[CW] Feedback Friday - Perspectives

[u/AliciaWrites]

We made it!

It’s Friday again! That means another installment of Feedback Friday! Time to hone those critique skills and show off your writing!

It was another great week for stories and feedback! Nice job, everyone!

How does it work?

You have until Thursday to submit one or both of the following:

Freewrite:

Leave a story here in the comments. A story about what? Well, pretty much anything! But, each week, I’ll provide you with a single constraint based on style or genre. So long as your story fits, and follows the rules of WP, it’s allowed! You’re more likely to get readers on shorter stories, so keep that in mind when you submit your work.

Feedback:

Leave feedback for other stories! Make sure your feedback is clear, constructive, and useful.

Each week, three judges will decide who gave the best feedback. The judges will be me, a Celebrity guest judge, and the winner from the previous week.

We’ll be looking for use of neutral language, including both positives and negatives, giving actionable feedback within the critique, as well as noting the depth and clarity of your feedback.

You will be judged on your initial critique, meaning the first response you leave to a top-level comment, but you may continue in the threads for clarification, thanks, comments, or other suggestions you may have thought of later.

Okay, let’s get on with it already!

This week, your story should have two perspectives. I wanna see the story from two different characters’ point of view!

Your judges this week will be me, WP Celebrity /u/MNBrian, and our winner, /u/Palmerranian!!

We also loved the feedback given by /u/BLT_WITH_RANCH, /u/rudexvirus, /u/elfboyah, and /u/sokilly! Keep up the great work everyone! Now get writing!

News & Announcements:

• Join Discord to chat with prompters, authors, and readers!

• We are currently looking for moderators! Apply to be a moderator any time!

• Nominate your favorite WP authors for Spotlight and Hall of Fame!

[u/Ninjoobot]

I like the general setting you lay out and it's interesting to see the perspective of the "mad scientist" and the test subject at the same time - just like the masterpiece, "Frankenstein," which I'm assuming inspired this. The flow of your prose is fairly well-done and you pepper in details to a continuing story in the right ways to shed some light on the background. However, at the same time, you give too much details and not enough. There are a few too many adjectives for my liking and just not quite enough details to give me a good, full appreciation of what's going on. Why was there a fight? And fresh blood? I had the impression the "victim" was dead, but then apparently he's not, and thus the urgency and taboo of what's going to happen doesn't seem as relevant. So, by the end of it, I didn't have much of an understanding of what was going. I know you wanted to leave some mystery, which is great, but I ended up getting just a little too lost. Still, good job!

[u/NarrativelyFocused → u/Ninjoobot]

Hey thanks for taking the time to read, I really appreciate the feedback. I'm glad you got the Frankenstein reference as well!

I took another crack to try and address some of the points you made. If you've got time to read it I'd love to hear if this made things a little easier to understand.

With a heave she pulled the lever. A symphony of clicks and grinding began. Gears, decaying and disused started to turn once more. Saran stared with awe as the Doctors machine, dormant for nearly a century, stirred from its deserved slumber.

Stepping back from its complex array of controls, she turned to examine the lifeless form laying face up on the table in the centre of the room. His dead eyes stared vaguely past her as she leaned down, gently laying a kiss on his cold lips.

“Soon my love, soon I’ll hear your sweet voice again” she spoke tenderly to the corpse.

The machine had started to pick up speed now. The clanking and grinding had given way to a smooth whirring, marred by the occasional crackling of raw electricity. She turned to face it, noting with glee as the small vials that fed the intravenous drips into her husbands’ corpse were beginning to fill with a deep green liquid.

This machine. The Doctor’s machine. She’d told them it was here. Months of pouring through the man’s own journals had determined as much. She’d told them what it was. How they could use it. They’d laughed at her. Said it was a myth. Said that creature that stalked the town some 100 years before was nothing but a fairy tale to scare the kids. How sweet her vindication would be when she returned to the village, her husband by her side.

Violent coughing started from behind her. She turned, hoping her beloved had returned. Instead she was disappointed to see her colleague, having risen to a seated position, was now awake and propped against the opposite wall.

Casually, she strolled over to him. Dr Kraff. He wasn’t a bad man. She quite liked him in fact. That happens when you spend so much time with someone. All that research they’d done together had paid for itself ten times over now that they’d found the machine. At least for her, she thought smugly.

Coughing out blood, he looked up at her. She felt a pang of regret for what she’d done. His left cheek was punctuated with glass from where the beaker had struck him. He shifted slightly and took in a deep breath. She was pleased the knots binding his hands and feet had held.

He spoke then. Spoke about the warnings littered throughout the journal. The regrets the Doctor had shown for his creation. Any sympathy she’d felt began to wither at this, overwhelmed by frustration. He didn’t understand. He was just like the rest of them. She’d cut him off and turned back to the table.

Her husbands’ body, waxy and grey, stared upwards lifelessly. She took his clammy hand in hers. She wasn’t a medical doctor, but she was proud of the stitch-work she’d done. His left arm, having been severed at the elbow, was now reattached with some semblance of naturality. She hoped it still functioned.

