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Collaborative Writing Improvement Thread 
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Post Collaborative Writing Improvement Thread
After looking at the "Collaborative Artistic Improvement Thread" (Hereon referred to as "Cait" [pronounced like "Kate"]), I realized that not all of us here are artists. In fact, there are far too many fan fictions here for there to only be artists; we have writers here. And, unless I'm mistaken, all of the writers here, at some level, want to get better. So, we now have the "Collaborative Writing Improvement Thread" (Hereon referred to as Cwit [pronounced like "quit"])!

This thread serves two purposes: Posting excerpts of your work, and asking for/giving advice. This is NOT a thread for advertising any sites where you may be posting/selling your works. If someone asks, you may give the information asked of, but please don't post any "HEY GUYS LOOK AT THIS SITE WHERE MY WORK IS" posts. And, while I'm laying out some ground rules, please don't post an entire book. If you are posting a piece of your work, make it a chapter at MOST. And when I say chapter, I mean a real chapter, not an "I clumped as much information as possible together and called it a chapter" chapter.

Keep in mind if you're copy-pasting from a word document that indents don't show up on the forum. To designate a new paragraph, put a blank space between paragraphs.

***********

To start things off, here's the prologue of a book I'm writing for a series. (Note: this is still a work in progress, it isn't a final draft)

Code:
When looking at the town of Verkin, not much could be said about it. It was a quaint town; small, inconspicuous, and without much to offer the rest of Malsania. Its residents were farmers, for the most part, and while they grew year-round, their crop was, for the most part, only used for the townspeople’s sustenance. It had been settled later on in Malsania’s history, and was a relatively new town; the time it had spent in existence had been geared towards its survival, rather than its growth. In fact, the only real purpose Verkin served was as an outpost for travelers heading into the mountains. Burly traders coming from the southern capital would stop in Verkin to water their horses and rest in the small inn before heading to the neighboring country of Kosha. However, as most traders were already prepared for the journey by the time they had reached this far north, this wasn’t a strong area of profit for Verkin.
   
All in all, Verkin was insignificant, which had the effect of giving most of the town’s men an inferiority complex. It was this complex that had lead to the creation of the “initiation”.
   
Every Spring, early enough that the seeds couldn’t be planted yet, but late enough that the snow wasn’t a problem, every male in the town who was of fifteen years or older in age would race into the nearby forest, named Chzir for the third king of Malsania, for a week to survive. No supplies could be brought along; food, water, shelter, and protection were to be made or found from the resources of the forest. After the week had passed, the men could return to the village, “mentally prepared” to face the upcoming year as a strong, capable worker. However, if he came back early, or worse, didn’t compete, he was branded as unfit for the hard life that Verkin provided. The only real penalty for this action, however, was a loss of respect from the other men that, predictably, only lasted a few months, as every member of the town had his or her life to live, and didn’t have time to be disgusted at others.
   
Why the men of the town did it, for the most part, was a mystery to outsiders and younger women of the town both. Traders who had the fortune (or misfortune, as it was to some, as service was hard to find on this day) to enter into town on the day of the initiation were able to view the men of the village group together near the gate and prepare themselves for the upcoming week with confusion. Watching a bunch of farmers grunt and stretch in anticipation of the grueling event to come was an oddity to all who witnessed it but the farmers’ wives, who stood watching from their front doors, smiling understandingly at the machismo their husbands almost hungered to display.
   
It was an early Spring, just like any other, where the men of Verkin found themselves once again, ready to adventure into the wilderness and prove their strength to the rest of the town. Farvook, the aged elder of the town, stood at the gate, waiting in stoic silence to begin his speech. He was an old man with a hunched back and a balding head, though he made up for it with a long, white beard. He had a long, crooked nose, and bright green eyes that seemed to be able to read the truth in every situation. In his hand was a gnarled staff which he used to walk.
   
Farvook had competed in many an initiation himself in his younger years, but now, as elder, the pressure to be seen as strong was relieved by both his old body and his exceptional wisdom. He had no need to prove his capabilities to others in an annual competition when he already did so every day by guiding the town.
   
The old elder’s eyes glanced at the sky; it was about time. With a motion of his hand, he silently signaled to the group, and walked out through the gate. The swarm of men quickly followed, making a horizontal line right outside the town wall. Farvook turned to look at the line; his eyes scanned over the men and boys, noting the different expressions, physical aptitudes, and ages. The group was incredibly varied in every way. It was sure to be an interesting year.
   
