PREFACE
I focused on nothing but the rheumatic pattern of my breathing. In and out. Inhale and exhale. I was vastly petrified. He walked toward me with a shady smile on his face. I awaited agony and pain.
There was no warmth or bliss. The caring features vanished and turned into harsh, cold structures. How terribly I grieved to be safe in his arms. In his arms. I knew that he was gone as much as I knew that this would be hurtful. He took a step forward balancing all of his weight on one foot and smiled in the way that made me cringe, then, he lunged.
Chapter One
Acquaintance
Sixteen.
Perfect age, right. Wrong. This is when everything starts to change. Especially for me. Feelings are more sensitive. Sensitive. I really wished that word didn’t exist. It hurts. I used to be sensitive.
But, that was before I knew. Before I knew the truth. We’ll get to that later.
I just moved from Florida. Let me say this again. Florida to an old, deserted Indian town called Bear Claw. Yeah, Bear Claw. Doesn’t it just welcome you. How much I long to be back in Florida with Carol. We had it great in Florida. Beaching it every day. We were inseparable. Many people don’t get to have that kind of relationship with their sisters. Then Dad had to step into the perfect picture. It’s like he just took the picture, ripped it into tons of little pieces, threw it on the ground, and stomped on it.
Dad thought that it would be great if I spent a little time with him and Grandpapa Frank. After Mom died I do have to say that I’ve been moping, but I was doing just fine with Carol. Now, I’m moping more than ever.
“C’mon Maria, it’s not gonna be that bad! You’ll have fun! Meet some new people, you need to have some fun. You’ve been so…..” my Dad paused at that, “so…….mopey.”
“I’ve not been mopey!” I shouted. I think that I shouted a little too sharply.
“Get in the car.” he said. I had said it too sharply. My Dad and I were on our way to my new school. The first day of school. Maybe school would be sanctuary. Maybe Dad wouldn’t be around every corner offering me cookies and milk and comforting and those dreaded bear hugs. Maybe, just maybe I could find some real friends. Friends that weren’t in my immediate family or were from the animal race.
I reached for the radio button, but he touched the back of my hand, signaling that he wasn’t in the mood. Or I had made him too angry.
We drove past some trees and dusty buildings. My dad really did live in a dump. We passed so many shattered things. Imagine a ghost town and it was worse than that. One of the log cabins that we passed, we stopped at. It was really little. One door that was on the side and two or three windows on the back. I wondered why not in the front. Were they trying to keep the sunlight out?
I was awoken from my thought from a deep, husky voice.
“Well, hello! Long time no see! I’ve been waiting to see you since you was a little young’un.” it said.
The windows were so tinted that I had to roll down my window to get a look. I reached for the handle and twisted it downward. There stood an old man, he was much shorter than I was. In fact, he was probably shorter than a seven or an eight year old. Then I noticed why, he was in a wheelchair.
“What’s this young’un’s name again Bill?” he asked my Dad.
My dad smiled at me and then at the old man. “It’s Maria Dad.”
“Dad?” I asked my Father.
“Honey, this is your Grandpapa Frank. You’ll be spending time with him a bit.”
I was so shocked that I didn’t even notice the young looking man that walked up.
“This is my little helper, Nathan.” he smiled. “He helps out a lot around here.”
Nathan smiled and put his hand out. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Maria.” he said. I couldn’t understand why this boy was so peculiar. He spoke normal. He walked normal. He just didn’t look normal. He had dark eyes. Dark eyes. Almost black. Long, black hair put up in a ponytail. He was so big and muscular, you would think that he was an underwear model, instead of a help.
“Well,” he said, “I best be going. I have much more work to do.” He looked straight at me then. Like he was trying to tell me something without physically speaking. “Good day, Maria.” He smiled as he walked off.
“Good day.” I said again. I looked at the clock on the car. Seven fifty-two. “Dad,” I said, now focusing on the more important things. “I’m going to be late!”
“Oh, look at the time. I am so sorry Frank, I have to go now! I’ll see you later. Maria will come by right after school! Won’t you Maria?” Dad said looking at me while he raised his eyebrows. Telling me to say yes.
“Of course I will. Right after school.” I instantly regretted saying it.
We pulled away from the driveway and headed for school. I had so many questions that I wanted to ask Dad. Why was Frank in a wheelchair? Why did Nathan act so weird? Who was Frank? But, I decided not to ask. I would always get the same answer I always got. ‘Save em’ for the Beavers’. It was liable to come up sometime anyway.
