Young Writers Society

Well, I have changed the plot, and so this is going to more of a Historical Fiction than a Fantasy. So I am going to ask a mod to move this.

Vryheid is an exact translation to Freedom in the African language.


Chapter One

“Didn’t you say you could fly, Lyre?” Arnold Jackson asked. Lyre looked at him and smiled.

“Well, by darnit, you listened, then!” Lyre replied, his smile extending across his face. Arnold sneered at the twelve year old. Lyre was always trying to copy his Southern accent…

“Of course I listened,” Arnold said, anxiety growing, “I always listen to what you says!” He absentmindly grabbed his fingers and pulled them, making each one crack. Staring at Lyre, Arnold watched his friend’s every move.

“Well, then fly!” he shouted, and Lyre nodded, still smiling from ear to ear. Lyre was four years older than Arnold, but they were as close as two friends could be. The African American had never met anyone like Lyre. He was so…different. He didn’t care what Arnold looked like. All that he did care about was that he loved to play.

Lyre stepped back on the rock that they were both standing on. He carefully spread his arms out like he was an eagle. Then suddenly, he ran towards the edge of the rock and flapped his arms. Arnold laughed at his futile try. Lyre ran off of the boulder and flapped more intensely; Arnold gasped.

It had worked! Lyre wasn’t lying when he said that he could turn into a raven! Arnold stared up into the sky, amazement playing across his face. He grinned and his eyes followed Lyre, who was up in the blue sky. Lyre’s feathers were a deep black with a hint of scarlet. He was indeed the most beautiful bird that Arnold had ever seen.

Lyre dove quickly back to the rock on which Arnold was still standing, gazing at him. The boy chuckled and tried to capture him with his small hands. Lyre sped past Arnold with amazing speed and escaped his clutches. Eyes twinkling, the raven turned around and fluttered back to his friend. The wind was blowing a little harder now; Lyre’s eyes cautiously flitted towards the East. Nothing was out of the ordinary…no magicians fighting…yet.

Arnold cried, “Gotcha!” and cupped his hands together, capturing Lyre. He squawked, snapping his small beak at the child’s fingers, but it was no use. Arnold had captured him. Laughing, the eight year old let go of the bird and Lyre fluttered to get out of the enclosed space. He turned his head once more towards the East, just to make sure.
Arnold must have noticed because he followed suit.

“What do you see?” he asked Lyre, who was flying back to the boulder. The bird shook its head and started transforming back into its human self.

“It’s nothin’. Let’s go over to the rivers, shan’t we? I’m really thirsty,” Lyre said, changing the subject. The boy jumped off of the rock and into the grassy meadow. He headed for the two rivers down by the large oak tree and stopped when he didn’t hear Arnold’s familiar footsteps. Lyre turned his head around and sighed.

The curious boy was headed the in opposite direction: into the East. Of course, always sticking his nose into trouble…

***

Vryheid was a beautiful land, Arnold knew. The trees sang in the wind and the sun smiled at the grasses and plants. Everything was luscious and green. Arnold’s eyes twinkled as he looked around. The rocks were scattered amongst the trees and the wind whispered in the boy’s ear.

Arnold’s Mama, if she had been there, would have called this place ‘utterly amazin’’, as she so often spoke of wonderful places. He looked over his shoulder, expecting to see his large Mama, but there was no one there. Arnold frowned. Oh, how he wished that she could be here. How he wished that she could see spectacular sights of Vryheid.

He glanced up and stopped suddenly. The hairs on his arms erected. He could fill a chill crawl up his spine. This was what Lyre was talkin’ about…

Arnold bit his lip, trying to hold in tears. Lyre had ever rarely talked about the East Mountains. It was something that nobody ever talked about in Vryheid. The curious boy always wondered what was so magical…and so deadly in that mountain.

He stood there, and the mountain glared at him, smoke billowing from the peak. Hadn’t Lyre said that the East Mountain held a volcano? Arnold nodded; he remembered Lyre telling him that.