It was silent as the group waited for the initiation to begin. Faces of children began to peek from the walls and windows to watch, and the women slowly began to form a group behind the gate. Anticipation, excitement, and even worry could be felt. Farvook kept glancing upward, making sure that he started at exactly the right moment.

Finally, the sun reached the peak of the sky; it was midday, and the contest could now begin. Farvook climbed onto an old stump near the gate that had been used as a stage for years, cleared his throat, and began to speak.
   
“As you all know, today is the eighty-third hosting of the important event we call the initiation. After this speech, the men that make up this long line in front of me will step into the Chzir forest and work to prepare themselves for the life that they will lead. Each one of you will learn lessons about survival, efficiency, and innovation, as well as lessons about yourselves. I give you my hope that you will apply what you learn, because not only will it make your life easier, but more fulfilling as well. There is nothing more satisfying than learning, and teaching that which you have learned.
   
Take heart, my brothers. This road you will travel through life is not an easy one. As you will come to find in this week-long stride of faith and determination, there will be many a time when you find yourself at a wall. I sincerely ask, or rather, plead that you will not be defeated by that wall, but that you will climb it. For when you do, you will be able to look back at that wall, and see how you learned from it, how you became stronger from it, and how you can use what you learned to climb that wall, and to climb future walls, and to teach those who have yet to climb. Now, my brothers, friends, and townsmen, the time has come. Go into the forest, and learn, both to learn and to teach.”
   
He smiled, and held up his hand in a waving manner to signify the end of his speech. He was quickly met with loud applause from the town’s citizens. As he climbed down from the stump and walked off, the tension in the air quickly grew. All sound quickly died down in sight of the momentous occasion; the focused faces of the men were paired by the slightly worried looks of the women and the curious or confused looks on the faces of the younger children. For a few seconds, there was nothing; no movement, no noise, no thought. Even breath seemed to fade in the atmosphere.
   
As suddenly as the moment began, it ended with a yell from the first man in line. Then, sequentially, each man next in line cried out in a primal voice. As each man added to the noise, it grew, until every man was included, and the noise was loud enough to scare birds out of the nearby trees. Then, suddenly, the straight line exploded into a wave of motion as all its occupants took off towards the forest. The screaming only seemed to increase with this movement, and it swelled to cover the edge of the forest, as the men sprinted towards their temporary home.
   
Farvook watched them all run off, and, after they had all disappeared behind the forest line, he began his slow gait towards the upper wall. There was a small guard house above the gate where he would watch for a few hours to comfort the first-time boys who lost their nerve and came back within the first day.
   
After a bit of a walk and a flight of stairs, he reached the small shack, where the town guard who occupied it (when the need arose), Pevin, and his wife, Vyshia, were waiting. He smiled warmly at the two of them, as he approached, and sat down in the soft chair specifically made for him to use during this event. “It looks to be another interesting year,” he commented simply to the couple as he let his old bones sag into the soft fluff of the cushion and backing of the oak chair. “They are all strong men, but this has always been a daunting task to those who aren’t prepared.”
   
Pevin nodded and folded his arms. “I’m curious mehself whether or not the Suczen boy will make it. He always was a gangly one; never figgered him to be fit for the wilderness.” Pevin hadn’t been in the initiation for years on the account of him being the town’s only defense. Since taking on the position of town guard, Pevin was responsible for keeping an eye on the walls to make sure nothing attacked (though nothing ever had). If anything did, he would blow a horn to call in the men from the forest to help defend.
   
Farvook’s eyes twinkled in a way only a wise old man’s eyes could. “Pevin, you have always been a blunt individual.” He smiled warmly at the guard, and yet Pevin felt a chill run down his back from the look. “It is each man’s duty to prove his own worth, not another’s. Whether or not Duvesill makes it through is for him to decide, not you.”
   
Pevin snorted indignantly, and turned back towards the forest.

