Belonging Short Story (1 Viewer)

Kaos1

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11? :(
ok then...
my teacher never did any creative writing, just essays...
i showed it 2 my mum (english teacher to non-english speaking background students), and she said it was great... well, an improvement on my past attempts anyway...
thanks 4 ur feedback, its very much appreciated :)
 

Kaos1

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oh, by the way, my faults are dyslexia, short attention span, and inabitity to obsorb written infomation as well as others in my class :/

but i try my hardest
 

jellybelly59

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I would mark it an 11/15. Maybe even a 10/15. It's amateurish. You need to work on your creative writing skills. My best tip to you is READ. Reading will enhance your writing greatly. Also, listen to the constructive feedback your teacher gives you. What did she tell you to improve on? Where were your faults?
If only reading could help you write brilliantly.... i read heaps and widely but my creative is still a giant piece of turd. Rather i think the key to creative writing is a combination of reading AND writing... from what i hear practice makes perfect
 

lychnobity

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11? :(
ok then...
my teacher never did any creative writing, just essays...
i showed it 2 my mum (english teacher to non-english speaking background students), and she said it was great... well, an improvement on my past attempts anyway...
thanks 4 ur feedback, its very much appreciated :)
Only on the basis that it wasn't exploring concepts of belonging, did I rate it 10-11/15

If it was for entertainment, I would rate it 13/15.
 

Aerath

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What all the above posts said. Might also wanna mention that in most armies, Lieutenants are lower on the Chain of Command than Captains.
 

Kaatie

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only read first paragraph... didnt want to make me read more. I did this then i did that then this happened... sounds like a recount. use all five senses too to create good descriptions
 

Kaos1

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well, that was for my trials any way, and i got 11/15... im pleased

is there any way i can improve on it? because i would like a higher mark (if thats possible).

ive taken into account what Kaatie said about the 5 senses, and ill get back to you with any alterations.

ooh, and by the way!! (rowdyroddy) i am NOT a retard!! is it even possible for a NORMAL person to at least TRY at something he fails at?! u should b ashamed of yourself.

i dont appreciate predjidice in the slightest when i am trying to improve on something i need help in.
 
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jess5377

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have you ever seen the movie behind enemy lines? with owen wilson? cause there are a few similarities...
 

Sadiah

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What would you mark this narrative out of 15?


I woke up with a fright. There were loud noises all around me. I jumped out of bed and looked out the window to see the terror smother my world. I couldn’t clearly see what was happening but there was chaos. Everywhere I looked people were screaming and running blindly. I looked away from the window and turned to run downstairs when I was lifted off my feet and was flung into a wall. A bomb hit my house and had blown half the wall off. There was mess everywhere and cuts all over my body. I couldn’t hear my family so I had to assume the worse and try to save myself. I felt alienated; there was no one. I was alone. I slowly got up and made my way for the door. Another blast! I slipped and hit my head. Everything around me caved to darkness as I lost consciousness.

I came to and slowly opened my eyes. It was night time but there were still, what seemed to be, floodlights all over the streets and the sound of helicopters flying overhead filled my ears. I was so confused. There was debris everywhere and I could see figures of faces I once knew hiding in the black. “Why are they hiding?” I thought. A spotlight covered me. No time a think. A deep voice came at me like a spear, “You! Stop where you are!”
I desperately looked towards one of the people hiding and he just said “Run”.
I didn’t question him and I ran as fast as I could just to get away. I couldn’t lose them no matter how fast I ran. There was no point in trying. The spotlight kept catching up to me and they were getting closer and closer. There was some hope. I saw a river up ahead and knew that if there was a chance to lose them that it would be now. In the second that the light faltered, I took the chance. I dove into the icy cold water, held my breath and swam as fast as I possibly could. I was shivering to the bone and out of breath, but I was determined.

