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Short Stories




Operation Hausberg by Bobby Cude "Operation Hausberg" is a fictionalized action filled suspenseful drama thriller about an Am... [1,667 words]
Kissed By The Wind by Shelley J Alongi Aviation Series story 2. Andrew, involved in his piloting work, and Anne, living her life as... [2,664 words]
The Settlement Project by Ian Goodall Memories of a time not so long ago, something funny to scare children about high school ... [583 words]
Uncharted Skies by Shelley J Alongi Aviation Series story 7. Time has passed since Andrew's admission to Anne. Now a crucial decis... [4,715 words]
Preflight by Shelley J Alongi Aviation Series Story 5. Andrew on one of his cross country flights begins a lively correspondence wi... [4,411 words]
Wine Coolers And Chocolate Chip Cookies by Shelley J Alongi Aviation Series Story 4. christmas serves as the backdrop in which we ... [4,067 words]
Accident by Shelley J Alongi Aviation Series Story 1A, Flashback. We step back in time to the day of Andrew's accident and the beg... [2,756 words]
Course Correction by Shelley J Alongi Aviation Series story 3. Can one night change Andrew and Anne's relationship from friendship ... [3,369 words]
The Fighter by Ian Goodall Gary, a boxer who lives in a Dome in space in the distant future is fed up with his life. Little do... [2,283 words]
Who's Who by Achmyd Uajay A weird story about relationship and human nature. [1,756 words]
The Wind Blew by Ian Goodall A world that is only a prison, a man who hates it. He wants to escape... [235 words]
The Whole Truth by Ted A suspenseful mystery in which a man with memory loss is accused of murder. Did he do it? Even ... [2,507 words]
The Visitor by L A Winterburn Short horror story. [4,918 words]
The Journey Home by Samuel Lamar Williams A short story. [799 words]
The Apartment by Kirsten McManus - [535 words]
That Time I Died by Gina Jauregui I fear that my writing only amuses me, if you read my work and this is the case, try not to be... [2,438 words]
Promise by Lawrence Peters For Monica. [355 words]
Murder By The Numbers by Norman A Rubin - [2,227 words]
I'm Psychotic And So Is My Friend Episode Six by Branson Storm From a collection of 'episodes' following two lifelong friends; o... [1,352 words]
... Die By The Sword by Rowan Davies Victor loves TV... His obsession with a certain cop show gets him in more trouble than he ... [2,335 words]
A Usual Evening Walk by Simi Purkar It's a mystery story about a middle aged indian man.I can't write more because that will r... [569 words]
The Watch Cat by Norman A Rubin The story of a black alley cat who adopted an Israeli family and became their 'watch cat'. [1,123 words]
The Village Green. by Sue (Sooz) Simpson - [559 words]
The Thirteenth Station by Sue (Sooz) Simpson - [8,024 words]
The Power Of Surrender by Jeffrey (George) Winter A good man takes on evil. [1,431 words]
The Old Enemy by Sue (Sooz) Simpson I just hope I've got the names right. [253 words]
The Ludic Revolution by Prepense How does it end? [6,231 words]
The Iceberg by Sue (Sooz) Simpson She had to break the hold they had on him... release him from his parents grip. [410 words]
The Brain Tumor by Prepense If only everyone could get cancer. [6,507 words]
The Almighty Hand by Kylan Masters A humerous short story written. It asks the question of "Who is really playing God?" [1,066 words]
Saved By A Bell by Anne Hawkins A young girl gets shipped off to a boarding school. She doesn't expect it to be what dreams ar... [2,513 words]
Nicky's Promise by Prepense If only we could go back. [5,205 words]
Neighbourhood Watch by Andrea Andrea The first time I set eyes on Mrs. Babcock I knew there'd be trouble... [1,135 words]
More Than Meets The I by Prepense To see a world in a grain of sand. [5,011 words]
Guardian Angel by Danielle Pettrey Robin struggles between wanting to get out of poverty at any cost and of remaining true to herse... [1,365 words]
Ellen And Aubery by David Gardiner - [1,555 words]
Devil's Child by Prepense Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain. [3,352 words]
A School Tragedy by Ruby Webster Based on Actual Events. [606 words]
The Mind's Work by Trevor Sammon It is basically a story that flowed out. It shows people that first impressions are often the w... [661 words]
The Half Empty Glass. by Sue (Sooz) Simpson They had no idea of the horror they were walking into. [3,030 words]
The Comet. by Sue (Sooz) Simpson Remember! [796 words]
The Big Picture
Sickness Of The Young by Mila Strictzer A collection of stories. [35,723 words]
Blind Man's Bluff by Pauline A White She had always been kind to those less fortunate. [2,085 words]
2nd Chapter Amsterdam by Roberto J Moreno - [3,000 words]
1st Part Intro by Roberto J Moreno This is the first chapter of a 5-6 chapter story. Enjoy and please give feedback. [1,109 words]

