Young Writers Society

Note: this is rated 16+. It contains strong, derogatory language and some mature content.
I came up with this story plot when pondering how to address a contest prompt. I'm hoping to enter it if I can make it fit the prompt well enough.

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A knock sounded from the front door. Two knocks. Three knocks.

In the furthest back room in the apartment, Shosanna Halevi sat against the far wall with her knees tucked into her chest. Tears streamed down her face. They were coming for her. They had already come for her father last night, they had already gotten Emmanuelle. Now it was her turn.

Shosanna grabbed the kitchen knife lying on the floor next to her and held it in front of her face. Her hand shook, making the blade shake as well, and the tears blurred her vision. She didn’t have the courage to use it on either them or herself. Trying to use it against them would only quicken her death anyway. She tossed it away and there was a clang as it hit the wooden floor.

Her father had been brave. He had opened the door standing tall and proud. Even when they took him down to the street and beat him, he had not fallen or flinched. Shosanna knew this. She had been watching from the living room window up above, even though her father had told her to stay in her room.

Her sister, Emmanuelle, had been even braver. She had helped lead the Zionist youth movements and always talked about Palestine, Palestine. She filled Shosanna’s head with stories of this promised land, though their father always scolded her, saying their home would never be anywhere but here, in Vienna. Emmanuelle was always on her feet, always moving, always doing something beneficial and productive. They had gotten her a long time ago.

But Shosanna wasn’t brave; her sobs proved this. She had never been brave. She had spent her whole life under blushes and quiet words. And now she was going to die, weak and pathetic, as she had always been in life.

More knocks sounded from the door. Louder, as though they would break down the door any second.

Slowly, Shosanna stood up, her knees trembling. She walked to her sister’s vanity table; she was in her sister’s room. The vanity was a beautifully crafted piece of art, mahogany and at least a century old. On it laid her sister’s ivory hairbrush, the one that had been their mother’s before them. Shosanna fingered it gingerly and a single tear fell down upon its polished handle.

Shosanna was fourteen; Emmanuelle was eighteen. They were sitting on Emmanuelle’s bed and Emmanuelle was brushing Shosanna’s hair, back before the end of humanity.

Emmanuelle sighed. “You truly are so pretty, Shosanna.”

This was true. Shosanna had always been beautiful, garnering the unwanted attention that contributed so greatly to her shyness throughout her life.

Suddenly, Emmanuelle laughed. “It’s funny, you know, you could be awfully good at manipulating people, with your looks.”

“You know I couldn’t do that, Elle.”

“I know. Though it wouldn’t be bad if you could. People are not all good, Shosanna. You mustn’t let yourself be pushed around.”

Shosanna stared down at the hairbrush in her hand and allowed two more tears to fall. Then the crying ceased and she began brushing her matted hair.

Brutal knocks sounded from the front door.

Finished with her hair, Shosanna looked into the mirror. Her dark, smooth hair was now at odd contrast with her hallow cheeks and sunken eyes. Her skin looked sallow, sickly. Opening top drawer of the vanity, she found her sister’s elegant collection of makeup nestled in the same place it had sat for the last few years. With a resolute expression upon her face, she powdered her skin and applied thin layers of lipstick and mascara.

The mirror now showed an appearance much more satisfactory. Shosanna sighed, staring into her own eyes for answers she could not find. After a moment, she placed the makeup neatly back in its drawer and artfully tore the top of her shirt to reveal more of her collarbone. Her smooth, pale skin now stood out against the brown fabric of her shirt, and she walked back to the wall and resumed her seated position, picking up the discarded knife on her way.

Her back against the wall, her knees tucked into her chest, Shosanna stared at the closed bedroom door. The knocks continued to resonate from the front of the apartment and Shosanna flinched at each one. She tucked the blade into the hem of her skirt, and she waited.

A roar came as the front door crashed down to the floor. Shosanna heard the footsteps of men entering the apartment. Thump, thump.

“Come out and quickly!"

Thump, thump. The footsteps got louder, and she could just make out the words of the soldiers to each other.

“Start out over there by the parlor, I’ll take the back.”

Thump, thump. Shosanna heard the doors along the hallway opening and one set of footsteps slowly nearing the bedroom. Thump, thump. Emmanuelle’s door was the last in the hall, prolonging the wait. Thump, thump. But before she knew it, the door opened.

A young soldier entered, bearing a black uniform, the swastika armband, and the fair coloring of a good Aryan. His blue eyes scoured the room before focusing on Shosanna huddled up in the corner.

“Fucking Jewish cunt,” he spat. “Get up. Get your things. You’re leaving.” He stood rigidly at the doorway with rifle in hand, waiting and watching her like a hawk.

Shosanna obeyed, again trembling as she stood up. What if she had been wrong. She had probably been wrong, and now they were taking her away, just as they had taken her father. Just as they had killed her sister. She could come at him with her knife now, but he would just beat or shoot her.

But she remembered her sister’s words and she thought of her father’s actions. She would meet her doom with pride. Slowly, she walked with what dignity she could to the door.

However, the soldier did not let her reach the door. He stopped her with one hand as she approached. “Whoa, wait a minute there,” he said, grinning and dropping his rifle to the ground.

The soldier snaked one arm around the small of her back and pressed her against him. His other hand grabbed her chest and begun pulling down the fabric of her shirt as he used his body to push her against the wall. Shosanna gasped involuntarily.

Shosanna fought to find her hands, trapped as they were against the wall and the mass of his heated body, but she did not attempt to push him away. Instead, she worked to reach into her skirts and dislodge the object placed there. The soldier slammed her into the wall with renewed force at the movement, but it was too late. Shosanna’s fingers were already wrapped tightly around the blade.

But merely grasping the knife did not prove to be that beneficial. She could not move to get out from him – and now his hands started to work their way down to her skirts – and there was no room between their chests to stab him.

The soldier’s warm hand moved down her skirt. Shosanna shrieked. And her arm made its way out of his hold and stabbed him in the back.

The soldier grunted and grabbed onto her as he fell to the ground. With some effort, Shosanna pushed him away and his body fell facedown on the floor. The knife still stuck into his black uniform and blood started to pool and frame the blade.

Shosanna stared down at the body on the ground for a long moment. Then she hurriedly opened the bottom drawer of her sister’s dresser and grabbed the sock-full of money stashed there. She walked back to the doorway and listened. There was no sound of footsteps, but the other soldier would be back any second.

Gathering her courage, Shosanna peeked into the hallway. It was empty. She breathed in relief and was suddenly thankful for her family’s affluence and the large apartment it afforded. Shosanna Halevi exited her sister’s bedroom and silently made her way down the hallway that promised freedom.

Okay, so I really liked this piece, and I have but one nitpick.

(inner author: Haha, seriously, one? No one's that good. Me: Yes, seriously. And she was that good. So shut the flip up before I decide to kill off the character based on you. IA: You wouldn't! Me: Oh yes I would.)

...

Anyway.

"What if she had been wrong."

That period should be a question mark, maybe it was a typo?

Apart from that SINGLE nitpick (IA: *protests muffled by duct tape*), this was very nice. It sounded like it was part of a novel.

This was very, very good. I take a special interest [I guess you could call it that] in the hollocaust, so I can honestly say you were pretty much accurate when you described the dead relatives, the pride they had, the fear. Good job, on that one.
I also know that it's very hard to relate to the characters there: it doesn't seem realistic to most people, and it was a different time so people thought differently and reacted differently - you get why most people would have a hard time relating. You've worked around that. I could completely relate to Shosanna, she was believeable and loveable. We really get to see into her mind as a person - how shy she is, her beauty, eevery part of it was conveyed in a really great way.
The descriptions were fantastic. I could feel like I was there, seeing the ivory hairbrush, and the vanity, see Shosanna as she stared at herself in the mirror. Wonderful job - I mean it. I had one thing I didn't like:

But merely grasping the knife did not prove to be that beneficial. She could not move to get out from him – and now his hands started to work their way down to her skirts – and there was no room between their chests to stab him.

The soldier’s warm hand moved down her skirt

It bugged me as I read, because you were repeating hands\down\skirt in some sort of combination. So you might want to change that.
I love the plot it had, but more than anything I love how you showed Shosanna's personality. It was great!
Thank you for the read I didn't have much to critique - since it was all very good. Beware of repitition. Though the one with the knocks, in the beginning, rocked. Also, the flashback was great. It showed us her sister - maybe not too much of her sister's character, she was more of a tool for the story plot, making Shosanna remember, right? - but at least we got to see her, and I thought that alone was great, and then it got the story plot going - even greater!
Pm me if you have any questions!
Ofir

Hi!

LOVE this! Shosanna's personality was perfect and I got a very real sensation of her terror. The pacing was nearly perfect as well.

A knock sounded from the front door. Two knocks. Three knocks.

Weak opening, I think. I like the idea, but something about the "a knock sounded" makes me want to skim.

she was in her sister’s room.

A bit redundant here.

But before she knew it, the door opened.

Nah, draw it out more. Make it seem like she's waiting forever, and yet not enough time.

What if she had been wrong. She had probably been wrong, and now they were taking her away, just as they had taken her father. Just as they had killed her sister. She could come at him with her knife now, but he would just beat or shoot her.

Should be a question mark after the first sentence. Also, the second one is repetetive.

grabbed onto her as he fell to the ground

Maybe some more description here? The action was a but unclear.

