writeforfun

This is my first post here, just 1,500 words. I posted this piece under a different name at another place and it was absolutely lambasted and shredded, though partially because some took exception b/c it touched a political nerve (the purpose of this piece is NOT political!) Anyway, I've got ideas on how I want to improve and further develop this story, but I'm looking for more feedback from people, suggestions on how to make it better, the writing quality, dialogue, etc. Thank you for any thoughtful comments, and if this makes you angry that's fine, too. I just hope you'll try to give some balanced feedback about this as a story -- does it work? does it NOT work? COULD it work and how? Much thanks!

Rated PG-13/R for language in places. No prurient content.

Bad Intel

The mother grilled the meat and vegetables on skewers over the small charcoal fire. The wooden shutters of the whitewashed two-bedroom house swung open onto a small, walled courtyard, the wall itself a web of cracks, shattered plaster and exposed brickwork. A large, cracked clay pot stood near the entrance. An obstinate shrub with a few green leaves groped skyward, defying the poverty of its soil and the neglect of its caretaker.

Sometimes there was electricity, once or twice a week. But nobody knew when it would come or how long it would stay on. Every time it came on was a cause for minor celebration and scurrying to cook, shower, do laundry and see if anything was on television.

They had been promising power for five years.

Dusty shafts of late afternoon light slanted through open windows onto the floor of the house. Darkness huddled patiently in the corners of the room, ready to spread like an uncontained oil slick. Mom had not yet lit the candles.

The boy sat at the table of the dining room. The table was pushed up against the wall near the window. He was reading about the solar system. He read reasonably fluidly now, for a second grader who had only been going to school once a week.

“Is it true, mama, that men have walked on the moon?” he asked.
She did not answer.
“Amazing,” the boy thought. “Maybe I can go there someday.”

His sister, two years younger, played with a blond haired, blue-eyed plastic doll. There was a baby sleeping in a crib against the opposite wall next to the leather couch. The glassy face of the television screen looked impassively across the room like a blind sentinel.

Dad was not home yet. Neither was uncle or the boy’s cousin. They all lived together in the house since the militia forced uncle to leave his neighborhood across the river. There was a mass exodus, and then they blew the bridge
.
“It’s dinnertime,” the mom said. “I need you to wash your hands.”

It was as though she hadn’t spoken. The boy and girl did not stir from their places. The boy looked out the open window that framed the cloudless sky and the minarets clawing for heaven. The gibbous moon hung clearly visible in the waning light of day, a portal, seemingly, to the deep darkness that lay beyond.

The heat had gone out of the day. It was quiet. It had been for a few days. No shattering flashes of unnatural midnight light followed by a Krakatoan eruption of sound and tremors.

The boy heard through the window the sounds of cars and buses. Horns. Children playing down the street. The dilute smell of diesel exhaust intermingled with untreated sewage drifted in, mixing with the tang of grilled meat and onions. Are things getting better? The boy wondered. He hoped.

“Did you not hear me? Wash up!” mother said.

They did not move. The girl played with her doll. She was having a conversation with it.
There were voices outside coming up the street. Dad and uncle. They were arguing about something. The argument continued as they came through the door.

“I don’t think you know what you’re talking about,” dad said
.
“Me? Me? Wait a minute. You’re the one who said not to go there! Right? Right? That he is a shit mechanic.”

“Ahh!” exclaimed dad, dismissing uncle with a wave of his hand.

“I’m hungry. What’s to eat? Smell’s like…” he sniffed the air and pinched his nose.

“What’s wrong with you?” mother grunted. “You ingrate. You’re lucky to have anything!”

“If you only knew how to cook it,” dad smiled slyly.

“Children! Wash!” mother commanded.

The boy peeled his attention away from the window like a magnet from a refrigerator door. He rose from the chair. His sister set her doll on the open windowsill.

“She wants to see outside,” she said. “She can see the moon now, too.”

They washed in a metal basin filled with cold water and dried their small, brown hands. The boy looked at his mother as she worked. She used to be prettier. She had warm brown eyes but now they looked hard as stones. She looked worn out and he felt sad for her.

“You too,” mother indicated to father and uncle. They submitted.

“And the other one?” mom asked.

“He’ll be along,” uncle said. “He’s coming back from the school.”

“Well, he better hurry! He’ll miss supper and it will be dark soon,” mother said.

“That little terrorist,” father chuckled.

