Post by The Observer on Oct 8, 2006 23:45:10 GMT -5
This is an example of over-working a story. I used this for a contest and so it went throuhg many, many edits. Now I can't stand it, personally, but I thouhgt I'd get your thouhgts on it. Or at least use it as a warning not to overwork a story too much.
American Perspective
“But I want it! Give it to me! I want it! Now! You’re mean! Give it to me now!” The toddler shrieked as his mother dragged him through the store. The child had just seen a new toy and was trying with all his might to make sure the entire store knew that his mother had not bought it for him.
“I want it! Mine! Mine! Mine!” he shrieked
“Now Jon, be quiet! Do you hear me? I told you to be quiet!” His parent whispered angrily, looking nervously around as the other customers began to stare. But it seemed that her speaking only made the child more frantic.
“I WANT IT! IT’S MINE! GIVE IT TO ME!”
“Fine!”
His mother angrily marched over to the toy shelf, snatched a toy off it, and stuffed it roughly into her child’s waiting hands.
“Daddy, I’m hungry.” The small child whimpered to her father. Her clothes were tattered and her hair a tangled mess that has never known a proper shower or a new comb.
“When are we going to eat? My tummy hurts.”
The child rubbed her tummy as if trying to show her father how she felt. Her father turned to face her, his hollow eyes reflecting the emptiness of his soul. He swallowed hard, and a weak smile played across a face wrinkled with worry long before its time
“I know your tummy hurts darling, but you’ll have to show daddy you’re a big girl and wait just a little longer.”
He strained to keep his plastered smile. He smiled for his daughter, so precious, so small. She was his treasure, his flower; all of his joys and hopes and lately, his darkest fears. She was like a rose, delicate and beautiful. She was his little rose and he cherished her more than life itself. But she was too small a rose. She needed food, food that brings strength. She stood before him now, weak and starving. Her arms were skinny and her fingers knobby. Her legs were all but bone. His little rose was wilting in the heat of the day, and he had no water for it. He cursed himself silently behind his plastered smile, helplessly watching his rose wilt; his daughter die.
“But why daddy? Why do we have to wait?”
“Because darling,” a single tear ran down her father’s face
“I have no food for you.”
The girl looked up at her crying father, her amber eyes wide with childhood innocence.
“It’s okay daddy, I’ll be a big girl for you…”
“Man, look at all this homework!” The bell rang as the halls flooded with children on their way home.
“It’s going to take me hours to finish this! And I got soccer practice tonight.”
“At least you don’t have three tests tomorrow.”
“Yeah? Well I’ve got a two-week project due tomorrow.”
“Two weeks?”
“Well, we got it two weeks ago, I haven’t started yet.”
The children hurried out to the bus, moaning under their heavy workloads and griping about due dates.
Sweat poured down the girl’s face as she lifted another load of bricks and balanced them on her head. Her dark skin glistening with perspiration, she coughed in the dusty air, inhaling another breath devoid of moisture, saturated in the dry heat of her land. Her body ached for want of water. She stumbled a little under her heavy load as she walked toward the brick-layers. She swallowed, trying desperately to moisten her dry throat. Then she stumbled again, and the overseer saw her. She tried valiantly, desperately, to regain her balance, but the load was too much and she was too weak. She toppled over and collapsed on the ground. The others walked around her as if they couldn’t see her as the overseer came running toward her.
“get up!” he growled
she tried desperately to lift herself, but simply fell back down
“Get Up!” he yelled, and kicked her viciously beneath the ribs
she tried to find her voice, her throat was too dry,
“water” she croaked airily
“I said GET UP!” The overseer grabbed her roughly by the arm, hoisted her to her feet and threw her back to the ground.
“GET UP!”
the young girl harnessed all of her strength and slowly, ever so slowly, rose to her feet.
“pick up those bricks!”
she knelt down by her fallen burden and began collecting them again
“that’s better…”
“Gosh mom, do I have to go to church?” She whined.
“I have homework, and later I’m meeting Jessica at the mall, and we thought we might meet up with Todd and Eric to see a movie.”
“No dear, we’re going to church, you’ll have to do those things some other time.”
