Young Writers discussion

43 views
Writing Contests > 11/23 to 12/10

Comments Showing 1-50 of 61 (61 new)    post a comment »
« previous 1

message 1: by Kendra (new)

Kendra (madamejade) | 253 comments This contest is about loss. Tie it in somehow.

No matter how good you are, you will eventually find someone better.
-Inspirational start

GO!


Sam~~ we cannot see the moon, and yet the waves still rise~~ | 3061 comments we're not waiting for katarina to respond?


message 3: by Kendra (new)

Kendra (madamejade) | 253 comments We gave her lots of time.


message 4: by Katarina (new)

Katarina | 491 comments Sorry guys,I was busy. But, maybe I will be on for the next one.


message 5: by Kendra (new)

Kendra (madamejade) | 253 comments We'd love to have thou.


message 6: by Sophie (new)

Sophie (warpedline) | 105 comments Oh! Wracking my brain for ideas for this one...


message 7: by Sophie (last edited Nov 30, 2013 03:45PM) (new)

Sophie (warpedline) | 105 comments Okay, like my last one, the loss is kind of implied, rather than directly said/talked about/mentioned.

Hope you enjoy!


She shuddered and curled in on herself, the rock she was on wet and worn. Her wide, panic-filled eyes darted around, taking in the dark, angry ocean and feeling of abandonment that was so thick she could choke on it.
She was on a rock, in the middle of the stormy sea, her only companions the moon and the stars. She couldn’t remember how she got there- like someone had taken her memories and locked them in an iron box.
She couldn’t remember, yet she remembered everything- the sky was up and Hell was down and the Haven was-
“Think!”
Something was intruding, something was in her head and it wouldn’t stop talking-
Think,” it whispered, invading her mind, her control, her restraint. “Where is it? Where is the Haven?
She let out an agonised scream and gripped her legs tighter. Her broken wing throbbed, and she focused on the pain.
Something wasn’t right. Wasn’t real. The pain didn’t feel right.
She squeezed her eyes shut.

“Not real.” She whispered. “Not real, not real, not real, wake up, just wake up-

The rock beneath her cracked, the waters around her grew more agitated, but she didn’t stop rocking and chanting.
“Not real, not real, not real, not real-”
An enfuriated roar burst into being, and she hunched over, covering her ears from the terrifying sound, and began to rock faster.
“Not real, not real, not real, not real-”

The world shattered, revealing a deathly stark and cold four-walled room.
Gasping, she pressed herself against the grey concrete. The iron implanted in the floor and walls burned her, pulling at her mind, trying to send her over the edge.
She moaned in pain.
An outraged shout come from outside the iron door, and a tall human burst through, his face red with anger.
“Where is it! Tell us, you goddamn-”
He backhanded her face, and she landed on her broken wing. She stifled her scream.
“Tell me now.” His voice had gone low and dangerous, and he took a menacing step towards her. She pressed up against the wall, but moaned in pain. Iron was everywhere, hurting, torturing, maiming.
“It hurts,” she groaned. “Make it stop.
The human face contorted into what she assumed was a smile.
“What hurts? Is it the iron?” He grabbed her shoulders and slammed her back against the concrete. She hissed. “Can you feel it burn, feel it leech into your skin and boil you from the inside out-”
The faerie let a desperate screech, and a commanding voice came out from nowhere. It was familiar, somehow, like she had heard it before, before she got taken-

“Fenjins, put her down now."
She continued screaming, but through the midst of her hysteria she saw a small black box-that-speaks in the corner of the room. The voice came from the box again, but the human, this “Fenjins” didn’t react. Two more humans, armed with those horrible barrels-that-shoot-metal came marching through the door and pulled Fenjins off her. While he was held back, she hissed and lashed out at him, but the armed human pulled out the barrel-that-shoots-metal and pointed it at her.
She subsided with a terrified whimper.
Fenjin thrashed, and it took both humans to keep him under control. While they were distracted, she flung her hand out at a wall and summoned the lasts of her power.
If they had a box-that-speaks, they must be watching her. And the humans had lots of nasty tricks, lots of things that aren’t what they seemed.

The wall shattered, revealing one-two-three-four-five-six-seven horrified faces and one utterly calm one.
She met the impassive eyes of the exiled Crown Prince of Fae and her eyes narrowed.

