The War Book 1: Chapter 1 Amongst the Carnage

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The War Book 1: Chapter 1 Amongst the Carnage; The War Series, Installment I
Topic Started: Jul 3 2008, 09:39 PM (231 Views)
Silver_Poet	Jul 3 2008, 09:39 PM Post #1
Silver Letters, Golden Message Posts: 92 Group: Writers Member #32 Joined: Jul 3, 2008	Said the girl to the man, “Why do you weep?” “I cry for you; the world is yours to keep.” The girl was confused. “But isn’t that good?” “It would be, if only we did as we should. Neighbor blames neighbor, yet neither are right. Brother kills brother with no reason to fight. It’s a sad world we leave you.” “It doesn’t seem fair.” The girl understood, and she just stood there. “Although it is rotten and foul, cruel too, You can rebuild it. Its last hope is you.” I Amongst the Carnage Harold was still breathing heavily. He had really gotten into a fit of rage during the battle with the regiment. Of course, Erin had been able to calm him down. She always had been able to. She could calm him down, slowing his pulse, almost like she was able to slow the bullets the army fired at them with no apparent effort, or how she was able to speed up Harold’s fists, with the same lack of effort. No matter how many bullets she stopped, every time she saw her twin that furious, it hurt her more than any projectile could have. However, she knew he had to be filled with rage to even consider attacking anyone. He was a gentle soul. But his temper was stronger than he was. And if they wanted to survive, they needed to show the army they meant business. If they could kill enough men, they would stop sending more. Wouldn’t they? Erin cast her eyes upon the carnage around them from her usual spot on Harold’s shoulder. The shoulder was nine feet above the ground. His head was another foot. Unlike her brother, Erin was barely five feet tall. Harold did most of the fighting. All around them, soldiers were strewn. Soldiers who once had lives. Once had, maybe, families. Sometimes it really hurt Erin, feeling that last emotion of a dying man. This regiment had been full of experts, though. She had sensed their calm, their determination, even when most had been taken out, and they could clearly see the bullets halting mere inches after they had been fired. They had been prepared to die. That didn’t make that last emotion any more bearable, however. ~~~ Erin was asleep. She lay under a thin sheet, kept during the day in a small pack slung over Harold’s back. Now, it was providing a small amount of appreciated protection from the chill of the night. No matter how indifferent Erin acted, Harold would not let her sleep amidst the battlefield. He had carried her away from the rent bodies to the edge of a forest. A brook bubbled inside, hidden by the trees. Along with the babbling murmur of the stream, an orchestra of life issued from the woods. Birds sang sweetly to one another; insects performed in chirps and buzzes that complimented themselves perfectly; frogs croaked, whistled, and ribbited to the beating of the birds of prey. Every so often a screech could be heard, a harsh interruption to a piece that was immediately resumed. The sources were hidden by the whispering leaves of the tall trees, so much like the straight-backed composers from their school band. Even the way the branches swayed imitated the fluid movement of the batons during the slow, touching songs Harold loved to hear. He couldn’t play an instrument, at least not well, but Erin was quite a violinist. Tears came to Harold’s eyes whenever he saw her playing, both for love of the music and for sorrow, sorrow for the untouched expression that Erin forever wore, a mask of indifference, a barrier that kept her from breaking inside at the price of her humanity. Harold still loved her, though. There wasn’t much else he could do to his twin. He couldn’t abandon her. It would break his heart as she would walk away nonchalantly, not bothering to look back. And she would. Sometimes Harold wondered if she only stayed because there was nowhere else to go. God knows she didn’t ever smile. She showed no appreciation, joy, or commitment to anything. She was an empty shell, devoid of visible emotion, the only thing Harold had left. Edited by Silver_Poet, Jul 3 2008, 09:40 PM.
	Works: Novels: The War: Book 1: Prologue, Chapter 1 Amongst the Carnage, Chapter 2 The Calm Before..., Chapter 3 The Storm, Chapter 4 Taken Poems: Just Another Mask, A Review of the Journey to Death, The Last Soldier, My Name is Edward, A New Era, A Love Postponed, Catch, The Statue, Sixteen Songs: Life of a Band


Caelum	Jul 4 2008, 05:41 AM Post #2
I refuse to use a custom member title. Posts: 106 Group: Writers+ Member #31 Joined: Jul 2, 2008	Going good so far! I must admit, I loved the poem at the start. Did you write it? Also, very nice switch from carnage and battle to lovely forest, etc. Well done there. Like I said in your prologue, you may want to think about making the descriptions a little shorter. Also, Quote: No matter how many bullets she stopped, every time she saw her twin that furious, it hurt her more than any projectile could have. "No matter how many bullets she stopped"? In what way? As in, she's some kinda mage (Or Matrix character) who can stop bullets, she's canon fodder, she's killing others or what? Other then that though, keep it up.



Silver_Poet	Jul 4 2008, 05:56 AM Post #3
Silver Letters, Golden Message Posts: 92 Group: Writers Member #32 Joined: Jul 3, 2008	Yeah, I wrote the poem. :) And everything unfolds in the later chapters, so if you can't tell what's going on by maybe the second or third chapter, ask again and I'll try to clarify what's happening. I was kind of trying to subliminally introduce the main conflict, so readers could figure it out instead of me saying, "The War was a battle between the blank and the blank."
	Works: Novels: The War: Book 1: Prologue, Chapter 1 Amongst the Carnage, Chapter 2 The Calm Before..., Chapter 3 The Storm, Chapter 4 Taken Poems: Just Another Mask, A Review of the Journey to Death, The Last Soldier, My Name is Edward, A New Era, A Love Postponed, Catch, The Statue, Sixteen Songs: Life of a Band


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