KP Critiques | The Reflections

Today, we have another KP Critique!

KP Critiques is where KeePers submit excerpts of their writing, and the Kingdom Pen Stewards critique them. Once critiqued, we publish it on the website for other writers to see writing tips in action.

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Today's excerpt is by E.K. Seaver from her novel The Reflections.

On to the critique!

The Reflections

 Chapter One

E. K. Seaver

I flip my book upside down on the table. The book, A History Of the Alliance of Leviathan, fails to hold much use but that of a procrastinating tactic.  Still, if Lilli returns from doing laundry in the basement to find me on the same page as I was last time, she'll kill me. I glance at the to-do list on the table, then take a moment to decode the first item scribbled in her messy handwriting. Sort through the mail. A pile of the stuff sits in a blotchy patch of sunlight, waiting for me to organize it. On the top, a propaganda soaked newspaper glares at me, headline blaring. 

So right now, I know that she is sitting at a table, but I’m not exactly sure where that table is. Kitchen? Office? Bedroom? It would be best to orient the reader before moving on.

Kyrist Losser Refuses Reflections Invitation, Found Dead Two Days Later.

I raise an eyebrow at the title. It's that time of year again. Dad told me about it when it first happened. I had turned nine a few months before then, and seven years later The Alliance still advertises their warnings. Refuse them and you'll die. He'd predicted it. I unfold the newspaper and skim over the article. I'm not sure why I read it every year. The bloody picture of the kid's body stains the front page. The girl who refused the Alliance was only sixteen— my age. No one had dared to since. I sigh, tossing the paper on the table. It skids and flops to the floor. At this point, the newspaper reporters just cycle through articles and don't bother writing new ones. They find every out-of-proportion political drama relevant these days.

Sighing, I grab the stack of envelopes. The first three are bills insisting I pay thousands more than Dad owed. I toss them in one pike for Marco to deal with later. The next four are an assortment of the latest "get quick rich" scams. They practically demand an arm and a leg and the people who love me most before I'd see a single parr out of it. I snort. They'd only get two people. Out of the half-a-dozen people who should be here for me, only Marco and Lilli remain. And Zac, my next-door neighbor, who doesn't quite count. Marco and Lilli are the only ones there for me. Something twinges in my heart, but I push it down, trying to ignore it. It's not Dad's fault. He was never planning on the motorcar driver to swerve into the yard. 

So it’s been about a page, and I’m still not sure if the main character is a girl or a guy. When writing from first person, this is something you need to try to insert as soon as possible. 

A thick envelope with silvery paper catches my eye, pulling me from my thoughts. I lift it from the pile of spam, heart pounding. Even before the calligraphy shows, I know what it is. Dang, every teenager in the world knows what the silver envelope means. Deep blue letters swirl across the front: My full name and address.

This would be a good opportunity to introduce the main character’s name, and establish where the main character lives. What country is this in? Is this in a different world, or an alternate universe?

I turn it over as invisible strings pull the sides of my mouth into a full-on grin. No, this can't be happening. No, not me. . . but, yes. This is happening. . . I could attend a true university. Education, money, success, if this envelope is what I hope and dread, then I might have it all. 

Summons

The single word confirms it. My fingers dance along the seam as my stomach churns. Opening it will change my life. Opening it means I might die. 

So I slip it into my back pocket.

The rumbling of an old washing machine begins, echoing from the basement. I step out of the kitchen and into a short hallway. The door to the basement squeals as I open it, and I descend the concrete steps. A single ancient light bulb buzzes, illuminating Lilli as she hangs our clothes on a dilapidated drying rack. She glances up as I thud down the stairs, smiling at me half-heartedly.  

"Hello, miss."

I shiver. The basement creeps me out. According to our old cook, Mother died down here while giving birth to me. The thought unnerves me. One life entered the world as another left it. My eyes instinctively scan the floor for rats and bugs, but none scurry from the shadows. I glance up. "Hey, Lilli."

She nods, her dark hair swaying around her slumped shoulders. Her eyes flicker across every area of the room as if scanning for cameras or recording devices. Her paranoia used to amuse me but now I wonder if she has a good reason to be terrified. Nice. "Is there something you need, miss?"

"I—" Dread wells up in me. This is a chance of a lifetime. As soon as I tell her, I have no way to refuse it. The moment someone else knows is the moment I'm held accountable. "I got The Letter."

The wrinkled t-shirt falls from her grasp. She stands up straighter. Silence rings through the basement for a moment. "The. . . letter regarding your funds in the bank, correct?"

Tension creeps into her voice. There's a silent pleading in her eyes, begging me to not confirm her fears. She doesn't want me to go. 

I bite my lip. My fingers close around the cool envelope. I try to settle the giddy joy in the pit of my chest as I draw the letter out from behind my back. "No, the letter. . . I've been summoned for the Reflections."

A sigh escapes her lips, but no response follows. She nods and bends down to retrieve the fallen shirt. I wait for an answer, but she doesn't offer one. The drying rack creaks as she hangs another shirt, then a pair of jeans onto it.

"Lilli?"

