Peer Review by Cosmogyral (United States)

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Storyteller

By: madeline3.14159


FREE WRITING

It couldn’t take much longer, he thought. A day or two at most.  He sat down at his big maple desk and wrote a promise.  A promise to remember the things long forgotten.  He wrote of the stories. The legends and tales of faraway places, a time long gone. He wrote of the spells of the ancient ones and the practices of the mages. Time was limited, but memories are eternal.  Even when lost in the deepest darkness, memories will remain unmarred.  So that is what he wrote of.  Not only did he write memories, but he wrote memories of memories. Two days at most before they would come knocking on his door. He had committed a travesty unimaginable to others. He had done something unforgivable. He had remembered. He had told stories.  And he was going to be punished. It had started simply; a fairy tale told to a street urchin. As is the nature of anything in his town, the news had spread through the young like wildfire.  There was a man telling stories for free.  As more came to him, he began to tell more of what he knew.  The stories of mythical creatures, and fantastical beings. The news of this spread even faster.  Slowly, he began to introduce the stories of the past.  The long forgotten pieces of history that would seem to the child's ear just another piece of fairy tale.  But these tales were so much more than that.  They were his life blood, his whole being, the country's origin. They also happened to be illegal.  He didn't know how the authorities had found out about it, but they had.  They knew he was telling stories and they were coming for him.  It could only be a day or two at most before they would show up.  He could not let these stories be forgotten. So he continued to write.  He wrote day and night, recounting the memories stored in the chest of his mind. It almost hurt to extract them so suddenly, but the pain of removal was worth the knowledge that he was giving the stories a chance to thrive. He was planting them in the soil, giving them a chance to take root and grow.  He picked up the sheets of paper, smelling the wet ink and the soft paper. This was his life. Ever so gently, he carried the papers over to the window, rocking them as if they were his baby. They almost were. He tossed them out of the window, throwing them to the wind. He bit his lip, releasing the pent up sorrow and anger and regret.  This was the only way to do it.  If he left the stories here, they would find them.  He needed to give them a chance to grow.  A knock sounded on the door.  They were here. Finally.

This is a writing prompt I did with my fam. Go check out Figwitlives!! piece she did from this prompt.  It's probably way better than mine. 

Peer Review

I think the emphasis on the character's occupation does quite well for this excerpt.


Highlighted.


Reviewer Comments

It started off well, but the over use of the pronoun 'He' made it come off dense. If you plan a reread or continuation, could you experiment a little by using occupations or nouns such as 'the story-teller' or so other. The point of view is all over the place, so it's understandable if you didn't want to keep up. It would be great if you'd left it as the author/narrator's point of view, it might even give a different tone to the story.