The Night of Broken Glass

The Night of Broken Glass

The night was unusually still. A feeling of anticipation crept through the ranks, and I was faintly aware of all the men around me, shuffling with excitement and nervousness. The November gusts were bone chilling, the air was as thick as paste, yet not even this nor the feeling of foreboding could deter us from our objective. Shivers flooded up and down my spine, and I forgot what I was doing just standing in the bleary, damp camp.

Without notice, a whistle pierced the night. The shrill, high pitched note reverberated off the barracks' walls, the only sound signifying the poor people's impending doom. A murmur of life sprang through the ranks of men, and we all began our unwavering march onwards towards the city. Our hauptsturmführer was to lead us directly into the heart of Berlin.

The sure-footed steps of my SS unit clapped through the streets, with a wave of superiority emanating throughout the narrow roads. I tried to reassure myself that I was going to be fine, that nothing would befall myself, that it was only a job. Personal feelings were subdued as I repeated over and over: it's only a job.

Soon, after several turns and being forced to march faster, we came to our destination. It was a predominately Jewish community, with it's own synagogue standing proudly at the far end of the block. It's only a job, I thought again, shoving any humane thoughts out of my mind. It's just a job.

My obersturmführer jogged over to me as we broke ranks and split into our squads. He told me to have my squad and I "secure" the house second on the left. Clicking my heels and saluting, he nodded quickly in response and I turned away. A faint feeling of sickness filled my abdomen, and bile rose in my throat, but quickly receeded. It's only a job. I broke my squads into two groups, one for each of the two doors at the front of the house. I wonder how they feel about this, looking at my squad members. All were grinning eagerly.

How is this right? How is it right that we must choose others' fates so painfully? People whom we don't know, people we do know, people who have nothing left but their innocence. How is it right that we get to undertake in the destruction of the livelihood of so many, yet they have no say in the outcome?

"Jetzt!"

The hinges of tens of doors groaned and snapped as they were kicked or battered inwards. Almost simultaneously, glass shattered into millions of tiny pieces as soldaten threw bricks and rocks through the stores owned by people of Jewish descent. I ran past the oberschütze who had kicked down the door for half my men, and ran for the stairs, leading my men to the night of horrible fate- fate decided by us, yet not for us.

My body lined with sweat, I begin to take the stairs. Sweat began to pour into my eyes, my heart pounded, and red flashed across my stinging eyes. I was halfway up the stairs when time seemed to blur. Thirteen horrible steps, each taunting me to run faster to that horrible fate I was destined to act out. I came to the top of the flight. Thirteen is not a lucky number, and time came back to normal.

Instincts told me to turn left, so I did what my gut feeling told me to do. I barreled down the tiny corridor, thundering past doors left and right. I halted to a stop at the last door on the right and ripped through the doorway, like a man possessed by every horrible demon imaginable.

My sight having been blurred, I search along the wall for a lamp table. Having found it in the corner, I fumbled with the switch for a few seconds, then finally got the bulb to flicker to life.

As my eyes adjusted to the new source of bright light, I jumped backwards into the wall, for I had found myself staring straight into the eyes of a man not so much younger than myself, his green eyes vivacious and dancing with life. They searched my uniform, and after having glanced at my SS collar patch were immediately filled with hatred- and respectable fear. But his eyes also had an inquisitive look on it, one that seemed very familiar, as if asking why? Why me? Why have you chosen MY fate, when it is up to God to decide that?

Only a few seconds passed, but it felt like an hour. I searched his eyes more deeply and found feelings of compassion, of charisma, of honesty. I saw into his soul and felt horrified at what I knew I must now do. I had to, I reminded myself: it's only a job.

My rifle whipped through the air, as if on a pendulum. It hit the young man hard and solid on the side of his head, with a dull crack reporting the blow. My head suddenly burst into pain and remorse.

I saw my mother in the kitchen, preparing a wonderful meal for my family.

My head grew hotter.

I saw my father sitting in the study, reading the newspaper solemnly.

Searing hot liquid ran down my throat as I bit into my tongue.

I saw my neighbor, a Jew who happened to be the Rabbi at the local synagogue in my neighborhood.

Pain tore at my eyes, threatening to rip them out.

I saw the Rabbi's daughter walking next to me, smiling, laughing, holding my hand as the sun set in the distant mountains.

I released my pent up anger, howling with rage and frustration I was sure would never be matched by a man, and began to bludgeon the young Jewish man on the chest and sides with the butt of my rifle.

Why? Why must all this be done?

One of his ribs cracked under a swift blow underneath his right breast.

I can't do this, I WON'T do this, I just don't understand.

His shoulder ripped out of it's socket as he tried rolling away and a blow landed solidly under his armpit.

