This is a rough draft of an assignment for my creative writing class...my teacher commented, "I feel bad for Benji in the end, but I already felt bad for him when his mother wouldn't read his story. What else might be revealed by this horrific event Benji witnesses?" It would really help me if anyone had suggestions as to how to fix this problem...I just don't know how I can show Benji's growth as a character.
Icy Metamorphosis
Mom's office door was closed. I stood outside and debating going in or not. I knew I wasn't supposed to bug her when she was busy, but eventually I decided that I couldn't wait. I twisted the handle and burst through the door. Mom was sitting at her desk and tapping away at her keyboard. She looked up at me slowly. "You need something?" I ignored the agitation I sensed in her voice.
"I wrote something really cool in class today..." I began.
"Honey, you know how busy I..."
"Yeah I know," I cut her off, "but it's really good."
Mom raised her voice a little. "Benji, not now. I need to finish this-Go play outside or something." I didn't listen. I wanted to show Mom what I had written because Mrs. Laken had liked it so much she read it out-loud to the entire fifth grade. I poked Mom's arm over and over. She swiveled her chair away from her computer to face me.
"Benji, please!" Mom brushed my hand away. "I have work to do."
"You always have work to do!" I stomped my foot down on the cold hard-wood floor in Mom's office and held my story in front of her face.
"Benji, not now!" Mom hit my story out onto the floor.
I picked it up. "Now it's all wrinkled!" I tried to make my voice sound choked up. It wasn't really wrinkled but I wanted to make Mom think she had ruined it.
"It's not wrinkled, it's perfectly fine," Mom insisted bluntly without even looking at the paper.
"You didn't even look at it," I screamed. "You don't even care!"
"Look Ben," Mom only called me Ben when she was really angry, "I don't have time to put up with you right now. I'm only going to ask you to leave one more time." I stayed put. Mom's voice got louder, "Leave, Ben, or I'll call your father!"
I threw my story on the ground. "I hate you!"
"All kids say that." Mom shrugged in a horrible smug way that said I couldn't get the best of her. "You'll outgrow it."
"I won't outgrow it. I really hate you!" I stormed down the hallway to my room and slammed my door, then barricaded it shut with the back of my chair. I flung myself on my bed and punched my pillow, pretending it was Mom's face. I layered on my winter clothes and threw my pillow at the wall as hard as I could.
I used the fork I kept in my desk drawer to pry out the screen from my window. Once I got the screen free I slid out the window feet first. I landed in a pile of snow that was up to my knees. I ran down the path away from the house until I was out of breath. Then I started walking.
The sky was a migraine-inducing white. It was damp and overcast, and the ground was covered with a crunchy film of snow. As I walked along I saw icicles hanging from underneath a mail box and tried to smash off as many as I could with my gloved hands. Inside my thick black gloves my hands were wet and sticky from sweat. On the path behind me my blue winter boots had left the kind of footprints in the frost that looked like those you would find on the shore of a beach. My white coat was buttoned up tightly to my neck and I could feel my nose dripping. The path I followed led past the houses on my street and straight to the playground at my elementary school. As soon as the swings came into sight I sprinted over to them. The back and forth motion of the swing calmed me. It reminded me of the time before Mom and Dad got divorced. Mom didn't work so much back then. She used to have time to take me to the park and push me on the swings. I leaned my head against the chain of the swing and closed my eyes.
I had almost drifted off when I heard the sound of a large heavy object hitting packed snow. Startled, I looked around me. I brought my eyes scanned the frozen ground. Next to the school building the snow, which should have been white, was now speckled with red. There was a mangled lump lying on the ground. I got off the swing and ran over to the bloodstained snow.
The mangled lump was a human body. Whoever this person was must have jumped from the roof. The body had landed face down and its arms and legs were contorted strangely. I kicked it gently with my boot. It was still and hard. My stomach churned and I had to cover my mouth to keep myself from gagging. Closing my eyes as hard as I could I used my foot to turn it face up. It was a girl. She looked about ten years old. She could have been in my grade. Her nose was smashed an awkward angle and I could see the cartilage through it. The skin on her cheeks had been partially dethatched and hung loosely. Her teeth had completely bitten through her lips due to the impact. Her hair was pale yellow and tied back in braids and her empty blue eyes were open. They were clear like ice and there was no spark of life behind them. A trail of blood leaked from her open mouth and most of her teeth were missing.
I backed away from her body, and then started running home as fast as I could. When I finally reached my house I pounded on the wood of our front door until Mom came and opened it. I pushed past her into the house.
"Benji, what are you doing?" she yelled. "You just dragged snow in all over the carpet!"
I was going to tell her what I saw. But in that moment I froze and just started crying instead.
"You always make such a fuss over everything. I'll read your paper later, when I have time, okay?" Brushing me aside she went back to her office.
It's obvious you write well, but I have another problem with your essay. "Benji" sounds like a petulant child so the switchover into mature first person, can't really make sense.
Also, I have a strong hunch that you picked this general format off from somewhere recently. The ending is very classic but a person doesn't come up with it in this situation unless they've been exposed to something similar in recent memory; just something to keep in mind and be careful with.
In its most simple form, for lack of a better example right now, it sounds like the story of the "boy who cried wolf." At that it isn't very imaginative or creative, but on top of it your teacher wants something out of Benji. The poor teacher can't figure out that you're tracing after a basic format thousands of years old, and that the format is supposed to stand on its own merit. Well, her naivete means you have to actually put in work. On the other hand, if she had evaluated your story as I have, it could be worse. You shouldn't be disheartened though: your writing is strong and all it requires is the commitment to think a little.
I tried to make my voice sound choked up.
This part is cute.
Showing the growth of a character is closely linked to the theme of the story. The moral of the story has something to do with character growth. If you show a persistent character flaw that benji has, it will enable you to show growth. Right now, he does not seem to have much of a flaw. His mom is being negligent, and he is upset, so that is not really a flaw.
In fact, the way this shows Benji in a positive light and shows the mom in a negative light makes it seem like the writer is writing this a little autobiographically... let's give Benji a real flaw. Then there is room for growth.
Ha ha, I see that the story is getting very interesting. Think about what lesson can be learned from the events that are unfolding, and that will tell you what kind of a flaw to give Benji as you continue to revise and improve the intro.
