Page critique 11/16/23

[Nathan Bransford]

Below is the page up for critique on the blog on Thursday. Feel free to chime in with comments, create your own redline (please note the "font colour" button above the posting box, which looks like a drop of ink), and otherwise offer feedback. When offering your feedback, please please remember to be polite and constructive. In order to leave a comment you will need to register an account in the Forums, which should be self-explanatory.

I'll be back later with my own post on the blog and we'll literally be able to compare notes.

If you'd like to enter a page for a future Page Critique, please do so here.

Back to Square One
Chapter 1 – The Early Years
As I lower myself onto my chair, my insides clench painfully and the heat rises to my wind chilled cheeks. The teacher’s desk is empty. I alone of my classmates know what has happened. Miss Halstead finally trudges through the door holding a bunched Kleenex to her eyes. Her voice breaking, she utters, “President John F. Kennedy has been shot.”
I wasn’t able to stop it! How could I? I’m still a child. Who would listen to me? One thing is sure, my father will believe me now. Even if he puts it down to premonition, he’ll listen.
I try to slow my breathing, exhaling slowly. If I couldn’t prevent Kennedy’s death, how will I stop a war? The room goes in and out of focus as if I’ve been set in place with no awareness of my surroundings - apart from them. Focus, things I can see, the wood desk with the ink stain, the ragged cuff of my sleeve, touch, the chewed pencil, my thin hair ribbon, hear, muffled distress – tune that out, the wind against the sill.
As the shock settles, I examine my fellow students perched on their hard wooden chairs. Many of their young faces are streaked with grief. All I can see of the tallest boy at the back of my row is the top of his blond head pressed into his crossed arms, shrouding his desktop.
My chief competitor for the honour roll raises his hand. Breaking the silence, he demands, “How? Why?”