I have lived with these people all my life, I have shared pain and memories with these people... I have loved these people without so much as a whisper of hesitation.

Blood spattered on my uniform and skin as I redirected my blows towards his face. The rich red liquid poured from his mouth freely, for his jaw had been fractured so badly that bone jutted out underneath his cheek. He was still miraculously alive, his chest breathing shallowly and with obvious hesitation and effort, which was expected when most your ribs are shattered into so many fragments.

I crouched low next to his body, the bile rising back into my mouth, but this time I could not hold it. Shuffling to one of the corners of the rooms, I heaved as the contents of my stomach sickly spewed onto the floor.

I then remembered that I was not the only one. I turned my attention to the surrounding area, and heard the screams of women, the shouts of men, and the wails of children. All of them innocent, all of them helpless.

I looked at the window and saw flames shooting out into the midnight sky from a Jewish grocery store. Two Jews ran out of the inferno, a husband and a wife, both burned badly. I saw three fellow SS troops run over to them, a schütze, an oberschütze, and their commanding unterscharführer. Instead of helping them, or at least stopping the pain quickly by ending their lives, they all began to barrage them with heavy blows from their rifles. Sickened, I turned my attention to the room- the room of dreadful fate.

The room was bare, with a cot in one corner and the lamp table in the opposite one. No items adorned the walls except for a blue Star of David above the bed. The floor had no carpeting, just wide, dark floorboards. Blood ran along the crevices naturally created when placing the floorboards, and that's when I remembered the defeated man lying flat on the floor.

I crept towards him and looked at him. The breathing had stopped. I checked his pulse and found no sign. I looked into his eyes, searching for the same vibrant eyes I had just gazed into but two minutes ago. There was no sign of his soul remaining in his eyes, for they were dull and blank. They now only spoke one word: Why?

It was only a job, I thought, head throbbing, It was only a job.

Memories blurred past my weeping eyes, memories of brighter times, memories of dramatic times, memories of love, and memories of hate. All I heard was the shattering of fragile, innocent glass. Then, rather peacefully, everything went pitch black.

As black as the night of broken glass.

Any questions/comments/suggestions?

I like your writing style. Its engaging.

I saw what you wanted to portray in this story but it did not work. The emotion you wanted to enstill in us didnt come through. Mainly because lack of plot and background.

It also seemed kinda clechay.

May I ask what emotion I was trying to evoke from the readers? Also, what, exactly, was I trying to portray? Plot and background... I am supposed to shove background into a short story...

I honestly would have taken your post more seriously had you spelt "clechay" correctly... it's "cliche"... not to mention you did not explain any of reasons why the story should be criticized... :brickwall

Constructive Criticism: "Constructive criticism is the process of offering valid and well-reasoned opinions about the work of others, usually involving both positive and negative comments, in a friendly manner rather than an oppositional one."

I would love to edit my story so it is more appealing to the readers, but how can I do that when the people that criticize it don't explain WHY certain things are wrong. "I find your writing style engaging, yet it lacks profound meaning and substance." Then what can I do to change it? "You can explore the true feelings of the main character more immensly by adding more personal interactions with different people, such as talking to a best friend or discussing social problems with different family members."

So, can you please help me construct a better story instead of just criticizing?


PS- "The Night of Broken Glass", better known to historians as Kristallnacht, was a pogrom in Germany that occurred on November 9, 1938. German citizens and police rioted in the streets for over a day, destroying Jewish neighborhoods, stores, and synagogues. SA, SS, and Gestapo forces, some dressed in civilian clothings as disguises, also joined the pogrom, brutally beating and attacking Jewish people across Germany.

The German propoganda minister, Joseph Goebbels, had secretly organized the mass pogrom, having stated that the NAZI party would not organize any riots in response to the murder of a NAZI secretary in France by a German Jew living in France, after having heard of horrible conditions during deportation of many Jewish settlements. He told the people of Germany that if anyone began rioting and attacking Jewish people and stores, they would not be stop, yet they would not be aided.

91 Jewish people were killed, and hundreds of thousands were rounded up and thrown into concentration camps. It was the true beginning of the Shoah, better known as the Holocaust. It was done to enstill fear into the hearts of every Jew in Germany, and to force them to flee their homes and flock to othr countries.


That is what that short story is about. Is that enough background for you? Is that story "clechay" also? I bet you never even heard of it...

First off, I would like to say that it is a great story; I like the perspective you put on it. I'm probably not an avid enough reader for you to trust completely on this, but I felt it was a rather new point of view. It was for me at least.

