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"Heave of Change" by serenityjs

Instinct is intelligence incapable of self-consciousness. ~John Sterling

Category: Short Story

Tags: Fiction...young adult

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The morning breeze brought with it unseen tales of horror in hush, hush silence. My silence, her silence, and his ability to silence spoke to the kind of power that he held. I needed to know when it would all stop and the when the voices in my head would go away. I ached to know this answer and yet had sense enough to know that I would never really know.

Most nights I camped out on the sofa in my Grandpa's extra room, unbeknownst to him, of course. The window to that room was always left open for me in order that I may escape my torture cell of a home should I need too. Whether my father ever knew, or ever thought to inquire about, was and is a mystery to this day. I only know that I was never punished for 'sneaking' to Grandpa's house. It occurred to me that perhaps this is why he acted the way he did, in order that he may get me out of the house.

Sophie, my Grandpa's daughter was a cautious child three years my junior. I will admit that sometimes she plucked my feathers way too thin, but when it came right down to it, I loved her dearly.

Now she sat in the doorway with back plastered up against the door and feet propped up on the wall. Her intuitive ways prompted her to inquire about me regularly like in some sort of bizarre way she was my guardian angel.

She said it was four am, and wondered why in the world I was still up…

And I asked her…”Sophie, did you feel that?”

She eyed me queerly, batted her eyelashes, and flipped up her hand…

“Awe,” she said…

“There just fightin agin….”

Then she walked away leaving me there heaving on the corner cushion of my grandpa’s sofa.

My overall opinion of her was somewhat fuzzy and diluted by her persistence in ignoring what was happening around her, in spite of the screams that echoed from the trailer across the way. Tonight I was safe, but tomorrow night I knew that it would be my turn, again. I buried the crook of my neck inside the bends of my knees and rocked like a wooden chair on a vacant porch being forced by the wind.

My hands shook and I steadied them by wrapping them around my knees and interlocking them like the grips on a zipper, and just as sturdy, as sturdy becomes weak if one pulls hard enough. I moaned an inaudible prayer to a god that I did not know and squeezed my eyelids closed until morning.

“You commin girl?”

Sophie bounded inside my closet of a room with a smile spread wide across her face.

“You’re not gonna believe what happened!”

I eyed her steadily and sleepily allowing her to see that I was unconvinced by her dramatic attempt at morning cheer.

“Sophie, whatever happened I believe it!”

“Uncle Saul stopped by your house this morning. When he knocked on the door it came open. The rooms were covered in trash and furniture and, get this, blood!”

I gulped a stifled cry and tried to imagine why she liked taunting me so.

“Sophie, go on, I have had it with your tricks.”

Sophie’s eyebrows perched up in an arched “I beg your pardon” look and her eyes focused on me, as serious as could be.”

“I’m not playin. I’m tellin you the God’s honest truth!”

I looked at her keenly and achingly stretched from the fetal position from which I had been laying.

“Well, what then?” I eyed her impatiently.

“He’s dead!”

My eyes did a double dance as the whole of me shivered inside my clothes. This chill was a haunting of memory of days hiding behind my Grandpa’s shed; waiting on Sophie to tell me it was safe to go in. Last night I had snuck out, and as a matter of fact, Grandpa did not even know I was there. It was just as well and so neither Sophie nor I ever told him what was going on.

Grandpa was a proud man with many accomplishments. He worked to put himself through college and then through law school. He was schooled in all things legal and loved to tell us stories about some of the cases he had worked. But, Grandpa, in all of his good heartedness had lost his hearing and was suffering from the effects of Alzheimer’s. He was irritable and grumpy most of the time, constantly pacing the house back and forth looking for some long lost district attorney or calling out for Grandma. Of course, Grandma had been dead for ten years, but you wouldn’t know it if you stood outside his bedroom window in the night time. He would have long drawn out conversations with her, even laughing with her at some mundane occurrences or at something she had once said, maybe. I did not know exactly, but I loved the sound of it. He sounded peaceful during those times, and I would listen to his one sided gibberish for hours, contemplating what my Grandma must have said to illicit some of his responses. One thing was for certain though, and perhaps this is why I listened so carefully, if I let myself hear with my heart instead of my ears I could hear Grandma's silent voice, and smell her fresh laundered clothes. The thought of her made me as happy as it made him.

“What do you mean, dead, who?”

Confusion clouded the features and wrinkled the velvety skin around my small bones.

“Who’s dead, Sophie?” I had raised my voice somewhat in an unexplainable terror and excitement that

christened my body all at once.

“Your dad.” She said this and walked out of the room, once again leaving me there heaving on the side of my Grandpa's couch.