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TITLE (EDIT)
The Big Picture
DESCRIPTION
The little girl was a great artist, but her subject matter was giving cause for concern.
[776 words]
TITLE KEYWORD
Drama
AUTHOR
Sue (Sooz) Simpson
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
I'm thirty nine, recently single again. I have two boys Cli' (pronounced clee) Real name Christopher and Mark. I'm a care in the community nurse and formerly (when I was married) an occupational Therapist working with the mentally ill on a secure unit. I love reading and writing and meeting people. I hate offal, seafood and intolerance. I keep dog, cat, polecats, rats and reptiles. And for seven years ran the second largest reptile sanctuary in Britain. Apart from having my lads, I think that's probably the most worthwhile thing I've ever done. Writing wise, I've been the main fiction writer for Legends magazine for three years.And have two books published 'Lizard's Leap' published by Quillusers, and 'Better the Devil You Know' soon to be released by Bestbooks.Um I drive a knackered old Astra, and ride a two litre trike. I live in the lake district of England, and am happy. :-)
[January 2003]
AUTHOR'S E-MAIL ADDRESS
[email protected]
AUTHOR'S OTHER TITLES (84)
A Fork In The Road. (Short Stories) A paradox revolving round the lonely Holker Mosses in the dead of night. [2,835 words] [Mystery]
A Twist In The Tail (Short Stories) - [963 words]
Agony (Short Stories) The First in a series of Agony columns written by the unstoppable Aunt Nasty. (May be deemed offensive) [1,200 words] [Comedy]
Agony 2 (Short Stories) Morew from the irrepresible Aunt Nasty (May be deemed offensive). [1,077 words] [Comedy]
Angel Stew (Short Stories) The kitchens are in uproar. [826 words] [Comedy]
Anne (Short Stories) - [707 words]
Apple Of His Eye (Short Stories) Daddy's little girl, Daddy's little sweetheart. (May be deemed offensive). [1,742 words] [Drama]
Attractions (Short Stories) People stared at the sisters and called them freaks. [678 words] [Drama]
Bandit At Twelve-O-Clock (Short Stories) A sinister note drops through her letter box, but who is it from and what's it all about? [2,144 words] [Drama]
Barriers (Short Stories) Everybody's frightened of the prisoner in the cell at the end of the block. [2,913 words] [Thriller]
Breakfast In Bed (Short Stories) She loved her husband so much, and a sepcial man deserves a special breakfast. [1,633 words] [Horror]
Car Trouble (Short Stories) Boys will be boys. [496 words] [Comedy]
Cat's Chorus (Short Stories) - [1,332 words]
Cherry Blossom (Short Stories) - [435 words]
Cold, Cold Night.. (Short Stories) The night was beautiful but biting, she had to make her final farewells, a cigarette would help. [630 words] [Drama]
Creeping Up From Behind. (Short Stories) You can't ever really know what someone else is thinking ... unless they choose to tell you. [925 words] [Drama]
Dark Solitude. (Short Stories) A woman alone on the moors when a storm threatens, but this is no ordinanry storm and that is no ordinary lady. [1,434 words] [Drama]
Dawn Rising (Short Stories) He looked at his own personal sunrise every morning, yet longed for the warmth of the sun. [1,069 words] [Drama]
Deadly Persuit (Short Stories) Nature at its most cruel .. when it's interfered with by man. [1,541 words] [Drama]
Deep Blue Eastern Light (Poetry) I've never been to Budapest, but I saw an image on a postcard, it was misty and had a sort of dreamy quality about it. I wondered about the spirit of Budapest. Hope I've done her justicce. [204 words]
Different Road (Short Stories) Charlie is running scared. Will he find his way before his precious time runs out? [521 words]
Empty House (Short Stories) This had been her domain, now it was only a shadow. [649 words] [Drama]
Find Me A Place (Poetry) Everybody needs somewhere to run. [193 words] [Drama]
Finding Fleur (Short Stories) Katy desperately wants to find Fleur, but does Fleur want to be found? [1,727 words] [Drama]
Four Minute Warning (Short Stories) - [476 words] [Comedy]
Freedom By Another Name (Short Stories) He's an imposter [557 words] [Drama]
Furtive Glances (Short Stories) Always the last to know! [891 words] [Drama]
Galaxy (Poetry) Let Venus bear witness and Mars be our guide. [139 words]
Hickory, Dickory, Dock (Short Stories) - [991 words] [Drama]
Is The Toilet Roll Half Full Or Half Empty (Short Stories) It's hard when you're at bursting point. [423 words] [Comedy]
I've Always Wanted To Write... But! (Short Stories) There's always an excuse if you want to find one. [510 words] [Mind]