The mountain was black. There were no trees, no green grass and no life. The East Mountain was devoid of literally anything other than coal and fumes. And of course, The King of the East himself.

Arnold shuddered; he distinctively remembered what Lyre had told Arnold when they had been discussing the magicians of the world.

***

“There is a magician for the North, the South, the West, and the East. No one knows where they came from, or who they really are. They all sort of…hide.” Lyre had told him. Arnold raised his eyebrow.

“What do the magicians do?”

Lyre laughed at the child’s stupidity. “Magicians make magic!”

Arnold was still confused, and so Lyre went on into detail, “One day, hundreds of years ago, four magicians were in a boat and the boat crashed. One of the magicians landed in the North, while the others landed in the South, West, and the East.”

Arnold shrugged. “So what?”

“Well,” Lyre continued, “the four magicians came together and decided that they would be kings over their land. So they did…for a while.”

“Why? What happ’nd?” the curious child interrogated.

“If you would shut up then I would explain!” Lyre said, growing angrier. Arnold nodded and continued to stare at his friend.

“Well, they were kings for a long time. But then their kingdoms grew and grew until finally the King of the East needed more land. So he started making cities in the King of the South’s land,” Lyre went on to tell him, “Well, the King of the South didn’t like that very much so they started fighting.

The child gasped, “With swords?”

Lyre nodded and smiled. He loved telling of Vryheid’s history. It was so unique…one-of-a-kind.

“Yeah, with swords. And bows and arrows, too! The two kings also trained people to be magicians, just like themselves. Well, soon enough the war got so big that the other two kings had to fight also. Guess who won?”

“Who?” Arnold asked, amazed.

“The King of the East,” Lyre said and pointed a finger over to the East Mountains.

“But…you says that the mountain is all that the King of the East has…” Arnold said, scrunching his eyebrows in confusion.

“Well, yeah. The King of the East ruled for just a little bit, and then a bunch of people that didn’t like him tried to kill him.”

The child gasped again, his eyes brightening up. “But…wow! That’s cool!”

Lyre laughed; he had told Arnold a while back that his father was a rebel. He had fought against the King of the East.

“So, the King of the East went back to his mountain, right over there,” Lyre pointed again to the East Mountain. Arnold followed his finger and locked his eyes on the lifeless mountain.

“The three other Kings came together and decided that the King of the North should be the king of the entire land. Well, not all of it, you see. They couldn’t build anything on the East. The King of the East wouldn’t let them.”

Arnold nodded and then understood it all. He continued to gaze fearfully at the East Mountain.

“So, the East King lives in there?” Arnold asked.

“Yeah. I guess. I’ve never been in there.”

***

“Arnold, get back here before I swat your hind end!” Lyre cried, advancing towards the black child. Arnold was always wandering off when they could be doing something fun…

The child turned around and nodded. “I don’t like that mountain…it’s so…bad,” Arnold said, and shuddered.

“Yeah, well my Papa said that only evil things could live there. Let’s go. I’m thirsty,” Lyre stated and tugged on the child’s arms, but the child wouldn’t budge.

“Oh, I think I have to go now,” Arnold said smiled. Lyre nodded and stepped back.

“Maybe next time?” Lyre asked and the child nodded, “Well, good-bye. I’ll see you next time, then.”

Arnold nodded again and sighed. His body started to glow, and his closed his eyes. He bit his tongue as the familiar sensation covered his figure.

It was only in his dreams that he could come back to Vryheid. Every night he would fall asleep and enter this beautiful world. He could do anything he wanted, and do it without being ashamed of who he was.

That comment came up a lot in the real world. His Mama didn’t like to talk about it, but Arnold always wanted to know why the other kids didn’t look like him.

Mama would often tell him, “You don’t need to look like the other boys, hun. You’re special the way you are.” Her thick Southern accent shined through in her words.

Arnold would nod and said, “Yeah, I guess…”

But not here. In Vryheid no one told him that he was ugly, or he was covered in mud. Not one soul. After all, Lyre had told him, Vryheid meant Freedom.

***

So, how was it?[b]

I love this! You've really captured the characters and their personalities, as well as their relationship. You've also pulled of something that a lot of writers can never do - making the reader love the characters.

The only thing that confuses me a little - are there two boys or three. You refer to two names and 'the boy', though it isn't always clear if this is one of the two or a third character.
'He' and 'him' are words that the reader skims over without really thinking on them, so don't worry about overusing them (except if it's at the beginning of every sentence or clause).

From what I can see your writing in terms of spelling and grammar is fine, but since i'm no good at that I'll let someone else decide that.

Overall this is brilliant, keep up the good work. Kudos.

I have nothing to complain about except a little more detail on what your characters look like. Bring them to life! Right now they're stick figures...soon they can be rounded 3-D people. People wwho read your story will feel their happiness and their greif.

I bet you didn't think a thirteen year-old could have all this in her did you?


Star

That was awsome!
I can feel the bond between the two friends. You put in really nice details. I can't point out any mistakes.
I love it!

I loved it!
Your captured the two friends personalitiy!
Great job!!!

Koko - Thanks. There are two boys: Lyre and Arnold. I'll go back and try and see what I can do that make that less confusing.

Star - Thanks for the advice. I'll be working on descriptions, then!

Pawprint and laughingfreak - Thanks, guys!

BBB

Hello again! I'm glad you took my advice and named the land after the African word for Freedom. Good job providing a detailed image of your fantasy world as well; at the end of the dream, the reader feels almost as reluctantly pulled back to the real world as Arnold!

It's a bit lucky that the name is Vryheid, too, as that sounds quite Norse/European and will thus seem just familiar enough to make those used to Tolkien feel at home reading your work. The directional wizards also have that effect, as they remind one ever-so-slightly of the witches from the Wizard of Oz. Both have next to nothing to do with your work, of course, but a pinch of familiarity will ease the reader into something entirely new.

There are a couple of minor grammatical and/or spelling errors, but they're the kind of things one finds for themself in the editing process. More useful suggestions would include what shooting-star stated: create physical descriptions of your characters. The most vivid image is that of the raven-form of Lyre, as it should be, but we know very little of what he and Arnold look like except that the latter is of African descent. Sometimes minimalistic description is useful to move the story along, but it relies on the reader to make their own assumptions. Judging by the shape-shifted form of Lyre (as opposed to his name, which would suggest Grecian origins), the reader might assume he was of African, Inuit, or West Coast North American First Nations descent, since race plays such an important role in the story.

You certainly do have talent, and I also sense a level of devotion that will help ensure the quality of your piece.

Wow. For your very fantasy, I'm very impressed!

Your characters are indeed very likeable, but you can easily go into more detail. A story like this benefits from being character-driven, so really go into the lives. I mean, you'll probably do that in future chapters, but still.

I was slightly confused at the end. So Vryheid (I hope I spelled that right) is the fantasy world where Arnold and Lyre play? I think that's right; it's making more sense the more I think about it.

Anyway, I'd like to see more action. Believe me, my childhood was spent almost entirely in my "fantasy" worlds, and there is NO break in the action. My God, I was in constant peril and adventure. So, to really grab the reader, I'd suggest opening with some excitement and then, in the next chapter, returning to the "real" world so Lyre and Arnold can have the discussion about the wizards.

Bravo, BBB. I can't wait to read more of this!

Thanks guys. I'll be posting the next chapter sometime tomorrow!

BBB

That was pretty good. I felt myself immediatly drawn into your story. Your dialogue was good, your characterization was good, and you just managed to pull off your backstory; a feat not many can do gracefully. Cheers.

As the other's have said, your characters are fun. Innocent, wide-eyed, playful. You have a way of capturing that innocence. Not making the kids too mature, but not blunting their dialogue or stream-of-conciousness any either. You have captured the perfect children.

A bit of advice: consider starting this piece differently. Consider beginning with real world and the things Arnold goes through being a black child in racist America. It would take more effort and more research but I think linking this kid immediately to the real world and then showing parallels between America and Vryheid would get the reader more emotionally attatched. Just a thought. Also, be careful where you're going with this. You're stepping into the fickle world of semi-historical fiction where knowing the facts is imperitive. Otherwise, you might end up looking sloppy and cliche. Research, research, research.

Well, by darnit

That's a new one

The trees sang in the wind and the sun smiled at the grasses and plants. Everything was luscious and green.

Every word of this description is dripping with cliches. Nothing is this perfect. And if you want to achieve near-perfection, you're going to have to be a little more clever with your description of this place. I want similes and metaphors. I want you to describe the lushness using phrases I've never seen used before. As a writer, you need to strive for the unique. For the never-seen. For the sensual and the eye-opening.

There is a magician for the North, the South, the West, and the East

Kinda like wizard of oz, right? If that's the first thing that popped into my head, you might wanna change this.

Lyre laughed at the child’s stupidity

Get rid of this 'child' crap. They're both children. If you're under thirteen, you're as much a child as an eight year old in my opinion.

Lyre nodded and smiled. He loved telling of Vryheid’s history. It was so unique…one-of-a-kind

You switched perspectives here. Suddenly, you're telling us how Lyre feels. This is a no-no. Tell us how Lyre feels through Arnold's eyes.

You’re special the way you are.”

There would have been plenty of black kids for Arnold to socialize with. And at eight, dear Arnold would already be aware of the racial divide between him and white people. Make your hero a little more precocious, please. 'Mama's' words are over dramatic and, hate to say, comical. Rework to make this sound more...true to life.

Anyway. I await the sequel. Keep up the good work, BBB.I'm seeing pronounced growth.

-Kylan

Thanks Kylan. Anyway, here is Chapter Two:

Chapter Two

Arnold awoke to Papa’s slamming of the door. His eyes jerked open and his heart started to race. He gripped his blankets in both hands and waited. His room was very dark; after all Papa could barely afford an apartment. Arnold’s room had no windows, throwing an eerie darkness at the child. After a few seconds he realized that it was just Papa and groaned. He closed his eyes again, wanting to go back to Vryheid. He could picture Lyre beckoning him to follow him into the magical forest…

“John, what happened?” Mama’s voice asked. Arnold slowly raised his eyelids, listening to their conversation.

“Not this time, Rita,” Papa said slowly. Arnold heard Mama sigh and he himself sighed. It was always going to be next time…always. Well, at least for Papa.

“What did they say?” Mama asked, obviously disappointed. Arnold bit his cheek trying to hold in the tears.

“They says that they don’t hire blacks,” Papa replied and Arnold heard him walk into the small kitchen. From then on, he couldn’t hear what they were saying so he slowly crept out of bed and placed his ear on his bedroom door. He held his breath and listened.

“Hun, I’m sorry. You’ll find a job sooner or later. Don’t worry. Anyhows, we got enough bread to feed the family for another week or so,” Mama said in her caring voice. Arnold opened his door just a tad so that he could see what Mama and Papa were doing.

Mama went to the pantry and opened it, revealing twelve shelves. Only two of them were occupied. Arnold looked hungrily at the wheat bread that Mama had bought from the ‘integrated store’, as she called it. Arnold knew that the ‘integrated store’ was where she bought most of the food.

Mama quickly grabbed a loaf of wheat bread and placed it softly on the table in front of Papa, who had his face covered with his hands. Then she walked over to the refrigerator and pulled out the butter.

“Thanks,” Papa sighed and spread the butter over the bread with a knife. Arnold frowned and slowly walked back into his dark room. He slid into his bed and pulled the blankets over him. Arnold shut his eyes and cuddled with his blankets. He wished desperately that he could visit Lyre again. He wished that he could go to Vryheid where nothing was wrong. No one would say that mud people couldn’t work. Because in Vryheid, he was free.

It was in the state of mind when you are not yet asleep, but not awake neither that Arnold was woken.

“Darlin’, get up. It’s time for some breakfast,” Mama said calmly and rubbed Arnold’s back. Arnold sighed and rubbed his eyes. He had been so close to getting to Vryheid…just so close!

Once Arnold was awake, Mama walked over to Seth’s bed and said, “Darlin’, how’re you feeling?” Seth was four years old and from what Arnold knew, had become very sick.

Seth stirred in his tiny bed and Mama rubbed him just like she had Arnold. The little boy moaned and Mama bent down to his cheek and kissed him.

“You want something to eat?” she asked and Seth grunted. Mama smiled and looked back at Arnold. He was still in bed, watching her and Seth.

“Get ready. You got a big day ahead of you,” she said and stood up from Seth’s bed. Mama walked over to Arnold and placed her hand on his forehead.

“Good. Stay healthy and don’t come down with the flu like your brother now, you hear?” Mama said and Arnold smiled.

“Yes’m,” he replied and slipped out of bed.

***

Arnold followed Seth out of their bedroom and stepped into the kitchen where Mama was handing out slices of bread. Papa was sitting on the floor, next to the door, reading a newspaper.

The eight year old smiled as Mama handed him a piece of wheat bread and then Arnold turned to Papa.

“Papa, did you get anything?” Arnold asked his father. Papa looked up from his paper.

“What was that, Arnold?”

“Did you get any breakfast?” Arnold asked, eyeing his father. Something told him that he didn’t get anything. Mama also looked at Papa.

Papa quickly replied, “Oh, yes, I did. Thanks for askin’.” He resumed to read the newspaper and became highly interested in an article. Mama seemed to notice.

“What’cha reading?” she asked and placed her hands on her hips. Mama was a large woman. She wore a big, baggy T-shirt and jeans that were two sizes too small. Still, Arnold noticed, Mama never complained about anything.

“Me?” Papa asked and Mama nodded, “It says here that on July 1, 1928, a group of Negroes boycotted the use of a grocery market ‘cause they refused to sell a black woman a can of fruit.”

Arnold interrupted, “What does boycott mean?”

Mama glanced down at her eldest son, “It means to stop using, hun. But why would they boycott? White folks don’t never sell us nothing ‘less it’s integrated!”

Arnold ignored the adults. He didn’t understand what they were talking about anyway. Grown-ups were always like that. They were always talking about the ‘Great Depression.’ No one ever cared to tell Arnold exactly what it was.

“Well, that’s the problem, Rita,” Papa told Mama, “it says here…it says that this store was integrated.”

“Well, then why on earth wouldn’t they let the woman buy the fruit?” Mama replied, throwing her hands up into the air. Arnold marveled at the woman. She was always so caring about everyone. He couldn’t even think about how he could ever live without her.

“I don’t know! All I know is what is says in here. The group of Negroes boycotted the store. That’s all I knows.”

Mama sighed and looked down at Seth, “Are you feelin’ any better this morning?” Arnold turned his attention to his little brother, whose face was as pale as ice. Seth shook his head, no.

Mama bit her lip and placed her hand on his forehead. The instant that she touched it she pulled back.

“Well, you’re mighty hot today. Seth, go climb back into bed.”

Just at that moment someone knocked on the door to the apartment, reverberating throughout the two rooms. Arnold glanced at Papa, who stood up to answer the door.

He pulled it open and said, “Why, hello, Mr. Smith. What can I do you for?”

“Your rent,” Mr. Smith said tersely. Mr. Smith was old and had a very stern face. His pressed suit and trousers only reminded the people that he was in charge.

“Oh. The rent, huh?” Papa said and motioned for Mama to come and join him. Mama looked at Arnold, who was the only one left at the table and said, “Go to your room. I’ll only be a moment.” Arnold dug his eyebrows into his head in confusion. Why did he have to go to his room now? Mr. Smith came by every month, and he never had to go then.

“But-” Arnold protested.

“No buts,” Mama replied and shooed him to his room. Then she walked up to Papa.

Arnold closed his door but left a little opening so he could see what was going on. Why was everything such a big secret?

“Mr. Smith, the problem is, is that I don’t have the money right now…” Papa said, but his voice trailed off. Mr. Smith’s lips turned hard.