One thing I would like to say both in regards to the story and your response to sHaRp12 is that it's sometimes difficult to pin down exactly what's wrong with a story (or any writing for that matter.) Sometimes it can be localised to a specific part, sometimes it can't. Personally, I think the wording is a little too dramatic in parts, a little too wordy. I know it's a dramatic story, and it succeeds at that well, but it also seems like you're trying to over play it and it detracts a little.

The only real example from your text I can give is from this short paragraph:

Quote:

---

My sight having been blurred, I search along the wall for a lamp table. Having found it in the corner, I fumbled with the switch for a few seconds, then finally got the bulb to flicker to life.

---

IMHO, it would sound a little better if you dropped the "having been", "having", etc.:

Quote:

---

My sight blurred, I search along the wall for a lamp table. I found it in the corner, fumbled with the switch for...

---

(Also, is that supposed to be "I search" or "I searched"? I just noticed it right now as I was typing it out. I'm guessing "searched" given the tense of the rest of the story, but unfortunately either could work in that particular sentence--albeit out of context--and I don't want to assume.)

You may want to look up information on passive sentences for what I pointed out right now. If you have MS Word--2003 I know for a fact, earlier ones may as well--it has the ability to check for passive sentences (and other stylistic problems) when you run a spelling/grammar check.

One thing you might want to keep in mind also is that not all of those who read your story will be familiar enough with WWII to know what Kristallnacht was. I've even heard of it a few times, and I didn't make the connection until your reply to sHaRp12. Without that connection, your last line--"As black as the night of broken glass."--loses it's potency. "What is the night of broken glass? You don't say anything about glass, what are you talking about?" That's the kind of stuff that went through my mind. It seemed like you were just trying to piece together words that sounded dramatic, or just find a way to tie in a killer title you came up with separately from the story.

Obviously, you can't directly give the requisite background inside your story, at least not without a major rewrite. You may wish, however, to throw in a little editorial note at the end, with a paragraph or two like you wrote to sHaRp12 or a reference to where the reader may find more if they're interested. Then, if it doesn't make any sense to them, they can learn about it instead of just thinking it's a good WWII story.

On a stylistic note, you might want to italicize the German titles you use; that's fairly standard from what I've seen when using a word that's from a language different than what the piece is written in. You may also want to see about rewriting (ie translating) or removing the titles; I can't offer suggestions, but hauptsturmführer means nothing to me. I can make out "storm" and "leader", and I'm not even 100% sure on those.

These are just my suggestions; I may not be your target audience, so take them as you will.

Thank you very much, MCory.

I don't have Word, so any spelling/grammatical errors have to be manually found and corrected. Also, I did have the ranks italicized, but I had to edit it in my post for italics, which I forgot to do. Well noted though.

As for changing the ranks to English, entirely understandable. What I wanted though was to show that he was German, just so people could understand that he was part of the SS. Note the one line in the entire story as "Jetzt!" ("Now!") is also German. Something that wouldn't be noticed in a story, without background, no one knows what I am talking about.

As for too many dramatic words, I will leave it simple: I love adjectives and descriptive terms.

As for the "search": Oops. :D
Context shows that it should be "searched".

Now, I wanted people to react to the writing, not the story. Usually, when I show people the story, I give them an overview afterwards. Here, I wanted help with my writing, not with my story.

This is what I posted at my clan's website when I posted it there:

Quote:

---

The Kristallnacht was on Nov. 9-10, 1938, and it was made to look "accidental" and unorganized. What really hapened was that Goebbels organized the SS and Gestapo to destroy all things Jewish, to rape Jewish women, and to loot anything from Jewish stores. They burned synogogues and tortured Jews.

I have "humanized" an unterscharführer, which is an SS equivalent of a Sergeant. If you believe that EVERY SS or Nazi was cold, ruthless, and incapable of love or any kind feelings, then you will be disappointed.

---

There you have it. Thank you for your feedback!

PS- hauptsturmführer- SS equivalent to Captain. Hauptmann is Regular German forces.

Hi Ace,

A good story with real potential to expand on the dramatic moments. I'd like to cover a few observations and critiques which I picked up in the story before moving on to what I found particularly well-done.

There are a few clichéd phrases in the story, such as: “bone chilling”, “barrelled down the tiny corridor”, “thundering past”, “like a man possessed” and “green eyes…dancing with life”, but it doesn’t detract from the story too much and can be easily sorted in a second draft.

The line, “He told me to have my squad and I “secure” the house second on the left”, while making perfect sense is, in my opinion, awkwardly phrased. It could be smoother, perhaps by changing it to dialogue, which there’s not much of in the piece.

The line, “I halted to a stop…”, needs re-writing. It may be a double negative – I’m not sure – but it would read better if you just put “I stopped”.