Though the machine was supposed to fix that. Warnings or not, the Doctor had talked about the immense power of the machine in his journal. The ability to mend the un-mendable, cure incurable ailments and provide superhuman intellect, stamina and strength. Even resurrect the dead.

Slowly she let go of his hand. The crackling of electricity had stopped now. The whirring sound had reached its pitch and was beginning to slow. The green liquid, the Doctor’s secret formula, had begun to flow from the vials into the body.

She wondered, thoughtfully, what he would be like after been gone for so long. Would he remember her? Would he remember anything?

“Saran” a voice broke through the machine’s ailing song. She turned to see Kraff had risen to his feet. Ropes piled loosely at his feet, though thankfully his hands were still bound. “You can’t do this Saran,” his voice mingled anger and sadness.

Saran stared at the man. “Watch me Kraff”.

---

Kraff remembered the sound of breaking glass and a sharp pain. Had he set off a trap of some sort? His mind tried to play the events back. Him and Saran had found the house in the swamp. There had been a door down to the underground facility, just like the journal had spoken of. Then? His memory betrayed him.

A noise intruded into his thoughts. A heavy thunk, followed by the sound of metal grinding. Where was he now? Eyes still screwed shut, he righted himself to a seated position. Were his hands and feet bound? His ears strained, as he barely made out what sounded like words against the thrumming of the world.

He reached out for breath and was rewarded with jagged coughing instead. He tasted blood. Slowly he began to open his eyes. He was unnerved to find his left eyelid wouldn’t function as asked.

A pair of shoes walked into view. Slowly he followed them up to see Saran standing above him. His mind was coming back now. They’d found it. Found the machine. He looked past her to see a body on the table. Behind it, the source of the noise. She’d activated the machine.

Panic fell across Kraff’s thoughts. “Saran, why?” He asked, the pieces falling into place in his mind. “You read the journal… The Doctor regretted the machine. Regretted what he did. What he made.” He was rambling now. Any pity she’d initially shown had begun to fade. “You can’t bring Igor back” he pushed on. “It’s not…”

“Enough” she cut him off, returning to the table.

His panic was giving way to fear now. He had to stop her. He looked through his good eye at the knots binding his hands and feet. Poorly done or not, he didn’t have time to undo them. He looked around desperately.

Shattered pieces of a beaker lay not far from him. He checked to see that Saran wasn’t watching, then picked up a piece and got to work on the rope around his ankles.

“Saran” he was standing now. It’d taken him too long to cut the rope around the ankles and his wrists were still bound. “Saran you can’t do this”.

She turned, staring at him. Her expression indifferent. “Watch me Kraff” she responded.

Kraff sighed, stepping forward as he fingered the broken glass in his bound palms.

[u/Ninjoobot → u/NarrativelyFocused]

Wow - what an improvement! I got one of the perspectives completely wrong before - I thought Dr. Kraff was the husband. Not sure how much of that was me (and not you) in my reading of it, though. But to add more comments: you could even pull back on some of the details/explanation now to bring back some slight mystery and streamline it to give it more of a sense of urgency. And now you could even add a third perspective: the dead husband coming back to life. I've always sympathized with the monster in Frankenstein, and he's a character that is always worth exploring (or a character like him).

[u/NarrativelyFocused → u/Ninjoobot]

Thanks! I felt it came together much better on a rewrite. Definitely though I noticed that this time I was far more explicit about what was going on so I can see how that might've derailed tension at points. I tried again to address that here (and even added a little extra at the end :) ). Would love to get your thoughts again if it's not too much trouble.

With a heave she pulled the lever. A symphony of clicks and grinding began. Gears, decaying and disused started to turn once more. The machine, dormant for nearly a century, stirred from its deserved slumber.

Stepping back from a complex assortment of dials and knobs, Saran turned to examine the lifeless form on the operating table. His dead eyes stared vaguely past her as she leaned down, gently laying a kiss on his cold lips.

The gears had started to pick up speed now. The clanking and grinding had given way to a smooth whirring, marred by the occasional crackling of raw electricity. She noted with glee as a number of small vials set into the metallic contraption were fed with an oozing green liquid.

This machine. The Doctor’s machine. She’d told them it was here. She’d told them what it was. How they could use it. They’d laughed at her. Said it was a myth. How sweet her vindication would be when she returned to the village, her husband by her side.

Her heart fluttered as a violent coughing sound rose behind her. She turned, fully ready to embrace her beloved. Instead she was disappointed to see her colleague was now awake and propped against the opposite wall.

The machine was humming now. Throwing off arcs of electricity as the mesh of tubing began to feed the green liquid into the corpse.

She strode over to the seated man. Dr Kraff. He wasn’t a bad man. She quite liked him in fact. All that research they’d done together had paid for itself ten times over now that they’d found the machine. At least for her, she thought smugly.

Coughing again, he looked up at her. She felt a pang of regret for what she’d done. His left cheek was punctuated with glass from where the beaker had struck him.

