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Innocence
Isabelle, freshly cleaned and dressed in her pajamas, crawled into bed and hugged the covers to her chest. I smiled, as I always did, and got to work straightening out the sheets to tuck her in properly. Her big, brown eyes darted about the dark room before meeting mine as I brought the blanket to her chin.
"Daddy?" she asked, a slight quiver in her voice. "Are monsters real?"
I gave a slight chuckle, pushing her bangs away from her face and back behind her ear. Such an endearing question. The kind only a child could ask. I took a deep breath before I began.
"Yes, sweetheart," I said gently. "Monsters are real." I kept stroking her hair until the panic that flashed in her eyes faded. "But you have so much courage, and so much goodness in you, that those monsters won't be able to hurt you."
Isabelle anxiously gripped and fiddled with the edge of her blanket.
"Do you think there are any monsters under my bed?"
"Hmm... I don't know," I admitted. "How about we check together?"
After a moment's hesitation, Isabelle slipped out from under the covers and joined me beside the bed.
"Ready?" I asked, gripping the edge of her sheets. "One, two, three." I pulled up the sheet and we both ducked down to look underneath. "...I don't see any monsters," I said. "Do you?"
"Mm-mmm," she said, shaking her said.
I wrapped her up in a hug. "I am so proud of you," I told her as I rocked her. "You were so brave. Next time you're worried about monsters, you think you can check on your own?"
"I think so," she whispered with a nod. I released her from my hug and proceeded to tuck her back into bed.
"Daddy?" she asked. "What do I do if I actually find a monster?"
I considered the question and smiled to her. "Remember you are brave and good, and you won't have to be afraid. Nothing scares a monster more than a girl who isn't afraid."
Isabelle smiled, her eyes fluttering with drowsiness.
"Good night, Daddy," she said, barely a whisper. "I love you."
"I love you, too, sweetheart."
Isabelle, with her shiny, black hair brushed silky-smooth and her almost nutty-brown skin freshly washed, was dressed in her pajamas, waiting to be tuck into bed. I slowly slid the blanket up to her chin.
"Daddy?" she asked me. "Is magic real?"
I smiled and held back a chuckle. Sometimes I think she asks me these charming questions just to put off going to sleep.
"Yes, sweetheart," I told her. "Magic is real. The problem is, there's a lot of fake magic in the world. It can be hard to see the real magic out there."
Her face scrunched in thought. "How do I tell them apart?"
I kissed her cheek, and she playfully pushed me back. At least she was smiling again.
"Fake magic is bad," I explained. "It tries to trick you, and take things away from you." I gripped her hand and looked into her eyes. "But real magic makes the whole world better. You can't really see it, but you know it's there, 'cause you can feel it." I gave her hand a little squeeze.
"Like the wind," she said.
"Exactly like the wind," I said, nodding.
Isabelle yawned softly, and I let go of her hand.
"Good night, Daddy," she said, closing her eyes. "I love you."
"I love you, too, sweetheart."
"Daddy?" Isabelle asked once she was tucked in. "...Are angels real?"
My shoulders tensed at the question, but they settled back down with a calming breath.
"Yes, sweetheart," I told her. "Angels are real." I reached over and cupped her cheek in my palm. With a touch as light as a phantom's, my thumb rubbed against her cheekbone, possibly the only thing she inherited from me. Everything else—that button nose, those lips, those eyelashes—they all came from her. My mouth moved limply as I tried to remember what I was going to say next.
"A-angels are all around us," I said, gazing into her eyes. "Everywhere we look, they're keeping away the monsters and spreading their magic."
She chewed her lip for a moment.
"Daddy?" she asked softly. "Do you think Mommy became an angel?"
I became painfully aware of how much I was blinking as I drew a shuddering breath.
"Yes, sweetheart," I whispered, praying she couldn't see my tears. "She was always an angel."
"Daddy?" she asked, a slight quiver in her voice. "Are monsters real?"
I gave a slight chuckle, pushing her bangs away from her face and back behind her ear. Such an endearing question. The kind only a child could ask. I took a deep breath before I began.
"Yes, sweetheart," I said gently. "Monsters are real." I kept stroking her hair until the panic that flashed in her eyes faded. "But you have so much courage, and so much goodness in you, that those monsters won't be able to hurt you."
Isabelle anxiously gripped and fiddled with the edge of her blanket.
"Do you think there are any monsters under my bed?"
"Hmm... I don't know," I admitted. "How about we check together?"
After a moment's hesitation, Isabelle slipped out from under the covers and joined me beside the bed.
"Ready?" I asked, gripping the edge of her sheets. "One, two, three." I pulled up the sheet and we both ducked down to look underneath. "...I don't see any monsters," I said. "Do you?"
"Mm-mmm," she said, shaking her said.
I wrapped her up in a hug. "I am so proud of you," I told her as I rocked her. "You were so brave. Next time you're worried about monsters, you think you can check on your own?"