Jasmine And Gardenia Love (Poetry) - [417 words] [Erotic]
Jinny (Poetry) - [176 words]
Just The Ticket (Short Stories) You pays your money and you takes your chances. [5,177 words] [Drama]
Knockers (Short Stories) It's a dirty job, but someone's got to do it. [2,210 words] [Drama]
Little Bird (Short Stories) He liked fragile things [1,406 words] [Drama]
Lizards Leap (Novels) Four children buy an intricately carved frame from a school fair. A crazy old woman chases them desperately wanting the carving for herself. What is the mystery surrounding the strange frame? [5,753 words] [Adventure]
Long Walk Back To Jurassica (Poetry) Evolution and progress or three million steps backwards? [323 words] [Drama]
Lookingthrough The Window (Short Stories) - [401 words]
Madness Becomes You (Short Stories) She used to be someone, now she's several people, or maybe she's nobody at all, it makes no difference. [394 words] [Drama]
Making My Way Back To You. (Short Stories) She'd told them a thousand times to keep the front door closed, now tragedy had struck. [1,926 words] [Drama]
Memberwhen (Poetry) Memberwhen that mystical word of long ago memories. [189 words] [Drama]
Mortar Doesn't Breathe. (Short Stories) The house was inanimate, dead ... because her child was gone. [1,114 words] [Drama]
Mourning Glory (Short Stories) One of my favourite pieces. Please note *This is not a children's story* It's the tale of a little girl trying to be a child. [1,786 words] [Drama]
Mumbles From The Madhouse (Novels) It was her first day on the secure unit and somehow she had to see it through. [2,215 words] [Drama]
My Friend The Tiger And Me (Poetry) I wrote this for my little boy when he was having trouble at school. [942 words] [Animal]
Naughty Bunny Goes To Ibiza (Short Stories) - [552 words]
One-Man Race (Short Stories) He had only his nerves to rely on. One slip and the race would be lost. [664 words] [Drama]
Out Of Print (Short Stories) A man, a boy, a love of reading and echoes of the past. [2,007 words] [Drama]
Outrun The River (Poetry) The snow was melting fast and he owed it to himself and his seld of dogs to make it to safety. [145 words] [Action]
Pact Of Joy. (Short Stories) Don't we all just want to be happy? [2,497 words] [Drama]
Play With Me Please. (Short Stories) - [322 words]
Return Of The Hellcat (Erotica May Be Offensive) (Short Stories) Please do not read this one if easily offended. Or even not so easily offended. Continuing sexploits of Dark Solitude. [3,390 words] [Erotic]
Room For One More (Short Stories) The dream was haunting and wouldn't leave Mike alone. [1,728 words] [Drama]
Rush Hour (Short Stories) - [419 words]
Sally (Short Stories) - [2,268 words]
Sinister Music (Novels) She had no psychic ability, so why had fate chosen her to foretell of the spate of brutal murders? [6,114 words] [Drama]
So This Is My Life Then (Short Stories) - [517 words] [Comedy]
Space Walk (Short Stories) May Cause offense. [1,290 words] [Drama]
Spirit Dancer (Poetry) - [514 words]
Sweet Child Of Mine (Short Stories) The old lady had been brutally mugged, her son was sucjh a good boy, but would his thoughts now turn to revenge? [1,843 words] [Drama]
Tangled Web (Short Stories) Treat `em mean and keep `em keen. [596 words] [Drama]
The Band Played On (Short Stories) - [1,486 words] [Drama]
The Comet. (Short Stories) Remember! [796 words] [Drama]
The Dinosaur (Short Stories) - [1,523 words]
The Half Empty Glass. (Short Stories) They had no idea of the horror they were walking into. [3,030 words] [Drama]
The Hhmmm Efect (Poetry) - [783 words]
The Iceberg (Short Stories) She had to break the hold they had on him... release him from his parents grip. [410 words] [Drama]
The Joker (Short Stories) - [2,032 words]
The Lovers (Poetry) - [124 words]
The Mark Of Jack (Short Stories) The start of something maybe. [1,044 words] [Drama]
The Old Enemy (Short Stories) I just hope I've got the names right. [253 words] [Drama]
The Rosary (Short Stories) May cause offense. [422 words]
The Spark (Short Stories) - [557 words]
The Thirteenth Station (Short Stories) - [8,024 words] [Horror]
The Village Green. (Short Stories) - [559 words] [Drama]
Three Mile Gap (Poetry) So close and yet... [285 words] [Drama]
Tomorrow Lies Beside Us (Poetry) - [239 words] [Drama]
Tusk (Short Stories) - [1,012 words] [Drama]
Under The Whether (Short Stories) - [1,626 words]
Watching And Waiting (Short Stories) - [1,253 words] [Drama]
White Icing (Short Stories) - [1,385 words]
Worlds Biggest Loser (Short Stories) - [114 words]
You Are My Sunshine (Short Stories) - [1,285 words]
The Big Picture
Sue (Sooz) Simpson

