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I have no excuse for my tardiness here, but I want you to know my not submitting isn't out of maliciousness/disrespect, but because of literally having things pop up last minute that kept me away from the internet. I have the rough draft finished but it's not in any state that should see the light of day; I'm hoping to get back to it before the official deadline (I think there's still three hours, going by California time?). I'm really, really sorry.

Also, people need to learn how to take a f*cking critique. I'd be scared to see a contest hosted by someone who can't handle being told they're using words wrong or, God Forbid, have a separate opinion from someone else.

Assuming I get it more up to snuff, I'll either edit this post or throw it up in a later one. It might be more honest to do the latter, given the time issue.
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Rotsab M. Hyolf


YOU LIVE.

Sorry, I've just been really eager to read your entry! I even asked about you, lol. /stalker. No, but seriously, I loved your entry for the previous prompt and have lurked around to see this one!

So... I kind of demand you make it in time c_c

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Wing McCallister
People, judgement of writing, by its nature, is an intrinsically subjective craft. You either acknowledge the host's critiques or you do not. There is no need to push to defend one's self from them because a good host will acknowledge that his or her opinions are just that... his or her opinions.

I did say it was subjective, however I can't help but to be reminded about the days when I did this to you. Man I was painful.
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Business Affairs

Joaquin drew the razor down his cheek leisurely, the blades glided silently through the white foam. It was still early; perhaps a little past five, with cool blue skies and bare hints of light. Outside of the hotel suite there were no stirrings in the halls or adjacent rooms, and cars passed rarely in the streets below. It was a far cry from the clogged streets soon to come.

He clicked the razor against the side of the ceramic sink to let excess hair and foam fall loose. Then, touching his jaw, Crowley bared his throat to the mirror and slid the blade down again; throat, chin and jaw became exposed as he progressed. Briefly he rolled his shoulders, still adapting to the surprising chill the morning brought with it after a long hot shower.

Tock. Crowley set his razor to the side and turned on the faucet, collected water in his hands and rinsed the last remains of gel and hair from his face. The face he looked back to in the mirror smiled. He dried his face and hands on the green towel provided courtesy The Holiday Inn, then ran a palm over his cheek. The flesh was smooth, even against the grain.

Joaquin liked his clean cut image; it put people at ease and trimmed the years down from his age. Satisfied, Crowley popped open a complimentary hotel bottle of aftershave and lathered it in his hands, then rubbed the musk-scented oil onto his face.

Behind him laid a young woman, sprawled on the room’s king sized bed. In the mirror he could just make out the curve of an arm, red hair pooled on dark pillows and cascading down the side of the bed itself. Dark red satin sheets were pulled up to the redhead’s midriff, and a hand was raised to her chest in some ironic show of modesty. The woman’s name was either Cindy or Elisa or Elsa or Jennifer or Charlie; it didn’t really matter – only that she was a reporter that had been dogging him for some time was of any consequence. After weeks of staring appreciatively at her form and playing ignorant to her coy remarks he’d given in – or rather, found cause to celebrate, and invited her to a one-on-one session in a private suite of The Holiday Inn. It wasn’t hard to seduce women like her – girls in their mother’s clothing, thinking they had all the power and fire of a man and yet were better somehow too; a real ‘I am woman, hear me roar’ type of gal. He could see it in the way she clumsily held herself, the attention to detail from her toenails to her hair roots and the missed splotches in between – meticulous fabrications common of her type to overcompensate for who they wanted to be versus who they truly were. Gatsby might have been a more appropriate name for her.

“Can I ask you something, Mr. Crowley?” The redhead purred, leaning forward to emphasize her breasts – they pressed hard against her shirt, threatening to spill forth. Crowley wouldn’t have minded.

“Why, you can ask me whatever’s on your mind, darling, I just can’t be promising anything,” He replied with a smile, pouring the champagne and charm the way a snake poured venom. These were subtle signs of confidence and control women like Heather or Clarice or whoever she was would need spelt out to even notice, nevermind hope to emulate.

“The Mayor, is he actually your brother?” She paused, longer than was appropriate. Crowley smiled the entire time. “It’s just, there are these photos of you two together that look… close. Real close.”

Crowley walked over to her and handed her a glass of the champagne. He didn’t lose his smile. “Oh?”

