Raiyah
08-22-2008, 09:09 AM
Hi everyone,
I just wrapped up a short story that I've been working on for a while. I'd really like some feedback on it. It's short only some 3,000 words (10 pages) I'm not very particular about the feedback I receive--you could be very detailed if you wanted, or just say "its good" or "its crap--you're wasting your time!" Any help would be greatly appreciated and in return I will gladly read your work.
"Traffic" is a story in the day of the life of four Pakistani women, forced into prostitution and human trafficking.
But to get a taste, I've copied the first two paragraphs and if it's something you think you'll like or interested in just PM me your email address and I'll forward you the story.
Thanks in advance,
Raiyah
["Traffic"
Karachi, Pakistan.
We visited the sea purely by accident. I don’t recall how I ended up here, but one day I began to realize that I started to come here on a daily basis. First it was just me, then one day I turned around to find all of the other girls sitting peacefully on a rock, or the sheltered golden sand. I always like the way the warm Arabian waters blanket my feet, rushing up and down the wet, dark sand of the beach. The other girls do too. This is our time to waste sitting by the ocean to simply do nothing. When the city behind us is just waking up and rustling with the motions of a quiet and tranquil life, we are just retiring from a long night of work. The other girls don’t call it work; they call it roti, bread. “And don’t you dare come up to me and tell me the way I make my roti” one of them once said to me.
It’s a strange life we girls once lived. It wasn’t a life of choice. There wasn’t anything ordinary about us, even though our faces and gestures are very similar to the women that are in your lives, and you might have even past us in the rustling, loud streets of the city. But we are very different. There are four of us who sat on the golden rocks. Our silk shalwar kameez dresses danced with the cool wind, and our hair blew away from our face much to our relief. Most of the time we talk all night and day, but at this time all we do is look. Lost in our thoughts.
I just wrapped up a short story that I've been working on for a while. I'd really like some feedback on it. It's short only some 3,000 words (10 pages) I'm not very particular about the feedback I receive--you could be very detailed if you wanted, or just say "its good" or "its crap--you're wasting your time!" Any help would be greatly appreciated and in return I will gladly read your work.
"Traffic" is a story in the day of the life of four Pakistani women, forced into prostitution and human trafficking.
But to get a taste, I've copied the first two paragraphs and if it's something you think you'll like or interested in just PM me your email address and I'll forward you the story.
Thanks in advance,
Raiyah
["Traffic"
Karachi, Pakistan.
We visited the sea purely by accident. I don’t recall how I ended up here, but one day I began to realize that I started to come here on a daily basis. First it was just me, then one day I turned around to find all of the other girls sitting peacefully on a rock, or the sheltered golden sand. I always like the way the warm Arabian waters blanket my feet, rushing up and down the wet, dark sand of the beach. The other girls do too. This is our time to waste sitting by the ocean to simply do nothing. When the city behind us is just waking up and rustling with the motions of a quiet and tranquil life, we are just retiring from a long night of work. The other girls don’t call it work; they call it roti, bread. “And don’t you dare come up to me and tell me the way I make my roti” one of them once said to me.
It’s a strange life we girls once lived. It wasn’t a life of choice. There wasn’t anything ordinary about us, even though our faces and gestures are very similar to the women that are in your lives, and you might have even past us in the rustling, loud streets of the city. But we are very different. There are four of us who sat on the golden rocks. Our silk shalwar kameez dresses danced with the cool wind, and our hair blew away from our face much to our relief. Most of the time we talk all night and day, but at this time all we do is look. Lost in our thoughts.