Those With Souls

This is the result of a 'write a story for a picture using lotsa imagery" assignment/project in my creative writing class. I though that rather than get editing and revision help from a bunch of idiots at school, why not let you guys help me! well, here it is:

Quote :

The sun beamed down through the living roof of the forest. The green leaves were dancing lightly in the breeze, scattering drops of morning dew down to the dirt floor below. In the trees, various bugs and rodents made their way from small hollows, heading out for a waking meal. Down below, predators waited for a treat to fall from the sky.

On that particular morning, a tree bearing dark purple ripened berries was being occupied by a family of two adult raccoons and an infant, merely a few days old. They were sharing a simply wonderful meal, as the sweet berries they were feasting on were hard to find in recent times, with all the development and human activity going on. So they ate happily, the mother raccoon feeding the young one juicy segments of the luscious fruit.

After eating their fill, the father raccoon began gathering berries to store in the family’s hollow while the mother groomed her child. The mother smoothed back her baby’s fur, holding it in place with her tongue. The father, holding as many berries as he could, had just started down the tree when he stopped and froze. The mother also stopped grooming her child and didn’t move, her heart racing. The baby began to fidget and make cooing noises, concerned about what was going on.

They had heard a click.

Suddenly, a small metal sphere shot out of nowhere and struck the tree, inches from the father raccoon’s paw. It embedded itself into the bark, glinting in the sunlight. The father raccoon dropped his berries and darted up the tree to protect his mate and child from this danger.

The father raccoon reached the branch where his mate stood frozen with fear, clutching her baby close to her chest. The baby raccoon continued to coo gently, as it did not know yet what death was. As the Father raccoon dashed along the branch to reach his mate and baby, it happened. There was another click.

A small metal sphere shot out of a rifle a few yards away from the tree where the family of raccoons had found the delicious fruit. The rifle was held by a man clothed entirely in denim attire, hiding behind a cheap camouflage wall. The metal sphere closed in on the mother raccoon, momentarily brushing against the soft fur on her forehead before entering her skull, shooting out a small jet of blood in the direction the small bullet had come from. The father raccoon froze as his mate fell backwards off the branch, clutching her baby, a trail of blood following her. The father raccoon was paralyzed. He stared down at the ground where her body lay lifeless, clutching a helpless, but alive, infant.

The man with all denim clothing and the rifle strode over to the dead raccoon and looked down at it. He picked up the lifeless body by the tail, the raccoon’s dead arms lolling down, dropping the baby. Up in the tree, the father stood paralyzed still, his eyes widening as the man caught sight of the baby raccoon. The man looked down and saw the helpless creature. Then, with an evil, menacing look in his eye, he stepped on it.

The father raccoon screamed and jumped at the man, claws flying with a combination of rage, fury, and grief. The man, hearing the raccoon’s cry, looked up in time at the raging beast to swing the butt of his rifle at the furious father, sending him flying into the trunk of the tree with a sickening thud. The man walked over to the injured raccoon and aimed his rifle at it, pulling the trigger. The helpless father raccoon’s eyes closed shut, prepared for death.

“Aw, shoot, outta ammo,” the man said with a heavy southern drawl. The raccoon opened its eyes to see the man checking the ammo in his weapon, the smell of beer infecting the air around him. The man then rested the rifle on his shoulder and kicked the raccoon with his boot, sending the poor creature tumbling over a large root. The raccoon just laid there, unable to move because of exhaustion and pain. The man stood over the hurt and tired raccoon, the sickly sweet stench of blood invigorating him. He had the corpse of a raccoon dangling from his left fist, the broken body of another on the ground not far from where his next kill sat now. The man raised his boot, preparing to crush the animal. From below, the father looked up at the bloodstained boot, preparing to crush the animal. Seeing bits of his child’s fur and flesh wedged between the various grooves. The father sat, horror stricken at being killed with his child’s blood on his fur.

“Hey, Rob, wife’s wonderin’ where we are! We gotta go!” another man called, also with a southern twang. The man, standing boot raised over the raccoon, put his foot down on the ground, realizing that he’d be seen crushing the creature to death, not to mention it would show on his boot. After tossing the raccoon body in his hand aside, he glared at the father raccoon and kicked it in a small fit, then began to run away.

“I’m comin’, Bill, I’m comin’,” he yelled to his comrade, His denim jacket unbuttoned and blowing slightly with the motion. The father raccoon looked over at a nearby bush, where his mate’s body laid, the head matted with blood. He then looked over where his baby’s body was crushed, the bloody mess hard to recognize as a once living creature. The smell of the blood aroused fury in the father. His family had been killed by a ruthless man. He would gain vengeance. That man would die.

For the next week, the hurt father raccoon waited in his hollow for his injuries to heal. His home quickly took on the smell of his blood, as he had taken on various wounds from the man’s attack. Eating nothing but leaves and berries since the death of his family, the raccoon only left his tree to visit his family’s grave. He had buried his mate’s and his baby’s remains at the base of the tree, the bloodstained soil bringing grief to the raccoon.