“I mean, it isn’t anything dirty, but… well, not clean enough to be innocent either.” She took the glass, smiling at him playfully. Her powers of persuasion were not unlike those of a wall – that was to say, wholly absent, save for the most obvious and blunt of attempts. “Come on, you promised me a story. What’s really going on?”

“To be frank,” He sat down beside her, relishing the way she slid closer to be against him. “I’m not sure I even know as to what photos you are referring to. However,” Crowley fought hard not to fall into an old southern drawl, “If there was something going on or we were related, that’d hardly be the business of the public. The mayor is young and physical, anyhow. I am sure there are plenty of photos with him and the kind folk around the city.”

“So you aren’t denying it, then?”


The reporter trembled faintly on the bed but didn’t open her eyes; Crowley wasn’t at all surprised. It’d been a long, exhausting night and even after that hot shower he could feel the knots in some of his muscles remain. Finished for now he stepped into the bedroom, crossed the bed and moved to the scenic window; he peeled back a blind, squinting at the sudden light and turned to watch it trail up the bed and across the lovely Miss Gallieno. Esterraz. Typica? It highlighted the smooth contours of her face and body, accented the vibrancy of her hair – it had to be dyed, no hair naturally shone that colour. Soundlessly she shifted, and her eyelids flickered briefly; Crowley let the blind fall back into place and once more clothe the room in a darkness that seemed thicker than before.

Crowley strode to a black suitcase leant near the bed, dropped to a knee and pulled it sideways onto the floor. He unzipped the flap and pushed it back swiftly to reveal the few articles he’d packed; two business suits, both hung on a wooden hanger and in a dry cleaner’s plastic bag. They were pulled out and placed on the bed infront of him as he rose, unfolded as they went. Beneath them were tucked a few pairs of socks and boxers. He took out a pair of black boxers and pulled them on, looking down at the reporter whilst he did so. With them snugly in place he bent over to pick up a pair of socks, but paused when he noticed something off about the reporter’s nose.

Before the slight twitches of her left nostril and throat had looked like breathing; now, however, it looked as if some tumor were forming and slowly moving. The nostril bulged and twitched and then, from the depths, twin red mandibles appeared, followed by the thick red head of an ant and finally its whole bulbous body. It clicked its jaw and writhed grotesquely, insect legs scrabbling against the flesh of the woman’s nose as it tried to squeeze its fattened body out of her nasal cavity. A brief flash of red in her ear might have been power of suggestion or real; the mucus covered red ant scrabbled along her face and to her mouth, prying her lips apart with tiny limbs and shoving its way into her mouth. Crowley watched, momentarily transfixed, then grasped the edge of the satin blanket and yanked it back. In the darkness he could only vaguely make out movement, and so again he found himself pulled to the scenic window. The blinds were pulled back with a flourish.

On the bed, only one arm – the one she’d placed above the bed covers– and the chest and spine remained. Everything else on the woman had been eaten, and even now plump red forms ran rampant across her stale gristle and bone to gnaw at anything and everything. As a collective force they heaved and moved her, body flapping more violently the less of her that remained. The reporter’s eye opened, revealing an empty cavity a dozen or so ants crawled out of or into, chewing and biting as they went. Smirking, the brunet decided to leave the blinds open and returned to his suitcase, finishing with his socks and holding up either suit in the light.

“Which one you reckon’ today, boys?” A misplaced ant was currently hauling itself up the one he held in his left hand – the one he’d placed on top on the bed. Setting the other suit down he gently pried the insect from the plastic and brought it near his face. Like a small dog it twisted and shoved its legs against his fingers, trying to pry itself free; he bit the head off, the sound akin to a wet balloon being popped and tasting faintly of champagne. He bent the still body in half and popped it into his mouth as well, chewing once before swallowing. “Silver one it is.”

The care he took in watching after the mayor truly was extraordinary. Perhaps it was time to ask for a raise.


;;;;;;;~~~~;;;;;;;

Right, so, not the story I promised, but still something I tried to get together in time. Technically three minutes to go (I just edited it to throw in this note). WOO.

Yutora


YOU LIVE.

Sorry, I've just been really eager to read your entry! I even asked about you, lol. /stalker. No, but seriously, I loved your entry for the previous prompt and have lurked around to see this one!

