Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-29579113-20160810232859/@comment-26227302-20160811172047

Hello, I saw no one had replied to your post so I thought I'd check it out. It's a really cool premise for a story, I haven't come across something quite like it on here. There's a couple of things I noticed when I was reading through it but don't feel you have to make these changes, I just thought it helped it flow more smoothly in places. I left out parts I made no changes to. In bold I highlighted possible changes, but other than that there aren't any major problems I spotted:

>“It’s me,” a man’s voice replied. Siggy breathed a long sigh; (it was) just Doctor Alexander. She’d given him a spare key to move some things in, but didn’t (hadn't) expected him to come so soon. “I’m in the nursery.”



>Siggy deposited (dumped/left?) her bags on the counter, not bothering to put away the milk, or the eggs, or the frozen steaks that had already started perspiring in the heat. Instead, she rushed into (to) the room that had once been her ex-husband’s office.

 >...as if she had misplaced her entrails; screaming for help even though no one seemed to be around for miles.

>“We… (well) I don’t even know if it will work yet. The whole thing is ... experimental. You do know that, right?”



>“Good. If this goes well, I might just get the funding I need. This could change everything.” He moved over to the Cradle,  “This could end the mind-boggling stem cell debate. We can grow them right here,” he said as he  tapped the side, like a child with a fish tank.

>  Siggy leaned forward to see what he was pointing at. There, in the fluid, drifted a tiny, fleshy sac. Her baby, suspended in a safe environment, protected from the horrors of her second miscarriage, and from he third that had almost killed her.



>Without a hint of revulsion, he tugged (extracted?) a lock of hair out of the baggy, dropped it in the compartment, and sprinkled a pinch of fingernails (nail clippings?) on top before closing the hatch again.

> What were you trying to grow?   She’d asked, hoping the answer was not human embryos.



''Liver cells. (Just?) Another potential use of this tech.''



...And what happened to the others, the ones from plant matter?

 ''Complications... (It's, er?) hard to explain, lots of scientific jargon, (you wouldn't understand?).''

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<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-weight:normal;color:rgb(212,212,213);font-size:14px;line-height:22px;background-color:rgb(14,14,14);">>Much of her life lately had been (spent?) waiting. This time, however, waiting for a child didn’t involve the unusual and often exotic cravings, (and?) it also allowed her to smoke. Most of her free time was spent in the nursery, sitting beside the Cradle, gently rocking it and singing gentle lullabies. (Whenever?) Alex needed the room  (to deal with?) the science aspect of things, she stepped out on her back porch under the buggy light, and lit up a cig.

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<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-weight:normal;color:rgb(212,212,213);font-size:14px;line-height:22px;background-color:rgb(14,14,14);">>(It was during one of those instances?) when she saw movement in the darkness. Across manicured lawns and over white picket fences, something patrolled the neighborhood. It might’ve been a neighbor, if not for the peculiar way it walked. Swaying as though drunk, the upper body rigid and the legs moving too much.

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<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-weight:normal;color:rgb(212,212,213);font-size:14px;line-height:22px;background-color:rgb(14,14,14);">>There was nothing in the cloudy night sky to illuminate the figure, (although?) she could hear it breathing: a soppy, open-mouthed sound. At times the breaths would pick up speed as though the thing was excited, like a puppy seeing someone new.

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<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-weight:normal;color:rgb(212,212,213);font-size:14px;line-height:22px;background-color:rgb(14,14,14);">>Siggy didn’t move. Her cigarette burned all the way to the butt, (and?) she let it fall out of her hand. Reason told her to go back inside, or at the very least step three feet to the left, out of the porch light. Yet, she couldn’t. She just stood there, illuminated for all the world to see, as this thing made its way through (the?) backyards.

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<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-weight:normal;color:rgb(212,212,213);font-size:14px;line-height:22px;background-color:rgb(14,14,14);">>With (her?) spell of nameless fear broken, she tugged open the sliding glass door, stepped inside, and shut it behind her. As she was working on pulling the blinds closed, she heard it: the screaming of a cat. At first (it sounded?) furious, then terrified, and then (it was?) silent.

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<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-weight:normal;color:rgb(212,212,213);font-size:14px;line-height:22px;background-color:rgb(14,14,14);">>Siggy finally (managed to get?) the vertical blinds closed, and then sat with her back against them, burying her face in her hands. She never made a sound. It was irrational, but the thought stuck in her mind that if she told the doctor about what she saw, or (at least?) what she thought she saw… he’d take his experiment to someone else, someone less crazy.

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<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-weight:normal;color:rgb(212,212,213);font-size:14px;line-height:22px;background-color:rgb(14,14,14);">>It was the next day when her  neighbor found the cat. He was mowing the lawn (the background noise for suburbia) (when suddenly the sound of the lawnmower?) mower stopped. “Jesus Christ!” he exclaimed.

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<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-weight:normal;color:rgb(212,212,213);font-size:14px;line-height:22px;background-color:rgb(14,14,14);">>The neighbors gathered, circled around the bloody mess. Siggy didn’t join them, instead (she listened?) from inside, next to the cracked patio door. Once they (had?) determined that he hadn’t just run it over with the lawnmower, one of the other men remarked that it looked like the poor thing had its head bitten right off.

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<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-weight:normal;color:rgb(212,212,213);font-size:14px;line-height:22px;background-color:rgb(14,14,14);">>The thing showed up again that night. Even though she’d taken to smoking in the living room now—it was her house, she could do as she damn-well pleased—it still managed to make itself known to her. First through cracks in the window blinds. Movement, back and forth, as though it was pacing the grounds of its (previous victim?).