What did this news mean to me exactly? Should I be sad? Why could I not feel sadness for this man, who was my father? I stood and walked to the one window in the room. I gazed out the window into the front yard across the street, taking note of all of the police cars and lights circling the yard and piercing the morning fog. I dressed and combed my hair, ignoring the mist that covered my skin and walked out onto my Grandpa’s porch. Looking at that accident across the road I became accutley aware that my life from this point on would be different.

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Category Name: My Thoughts

I did not enjoy this story. I am not even sure what problem the protagonist faced. This story was okay. The story would have been better if the author had introduced the problem differently and made it feel more pressing. I really enjoyed this story. The author did a good job pulling me into the story by introducing an immediate and important problem for the protagonist.

This section is for overall comments and general ideas. The score should reflect how much you enjoyed the story.

Category Name: Character Development

The characters were not dynamic, credible, interesting, memorable or unique. I don’t care about or understand the characters because they were poorly developed. The characters were somewhat dynamic, credible, interesting, memorable and unique. I partially understood the thoughts, feelings, and actions of the characters. I somewhat connected with and care about the characters. The characters were very dynamic, credible, interesting, memorable and unique. I thoroughly understood their thoughts, feelings and actions. I felt connected with and cared about the characters.

This is act of bringing a character to life on the page. It is a combination of the author’s description of the character and the character’s dialog, action, and thoughts. Though all characters should be believable, the protagonist and antagonist are usually the most developed characters.

Category Name: Plot

I finished reading the story so the plot must have unfolded, but I am not sure what the plot was. The characters did not achieve or grow by solving the problems they faced in this story. There were definite wrinkles in the way the plot unfolded leading to the final conflict. The plot was loosely tied to the achievement and growth of the characters. The way the protagonist overcame some of the problems flowed unnaturally with the story. I could see the plot unfolding through a series of escalating problems that lead to the final conflict. The plot helped me understand the achievements and growth of the characters. The way the protagonist overcame the problems flowed naturally with the st

In fiction a plot is all the events in a story, particularly rendered towards the achievement of some particular artistic or emotional effect. In other words it's what mostly happened in the story. The plot draws the reader into the character's lives and helps the reader understand the choices that the characters make.

Category Name: Dialog

The dialog seemed like cold words on paper. I had a hard time following it. I didn’t learn very much about the characters through the dialog. Through the dialog I could sometimes see the characters learn and grow while occasionally discovering new facets of their personalities. The dialog was generally consistent with the character. Through the dialog I could see the characters learn and grow while simultaneously discovering new facets of their personalities. The dialog was true to the character and it helped me understand the characters emotions.

Category Name: Setting

The setting created a haze in my mind that detracted from the story. I am lost in time and space because I don’t know when or where this story takes place. The setting was described adequately, but not well enough to bring it to life in my mind. The setting did not add to or detract from the story. I am pretty sure I know when and where the story takes place. The author engaged all of my senses while vividly describing the setting. The setting helped me better understand the setting and plot. I know when and where this story takes place.

The setting is where a story takes place. The choice of setting and its description helps the story come alive in the mind of the reader. Appropriate setting contributes to the plot and mood of the story.

Category Name: Mechanics

The story contained so many mechanical errors that it was hard to follow the plot or understand certain sentences or paragraphs. Occasional mechanical errors were distracting, but these errors did not inhibit me from being able to understand the plot or connect with characters in the story. I rarely if ever noticed mechanical errors. As far as I could tell, the writing was clear and correct.

Mechanics includes sentence structure, verb agreement, grammar, spelling, voice, punctuation and aspects of basic style.

Note: The purpose of ReviewFuse reviews is NOT to provide comprehensive copy editing, but rather to "ignite creativity." Reviewers should not feel obliged to point out every grammar or spelling error (though they certainly can if they wish), but should focus on this area only to the degree that errors make a story hard to follow or understand.

Inline comments are the most helpful and important aspects of your review.

Click on a paragraph or highlight text from the paragraph to provide inline comments. While detailed grammar correction is welcome, the purpose of inline commenting is to spark the author's creativity. This is best done by expressing feelings, questions, and concerns you have about the story while you are reading.

1. The morning breeze brought with it unseen tales of horror in hush, hush silence. My silence, her silence, and his ability to silence spoke to the kind of power that he held. I needed to know when it would all stop and the when the voices in my head would go away. I ached to know this answer and yet had sense enough to know that I would never really know.