********
   
Duvesill popped his head out from the bush he was under. He sighed with frustration; this bush obviously wouldn’t make adequate shelter. He stood up, brushing off the leaves, and began to look around. There had to be enough loose and fallen branches around to make a lean-to, at least. Luckily for him, his search didn’t come up empty; he quickly began to see branches all over the forest, lying near the trees that winter’s harsh grip had ripped them from. Feeling much more confident, he began to collect them as fast as possible, quickly filling up his arms. Within minutes, he had made an adequate collection of sticks, and was near ready to start on his shelter. As he rounded a corner to pick up a few more branches for good measure, he noticed something in a nook near the tree’s roots. Curiosity got the better of him, and he dropped his bundle of sticks, heading over to find out what this mysterious thing was. As he approached, his face went pale at the realization of the identity of the object. Shock flooded his veins, and he paused, completely caught off guard. He stood there for a brief time, unsure of how to act. Then, he slowly picked up the object, and, making sure it was safely nestled in his arms, took off towards the village.

********
   
Farvook yawned privately to himself. Only a few hours had passed, but it seemed like the sun had stopped in its tracks, pinned to the same point in the sky. Not a soul had returned from the forest yet, which inherently was a positive thing, but it left him with nothing to do. So, he sat up on that wall, waiting, secretly hoping that one of the boys would let his emotions take over, and walk back in defeat, for the sake of curing his boredom.
   
Pevin, on the other hand, seemed unfazed by the lack of action. Since their short talk, he had stood in that same position, arms crossed, unwavering in his focus. It fit his occupancy as the town’s guard; he was a naturally stoic person anyways, and everyone knew was quite good at his job. Vyshia had disappeared into the shack behind the two men, and was probably cooking something for the three of them to help pass the time.
   
Farvook’s eyes slowly began to droop. The heat of the day was getting to his worn body, and he couldn’t help but feel the temptation of sleep slowly take over his being. This alone made it hard to resist, and the combined boredom only  worsened the situation. He slowly slunk into the chair, letting his body take a more comfortable position as his breath began to slow with the peace of sleep.
   
As if to intentionally disturb that spell of sleep, the noise of crashing foliage suddenly shattered the perimeter of the forest, quickly reaching the wall. Farvook sat up, mildly surprised, and waited for what he hoped was a defeated competitor. He was both satisfied and disappointed by what he saw: Duvesill hurrying out of the forest at an almost alarming rate. The old man couldn’t help but feel that his defense of the boy a few hours back had gone to waste in that instant.
   
Pevin snorted triumphantly, and, after a few seconds, commented, “Well, better go meet the boy.” He then headed off towards the stairs without looking at the elder’s reaction. Farvook watched him walk off, and sighed, standing up as quickly as his old age would let him, and followed suit.
   
The two men reached the gate just as the boy was coming into clear view. The word had obviously traveled like wildfire, as a small group of women had already formed to greet him. They crowded behind the elder and the guard, waiting to provide any comfort that the two would not. Farvook kept his eyes focused on Duvesill, anticipating the look and cry of failure that the boy would show. Suddenly however, he noticed a bundle of white in the boy’s arms, and couldn’t help but stare at it, confused by it’s existence. Furthermore, Duvesill bore no look of shame or defeat, but one of urgency. Farvook’s confusion increased, as he worked to process the situation.
   
As if the elder had projected this confusion onto the crowd behind him, murmurs began to rise; the bundle had been noticed. As the talking began to grow, Duvesill reached the gate, panting from running a distance. “Elder Farvook,” he blurted between breaths, “I found this, *gasp*, in the forest, and I knew that, *gasp* you needed to see it, even if *gasp* I had to lose the challenge.” He then held out the object in his arms with care for the elder to see.
   
Farvook looked down at the object with hesitancy. At first glance, it merely looked like a white sheet, bundled up in a ball. However, Farvook quickly noticed that it had a far more solid shape to it than it should have if it were only sheets; it looked like something was wrapped up inside. With continued cautiousness, he slowly reached down, and took the bundle in his hands.
   
Duvesill watched the elder with uncertainty. There was no telling how he would react. Members of the crowd closest to the front could be seen poking their faces over Farvook’s shoulders, trying to catch a glimpse of the mysterious object.
   
Farvook held the package for a few seconds, as if to make sure it wouldn’t attack him, and then began to fold parts of the blanket back. As each fold was made, a shape began to appear from underneath the blanket. Finally, Farvook pulled back the last section of blanket covering the bundle. His eyes widened with shock, and an audible gasp came from the members of the crowd who could see.
   
Through the hole made in the blanket could be seen the face of a young infant.
   