With regard to the story itself, one thing I picked up on was the mention of the SS Uniform. As you mention in your post above, the SA and SS were involved in the events of Kristallnacht but were mostly dressed in civilian clothing. No doubt there were a few uniforms on the night, but from the story I got the impression of marching, uniformed masses, which may be slightly misleading to some readers.

Now, on to the good stuff!

The moments when you use stream of consciousness in the narrative are particularly effective. They illustrate well the struggle that’s going on within your main character. I would like to see this technique used more in the story.

The description of the “Blood [running] along the crevices” of the floorboards is chilling and almost cinematic. I could see the image in my head as I was reading – well done.

The section of the story where you have the action intersped with everyday domestic scenes, such as his mother preparing a meal and his father sitting in the study is really good. It shows the main character in a human light, something that’s easily forgotten when we read of atrocities. It’s very easy to make these people monsters without human feelings or attributes, but we should never forget that they are humans too, doing terrible things to other humans. Somehow this makes it all the more horrifying and tragic.

I liked the lyrical tone to the ending, the phrase ‘innocent glass’ is particularly poetic and haunting.

Overall, it was a very good story, which I think would benefit from expanding and developing the dramatic aspects – such as adding more dialogue and fleshing it out. You are to be commended for tackling such a tricky subject, and for creating a main character that is multi-faceted and complex in his motivations and feelings.

Good work.

Zippy.

Thanks much, Zippy.

I must admit, I don't really read my stories after I write them, I just let others read them and see what is wrong with them. I can never really re-write a story, it is more like a stenographer writing down what happens when it happens, but in my head.

There are a lot of grammatical errors and perhaps a few slight double negatives, such as the "I halted to a stop" thing.

I will be sure to read all my stories I write from now on. :nod:

I have the same trouble, I dislike rewriting and editing. I've sort of taught myself to do it over the years, but more often than not I try to edit as I go along. This is the method Kurt Vonnegut uses. It means that the writing is usually slow, with a lot of discarded sentences and paragraphs as you go along, but when it's finished it's finished!

Good luck with your writing.

I thought over all it was a great story, and the only thing I could add to what has been suggested is to suggest a stronger economy of words. There are places where you use 'for' in a descripton, as in he couldn't do this, for he was that. To me, the use of a preposition in that sentence breaks the rhythm of the expression. It adds a kind of cognitive barrier to the image where your brain knows what it means but because of the way it is worded it has less impact than it might otherwise.

An example of what I am saying is as follows;

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Ace

There was no sign of his soul remaining in his eyes, for they were dull and blank.

---

I think it would saound better like

There was no sign of his soul remaining in his eyes. They were dull and blank.

Something along those lines. On top of making the image simpler and therefore easier to process I think the use of short setneces breaks up the total narrative in a kind of aprubt and interesting way, almost making your readers pay more attention as the sentences give them smaller and more rapid pieces of information.

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Ace

Blood ran along the crevices naturally created when placing the floorboards, and that's when I remembered the defeated man lying flat on the floor.

---

Another example of word economy may be used here, which otherwise I think is an awesome sentence, but ont might tale out the 'and' to create a more immedate sensation;

Blood ran along the crevices naturally created when pacing the floorboards. That's when I remembered the defeated man lying flat on the floor.

Also, and this may just be my personal preference, I think the setence sounds better and more natural when you move 'naturally' behind 'created,' which its function as an adverb warrants it being. So my personal suggestion would be;

Blood ran along the crevices created naturall when pacing the floorboards. That's when I remembered the defeated man lying flat on the floor.

Otherwise, aside from those comments, the last of which may be a personal preference more than anything else, I think the story stands well.

I must be in the minority, but as soon as you mentioned 'SS' and 'breaking glass' I knew instantly you were talking about kristalnacht, so I don't know if it really needs to be explained more, but more importantly I am not sure that the story has any room for an explanation to be inserted without killing the otherwise tight narrative. Sometimes, and I'm an not saying anything about anyone's intelligence, a story simply cannot explain certain background points without winding up being too long-winded and involved. This is definitely a case of that. In order to place the story more firmly into its historical context the entire thing would have to be rewritten, but I am not sure it would lead to a superior performance. In any case, the title 'The Night of Broken Glass' should make it obvious. It could even be changed to 'Kristalnacht' to make it even clearer.

I just wanted to says thanks again for all the wonderful input. I made some changes, and I believe they were for the better. I used a lot of your input when making those changes.

Anyways, I know I wrote this a long time ago, but until recently only 5 people plus a few people on the internet have read this (I do not like others reading my work, this is the only thing people I know have read so I figured I could anonymously post it on the internet).