So... I kind of demand you make it in time c_c


Thanks! Haha, that really means a lot.

I'm hoping to figure out how to manhandle the original piece I had intended for this into something more interesting. I'll probably submit it for May into the AGWC.

Solar, once again, I'm sorry about how late this is. Also if it doesn't make a lot of sense. (Horror is meant to be ambiguous, right? xD )
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Rotsab M. Hyolf
Business Affairs


Solar, once again, I'm sorry about how late this is. Also if it doesn't make a lot of sense. (Horror is meant to be ambiguous, right? xD )

Yay, entry!
I already started critiques but you were technically in before midnight all around the world so I'll take it.
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The Solarised Night

Yay, entry!
I already started critiques but you were technically in before midnight all around the world so I'll take it.


Awesome! Much appreciated. I assumed it was still going by the 'California Midnight' deadline, haha. (Which, like an idiot, I assumed meant I had until 9am because it's +9GMT. However, I am -5GMT, so it was only +4. Silly timezones. )

Sorry if it wonks up the critique order.

Also, one day, hopefully one soon, I will not be the last person to submit an entry to a writing contest.
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Rotsab M. Hyolf
The Solarised Night

Yay, entry!
I already started critiques but you were technically in before midnight all around the world so I'll take it.


Awesome! Much appreciated. I assumed it was still going by the 'California Midnight' deadline, haha. (Which, like an idiot, I assumed meant I had until 9am because it's +9GMT. However, I am -5GMT, so it was only +4. Silly timezones. )

Sorry if it wonks up the critique order.

Also, one day, hopefully one soon, I will not be the last person to submit an entry to a writing contest.

I didn't even have anything for Wing this month. I just gave him my 'LOL aliens!' entry that I gave to PK since he wanted a look at it. I was like "Eh, I don't have anything for you so just take that and do your critiquing magic"

PK is going to win this monthly; her poem was epic and it made me happy because it was about you-know-who rofl
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The Solarised Night

I didn't even have anything for Wing this month. I just gave him my 'LOL aliens!' entry that I gave to PK since he wanted a look at it. I was like "Eh, I don't have anything for you so just take that and do your critiquing magic"

PK is going to win this monthly; her poem was epic and it made me happy because it was about you-know-who rofl



Ahahaha, very nice. It's better than nothing! I had meant to try and get something in, but my sister's spring formal came up, my uncle from out of town showed up (not that anyone really cares to be around him, haha), and then we spent the last two days out in another city because it was one of my cousins' birthdays. On top of that, my dad has been unusually protective of his laptop, which limited the time (since my laptop's been broken since March, ever seen a fateful accident with a pickle jar).

To be honest, the entry I wanted to write for this probably wouldn't have fit the prompt very much. It was far more suspense and gradual horror; but not even that, because by writing it from the eyes of the perpetrator, I couldn't bring in a sense of dread or vulnerability. I wanted to try and write a western horror, which will probably be the one I submit for this month in AGWC.

Haha, yes, I saw her poem. It was indeed quite epic!
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Rotsab M. Hyolf
The Solarised Night

I didn't even have anything for Wing this month. I just gave him my 'LOL aliens!' entry that I gave to PK since he wanted a look at it. I was like "Eh, I don't have anything for you so just take that and do your critiquing magic"

PK is going to win this monthly; her poem was epic and it made me happy because it was about you-know-who rofl



Ahahaha, very nice. It's better than nothing! I had meant to try and get something in, but my sister's spring formal came up, my uncle from out of town showed up (not that anyone really cares to be around him, haha), and then we spent the last two days out in another city because it was one of my cousins' birthdays. On top of that, my dad has been unusually protective of his laptop, which limited the time (since my laptop's been broken since March, ever seen a fateful accident with a pickle jar).

To be honest, the entry I wanted to write for this probably wouldn't have fit the prompt very much. It was far more suspense and gradual horror; but not even that, because by writing it from the eyes of the perpetrator, I couldn't bring in a sense of dread or vulnerability. I wanted to try and write a western horror, which will probably be the one I submit for this month in AGWC.

Haha, yes, I saw her poem. It was indeed quite epic!