"I think so," she whispered with a nod. I released her from my hug and proceeded to tuck her back into bed.
"Daddy?" she asked. "What do I do if I actually find a monster?"
I considered the question and smiled to her. "Remember you are brave and good, and you won't have to be afraid. Nothing scares a monster more than a girl who isn't afraid."
Isabelle smiled, her eyes fluttering with drowsiness.
"Good night, Daddy," she said, barely a whisper. "I love you."
"I love you, too, sweetheart."
Isabelle, with her shiny, black hair brushed silky-smooth and her almost nutty-brown skin freshly washed, was dressed in her pajamas, waiting to be tuck into bed. I slowly slid the blanket up to her chin.
"Daddy?" she asked me. "Is magic real?"
I smiled and held back a chuckle. Sometimes I think she asks me these charming questions just to put off going to sleep.
"Yes, sweetheart," I told her. "Magic is real. The problem is, there's a lot of fake magic in the world. It can be hard to see the real magic out there."
Her face scrunched in thought. "How do I tell them apart?"
I kissed her cheek, and she playfully pushed me back. At least she was smiling again.
"Fake magic is bad," I explained. "It tries to trick you, and take things away from you." I gripped her hand and looked into her eyes. "But real magic makes the whole world better. You can't really see it, but you know it's there, 'cause you can feel it." I gave her hand a little squeeze.
"Like the wind," she said.
"Exactly like the wind," I said, nodding.
Isabelle yawned softly, and I let go of her hand.
"Good night, Daddy," she said, closing her eyes. "I love you."
"I love you, too, sweetheart."
"Daddy?" Isabelle asked once she was tucked in. "...Are angels real?"
My shoulders tensed at the question, but they settled back down with a calming breath.
"Yes, sweetheart," I told her. "Angels are real." I reached over and cupped her cheek in my palm. With a touch as light as a phantom's, my thumb rubbed against her cheekbone, possibly the only thing she inherited from me. Everything else—that button nose, those lips, those eyelashes—they all came from her. My mouth moved limply as I tried to remember what I was going to say next.
"A-angels are all around us," I said, gazing into her eyes. "Everywhere we look, they're keeping away the monsters and spreading their magic."
She chewed her lip for a moment.
"Daddy?" she asked softly. "Do you think Mommy became an angel?"
I became painfully aware of how much I was blinking as I drew a shuddering breath.
"Yes, sweetheart," I whispered, praying she couldn't see my tears. "She was always an angel."
I don't have much to say about this one, since not much happened here.
The ending feels a bit cliched, if I understand the ending correctly: that the mother died and the father has trouble talking about it with his daughter. It's sort of a cliched idea with a cliched execution. It's not poorly written, but there's just not a lot of things it does with the idea. Feels pretty standard.
The ending feels a bit cliched, if I understand the ending correctly: that the mother died and the father has trouble talking about it with his daughter. It's sort of a cliched idea with a cliched execution. It's not poorly written, but there's just not a lot of things it does with the idea. Feels pretty standard.
From a technical point of view it was well written (as far as I can judge) and the tone and the voices matched the characters.
As a story it was a bit too much on the nose for my tastes. While I can see people talk like that, and while I'm sure such scenes happen in real life, I would have preferred a subtler approach. As it is now it leaves me nothing beside the feelings derived from me sympathising with the characters (which means that you wrote them as human beings and not as robots, which is a good thing).
Not a bad story, but also not a memorable or an ambitious one. Sorry.
As a story it was a bit too much on the nose for my tastes. While I can see people talk like that, and while I'm sure such scenes happen in real life, I would have preferred a subtler approach. As it is now it leaves me nothing beside the feelings derived from me sympathising with the characters (which means that you wrote them as human beings and not as robots, which is a good thing).
Not a bad story, but also not a memorable or an ambitious one. Sorry.
I wrote a review for this story, bungled it so it was lost. Shit.
Here is the gist: the first part is trite. It tries to be endearing by borrowing from a much used trope, the father lulling his child to sleep and talking about monsters. It's not badly done, it's just something I seem to have read zillions of times.
The second part is the best, it calls on an interesting premise, but unfortunately you squeezed it.
The last part came across to me as a way to tug on my heartstrings. The end is not called for, as nothing you already wrote depends on it. So it feels like tacked on with no reason.
Not really impressed.
Here is the gist: the first part is trite. It tries to be endearing by borrowing from a much used trope, the father lulling his child to sleep and talking about monsters. It's not badly done, it's just something I seem to have read zillions of times.
The second part is the best, it calls on an interesting premise, but unfortunately you squeezed it.
The last part came across to me as a way to tug on my heartstrings. The end is not called for, as nothing you already wrote depends on it. So it feels like tacked on with no reason.
Not really impressed.