The twelve-year-old lay on her front with legs kicking absently behind her keeping
time to some unheard tune. One of her once white, grubby grey socks had dislodged
itself to lie in loose folds around her ankle. The other, the one with some residue of
elasticity remaining, clung defiantly to her leg just below the chubby knee.
Her hair flopped in an unkempt braid to her mid back, bits coming awry at irregular
intervals down it’s length, the bottom secured with a red ribbon which had also
endured a long and boisterous day. It had started to unravel leaving a red strand of
cotton adhering to her tatty blue jumper.

Her face could have been pretty, were it not for the set features and the fierce scowl
of concentration. Her tongue lolled out of the left side of her mouth, darting
along her bottom lip as the felt pen scratched backwards and forwards across the page.
The soft skin below the lip was kept moist and showed the first signs of chapping as
the child constantly wet it.

“...And before we hand over to the weather centre to get the regional outlook for the
next twenty-four hours. A quick re-cap of the worlds headlines, as they happened
today.

The devastation in Northern Turkey looks no less horrifying almost a week after a
hurricane blew across the county, wiping out huge areas of densely populated
township. It killed thousands and left thousands more desolate, wounded and
homeless.

IN New York. USA. A plague of killer mosquitoes are holding the city in a grip of
fear. The mutant strain of insect has already claimed the lives of three people, and fifty
more lie in critical condition around the city. People are being advised to stay indoors
with all windows secured.

Closer to home and in the North Sea an oil tanker has run aground, sending out a
slick of oil a mile and a half long. It is estimated that three thousand sea birds along the
coast have been washed up covered in the black oil. Rescue workers have assembled
and are racing against the clock to treat the birds before they succumb to the deadly oil
and die

A twelve-year-old child is said to be ‘comfortable’ in hospital today after giving birth
to a Six lb 4 oz baby Boy. A spokesman for the West Cheshire hospital said ...”

A mother in Scotland turned off the television, as did one in England, Ireland Wales,
and Outer Mongolia.

“Oh well time to wash up the dinner things I suppose.”

The length and breadth of the globe, other families, in other homes were going about
their daily rituals.

“Mum. I’ve finished.”

The child ran to her mother to show her the finished masterpiece. The mother smiled
down at her child trying to muster some encouragement. The picture showed a little
girl with legs splayed giving birth to a rag doll. The mother placed it down on the
worktop next to the picture of the oil covered, dying birds.

“That’s very interesting dear, but why don’t you do something a little more cheerful? “

. The child gave her Mother the ‘Oh you’re old what do you know about anything’
look, and went back to her room. Presently the mother heard her daughter’s pens
scribbling frantically.