Once again, word traveled like a wildfire through the group. Within seconds, the entire crowd of women was murmuring excitedly about the child. Some of its members even began to push forward to get a glimpse. Farvook, however, just stood there, stunned by the discovery. He was shocked that Duvesill had found, of all things, a child in the middle of the woods. And, as he began to think, he became shocked that someone would leave a child in the woods at all. The child could have belonged to a traveler who had come through, heading North, but there was no way to know.
   
The elder continued to stare at the child, who was currently sleeping soundly, unaware of what had happened in the last few minutes. Slowly, though, his shock died down, and he smiled softly, his eyes moving to Duvesill. “You did well, son,” he said, patting the boy on the shoulder with his free hand. “Not a soul will fault you for leaving the forest under these circumstances. Indeed, if it had not been for your humility, this child might have died.” He then turned to the crowd and began to speak in a loud, clear voice.
   
“As you all are very well aware, this child has been found, alone, in the forest. From here on out, it is a member of our village. When it grows, it will be treated no differently than any of the rest of us. It will be provided for, taught, and loved as well as any of your own children. Now, I ask, someone must take on the responsibility of raising this child. I ask you, however, to only do so if you have the means.”
   
There were a few hands raised tentatively in response, but none quite caught Farvook’s attention like the voice next to him.
   
“I’ll take on the child, elder. You know my wife is barren, and we have been wanting a child for years. It would be our pleasure to take on the responsibility of raising the one you now hold.”
   
Farvook nodded, smiling at Pevin. “Very well, my old friend. You may take on the child as your own.” He then raised the child into the air, and said to the crowd, “For this day forward, this is the child of Pevin and Vyshia, defenders of our town!” The crowd broke out in applause, ready to accept the child into the ranks of their village with open arms.


Feel free to comment and critique. In regards to advice, the only thing I have right now is this: make sure your dialogue sounds natural. If you wouldn't say it under normal circumstances, it probably won't sound right to the audience. Besides action, dialogue is the only plot motion in a story, and is a key to developing characters. Therefore, your audience will be focusing mostly on what is said, rather than what is done. So, making sure that the dialogue fits the character's personality and the situation (as well as the time period in many cases) will be a huge help.

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Mon Jul 11, 2011 4:37 pm
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Post Re: Collaborative Writing Improvement Thread
Personally, I think this is a great idea!
Quote:
Its residents were farmers, for the most part, and while they grew year-round, their crop was, for the most part, only used for the townspeople’s sustenance.

The repetition makes this bit sound awkward.
Quote:
Its residents were farmers, for the most part, and while they grew year-round, their crop was, for the most part, only used almost solely for the townspeople’s sustenance.

With the second "for the most part" changed to something else, the sentence as a whole flows better. It's kind of nit-picky, I know, but ya gotta have good sentence structure. Also, the first couple paragraphs seem like a bit of an info-dump, but I don't think there's really any way around that. On the whole, though, this pretty well-written. However, I would like to get a little more context on what kind of story this is from; what kind of place Malsania is, things like that.

I should have something to post here fairly soon.

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Mon Jul 11, 2011 5:10 pm
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Post Re: Collaborative Writing Improvement Thread
Coatl_Ruu wrote:
Personally, I think this is a great idea!
Quote:
Its residents were farmers, for the most part, and while they grew year-round, their crop was, for the most part, only used for the townspeople’s sustenance.

The repetition makes this bit sound awkward.
Quote:
Its residents were farmers, for the most part, and while they grew year-round, their crop was, for the most part, only used almost solely for the townspeople’s sustenance.

With the second "for the most part" changed to something else, the sentence as a whole flows better. It's kind of nit-picky, I know, but ya gotta have good sentence structure. Also, the first couple paragraphs seem like a bit of an info-dump, but I don't think there's really any way around that. On the whole, though, this pretty well-written. However, I would like to get a little more context on what kind of story this is from; what kind of place Malsania is, things like that.

I should have something to post here fairly soon.

And THAT is why I put the disclaimer :>

Thank you for pointing that out, I will be altering it. As for the "More context" aspect, while I'm planning on slowly revealing that throughout the story, you're most likely not going to see that, so I will say that Malsania is a landlocked country, save for a small bay in the southeast, which is surrounded by three other countries. In regards to culture, technology, and resources, Malsania bears strong resemblance to medieval Britain.

