can you edit/read this short story?
She stared fiercely into the flickering firelight. She hadn’t wanted this. Not at all.
The flames danced for her eyes, stretching upwards before swiftly retreating to their true positions. The fire was fighting for her attention, growing, becoming taller each second. The girl paused, biting her lip. She glared cautiously at the oncoming fire. It was beginning to flourish, to thrive, its fiery fists frantically reaching up to the stars, like the desperate hands of the dying. The girl blinked, came back to reality. At that moment, she registered what she had just done, of the staggering size of it. And as happens sometimes, a moment settled and hovered and remained for much more then a moment. And sound stopped and movement stopped for much, much more then a moment. And as that everlasting moment disappeared, she began to run.
The girl had no name, or none that was known. She was simply ‘the girl’, and she somehow found pleasure in being known as that. She didn’t go to school; she didn’t do anything quite like that, even though she was just sixteen. The girl was strange, alone, and yet not lonely. She was different. She was quite simply, ‘the girl’. Her skin was as smooth as silk, her eyes a shade of watery gold, and her face breathtakingly beautiful. Had she not been so different she most certainly would’ve passed as a model. Her dark hair fell in tangled curls at her neck. But from now, she was not so beautiful. Her face was deep red, heated by the intensity of both the running and the fire behind her, her high cheekbones littered with smears of ash and tears. Her beauty was disappearing rapidly in her fear.
She was racing blindly through the bush, running as fast as she dared. Her foot caught every bump, and branches that came out of nowhere scratched her face over and over. Her arm was ripped open by an unseen fence. But the girl kept running. It was what she had been taught to do.
If the bush had been silent, you would’ve heard the girls’ heartbeat, even from a mile away.
She felt the power of the fire behind her, felt the wind that carried it surge, and she pressed on, her chest exploding, but the pain was nothing, nothing at all, compared to the chaos that was her mind.
Had the girl stayed calm, she perhaps would have noticed a river to her left, would’ve noticed her only chance of survival. But in fear, the mind plays tricks. The river snaking through the trees could’ve been a trap, could’ve been a path already carved out for the fire. The girl had no chance. Now her mind was her enemy. And all she could do was what she knew. Although in truth, composure was the key to her mind, demons told her that perseverance was her chance. The girl soldiered on, oblivious to her fate.
After what seemed like hours of running, yet in reality it was only minutes, the girl reached a pathway. It was littered with leaves, but it was a pathway none the less. With the melody of crunching leaves underfoot, the girl began to take notice of her surroundings. With her panic subsiding for a heartbeat, she took the time to turn her head and face the inferno. What she saw threw her completely off balance. A solid wall of flame, so bright her eyes stung. And with that, the girl was violently thrown back into actuality.
The fire made a deafening roar, hissing and spitting ferociously, so loudly that the girl actually shook her head in amazement, as to how she didn’t notice before. She could feel the heat pushing her on. Her steps were becoming laboured and she was coughing aggressively, the smoke winding its way into her mouth, nose, her lungs. The girl became aware that it was no longer the lack of sunlight that darkened the air, but the presence of thick, heavy, smoke.
She sobbed quietly as she ran. Her steps were becoming heavier, the fire raging towards her, ever closer. And with that the girl slowed, certain of her fate. She tread softly, unwilling to damage the intricate detail of the leaves, wondering why she had never closely examined them until now. The girl was afraid; who wouldn’t be? But she still wasn’t alone. As she called out with her dying breaths, she still wasn’t lonely. She was different, but she was proud. Had she not been so proud, and listened once in a while, she may have realised, that no one can outrun fire.
edit it, or read it, i just need a direction to go in!
appreciated.
I don’t see anything wrong in it! I think it’s really really awesome! You really have a great gift in writing!
December 29th, 2009 at 11:55 am
Giant Wall of Text crushes you for 999,634,234,053,128,693,333,446 damage. (Overkill)
Pro Janitor has died.
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December 29th, 2009 at 12:33 pm
I don’t see anything wrong in it! I think it’s really really awesome! You really have a great gift in writing!
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December 29th, 2009 at 12:42 pm
I think its good especially with all of that tension, very gripping
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December 29th, 2009 at 1:27 pm
That’s really good, reminds me of when Menolly tries to outrun the tread (AnneMcCaffrey’s Pern:Dragonsong) but better, more descriptive. The lack of name is good, makes it able to apply to anyone…
Malanok
P.S "live forever or die trying" She did so…
P.P.S a bit bleak at the end. No offense, but I prefer Christopher Paolini’s opinion on this sort of matter
"We’re throwing ourselves off a cliff without knowing how deep the water below is."
"Ah, but what a glorious flight." – Eragon and Saphira (page 61 of Eldest)
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Pg.61 eldest
Personal moto ("live forever or die trying")