It seemed like an eternity the time I was submerged but when I finally came up they had not found me. A wave of relief went over my body and then I realised how tired I was. I swam to the riverbank and collapsed on the sand. I awoke soon after to come to grips with my new world order. My town had been attacked and my family had been killed. I now have to be independent if I want to survive. There was no one but myself. I stood up and walked towards town. I had to figure out what was going on. As I neared the town I heard shouting. I crawled over a hill and scanned the town to see where it was coming from. I found it. There was a man standing on top of a tank. He was yelling orders in a foreign language. I looked to see what he was yelling at and what I saw disgusted me. There were soldiers dragging civilians in chains towards a room, those who showed any resistance were simply shot and tossed aside. I went to move closer but I heard a twig crack. I looked to the side and saw a soldier walking in my direction with a rifle in his hand. There was nothing I could do. If I moved he would surely shoot me. I slowly brushed some leaves and debris over my body in an attempt to conceal myself.




He came within a metre and was peering over the hill when the same voice that came at me from the helicopter come out of his radio.
“Captain, Have you found him yet? “
”No Lieutenant I haven’t. I will find him though, there is no doubt” said the soldier.
The Lieutenant replied, “His escape jeopardises my whole operation and it is essential that we capture him”.
“I understand Lieutenant” ended the Captain.
Sweat was dripping off my face; I glanced to the left and saw a rock. He was going to turn around and when he did there would be nothing I could do. I slowly slid over and picked up the rock and as I approached him he started to turn. When he saw me he gasped in shock and went for his rifle but it was too late, I had already swung and the rock had connected with his face. He wasn’t dead, just unconscious. I took his gear and his clothing. I stood up and looked over towards the town and used the soldiers’ binoculars to see up close, the devastation that had come across my town. I saw the face of destruction, this ‘Lieutenant’ that the man was talking to. He had no remorse. Male; female; child; it didn’t matter to him, only those that joined him were offered any concern in his mind.

My instincts told me to walk down and try to shoot him myself to end this mess but then I thought “Hold on a second, I am the threat. It is me who has caused this egotistical bastard to stress the fact that this ‘operation’ is at a complete undoing because of the fact that I escaped.” There was only one thing I could do. I had to turn back and travel until I found something that would threaten him, a force that could get rid of his regime. I had to alienate myself and speak to those whom I could trust. It will be a long and arduous journey, but this man has to be defeated.
It's pretty good.

An interesting introduction to start off with - catches the readers attention.

But the conclusion is not so interesting. You need an expansion both in the body as well as the conclusion.

Overall: Good effort. :D .. Interesting story.
 

xLilith

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I could be missing something, but how the hell is this related to belonging?

I agree that it's far too short, you seem to have an issue with sentence structure, his epiphany was lame and a little more dialogue would be nice.

8/15

And Kaos?
I don't see why you can use perfectly acceptable grammar in the story but then revert to the incoherent ramblings that only trolls possess.
 

Kaos1

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I do apologise for my lack of Gramatical skills. (is 'gramatical' a word?)

Thanks for the input from all who helped. I really do appreciate it.

It realtes to belonging in that he was a villager in a village that got attacked by some army officer, had to run away to avoid being capured, and now is alone. It's not really 'belonging' as such, but more or less 'not beloning'
 

jxfaye

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is it me or does he switch from 2nd person to first
 

timtheprovoker

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its too simplistic, the language used does not really make the marker feel that they are experiencing this disaster and is very anticlimactic. Describing the some of the five senses that apply to your characters situation usually helps. ALSO "felt alienated; there was no one. I was alone" bits like this are way to obvious on belonging and not belonging, markers like when it is subtle that way its more of a CREATIVE story e.g. instead of saying i felt alienated, talk about the characters baron surroundings where there is no one in sight . ??? something this this ...cool
 

b00m

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lol, you do realise that this thread is dated to last year?

anyway, i find it funny that people said the story was 'short'. A quick check in word count tells me that it was 957 words.. surely that wasn't 'short'?
 

sap

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Hey guys,
I attampted a belonging story
Let me know what u think of it