We pulled up to it, a school that was supposed to be a school. But it really looked like an old, run down, fit for mice, factory. Or something of the sort.
I opened the door of the truck and walked on the cold uneven pavement-that was supposed to be a sidewalk-to first period. I heard some footsteps behind me. Oh no. I didn’t want Dad to follow me. He did anyway.
“Dad, I don’t need you to walk in with me like I’m some kindergartener. I’m fine on my own.” I said, while turned around completely the other way. Sure enough Dad wasn’t there. Whose steps did I hear. Everyone was already in first period. I ran to class.
I had hoped that I would meet some nice acquaintances and talk some friendly talks. I was wrong. I walked up to Mr. Barren’s class and sat down. When he called my name for roll, he noticed that he didn’t remember the name, so he made me stand up in front of the class and introduce myself.
“H-he-hello. M-my n-name is,” I looked up at the twenty-five kids staring at me with un-amused faces. “m-my n-name is,” and that’s pretty much as far as I got. I’m not good at being in front of people.
“Go ahead,” Mr. Barren told me, getting agitated. “we all want to hear.”
Then, it was all green and more green. If you know what I mean. I felt like I was going to faint-and I did. But I didn’t hit the floor. That was the most peculiar part.
Instead, I was caught by gorgeous arms, which carried me to the nurse’s office.
“Take her to the clinic!” was the last voice that I heard.
After that, I listened to a high pitched, crackly voice-which was actually the nurse’s voice.
“She’s okay, she just fainted. She must not be too great in front of-”
“I’ll take her home.” said a beautiful tone. I thought that it couldn’t even begin to be a voice of a human. It was just too graceful. The voice was like the ocean, like the heaven’s angels. I already loved the voice-even though I had no idea whose it actually belonged to. I figured it was probably the guy with muscular arms that took me to the clinic.
He picked me up with one arm, put me over his shoulder and carried me out the door. Before I knew it, I was at my truck. But, he didn’t even know that what kind of car that I had.
I opened my eyes and saw the most beautiful figure that I ever thought was possible. He had black hair, short cut and shimmering in the sunlight. But, when I looked at him, it wasn’t just his hair shimmering, but his whole body was shimmering in the light. Beautiful eyes, no wait beautiful doesn’t even begin to cover it. Picturesque eyes. Gorgeous little things. I saw all of this while in his arms. Remember that I don’t even know this beautiful little devil’s name.
“Is this your car?” he said. I was so drowned in his beauty, he had to say it again, before I could hear him. My ears weren’t in command with my eyes.
“I said, is this your car?” he said again with a smile on his face. He was probably used to all this attention, he seemed to be enjoying it.
“Yes.” I managed to get out of my almost stunned mouth.
“Are you okay.” he turned the corners of his mouth into a smile. (by the way, gorgeous smile)
Here we go again with the-having to say it twice before I noticed that his dazzling mouth said anything with that heaven’s angels voice-thing.
“I think so. How did you know that this was my car?” I asked, puzzled still.
He didn’t answer. I didn’t expect him to.What do you think of this Story?
This is a masterpiece! Marvelous! The plot, base, and events are completly well planned and thoroughly thought out. I have never seen something so.... so.... I don't know a great enough word to describe it! This is the fur of the cat, the cinnamon of the bun! I happen to be writing a book myself, called the Butterfly Bop, so I just know that people will love it! Outstanding! I've never seen more senses put into a story until this! If you are planning to finish and get this published, I wish you luck. Best Wishes, A.S.What do you think of this Story?
wow.
wow!
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Read my short story...?
The ringing phone filled her with dread. She glanced down at her brand new Nokia phone, another present given from her dad to “apologize” for a couple smacks on the face, while he was angrily stumbling and shouting around the house drunk. She looked down at the flashing writing on her phone: calling-Dad. Trembling, she took a breath of the icy, cold air and picked up her phone.
“Hello?”
“Honey, please come home. I never meant to hurt you,” said her father.
Enraged, she slammed the lid of her phone shut and tossed it back into her duffel bag. “Never meant to hurt me?” she thought, “Yeah, threatening to kill me and smacking me around, means you never meant to hurt me.”
After hearing her father’s voice, her mind brought her back to the day she ran away from home. She remembered every detail; it was just like any other night. Following the 10 or so bottles of beer, her father would start the verbal abuse, blaming her for everything and for what had happened 4 years ago. He staggered around the house in a daze, shouting ugly things and crashing into the walls. It was all like a routine that happened over and over again, every day of her life. One day, she would be the perfect daughter that he was so proud of, the next day she would be the useless and ungrateful person he hated. The worst part of it all? She was getting used to it. But, something new happened that night. Her father curled up into a ball and gave her a look she had never seen before. It was not the usual look of disappointment and hurt, but a look of complete rage.