After a week of waiting, the raccoon was healed. The painful bruises and wounds he had taken just seven days before were healed, yet he could only think that his family was not so lucky as to be healed. The father left his hollow and scampered down the rough tree trunk, his paws clawing the soft earth. He then ran over to where the man had stood, preparing to kill the father raccoon. The raccoon sniffed the footprints to find small traces of his son’s blood. Although gruesome and painful, the father remembered the scent and proceeded down a dirt path, following the bloody trail.

Before long, the raccoon had left the woods, emerging into a large clearing sporting a small, rundown trailer. The tin sides had long begun to rust over, and numerous tires were stacked on the roof, making it seem as if the small building were about to burst from the stress. A rusty old truck sat in front of the residence. The raccoon could smell beer from the trailer, and he could hear two men talking loudly inside, including the man from the week before.
Suddenly, the window of the trailer slid open, tobacco smoke pouring out the orifice. The barrel of a rifle protruded from the gaping hole in the rusted metal, pointing at a can on the hood of the truck. The raccoon froze in fear at the rifle which had killed his mate and almost him as well.
The rifle fired three shots. The first one hit the truck’s windshield, cracking it and sending the small projectile flying straight up. The small tap of the metal hitting glass scared the raccoon, who remained paralyzed with fear. He heard groaning from inside the trailer, upset over missing the old, grimy can. The second shot was low, hitting the right headlight, sending bits of sharp glass flying. The raccoon darted away to avoid being impaled by a shard. The men cheered, excited at the minor damage to the truck, still oblivious to the raccoon in their midst. The final shot hit the can on the right side. As the drunken rejoicing was heard for a mile around, the small bit of metal ricochet off the can, flying off to the right, straight at the raccoon, which had no time to react.

The father laid on the ground, his side bleeding. He smelled his own blood. The green grass to his side slowly began to turn a shade of red. The raccoon turned his head to see the men emerge from the trailer, intending to find the can so they could set it back and shoot at it once more. The man who hadn’t been shooting was the first to notice the hurt raccoon.

“Hey, Rob, ya hit a raccoon,” he called to the other man. The raccoon looked up and saw the denim-clad man, the one who was responsible for the massacre of his family, look down at him. The man’s eyes lit up as he recognized the father raccoon. The kill he hadn’t gotten to make.

“Heh, so I did. Let’s kill it,” The man replied. He went to go fetch his rifle.

“I dunno, man…” the other man said, swaying slightly, drunk. “It looks sorta hurt. Shouldn’t we give it, like… a phone call or somethin’? Last rites?”

The raccoon realized that he was going to die this time. His last moments were to be spent with these drunken fools, reeking of beer and tobacco, meeting his maker at the hands of a mass produced sphere of metal, which the men would probably pluck from his cold, lifeless body and use again, the bloodstained pellet killing more and more.

The father, knowing it was the end, looked up to the heavens and prayed. He prayed that he would see his family once more. He prayed that the man would receive justice. He prayed that his family was in a better place, and that he would soon join them.

The man returned from the trailer with his rifle and a reply for his friend. “Don't be stupid, ya drunk fool. He's a critter. Critters ain't got no souls.” And with that, the man raised his rifle, took aim, and fired.

It's Good.

No real problems, I sensed a bit a sarcasm in the frist couple Paragraphs but that isn't a problem.

Paragraph 5. You spelt Darted "Dar6ted"

Paragragh 12. His family had been killed by a ruthless man He would gain vengeance. I suggest a coma between "man" and "he"

There ya go. That's about all the editing you need. Have to say it's quite a piece of literature, very good. Not Great but Good.

Yay! you found the mysterious dar6ted typo! I was scanning through my printed copy and saw it, but I passed it and couldn't find it again. Thanks!

and the second one, it's also a typo. There's supposed to be a period. I still type with the two-finger method.

I'll go fix it now. Thanks for your help!

joey, nice use of imagery, could use a bit more taste sensory tho....>.<
all in all tho. well done.
but mine was better.

i'm not gonna edit your post but let you change it joey...
particularly this one:


First paragraph: The sun beamed down through the living roof of the forest. The green
leaves were dancing lightly in the breeze, scattering drops of morning
dew down to the dirt floor below.

comment: redundancy... ^^

the rest that i have seen would be typos...

comment about the piece of lit:
^^ the way you pictured out the story was good... and you could do better... i also liked how you portrayed the emotions of the father raccoon and how you visualized what would happen after the death of his family... ^^

Oh my goodness, I never would have noticed the down below thing....

And I probably could do better if I put some time and effort into it, and Monday, we are going to be revising and finalizing the rough draft! Which is seen above! I'll post the final copy when it's done.

well DUH it'll be posted here. The title will be the same, the story will be the same, and most of the words will be the same. Why WOULDN'T I post it here?

it's good that i've helped even a little... ^^