A First Person Narrative

FROM DEANNA

At the eastern edge of the property, I began to turn, intending to head back toward the house. That's when I first heard it, ever so faintly, the sound of someone softly moaning and weeping. "Oh, what now?!" I thought with exasperation. I quickly ascertained that the sounds were coming from just inside the forest. Whoever it was, they were on federal land and not on my private property. Considering the nature of the sounds, though, I decided to investigate anyway, rather than ignore them or call the Forest Department. It made sense, to me, at least, to get some information that I could then pass on, if necessary.

"Probably the result of a nature walk that ended in either a sprain injury or a lovers' quarrel," I muttered to my dogs, Delilah and Sampson. I turned into the forest, listening now with every fiber of my being. I heard it again and followed the sound. Just about the time that I was ready to call out, I heard a soft, pain-filled moan coming from an area where it appeared that a pile of leaves had gathered as they'd fallen. Naturally, I approached to investigate. "That's unusual, now, isn't it?" I said to my escorts, as four ears had pricked up and four eyes were staring in that direction. I noted that neither dog growled, which was a good sign, especially as far as my personal safety was concerned.

I walked near the mound of leaves and called, "Hello? Is someone there? Do you need help? Shall I call someone?"

There seemed to be relative silence, and then, softly, faintly, I heard a tiny voice say, "Help." I painfully stooped and then kneeled, moving aside leaves very carefully and cautiously. I found her in a depression of soil. She was curled into a fetal position; her eyes were closed. "Please, don't kill us," she pleaded in the tiniest voice that I'd ever heard.

It was immediately obvious, of course, that she'd been brutally and savagely attacked. I knew that I'd found a rape victim, probably someone left for dead and the body possibly hidden, albeit poorly so, if that was indeed what had happened. Her panties had been torn. Her sweatshirt and bra were pushed up to just below her neck, exposing her budding breasts. Her jeans and panties were shoved down so far that only one leg had the garments around the ankle; the other leg was bare. One of her tennis shoes was still neatly tied on her foot; the other shoe was nowhere to be found. She was bruised just about anywhere my eyes could see. It appeared that she had been or was bleeding from just about every orifice of her tiny body. "My God, how could someone do something like this?" I couldn't help but wonder.

Acknowledging her plea, I assured her, "Oh, my, dear, I'm the very last person on earth that you need fear harming you in any way. I'm here to help you." She rolled slightly so that she was partially on her back, grimacing from the pain caused by the movement. Her face slowly turned more toward me. She opened the one eye that wasn't swollen shut from bruising and swelling. Somewhere, somehow my mind noted that she is going to be drop-dead gorgeous when she is an adult, which was still several years away.

I could see the terror in that eye as clearly as I could see the tears that were threatening to overflow, and I could see it all as clearly as my hand before my face. Then, without uttering another word, she closed her eye and returned to the position that she was in when I'd first discovered her. She was trembling but I didn't know if it was from fear, from shock, or from cold. How my heart ached for this child!

And a child she was. She was a tiny, frail-looking girl; and she appeared to be, perhaps, in her very early teens. I determined that she couldn't be more than 14 at the oldest, and it just seemed to me that she looked 13; don't ask me why. Her hair was matted with dried blood, but it looked to be a chestnut brown in color. Her eyes - I assume both of them, since I could see only the one - were an incredible shade of green, somewhat resembling the inside of a lime. I doubted that the girl weighed a hundred pounds.

I removed the light jacket that I'd been wearing, and I quickly placed it over the girl's upper torso. It was large enough to cover her shoulders, knees, and bare buttocks because of the position in which she lay. She continued to shiver. "You need more help than this old lady can give you, sweetheart, because I can't lift you or support you to walk. I know that you're very badly hurt; I can easily see that much, but I don't know the full extent of your injuries. I'm going to call 911."

She took a deep breath and, just above a whisper, pleaded, "Please don't leave us alone."

Alarmed by her choice of words, especially since she'd used it before, I asked, "Who is 'us', Honey? My name is Hope. These are my dogs; the big collie is Delilah, and this little guy is named Sampson; he's a sheltie," I informed her. "Now, what's your name?"

"Faith," she whisper-spoke. I don't believe that she'd opened her one seeing eye.

"Good. That's very good," I told her. "Now, Faith, who is 'us'? Is there someone else here that I need to find and help?"

"My little sister, Farah," she whispered, tears sliding down her face toward her nose.

CRITIQUE

The big problem is all the clutter in your writing. Most of the clutter is about how the main character views things and feels about them. Cut that way, way down. This is a common problem when beginners try to write in first person. They get caught up in "being" the main character and forget they need to advance a story. The problem is usually much worse when beginners use present tense, but you used past tense, which gives you at least a little mental separation from the main character. You also have a bit of Director in you; you want to describe every detail for the reader. Read the scene when I mainly just delete crap that adds little or nothing to the story and cut it by well over 50%: