Willow - voices in the orphanage (backstory)

[TheTrollDoctor]

I lay in bed, trying to get some sleep. Around me, the snores of the other residents of my dormitory could be heard by anyone in the orphanage, louder even than the metallic clangs of the navvies’ picks digging the new underground locomotive tunnels. The girls whom I shared my room with had some of the loudest voices I had ever heard.

Almost as loud as the screams of my parents as they were roasted alive.

They died a month ago, in the burning carcass of our old home. I heard my father every day after that, but not my mother - she always was the quiet one in the family. A trophy wife, poor thing - sold off to some well-connected man just to improve her father’s standing in the local criminal group.

The candle in the room was flickering ever so slightly, the shadows dancing around the walls as if possessed by some sort of demonic entity. The effect was almost mesmerising, semi-illuminating the rusted iron frames and threadbare covers of the beds.

My father came from the colonies, sailing here to London, capital of the world, to seek his fortune. His optimistic attitude soon vanished, to be replaced by the cold, hardened man that ended as a high-ranking member of the twisted hierarchy of the criminal underworld of London.

Take the candle. Go on, take it. Just take the candle, pal.

He always used to call me that, even though it’s usually only used when referring to boys. He was always telling me to do stuff like this, to just get a little closer to the fire. To take the candle. Just go over to the window, pal. Put the candle next to the curtains - just have a look outside. No harm in that.

As I was looking out the window onto the streets below, I heard something different to the irregular rhythms of the snores of the other girls.

Screams, just like the noises my parents made after I locked them in the wine cellar and threw in a match. Flames wove themselves around me, protecting me. Taking me to somewhere else - away from this orphanage, this city, this life.

A place where I could be free.

As I looked upon the dormitory for one last time, I was struck by how beautiful a thing I had created.

Say pal, you don’t look so good. You’d better find something to eat before night comes.

------------------------------------------------

Just a little alternative backstory to the somewhat interesting character Willow.

What do you think about it? Please provide feedback below. That would be greatly appreciated.

Edited May 16, 2013 by TheTrollDoctor

[nic572]

could use some patch up work..

[Lexicroft]

This is good stuff, like telling the soft side of willow (aside of her fiery temperament)But this story just too short, need more story, and more paragraph to make reader get more essence of the story

[Doctor H. Derp]

What do you think about it? Please provide feedback below. That would be greatly appreciated.

Thy wish is my command.

Key:

Original Text: Grey

Edits: Red

Commentary: (Blue)

Restlessly, I lay in bed. trying to get some sleep. Around me, the snores of the other residents in my dormitory almost unbearable, pounding on my ears, inside the walls of this orphanage.(Just tidying up the sentences a bit and giving it more punch.) Louder even than the metallic clangs of the navvies’ picks digging the new underground locomotive tunnels.(Okay, but how would Willow know what that sound is like? Seems almost like you're fluctuating between third and first person here. Remember, these are Willow's words. Maybe Wendy, since she purposely uses uncommon words/phrases, and lets on as if she was moderately well-read, it would be okay for her to pull out such a metaphor, but where in Willow's item descriptions and quotes does she let on that she would know about navvies? Let alone what railroad construction/tunnel excavation sounds like? I mean you could say it's in the general area of her old house, this orphanage, or she grew up around a project or something, but it's unnecessary back-peddling when I feel you'd be better served just going with a different more Willow-esque rich description.) Would these girls ever shut up?(It's hard reading this in Willow's "voice", if you will, considering your word choices used constructing her monologue.)

Almost as loud as the screams of my parents as they were roasted alive.

It was about a month ago when our old home was burnt to a crisp. I heard the voice of my(Edit for clarity's sake.) father every day after that, but not my mother - she always was the quiet one in the family. A trophy wife, poor thing - sold off to some well-connected man just to improve her father’s standing in the local criminal group.

The candle in the room was flickering ever so slightly, the shadows dancing around the walls as if possessed by some sort of demonic entity. The effect was almost mesmerising, semi-illuminating the rusted iron frames and threadbare covers of the beds.

My father came from the colonies, sailing here to London, capital of the world, to seek his fortune. His optimistic attitude soon vanished, to be replaced by the cold, hardened man that ended as a high-ranking member of the twisted hierarchy of the criminal underworld of London.

Take the candle. Go on, take it. Just take the candle, pal.

He always used to call me that, even though it’s usually only used when referring to boys.(Goes without saying, and it's not like Maxwell doesn't call everyone else he meets "pal". If you want to say it was special in the case with Willow here, this sentence fragment just doesn't do the job.) He was always telling me to do stuff like this, to just get a little closer to the fire. To take the candle. Just go over to the window, pal. Put the candle on the windowsill, no need to worry, pal, nothing bad will happen, pay no attention to those curtains, it'll be fine - just have a look outside. No harm in that, poking and prodding me every closer to the window frame.(Just a little more zest and some clean up.)

As I was looking out the window onto the streets below, I heard something different to the irregular rhythms of the snores of the other girls.

Screams, just like the noises my parents made after I locked them in the wine cellar and threw in a match. Flames wove themselves around me, protecting me. Taking me to somewhere else - away from this orphanage, this city, this life.

A place where I could be free.

As I looked upon the dormitory for one last time, I was struck by how beautiful it all was, the flames flickering and dancing across the orphanage ceiling -- my perfect creation.(Zest/rich descriptions, and in character.)

Say pal, you don’t look so good. You’d better find something to eat before night comes.

Overall, not bad for a fanfic, and though it is on the short side, I think that's a great thing. It's short and to the point without over-doing it. You came in here with a specific purpose, got it done, and was done with it.

So, good job. I hope to see you do even better next time.

Edited May 17, 2013 by Doctor H. Derp

[TheTrollDoctor]

Overall, not bad for a fanfic, and though it is on the short side, I think that's a great thing. It's short and to the point without over-doing it. You came in here with a specific purpose, got it done, and was done with it.So, good job. I hope to see you do even better next time.

Thanks - I just typed that up in half an hour, so heavy editing is to be expected. I'll probably change and expand it a lot over the next few days.

[Doctor H. Derp]

Alright, well I'll look forward to it.

[lumitwilight]

I feel like every time I read a Willow fanfic she burned her parents alive and was put in an orphanage...

[Battal]

I feel like every time I read a Willow fanfic she burned her parents alive and was put in an orphanage...

Necroed.