I would like to share with you the version I sent into my school's writing compitition. The competition winners will be announced within a week or so and i thought you would enjoy reading the entry version.

Enjoy!



The Night of Broken Glass


The night was unusually still. A feeling of anticipation crept through the ranks, and I was faintly aware of all the men around me, shuffling with excitement and nervousness. Shivers flooded up and down my spine, and I forgot what I was doing just standing in the bleary, damp camp.

Without notice, a whistle pierced the night. The shrill, high pitched note reverberated off the barracks' walls, awakening the slouched soldiers around me. A wave of life rippled through the ranks of men, and we all began our unwavering march onwards towards the city. Our hauptsturmführer was to lead us directly into the heart of Berlin.

The sure-footed steps of my SS unit clapped through the streets, with a rush of superiority emanating throughout the narrow roads. With each window I passed, I trembled at the site of myself disappearing into the adjacent wall. I knew it was only my reflection, but it felt ominous. We marched for about fifteen minutes, but it felt like fifteen days. I tried to reassure myself that I was going to be fine, that nothing would befall me, that it was only a job. Personal feelings were subdued as I repeated over and over: it's only a job.

Soon, after several turns and being forced to march faster, we came to our destination. It was a predominately Jewish community, with its own synagogue at the far end of the block. Small two story apartments lined the left while larger and newer three story apartments lined the right. It's only a job, I thought again, shoving any humane thoughts out of my mind. It's only a job.

My untersturmführer jogged over to me as we broke ranks and split into our squads. He told me to clear the second house on the left. Clicking my heels and saluting, he nodded quickly in response and I turned away. A faint feeling of sickness filled my abdomen, and bile rose in my throat, but quickly receded. It's only a job. I broke my squads into two groups, one for each of the two doors at the front of the house. I wonder how they feel about this, looking at my squad members. All were grinning eagerly.

How is this right? How is it right that we must choose others' fates so painfully? People whom we don't know, people we do know, people who have nothing left but their innocence. How is it right that we get to undertake in the destruction of the livelihood of so many, yet they have no say in the outcome?

"Jetzt!"

The hinges of tens of doors groaned and snapped as they were kicked or battered inwards. Almost simultaneously, glass shattered into millions of tiny pieces as soldaten threw bricks and rocks through the stores owned by people of Jewish descent. I ran past the oberschütze who had kicked down the door for half my men, and ran for the stairs, leading my men to the night of horrible fate- fate decided by us, yet not for us.

My body lined with sweat, I begin to take the stairs. The burning liquid began to pour into my eyes, my heart pounded, and red flashed across my vision. I was halfway up the stairs when time seemed to blur. Thirteen horrible steps, each taunting me to run faster to that horrible fate I was destined to act out. I came to the top of the flight. Thirteen is not a lucky number, and time came back to normal.

Instincts told me to turn left, so I did what my gut feeling told me to do. I ran down the tiny corridor, passing closed doors to my left and right. I halted to a stop at the last door on the right and jumped through the doorway, like a man possessed by every horrible demon imaginable.

My sight blurred, and I fumbled around the room for a lamp. Suddenly, a light above my head snapped on.

As my eyes adjusted to the new source of bright light, I jumped backwards into the wall, for I had found myself staring straight into the eyes of a man not so much younger than myself, his green eyes vivacious and dancing with life. They searched my uniform, and after having glanced at my SS collar patch were immediately filled with hatred- and respectable fear. But his eyes also had an inquisitive look on it, one that seemed very familiar, as if asking why? Why me? Why have you chosen MY fate, when it is up to God to decide that?

I searched his eyes more deeply and found feelings of compassion, of charisma, of honesty. I saw into his soul and felt horrified at what I knew I must now do. I had to, I reminded myself: it's only a job.

My rifle whipped through the air. It hit the young man hard and solid on the side of his head, with a dull crack reporting the blow. My head suddenly burst into pain and remorse.

I saw my mother in the kitchen, preparing a meal for my family.

My head grew hotter.

I saw my father sitting in the study, reading the newspaper solemnly.

Searing hot liquid ran down my throat as I bit into my tongue.

I saw my neighbor, a Jew who happened to be the Rabbi at the local synagogue in my neighborhood.

Pain tore at my eyes, threatening to rip them out.

I saw the Rabbi's daughter walking next to me, smiling, laughing, and holding my hand as the sun set in the distant mountains.

I released my pent up anger, howling with rage and frustration I was sure would never be matched by a man, and began to bludgeon the young Jewish man on the chest and sides with the butt of my rifle.

Why? Why must all this be done?

One of his ribs cracked under a swift blow underneath his right breast.

I can't do this, I WON'T do this, I just don't understand.

His shoulder ripped out of its socket as he tried rolling away and a blow landed solidly under his armpit.