Sounds like craziness. I have a lot going on too but I sort of have my procrastination shoes on, Ironically, I just attended a time management workshop the day before my workshop sheet was due lol
I don't usually procrastinate but all of the holidays are screwing with my organisational skills. We had a week easter break, then we went back for a week, then we had ANZAC day off (so 3/4 of my classes were cancelled) then we had this week, next week is labour day so I miss out on 3/4 of my classes again. I can't stay focused.

PK doesn't actually want to win because it only took her 37 minutes to write that poem. I gave her a quick proof read before she entered and she said that anyone who puts more effort in than 37 mins should win rofl Wing loves s**t like that though so she's definitely won.

Have you looked at the critiques so far? Wing made an appearance
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The Solarised Night

Sounds like craziness. I have a lot going on too but I sort of have my procrastination shoes on, Ironically, I just attended a time management workshop the day before my workshop sheet was due lol
I don't usually procrastinate but all of the holidays are screwing with my organisational skills. We had a week easter break, then we went back for a week, then we had ANZAC day off (so 3/4 of my classes were cancelled) then we had this week, next week is labour day so I miss out on 3/4 of my classes again. I can't stay focused.

PK doesn't actually want to win because it only took her 37 minutes to write that poem. I gave her a quick proof read before she entered and she said that anyone who puts more effort in than 37 mins should win rofl Wing loves s**t like that though so she's definitely won.

Have you looked at the critiques so far? Wing made an appearance


Haha, sounds about right. I'd be surprised to see a majority of students in time management workshops not being procrastinators. It would defeat the point of going to the workshop!

Ah, I completely hear you. That's a really crazy schedule; and I think I saw you mention exams and stuff too, which I imagine only adds to it all. I'm not sure if your problem is focus or just a thousand things demanding to be priorty.

See that's exactly why she should win; because she did it in 37 minutes. I'd argue it's far superior to many pieces I've seen where people haven't even dedicated that much time to it (but will go blue in the face claiming metaphors and analogies).

I have! I commented on them, briefly, at the top of the page (it's in white, to semi-avoid confrontation? I was in a pretty nasty mood). I've pretty much agreed with all of your reviews, as well. It's a subjective business, though, so to agree with everything would be weird, haha.

You've only two more critiques to go! This is crazy headway. I think it's... one third of the entries you got last month? Also, very late in the contest too.
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Rotsab M. Hyolf

Haha, sounds about right. I'd be surprised to see a majority of students in time management workshops not being procrastinators. It would defeat the point of going to the workshop!

Ah, I completely hear you. That's a really crazy schedule; and I think I saw you mention exams and stuff too, which I imagine only adds to it all. I'm not sure if your problem is focus or just a thousand things demanding to be priorty.

See that's exactly why she should win; because she did it in 37 minutes. I'd argue it's far superior to many pieces I've seen where people haven't even dedicated that much time to it (but will go blue in the face claiming metaphors and analogies).

I have! I commented on them, briefly, at the top of the page (it's in white, to semi-avoid confrontation? I was in a pretty nasty mood). I've pretty much agreed with all of your reviews, as well. It's a subjective business, though, so to agree with everything would be weird, haha.

You've only two more critiques to go! This is crazy headway. I think it's... one third of the entries you got last month? Also, very late in the contest too.

Well yeah; I only went because it was part of my assessment to attend 3 of them.
I also found out that my politics tutor has been the one who has been marking the 200 or so tiny attendance slips for the politics lecture. He has appreciated my giraffe drawings. Now I know to draw pictures all over it and write "Hi Brian! Keep going, just a little bit longer and you'll be free to watch Dr Who biggrin "

Yes, I have two exams (which I have not studied for whatsoever) two major essays (only one of which is drafted) a major writing piece draft (again - not done) and two presentations all due at various points in the next 2 - 4 weeks.

Aha! you did too! I was waiting for you to say something so I thought I'd ask rofl
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The Solarised Night
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Lol I dont think your a b***h at all xD Just saying what you really see and feel in this poem. I did reread it mabye 5 or 6 times, and grammatically yes it is very flawed. As for the capitals that is just a personal like, I don't expect everyone to like it lol.

I really don't know if we are supposed to give feed back on your feedback but I believe you are mistaken about a few things.