The mother looked over some of the pictures her child had done recently. She
frowned, a look of concern and worry clouding her gentle face. She had consulted a
child psychologist about the pictures. He said not to worry about them it was just the
child’s way of building herself a more exciting world.
 
What more could she possibly want than this? Afterall wasn’t this Utopia?
The mother fingered the pictures, looking over each one discerningly and then
putting it on the table before her. They had started off so nicely. Her daughter had
talent there was no denying that. People in a beautiful garden, a boat, full of animals, a queen being crowned. Then they had begun to change, a gradual subtle change. The
pictures became darker. It started with people fighting. Ugly pictures of people hurting
each other in unimaginable ways. Where had she got such a notion? People didn’t do
that to each other. Some of the pictures were titled. The child had such an
imagination what did these words mean Famine? War? Hunger?

The mother of God picked up the latest picture. It was quite pretty really. A lovely
blue and green ball engulfed in flames.
She shook her head sadly as she looked at her little girl, God really was developing a
morbid imagination. “But this is Utopia.” said Mary.

 

READER'S REVIEWS (11)
DISCLAIMER: STORYMANIA DOES NOT PROVIDE AND IS NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR REVIEWS. ALL REVIEWS ARE PROVIDED BY NON-ASSOCIATED VISITORS, REGARDLESS OF THE WAY THEY CALL THEMSELVES.