Traitor. She hissed, and slumped down into unconsciousness.


Anastacia *gaining love* Asbury She glared at them, her friends. Her OLD friends. "THAT'S IT!" She finally yelled, "THAT'S IT! THAT'S IT! THAT'S IT! I've had it! None of you have noticed or if you do you haven't noticed how serious it is!" She turned around and stormed out of the room. She ignored their yells and calls as she turned the corner.
She dropped on the couch, her brown hair falling in front of her hazel eyes. She began to cry.
Suddenly she felt someone sit next to her. "Abbie," Tanner's voice said.
"Go away!" Abbie snapped at him.
Tanner set his hand on her back, but Abbie quickly moved and gripped it tight.
"Don't touch me!"
Tanner frowned. "Abbie, come back to the dance...what's so wrong?"
Abbie glared at him. "All of you! You never listen to me! You guys don't even notice when my perky personality just disappears! Shouldn't the sudden change worry you guys! Or are you all blind!?"
Tanner frowned. "Abbie, I'm sorry...but I have noticed and I thik everyone else has too."
"THEN WHY AREN'T THEY WORRIED! DO YOU KNOW THE KIND OF THOUGHTS I'VE BEEN HAVING RECENTLY?!"
Tanner seemed taken back. "So when you asked me to tie you a noose backstage the other day during the play."
"That one should have been a given but NO you and Cathy are so oblivious!"
Tanner frowned and hugged Abbie. "I don't want to loose you..." he whispered.
Abbie closed her eyes as tears streamed down her face. "You already have Tanner..."


Anastacia *gaining love* Asbury okay that sucked...


message 10: by Kendra (new)

Kendra (madamejade) | 253 comments Sophie wrote: "Okay, like my last one, the loss is kind of implied, rather than directly said/talked about/mentioned.

Hope you enjoy!


She shuddered and curled in on herself, the rock she was on wet and worn. H..."


Okay, I loved the buildup, the characterization was believable, I'd figured out that she was a kidnapped faery pretty easily, but the random introduction of that guy at the end threw me off.
Okay, so I'm guessing he set her up to get captured in the first place or activated a sleeping curse or both. I really liked it, I'd like to know more about the Prince.


message 11: by Kendra (new)

Kendra (madamejade) | 253 comments Anastacia ~Right Path Right Place~ wrote: "She glared at them, her friends. Her OLD friends. "THAT'S IT!" She finally yelled, "THAT'S IT! THAT'S IT! THAT'S IT! I've had it! None of you have noticed or if you do you haven't noticed how serio..."

...Is she upset that they couldn't detect her thoughts?


message 12: by Isaac (new)

Isaac | 8014 comments His ears were always unusually large. From the time we were children, I remember looking up and seeing his ridiculously boyish face staring down at me. On the sides of his head they stuck out, wiggling as he spoke like a pair of dumb, malformed animals. I, being far smarter than the rest of our schoolmates, stayed above calling him silly names one would be expected to call him such as "Dumbo." But no matter how cartoonish his complexion was, he stayed optimistic and hung around me even though I frequently tried ditching him.

Somewhere along the way I found myself calling him my friend. We were stuck in between the phases of childhood and teenagers, to old to be excuse for anything childish we did yet too young to be held accountable as well. He would tease me, pulling my braids and mocking the skirts I wore, and in return I jested about how his stupid looks were still more intelligent than he was. But none of our insults ever quite got to each other, rather bringing us even closer.

There was one night he had climbed the fire stairs on the side of the building we lived in and knocked on my window. It roused me from my slumber, and I groaned at the sight of his foolish grin but let him clamor through anyway.

"I can't sleep," he said first thing as he came in.

"That's not a very good reason to make me tired in the morning."

He let the words roll of him. I wasn't sure if he heard me, but I felt no need to repeat myself as he wandered to my bed.

"Don't be too loud," I told him. "My parents are next door."

His glance moved towards the wall. Waving a hand, he said, "Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Ackely." He always did dumb things like that.

"What do you want?" I asked him a few moments later.

"Are you ever scared?" was his response.

"That's all you came to ask me?"

"What's wrong with that?"

"Harvey, that's no reason to climb up a story and wake me up."

He shrugged, deciding that his question was a more pressing issue. "So, are you ever scared?"