Yes , I understand each and every word in this poem quite well. I agree that the poem was disrupted at times because of how long some of the sentences were, however as for the disruption of rhyme scheme, i do not always use words that rhyme exactly and if this is a flaw to some people that is not my choice.

As for a "retching reek" this statement is implying that the reek will make you retch, not that the reek itself is retching. Same for "burnt ash" It is saying that is was burnt to ash, just without "crucial components" . I use implication a lot in my poetry as well as metaphhors.

Now, as for the maggots. I did not say the were feeling disdain, as creatures without that thought process cannot. I was saying that the boy believed they were eating in disdain. This boy is out of his mind with pain and fear, his thought process is going to be skewed greatly, making him believe that which cannot be.

I agree that i do drop words such as "is" and "are" a lot and rely on the readers head to imply those words, though that may be unfair and make the piece not as good.

As for how believable the story is, yes i am absolutely sure someone can live two years while being decapitated and having infectious wounds, as well as maggots eating at them. After the decapitation his wound was fused by the hot iron, no blood loss. As for the infectious wounds and maggots, maggots eat only rotting, infected flesh. They do not eat clean or new skin. So by the maggots eating his infected flesh, they are helping stay the infection. Add to all this that his father could have used drugs, which was implied for the boy to stay alive that long, and yes he absolutely could have. Also people do live through being skinned and scalped.

Now onto telling what the reader to think. I was telling the reader what the boy thought, not what they should think, in that line. I know many people at fifteen who could have used the word gall, it is just not used often. I for instance used it before i was fifteen.

Again this child is mad with pain and dying, so his last thought could not be long, but it did imply that he thought his father had no right to do this. i'm sure if he wasn't about to die his thoughts might have been curse words or something else, but every persons thought process is different and you have to understand he was betrayed by his father, this made him hopeless, and it made him want to give up on life. So if he had no fighting spirit left then no he would not have cursed out his father.

Thank you for your critique. I appreciate to hear what you thought. Mabye next time i will just try a story, as I have heard I'm better at those. Lol.

The capitalisation was random; it wasn't just a stylistic choice.
If you start with a rhyme scheme, it's a good idea to keep it. There is nothing wrong with not rhyming, but don't intentionally start a rhyme scheme then drop it here and there. It is sloppy.
I knew what you meant by 'retching reek,' but your wording was flawed so it literally means as I explained. You need the 'is' and 'are's to make sense. Arguing that it is a choice of style doesn't change that it is grammatically incorrect.
You mean amputated; decapitation refers to the head, not the legs. You definitely would die if decapitated.
It wasn't a matter of 'gall' being an unknown word, it was the way you chose to use utilise the dialogue that lacked believability.

EDIT: By using second person, you are making the audience the protagonist. You are telling me as a reader than my last thought was "Oh his gall." Not once do you refer to this character as male, so don't tell me that it is the boy's thoughts and perceptions. You made it personal by using 'you' and addressing the audience, therefore you can't claim that it is a separate character.


I know i was using he just as a general term. The reader does not know the gender.
I can see how the reek is retching to you , but to me it makes sense i'm weird xD
I didn't mean to use the capitalization throughout the poem, just on the first letter of each line. That's my fault. Well thank you for the critque smile I'll see you later.
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Rotsab M. Hyolf


I love your attention to detail.
This was worth the read <3
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jazz the dragon ninja
The Solarised Night
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The Solarised Night


Lol I dont think your a b***h at all xD Just saying what you really see and feel in this poem. I did reread it mabye 5 or 6 times, and grammatically yes it is very flawed. As for the capitals that is just a personal like, I don't expect everyone to like it lol.

I really don't know if we are supposed to give feed back on your feedback but I believe you are mistaken about a few things.

Yes , I understand each and every word in this poem quite well. I agree that the poem was disrupted at times because of how long some of the sentences were, however as for the disruption of rhyme scheme, i do not always use words that rhyme exactly and if this is a flaw to some people that is not my choice.

As for a "retching reek" this statement is implying that the reek will make you retch, not that the reek itself is retching. Same for "burnt ash" It is saying that is was burnt to ash, just without "crucial components" . I use implication a lot in my poetry as well as metaphhors.

Now, as for the maggots. I did not say the were feeling disdain, as creatures without that thought process cannot. I was saying that the boy believed they were eating in disdain. This boy is out of his mind with pain and fear, his thought process is going to be skewed greatly, making him believe that which cannot be.

