Young Writers Society

Before I begin, I would like to state that in this story a daggel is a small dagger-like weapon. It consist of about a five inch long piece of bamboo with a sharp metal tip on it, no longer than an inch or two. This came to me in a dream, so I don't know who anyone is, or why their doing what their doing. Enjoy!


We approached the stairs. On the grey walls words were written, cuss words, names, warnings. On the mainland, no one spoke of the island louder than a whisper, for fear they would hear us. Three names were printed on the stone walls: Sark, Weath, and Ether. They were written in dripping letters of blood red. I gripped my daggel and whispered to Carsi,

“Look. Those are islander names, right?” She looked and her eyes got wide. She looked to me and put a finger to her lips. I understood. The group was frightened enough just to make this journey across the tunnel, but the idea three islanders were joining us was too much to bear. Gang members sat outside of the entrance sharpening the blade of their daggel. We looked down as we passed them, so as not to make eye contact. The tunnel was damp and dark and smelled of mildew. We entered anyway.

I felt as if a thousand pairs of eyes were on me. I was in a large group, but we mainlanders were often cowards and the group would run at the sign of fear. I felt a breath on my back. I turned, but no one was there. The group had gotten ahead of me, so I sped ahead a little. The breathing continued, but every time I turned there was nothing there. Finally, about ten minutes into the tunnel I turned around quickly with my daggel drawn and stabbed something in the chest. An islander. His long, curly, unkempt hair was shiny black, almost purple in the dark. His face was hidden by a shadow. Suddenly my heart stopped. The tunnel was so quiet I could feel the silence. I tried to back away, but my feet wouldn’t move. I tried to scream, but my voice didn’t work. I knew of the islander. It was The Sark, of the brothers three. He reached up quickly and grabbed my hand.

“Wrong move, missy,” He growled. He snatched the daggel and stabbed my chest back. Then my leg. I crippled to the floor. He jabbed my arm and my shoulder. I lingered on the brink of consciousness.

“Help,” I whispered. I suddenly found a new strength, “Help!” I cried at my group. The strength didn’t last as Sark stabbed my throat.
“Please,” I whimpered.

“I'm sorry, I, I can’t.” Replied Carsi before the group turned and ran. That was the last thing I saw, before I knew I was gone.

Woah...creepy! I like it!

My only suggestion could be more details, for suspense. Describe the dankness/wetness/darkness/whateverness of the tunnel. Make the picture appear in your reader's mind! Once you're in your reader's mind, they will be much more open to your ideas and story.

- G

Review in red.

[quote]We approached the stairs. On the grey walls words were written, cuss words, names, warnings. On the mainland, no one spoke of the island louder than a whisper, for fear they would hear us. Three names were printed on the stone walls: Sark, Weath, and Ether. They were written in dripping letters of blood red. I gripped my daggel and whispered to Carsi,You don't need to indent before every quote, just before someone new starts talking.

“Look. Those are islander names, right?” She looked and her eyes got wide. She looked to me and put a finger to her lips. I understood. The group was frightened enough just to make this journey across the tunnel, but the idea three islanders were joining us was too much to bear. Gang members sat outside of the entrance sharpening the blades of their daggels. We looked down as we passed them, so as not to make eye contact. The tunnel was damp and dark and smelled of mildew. We entered anyway. Alright. Well I'm sure you'll ignore this, but the word "daggel" just doesn't cut it. It sounds humorous, like the kind of name you give to something when you don't know what it's called. It's a small step up from "thingamajig." I get that the setting is like some sort of alternate reality, but it really just doesn't fit; in fact, it ruins the mood. If you developed the setting more and justified making up your own words, maybe then I would think its alright. For now, just cut it and go with dagger.

I felt as if a thousand pairs of eyes were on me. I was in a large group, but we mainlanders were often cowards and the group would run at the sign of fear. This makes me feel like the mainlanders are watching her. Go into it a little bit more with the eyes and make it clear that its just that she's anxious. This is a good time to bring up that I feel like you jump around a lot. Maybe you should try going into a statement and explaining it more before you skip to saying something else. I felt a breath on my back. I turned, but no one was there.She seems a bit too calm saying this. Try something more like this: I felt a breath on my back (neck?). I gasped and whirled around. My wide eyes sought out the owner of that breath, but finding none did nothing to settle my panic. The group had gotten ahead of me, so I sped ahead a little. The breathing continued, but every time I turned there was nothing there. Finally, about ten minutes into the tunnel I turned around quickly with my daggel drawn and stabbed something in the chest. I really don't know what this girl is thinking. And honestly, I don't care if she dies. I know nothing about her. An islander. His long, curly, unkempt hair was shiny black, almost purple in the dark. His face was hidden by a shadow. Suddenly my heart stopped. The tunnel was so quiet I could feel the silence. I tried to back away, but my feet wouldn’t move. I tried to scream, but my voice didn’t work. I knew of the islander. I thought she didn't know them - when she saw the names on the wall, she wasn't sure if they were islanders, let alone know what their faces looked like.It was The Sark, of the brothers three. He reached up quickly and grabbed my hand.

“Wrong move, missy,” What was her wrong move? I thought she just stood there?he growled. He snatched the daggelSerious scene turned humorous. and stabbed my chest backChest back? Do you mean that he stabbed her chest, back and then her leg?. Then my leg. I crippled to the floor. He jabbed my arm and my shoulder. I lingered on the brink of consciousness.

“Help,” I whispered. I suddenly found a new strength, “Help!” I cried at my group. The strength didn’t last as Sark stabbed my throat.

“Please,” I whimpered.

“I'm sorry, I, I can’t.”This gives some more depth to the characters, or at least the group of mainlanders. They wouldn't risk their lives to save hers. Like it. replied Carsi before the group turned and ran. That was the last thing I saw, before I knew I was gone./quote]

Alright, it wasn't too bad. My only complaints are
1. THE DAGGEL
2. It's a bit jumpy, skipping from one description to another.
3. I don't know anything, or feel anything for these characters.
Was this meant to be a short story? I feel like its an excerpt from a longer piece.
Good work:)

it lacked substance

I really like the story, but I was confused in most points. I don't understand who they are, so when he gets killed, I don't really feel sad or anything. More details could make this much better. Explain who these people are a bit better, and I think you'll do good! Nice work!

I was beginning to really get into the story, until the word "daggel" came up. Honestly, just saying "dagger" or "spear" would have worked, because daggel feels awkward, and it distracted me just enough to lose interest.

Also, you may want to go more into detail about the main character. I mean the island and islanders got a good description, but the person we're supposed to feel for gets none, until we're hearing of how they die.

I like this, but I agree with pretty much everybody else... There needs to be more detail on what they are doing, because that's what confused me. It needs a bit more to set the mood and the such. I think this has really good potential to be continued somehow! Anyway, good job!

GoldenSkies