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<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-weight:normal;color:rgb(212,212,213);font-size:14px;line-height:22px;background-color:rgb(14,14,14);">>She didn’t go up (get up?/ go over?) to close the blinds the rest of the way. That would mean getting closer, seeing more. She kept smoking.

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<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-weight:normal;color:rgb(212,212,213);font-size:14px;line-height:22px;background-color:rgb(14,14,14);">>Eventually it approached her house. On her fifth cigarette, it moved up to the patio door. Those blinds, at least, were firmly shut, held so by strips of packing tape. (Even so?), she could see its shadow from the outdoor light beneath (behind?) them. It must’ve been close to the glass, perhaps even pressed up against it, to cast that shadow (image?).

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<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-weight:normal;color:rgb(212,212,213);font-size:14px;line-height:22px;background-color:rgb(14,14,14);">> When she offered to let him spend the night on the couch, he accepted, more out of a sense of obligation than anything; Siggy needed someone with her right now.

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<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-weight:normal;color:rgb(212,212,213);font-size:14px;line-height:22px;background-color:rgb(14,14,14);">>While he did his daily checkup on the Cradle, Siggy stood in the bathroom, hands gripping the edges of her sink, staring into the mirror. A shaver sat in the sink basin, and she looked at the meager amount of (her?)  hair left. This wouldn’t last, not until the baby was ready to be born. (But?) how was Alex to have known that? This sort of thing had never been done before.

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<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-weight:normal;color:rgb(212,212,213);font-size:14px;line-height:22px;background-color:rgb(14,14,14);">>The next few nights seemed peaceful. With Alex just in the other room, she could sleep sound (soundly?).  At the thrift shop Siggy found a half-decent wig, and immediately shaved her head (when she got back home?). (It was?) enough to sustain the walnut-sized baby for a little longer. They were both aware of the problem, but didn’t speak of it. Alex knew that, if such a time came in which they would need more, Siggy would make the sacrifice. In fact, he (had?) started a mental list of non-essential body parts.

<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-weight:normal;color:rgb(212,212,213);font-size:14px;line-height:22px;background-color:rgb(14,14,14);"> >Then it picked up speed. Alongside it, he heard breathing; quick, excited pants, borderline hyperventilating.

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<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-weight:normal;color:rgb(212,212,213);font-size:14px;line-height:22px;background-color:rgb(14,14,14);">>Siggy had left a baseball bat in the living room, which to Alex seemed (only?) like a lucky coincidence.

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<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-weight:normal;color:rgb(212,212,213);font-size:14px;line-height:22px;background-color:rgb(14,14,14);">>As he approached, the scratching stopped. Alex held his breath. The blurry shadow moved as though pivoting, as though the thing outside the door had aimed itself (pointed itself?) in his direction. He hoisted the bat. The thing sucked in a wet breath. Then, the glass exploded inward.

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<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-weight:normal;color:rgb(212,212,213);font-size:14px;line-height:22px;background-color:rgb(14,14,14);">>And yet, in a second, something had wrapped around his face, (pressing?) his hands painfully (into?) his cheeks. Something dark, and hot, and wet enveloped his head, neck, and the tops of his shoulders.

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<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-weight:normal;color:rgb(212,212,213);font-size:14px;line-height:22px;background-color:rgb(14,14,14);"> >There were more noises; movement, something shuffling down the hall. And that breathing, something so excited that it could barely suck in enough air to fill its lungs, squelching warthog(-like?) breaths, with almost a hint of (giddy?) laughter to them.

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<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-weight:normal;color:rgb(212,212,213);font-size:14px;line-height:22px;background-color:rgb(14,14,14);">>The creature leaned over the crib, reaching inside of it desperately, lifting something to its mouth and slurping. As Siggy inched forward, she saw that the Cradle had been cracked open, and the thing was reaching its hands inside, ladling (soupy liquid?) into its mouth.

<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-weight:normal;color:rgb(212,212,213);font-size:14px;line-height:22px;background-color:rgb(14,14,14);"> >The creature reached back carelessly, and (shoved?) her against the wall. She crumpled to the ground, disoriented.

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<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-weight:normal;color:rgb(212,212,213);font-size:14px;line-height:22px;background-color:rgb(14,14,14);">>She got up again and leapt at the creature, digging (what was left of?) her fingernails into its skin, kicking it, trying to pull it off balance. It resisted every pull, scrambling to get back to its meal. Then it pushed her off a second time, before turning away from the crib'''. (It doubled?) '''over, and vomited all over the floor.

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<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-weight:normal;color:rgb(212,212,213);font-size:14px;line-height:22px;background-color:rgb(14,14,14);">> (It was?) smiling, satisfied, (as?) embryonic fluid dripping from the corners of its mouth.

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<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-weight:normal;color:rgb(212,212,213);font-size:14px;line-height:22px;background-color:rgb(14,14,14);">>Then it left. (It?) stalked right out of the room, past bunnies and clouds and rainbows, (out?) of a useless nursery. (It?) ducked its head to get out of the door frame, and was gone. Siggy looked down at the precious, beautiful thing it had gobbled up and vomited on the floor, and only a single thought came to mind.

<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-weight:normal;color:rgb(212,212,213);font-size:14px;line-height:22px;margin-bottom:0px!important;background-color:rgb(14,14,14);">My fourth miscarriage.