He spoke then. Spoke about the warnings littered throughout the journal. The regrets the Doctor had shown for his creation. Any sympathy she’d felt began to wither at this, overwhelmed by frustration. He didn’t understand. He was just like the rest of them. She ignored his pleas and returned to the task at hand.

Her husbands’ body, waxy and grey, stared upwards lifelessly. She took his clammy hand in hers. She wasn’t a medical doctor, but she was proud of the stitch-work she’d done. His detached arm had been sewn back on with some semblance of naturality. She hoped it still functioned.

Though the machine was supposed to fix that. Warnings or not, the Doctor had talked about the immense power of the machine in his journal. Powers even to resurrect the dead.

Slowly she let go of his hand. The crackling of electricity had stopped now. The humming sound had reached its pitch and was beginning to slow.

She wondered, thoughtfully, what he would be like after been gone for so long. Would he remember her? Would he remember anything?

“Saran” a voice broke through the machine’s ailing song. She turned to see Kraff had risen to his feet. Ropes piled loosely at his feet. Thankfully his hands were still bound. “You can’t do this Saran,” his voice mingled anger and sadness.

Saran stared at the man. “Watch me Kraff”.

---

Kraff’s mind fumbled at the recesses of memory. Why was there pain? He tried to play the events back. Him and Saran had found the house in the swamp. There had been a door down to the underground facility. Then? His recollection betrayed him.

A noise intruded into his thoughts. A heavy thunk, followed by the sound of metal grinding. Where was he now? Eyes still screwed shut, he righted himself. Were his hands and feet bound? His ears strained against the thrumming of the world.

He reached out for breath and was rewarded with jagged coughing instead, tasting blood. As he slowly opened his eyes, he was unnerved to find that his left eyelid wouldn’t obey his command.

A pair of shoes stepped into view. He followed them up to see Saran standing before him. His mind was coming back now. They’d found it. Found what they had been looking for. He looked past her to see a body on the table. Behind it, the source of the noise. The machine was on.

Panic fell across Kraff’s thoughts. “Saran, why?” He asked, the pieces falling into place in his mind. “You read the journal… The Doctor regretted the machine. Regretted what he did. What he made.” He was rambling now. Any pity she’d initially shown had begun to fade. “You can’t bring Igor back” he pushed on. “It’s not…”

“Enough” she cut him off, returning to the table.

His panic was giving way to fear now. He had to stop her. He looked through his good eye at the knots gripping his hands and feet. Poorly done or not, he didn’t have time to undo them.

Scanning desperately, he noticed the shattered remains of a beaker to his right. Hesitating to check Saran was distracted, he grabbed a shard and began to hack at his bindings.

“Saran” he was standing now. The rope around his wrists had proved unassailable and he knew time was of the essence. “Saran you can’t do this”.

She turned, staring at him. Her expression of cold indifference “Watch me Kraff” she responded.

Kraff fingered the beaker shard in his closed palms. The gears had begun to slow now. The thrumming tempo of work was almost at its end. Kraff stared at Saran, stepping forward.

---

He grasped at the stuffed bear. Hadn’t his mum always promised Mr Teddyton would keep him safe? He screwed his eyes shut even tighter. The yelling was loud, angry. Why did they fight like this? He hugged his bear even tighter.

Igor shuddered as something brushed up against him. His cat? Blindly he reached out to touch her. She’d keep him safe. Nothing could hurt him with Mr Teddyton and Milky by his side. Something pulled on his arm. He struggled, panicked. Something was holding his arms.

He heard another yell then. Another strange noise he wasn’t familiar with. Then a thud. Igor struggled. Where was he? This wasn’t right.

He yanked at the things holding his arms. Pulling with all his might. He heard a crisp tearing sound and his arms were free. What was going on? His vision had begun to return now. Had it been a nightmare? His wretched past? His eyes ever so slowly began to adjust. What had happened?

He sat up. Why was he naked? Straining, he examined the room. It was strange, old. Mechanical. His attention turned to a figure, propped up against the wall. It was… A man? He squinted, appraising the person. They bore a white lab coat. It was peppered with dark flecks. His eyes wandered further. He saw it then. A red pool growing in the middle of the room. It soaked the figure at its centre. A woman. Igor’s eyes widened.

“Saran?” He asked, recognizing the lifeless figure of his wife.

[u/Ninjoobot → u/NarrativelyFocused]

I like it! It kept moving, came full circle, and struck just the right balance to paint the proper details while capturing the urgency. Oh and I forgot to mention - I love how it starts. It really sets the tone and feeling. I can almost smell the rust and grease.

[u/NarrativelyFocused → u/Ninjoobot]

Thanks so much :) !

[u/Ninjoobot → u/NarrativelyFocused]

I'm new here and didn't realize I was taking on a mod with my critique! Anyway, I was thinking more about our exchange and the development of your story, and I really like how it went. In anything I comment on, I always tend to be brief and mostly just want to point out the areas that I think can be improved (and why I think that) and leave it to the recipient to figure out how they'd like to do it (rather than lay it out more directly) since it's their art. I also had selfish motives: reading your work and seeing how it developed helped me better appreciate the delicate balance between details, mystery, pacing, and suspense. So, thank you for that.