“But mom…”
“I’m sorry, but you know we have church every week, always the same day. Besides, it’s a privilege to go to church.”
“Whatever.” The girl mumbled as she jumped into the car and slammed the door.
“And now let us pray, and remember the words of our Father, where two or more are gathered, there I will be also.”
In a small room at the back of a department store five people huddled together, offering prayers to their God. They all knew the punishment for such an offense. To meet in secret, to pray, to speak of God, all these things warranted death. But they all came anyway. They had crept by night to meet in a dingy back room because of what they believed in.
There they sat, the storekeeper and his wife, their neighbor, and a sixteen-year-old girl from a nearby town, with the Reverend presiding over all of it. They all sat, mindful of the danger, but willing to risk it.
“…and Father we thank thee for thy mercy in letting us meet together, and we ask that you will-“
BANG
The door burst open, and men rushed in. There was no escape, and the frightened congregation was immediately surrounded by six guards and their captain. Slowly, they rose to their feet, the Reverend still clutching his Bible, his hands white-knuckled and shaking. The captain walked over to him and snatched the Bible from his quivering hands. He spoke, his voice heavy with contempt,
“So, an illegal meeting. You all know the consequences for such action, but…”
The captain flung the Bible onto the floor; it slid across the dusty cement and rested by the door, the only exit.
“…I hate killing, and when I can avoid it I do.” He smiled maliciously
“This is your symbol of truth, of your God.” he pointed at the Bible by the door
“Spit on it and you may go free, refuse and…”
He pulled out his pistol and cocked it, grinning at them.
“Reverend, you first.”
The Reverenced stepped forward and knelt by the Bible. Trembling violently, he leaned over and let a little spittle run off his lips and fall. Then he ran from the room unhindered, weeping as he fled.
One by one the others came to the Bible and did the same, until lastly the sixteen-year-old girl stepped forward. She knelt by the Bible as the guards snickered. A pearly tear ran down her cheek as she lifted the dusty, spit-upon Bible, and with the hem of her dress she wiped it off. In tones without anger, she spoke softly saying,
“Father, what have they done to your book?”
A shot rang out and the girl fell, dead before she hit the ground. The guards filed out of the room as her crimson blood spilled over the floor, her hands still clutching her Father’s book…
American Perspective
“But I want it! Give it to me! I want it! Now! You’re mean! Give it to me now!” The toddler shrieked as his mother dragged him through the store. The child had just seen a new toy and was trying with all his might to make sure the entire store knew that his mother had not bought it for him.
“I want it! Mine! Mine! Mine!” he shrieked
“Now Jon, be quiet! Do you hear me? I told you to be quiet!” His parent whispered angrily, looking nervously around as the other customers began to stare. But it seemed that her speaking only made the child more frantic.
“I WANT IT! IT’S MINE! GIVE IT TO ME!”
“Fine!”
His mother angrily marched over to the toy shelf, snatched a toy off it, and stuffed it roughly into her child’s waiting hands.
“Daddy, I’m hungry.” The small child whimpered to her father. Her clothes were tattered and her hair a tangled mess that has never known a proper shower or a new comb.
“When are we going to eat? My tummy hurts.”
The child rubbed her tummy as if trying to show her father how she felt. Her father turned to face her, his hollow eyes reflecting the emptiness of his soul. He swallowed hard, and a weak smile played across a face wrinkled with worry long before its time
“I know your tummy hurts darling, but you’ll have to show daddy you’re a big girl and wait just a little longer.”
He strained to keep his plastered smile. He smiled for his daughter, so precious, so small. She was his treasure, his flower; all of his joys and hopes and lately, his darkest fears. She was like a rose, delicate and beautiful. She was his little rose and he cherished her more than life itself. But she was too small a rose. She needed food, food that brings strength. She stood before him now, weak and starving. Her arms were skinny and her fingers knobby. Her legs were all but bone. His little rose was wilting in the heat of the day, and he had no water for it. He cursed himself silently behind his plastered smile, helplessly watching his rose wilt; his daughter die.
“But why daddy? Why do we have to wait?”
“Because darling,” a single tear ran down her father’s face
“I have no food for you.”