“Preposterous,” uncle said. “They wouldn’t take him if he wanted to join.”

“Still, it’s not good to be out.”

Mother finished setting the table. They all sat and began to eat
.
“Father,” said the boy. “I think things are getting better.”

“Why do you say that?”

“It’s been quieter. Isn’t it more normal?”

“What’s normal?” asked Uncle. “Killing? Death. Yes, that’s normal.”

“Uncle!” mom barked. “Quiet now. What do you hope to accomplish with that?”

It was quiet again at the table.

“It’s just a feeling I have,” the boy said. “That everything is going to work out OK.”

His dad looked at him strangely. “Well, let’s hope your feeling is right,” dad said.

“Dad, I read in my book that men have walked on the moon. Isn’t that amazing?”

“Yes, it’s true. They’ve done many, many amazing things,” said Dad, jabbing his finger toward the open window. “They are a rich people with all the technology.”

“Yes,” said uncle. “And look what else they do.”

“If they’re so amazing, you’d think they’d get the power turned back on after five years,” mom said.

“Dad,” said the boy. “Can I go to the moon one day?”

His dad chewed and was silent. He looked again at the boy. “If you want. Maybe someday. Study hard. You must learn your math and science. Then maybe you can go, if God wills it.”

The boy knew then and there that he would study even harder. If men could go to the moon, he would be among them. What heroes they must be, he thought.
Later, the boy sat at the table and watched the moon climb higher in the dark. He resumed reading his book by candlelight. The baby stirred in the crib and mom went to it. Dad and uncle played a game of backgammon. The boy’s cousin was still gone. The girl had fallen asleep on the couch, cradling her doll with the strange blue unblinking eyes.

Then came a shattering WHUMP and earth and sky briefly united. No one in the house saw, heard or felt it as the material world disintegrated around them.

The soldiers came in the dark to the smoking crater.

“Fuck, look at that!” said one soldier, swiveling the lamp on top of his armored car. “Now that’s a goddamn hole!

“That’s what a 2,000 pound JDAM can do, motherfucker! Put that in your hookah and smoke it!”

“Dropped from 20,000 feet. They never saw it coming,” said another.

“Damn, that crater must be 15 feet deep and 30 feet around. Direct hit. A beautiful thing,” remarked a corporal.

“Did we get’em?” someone asked.

“Yeah, more fuckin’ terrorists bite the dust!” said a sargeant.

“I don’t think so,” said one.

“Look at those body parts! Somebody’s fuckin’ head, fuckin’ arms! Guts. Look at that! Shit! It’s everywhere.”

“Shut up, motherfucker!”

“Hey, dude! What’s your problem, asshole?”

“My problem is we just blew the shit out of a bunch of,” he paused, searching for the appropriate words. “…non-combatants.”

“Huh?”

“Non-hostiles, dickhead. Children, women.”

“Huh? No we got’em. We got the motherfuckin’ terrorists. We had airtight intel.”

The captain knew it was a major screw up. What do you do? What can you do? It was too late. They’re all gone now, he thought. He felt sorry about it. He had his own kids back home. Things seemed so sure just an hour ago. It looked clean when they called in the strike.

“Well, I guess that’s too bad. Really shitty for them,” said the sargeant. “That’s war, right?”

The captain picked up the scorched head of the girl’s doll. The strange blue eyes stared back at him. He tossed it into the middle of the crater.

“Holy shit.” He muttered. “Bad intel.”

Back at the base, some of the soldiers ate hamburgers and watched the great leader giving a speech on television.

“The terrorists are fighting freedom with all their cunning and cruelty because freedom is their greatest fear - and they should be afraid, because freedom is on the march,” said the great leader.

* * *
The boy was confused at first. He didn’t know where he was. He felt strange and scared. He was alone and suddenly not at the table anymore reading by candlelight. Where had it all gone, he wondered. He found himself in absolute blackness. Then he saw it, just a pinprick of light, far away. His thoughts took him there. “The moon,” he said. “I am going to the moon.” He went to it. It was a portal after all.

chimchimski

The thing is this, I feel numb by this piece of writing. It left me with my mouth open.
In my opinion, that's what good writing does, it causes me to feel. Whether it's anger, sadness, joy, or sorrow.
From a writing view point, it has great potential. The dialog is loose and easy. It has a realistic quality about it.

Just my two cents.

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Tiamat10

Wow.