There was no sound of footsteps, but the other soldier would be back any second.

You'd think so, what with all the screaming. ^_^ I kind of wonder why she didn't take his gun though, or at least her knife.

Gathering her courage, Shosanna peeked into the hallway. It was empty. She breathed in relief and was suddenly thankful for her family’s affluence and the large apartment it afforded. Shosanna Halevi exited her sister’s bedroom and silently made her way down the hallway that promised freedom.

Love the ending as well. 'Twas lovely. Really, I don't have anything to critique again!

Oh, wait, though. I do. How were her father and siste taken, but not her? It seems like they would have at least raided/searched their house. I'd like a little more explanation there but it isn't really something wrong per se.

Also, perhaps a bit more description of the surroundings would be beneficial. Is there furniture? What is the style of her clothing? Is there a clock downstairs? Can she see the curtains of the window? Is there a downstairs at all, or is it an apartment? Etc.
But really, I am in love with your writing style. It's very cinematic and supenceful.

Let me know if you ever need a critique! Really. I'll probably look out for your stuff just to read it.

/useless rambling

Lupis

Do you always write 'short' stories that deserve to be novels? That I would order be novels, had I that power?

So...this was tight. Tense, on an edge. Much like that other piece I reviewed, but while that one skimmed around pleasantries and the like, this was tight and negative. There was action from start to finish, and you tied in some character development of Shosanna as well. Good work.

A knock sounded from the front door. Two knocks. Three knocks.

In the furthest back room in the apartment, Shosanna Halevi sat against the far wall with her knees tucked into her chest. Tears streamed down her face. They were coming for her. They had already come for her father last night, they had already gotten Emmanuelle. Now it was her turn.

Shosanna grabbed the kitchen knife lying on the floor next to her and held it in front of her face. Her hand shook, making the blade shake as well, and the tears blurred her vision. She didn’t have the courage to use it on either them or herself. Trying to use it against them would only quicken her death anyway. She tossed it away and there was a clang as it hit the wooden floor.

Her father had been brave. He had opened the door standing tall and proud. Even when they took him down to the street and beat him, he had not fallen or flinched. Shosanna knew this. She had been watching from the living room window up above, even though her father had told her to stay in her room.

Her sister, Emmanuelle, had been even braver. She had helped lead the Zionist youth movements and always talked about Palestine, Palestine. She filled Shosanna’s head with stories of this promised land, though their father always scolded her, saying their home would never be anywhere but here, in Vienna. Emmanuelle was always on her feet, always moving, always doing something beneficial and productive. They had gotten her a long time ago.

But Shosanna wasn’t brave; her sobs proved this. She had never been brave. She had spent her whole life under blushes and quiet words. And now she was going to die, weak and pathetic, as she had always been in life.

More knocks sounded from the door. Louder, as though they would break down the door any second.

First few lines were brilliant. Just what we need to grab our attention. In fact, I'd probably say throw in more details in there as well, seeming to say everything while saying nothing at all. The last line in the above quoted bit was great as well - a good plot driver.

However, I did not enjoy the massive info dump in the middle of the first and last lines in this. I did not particularly care about her family. The danger is immediate - it's her. Putting in everything about her father, her sister...I don't think it was necessary. Or it might have been more subtly incorporated into the action. Also - I didn't like my first impression of the main character. Weak, not in control of herself. Of course, I agree that this is a character people might realistically possess, but it didn't make the story fun to read. In fact, rather than adding to the intensity of the drama, it detracted from it. I didn't feel inclined to read something about a girl so pathetically weak as this. And, moreover, one who admits she's weak. I felt like I was looking at her sitting in the corner of the room, rather than actually feeling sorry for her.

Shosanna was fourteen; Emmanuelle was eighteen. They were sitting on Emmanuelle’s bed and Emmanuelle was brushing Shosanna’s hair, back before the end of humanity.

Emmanuelle sighed. “You truly are so pretty, Shosanna.”

This was true. Shosanna had always been beautiful, garnering the unwanted attention that contributed so greatly to her shyness throughout her life.

Suddenly, Emmanuelle laughed. “It’s funny, you know, you could be awfully good at manipulating people, with your looks.”

“You know I couldn’t do that, Elle.”

“I know. Though it wouldn’t be bad if you could. People are not all good, Shosanna. You mustn’t let yourself be pushed around

Something about this second info dump annoys me. It seems like something you'd do in an essay - make a statement, and then explain it. Life isn't really like that, so it makes no sense (how ironic) that you describe everything linearly. Incorporating it in would work better, and I'll try to think of better ways of saying how. The dialogue didn't impress me much - in fact, I'd suggest taking it out entirely and seeing how it reads then (trust me, I did that so many times with the 'Past C Island' story - I wrote a whole section of dialogue, and later decided it was completely unecessary and added very little to the progression of the story, and so removed it). Here, the dialogue doesn't feel right. Seems almost too predictable, childish even. So it might work better to remove it.

