Feedback appreciated. Constructive criticism more so. c: ---- Chapter One Linoleum labour Her blonde hair was pulled into a tight ponytail, with a black elastic band. Her bum looked fantastic in black leather jeans, which rested just above her hips. A long sleeved maroon shirt cut off just under her rib cage, exposing a flat, pale stomach. To further her tips, she wore a pair of maroon pumps; a fortune, but well worth it. A name badge, just above her left breast read Marie, and she had this optimism about her. It was rather unique, considering it's 1964; the middle of the Vietnam War. And the Cold War. "Sugar, those tables aren't going to wait themselves." A rather nasally voice drawled. Despite her voice, she had rather good looks: blonde curly hair, plump red lips, an hourglass figure, rather large breasts. "Ugh. I need a break soon, these heels are killing!" Aside from that complaint, Maria moved off to take the waiting orders. She hated living in a capitolist country. Yet she couldn't move to a communist country because, well they were bad. And that is why her dad is over there fighting in Vietnam. She methodically took the orders, then offered them a drink. "4 soups of the day; 1 no meat. 2 chocolate milkshakes and a large coke." Her voice carried itself over to the chef who nodded and set to work. Maria grabbed a bottle of water and made her way to the Employees Only room. The checked floor had become so worn out. The lights, the worn linoleum, the cardboard crate, all so familiar thanks to her capitolist country. Well it was either this or communism, and EVERYBODY knew how bad communists were. Never having to worry about acne or pimples was one minor thing off of Lang's mind. Mind you, he had to work day in day out. And any opinions opposing the state voiced aloud would surely land him the death sentence. He'd rather earn his share, not his lazy classmates share and his own. To be given the chance to flee to South Vietnam would be God's greatest gift. He had the eyes most Asian based countries are so populated with, and that creamy sort of tan. He had a mass of black hair sitting a top his head, which for the life of him, he could never neaten it out. He had a lopsided sort of grin when he was caught smiling; which was seldom. He had his hands working methodically; the process, oh so familiar. His mind was free to roam as he basked in the afternoon sun. He wanted this war to just end. Or for an escape route to flash up. Of course, he would take his family, they didn't deserve this. Nobody did. His thoughts kept bouncing around in his mind, until he had to steer himself clear of thinking of the war. He instead chose to think about after the war. Maybe he might marry An, a rather curvy Vietnamese girl. Or maybe he could marry somebody from another town and they could flee. His hands, needing no guidance provided the perfect distraction. He tried to make up backgrounds for all the corn he pulled up. None seemed to stick. The suns rays continued to bake him, until the hat on his head wasn't enough protection and he succumbed to the shelter of the toilets. Alone at last.
This is great and full of detail! Just make sure to separate who the person speaking is. Like "Marie's POV" or something! I'm writing a story about the same time period, but mine takes place somewhere else!
Thank you! I'll try make it more clear c: ---- Chapter Two Straw Ka-ching Marie The bus rattled along, causing Marie to occasionally bump into the elderly man next to her. His face was scarred, and he was shaking. Not from the bus, though. "Excuse me Sir. Are you okay?" Marie's mother would be proud of her manners. "Nothing. Nothing." The man replied, but Marie wasn't entirely convinced. Deciding not to pursue the matter, she pushed the button to signal the next stop, and hopped up. "'Scuse me, this is my stop." Marie smiled as the man shifted his legs so she could shuffle out. Her tips were secured safely in her bra, the paper offering comfort to her. Her heels clicked on the damp concrete, the after smell of rain flooding her nostrils. She pulled out her key and unlocked the door to her house. Silence greeted her - not like that was a surprise. Her mother, the secretary of a major business, was often working long hours. Marie's heels were soon on their side, and the kettle boiling. It was 10:50pm, and a Wednesday. She would have to go to bed soon, if she were to get up by 6:30am, to catch the bus. While the kettle was boiling, her money was now on the wooden bench. Her fingers moved expertly, counting up her tips. A total of $63.30. Now she had $245.20. That wasn't that bad, considering she's only been working for 4 months. She stashed it back into her bra, and poured the kettle into her mug. She stirred the mug, its warmth warming her hands. Today had been a good day for her tips, and one word was on her mind. Ka-ching! Lang The sun had set hours ago, yet here he was. Working away into the night, all because they were behind on their harvests. He was angry. His shoulders ached. His sweat was sticking to him. And Lang was exhausted. Finally. The final crop was harvested, and they were free to go. Had they had to stay out another hour, Lang may not have had the restriction on his anger. Grumbling he grabbed an apple from the bench, and made his way to the small room he could call his. He was lucky - most kids his age had to share a room. Flopping on the hard bed, Lang threw his hat off, and rubbed his forehead. Capitolism was bad. That's what he is taught right? But why was he dreaming of a life, not having to work dangerously long hours? Why was he dreaming of another political party? Snap out of it Lang! He scolded himself. There was some scattered straw around his room. Growing up in a communist country didn't save Lang from a messy room. His muscles ached. His head was aching. He felt pure exhaustion on a daily basis. He drifted off into a fitful sleep; son forgetting the apple in his hand.
Yes, I've read your story, and I love it. Historical fiction is the best to read! I've noticed that as well. A lot of love/fantasy stories - some are good though.
All good c: ------ Chapter Three Capitolism vs Communism Marie Her bag hung lazily on one shoulder as she raced down the halls. She was late once again. Hopefully Ms. Johnson was late, or better yet, was away. She bumped into a few late goers as well, only muttering a couple of half hearted apologies. Her black converses were scuffed slightly. Okay a lot, but Marie would never admit to that. Flinging the door open, Marie almost gave a shout of delight. Ms. Johnson was away, she could get away with being late now. She slid into her desk, in the middle of the room, and got out her notebook. She let out a long sigh, as soon as she could see the board. Communism, was written in capital letters. "Are we boring you, miss?" The teacher smirked. "Marie James. No sir. It's just we already know that communism is bad, and that we're the good guys." Marie replied instantly. "Do you understand communism? Get the idea behind it?" The teacher asked, quite rudely. "Do we have to? They're bad. We're good. Isn't that enough?" Emily, a dear friend of Marie's jumped in. Marie shot her a thankful glance. "How are you to say your lifestyle is better than another, when you have yet to live the other in?" The teachers name was now written on the board - Mr Atkins. "Because if their lifestyle is good, we wouldn't be there!" Marie exclaimed. "You two-" pointing to Emily and Marie "- to the principals office now. I will not tolerate insolent children." Mr Atkins grumbled. Maries jaw fell slack. Never in her schooling life had she been sent to the principals office, much less out of a classroom before. Emily saw her friends confusion and pulled her out of the classroom. "Hey. Let's ditch now." Emily said in between giggles. "I've never ditched before!" Marie was in a daze, her eyes glazed. "There's a first time for everything!" Emily gave her eyebrows a wiggle and took off down the hall, with Marie stumbling after her. The giggles bounced off the lockers, disturbing many classes. "Girls. Mr Atkins, called my office to let me know that you'll be there shortly. Not exiting the school." The principal - Mr Shelling - spoke, tapping their shoulders. "Sorry sir, I erm, though the clock said 15:30 not 9:30." Marie lied, quite obviously. "Girls, both you and I know, you both intended to ditch. I won't punish you for attempting to leave, but I need you two to come to my office." The principal left no room to argue, and pushed the girls in front of them towards his office. "Marie, I'm shocked. Why?" Mr Shelling asked, reading a piece of paper. "Sir, Mr Atkins, was trying to encourage communism!" Marie moved her hands about erratically. Emily beside her, nodded in agreement. "Emily, Marie, here we encourage you to keep an open mind here. Mr Atkins was neither encouraging or condemning Communism; he was merely presenting you more facts to better inform you." Mr Shelling fixed his glasses on the bridge of his nose. "Sir, if we needed to be better informed, how well is our government informed?" Emily asked, curiosity tinting her voice. "Mr Atkins used to work for our government, he would be the best to ask. He has no classes next, so go to the library with him. I want you both to write an essay on the benefits of communism. You have two weeks." Mr Shelling smiled and dismissed the girls. Lunchtime rolled and so far both of the girls had only one point for their essay. Mr Atkins had a pile of books, marking numerous pages. Their stomachs gave a loud growl and Mr Atkins dismissed them, "Go home and do some more research. I'll meet you here every lunch to help with your essay." ----- Sorry about how boring it is! Now Marie and Lang will receive separate chapters. This one is so boring to show you how the characters will change later on! Sorry for not posting recently! #1 Slack ass here!
This is based on people's experience from journal entries on the internet. Sorry if it is not entirely correct. ----- Chapter Four Strains and frustration Lang The register was being taken, and Lang's lanky form was slouching forward onto his desk. His eyes were drooping closed, having only struggled to get 2 hours, tops, of sleep. His arms felt like lead and he was about 357282732% sure he had pulled a muscle somewhere. "Mister Lang Phan. Are we keeping you up?" The teacher, Mr. Nguyen asked, sternly. "No sir. Sorry sir." Lang mumbled quietly. Truth be told, he hated science. Too many theories. Too many open ended answers. He liked Maths; straightforward, simple, consistent. In fact, he'd rather be on a rickety boat to some unknown place than in science! "Good. Don't let it happen again." Once the teacher turned away, Lang's mind was made up - he would flee with his family. On a rickety boat, to nowhere in particular. The scraping of chalk on the board alerted him to take out his notebook. 2 more god damn years until he was 18 and no more school! "Sir, can I go to the bathroom?" Lang called out, feeling a wave of nausea wash over him, the teacher let out a sigh, and nodded. Lang sprinted from the classroom to the boys toilets before puking his guts out into the closest stall. "Dear god." His stomach hurt. His throat was dry. His head was pounding. Thinking about escape and travelling on a boat had caused him to become seasick. He almost laughed at how *ironic* it was. Maybe it was Gods way of saying 'No!' When he was sure that he wasn't going to be sick, Lang stood up and made his way to the sinks. His hair was tousled, but damp with sweat. Bags were beginning to form under his eyes. He could feel the strain of labour on his body, the tense muscles groaning. Back in class, Lang struggled to focus. The writing on the board was getting harder to focus on. The familiar curve of his writing, seemed so far away. His body screamed out in pain, as he shifted his weight. He could feel his eyes drooping close, his body shutting down. Black spots appeared in his vision. His chair provided no support and he was on the ground unconscious in seconds. A pounding in his head woke Lang. The hardwood floors were replaced with a familiar mattress. Not daring to open his eyes just yet, Lang realised he couldn't hear the drawling voice of Mr. Nguyen, or the sound of students busy writing. Only silence could be heard. Opening his eyes, he saw he was in the familiar of his room. "Ma?" He called out, his voice hoarse. "Oh good, you're awake. You passed out at school, so they sent you home. Rest now dear, you don't have to go back today or work today." His mother smiled, and Lang let out a sigh of relief. "Thank you." He whispered, and closed his eyes again. He was glad. No school, no work for today! His muscles almost danced with joy. No longer tired, he got out of bed and headed towards the kitchen. The kitchen was untouched, the clock showing it was only 10:38am. Lang had no idea what to do. Seeing the TV blaring, he took a seat next to is mother. Some soap opera was on TV, his mother knitting away. Lang felt out of place here, realising that he actually missed school.
Bump. Pleeassseee update! Last time im bumping if no update, because that prob means the story is dead!