I have lived with these people all my life; I have shared pain and memories with these people... I have loved these people without so much as a whisper of hesitation.

Blood spattered on my uniform and skin as I redirected my blows towards his face. The rich red liquid poured from his mouth freely; his jaw had been fractured so badly that bone jutted out underneath his cheek. He was still miraculously alive, his chest breathing shallowly and with obvious hesitation and effort.

I crouched low next to his body, the bile rising back into my mouth, but this time I could not hold it. Shuffling to one of the corners of the rooms, I heaved as the contents of my stomach sickly spewed onto the floor.

I then remembered that I was not the only one. I turned my attention to the surrounding area, and heard the screams of women, the shouts of men, and the wails of children. All of them innocent, all of them helpless.

I looked at the window and saw flames shooting out into the midnight sky from a Jewish grocery store. Two Jews ran out of the inferno, a husband and a wife, both burned badly. I saw three fellow SS troops run over to them. They unslung their rifles and gripped them by the barrel. I grimaced as I heard the thuds of the solid wood as they made contact with the Jews, the people.

I was trying to divert my attention to something else when I noticed how bare the room was; just a bed and a small table and lamp. No items adorned the walls except for a blue painted Star of David above the bed and a cracked mirror above the table. I looked into the mirror and saw the blood that blotted my face. The cracks in the mirror made it look as if I was crying crimson tears. My eyes were filled with remorse, but pride gleamed through the sorrowful haze.

The floor had no carpeting, just wide, dark floorboards. Blood ran between floorboards. That's when I remembered the defeated man lying, his life being quickly exhausted.

I crept towards him and looked at him. The breathing had stopped. I checked his pulse and found none. I looked into his eyes, searching for the same vibrant eyes I had just gazed into but two minutes ago. There was no sign of his soul remaining in his eyes, for they were dull and blank. They now only spoke one word: Why?

It was only a job, I thought, head throbbing, it was only a job.

Memories blurred past my weeping eyes, memories of brighter times, memories of dramatic times, memories of love, and memories of hate. All I heard was the shattering of fragile, innocent glass. Then, rather peacefully, everything went pitch black.

As black as the night of broken glass.

do you know anything about Othello By William Shakespeare?

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Christie

do you know anything about Othello By William Shakespeare?

---

Nope, haven't read it... why?

Very good edit, you have nearly taken the diamond out of the rough. Maybe one more time through and it will be done (I know you mentioned you don't like editing, but I am insane about it. My short stories are usually thirty pages long, but I edit them at least five times, normally the number is more around ten.) I will add my comments in the wuote box in bold italics, but this is very good work.

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Ace

The Night of Broken Glass


The night was unusually still. A feeling of anticipation crept through the ranks, and This is a fine sentence, but normally, as I mentioned before, in writing fiction, especially fiction that is supposed to have some kind of strong impact I personally try to keep the sentences short. I would delete the 'and' and make this into two sentences for stronger, more immediate impact. The brusqueness of short phrases lends to the psychological impact of the sentence I think, but that is a little syltistic so take it or leave it. This is a fine sentence as it stands. I was faintly aware of all the men around me, shuffling with excitement and nervousness. Shivers flooded up and down my spine, and I forgot what I was doing just standing in the bleary, damp camp.

Without notice, This may not be the most grammatical thing, but I would try to limit your use of commas so the sentences you do write stay in a more streamlined, flowing format. Commas can be a strong disrupter of prose. a whistle pierced the night. The shrill, high pitched note reverberated off the barracks' walls, awakening the slouched soldiers around me. A wave of life rippled through the ranks of men, and we all began our unwavering march onwards towards the city. Our hauptsturmführer was to lead us directly into the heart of Berlin.

The sure-footed steps of my SS unit clapped through the streets, with a rush of superiority emanating throughout the narrow roads. With each window I passed, I trembled at the site of myself disappearing into the adjacent wall. I knew it was only my reflection, but it felt ominous. We marched for about I would delete the 'about' here, it makes things too foggy, especially since you make the similie in the next clause fifteen minutes, but it felt like fifteen days. I tried to reassure myself that I was going to be fine, that nothing would befall me, that it was only a job. Personal feelings were subdued as I repeated over and over: it's only a job.

Soon, after several turns and being forced to march faster, we came to our destination. It was a predominately Jewish community, with its own synagogue at the far end of the block. Small two story apartments lined the left while larger and newer three story apartments lined the right. It's only a job, I thought again, shoving any humane thoughts out of my mind. It's only a job.