Home Away from Home
The ant crawled on its own pace, carrying the burden of ten times heavier than its own weight. Slowly voyaging with the trail of ants, this ant looked nowhere and looked ahead trying to keep up. So distinct this moving straight brown line, so distinct it appears metres above the ground. This tiny ant is so entangled in aligning with the group, that the world above and around becomes blurred. The existence of the colossal rocks of no importance, until that becomes a hurdle, a blockade. Hear the plight of this creature, as it cries, longs again to glue with the trail that has moved forward and long gone. Losing sight, left stranded, circulates around the hurdle until it fades into the unknown...
‘Anita, come see this!’, the astounding, happy voice of her mother’s echoes from the dirt walls of the house. She gets up to see why her mother was in such high spirits. As she entered the room, the bright blue and reds grabbed her attention. In the corner where two chairs that housed a table made by her father, laid two dresses.
‘Oh they are for me?’ scared to jump to conclusions.
‘Yes, yes they are – your father wanted to surprise you my little doll!’
‘Our little doll is no ordinary girl, she deserves the best and only the best. Anita, it is your wedding day, we want you to leave this house with such happy memories and happiness that when you enter your husband’s house, your smile becomes the light of his house’, Anita’s mother hugs her and brings her close to her heart.
Tears slowly fell down Anita’s cheeks, blurring her vision of the room she stood in. 19 years she grew up in this house, she saw each dirt slab put onto one another to build each four walls of this house. It was her last day in this house before she would have to leave. It was her last time where her feet would touch the hot hard ground, last time where her hands will hold onto the wall, last time she can call a place her real home.
Each step she took, Anita wanted to immerse herself in the memory, absorb herself with each slab that made not only the wall but her youth.
From crawling on the floor, her mother would pick her up, hold her in arms and lift her up to the sky and as she moved her around making helicopter noises with her mouth. Anita’s father realised her potential in standing on her own two feet before her, as he held her hand and supported each little step she took. It was this same ground she fell and got up and fell again. It was this same ground where Anita stood crying as she cut her finger, same ground where her mother ripped side of her shawl and tied her finger with it so it would stop bleeding. This was the haven where Anita played hopscotch with her friends, fading away her mother’s yelling, ‘Anita stop playing and come help me with cooking!’
Two piercing brown eyes stared back at her with each tear falling down as the one Anita shed from her eyes. This was the little square mirror her mother had bought her from the harvest fair. From the day Anita hung that mirror on the wall, she looked into it every day. Each day she saw the face change from a young naive girl to a young lady. This was the wall where her sad, happy, excited, afraid faces were reflected into the small mirror. This was the wall that absorbed all her anxieties and worries.
She walked towards the hard mattress, a bed they could not afford. This simple mattress was her divan with ears, whom she made it listen to her weeps, her cries. Closed her eyes, she would wish upon a haven where her father wouldn’t be out all day working, where it would not be hard to place two bread on the plate each night. Being her sole listener, this mattress was also her saviour against the world. The world of pain, hatred, war, blood shed. This was the world outside her home.
Opening the two wooden doors would make her enter this world, Anita would see the children playing in the dirt, running around with no shirts, where the old tyres were their favourite toys. She would hear the constant arguing of her neighbours, a husband and wife. ‘You eat that last piece of bread Sheena’, ‘No, you are out working all day, you need it’. A fight of love it was.
‘Bang, Bang, Bang!’
‘Anita!’, her mother cries out.
Pushed out of the way, Anita was thrown into a corner. She only could feel the force these 5 legs repelled as they marched past her. Hearing the opening of each door, she knew it wasn’ t the usual raiding of the houses.
‘Razhid, come out of the hole your hiding in. We come to get every penny out of you. We lent you money when you asked, now it has become far too long and not one cent has been returned!’.
‘Abu, please don’t come out’.
But Anita knew him to be a brave man, besides the poverty they had learnt to live in. They did not forget to be brave and face their fears.
He walked out, with his head held high and his chest out. He looked at Anita, then his wife and back at Anita. A blind person could have seen a father’s love for his daughter in his eyes.
The men stood, circling her father, pointing their guns at him. Anita closes her eyes, put her hand over her ears. Was this enough? Could this have blocked her from the mishappening that was about to happen? Surely it must have been.
Was it this burden of debt that would destroy her house?
She could not hear. She negelected to see. Anita feels droplets of blood spraying her face and clothes. Pushed again to the ground , still too afraid to open her eyes.
Anita slowly moves her head up, looks around. Immersed in the plight of this little ant on the ground, she lost her touch with the life around her. Soldiers bustling around her, with their guns pointed to the heavens; realise the true plight of this girl. She dwarfs herself to the scale of the ant, puts more importance to the cries, to the quandary of this ant. She looks at her blood stained clothes, rather rags they were now.
She was left a refugee in her own house.




:confused:
 

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