Finished with her hair, Shosanna looked into the mirror. Her dark, smooth hair was now at odd contrast with her hallow cheeks and sunken eyes. Her skin looked sallow, sickly. Opening top drawer of the vanity, she found her sister’s elegant collection of makeup nestled in the same place it had sat for the last few years. With a resolute expression upon her face, she powdered her skin and applied thin layers of lipstick and mascara.

The mirror now showed an appearance much more satisfactory. Shosanna sighed, staring into her own eyes for answers she could not find. After a moment, she placed the makeup neatly back in its drawer and artfully tore the top of her shirt to reveal more of her collarbone. Her smooth, pale skin now stood out against the brown fabric of her shirt, and she walked back to the wall and resumed her seated position, picking up the discarded knife on her way.

Holy moly. This was funny - not laugh-out-loud as such, but just...ha. It's the use of dramatic irony, I think, the fact that we and the character knows something another character does not know. or maybe that's called intentional irony...but it doesn't make a difference. It was tongue-in-cheek and I was grinning and holding my breath as I read it.

Thump, thump.

Don't like the repetition of this. It kills the sensuous, the intricate, the sophisticated balance of things here - sounds juvenile instead. I know what you're getting at: the sound of stuff being knocked, but surely there's a cleaner way to do that than this. Or...just save it for the film version. Again, this reads like a film, and so the 'thump thump' part would be appropriate as directions there.

"Fucking Jewish cunt,” he spat. “Get up. Get your things. You’re leaving.” He stood rigidly at the doorway with rifle in hand, waiting and watching her like a hawk.

Love the harshness of his comment here. Why would he even ask her to get up though, and, what's more, tell her to 'get her things'? I would have thought he couldn't care less what she had with her, and that he'd just ddrag her up by the arm by the looks of things. Also 'watching her like a hawk' should be chomped to: 'watching'. It's creepier that way, more shuddering. Ew.

Shosanna obeyed, again trembling as she stood up. What if she had been wrong. She had probably been wrong, and now they were taking her away, just as they had taken her father. Just as they had killed her sister. She could come at him with her knife now, but he would just beat or shoot her.

I know what you're doing here: stalling for time. A literary striptease before we get into the actual action, the space between 'she stood up' and 'she walked to the door' (later). However, I also feel that the info about her sister, her father is just unnecessarily complicating things, especially when it has not been explained. Why didn't she run away after they were taken? Why is she still here? The unsolved questions, far from adding to the mystery, seem to detract from the cunning and control of your writing and make it seem less well-thought out.

“Whoa, wait a minute there,” he said,

Hang on - sth just struck me. With all this talking he's doing, why wouldn't the others have heard him? Or...you'd think they might have been blundering around too loudly to hear - but you haven't exactly stated that anywhere. To me, the actions of the two are quite...silent, full of heartbeat-suspense and all.

The main action is a stunner. Tight, coiled and amazingly war-like and sexual at once.

But merely grasping the knife did not prove to be that beneficial.

Beneficial? I beg your pardon - this ain't an English essay .

Shosanna stared down at the body on the ground for a long moment. Then she hurriedly opened the bottom drawer of her sister’s dresser and grabbed the sock-full of money stashed there. She walked back to the doorway and listened. There was no sound of footsteps, but the other soldier would be back any second.

Really? She had time to stop, stare at the dead man, get some money (making more noises in the apparently 'silent' house), listen intently and then run off? I would have thought she'd have made a run for it as soon as possible. And, with the cunning with which she planned the murder, I would also have expected her to have grabbed the money before he came in. And how does she know it's just one other soldier?

Gathering her courage, Shosanna peeked into the hallway. It was empty. She breathed in relief and was suddenly thankful for her family’s affluence and the large apartment it afforded. Shosanna Halevi exited her sister’s bedroom and silently made her way down the hallway that promised freedom.

Yeah, you know all this stalling is annoying me. And the last line...I would have probably ended it at a split second stare at the dead guy and then with her making a dash for it - it sounds almost too hopeful where it ends. Of course, then I'd expect you to complete the story in novel-chapter installments as well...kidding.

Here's what I would suggest (if you do, indeed, intend to keep this a 'short' story): don't overcomplicate the story with mentions of her sister and parents - or if you want to include them, incorporate them in somehow so it doesn't seem like a list of information. Secondly, work on the ending. Endings are so, so important - perhaps even more important than beginnings, and they really must not be overlooked. A not-so-well-planned ending detracts totally from a marvellous story; equally, a good ending can point the reader in the right direction in terms of 'what do I think next'?

So, I hope that helped. Questions, problems, further help - you know the drill. PM me.