My untersturmführer people have mentioned the strange rank problem before, but I think your use of the German ranks without description is fine, like I said earlier. All you really need to know is some guy with some authority came out in front of the formation to command the troops jogged over to me as we broke ranks and split into our squads. He told me to clear the second house on the left. Clicking my heels and saluting, he nodded quickly in response and I turned away. A faint feeling of sickness filled my abdomen, and bile rose in my throat, but quickly receded. It's only a job. I broke my squads into two groups, I would use a semi-colon here one for each of the two doors at the front of the house. I wonder how they feel about this, looking at my squad members. You should say 'I thought,' or something along those lines here. I understand what you are trying to do; meld the thought with the narrative to create a strong block of perception and reality, but in this particular case it is confusing, but otherwise a coup des lettres that is well done. All were grinning eagerly.

How is this right? How is it right that we must choose others' fates so painfully? People whom we don't know, people we do know, people who have nothing left but their innocence. Again, I would make each of these a seperate sentence as they really are fully formed ideas. That way each idea has a chance to sink fully into the reader's mind. The mental pause after a period is longer than that of a comma and the cognitive impact of a sentence is stronger, being the monolithic representation of an idea, than a phrase or a clause How is it right that we get to undertake in the destruction of the livelihood of so many, yet they have no say in the outcome?

"Jetzt!"

The hinges of tens of doors groaned and snapped as they were kicked or battered inwards. Almost simultaneously, glass shattered into millions of tiny pieces as soldaten threw bricks and rocks through the stores owned by people of Jewish descent. I ran past the oberschütze who had kicked down the door for half my men, and ran for the stairs, leading my men to the night of horrible fate- fate decided by us, yet not for us.

My body lined with sweat, I begin to take the stairs. You shifted tenses in this sentence. Many people dislike this, but if you shifted tenses from here on out I think it would lend an interesting dynamic to the story, but if you don't intend to shift tenses in the middle of the story (almost making the piece seem like a memory which becomes ever increasingly real as the narrator relives the experience) you need to change the tense of the verb 'begin' in your last sentence. The burning liquid began to pour into my eyes, my heart pounded, and red flashed across my vision. I was halfway up the stairs when time seemed to blur. Thirteen horrible steps, each taunting me to run faster to that horrible fate I was destined to act out. I came to the top of the flight. Thirteen is not a lucky number, and time came back to normal.

Instincts told me to turn left, so I did what my gut feeling told me to do. I ran down the tiny corridor, passing closed doors to my left and right. I halted to a stop at the last door on the right and jumped through the doorway, like a man possessed by every horrible demon imaginable.

My sight blurred, and I fumbled around the room for a lamp. Suddenly, a light above my head snapped on.

As my eyes adjusted to the new source of bright light, I jumped backwards into the wall, for I had found myself staring straight into the eyes of a man not so much younger than myself, his green eyes vivacious and dancing with life. They searched my uniform, and after having glanced at my SS collar patch were immediately filled with hatred- and respectable fear. you need to join these two sentences. They are too interdependant to be seperated But his eyes also had an inquisitive look on it, one that seemed very familiar, as if asking why? Why me? Why have you chosen MY fate, when it is up to God to decide that?

I searched his eyes more deeply and found feelings of compassion, of charisma, of honesty. I saw into his soul and felt horrified at what I knew I must now do. You should add in some word like 'but' or 'what' here to link the currently isolated idea of 'I had to' to its source in the previous sentence. Right now the reader has to pause momentarily to mentally insert the word himself, which breaks the overall stream of the narrative. I had to, I reminded myself: it's only a job.

My rifle whipped through the air. It hit the young man hard and solid on the side of his head, with a dull crack reporting the blow. it seems like this sentence and the previous one want to be joined together as they express the same idea, the logcial flow, in fact, demands it as the ideas, though related, in their current form are too harsh in their shift from the feelings of one individual to another. You might try to write something like 'In sympathy my head...' and maybe add a statement after, like 'Suddenly I began to remember' or something along those lines as the transition between the moment and the narrator's memories is again harsh and abrupt, and not in a good way. It is effective as it stands now, but could be made more so. My head suddenly burst into pain and remorse.

I saw my mother in the kitchen, preparing a meal for my family.

My head grew hotter.

I saw my father sitting in the study, reading the newspaper solemnly.

Searing hot liquid ran down my throat as I bit into my tongue.

I saw my neighbor, a Jew who happened to be the Rabbi at the local synagogue in my neighborhood.

Pain tore at my eyes, threatening to rip them out.

I saw the Rabbi's daughter walking next to me, smiling, laughing, and holding my hand as the sun set in the distant mountains.

I released my pent up anger, howling with rage and frustration I was sure would never be matched by a man, and began to bludgeon the young Jewish man on the chest and sides with the butt of my rifle.