Just wow. Like chimchim, this one left me staring at the screen, mouth agape. Definitely a good piece of writing, I'd say. Some of the punctuation in th dialogue is a little iffy if I recall correctly, but I'm too busy getting over the story itself to go and find it.

You don't use quote for thoughts though. Use italics. Or nothing at all.

There, that's what I remember. Still... wow.

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"I'm a woman, we never say what we want. But we reserve the right to be pissed off if we don't get it." - Sliding Doors

Just Jim

Hey, I think it's a great story. Hard to read, and very honest I think.

I see a few things:
" Back at the base, some of the soldiers ate hamburgers and watched the great leader giving a speech on television." The "great leader" thing is unnecessary, and takes away from the serious nature of the scene. Why not just say watching a speech, and then quote him. Anyone with any sense will know who is speaking.

Then earlier:
Father,” said the boy. “I think things are getting better.”
“Why do you say that?”
“It’s been quieter. Isn’t it more normal?”

Doesn't sound like a second grader. I wish I could explain it, but I can't.

And one small nit. You call the woman the mother, but the man is dad. Make the "the father", no ?

Definitely worth working on.

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RyeCatcher24

Great job. I was so into what the family was talking about over dinner that the attack felt like a punch in the gut when it came.

I can understand why you might have had some critique about its political nature, but I personally didn't find it preachy or political. It was a great piece of writing.

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foretopsail

This was very good, so the bar's set high for critique. I'm going to be really nitpicky, since I imagine you know (and you've certainly been told!) what's good.

Here goes:

The family/soldier divide was a little much. It seemed too polarized, though your point was made. I guess that's the thing, it read like "HERE'S THE POINT" if that makes sense. One thought would be to spend a little time establishing the soldiers too, maybe have the soldiers exposition and then go into your story as written.

When you said the captain was "sorry" it was a mite weak. There're more powerful words to use than sorry, unless you're implying that he was *only* "sorry" after dropping a bomb on civilians. It doesn't seem that you're implying that from context, so think about that word choice.

The dad's response to "can I go to the moon" was wonderful.

Hope that helps, thanks for the chance to read.

writeforfun

Thank you for reading and offering your comments. They are helpful and I will take them into account on a rewrite.

This story, as it is, has been heavily, heavily criticized by others at another forum -- in fact, everything that was said about it was negative -- so I posted it here to see if it was as worthless as others said.

I'm glad that some here think it has potential. And, I have ideas, similar to what you suggested, to expand the story, heighten tension and realism, and humanize and define the characters more sharply.

I appreciate your time and will read and critique your work in kind.

regards

writeforfun

Thank you for reading and taking the time. Your comment was appreciated and confirms to me that this story has potential and can be improved!

writeforfun

Thank you for reading. Your comments are duly noted and helpful, especially the speech part. I look forward to reading your material.

regards

writeforfun

Thank you for reading. I appreciate the honesty about your reaction to it. Every writer wants to elicit a reaction, hopefully one that is profound or enlightening or edifying. I'm not saying I achieved that and I hope to really make this better. regards

writeforfun

Thank you for reading. I hope that by "numb" you mean that it caused you to feel something or understand something. I know this still needs work, and your time and thoughts will help me imporve this. I look forward to your material. regards

Tiamat10

Lol... for future reference, mate. You don't have to use five separate replies to thank each of us. One reply with five thank yous would do the trick.

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"I'm a woman, we never say what we want. But we reserve the right to be pissed off if we don't get it." - Sliding Doors

Jax1108

:O
Thats all I got for now....
Maybe I will post later....but WOW!!! You write very well, such an easy read Bravo!

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writeforfun

I agree. I haven't figured out how to just reply to specific messages if that's possible, but to keep the clutter down, I'll definitely combine my comments and thanks.

Appreciate your advice.

CodeRed

Great write, and I agree with the critique offered so far. The scenes were vivid and the family warm and familiar.

I would say that to a second grader (who are ususally around seven) the world is still percieved largely in black and white. They notice everything around them, but don't always join the dots, so things being quieter might not necessarily lead to any conclusions, particularly if they have only ever known the way of life that you paint. I would tend to think that they would just wonder what the quietness means.

I would also agree with foretopsail in regards to the transition between the 'family portrait' and the sudden destruction of it. It was shocking, and came without warning - which I'm sure is the point - but I think you would be able to show/develop the the soldiers in the few moments beforehand without losing any impact (no pun intended).

Other than that, a very arresting read.

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