2. Most nights I camped out on the sofa in my Grandpa's extra room, unbeknownst to him, of course. The window to that room was always left open for me in order that I may escape my torture cell of a home should I need too. Whether my father ever knew, or ever thought to inquire about, was and is a mystery to this day. I only know that I was never punished for 'sneaking' to Grandpa's house. It occurred to me that perhaps this is why he acted the way he did, in order that he may get me out of the house.

3. Sophie, my Grandpa's daughter was a cautious child three years my junior. I will admit that sometimes she plucked my feathers way too thin, but when it came right down to it, I loved her dearly.

4. Now she sat in the doorway with back plastered up against the door and feet propped up on the wall. Her intuitive ways prompted her to inquire about me regularly like in some sort of bizarre way she was my guardian angel.

5. She said it was four am, and wondered why in the world I was still up…

6. And I asked her…”Sophie, did you feel that?”

7. She eyed me queerly, batted her eyelashes, and flipped up her hand…

8. “Awe,” she said…

9. “There just fightin agin….”

10. Then she walked away leaving me there heaving on the corner cushion of my grandpa’s sofa.

11. My overall opinion of her was somewhat fuzzy and diluted by her persistence in ignoring what was happening around her, in spite of the screams that echoed from the trailer across the way. Tonight I was safe, but tomorrow night I knew that it would be my turn, again. I buried the crook of my neck inside the bends of my knees and rocked like a wooden chair on a vacant porch being forced by the wind.

12. My hands shook and I steadied them by wrapping them around my knees and interlocking them like the grips on a zipper, and just as sturdy, as sturdy becomes weak if one pulls hard enough. I moaned an inaudible prayer to a god that I did not know and squeezed my eyelids closed until morning.

13. “You commin girl?”

14. Sophie bounded inside my closet of a room with a smile spread wide across her face.

15. “You’re not gonna believe what happened!”

16. I eyed her steadily and sleepily allowing her to see that I was unconvinced by her dramatic attempt at morning cheer.

17. “Sophie, whatever happened I believe it!”

18. “Uncle Saul stopped by your house this morning. When he knocked on the door it came open. The rooms were covered in trash and furniture and, get this, blood!”

19. I gulped a stifled cry and tried to imagine why she liked taunting me so.

20. “Sophie, go on, I have had it with your tricks.”

21. Sophie’s eyebrows perched up in an arched “I beg your pardon” look and her eyes focused on me, as serious as could be.”

22. “I’m not playin. I’m tellin you the God’s honest truth!”

23. I looked at her keenly and achingly stretched from the fetal position from which I had been laying.

24. “Well, what then?” I eyed her impatiently.

25. “He’s dead!”

26. My eyes did a double dance as the whole of me shivered inside my clothes. This chill was a haunting of memory of days hiding behind my Grandpa’s shed; waiting on Sophie to tell me it was safe to go in. Last night I had snuck out, and as a matter of fact, Grandpa did not even know I was there. It was just as well and so neither Sophie nor I ever told him what was going on.

27. Grandpa was a proud man with many accomplishments. He worked to put himself through college and then through law school. He was schooled in all things legal and loved to tell us stories about some of the cases he had worked. But, Grandpa, in all of his good heartedness had lost his hearing and was suffering from the effects of Alzheimer’s. He was irritable and grumpy most of the time, constantly pacing the house back and forth looking for some long lost district attorney or calling out for Grandma. Of course, Grandma had been dead for ten years, but you wouldn’t know it if you stood outside his bedroom window in the night time. He would have long drawn out conversations with her, even laughing with her at some mundane occurrences or at something she had once said, maybe. I did not know exactly, but I loved the sound of it. He sounded peaceful during those times, and I would listen to his one sided gibberish for hours, contemplating what my Grandma must have said to illicit some of his responses. One thing was for certain though, and perhaps this is why I listened so carefully, if I let myself hear with my heart instead of my ears I could hear Grandma's silent voice, and smell her fresh laundered clothes. The thought of her made me as happy as it made him.

28. “What do you mean, dead, who?”

29. Confusion clouded the features and wrinkled the velvety skin around my small bones.

30. “Who’s dead, Sophie?” I had raised my voice somewhat in an unexplainable terror and excitement that

31. christened my body all at once.

32. “Your dad.” She said this and walked out of the room, once again leaving me there heaving on the side of my Grandpa's couch.

33. What did this news mean to me exactly? Should I be sad? Why could I not feel sadness for this man, who was my father? I stood and walked to the one window in the room. I gazed out the window into the front yard across the street, taking note of all of the police cars and lights circling the yard and piercing the morning fog. I dressed and combed my hair, ignoring the mist that covered my skin and walked out onto my Grandpa’s porch. Looking at that accident across the road I became accutley aware that my life from this point on would be different.

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