“I wish you were never born! She would still be here if it weren’t for you! I wish you were dead instead of her,” he uttered.
Mortified and absolutely stunned of what he had just said, she stood there still like a statue for a mere second, processing what he had just said. Without a word, she grabbed her duffel bag and dashed out of the house, trying to get as far away from him as possible.
But there was one day in her life that she wished she would forget, yet no matter how hard she tried, it seemed to be like a remote control on the permanent replay button. This day was the day her mother had died, the day that her Dad changed from the loving man to the drunk monster she knew as him now, and the day that a part of her own heart died with her mother.
She and her mum were driving to pick up her Dad from the airport. Around only 200 meters away from the airport, the accident that changed her life forever happened. She could still remember the car, a green jeep that was driving at what looked like 1000km per hour towards them. The thing she remembered most was the look on her mum’s face, a look of complete terror the moment before the car hit. It all happened in slow motion, a loud bang and the tremendous force that threw her straight out of her seat. Strangely, she managed to walk away from the wreck with only a couple bruises and cuts on her shaking body. Still in complete shock, she collapsed onto the ground and everything was black.
After living on the streets for about a week, she knew that it was much harder then it looked. Everyday was a battle to find food or shelter, most of the time she had to get on her knees and beg for money, to buy a loaf of bread just to get her through the day. The streets were a forbidding and tough place to live on. The ground was hard and ice-cold to sleep on, so different from her cosy, warm bed at home. Once, nobody gave her any money so, she just had to go without food for 2 whole days. While walking on the streets, she saw her reflection on a glass window in an alleyway. She did not even recognize herself. Her appearance was shocking: stick-like arms like a living skeleton, filthy hands and grimy hair.
I should go home. I am not strong enough to live like this. I won’t be able to do this. I will crumble to pieces. I am too fragile. Too weak. Too delicate. Look at me now. It’s only been a few days and LOOK AT ME. I must go home now. I can’t take any more of this. The only thing that got me through the abuse at home, was the thought that something better must be out there for me. After seeing this world, I just want to go back home. At least at home, not all days were bad. I have no hope out here by myself.
That night, she ended up back home at her front door. She paused for a second before ringing the doorbell, re-thinking things over. Suddenly, a terrifying smash came from inside the house. She peered through the window and saw the reflection of her father’s face. It was the same look he had given her the day she ran away, fury and rage. She remembered why she ran away in the first place, to escape all of this, to escape HIM. Without a sound, she turned her back to the door, and walked back into the scary and lonely world. But, at the same time she realized that she was walking away from him forever.Read my short story...?
I like it!!!
keep up the good work, i was actually considering doing a story quite similar...
=]Read my short story...?
tl;dr
He comits suicide
Serenity
Not bad
A little work to do still, an edit is required
Some, but more varied would be better. need short sentences for action, long for remembering past events
little atmosphere, but it's not required. short stories need to be plot driven
no poetic language and some limited description
I really like it - I kept reading it the whole way through, it really interested me. Try dragging out her return a bit longer, with a few more details, that would increase the climax. Also, put somewhere before the bit where she says 'I should go home' that she's thinking to herself, or after, like .... she thought to herself.
Otherwise I really like it. Keep up the fantastic work!acne scar windows web hosting
“Hello?”
“Honey, please come home. I never meant to hurt you,” said her father.
Enraged, she slammed the lid of her phone shut and tossed it back into her duffel bag. “Never meant to hurt me?” she thought, “Yeah, threatening to kill me and smacking me around, means you never meant to hurt me.”
After hearing her father’s voice, her mind brought her back to the day she ran away from home. She remembered every detail; it was just like any other night. Following the 10 or so bottles of beer, her father would start the verbal abuse, blaming her for everything and for what had happened 4 years ago. He staggered around the house in a daze, shouting ugly things and crashing into the walls. It was all like a routine that happened over and over again, every day of her life. One day, she would be the perfect daughter that he was so proud of, the next day she would be the useless and ungrateful person he hated. The worst part of it all? She was getting used to it. But, something new happened that night. Her father curled up into a ball and gave her a look she had never seen before. It was not the usual look of disappointment and hurt, but a look of complete rage.
“I wish you were never born! She would still be here if it weren’t for you! I wish you were dead instead of her,” he uttered.