Why? Why must all this be done?

One of his ribs cracked under a swift blow underneath his right breast.

I can't do this, I WON'T do this, I just don't understand.

His shoulder ripped out of its socket as he tried rolling away and a blow landed solidly under his armpit.

I have lived with these people all my life; I have shared pain and memories with these people... I have loved these people without so much as a whisper of hesitation.

Blood spattered on my uniform and skin as I redirected my blows towards his face. The rich red liquid poured from his mouth freely; his jaw had been fractured so badly that bone jutted out underneath his cheek. He was still miraculously alive, his chest breathing shallowly and with obvious hesitation and effort. This is an awesome part. You displayed the psyhcological agony of the act of sheer brutality very well; how someone can go from hating the oppression he is forced to carry out to doing it and being carried away his own revulsion for it so far he can't escape doing that which he desperately despises, that he strikes and becomes an animal not to hurt the man on the other end of his rifle, but the system who cares so little for him it is making him beat another, innocent man, and in the next paragraph, the remorse that is inevitably to follow.

I crouched low next to his body, the bile rising back into my mouth, but this time I could not hold it. Shuffling to one of the corners of the rooms, I heaved as the contents of my stomach sickly spewed onto the floor.

I then I think this would flow better if you reversed the 'then' and 'I.' It would sound more natural. remembered that I was not the only one. I turned my attention to the surrounding area, and heard the screams of women, the shouts of men, and the wails of children. All of them innocent, all of them helpless.

I looked at the window and saw flames shooting out into the midnight sky from a Jewish grocery store. Two Jews ran out of the inferno, a husband and a wife, both burned badly. I saw three fellow SS troops run over to them. They unslung their rifles and gripped them by the barrel. I grimaced as I heard the thuds of the solid wood as they made contact with the Jews, the people.

I was trying to divert my attention to something else when I noticed how bare the room was; just a bed and a small table and lamp. No items adorned the walls except for a blue painted Star of David above the bed and a cracked mirror above the table. I looked into the mirror and saw the blood that blotted my face. The cracks in the mirror made it look as if I was crying crimson tears. My eyes were filled with remorse, but pride gleamed through the sorrowful haze.

The floor had no carpeting, just wide, dark floorboards. Blood ran between floorboards. That's when I remembered the defeated man lying, his life being quickly exhausted.

I crept towards him and looked at him. The try 'his' instead of 'the.' 'The' is too abstract. It creates an unlinked image. If you say 'he' we are irresistibly drawn to the body as a person and as an object; 'breathing' becomes owned by something, intimate with someone. breathing had stopped. I checked his pulse and found none. I looked into his eyes, searching for the same vibrant eyes I had just gazed into but two minutes ago. There was no sign of his soul remaining in his eyes, You use 'his eyes' once too often here, I think. for they were dull and blank. They now only spoke one word: Why?

It was only a job, I thought, head throbbing, it was only a job.

Memories blurred past my weeping eyes, memories of brighter times, memories of dramatic times, memories of love, and memories of hate. All I heard was the shattering of fragile, innocent glass. Then, rather peacefully, everything went pitch black.

As black as the night of broken glass.

---

Really, very well written. Of course my suggestions are very much just that, so do whatever you want with them. I definitely think you use way too many commas, in many places you use them where there is no call, but I would say after a little minor tweaking you could even get this published. It really is quite good.

Thanks much, SheykAbdullah!

Commas are my weakness, I already know that. :lol:

Online, I tend to use "..." a lot too. :p

The "begin" is just an overlooked error. That IS to be changed, just glad someone caught it for me.

I agree with the "about" and the "the" turning into "his". Also, I did use "eyes" too much, it clutters that paragraph with an incessant annoyance of redundancy.

Thanks much for the second edit! :thumbs_up

It was my pleasure.

Hello, Ace, I won't criticise your work, for the others have made good points. I just wanted to say that overall the story was well done, I enjoyed reading it very much. As well, I would like to wish you luck in the writing competition for your school. :)

Update: Didn't win.

But you tried, and you have a powerful story written and shared with us, who appreciated your endeavor. Keep that pen moving, Ace, you are a great writer. :)

So what became of this unnamed soldier? It's not clear if he continued his service in the SS afterward.

You know how I like to work in bible verses in my stories? Here's a sentence I would add if it were one of mine.

"The night was unusually still at 4:22 AM. It was time for our exodus."

Hi Ace
I like your story. Mcory, Zippy, and SheykAbdullah have been much help
to you. Go on writing more stories. Godspeed.

Thanks. I actually wrote one that I MAY be willing to share... but I don't share my material very often, only shared this because... well, I don't know really, lol.

Just watch out for a new post by Ace. :)