I sighed impatiently. "Everyone is at some point."

"Not everyone." At the skepticism in my face, he added, "Not the most fearless man in the world."

"Even the most fearless man in the world has been scared."

"But how would he have been called fearless?"

Irritated, I answer, "Because."

"That's not a good answer."

"Well your question isn't either. Bye."

Harvey had been on his stomach as he was talking to me. As he rotated to his back, he suddenly said, "They say there's going to be a war soon."

"Not in London, there isn't," I snapped back. "Now, goodbye Harvey."

"My mum cries every night," he continued. "She says something about Daddy needing to leave. What d'you make of that?"

"I think nothing. Goodbye, Harvey."

Finally listening to the annoyed urgency in my voice, he got off my bed and went to the window. As he stuck a leg through, he abruptly leaned forward and planted a kiss on my cheek.

"Harvey!" I shrieked. Movement came from the room next door.

"So long, Beth," he said jovially, jumping onto the landing. I slammed my window shut, hurrying to bed just in time for my parents to open the door and see what I was doing.

It was a few days before I brought the subject up with my parents. My mother was cooking some sort of stew on the stove when I asked from the table, "Harvey says there's going to be a war soon."

She stopped stirring, seeming hesitant to answer. "Why does he say that?"

"I don't know. He says his mother cries a lot."

"Don't think much of it," she said, tapping her spoon on the pot. "Just go back to your coloring. Little girls shouldn't be worried about such business."

It was odd because as a little girl, I felt a motherly intuition just then. It was so obvious that she was trying to hide something from me that it twisted my insides and made me run downstairs and knock on Harvey's apartment door.

"Oh, hello Beth," Harvey's mother greeted when she came to answer me. "Here to see Harvey?"

"Yes m'am," I said politely before she let me in. He was doing a handstand in his room when I entered.

"Beth!" he exclaimed before tumbling forward. "Why're you here?"

"There's going to be a war," I said quickly.
"What'd I tell you?" He went to his bed, standing up on his starry blue sheets and pushing a corner of a poster up. "I don't think we need to worry too much, though."

"But it's a war!"

"It'll be okay Beth."

I thought about that for the next year and a half later in my bed. Mother had listened nonstop to the radio in all that time since. Daddy had to leave and join the war efforts. It was strange, just Mother and me listening to a different world. I hardly could belive it was real, but the letters we got back from Daddy had been cut and censored so they wouldn't get into the wrong hands as Mother had explained. I didn't like it much, but it was for the good of the nation as I had heard time and time again. "It would be best if children like yourself didn't worry about it," an adult said to me one day, so I tried not to.

Harvey and the other boys thought it was fun to pretend to be the soldiers fighting across the English channel. I would watch from my bedroom window as they ran across the street, pointing fake guns at each other and pretending to die. I watched it mindlessly often until the day the woman next door got a letter. Mother was gone for hours and when she came home muttered, "The poor dear, her son is dead." That night as I counted the flecks on my ceiling, I imagined her son alone on the field, covered in blood and taking his last shaky breath. It bothered me enough to shout at Harvey the next day as he played his normal war game.

"Why not? It's all good fun!" he shouted back.

"You're absolutely disgusting!" was the last thing I said before I slammed my window shut. It was getting cold, anyway.


I had heard of bombings before, but it's much different when you're in one yourself. That's what Mother would say, about the different thing. It was much like a fantasy world when I heard about war violence, but I never really considered something like that happening to us.

When I first heard the bomb, it was twilight. I was playing with a doll in my bed rather than getting ready to go to sleep. I thought the noise was the neighbors above us, and with my curiosity sparked, I looked up at my ceiling. There was another thud. Shuffling filled the silence after that; a strange shuffling that surrounded me. Above me, below me, to both my sides, there was nothing but shuffling.

Soon enough my mother was shuffling herself. The cold hand of fear grasped me when she open the door, eyes wide and face reflecting a heightened terror. "Did you not hear the sirens?"

"I thought that had only been the boys playing, they were so quiet--"

"God save us!" she suddenly cried. "Get your things, we're going to the bomb shelter."

I followed blindly, grabbing a bag that Mother made me pack months before. It was small, containing nothing but another casual dress and blanket. We left my apartment, running down the stairs and out the door of the building. The sirens seemed much louder than before, wailing like mourners of something that hadn't happened quite yet. People flooded around us, trying to push ahead and get to protection first.