"Hi there. I'm new to the board, and I can't seem to get my stories reviewed or any of my questions answered. I asked a few others about it, and they said that you would know the reason why." -- David.
"The administrators have removed my original story Golilocks. Don't you think that's extremely unfair. Anyway I've had it, I'm outta here!!! :-(" -- Patina Williams.
"If you are indeed a geniune submitter, I'd be glad to review some of oyur stuff David, but it's funny there's no listing for a David, and no stuff submitted under a David. Several David somebody's but no just David ... lead me to your work and I'd be happy to oblige. The strange thing is when you look up Patina Williams there's no listings either .. or for The Advisor. How strange, and I so wanted to say something encouraging about their work." -- Sooz, Dalton, England, Cumbria.
"There's also a rumor floating around the board that the Advisor is David Soriano, and he's trying to be more prolific than you in order to one up you, but like I say it's just a rumor. I also heard that he's also Branson Storm, so that way you say nice things about his work without realizing it's him so he can then laugh at you, but like I said it's just something I heard. Just thought you might like to know. This will be the last time I get into somebody else's argument though." -- Cadillac Blonde.
"Oh I realise I'm being played with :-) it really doesn't concern me. I'd be happy to say nice things about JA's writing if it's good regardless of what his name is. Storm is one of the best writers on the site and he's also a generous reader, I like him. As to David I haven't had the chance to read any of his work yet, but I wouldn't have thought he's JA. Apparently I have read and admired his work, just because I disagree with the things he's said about me, doesn't mean that I'd change my opinion of him as a writer ... good on him. " -- Sooz, Dalton, England, Cumbria.
"Hi Dave Soriano is truly... Dave Soriano I am a chemistry prof. here is my website: http://www.pitt.edu/~soriano/peptide.htm All the best, Dave" -- Dave Soriano, Bradford, Pa., USA.
"I know David :-) " -- Sooz, Dalton-in-Furness, England, Cumbria.
"Calloused 1’s Review: The Band Played On Sue (Sooz) Simpson The sweeping rises of neatly kept grassy banks resembled immense Appaloosa horse flanks. The leaves of the aristocratic oak boughs were making stencils for the probing rays of strong afternoon sunlight to dapple the lawns and grasses of the park. ***Quite a mouthful, would never play well to an American audience*** Couples and family groups, elderly people and children all being drawn by the magnetic pull of the music, urging them towards the bandstand. It was a graceful park, an architect’s triumph and landscapers ***Apostrophe*** crowning glory. Each weedy sapling had been planted with a century’s forethought. An artists ***’*** fantasy had been an image of a tree-lined walk. Oaks and beeches bending their heads to whisper to each other over the tops of people passing beneath. He had planned and planted accordingly. The walk opened out into the focal point of the park, a circular clearing large enough to place seating for three hundred people, all facing the central bandstand. A bandstand surrounded by a Lilly-padded ***I’m not so certain “lily” needs to be capitalized here.*** moat. The conical structure of darkened wood stately in its elegance, strong in its ability to withstand the elements of time, topped with a hexagonal canopy gently sloping to protect the musicians from the worst of the British summer weather. ***Excellent use of description, and well placed too since it is obvious that this will become the focal point of the story. Some writers make the mistake of overly describing things that have no importance whatsoever.*** They walked in the park that Sunday the way they had during countless other lazy weekends together. Her delicate hand looped under his sleeve and resting lightly on his forearm. The weight of it the merest burden. They walked in silence as all the words had already been spoken. And the band played on. ***My editorial eye is prophetically foreseeing the beginning of a motif here. I hope I’m wrong though, it never works that well outside of poetry, and for the post part was laid to rest at the beginning of the 20th century.*** It had been force of habit to come here. This was where they always came. They had listened to the band and held hands on many lazy summer afternoons. They walked by the lake and leaned into each ***other’s*** embrace on nights when the sky covered them from prying eyes with a canopy of Indigo Velvet ***Unless the canopy has some sort of marquee sign on it, I don’t see why you need to capitalize this.*** . It was here, one crisp winter’s night, when his lips had fist ***”fist” he whacked her in the mouth?*** brushed hers, his ice-cold nose resting against her cheek. It was here that ***as any editor worth his salt will tell you, get rid of “that” in most cases. It adds nothing. There are other cases in your work, but I won’t point them out, since I’ve already mentioned it. Just be sure to look for them.*** they had fallen in love. Here as they stood in the deserted bandstand that he had dropped to one knee and asked her to be his bride. And now, here they were again. Today surrounded by other people. People living through their own drama’s ***Why is “drama” placed with a possessive apostrophe? Nothing belongs to it in this sentence.*** and crisis, or merely stagnating on a Sunday afternoon. And the band played on. ***It looks as though I’m unfortunately correct about the use of motif. The author either has a strong background in very old work or in poetry. I’d suggest getting away from that if you want to write for a modern-day drama audience.*** He turned to her, his eyes beseeching and it was at that second that the last light of hope burning there flickered and finally sputtered out, leaving only an expression of dull acceptance blinking back at her. And the band played on Her pale hand cupped the weathered brown skin of his face, he leant his cheek into the familiar softness of her touch. She smiled at him. A sweet sad, smile and her clear eyes said the word that her lips could not muster. Those beautiful, blue eyes that had once frightened him with the intensity of passion that smouldered ***I’d suggest dropping all non-standard variations of words. I know that they are Old English, and therefore predate modern American English, but you need to remember that you are trying to convey your work to a modern day audience, therefore emulating Shakespeare wouldn’t do.