I agree that i do drop words such as "is" and "are" a lot and rely on the readers head to imply those words, though that may be unfair and make the piece not as good.

As for how believable the story is, yes i am absolutely sure someone can live two years while being decapitated and having infectious wounds, as well as maggots eating at them. After the decapitation his wound was fused by the hot iron, no blood loss. As for the infectious wounds and maggots, maggots eat only rotting, infected flesh. They do not eat clean or new skin. So by the maggots eating his infected flesh, they are helping stay the infection. Add to all this that his father could have used drugs, which was implied for the boy to stay alive that long, and yes he absolutely could have. Also people do live through being skinned and scalped.

Now onto telling what the reader to think. I was telling the reader what the boy thought, not what they should think, in that line. I know many people at fifteen who could have used the word gall, it is just not used often. I for instance used it before i was fifteen.

Again this child is mad with pain and dying, so his last thought could not be long, but it did imply that he thought his father had no right to do this. i'm sure if he wasn't about to die his thoughts might have been curse words or something else, but every persons thought process is different and you have to understand he was betrayed by his father, this made him hopeless, and it made him want to give up on life. So if he had no fighting spirit left then no he would not have cursed out his father.

Thank you for your critique. I appreciate to hear what you thought. Mabye next time i will just try a story, as I have heard I'm better at those. Lol.

The capitalisation was random; it wasn't just a stylistic choice.
If you start with a rhyme scheme, it's a good idea to keep it. There is nothing wrong with not rhyming, but don't intentionally start a rhyme scheme then drop it here and there. It is sloppy.
I knew what you meant by 'retching reek,' but your wording was flawed so it literally means as I explained. You need the 'is' and 'are's to make sense. Arguing that it is a choice of style doesn't change that it is grammatically incorrect.
You mean amputated; decapitation refers to the head, not the legs. You definitely would die if decapitated.
It wasn't a matter of 'gall' being an unknown word, it was the way you chose to use utilise the dialogue that lacked believability.

EDIT: By using second person, you are making the audience the protagonist. You are telling me as a reader than my last thought was "Oh his gall." Not once do you refer to this character as male, so don't tell me that it is the boy's thoughts and perceptions. You made it personal by using 'you' and addressing the audience, therefore you can't claim that it is a separate character.


I know i was using he just as a general term. The reader does not know the gender.
I can see how the reek is retching to you , but to me it makes sense i'm weird xD
I didn't mean to use the capitalization throughout the poem, just on the first letter of each line. That's my fault. Well thank you for the critque smile I'll see you later.

Oh yeah, there was nothing wrong with the captialisation of each line. That is a stylistic choice, just not one I usually prefer. You don't get marked down for it, I just commented that modern styles just capitalise each new senetnce.
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Cindycate


The Superstitious Murder

Angelus and I had been friends for more than twenty years. But he became a different person all in a sudden. The friendship that we had built together for years that used to feel like the Garden of Eden, abruptly became a futile wasteland. I could feel the blazing skin whenever Priest Angelus did his preaching with the folks at the town square. Those pestilential holy words radiated like thunder flash into my house. The louder the preaching, the feverish I would become very gradually. Thereupon, I made up my mind to eventually put an end to his misery and get rid of his filthy words forever.

I stealthily visited his house during midnight, when there was not much light touching the Earth. Before I could manage to eliminate him, I stood right at his front door, inspecting for any possible stalkers to ascertain that nobody else was there. I picked the lock of his door and opened it oh, so gently! And very quietly I sneaked in to his house. The first threatening obstacle that I encountered was five standing white candles, with a dancing flame on each one of it. Without thinking twice, I extinguished the fire immediately with my bare fingers covered in spit. All five of the candles. The house was a black void afterwards. How was I able to successfully kill him then? I have a hereditary skill. Unlike you people, my vision remains crystal clear in the dark. Everything was mute, as if they were afraid of me. All I could hear was the noise of my own heart beating in dread and fear of getting apprehended.

