Hi all,
I changed my creative a week ago and have yet to show it to any of my teachers, I know i havent got enugh merit points to get it marked by the markers but any short, brief overall comments regarding my narrative would be very helpful to me especially during this time.
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The starless sky was pitch black, spitting it’s dark venom across the dreary land. Other than the darkness all that seemed to exist was the wintery air that pierced through his uniform and harshly bit onto his skin. Snowflakes cascaded onto the eternal white abyss upon which he walked. The air was thick with insecurity, as thoughts of death and life’s fleeting insignificance plagued his mind whilst freezing water leaked into his ill-fitting boots. He dawdled, gaunt and vulnerable within a swarm of equally emaciated others. His shaved head was damp with moisture and the weight of necessity. Nervousness flooded his tireless mind, but was quickly suppressed by his innate excitement. Thrust from a life of solitude within his rural village to one of violence and ceaseless danger. But he didn’t care; Nikita Stepanov was going to fight for the liberation of his great nation, he would be a patriot, a hero, and would contribute to the amelioration of the Soviet Union
Filled with waves of honor and privilege, Nikita reveled in a state of anticipation for he couldn’t wait to etch his name into the walls of history. Thoughts of glory and heroism stained his fragile mind. A distinct need for recognition, he had always wanted others to commend him. Consistently acted dutiful towards his generals in the hopes of being awarded to higher, more prestigious ranks. And even though he was timid in nature and inferior to those around him, Nikita knew he would be looked up upon as a heroic figure by the end of the civil war
Packed into stuttering trucks the innumerable soldiers made their way towards the southern front in search of their adversary. They were hungry, craving any form of violence to feed their maniacal bloodlust. A whirl of feverish thoughts engulfed the men; they finally were able to eradicate the filth that lay within their borders. The nationalist white movement had only recently come under siege by the Soviet army, but remnants of the tattered past remained.
‘They had to be squashed like a bug under the ever forceful boot of a willing exterminator”
General Bogdan exclaimed with a demanding tone, attempting to brainwash the soldiers with his barbaric thoughts of oppression. Wanting his men to revolt in disgust at the mere sight of a White Army soldier. Their anti-communist ideologies outraged his prejudiced ego and infuriated his bigoted mind. The general was an almighty figure, fearless from any form of peril. All the soldiers succumbed to his sheer existence and obeyed every command he uttered.
A storm began to brew on the cold horizon promising nothing but vicious winds and bolts of lighting that cracked the midnight sky in two. The broken down truck suddenly came to a halt at a base camp a few miles from the southern border. As Nikita stepped out the vehicle the general instantly addressed him. He loathed at stench of his breath that reeked from the general’s usual late night cigarettes. He ordered Nikita to finish of some minor obligations that the general was too weary to execute, and in an attempt to uphold his reputable image, Nikita said he would took care of it
General Bogdan then escorted him to a patch of land just outside the camp. Unknowing of his purpose Nikita immediately perplexed by what he saw as he reached the void space of grass. Before him laid a row of terror stricken men on their knees, with their hands tied behind their back. Nikita glanced towards his general desperate for an answer. They were criminals of the state, convicted of treason in an attempt to overthrow the Soviet government. The general wanted a disreputable, unforgiving discipline for their crimes.
Suddenly, one of the offenders sprinted apprehensively, desperate to avoid capture.
“Stop Come back here. Immediately”
Nikita commanded with a force from deep within, unwittingly contradicting his prior bashful disposition but befitting the tone required of a Soviet justice upholder. The man looked back at him, the whites of his eyes widening, an abundance of fear displayed on his face. Hastily he raised his pistol, mechanically pulling the trigger as though compelled to do so by some exponential force. The bullet screamed out from the barrel of the gun piercing effortlessly through the man’s soft tissue. He fell to a heap on the ground.
Intense regret incessantly ran throughout Nikita’s mind. The cold environment almost instantly turned darker; grey nothingness plaguing his flawed existence. Upon closer inspection the man was just a frail boy, a mere victim of war. His eyes were empty, conveying a look of having accepted defeat to an omnipotent power. The boy had presented no threat to the Soviet army; he was simply a robbed life, vulnerable and exploited. As his blood stained the earth, seeping into the snow below, Nikita realized something; he was no hero.
Violent thoughts ruptured through his mind in an attempt to rationalize his wrongdoing, blurring out the shouts from the general.
“Soldier! Stop staring at the boy and finish off the rest of these scums!”
Nikita realized then that any ounce of morality general Bogdan possessed had been swept away by the dark, heartless waves of warfare. He came here with notions of courage and honor. To be a gallant defender of the great Soviet Union, forever immortalized through the age of time. But each task or battle he performed had to be sold to him as a heroic act despite its deceptive cold-blooded purpose.
Nikita’s moral rigidity was his downfall, as he struggled desperately to grasp the savage reality of his actions. But there was no sentimentality for the dead here, it was just an abyss of endless violence. This place wasn’t meant for him, it had already taken his life, at least emotionally. His physical body left to rot, patiently waiting to succumb to death’s inevitable call. Nikita Stepanov will soon depart the world without leaving his heroic mark upon it like he had always predicted, instead staining humanity with his sinful crime of disgust
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Topic: Creative Writing Marking help (Read 819 times)