flew backward from the impact against his jaw. What the Hell did I just do? I wondered silently. Taking advantage of the man’s temporary disadvantage, I turned and bolted for the door.

This is excellent! I love it. One thing - up at the very top, "anger" shouldn't be capitalized.

Very cool idea. I really, really like it. *grins*

*growls* I'm fine with people correcting grammar and inconsistencies and even parts of the plot that may be a little off. But NEVER touch a writer's style. That I can't stand, and I can't help feeling like that's what you're doing. Just because he doesn't use incredibly complex words as you do doesn't mean he should be marked down for it. He doesn't need flashy words to make the story good. And he has plenty of description. More than I've read in many other stories. I think your grading scale is a little harsh and very biased.

Yes, I know. I'm not saying he deserves anything else, I'm just saying I have a real problem with WHAT you're grading.

Loved your new part. Good description of the action, and his thoughts. I think any more description would disrupt the flow of the fight and make it seem slower than it should. You have a perfect balance at the moment, in my opinion.

"he seemed to glow with a glowing, blood red aura" Um, redundant?
"Killing as not in this man’s nature" -was, not as
"My fist exploded in a shower of pain as the man flew backward from the impact of my fist against his jaw." Another redundancy- my fist.

In any case, someone once told an author that if he wrote that good, no one would care if he made a few spelling errors. I could say the same to you. Keep on writing, man!

Bobo wrote:"he seemed to glow with a glowing, blood red aura" Um, redundant?
"Killing as not in this man’s nature" -was, not as
"My fist exploded in a shower of pain as the man flew backward from the impact of my fist against his jaw." Another redundancy- my fist.

In any case, someone once told an author that if he wrote that good, no one would care if he made a few spelling errors. I could say the same to you. Keep on writing, man!

Your mom's redundant! Anyway, you always come up with the best comments bobo! You're so creative in your criritues!

ohh, I like this, Hunter! I didn't see anything that jumped out at me screaming "fix me!", so I have nothing really to critique (unless you want me to be a nit-picking brat). I agree with Jack, more description would distrupt the flow of this.

*waits for more*