I turned my head towards the sky to see the stars that made me feel so safe before only to see a singular bomb go hurling through the sky and onto the buildings that had protected me throughout my whole life. The flames I saw terrified me, making my heart stop. I had studied those same buildings for so many years before, and to see my sense of security suddenly start to tumble down made me feel sick in every way possible.

My mother caught me as I stumbled. "Beth, you must hurry!" she cried, pulling me with her.

"Mother--"

She didn't listen to me, tugging on my arm as we reached the shelter doors.

"Mother!" I cried again as she brought me inside. "Harvey's outside!"

The way she stopped was something I'd never forget. It was like a change in course, her determination in one thing coming to a harsh end. "What did you say?"

"Harvey, he was still outside playing," I told her, starting to become hysteric. "He went towards the rest of the city and he still hasn't come back."

The ground rumbled around us as she grabbed me, holding me close to her while she buried her head into my shoulder. "It's too late," she cried, her voice muffled.

Nothing is worse than seeing your own mother come to you to be comforted. Except, perhaps, when the next morning you see the dead eyes of the boy you partially couldn't stand, his large ears charred and face forever frozen with a mortified expression, resting in the rubble of the building you once called home.

I still have nightmares.


message 13: by Grace (new)

Grace (Fives) | 1090 comments Anastacia ~Right Path Right Place~ wrote: "She glared at them, her friends. Her OLD friends. "THAT'S IT!" She finally yelled, "THAT'S IT! THAT'S IT! THAT'S IT! I've had it! None of you have noticed or if you do you haven't noticed how serio..."

It's good, but really lacking, because I have no idea what was happening. lol.


message 14: by Sumaiyya (new)

Sumaiyya | 846 comments Emily wrote: "His ears were always unusually large. From the time we were children, I remember looking up and seeing his ridiculously boyish face staring down at me. On the sides of his head they stuck out, wi..."

Great story, Emily! I lurved it.


Sam~~ we cannot see the moon, and yet the waves still rise~~ | 3061 comments Emily wrote: "His ears were always unusually large. From the time we were children, I remember looking up and seeing his ridiculously boyish face staring down at me. On the sides of his head they stuck out, wi..."

beautiful. beautifully written. especially that last paragraph.


message 16: by Angie (new)

Angie Pangan Emily wrote: "His ears were always unusually large. From the time we were children, I remember looking up and seeing his ridiculously boyish face staring down at me. On the sides of his head they stuck out, wi..."

I love the historical context; it helped build the suspense


message 17: by Kendra (new)

Kendra (madamejade) | 253 comments Which World War is this one?


message 18: by Isaac (new)

Isaac | 8014 comments Very, very loosely based on World War II. I didn't really want to spend a lot of time researching the London Blitz, so it's not exactly World War II.


message 19: by Angie (new)

Angie Pangan That's ok. There was enough that I knew that it was the London Blitz, but not so much that it detracted from the plot and what you were trying to say. You did a good job of balancing things out.


message 20: by Isaac (new)

Isaac | 8014 comments I was more afraid I was going to be historically inaccurate, so that's why I didn't really want to talk about it much. :P


message 21: by Michelle (new)

Michelle Graf Emily, that was so good. The end hit me so hard and sudden, I cried. It was brilliant.


message 22: by Angie (new)

Angie Pangan Yeah I wasn't expecting the end. I was betting on one of the dads dying so it caught me off guard when Harvey died.


message 23: by Olivia (new)

Olivia | 213 comments Here is my short story (Its really short) hope you like it.

