Should this be continued?

[Deriath]

A short story that I started and now since I'm at a mental block, I'd like to share it to see if it's beginning will catch the reader's attention enough to want more. all contstrutive opinions and suggestions are welcome, just don't attempt to rewrite it entirely please. If it is that bad, then I'll just go back to the drawing board. The title is still pending I'm leaning towards "the hope to dream".

She knew they were dead…the smell of their corpses was enough proof, but she still had to see for herself. Her conscience screamed in her head to turn away; to just leave and accept the fact that they are gone…that no visual proof is needed. Her curiosity and hope of a better outcome had the best of her. Best scenario played in her head; a wounded/dead attacker lying on the floor neutralized as her parents stand over him slightly shaken by the experience, she would run to them in tears of joy that they are alive and well, she would feel their embrace…an embrace only a loving family could give. The closer she came to the bedroom the stronger the smell of the rotting blood and…the more absurd her hopes became. Her heart pounding as if attempting to break out of her chest, the fear and anticipation of what was on the other side of the door gripped her into a nearly paralyzing horror. As she opened the door she could already see the blood on the wall; some with smeared hand prints. Her bear feet slipped on a crimson puddle at the door and in an attempt to stay balanced she reached for the knob…a failed attempt that only made her fall more off balance as the door swung wide open to a murderer’s masterpiece on the other side.




Her fall was broken by what felt like a bag of loose sagging latex filled with meat. Her face was covered in the blood of her family. She knew what she landed on; she knew what it really was. The object on the floor was nothing but a torso of what looked like a man’s by the size… her father’s. Her reaction …a listless one of what seemed to be purged emotions; she quietly stood on her feet and continued to scan the room of the ending result. Surrounding her father’s torso were several random parts; a foot here, and a hand there with a couple of organs all about as if the killer purposely wanted to make it a mess. Her reaction was still quite calm as she identified her parent’s pieces. The killer even took the liberty of mutilating their faces by what seems to have been done before dismembering them.






The two lumps of flesh were side by side at the foot of the bed with the picture of a happy family in the middle obviously mocking her loss; a woman of Hispanic descent to the far left, in her early 30’s with brown hair that reached to shoulder length, and brown eyes that define the essence of honey. Her smile was as pure and as genuine as the two worlds to her right. The man to the far right, about the same age as the woman, gave a goofy grin that only a silly man could give his family to remember. His blue eyes were always bright with a childish innocence to them, and his jet black hair was never entirely neat… a real kid at heart. The child with jet black hair in the middle was in bliss, and wanted the whole world to know it. Her wild blue eyes were wide in excitement and glee that only an eight year old birthday girl could have. Her smile matched the pureness of her mother and obviously out matched her father’s goofy grin, two fingers behind her head proved how out-of-date a sense of humor her father had.

A weak smile crept on her face then faded away along with the nostalgia, life in that picture was only a distant dream now. She held to the picture for seemed to be an eternity, turning to its back; she could see the old smeared words written say “Maia’s 8th birthday”.

The only family she had was gone; the people she loved all her life…killed by an unknown demon. Yet the feelings that should be there…anger, depression, sadness, pain, fear… they didn’t show. Maia knew that she loved them and that they were dead…but what else can she do, besides move forward? To continue living in the house would not be the brightest of things to do. The killer could be back at anytime and the authorities would simply put her in a place she didn’t want to go. With the picture still in her hand, Maia walked out of the room and slowly closed the door; no matter what was in there…she would never open that door again.






All the things were packed; she calculated enough rations to last her two weeks. Besides her tooth brush, Mp3 player, flash light, a kitchen knife, first-aid kit, and 200 dollars, she had no need for anything else in the house. The money was more of a dumb-luck plan, just in case she managed to find some unknown civilization not taken over by anarchy. Life in the woods became a refuge for many people, some families were even lucky to find abandoned homes. The woods were supposed to be safe from the chaos and horrors witnessed in the cities. Life here…was supposed to be peaceful and free from violence, but as fate as proven, even in the sanctity of the forest, killers still lurk in the shadows.

The glow from the midday sunlight shined through the pine trees, the sky was a pure indefinite blue. The sight came to Maia as Ironic, such a beautiful and peaceful day, the same day she came to discover her parents blood smeared on the walls of her room…the same day she discovered their deaths. Still no tears…no pain, nothing but emptiness, all she could do was walk…to nowhere…somewhere….anywhere but that place in which all that she held dear was ripped away from her in one single night. The dirt road ahead never looked so welcoming before. Like a gate to paradise, she walked the path of an unknown future.


