I wrote 4 pages of a story last night without envisioning where it would go. This is usually a great thing, as creative juices start to flow, but now, I’m second-guessing myself. Could someone look over what I have so far and tell me a possible direction this could go? Thank you in advance!
Questions to help guide your feedback:
How is the character development? Is there even any?
Does the story sound interesting? Is it predictable?
Are there any places you are confused or need clarification on?
Are there any sections that end abruptly or start too suddenly? Is there any section I should expand on?
**You don’t need to answer all the questions–Just one or two is perfectly fine! Or, if you have your own feedback, you’re welcome to provide that, too!**
1945
Mika’s house felt hollow. You could still see the dust particles floating around from the constantly shut windows and space heater reminiscing in the corner of the living room. It was spring, yet it still felt like the capsule of winter depression. The floor creaked as she stood in the doorway. The only thing audible was the wind blowing past the trees as they hit the windows. She glanced around the room and sighed. Her green couch – so tattered and flat that she had started sitting on a pillow on the floor. Her dining table – doomed to live the life of a scrapbooker’s assistant, never to be used for its primary purpose. The flowery wallpaper looked so sad, ruffling at the seams. Her house felt too cluttered, yet it was as if no one had been living in it. There was no carpet, no trash. Her 65-inch TV taunted her every day. It was the first thing she saw walking downstairs from her room – one of three high-tech items she owned.
Nothing was calling Mika’s attention. No magical matters, no deadlines. This month had been a slow one. Even her editor seemed to acknowledge the oddness, not wanting to let the universe know for fear of a jinx. So, it remained silent and slow. She walked to the kitchen, where her very own cellular device sat on the counter. She only bought the thing after her best friend Marion called her “a boomer.” Though clueless about its meaning, she felt it had a negative connotation. She grabbed the boxed, wireless device and pressed the button on the side. Nothing happened. After examining the heavy square a few times, she took this fortunate chance to use her main phone, waltzing over to it and unraveling the cord that entangled around her arm. The clicking of plastic filled her with much joy. Three rings. A brief conversation. Patience.
“Thanks for coming over, Marion,” Mika greeted, opening her springy front door. Marion scanned the room, raising her brows in dismay.
“You told me you needed help working your TV,” said Marion, spotting piles of cardboard boxes and newspapers behind Mika and multiple clothes scattered around the living room. “What happened here? Are you moving?”
Mika cackled very matter-of-factly, “Of course not.” With disgust, Marion bent over to inspect the deep dust coating the console table in her entryway.
“When was the last time you cleaned this place? Fifty years ago?” Fake chuckles echoed through the room. Marion seemed caught in a trance from the disorganized mess that was Mika’s house.
“It wasn’t like this before you came,” Mika assured, “I just got a little carried away.” She lifted a small box from on top of her coffee table, lifting the lids to sift through. Marion followed suit, squatting down to meet a stack of newspapers till she paused to listen to the rustling trees outside. It felt like they were in a country home, not a common folk neighborhood, as nature seemed to greet their ears in song.
“As much as I’m enjoying our riveting conversation, why don’t we listen to some music?” Marion said, pushing her body off the floor.
“Of course, how could I forget?” exclaimed Mika, jumping up and running to a separate room. She came back with a portable record player made in the 1950’s. “I even have some old records I- I mean, my grandmother gave me from the ’30s,” Marion said nothing, in shock yet unsurprised in her out-of-touch friend, watching her blow the 100-year-old dust off a scratched and overused record. The early jazz was…nice, thought Marion, but it sounded like Duke Ellington was popping bubble gum with every note and word he produced.
“Don’t you have a Google Home?” asked Marion, pointing at an oddly shaped hockey puck on her kitchen counter.
“That thing can play music?” Stunned, Mika lifted the needle off the record.
“You haven’t used it yet?”
“I can’t even use that tiny telephone!”
“You’re such a –” Marion grumbled, “Hey Google, play music.” The first chord of Dutch folk’s guitar strings bellowed through the house.
“This is why you’re a witch,” said Mika, trying to hide her amazement as she moved the same record back and forth in its box with her fingers. Marion chuckled, continuing to shift through years and years of newspapers, some even dating back to 1963. She ignored this, assuming they belonged to Mika’s grandmother. She must really admire her gran, Marion thought. However, something caught her focus as she placed the last stack of newspapers next to her: a framed picture of a woman resembling Mika and a soldier. It was a black-and-white picture. The girl wore a thick mid-length skirt and a black dress shirt with a business yet casual-like cardigan. Her hair was twisted in different rolls and waves as if glued to her scalp. Her arm was wrapped around a British soldier decorated in a buttoned-up jacket wrapped in a belt, poofed-at-the-top pants, and knee-high black boots, his cap resting strategically between his left arm and waist. The symbol on his arm showed three wide Vs stacked on each other with a small unidentifiable symbol at the top.
“Woah,” said Marion, lifting the frame high enough for Mika to see, “This is your gran, isn’t it? She looks just like you!” Mika glanced over at the frame, doe-eyed. I thought I lost that, Mika thought. “That must be your granpop, right?”
Mika remained silent for a moment, not out of panic but nostalgia. It’s Robert, thought Mika, that’s where he went. For a moment, Mika let pass the moments of terror and survival she endured around the time of their meeting. As the song 1973 played through her home, glimpses of receiving weekly letters from England and telegrams from Germany flashed through her mind, entering her body like a warm blanket.
“And we’d both stay out till the morning light, and we sang, ‘Here we go again.’”
“Here we go again,” Mika sang softly. When she looked up, Marion was resting her arm on her palm, grinning as if staring at her one-sided crush. “God, Marion!” Mika shouted, throwing a wad of paper at Marion’s face, which she blocked with her arm.
“You must be connected to your gran somehow,” suggested Marion.
“Connected?”
“Like your souls,” Marion took out her phone, pointing at a Google search about intertwined souls, “You could be her reincarnation.” Mika wasn’t sure if she was being serious or not. Being a witch, she knew intertwined souls or “soul mates” were real, but there was so much Marion didn’t know. Though, Mika rather enjoyed her enthusiasm and naivety, giggling to herself. She wondered if it was time to tell her that the girl in the photo was not her grandmother and the soldier was not her grandfather.
“They were soul mates,” Mika explained, her vision veering off deep into the picture. Marion patiently waited, enamored like watching a new film in a movie theatre, “She had loved him to death,” Mika’s smile faded, “And he loved her till his death.”
“He got shot?” Mika shook her head, fighting back the possibility of tears. Marion covered her mouth, predicting the cause of his untimely demise in her thoughts.
“He blew up,” Mika stopped, squeezing her eyes shut, trying to find the words to continue, “trying to protect her from the bombs.”
She opened her squinted eyes to find a broken city. Buildings cracked and crumbled, seeing nothing but smog and the reminisce of a once happy city. Screams and military orders filled the streets as panic ensued at the roaring air raid siren. Groups of people desperately rushed past her, knocking her onto tumbling shattered cement with their gripped suitcases and dragging children. She looked down to find her shoes all scuffed and covered in dirt and ashes.
“Mika!” a man shouted from behind her. Mika spun her head around. It’s him!
“Robert!” She clutched her arms around him, deathly gripping the weapon straps on his back. Tears fell from her eyes as the realization of his last moments showered her. I swore to him I would always be with him, she thought, now look at me! Robert ripped her arms from him, clenching one with the last of his sanity.
“Come! You need to get to the bomb shelter!” He commanded, serious, yet all hope was lost. She found herself doing as he said, and then she stopped.
“You’re coming with me,” Mika told him, her stare piercing his eyes.
In a stern voice, Robert corrected his posture and said, “I can’t, but you can.” He dragged her body like a rag doll, her feet scraping against ridged cement, bloodying her ankles. The betrayal hit, tears fighting through the dirt and soot down her face. Then, at that moment, Mika remembered.
“This happened before,” She said, looking up at Robert’s back – a similar image. She leaned in to kiss his neck, whispering, “I love you,” then freeing herself from his grasp and running ahead to find a familiar face. The pleading from Robert slowly faded as she ran. “It’s not going to happen again.” She lifted her arm to cover her eyes from the harsh smoke clashing against her face. As she fought her way through the crowded desperados and crying children, there was a slow and dim whistle. Everyone looked up, knowing there wasn’t much time. She watched hopeless souls cover their loved ones till she spotted her. “Evelyn!” Mika cried out, reaching out her hand. The woman looked over, ash-covered and bloody, grasping toward Mika as her final plea. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you!” After a second, her ears rang, feeling no pain but relief.
Without knowing it, Marion had wrapped her arms tightly around Mika, noticing the wet shoulder she leaned on. Marion sniffled, her body hiccuping to the rhythm. Mika placed her hand on Marion’s back, slowly rubbing up and down. She raised to look at a smiling Mika.
“God, Mika, you scared me!” Marion screamed, wiping her nose with her sleeve.
“My tears must’ve come out of nowhere, huh?” Mika asked, looking away in embarrassment. Marion lowered her hand.
“You were shouting, Mika.” Her tone was serious, as serious as telling a patient in denial that they’d been in a coma for ten years.
“What…was I shouting?” Mika knew what. She waited, replicating the same serious expression.
“You were saying how this happened before and apologized to someone named Evelyn for not saving her,” explained Marion, her hands mapping out her thoughts. After a moment, she stopped and stared, “It can’t be.”
Questions to help guide your feedback:
How is the character development? Is there even any?
Does the story sound interesting? Is it predictable?
Are there any places you are confused or need clarification on?
Are there any sections that end abruptly or start too suddenly? Is there any section I should expand on?
The Writing Artist 
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