I feel you loss, I am sorry for your loss, I feel for you
I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.
It all racked at my brain causing me to put my hands to my ears and shake uncontrollably. I don’t want them to feel sorry, to pretend that they understand what I am going through, because they don’t- no-one does.
They all expect that I am sad, that I want to crawl up in a ball and cry until my life is also no more, but I don’t. It’s not my mother’s death that makes me want to crawl up in a ball and cut myself away from the world. It’s them, all freaking them. Stop pretending that you understand because you don’t, is it your mother-no. Stop pretending that everything is going to be fine, that everything will go back to normal soon, because it won’t. Nothing will be the same again, she’s gone and time will not bring her back. Stop telling me that I must be so sad, because I am not. Yes I lost my mother, yes my father- the drug addict is the only family I have left, but I’m not sad. If anything I am happy for her. She gets to leave this hell-hole where everyone says things they don’t mean, pretend to be things there not, and the world can just all of a sudden come crashing down on you. She is now in heaven- away from sickness, away from abuse, anger and lying. She is in a better place now, she is probably thinking about me too. Of all the good times we had together, the bad and the ugly, and it must pain her to leave m, but all beautiful things must soon die.
She is in a better place than me- a place where people don’t pretend to understand- because they do. These people back here in this hell-hole they have no idea- so stop pretending.


message 24: by Angie (new)

Angie Pangan Olivia wrote: "Here is my short story (Its really short) hope you like it.

I feel you loss, I am sorry for your loss, I feel for you
I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.
It all racked at my brain causing me to put ..."


That just broke my heart. It really struck a personal nerve with me too. I felt like you were talking to me. My best friend said the same thing to me when she was grieving after her dad died. It's eerie how you described her situation almost to a T.


message 25: by Angie (last edited Nov 24, 2013 10:45PM) (new)

Angie Pangan Here's a (fictional) letter that I wrote.

A Letter to My Best Friend

Hey sweetheart.

I just wanted to tell you that I’ve really been missing you. My psychiatrist told me that writing this letter would help me cope. She said that wherever you are, you’re still watching over me and that you’ll see the letter. I hope she’s right.

I can’t get our last conversation out of my head. I wish with all my heart that it had ended differently. I wish that it hadn’t ended with us yelling at each other. I should have told you just how much I loved you. I much I still love (present tense) you. I would do anything to go back in time and change things. I would even sell my soul. But I know that if I ever did that and you found out, you would make good on your promise and haunt me.

You really had meant it when you said I wasn’t allowed to follow you, didn’t you? All those days we talked about committing suicide, you always told me that I had a bright future. You told me that I deserved better and that you wouldn’t let me kill myself. You said that your ghost would haunt me in hell if I offed myself. And I always told you that I wouldn’t did it as long as you stayed alive for me too.

You promised me that you would.

But you broke your promise.

You killed yourself and you left me all alone… And you didn’t even let me do the same. I’m not sure if I can forgive you for the note that you sent my parents before you took those pills.

”She’s going to take my death hard. Even though she’ll want to, don’t let her kill herself. Don’t let her be like me…”

They haven’t let me out of sight for the six months since you died. The only time they give me any space is during my therapy sessions. They took away my hunting knife. I’m not allowed to keep that gun in my room anymore. They even took away my softball bat, my belts, and my shoe laces. I think that if you were still here, you would think it was funny, the way they’ve turned our house into a prison/asylum.

It’s been months, but every time I read the suicide note you left me, I still can’t keep my eyes dry. I have it memorized now.

I just want you to know that none of those things are true. You were never a burden to me. You were a light in my life and I’ve never regretted a single moment that we spent together. My only regret is how it ended. Would it have been different if I had been able to get a hold of my anger and stopped myself from saying those words that ruined everything?

I know that it’s too late. But I want you to know that I didn’t mean what I said. Not a word of it. I could never hate you. I couldn’t hate you even if I tried. To be honest, there are times I wished that I did hate you. It would have made things so much easier for me. But I never could find it in my heart to hate you. That last fight we had, that was the first time I had ever truly been angry at you.

And even then, that anger seems so silly compared to the grief I feel now. What we fought about, it’s not even important. It was such a stupid argument. It was not worth your life and if I had known what you were going to do, I wouldn’t have said any of those things that I did.

”I hate you.”

I’ll never be able to take those words back. I’ll never be able to stop regretting them. Those were the words I killed you with. And I’m sorry.

So so so sorry…

I would take it all back if I could. But now, the only option left to me is to say the words that you did deserve.

I love you.

I love you with all my heart.

I love you to the ends of the earth.

I love with the very fabric of my soul.

I love you.


But most of all, I miss you.

I feel your absence every day that I wake up. It’s like someone tore out my heart and all I’m left with is this gaping emptiness in my chest.

I miss you.

I wish you didn’t leave.

I wish you could come back.

I wish you were here.

I miss you…

I miss you so so much…


message 26: by Olivia (new)

Olivia | 213 comments That was a brilliant story Angie I loved it. I am really glad you enjoyed mine, I was hoping people would be able to relate to it.


message 27: by Kendra (new)

Kendra (madamejade) | 253 comments Oh... I feel the loss... WHY COULDN'T I HAVE MADE THE TEMPLATE HAPPY!?

Because that would have been boring...
BUT STILL!


message 28: by Olivia (new)

Olivia | 213 comments Yes maniac it's Avery sad prompt. It's liked when I did memories. No one could do happy memories they were all sad.


message 29: by Kendra (new)

Kendra (madamejade) | 253 comments Because happy is boring.


Sam~~ we cannot see the moon, and yet the waves still rise~~ | 3061 comments MANIAC ŧЋē ʙʀᴀɪɴɪᴀᴄ ⊛ⓣⓗⓘⓝⓖ ל⊛ wrote: "happy is boring."


message 31: by Katarina (new)

Katarina | 491 comments I think I know what I want to write about.


message 32: by Dani (new)

Dani (euriella) | 10 comments Oh Jesus Christ. All of these stories are so wonderful! I need to figure out what to write about before I get too intimidated to enter, haha.


message 33: by Dani (new)

Dani (euriella) | 10 comments Okay, here goes. I thought about giving some background information but decided against it to see how well I am with detail and imagery and all that good writing stuff. It's still a bit rough drafty, but... let me know what you think, and good luck to all other entries! (:

-

His eyes flutter open, revealing soft silver irises, a sigh emitting from him when he realizes he's awake. Nate turns his head to the side, his gaze cast to the clock that reads just past noon. The numbers glowed red, and for a moment he just stared, hypnotized by the light, before turning back over.

I haven't had a need to wake up earlier than this, have I? He mused to himself, feeling the prickle of memory at the edge of his mind. His hands splay over the comforter atop him, feeling the rush of smooth cotton and polyester. He was missing something, he realized, and it wasn't just the last few years of his life. Something about right here, right now, had been taken right out of his mind, and he struggled to figure out what it was. He was awake, but now what?

Light pours from the window over head, revealing a bright and sunny day, but he knew better. The air outside was frigid and cold, probably getting ready for snow. Even the sky couldn't remember what it was supposed to do, sometimes. The thought eased the tension building in his bones, if only a little.

Then it hit him: someone used to have him up at the crack of dawn, with breakfast already on the table and the morning news playing on the television. They smelled faintly of roses, he recalled; that was the most distinct thing he could remember about them.

But.. who was that, again?

Slipping from the sheets, he plants his feet into the plush velvet carpet, reveling in the warmth pooling around his skin. He suddenly felt like he could stay here for hours, nestled between his blankets and the floor. Who created this mysterious wonder that felt like clouds, like a field of daisies?

It occurred to him that he was supposed to be doing something again, but he couldn't be sure. A spark of annoyance lit in his chest, spreading throughout his entire body.

Damn it... why can't I remember anything?

Nate's ears perk at the sound of footsteps, and he recoils, stuffing his emotions within himself and drawing his long legs into his arms. He rests his head in the crevice between them, peeking out just slightly to catch a faint shadow on his door. The silver eyed boy tries to ignore it as it dances along the mahogany frame, thinking that maybe if he pretended hard enough, it would go away. He didn't want people he didn't know invading his space - especially not when he couldn't remember what to do if they did!

The shadow grew, and he winced. Shit. Anger pulsed inside of him, making his head throb, and he burrowed deeper into the fabric of his trousers, hugging himself tighter.

"Nate? Are you awake?" a voice said, oddly comforting despite him not wanting them to be there, whoever they were. He forced himself to meet their gaze, unable to place the wide, soft eyes that mirrored his own or the light, curly blond hair. He hated this part the most. They were as much of a mystery as everyone else who wound up here, asking him questions like "do you remember me?" and when he couldn't answer, they always had the same hurt look on their faces, like he'd told them someone died.

But technically, someone had. The person he was before the accident was obviously not who he was now, and in some ways, would never be again. He was a dead man walking, slowly trying to piece himself back together.

But what if he never finds his way back?

Memory always played at the corners of his mind, edging its way into his subconscious, but he could never quite place it. The car crash had left him mostly unharmed on the outside, but on the inside he was crossed wires, some cut, some not, all wound together in a helpless frenzy. He had lost most of his memory, including how to walk, how to eat, and how to write. He had relearned these skills in a long, painful process that took a little over six months. All the while a few someone's had been there to help, but even now he struggled to recall names.

It was like his skin had been replaced with someone else's.

Who were all these fucking people and why did they get so upset when he couldn't, for the life of him, remember who they were? As if it was his fault! He tried so hard to place them, and he always, always failed.

"I'm sorry," he whispered to himself, shutting his eyes.

"Nate?" the woman asked, a bit of fright in her voice. It was like she heard him. A part of him wanted to reach out to her, to remove the fear that shook her voice, but he didn't know how he would ever manage that. He couldn't even find a way to answer her. He'd forgotten how to do that, too.

Or had he?

"Mmm..." he mumbled, finding his voice. It couldn't be that difficult. A bit of triumph gathered inside of him - he was doing it, right?

"I am fine," he finally managed.

Suddenly he was hit with an onslaught of images, a memory so large that it overwhelmed him. Someone, a girl, her eyes glittering with excitement as she ran toward him. A flash and then lips were pressing against his, eager and quick but they had been laying down and the lights were off. Once more, he remembered the light play of her fingertips against his, caressing his skin as they walked down the street together. It was just bits and pieces, there for nothing more than to tease him, to remind him that he knew nothing about the life he was living.

He hadn't noticed it, but warm, wet liquid had begun to spring from his eyes, dripping from his nostrils, and it sickened him, but he was shaking too hard to do anything about it.

Everything was all wrong, and he ached for the comfort of the woman in his memory, sure the someone who used to make him breakfast and take walks in the rain and kiss him before they left was someone who mattered. Maybe she could help him! The mere sight of her made him feel complacent but he was miserable without her next to him. He couldn't even remember her name, just saw her face and it made him feel safe and warm inside.

Suddenly he was up, alive with an energy that gave him strength beyond measures. He'd never been so angry in his life, he was sure of it, and everything he felt and couldn't feel was moving through him alarming rate. His memories were torturing him, and he just wanted to quit, to give up so he'd be done with it. Why, why, why couldn't he remember?! He reached for the nearest thing, which happened to be the lamp on his desk, and threw it hard against the wall. Paint splintered from the blow, along with bits of glass and ceramic pieces as the entire lamp crumbled under the force of his throw.

"She's gone," he mumbles to himself, and the words repeat in his head over and over again. She's gone, gone, gone, and he doesn't know if he'll ever get her back because he can't even remember who she is.

The clash of the lightbulb against the wall rings in his ears, satisfying, but not enough. He looks for more things to destroy: books, one after another, tossed in every direction followed by anything else on his desk and the window sill, his screams filling the room, mixing with the breaking of glass, knowing he's breaking with it until he realizes he isn't the only one screaming.

"Nate, please stop!" he hears someone say, and he freezes instantly. Behind him, the woman with the same soft, silver eyes like his own stares at him in disbelief, hesitant, as if she knew her words might not have done anything. They almost didn't, but something inside him held him back when he heard her panicked tone.

She was still speaking to him, he realizes, but he stops listening after a while. He just focuses on her eyes, steadying his breaths, evening them out as the fear leaves her voice.

Aftershocks of the memory echo vaguely in his mind, and feels something playing at his thoughts, right on the tip of his tongue, but he's coming up blank.

No, he willed himself. No. Remember, damn you, remember!

"L..." he choked, and he began to sob uncontrollably, her lips suddenly on his again, fingers brushing under the hem of his shirt, through his hair. Her laugh filled his ears as she rushed toward him with that same giddyness like before. It was burning inside him, now. He doesn't just want to remember; he needs to remember her most of all.

"I miss... Lynn," he says, gasping as it finally comes to him.

At the sound of her name, he notices the woman in front of him stiffen, her body rigid and unmoving. He tenses, still dazed from his bout of panic, teetering on the edge, wanting to know why she had reacted so badly to his words.

"Nate," she whispers, her eyes welling up with tears. "Lynn is dead."


message 34: by Angie (last edited Dec 04, 2013 09:47PM) (new)

Angie Pangan Dermutrolin:

I liked the idea of your entry and where you went with it. I especially loved the ambiguity that you started out with; I honestly thought that the narrator had committed murder. It was a surprise that it was actually the narrator's pet cat.

However, I feel like you're reflection/conclusion at the end was a bit rushed. You mentioned some pretty heavy stuff and I think it would have given the piece much more justice if you had drawn it out.

Also, your narrator's thoughts seem a bit unnatural and forced to me. I see the attempts of literary devices in your writing, but I think that you need a little practice to make it seem more human. This is a more of something that you need to learn through experience but I suggest that you read your writing out loud to yourself. What you're aiming for is something that you would feel comfortable saying to someone conversationally.

Also, take notice of your tenses. You flip-flop between past and present tense in a sort of volatile way. The paragraphs/sentences about what the narrator is currently doing are written in past tense, but his reminiscing is done in present tense. It's a bit strange to read.

I see a lot of potential in your writing. I look forward to your future entries.


message 35: by Angie (new)

Angie Pangan Dani:

I love the way you wrote that. You included two elements of loss: the loss of Lynn herself and that of her memory. I enjoyed reading your entry.

I like the was Nate's thoughts show Nate's frustration, rather than tell it. It was very well done.

The beginning of your entry wasn't as strong as the end, as if you were kind of unsure of where you were going with your story. But you certainly gain momentum as the plot progresses. I think that now you know how you want it to end, you could make this piece utterly amazing if you did some revising in the beginning. If your entire piece was as good as the latter part, it would have been perfect.

Well good job!


message 36: by Dani (new)

Dani (euriella) | 10 comments Thank you so much for commenting! I guess I was trying not to rush into the idea so it would keep you guessing and wondering rather than having it straight up said in the text. I wanted ambiguity but I ended up being a bit unclear, and it made the piece weaker in that aspect, so I see your point.

I actually struggled with this piece a LOT while writing it. The idea came to me on a whim, and Lynn being dead was something I just added. I was going to make the girl with Nate turn out to be Lynn but I thought it lacked tragedy lol so I just thought, "hmm, what would make this piece even more devastating..." and voila. The girl is actually Nate's sister who I never gave a name.

Although, you said the beginning lacked what the ending featured, but do you have a specific chunk of it that you found less captivating? Like, where did that start for you?


message 37: by Angie (new)

Angie Pangan Dani:

Mostly it was the objective way that you were describing Nate's surroundings, especially in the first paragraph. His confusion and emotions don't become clearer until a little later. I think it would add a little more ambiguity if you introduced his feelings from the very beginning and then explained what was going on as the piece went along. I hope that helps.


message 38: by Dani (new)

Dani (euriella) | 10 comments Okay! Thanks again c:


message 39: by Kendra (new)

Kendra (madamejade) | 253 comments Um.... I'm not sure that's with the template. It might even be the opposite.


message 40: by Sophie (last edited Dec 08, 2013 01:25AM) (new)

Sophie (warpedline) | 105 comments MANIAC ŧЋē ʙʀᴀɪɴɪᴀᴄ ⊛ⓣⓗⓘⓝⓖ ל⊛ wrote: "Um.... I'm not sure that's with the template. It might even be the opposite."

??


message 41: by Kendra (new)

Kendra (madamejade) | 253 comments Um... a story about gain was just deleted.


message 42: by Dani (new)

Dani (euriella) | 10 comments o.o did you at least pm her?


message 43: by Kendra (new)

Kendra (madamejade) | 253 comments ...No, I sent the above message. Why?


message 44: by Olivia (new)

Olivia | 213 comments I saw that story too. Maybe when she saw, you said that it had nothing to do with the templet she deleted it.


message 45: by Dani (new)

Dani (euriella) | 10 comments Ohhh I get it. I thought /you/ deleted it. My bad!


message 46: by Olivia (new)

Olivia | 213 comments I don't actually think maniac can delete anything, since he is not a moderator.


message 47: by Kendra (new)

Kendra (madamejade) | 253 comments Sadly, no.


message 48: by Olivia (new)

Olivia | 213 comments Does that mean I am right


message 49: by Kendra (new)

Kendra (madamejade) | 253 comments YOU ARE CORRECT IN YOUR ASSUMPTION.


message 50: by Olivia (new)

Olivia | 213 comments Yay!


« previous 1
back to top