The girl looked up at her crying father, her amber eyes wide with childhood innocence.
“It’s okay daddy, I’ll be a big girl for you…”
“Man, look at all this homework!” The bell rang as the halls flooded with children on their way home.
“It’s going to take me hours to finish this! And I got soccer practice tonight.”
“At least you don’t have three tests tomorrow.”
“Yeah? Well I’ve got a two-week project due tomorrow.”
“Two weeks?”
“Well, we got it two weeks ago, I haven’t started yet.”
The children hurried out to the bus, moaning under their heavy workloads and griping about due dates.
Sweat poured down the girl’s face as she lifted another load of bricks and balanced them on her head. Her dark skin glistening with perspiration, she coughed in the dusty air, inhaling another breath devoid of moisture, saturated in the dry heat of her land. Her body ached for want of water. She stumbled a little under her heavy load as she walked toward the brick-layers. She swallowed, trying desperately to moisten her dry throat. Then she stumbled again, and the overseer saw her. She tried valiantly, desperately, to regain her balance, but the load was too much and she was too weak. She toppled over and collapsed on the ground. The others walked around her as if they couldn’t see her as the overseer came running toward her.
“get up!” he growled
she tried desperately to lift herself, but simply fell back down
“Get Up!” he yelled, and kicked her viciously beneath the ribs
she tried to find her voice, her throat was too dry,
“water” she croaked airily
“I said GET UP!” The overseer grabbed her roughly by the arm, hoisted her to her feet and threw her back to the ground.
“GET UP!”
the young girl harnessed all of her strength and slowly, ever so slowly, rose to her feet.
“pick up those bricks!”
she knelt down by her fallen burden and began collecting them again
“that’s better…”
“Gosh mom, do I have to go to church?” She whined.
“I have homework, and later I’m meeting Jessica at the mall, and we thought we might meet up with Todd and Eric to see a movie.”
“No dear, we’re going to church, you’ll have to do those things some other time.”
“But mom…”
“I’m sorry, but you know we have church every week, always the same day. Besides, it’s a privilege to go to church.”
“Whatever.” The girl mumbled as she jumped into the car and slammed the door.
“And now let us pray, and remember the words of our Father, where two or more are gathered, there I will be also.”
In a small room at the back of a department store five people huddled together, offering prayers to their God. They all knew the punishment for such an offense. To meet in secret, to pray, to speak of God, all these things warranted death. But they all came anyway. They had crept by night to meet in a dingy back room because of what they believed in.
There they sat, the storekeeper and his wife, their neighbor, and a sixteen-year-old girl from a nearby town, with the Reverend presiding over all of it. They all sat, mindful of the danger, but willing to risk it.
“…and Father we thank thee for thy mercy in letting us meet together, and we ask that you will-“
BANG
The door burst open, and men rushed in. There was no escape, and the frightened congregation was immediately surrounded by six guards and their captain. Slowly, they rose to their feet, the Reverend still clutching his Bible, his hands white-knuckled and shaking. The captain walked over to him and snatched the Bible from his quivering hands. He spoke, his voice heavy with contempt,
“So, an illegal meeting. You all know the consequences for such action, but…”
The captain flung the Bible onto the floor; it slid across the dusty cement and rested by the door, the only exit.
“…I hate killing, and when I can avoid it I do.” He smiled maliciously
“This is your symbol of truth, of your God.” he pointed at the Bible by the door
“Spit on it and you may go free, refuse and…”
He pulled out his pistol and cocked it, grinning at them.
“Reverend, you first.”
The Reverenced stepped forward and knelt by the Bible. Trembling violently, he leaned over and let a little spittle run off his lips and fall. Then he ran from the room unhindered, weeping as he fled.
One by one the others came to the Bible and did the same, until lastly the sixteen-year-old girl stepped forward. She knelt by the Bible as the guards snickered. A pearly tear ran down her cheek as she lifted the dusty, spit-upon Bible, and with the hem of her dress she wiped it off. In tones without anger, she spoke softly saying,
“Father, what have they done to your book?”
A shot rang out and the girl fell, dead before she hit the ground. The guards filed out of the room as her crimson blood spilled over the floor, her hands still clutching her Father’s book…