A Bioshock creating writing comp entry

The first time that Keeley had doubt was a warm spring day on Monument Island. The other children played with oblivious abandon amongst the flags and posters that flapped in the breeze, the faded text proclaiming the evils of the foreign hordes she had heard so much about. She wasnt sure what foreign really meant, but her comprehensive Founder education had established such a strong link between the word and the images of the grimy poor that the word held sufficient power. 

An instantly recognizable clanking sound made her look up from her dolls. A silhouette momentarily blocked out the sun, and a copy of the Columbia Chronicle caught the resulting breeze and danced across the grass. Songbird was on an excursion. For a few minutes, Elizabeth was along in her tower while her companion flew off on some unknown mission, to some part of Columbia that no-one knew about. Was it bringing her food, like some hideous blackbird bringing worms for her needy chicks? Perhaps it was exercising those magnificent wings in the warm air. Keeley imagined the girl trapped in the tower, a motherless lamb, separated from her flock, destined to look down upon the floating paradise for the remainder of her life. No dolls, no cuddles from mummy when the Vox Populi begin their nighttime attacks. Where was the justice in that?

Keeley had doubt.

"Why does daddy have to go away?"

Keeleys mother hid her face. She couldnt find the words to best explain what was about to happen to her husband. This was supposed to be a great day for the family. The great Comstock had personally chosen her husband from countless other candidates, each one clamoring over their competitors to proclaim their eternal devotion to the prophet. But it was not them who was chosen, it was Keeleys father. This was to be a glorious day for the Jefferson family. A tear rolled down Abigails cheek as she held her young daughter close.

"Can I see Daddy?" The question was one that Abigail had been dreading, but she knew she couldnt hide the truth for much longer. She took the girls hand and led her through the hospital courtyard. War casualties lined the corridors of the building. A bomb blast at Fink earlier in the day had injured a number of workers, and many of them now waited, screaming in agony, their damaged limbs dripping blood onto the tiled floors. Keeley clutched her doll close, whispering in its ear the only phrase that brought comfort: "Praise the Prophet". 

Why did these people have to suffer, when the Prophet only spoke the truth? 

The operating room was poorly lit. A few candles flickered around the room, casting moving shadows on the walls. A power cut had knocked out most of the systems in the room but, as the Prophet says, progress is never hampered by the insignificant distractions of petty men. Keeley squinted, allowing her eyes to adjust to the darkness. At the back of the room, a massive table, like some kind of stone sarcophagus, filled the space. Abigail stopped where she stood. She clutched her necklace, like some kind of lucky charm. Keeley squeezed her mothers hand, then stepped toward the table.

The massive, rusted body of a Handyman lay spread out in front of her. The hands were clasped tight in enormous fists, the body emitting a regular clicking sound as the gears within rotated. Barely recognizable, protruding from the top of the metallic man was her fathers head. His eyes were closed, most of the skin was badly bruised from the medical procedure. Keeley reached out a hand to touch her fathers cheek. It felt soft and familiar, in a body that was so horrifically changed. 

This was to be a good day for the Jefferson family.

Keeley had doubt.

part of Columbia that no-one knew about. Not sure why you have no one as "no-one", but it's incorrect. At least by every rule that I personally know.

Was it bringing her food, like some hideous blackbird bringing worms for her needy chicks? This is excellent!

But it was not them who was chosen, it was Keeleys father. This doesn't sound right to me. Maybe change it to: But it was not they who were chosen. The sentence just breaks the flow of your story otherwise.

"Praise the Prophet". I don't know if this is your quote, or part of the game's lore, but it fits perfectly. Well done!

Keeley squeezed her mothers hand. Should be mother's

was her fathers head. Should be father's ^_^

her fathers cheek. Same as above. Should be father's

This is really good! I don't know much about Bioshock's lore so I'm approaching this from a technical standpoint, but I enjoyed your story and found the plot intriguing. Well done!

Also, let me know if you have any questions or remarks in regards to the changes I suggested. We're here to help our fellow writers in any way that we can!

Good luck!

-Saigo-