Question by LionQueen: What do you think of my writing, please?
In the heart of a poverty-stricken town named Ashville, stood a small, run down building, a filthy sign dangled above the front door—which read, by the dim light of the moon, Ashville home for the homeless youths. The gray, crowded neighborhood kept motionless, silent except for the echoing footsteps by town guards from the streets, on patrol continuously.
The early hours of a chilly, September night took cause with each resident, nearly all asleep. Within the building, inside a dormitory on the second floor overlooking the street, a troop of guards questioning a young-looking man with violent shoves and kicks could be witnessed from the lone window, whose thin shutters had been thrown ajar by the heavy gusts of wind. He had violated curfew, clearly. It was just about half-past two in the morning, and curfew started at approximately nine in the evening. Penalties for disobeying curfew were harsh ones.
Lying on her cold, steely bed, eyes open and unable to shut, was fifteen year old Cornelia Lowell, hidden partially by the thin, ragged blanket provided. She was the only one awake in the crammed dormitory in which she resided. The snores and unconscious drones of her fellow occupants made it difficult for her think, let alone sleep.
Her bed was placed next to the window, allowing her a clear view of the town. A tremor erupted through her body as yet another burst of air entered. Cornelia, positioning herself underneath the blanket, warmed her numb hands by rubbing them against each other, her breath created frosty mists. Suddenly, the snoring of the occupants grew fainter, and the ticking of the hall clock grew louder, echoed as thuds to Cornelia’s ears. Suddenly, her forehead creased, and her chest tensed.
There were thuds.
She lifted a part of the blanket off her head, and looked, despite the dimness, in the direction of the door before her. Cornelia heard the clumsy stomping of feet. Then, they halted—she saw their feet’s silhouette from the empty space beneath the door. She heard an impression of murmurs. With a creaking noise, the door partly opened, and a little girl’s head appeared.
“Cornelia?” She whispered.
Cornelia let out a breath of relief, and sat up. “I’m over here, Denise.” A tiny child, with hair like sizzling fire entered the room in silence, two more girls followed her. Neither of them was older than seven years of age. “What are you doing in here?” The little girls simply remained standing before her.
Another girl overlooked the question and said, “Did we wake you up?” Cornelia gestured them to sit on her bed, they did so with soft, silent movements.
“No, Jill,” Cornelia smiled. “I could’t sleep.”
The little girls glimpsed at each other with miserable smiles. “We couldn’t sleep, too.” Jill said in a small voice.
“How come?”
They hesitated. Jill’s eyes lowered, while Denise fiddled with the hem of her nightdress. The one that was yet to be named, the youngest, however, looked at Cornelia with a sort of teary gloom. “We . . . we heard you’re l-leaving t-t-tomorrow. Forever.” Shaky sobs started—something she was not at all prepared for. Cornelia seemed to have frozen for a moment, her senses lost in a dream. She was quite lost for words. Glancing around the room anxiously, she leaned towards the girl, and drew her into a comforting hug.
“Who told you?” She asked quietly.
Denise, wiping the tears that formed, unable to keep them from falling, mumbled, “It doesn’t matter. It’s not fair . . . you’ve only been here for the summer!”
Cornelia forced a wide smile. “The best summer of my life, too,”
“Please don’t go, Cornelia.” Jill said, with her eyes till staring down her dress. “We’ll miss you and your stories so much.”
“There’s really nothing I can do about it, you know that.” She murmured, shoving a lock of Jill’s blonde hair behind her ear. A bitter breeze swept upon them, shuddering, they fell silent. Watching as the young girls mourned for tomorrow, Cornelia felt a surge of guilt. These girls had been her lone source of joy in this dreadful place. The trials of surviving seemed like a breeze to these children, and in a way, though it may not be after the next day, gave the impression of being so to Cornelia as well. In a week, it would be exactly a year since Cornelia and her brother’s removal from their mother. A year that tested her ability to survive on her own, in spite of the so-called ‘homes’ they were sent to live in. They hardly spent more than a couple of weeks in each home, this being the longest one they’ve spent in, yet.
Best answer:
Answer by Ada
I’m tired, and my attention span is suffering from that, so i only skimmed it.
But i can tell that you have almost impeccable grammar, which is such a breath of fresh air from most of the stuff i read on here. It seems to flow nicely too. I couldn’t really comment on if i like the plot, because like i said, i only skimmed it. But you seem to have the mechanics down and i’m assuming it’s really good. GL 
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