“So she finally came out of her little home” a pale and skinny man sat behind a pile of fire wood set at the side of the house, hiding in the shadows, he quietly watched the child stand in her front yard, looking up into the sky. Obviously she must still be in some kind of shock after seeing his work with her parents. He was slightly disappointed when seeing her expression through the window, if he didn’t know any better; he’d believe she didn’t care. It was the first time he was greeted with silence upon the discovery of his work…quite unfair really. What kind of person shows such disrespect…such rude behavior…he even added the family photo as a finishing touch! He wanted to hear her celebration of tears and despair, but for all his effort, all he got in return was silence. That’s okay…He knew he was going to get his satisfaction from her very soon

His lean frame hugged against the wood, still waiting for that opportunity…that timing when she thinks everything is alright…

To see the fear in her eyes…

The surprise…the shock of it all…

And the despair that would follow

Such and exhilarating experience!

He couldn’t wait much longer…as she began to move he followed at a distance, stalking his prey.

The time to strike will be soon.

[Delta40]

There is ongoing change between the past tense and present tense which needs to be tightened up here.

She knew they were dead vs ...that no visual proof is needed

Why don't you name your character at the beginning? I don't see that the story is more powerful for waiting into the middle of the tale before she has a name and the reader doesn't feel like there are two characters they must get associated with.

I guess the other challenge is this story is from the viewpoint of Maia but you briefly swap to the view of the killer at the end and tell us what he thinks and feels. Perhaps the story might be more interesting if it is an observation by the killer as he watches the effect his work has on the single survivor, Maia.

Its bloody, gory and I abhor horror so I cannot say if this will sate the appetites of readers or whether it is ridiculously over the top.

From a story point of view, I would suggest a plot. The odd, developing relationship between killer and survivor perhaps.

[zoolane]

It good but first paragraph is big so maybe you make small and maybe put the killing of her family so the grab the reader then indroduce the girl.

Describ her feeling for fews lines or words then surroundings because as she walking through she obsevre the situation.

For example:
She knew they were dead…the smell of their corpses was enough proof, but she still had to see for herself. Her conscience screamed in her head to turn away, she slow careful place her foot on the floor try not make noise like mouse she try to be, her hands is scale over every bump on the wall through the slight pattern paper that was place on my her now dead father.

In her soul she know for certain at she as to leave and accept the fact that they are gone…that no visual proof is needed. Her curiosity and hope of a better outcome had the best of her. Best scenario played in her head; a wounded/dead attacker lying on the floor neutralized as her parents stand over him slightly shaken by the experience, she would run to them in tears of joy that they are alive and well, she would feel their embrace…an embrace only a loving family could give.


The hope to dream that she will make out alive. Could started of your next paragraph?

Poems I wrote from your peice.

Victim.

Death is prey on my life.
With very inch I move.
My foot crush the ground beneath me.
Paint of life has being splash over and down the walls
Death is watch me with a his eye.
I am sure I heard hes eye swoosh round in hes skull.


Killer.

I know my prey is out here.
Sizes up my pound of flesh.
My blood my soar round me.
Scratch my thrill seeking someone skin.
She just out reach but nearly in view.

[loki456]

It is ok,
like Delta pointed out, some various problems with tense, which is easily enough fixed.

The main problem I have is the atmosphere doesn't build up, it is kind of bland. Now a lot of people do this and think that the word 'blood' is emotive. It isn't, blood is blood. What makes it emotive is what situation you place it in. All descriptions of blood, should either be arterial or venous, otherwise it will sound corny and not get across what you want.

secondly 'rotting blood'... the smell of blood when it coagulates is of an iron ore type smell, it has a very metalic smell to it. If you wanted to get across the putrid smell of a victim, it is their flesh as they go through cellular necrosis that gives this smell. Either way, more description is probably required.

I think the choice to continue is totally up to you. Let the characters find themselves and lead you on their journey. Remember, you are the one along for the ride, not them. If you think they have an interesting tale to tell, let them. Just think through some of your descriptions, I don't think they all have the impact you are looking for. It is for all intents and purposes only some minor revision, nothing that shouldn't take you too long.

Thanks for sharing

Loks

[hillwalker]

It is very gory - over the top without a hint of subtlety - which may be acceptable for a certain genre but not for good quality horror story telling. The main problem is the lack of tension. Right from the start the 'victim' is in deadly peril and things can't get much worse so there's no build-up of suspens because there is no potential for the story to develop.

If you want to hit the reader right between the eyes from the opening sentence then that's fine, but then you have to pull back like a camera unzooming from a scene. Allow the reader a chance to engage with the main character, to absorb the atmosphere and actually care what happens next. You have focussed on the horror of the situation right the way through, without giving much detail about Maia. She is little more than a piece of furniture and the set-up is so unrealistic that the reader sees the whole story as little more than a cartoon. So we have little interest in what happens next.

Should you continue? Unless you change what you have written so far I doubt anyone cares one way or the other.

H