*** there. Eyes that had locked his, holding them captive. Not allowing him to break their hold for one second as his need of her had exploded through his body to match hers at the mutual moment of release. Eyes that had not sparked with passion for some time but only managed to convey that one lonely word. Goodbye. Her lips when they touched his cheek were cold. She stood up, leaving him in his seat. He couldn’t have moved if he had tried. He watched her walk away. Her skirt swishing ***I’d use any other word “but” swishing*** around her legs as she walked. She never once looked back. That was how Freddie remembered her. Walking back into the sunlight. The band had stopped playing. Many years later a different woman walked in the park. She pulled the collar of her fleece tightly round her neck, the clammy wetness of suede gloves touching her under the chin. She shivered. It was a bitterly cold evening. The icy-coldness seemed appropriate to her mood. She had felt compelled to get out of the house. She knew she was not going to be able to cope for much longer living with a man who’s ***whose*** touch turned her blood to ice. She had almost shuddered tonight as he had moved behind her and groped roughly at her breast. She was scared to stay, scared to leave, scared to breathe. He had pivoted her towards him, his fingers biting into the soft flesh of her upper arms. His leer and harsh feted breath telling her what was on his mind. His vulgar hardness stretching the material of his pants, a small darkened stain showing that he had already past the point where he could be deterred. He had fumbled at the buttons of her shirt mumbling coarse ugly words. His foul breath was causing her to turn her head. The stench of the drinking he’d done at lunchtime now stale and sour, it reflected the ugliness of his mood. Growing impatient with his half-drunken fumbling he had ripped the material apart. He pulled the cups of her bra down so that he breasts fell free and then she resigned herself to what she knew would at least be a brief humiliation. His hot wet mouth had clamped itself to her breast. His hands rucked ***Another non-standard word*** up the material of her skirt as he forced her back against the sink unit. Her pants were ripped from her body, the elastic cutting into her flesh before giving way with a loud rip. She closed her eyes, and prayed he would at least be quiet. He released himself, from the restricting material of his pants and took her savagely. Using his penis like a road worker might use a phenumatic ***I’m torn between deciding whether this is OE or just a misspelling. In any event respell it “pneumatic”*** drill. Devoid of all tenderness or love. To think that she had once enjoyed this kind of rough sex, it had been new and exciting. He had been exciting then, the naughty boy she thought she could tame. She had long ago stopped craving a gentle touch and slow soft easy lovemaking. These days all she wanted was to be left alone. It was over in a matter of seconds. A grunt, a shudder a mess to clean up, but done. At least he hadn’t hit her. She had got off lightly. More importantly the kids remained glued to the Television in the next room oblivious to what had just taken place. She thanked the God she didn’t believe in for this small mercy. In the shower she had scrubbed at the raised welts on her thighs where he had gripped her hard during his orgasm. She rubbed soap into the tender bruises on her breasts, amazed that anybody could describe these as “Love bites”. They were the brand of an animal. She had to get free of the house, breathe some fresh air. If she didn’t get out surely she would take a knife to him as he slept. She brushed a tear from her cheek with the glove, her face stung with the biting wind. It was a clean welcome stinging. As she neared the end of the tree walk that led to the bandstand she heard the low rhythmic creaking. It sounded like a child swinging slowly backwards and forewords on a swing. She knew what this was. Knew that it was far more sinister than a child at play. The hairs rose at the back of her neck, and her arms became a mass of gooosepimples ***Switch from the British to the American and say “goosebumps”*** beneath her thick layers of clothing. She knew what she was going to see as she reached the clearing, yet felt compelled to keep moving forward. The body hanging from the bandstand roof swung slowly to and fro. Head to chest arms limp. The ghost of Freddie Brown should have sent her screaming back along the path, as it had so many others. Yet she felt no fear. All she felt was a dawning enlightenment. She thought of her children. The jogger heard the slow steady creak. She slowed but could not stop. Feeling herself drawn to the bandstand, she knew she was going to see the Ghost of Freddie brown, She was terrified and yet at the same time a little excited. Sarah reached the clearing and screamed. ***You throw out names and events at us. Obviously you know who they are and how they are related, but you expect your reader to guess.*** Her mother’s body swung from the roof of the bandstand, head to chest, arms limp. Her Stepfather ***Unless his name is Stepfather, no caps*** had insisted on holding a memorial service in her mother’s memory at the bandstand in the park. He really was a crass, vile little man. ***You’re telling not showing, which is especially bad here since it isn’t being narrated by a character, instead it is being narrated omnisciently and therefore why does a non-existent person have such strong feelings to interject into the story?*** He had taken her mother, but more than that he had taken the respect she had always had for her mother. How could anyone leave their child to the unwanted attentions of a violent drunkard. ***? required***Sarah had never felt less loved. The service droned on, but she had switched off. All she saw was her Mothers ***’*** body swinging backwards and forwards ***change to “back and forth”***. Her thoughts turned to the length of rope in the garden shed. Later she would carry that same length of rope to the bandstand. She stood with the others to sing Abide with me. ***Since “Abide with me” appears to be the title of a song, be sure to offset it.*** And the band played on. ***Alright the story in and of itself is interesting, but what is the point of it? You introduce some fine possible plot threads, but then nonchalantly toss them aside. The story then culminates in the reader asking what the writer wanted to say with the piece.*** " -- Cam Davis.
