badmorning01
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« on: June 19, 2010, 02:21:02 pm » |
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I have just came across a couple of exempts that I write for my characters to remind of the kind of personality and story that they have. This was written for a story set in Hyboria, world created by Robert E. Howard for his Conan series (I used to play Age of Conan).
I was wandering what others may think of the way I write and how I can improve it; I keep having the feeling that it's somehow wooden and uninteresting. I have never came around to actually writing anything you could call a story and this is the only two pieces of creative writing I have right now, so sorry if you think it's not enough to tell how good I am. All I wanted is some feedback before I decide whether to come back to writing or not.
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This isn’t fair. She thought to herself as the all-too-familiar pang of hurt tightened like a fist around her heart. She watched the other girls play with her book, months of writing crumbled beneath their delicate fingers. Their mean laughter and sound of pages being ripped from the book were veiled by her thoughts.
Why? Why won’t they leave me alone? This isn’t fair. This isn’t right. The anger she felt swelling within her wasn’t provoked by the cruelness of her sisters, but by her lack of strength to resist, by her helplessness and the overwhelming feeling that it’s Nafrea’s fault and not theirs. Perhaps if she changed they would stop torturing her. Maybe if she became a little bit like them, they would accept her and stop harassing her once and for all.
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Nafrea woke up as suddenly as she lost consciousness. She drew air into her lungs sharply, what quickly caused her to vomit violently. She spat the mixture of sick, blood and broken teeth onto her husband's expensive rug. She has seen much blood in her life. Usually it didn't provoke much more then a frown of disgust, but now, when the blood was her own, her heart began hammering against her chest quickly. In truth, she wasn't sure if it was the sight of gore or the guilty realisation that she murdered one of the wealthiest merchant of Khemi.
The blow to her face didn't hurt at first, but now it was pulsing with rage, each breath evoking another sharp pang of agony. She whimpered quietly and touched her already-swelling face. The wound would clearly leave a scar on her face, perhaps spoiling her beautiful features forever. As she realised that, she cried in self-pity, but that only seemed to provoke the pain more.
Nafrea's looked sideways at the fat man beside her. His were eyes starring deep into hers with both surprise and disappointment.
"Pig..." She said through tears. Her husband's body jolted in its death, the long pin still stuck deep inside his neck.
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