"Yes, miss?" She refuses to face me. Something's off.

"Are you mad at me?"

Another pause. The tension aches at my nerves. What's wrong? Does anger force her into silence, or something else? Fear?

"No offense, miss, but it's dangerous. You're going to get hurt."

"I— maybe not." I shake my head, braid flopping against my back. "It's going to be okay, Lilli."

"Miss—"

I fidget. "Stop calling me 'miss'. We're the same age."

"It's dangerous."

"How do you know?" Her opposition annoys me. If she's going to be against it, she at least needs a reason why.

"You can't say no, can you?"

I cross my arms. "I don't have a choice."

"Have you told Marco?"

"I literally just came down here as soon as I got it, no, I haven't told Marco."

Lilli nods. "Go tell him."

"Look." I touch her arm, which is covered with a long sleeve even in the middle of summer. "What are you not telling me?"

She sighs, draping a damp shirt across her forearm. "If you don't go, Em, you might regret it. If you do go, you'll certainly regret it." Interesting.

"I don't have a choice." My knuckles whiten against the envelope. If she's going to respond cryptically, then there's no point in talking to her. I march up the stairs to find Marco. Each climbing step adds to my tension. Something's wrong, but if I don't know what it is, how am I supposed to do anything about it? 

I open doors and glance around rooms looking for Marco. What's Lilli not telling me? If I lose the Reflections, I come home. If I win, I get an education and a chance at a better life. If I resist, I die. Seems pretty black and white to me. 

After checking every room downstairs, I still can't find Marco. He only bothers climbing to the second floor if some vital task requires his assistance, so I'm pretty sure he's not up there. I glance through the bulletproof windows at the back of the house into our tiny backyard. Fear pricks my heart. This was how it was before Dad died. Trying to calm my rising panic, I make my way towards the front of the house. 

A sigh escapes my lungs as I see him pruning the bushes. He's there, he's alright. His dark skin glistens with sweat and his left hand lingers near his pistol. Before Dad's death, I was allowed out of the house, into town, but after the wreck, my leash tightened. Granted, I also realized how dangerous our world is and I don't mind staying home most of the time. I'm a bit annoyed at Marco for not letting me know where he was, and more annoyed with my sudden panic. My hands clench into fists, and I knock on the window with three sharp raps. 

Without a second's hesitation, Marco draws his pistol. I step away from the window, waiting for the sound of gunshots, but they never come. Instead, the front door opens. Marco raises an eyebrow as he reholsters the weapon. "I thought I told you not to do that."

I bite my lip, trying to act innocent. "Do what?"

"It sounds like gunshots. Ever since a few years ago. . ." 

"I know." That was the last time anything important enough to make headlines happened. A shooting occurred as a rebel protest. At least ten were killed. Five had been targeted for their wealth. 

He sighs. "Look. It's dangerous out there, way more than you ever knew." His voice hints at the African region he grew up in. "You can't just go around acting like that."

My eyebrows knit. "Like what?" 

He taps his cheek. "As naive and innocent as you are. What did you need?"

I pull the letter from behind my back and slip it into his hand. His eyes widen and he glances back and forth from me to the envelope. Then he flips it over. "You didn't open it."

"I. . ." How to explain this? "I didn't want to. I wanted your input first."

"You're going to die."

My stomach drops. "What?"

"You're smart. You'll make it to the Death Maze."

"Hold on, what's the Death Maze?" I'm so confused. The terror in his voice is evident, and his hands twitch around his gun as if he wants to pull it out and protect me— or shoot me. 

"Look, come sit down." He presses his hand against my back, guiding me down the hallway to the kitchen table. I sit stiffly. What's happening? I'm going to die? How? Why? Can I stop it?

I slide into the chair, and he sits across from me. He places the envelope like a placemat in front of me. 

"Open it." He commands. 

I do. The sheet of paper is a creamy white. The Reflections' emblem, a swirling circle with wings and tails, motifs the top of the page. Underneath it is my name and instructions.

"Read it out loud."

I narrow my eyes. "Why?"

He shakes his head. "Em, just do it."

The sun illuminates the header. I bite my lip. "Em Renee Gades, you have the honor of being chosen for the Reflections. This is a competition where—"

Marco shakes his head. "Get to the instructions." a A husky nervousness fills his voice.

My eyes scan the page. The paper shakes in my hand, his words ringing in my ears. You're going to die. What is he not telling me? "Arrive at Second Town Square on the tenth of June, 3209, at ten o'clock in the morning. There you will be officially summoned and transported to the Reflections building. You need to bring nothing but an identification.

This last sentence is a bit awkward for an official summons. Try rephrasing it. 

Everything else will be provided. Highest Regards, Lady Alyssa and Lord Antonio Hastings."

I glance up at Marco. He nods. "That's the Reflections for you."

I tilt my head. What's he trying to tell me? "Why are you being so vague?"

He glances down, but not before tears shine in his eyes. "The Death Maze is the final part of the Reflections. From what I've heard, the other Chosens get to go home, but most of those who enter the Death Maze—" He shakes his head. "They don't come back out."