In my writing class we are supposed to write 10 short stories by December 14th. I thought it might be cool to get some other people's feedback on my writing.
So here is my first one:
I ran down the wheat field, stumbling and disoriented by my tear filled eyes. How could I let this happen to you?
Weeds scratched my legs and ripped the hem of my daisy colored, knee length dress. I continued to run, fueled by rage, but also love. Nothing would stop me. I would run until my legs fell off if that's what it took to be free again.
All of a sudden, my bare foot caught on a rock and I tripped over it. I tried to right myself but my foot did not hold. It slipped on an uneven patch of dirt and I tumbled down the hill screaming. My momentum carried me as far as the single, lightning struck tree inhabiting the farthest end of the field. Right in front of a cliff.
Using a branch of the tree, I lifted myself to an upright position. One glance at my foot told me I'd broken it, and badly. My ankle was swollen and purple. My toes were bleeding and crossed at odd angles.
So much for running until my legs fell off.
I´m sorry August.
As the sun faded, illuminating the wheat and setting it on fire with light, I lay there; my back up against the dead tree. I thought about you. More tears squeezed their way onto my dry cheeks. The pain of my foot disappeared along with the sun, and I forgot. Not you though, never you.
It got cold quickly that night. I curled my knees up to my chest, pulling my dress around my scarred legs. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t sleep. I shouldn’t sleep. I didn’t know who was out there searching for me.
My stomach growled, echoing in the silence. I tried to remember the last time I had eaten. The night before, I concluded, and even then, all I had was a small slice of dried bread. Funny, for all the wheat around here. For a moment, I cursed myself for not bringing any food with me.
No, no, I thought. I didn’t have time. Give yourself a break.
When they took you, August, I swore I would get you back. No matter what it took. It was complicated getting past Mother and the Twins, but I finally did it. They were in the garden when it happened. Calista and Karaline were messing with the weed torch behind Mother’s back. She did not, nor did the Twins, notice when the fringe of her skirt caught fire. Then the grass. And then the flowers. When I saw the flames through my bedroom window, I ran. I knew the Combustion Squad would be there soon. It only took a minute, and by then I was two blocks away, hopping a fence labeled Frozen Territory: Do Not Enter For Your Own Safety.
The Frozen Territory was said to be a place baren of all life. There were stories of people entering and never coming back. Some said that there was good in the Frozen Territory. Myths of rebellion against Society. I never believed them though; all just child folklore… That is, until that morning when I woke up and you were missing from your crib.
I searched the whole house looking for you. You always had been good at hiding. When I couldn’t find you, I went to Mother in tears. I was so scared. I didn’t know where you could have gone. She wrapped her bony arms around me and stroked my thick, blonde hair with her long fingers.
¨ I’m sorry,¨ she had said.
I pulled away from her, looking into her deep lifeless eyes. You couldn’t be dead.
Then Mother looked away, down the hallway where your room was, “They came for August in the night.”
She might have said that she tried to stop them, but I would have known that was a lie. Mother is a scared lady. Fear controls her more than love ever could; not that she loved us. I don’t think she ever did.