The intrusion was a success. I looked around and noticed how fortunate I was, that the floor was made of stone instead of woods. There was therefore, no sound heard, not even my footsteps. On his bed, I saw him rest gracefully. Jittery, so jittery was I as I took several steps to get nearer. He was fully asleep when I placed both of my hands above his stomach without touching it. He could not sense my arrival. Thus I started to read the spell in my head to connect his soul to the voodoo doll I prepared at home the night before. There is no way that I can explain this rationally, but the ritual only took me a few seconds. I smirked at him and tried to leave his house silently, but hastily.

Back at home, I impatiently looked for the voodoo doll that I made out of dry grass and grabbed it with a tingling happy sensation. Then I pulled out a sprig of matchstick from a matchbox, lit it up and started to burn the doll from the tip of its left foot. The flame burned the doll quite fast and within seconds, the music of his pain could be heard around the neighborhood for several seconds until he was finally dead. My method of murder is so clever, and so cunning, that no human eye – not even his – could have detected anything wrong. There was nothing to wash out – no stain of any kind – no blood spot – no physical damage. His death was caused by a spiritual assault. Very soon, the doll turned to ashes that I put in a jar not long after. I had nothing to fear. Police officers would never find any clue about the murder. They will obviously think it was a sudden death phenomenon.

It was four in the morning and I was weary, hence I immediately slept. At one in the afternoon, there came a knocking at my door. I woke up with slightly blur vision but answered the door with a light heart regardless. There entered three men, who introduced themselves with perfect suavity. A shriek had been heard by my neighbors during the night, suspicion of foul play had been aroused, information had been lodged at the rabbi sanctuary by the police officers while I was still in deep sleep, and they were deputed to investigate the tragedy.

One hour had passed and the rabbis were satisfied and convinced. They were sitting down, chatting with each other. But I heard the voice of Priest Angelus swarming my ears saying “Vengeance!” in echo. My face turned pale and the echo became more distinct but the rabbis heard it not. The echo grew louder – louder – louder – louder! I excused myself from the conversation and went to my bedroom. Was it possible that they did not hear it? Oh no! They brought Angelus’ soul to me! They had been following the energy trail. They knew! I felt that I must scream or hang myself!

“Pardon me, I admit the deed!” I yelled. The three rabbis were not flabbergasted. They smirked; slowly closed their eyes and I suddenly lost my consciousness. All of a sudden, everything turned white. Where could I possibly be? The scream of my mother was heard; the sound of the shotgun that killed my father was heard. All the miserable feelings that I once left behind started haunting me for the second time. I could feel the pain again! I could even hear the sound of my heartbeat when I tried to kill Priest Angelus. Everything started making sense! I tried to run as fast as I could in hopes that I could find a way out. But I could not manage to escape this torment. Am I dead yet?

Hello, sorry for skipping this one; I came back though.

When I first read this, I found it difficult to picture motive. Your first paragraph describes how the narrator/protagonist and Angellus have ceased their friendship due to Angellus' religious preaching and that the protagonist has decided to kill him. I feel as though it would be a far more powerful to focus on the friendship between the two and show the decay rather than simply state that it has decayed otherwise it seems kind of hollow. This is a classic case of telling rather than showing. The choice for the protagonist to kill Angellus would be far more dramatic if there was more context given about why they have made this choice.

You switch tense frequently from past to present tense. It is important to maintain one or the other so that there is no confusion of time. Speaking of confusion of time, mentioning that it was 4am in one sentence then skipping to 1pm in the next sentence was disjointed. I think you need to be clearer about time shifts.

You also had strange use of exclamation marks. Exclamation marks are designed to indicate a strong feeling like anger, shock, or awe. They are also most commonly used in dialogue. To use one when describing opening a door “oh so gently!” doesn’t sit right and has a conflict of images.

There were several grammatical errors in this piece. I won’t go into great detail on this since the two pieces I critiqued before yours became obsessed with the small errors and felt the need to argue with me. I will say that you’re going to need to proof-read your work a few times and perhaps do a bit of research concerning sentence structure.

The ending had a tell-tale heart feel to it, though not really in a good way. It was quite confusing and rushed. Why were the rabbi's investigating a murder? Why would one yell "pardon me” before admitting a crime? Why is following ‘the energy trail’ only hinted at and done so through the assumption of an unreliable autodiagetic narrator? These things hinder the believability and negatively affect the dramatic build up that is meant to occur at this point.

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