"I can't believe this stupid site messed me up again. Ignore that last post. Calloused 1’s Review: The Big Picture Sue (Sooz) Simpson The twelve-year-old lay on her front with legs kicking absently behind her keeping time to some unheard tune. One of her once white, grubby grey socks had dislodged itself to lie in loose folds around her ankle. The other, the one with some residue of elasticity remaining, clung defiantly to her leg just below the chubby knee. Her hair flopped in an unkempt braid to her mid back, bits coming awry at irregular intervals down it’s length, the bottom secured with a red ribbon which had also endured a long and boisterous day. It had started to unravel leaving a red strand of cotton adhering to her tatty blue jumper. Her face could have been pretty, were it not for the set features and the fierce scowl of concentration. Her tongue lolled out of the left side of her mouth, darting along her bottom lip as the felt pen scratched backwards and forwards ***back and forth*** across the page. The soft skin below the lip was kept moist and showed the first signs of chapping as the child constantly wet it. “...And before we hand over to the weather centre ***center*** to get the regional outlook for the next twenty-four hours. A quick re-cap of the worlds ***world’s*** headlines, as they happened today. The devastation in Northern Turkey looks no less horrifying almost a week after a hurricane blew across the county, wiping out huge areas of densely populated township. It killed thousands and left thousands more desolate, wounded and homeless. IN ***Oops double capping*** New York. USA. A plague of killer mosquitoes are holding the city in a grip of fear. The mutant strain of insect has already claimed the lives of three people, and fifty more lie in critical condition around the city. People are being advised to stay indoors with all windows secured. Closer to home and in the North Sea an oil tanker has run aground, sending out a slick of oil a mile and a half long. It is estimated that three thousand sea birds along the coast have been washed up covered in the black oil. Rescue workers have assembled and are racing against the clock to treat the birds before they succumb to the deadly oil and die ***Holy redundancy Batman! If you succumb to something, you do die from it*** A twelve-year-old child is said to be ‘comfortable’ in ***”a” or “the hospital”. Saying just university or institution is also poor without a modifier.*** hospital today after giving birth to a Six ***It is very Deutsch to capitalize all nouns, not English.*** lb 4 oz ***Here’s another point I find odd. I would’ve accepted it fine if you had stated it in metrics or stone, because I believe you are European, most likely British, but when you state the baby’s weight in American Standard measurements it leads me to believe that you want this to sell to an American audience, so all the more reason to avoid using OE.*** baby Boy. A spokesman for the West Cheshire hospital said ...” A mother in Scotland turned off the television, as did one in England, Ireland Wales, and Outer Mongolia. “Oh well time to wash up the dinner things I suppose.” The length and breadth of the globe, other families, in other homes were going about their daily rituals. “Mum. I’ve finished.” The child ran to her mother to show her the finished masterpiece. The mother smiled down at her child trying to muster some encouragement. The picture showed a little girl with legs splayed giving birth to a rag doll. The mother placed it down on the worktop next to the picture of the oil covered, dying birds. ***Go with what you believe is your strongest adjective and drop the other, it will only serve to make your writing stronger.*** “That’s very interesting dear, but why don’t you do something a little more cheerful? “ . The child gave her Mother the ‘Oh you’re old what do you know about anything’ look, and went back to her room. Presently the mother heard her daughter’s pens scribbling frantically. The mother looked over some of the pictures her child had done recently. She frowned, a look of concern and worry clouding her gentle face. She had consulted a child psychologist about the pictures. He said not to worry about them it was just the child’s way of building herself a more exciting world. What more could she possibly want than this? Afterall wasn’t this Utopia? The mother fingered the pictures, looking over each one discerningly and then putting it on the table before her. They had started off so nicely. Her daughter had talent there was no denying that. People in a beautiful garden, a boat, full of animals, a queen being crowned. Then they had begun to change, a gradual subtle change. The pictures became darker. It started with people fighting. Ugly pictures of people hurting each other in unimaginable ways. Where had she got such a notion? People didn’t do that to each other. Some of the pictures were titled. The child had such an imagination what did these words mean Famine? War? Hunger? The mother of God picked up the latest picture. It was quite pretty really. A lovely blue and green ball engulfed in flames. She shook her head sadly as she looked at her little girl, God really was developing a morbid imagination. “But this is Utopia.” said Mary. ***I get the gist of this story, but I really do believe it could be told a bit better, perhaps by more clearly stating that the girl had supreme powers over our own reality, or by clearly showing our Earth, and separating it from the girl’s world, and then surprising the reader with it.*** " -- Cam Davis.
"To be honest, I'm really glad that I don't have to use these writing sites, since I have my email group. They seem to mess up 75 percent of the time." -- Cam Davis.
"Thanks for the review .. thank you Cam. " -- Sooz, Dalton-in-Furness, England, Cumbria.

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COPYRIGHT NOTICE
© 2000 Sue (Sooz) Simpson
STORYMANIA PUBLICATION DATE
July 2002
NUMBER OF TIMES TITLE VIEWED
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