First 250 Words Work Shop: #Y8 - Hope Roberson

We are joining forces with Brenda Drake, Shelley Watters and Erica Chapman in critiquing the first 250 words of manuscripts of the lucky 60 people who signed up for the After the Madness Workshop.

YAtopians Sarah Nicolas, Kelley York, Sharon Johnston and Leigh Fallon have taken on a few workshop submission each to provide some feedback on the opening paragraphs. We'd love it if you'd add your thoughts (constructive criticism only please) and visit the other critiquers blogs to provide more feedback on the other work submitted:

Brenda Drake
Shelley Watters
Erica Chapman

Time to get into it.

#Y8 - Hope Roberson

Original
Going to the river was forbidden. I knew this, yet it didn’t keep me from stepping off the gravel path or walking into the field. The early moonlight sparkled off the few remaining patches of snow. Even it knew better than to dwell there.

My heart banged against my ribs. The space in my lungs shrunk. I sucked in a shallow breath, enough to nearly taste the crisp grass beneath my feet.

Stop, Eri.

A gong sang out across the village, ringing through my insides. The warning bell.

I glanced over my shoulder to find the dark silhouettes of people fleeing for refuge, their shouts dying in the distance growing between us. I should have turned back. But the charcoal sky and inky river pulled me forward.

Conflicting thoughts swirled through my head. I squeezed my eyes shut against the confusion and pressed my hands over my ears, begging the pounding inside to leave me alone. “Please stop, please stop, please stop, please stop, please stop—”

A current of adrenaline flooded my core. The blood tsunami in my veins propelled my legs faster. My brain searched for one sane thought, something to stop my muscles from carrying me out there.

Suicide. This is suicide.

Something broke through the tree line. Blurry with speed, eerily dark within the dusk, features impossible to decipher.

A blanket of anger draped over my world, muffling sound, wrapping me in rage.

Logic told me to turn and run for my life, but my feet rooted to the frosty ground, waiting for it.

Going to the river was forbidden. Good attention grabbing statementI knew this, yet it didn’t keep me from stepping off the gravel path or walking into the field. The early moonlight sparkled off the few remaining patches of snow. Even it knew better than to dwell there.

My heart banged against my ribs. I feel this is overused by authors. Find your voice and come up with your own unique way of saying it. The space in my lungs shrunk. I sucked in a shallow breath, enough to nearly taste the crisp grass beneath my feet.

Stop, Eri.

A gong sang out across the village, ringing through my insides. The warning bell.

I glanced over my shoulder to find the dark silhouettes of people fleeing for refuge, their shouts dying in the distance growing between us. I should have turned back. But the charcoal sky and inky river pulled me forward. Very nice

Conflicting thoughts swirled through my head. I squeezed my eyes shut against the confusion and pressed my hands over my ears, begging the pounding inside to leave me alone. “Please stop, please stop, please stop, please stop, please stop—”

A current of adrenaline flooded my core. The blood tsunami in my veins propelled my legs faster. My brain searched for one sane thought, something to stop my muscles from carrying me out there. Just be aware there's a lot of "my" in this par. Look to see if you can reword at all.

Suicide. This is suicide.

Something broke through the tree line. Blurry with speed, eerily dark within the dusk, features impossible to decipher.

A blanket of anger draped over my world, muffling sound, wrapping me in rage.

Logic told me to turn and run for my life, but my feet rooted to the frosty ground, waiting for it.
I found this very intriguing. Great setting, beautiful prose for the most part. I really want to read more. There's just those two little things that need tweaking for me.