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Mon Jul 11, 2011 5:26 pm
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Post Re: Collaborative Writing Improvement Thread
My main fault with this is the "inferiority complex" bit. It feels very contrived to me. In fact, I would probably like it more if you ignored the "why" behind the initiation entirely. Instead you could just lead into it with something like, "The one oddity was the yearly ritual known as the "initiation"." (except more better than that ;) )
There are a million and one reasons why weird rituals begin, and your reason is probably fairly accurate; but it just sounds like such a childish reason when you say it that I can't take it seriously.

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Tue Jul 12, 2011 1:16 am
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Post Re: Collaborative Writing Improvement Thread
Obbl wrote:
My main fault with this is the "inferiority complex" bit. It feels very contrived to me. In fact, I would probably like it more if you ignored the "why" behind the initiation entirely. Instead you could just lead into it with something like, "The one oddity was the yearly ritual known as the "initiation"." (except more better than that ;) )
There are a million and one reasons why weird rituals begin, and your reason is probably fairly accurate; but it just sounds like such a childish reason when you say it that I can't take it seriously.

To be fair, it's not SUPPOSED to be taken seriously. The initiation has no bearing on the main plot whatsoever, and it's actually supposed to come off as a tad silly.

Now, come on, peeps, I'm not the only writer here.

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Tue Jul 12, 2011 4:31 pm
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Post Re: Collaborative Writing Improvement Thread
Fine. I wrote this about 5 years ago, and now I'm thinking of picking it back up again. It hasn't been edited since I was 15, so it may or may not be lacking in some areas.
Note: The end of this part was written back when my "human interactions" writing was severely lacking, so it's going to change a little (though the abrupt change in Ray will probably remain).

Code:
   A dreary darkness had descended upon the world that night, as water fell from the grey sky to drench the ground in its deluge. Somewhere in the distance thunder could be heard echoing through the storm and out into infinity. Lightning lit up the clouds here and there briefly forming a white patch in the mass of grey. Rivers formed in the mud, overflowing into the streets, rushing down into the sleepy town and elsewhere beyond. Lighting the world were two streetlights, but the light blurred and faded out in rings, and no clear picture could be made of their surroundings. A few houses could dimly be seen - old, worn, but home to whomever would make it so. Darkened windows shielded the occupants from the raging storm. Inside could be found shelter, and sleep. As the streetlights pushed on in their vain attempt to bring light, one could make out a particular door on a particular house across the street from the old oak with the beloved tire swing greedily soaking up the generous gift from above. All was well with the oak tree; the door was less fortunate.

   The wind pushed it crazily about, while one lone hinge desperately tried to keep the steadfast connection that it had held for so long. Inside, the rain had invaded as far as it could, claiming the carpet, soaking it through. Blackness pervaded the area; as did a deep forebode. There were no pictures on the wall anymore. The ones on the floor were damaged severely, some unrecognizable. A sizable hole could be found in the front window through which a flowerpot had ended up smashed on the walkway outside, where it began mixing with the river flowing downstream. Much was missing from inside the home that had once seemed unmovable; including a great sense of security. Small holes in the wall were dotted here and there, some in the sofa, one in the television set. However, even through the heavy darkness, most immediately recognizable out of all that was wrong in the living room was: blood. Crimson stains darkened the walls, the couches, the end tables, and the carpet - heavily. And there, in the middle of the living room could be found a body.

   He was far past the world in which the dreary, rainy night pressed. With three holes in his chest, two in his right arm, and one in his head; he was very much dead. Following around the disheveled room into the kitchen, the mayhem continued: a pool of blood on the linoleum; this surrounding another man - younger than the one dead on the living room floor. And, lying limply in the corner between the dishwasher and the sink, a woman. Outside the world seemed to announce this great tragedy through the howling wind and dashing rain.

   To match the sad rain falling upon the earth, a tearstained face lay upon the dampened floor of its bedroom closet. The boy had lain there, with blue eyes turned red from crying, creating a small impression in the carpet as it feasted on his suffering, absorbing all, and coming back for more. He lay there, fear’s power had come as a shock and kept him still even after the tears had ceased to fall. Images flashed across the boy’s blank stare, and his mind refused to make any sense of the series of events that fell before and behind him. All understanding was wiped away as the tortured screams echoed back and forth, and he talked to keep them at bay, or else be swept away by them.

   “He said he’d be right back. My big brother’ll make everything OK.”

   The young boy went on as he clung steadfastly to this shining thread of hope, but even the hope of a child must sometime fall, and he found a new well-spring of tears.


   At about 8 in the morning the police made it out to the little house near the end of the lane, and at about 9:30 the police from the city arrived with their crime scene unit, at which point the investigation began. Raymond Paul Ferne was quickly escorted to the county sheriff’s department. He had been found in complete shock sitting against the wall across from the door, knees pulled tightly to his chest, shivering silently. His blond hair shined in the morning sunlight, but his eyes did not, instead remaining dull.

   He remained completely silent the entire ride in the sheriff’s car and not for lack of attempted conversation. Through the uncomfortable silence Sheriff Brown’s brain worked overtime in a valiant attempt to reconcile the Ray that he had known the past nine years when the boy was first born with the near lifeless being beside him. He had seen people in shock; family members were often at a loss to comprehend the death of life before its time. This was vastly different from anything the sheriff had witnessed before. The boy sitting in the passenger seat appeared to have died as well, and if it weren’t for the slow, even rise and fall of the small chest, he would have assumed the worst. As it was, Robert Brown was almost afraid to take his eyes off the child who, it seemed, surely would slip away into death’s embrace were he not under constant supervision. The trip to the town police department had never been so long, so torturously slow, and the station rolling quietly into view brought a sigh of relief from the sheriff.

   After quickly dashing into the office he brought the young secretary back to help him. Amanda had a way with children and had often helped keep a child calm during small crises. She too had seen Ray grow from a tiny bundle in his mother’s arms to the child he was, and seeing him at that moment was strange to her as well. The golden hair ran in the family as did the shining blue eyes, and Ray had always seemed to shine even brighter if that were possible. His exuberance and joy had been town’s delight; the boy sitting in the police car was anything but the Ray that had lived in Winhashee for those nine years.

   “Hey, Ray,” she began softly.

   This simple rhyme had often brought a smile to the young face, but it sat unmoved, almost unaware that the greeting was addressed to him. It was then that Amanda wondered whether she was more unnerved by Raymond or his family’s murder, but she still held hope that Ray could be brought back into the light.

   “Ray, you gonna say hi to me?”

   The silence was deafening.

   “Come on Ray, I know you want to at least say hi to your old pal Amanda, eh?”

   In the awkward pause that followed Amanda realized what was most troubling about all that was happening: despite the death of his parents and brother there was no sadness on the boy’s face, in fact, nothing at all. Finding Ray in the emotional state of a doll finally brought the enormity of the entire situation straight to Amanda’s heart, and she found herself unable to check the tears that fell.

One for the father proud and strong,
One for the mother kind and bright,
One for the brother caring and true,
One for boy of shining innocence,
One for the cold and lifeless shell,
Each one bearing the grief of the world.

   She wept for all that could turn an innocent child full of life and joy into an empty being. Finding herself again, Amanda put on her brave face for little Ray. She carried him inside, and like moths to a flame all gathered around with morbid curiosity. There sat someone who could no longer feel tragedy, could no longer be touched by grief. The sadness in the room was tangible, broken only by what followed.

   For within an instant something changed in Ray, and none could explain the events that transpired. As if a switch had been thrown, Ray sat up with eyes sparkling and beaming a smile like the sun. He quickly garnered everyone’s attention. There was a pause; the air buzzed with questions though none were voiced, and there sat the boy who was a shell now filled with … happiness? He looked around as if everyone was crazy to stare and caught everyone off guard: “What’s wrong?”

   The room remained absolutely still, and the tension seemed only to increase. Then Amanda fainted, which just added to the mounting uncertainties. And there sat Ray, and he laughed. It wasn’t uproarious nor even rude laughter, but simply the laughter of one who was truly amused with a situation. This, of course, didn’t seem like a description of one in Ray’s position, yet laugh he did. He was then the first to get her a cup of water, but the smile never left his face.

   As she came to her senses, Amanda’s hopes that it had all been a bad dream faded away. She looked at Ray, searching desperately for an explanation. But the look in his eyes was bright and cheery. It would have warmed her heart had the circumstances been any different.

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Tue Jul 12, 2011 9:38 pm
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