This story is light, fluffy, mostly sweet, and a little sad. But most of all, it's empty. There's no real story here, just some attempts to invoke emotion. The first two sections are okay, mostly being cute and earning a small smile. But the last section seems like it's just trying to hard to make the reader sad, and the only reaction it got out of me was an eyeroll and an "of course you threw in a dead mom." But I tend not to care much for these feelmongering stories in general, so I am probably not the right audience for this.
The first part seemed like it would frighten the child. It might need massaging.
I kept waiting for the girl to say: "Daddy, I know you lied to me about monsters and magic, so what does that say about Mommy?"
I kept waiting for the girl to say: "Daddy, I know you lied to me about monsters and magic, so what does that say about Mommy?"
So the impression I'm getting from this one is that this is some sort of urban fantasy universe in which monsters and magic and angels literally exist, and that the girl's mother was a literal angel (who might or might not also be dead). That's probably not what you intended, but the reason for that is that that's the only way I can make sense of the first two scenes.
You're invoking the Rule of Three here, which is a powerful and immediately recognizable structure: windup, windup, punch. (Goldilocks eats three bowls of porridge: too hot, too cold, just right. Ebenglimmer Scroogelight meets the three Horses of Hearth's Warming: Past, present, and future.) The problem is that your first and second iterations are focusing on the boundaries between reality and metaphysics (monsters and magic), and the third iteration introduces a new element (the mother) that because of the story structure I want to interpret within the context of the first two. If I try to read this as just a parable about a father's beliefs with the twist of a dead mom, it feels like you're interrupting your actual story with the twist, because you've spent so much time and structure winding up for a blow that never landed. And even if I do go with the mom's-a-literal-angel interpretation, this feels awfully thin, because the emotions it tries to harvest are from the implication of death, which still isn't part of your windup.
With most stories this round, I can see what the story was going for even if the story fell short of its goals, but I'm having trouble with this one because there's so much deliberate effort put into a structure that the ending disrupts. How do monsters fit into this? Is it a really oblique clue that the mother wasn't just killed but murdered? But if so, how can the father discuss it lightly and positively while the angel talk sends him into a stuttering mess?
In editing, figure out your core message here, and start lampshading it from the beginning. The more solidly you can make that windup-windup-punch structure land, the stronger this will get.
Tier: Needs Work
You're invoking the Rule of Three here, which is a powerful and immediately recognizable structure: windup, windup, punch. (Goldilocks eats three bowls of porridge: too hot, too cold, just right. Ebenglimmer Scroogelight meets the three Horses of Hearth's Warming: Past, present, and future.) The problem is that your first and second iterations are focusing on the boundaries between reality and metaphysics (monsters and magic), and the third iteration introduces a new element (the mother) that because of the story structure I want to interpret within the context of the first two. If I try to read this as just a parable about a father's beliefs with the twist of a dead mom, it feels like you're interrupting your actual story with the twist, because you've spent so much time and structure winding up for a blow that never landed. And even if I do go with the mom's-a-literal-angel interpretation, this feels awfully thin, because the emotions it tries to harvest are from the implication of death, which still isn't part of your windup.
With most stories this round, I can see what the story was going for even if the story fell short of its goals, but I'm having trouble with this one because there's so much deliberate effort put into a structure that the ending disrupts. How do monsters fit into this? Is it a really oblique clue that the mother wasn't just killed but murdered? But if so, how can the father discuss it lightly and positively while the angel talk sends him into a stuttering mess?
In editing, figure out your core message here, and start lampshading it from the beginning. The more solidly you can make that windup-windup-punch structure land, the stronger this will get.
Tier: Needs Work
Separate from my review and rating:
I'm a little bit secretly disappointed that, given the setup of the first scene, it didn't end there, with the "father" closing the door and taking off his dad costume to reveal a grinning bed-monster underneath.
("Yeah, we're totally scared by little girls who aren't afraid …")
I'm a little bit secretly disappointed that, given the setup of the first scene, it didn't end there, with the "father" closing the door and taking off his dad costume to reveal a grinning bed-monster underneath.
("Yeah, we're totally scared by little girls who aren't afraid …")
Sort of sweet. I was still hoping for some supernatural twist at the end, but the actual ending was obvious.
It's an interesting story altogether, but it's lacking the emotional connection for me. You make the reader care about the daughter, but don't set up the conflict for the father, so, while the reveal is tied into the story well as far as the theme of the supernatural goes, it still stands on its own on the emotional level.
It's an interesting story altogether, but it's lacking the emotional connection for me. You make the reader care about the daughter, but don't set up the conflict for the father, so, while the reveal is tied into the story well as far as the theme of the supernatural goes, it still stands on its own on the emotional level.
This follows the rule of three, and builds up to the emotional climax, but unfortunately, I feel like I’ve seen this story before, and none of the things he said really seemed to really link together as well as they should have. Had they all linked into the mother dying, it would have been stronger, but, nehh…