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Review #4663006
Viewing a review of:
 Frog Song Open in new Window. [13+]
Dealing with the Devil always has a consequence
by M. Gene McCoy Author Icon
Review of Frog Song  Open in new Window.
Review by Starling Author IconMail Icon
Rated: 13+ | (4.0)
Access:  Public | Hide Review (?)
*Notes:
I had no problem visualizing what was happening in the story. By capitalizing the pronouns I am taking it for granted you are saying the man in the swamp is supposed to represent either the devil or god. In this respect, I would say the story is a bit anti-climatic at the end. “He” turns out to be a man who was her father. I expected the man in the swamp to keep her with him and not let her leave. Again, I did enjoy the story. I have included a line-by-line review below.
Red - corrections needed
Blue - possible corrections and comments

***... The deepest I’ve slept were was the nights I heard the frogs singing outside my window as momma read me her bible.
***One night, as the frogs were singing my lullaby extra loud, momma came into my room, climbed into my bed (comma) and held me close. …
*** … She almost burned herself cooking and was slow to respond to anything I said, (no comma) if she said anything. Whenever she wasn’t working, she sat in her rocking chair and clutched her bible. I was scared for her and asking her about it only made her look right through me, (no comma) like she was looking through fog trying to find a spirit.
*** … I stood up and had started back to the house when I heard she’d stopped washing her hands. I turned around to see her standing, looking across the river and into the deepest part of the swamp. The twilight sky made the darkness of the swamp an abyss, and momma started walking towards it. She was waist deep (hyphenated) in the water before I called out for her. As I ran back to the bank I saw her drop and disappear beneath the surface.
*** … I’d seen it before it got too close, grabbed the machete by the door (comma) and chopped the head off. The fire under it had gone out hours ago and left it cold, but I ate it anyways. I couldn’t go into the swamp unless I was ready. …
*** I laid lay on the bank and tried to shake my thoughts away from my near death. The gator was gone, but I could still feel those evil eyes taunting me, warning me of what would happen if I went back in. …
***After a while (comma) I stood back up and grabbed the machete from beside me. Not having the moccasin would leave me hungry, but I could survive without eating.
***A twig cracked under one of its paws as it stalked towards (no -s) me. It knew where I was, my stomach had given me away. (you said this in the previous paragraph) My only chance was to make it to a shallow part of the river. It wouldn’t follow me there, it would be too slow in the water. Judging by sound was dangerous, but it had to have been at least fifty feet from me when I heard another twig snap. My stomach began to growl again, updating it to where I was. If I ran, it’d run after me, but at this rate (comma) it was going to catch me regardless. The sooner I made it to the river the better.
***My eardrums hummed again to the frogs’ song as my feet pounded into the earth, carrying me forward. The cat saw me tear past through a gap in one of the trees and let loose another low growl before sprinting towards me.
***The sound of the frogs enveloped the air. It was all I could hear when I felt the claws dig into my shoulders. I landed face first (hyphenated) into on the ground, my arms thrown to my side. Hot breath grazed the back of my neck as razors pierced into my shoulder blades. The sight of momma drowning played in front of me again as I screamed in pain. I needed to get to Him. I had to save momma. I couldn't die here.

***(new paragraph) The panther lifted its left paw and swatted my side. I tumbled a few feet. (A bit of confusion here. The panther knocked her to the ground face first and then you say she stumbled forward a couple of feet. You never had her getting up) My ankle twisted and gashes opened across my back where the right claws caught my flesh and tore my shirt.
*** … “Silent type?” His voice was gravelly, almost soft, but laced with venom. When it cut across my ears, I knew who He was. “Don’t worry, I know why you’re here,” He spit out when I failed to answer, (period not a comma) “I can smell the sin dripping off you like water. Your cup runneth over, child.”
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#2267246 by GERVIC Author IconMail Icon

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