Shedinja8
Niger, atrum vel malum. Sumo.
- 134
- Posts
- 16
- Years
- Age 29
- Darkest corner of your mind...
- Seen Dec 17, 2012
Well this is a section from a story I am writing, and was hoping to get some HELPFUL criticism. Now note that this is only part of a chapter, so sorry if it seems out of context. Also I am looking for criticism or ideas on the writing style. Finding spelling or grammar issues is a plus. Finally I would like to apologize if this is on the wrong thread, but it seemed to be the most appropriate. Now for the passage:
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Despair. Destruction. Hopelessness. These are the only words that could go through a soldier's mind during these terrible times. The front lines were faltering, and only through sheer willpower could anyone say awake to fight off the hoards of enemy coming; day and night. People ravished in hunger and sadness. It has been thirty long years since the fight had become, and many were being to question if it was truly worth it. Though every time someone spoke up a patriot would stand and say: "Have you not forgotten why we fight? Its because we came together all those years ago with a single goal in mind. That goal is freedom. Freedom to our own culture. Our own lives. To live the ways the prophets foretold in there visions in the temple. It is only through this fight that we can find ourselves. I know this war is hell, but the rewards of enlightenment are to great to pass up. So I say now; give up if you wish, but remember that you are giving up the most important opportunity of your life."
Many would smile, imagining this promised idea of finding themselves in this war. Many cowards found bravery, the weak found strength, and children had become grow. With this, many stepped up and cheered: "Praise our makers! For they have brought us such wonderful gifts through hell!" Many more would stand, cheer, and more than a share would take to a weapon and go to fight with the front-line. The dieing fire was reborn.
This happened more and more frequently as the war pressed on as a group of rebels quickly became an entire country of soldiers and supporters. Those original seventeen of the first fight through thick and thin stood by to take the first retaliation in dedication to the cause. They were the first to die, and the last to be forgotten. They became heroes, and those who wished to take their place found themselves being honored as they walked through the streets. Being a soldier meant to others that you were not a sword waiting to strike, but that you were a shield willing to take every blow that crossed your path.
You fought with valor and courage. You never gave up. You showed no fear, even in the eyes of Death. You were; a Spartan.
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Despair. Destruction. Hopelessness. These are the only words that could go through a soldier's mind during these terrible times. The front lines were faltering, and only through sheer willpower could anyone say awake to fight off the hoards of enemy coming; day and night. People ravished in hunger and sadness. It has been thirty long years since the fight had become, and many were being to question if it was truly worth it. Though every time someone spoke up a patriot would stand and say: "Have you not forgotten why we fight? Its because we came together all those years ago with a single goal in mind. That goal is freedom. Freedom to our own culture. Our own lives. To live the ways the prophets foretold in there visions in the temple. It is only through this fight that we can find ourselves. I know this war is hell, but the rewards of enlightenment are to great to pass up. So I say now; give up if you wish, but remember that you are giving up the most important opportunity of your life."
Many would smile, imagining this promised idea of finding themselves in this war. Many cowards found bravery, the weak found strength, and children had become grow. With this, many stepped up and cheered: "Praise our makers! For they have brought us such wonderful gifts through hell!" Many more would stand, cheer, and more than a share would take to a weapon and go to fight with the front-line. The dieing fire was reborn.
This happened more and more frequently as the war pressed on as a group of rebels quickly became an entire country of soldiers and supporters. Those original seventeen of the first fight through thick and thin stood by to take the first retaliation in dedication to the cause. They were the first to die, and the last to be forgotten. They became heroes, and those who wished to take their place found themselves being honored as they walked through the streets. Being a soldier meant to others that you were not a sword waiting to strike, but that you were a shield willing to take every blow that crossed your path.
You fought with valor and courage. You never gave up. You showed no fear, even in the eyes of Death. You were; a Spartan.