“Douglas, you said to me when you rented this apartment that you would have the rent ready at the beginning of each month. So far you have kept your promise. I’m sad to say that last month you still haven’t paid either. May I ask why?” Mr. Smith said sternly. Arnold held his breath. He knew that money was a thing that was no discussed in the house. Especially around Papa, who was gone most of the time. Mama said that he was out looking for a new life. Arnold never understood what she meant.

“Yes, well, you see, I lost my job and I haven’t found a new one yet,” Papa said and Arnold could hear the disappointment in his voice.

“You told me last month that you would find a job. And you haven’t, now have you? In that case that makes you a liar and Mr. Jackson I don’t house liars. I want you out by the end of next week.” Mr. Smith said and suddenly Mama gasped.

“No! Please! We have two children and one of them is down with the flu! Please, just keep us until he gets another job. Please. One more month. That’s all that I ask for!” Mama cried and Arnold had never heard her more anxious.

Papa stared shaking his head violently as Mr. Smith uttered the last few words, “I’m sorry, but that’s the lie that you told me last month. You have to be out by the end of next week.”

Mr. Smith walked away from the door and Papa went out after him. Mama stayed in and placed her hand over her eyes. Arnold saw her take slow and sharp breaths, and it wasn’t until she took her hand off of her eyes that he saw that she was crying.

Arnold stepped back. Never in a million years had he seen Mama cry. His heart suddenly was flushed with icy water and tears came. He slowly crawled into bed and cuddled with his dirty pillow.

“Mama…don’t cry…” he whimpered, and Mama slowly shut the bedroom door. Arnold didn’t move. He stuck his head into his pillow and cried.

In the kitchen he could hear Mama sobbing.


***


When I wrote this, I actually started crying. I think I'm growing a little too attached to the characters.

NOTE: Lyre is only in Vryheid. He isn't in the real world.

I can understand your tears; it suggests sincerity on your part. This is important when you are using emotion so much as you don't want your readers to feel deceived or manipulated. You are, to employ a cliche, 'tugging at heartstrings', meaning that you are demanding a large emotional investment from your readers. The scene you have just delivered is just barely short of 'over-the-top', with racism + desperate unemployed poverty + continued child sickness + eviction all lined up together in a series of blows which is not wholely unrealistic but must be used sparingly to avoid being overly melodramatic. As it stands thusfar, however, you have the reader strongly sympathizing with your characters.

Your first historical fiction will inevitably lead you to your first (possible) historical inaccuracy, and here it is: if your work is indeed set in the United States (which I assume it is since you mentioned Pearl Harbor before), the Great Depression wouldn't have been a big issue for your characters until late in 1929. Europeans were starting to feel it as early as 1928, but the infamous 'Black Tuesday' did not occur until the end of October 1929 and it is generally the 1930s which immediately evoke that sense of historical hopelessness that I expect you wish to convey. Perhaps you should start your story in late 1929 or early 1930.

Fantastic!

I agree with everything Kazdrea said. You've captured the emotions of your characters brilliantly, and very genuinely too. You've got a great style of writing. You've set up a lot of serious events in a short space of time, without overdoing the drama of it.

I can't agree with the history issue, since I'm dreadful when it comes to that, but it seems fine to me. I assumed it was around the 50's before people started protesting for rights. Do you actually have a specific time period for this?

The only fault I can find is 'was no discussed', (9th paragraph from the bottom, third line down).

This is the best thing I've read in a long time, so keep up the good work. Kudos.

Everyone already said everything!

I really enjoyed this!

I liked how you described the emotions really clearly.

I actually did cry a little too

Well, i ca't wait for the next one!

Thanks guys.

Kazdrea - I understand what you are talking about. I researched the Great Depression and found out that it sort of got worse in the 30s. So, do you propose that I should bump the date to the 30s?

Koko- Thanks for finding that mistake. I would never have found it on my own!

Pawprint- Thanks for being so supportive of Frequency! You are awesome.