The Start of a 50 Page story.

These are two passages I'd like to share with you that I wrote.

Critique accordingly.

1.

A piercing scream broke the sinister silence of the night as they marched through our village without warning. They acted bold and powerful, as they ordered people around, acting on their refusals with immense violence. They used the torches they were carrying to set the surrounding homes on fire as the villagers laid there; their work and time collapsing before their very eyes.

The strong, cringing smell of the smoke filled my nostrils as I peered out my window overlooking the village scene. The smoke from the smoldering houses created a blanket of fog, so mysterious and unbelievable. Children were crying, even pleading for their parents as the intruders threw them to the ground and told them not to utter a word. Above all the noise I heard my door creak open and I looked over to see my parents rushing in.

2.

Their voices were authorized, they were confident in what they were saying, the audio level of their voices was booming. For a few seconds all went silent and then I could hear the slow, firm and solid footsteps protruding down the hallway. Each step became louder, coming closer to the end of the hallway where I lay.

I could feel my body heating up, my heartbeat racing. Sweat started to form on my forehead, slowly tickling me as it rolled down my cheeks. That unavoidable voice in my head repeating the question Am I safe here or will they find me? a thousand times a second, the footsteps still continually getting closer.

And as I concluded that that door holds my fate, whether I survive or die, a bone-crushing, hair-pointing, intentional catastrophic scream erupted from the room next to me. It was my mother, the one who gave me life, cared for me, fed me, housed me, loved me and was there for me when I needed her to most. The one who did all that was now making my life her main priority, by endangering hers.