Mortified and absolutely stunned of what he had just said, she stood there still like a statue for a mere second, processing what he had just said. Without a word, she grabbed her duffel bag and dashed out of the house, trying to get as far away from him as possible.
But there was one day in her life that she wished she would forget, yet no matter how hard she tried, it seemed to be like a remote control on the permanent replay button. This day was the day her mother had died, the day that her Dad changed from the loving man to the drunk monster she knew as him now, and the day that a part of her own heart died with her mother.
She and her mum were driving to pick up her Dad from the airport. Around only 200 meters away from the airport, the accident that changed her life forever happened. She could still remember the car, a green jeep that was driving at what looked like 1000km per hour towards them. The thing she remembered most was the look on her mum’s face, a look of complete terror the moment before the car hit. It all happened in slow motion, a loud bang and the tremendous force that threw her straight out of her seat. Strangely, she managed to walk away from the wreck with only a couple bruises and cuts on her shaking body. Still in complete shock, she collapsed onto the ground and everything was black.
After living on the streets for about a week, she knew that it was much harder then it looked. Everyday was a battle to find food or shelter, most of the time she had to get on her knees and beg for money, to buy a loaf of bread just to get her through the day. The streets were a forbidding and tough place to live on. The ground was hard and ice-cold to sleep on, so different from her cosy, warm bed at home. Once, nobody gave her any money so, she just had to go without food for 2 whole days. While walking on the streets, she saw her reflection on a glass window in an alleyway. She did not even recognize herself. Her appearance was shocking: stick-like arms like a living skeleton, filthy hands and grimy hair.
I should go home. I am not strong enough to live like this. I won’t be able to do this. I will crumble to pieces. I am too fragile. Too weak. Too delicate. Look at me now. It’s only been a few days and LOOK AT ME. I must go home now. I can’t take any more of this. The only thing that got me through the abuse at home, was the thought that something better must be out there for me. After seeing this world, I just want to go back home. At least at home, not all days were bad. I have no hope out here by myself.
That night, she ended up back home at her front door. She paused for a second before ringing the doorbell, re-thinking things over. Suddenly, a terrifying smash came from inside the house. She peered through the window and saw the reflection of her father’s face. It was the same look he had given her the day she ran away, fury and rage. She remembered why she ran away in the first place, to escape all of this, to escape HIM. Without a sound, she turned her back to the door, and walked back into the scary and lonely world. But, at the same time she realized that she was walking away from him forever.Read my short story...?
I like it!!!
keep up the good work, i was actually considering doing a story quite similar...
=]Read my short story...?
tl;dr
He comits suicide
Serenity
Not bad
A little work to do still, an edit is required
Some, but more varied would be better. need short sentences for action, long for remembering past events
little atmosphere, but it's not required. short stories need to be plot driven
no poetic language and some limited description
I really like it - I kept reading it the whole way through, it really interested me. Try dragging out her return a bit longer, with a few more details, that would increase the climax. Also, put somewhere before the bit where she says 'I should go home' that she's thinking to herself, or after, like .... she thought to herself.
Otherwise I really like it. Keep up the fantastic work!
Dreads- they're uneven what do i do?
before i got dreads i had braids that were about shoulder length, i got tired of getting my hair braided every two weeks so i decided to try dreads but everyone said my hair was too long and soft so i cut it short enough so i could get them, (i didn't cut all my hair off just short enough for dreads). now, the only problem was when i cut my hair it was either cut uneven or the dreads were parted uneven, i had my dreads for a lil bit over a year now and they are getting longer but they look uneven and some are skinnier than the rest and some of my friends playfully tease me and say they are growin ';sideways'; lol whateva dat mean but, i don't know i was thinking about cutting them off and starting over, but i don't like how i look with a haircut and i don't think i would be able to get used to it since i had long hair for over 5 years. is their anything i can do to make my dreads look a little better, i know dreads aren';t supposed to be perfect, but i don't want them to be growing ';sideways';Dreads- they're uneven what do i do?
Dreads are kinda gross... they kill your hair, take them out and use something to help your poor poor hair.
Dreads are kinda gross... they kill your hair, take them out and use something to help your poor poor hair.
What do you think of this Story?
PREFACE
I focused on nothing but the rheumatic pattern of my breathing. In and out. Inhale and exhale. I was vastly petrified. He walked toward me with a shady smile on his face. I awaited agony and pain.
There was no warmth or bliss. The caring features vanished and turned into harsh, cold structures. How terribly I grieved to be safe in his arms. In his arms. I knew that he was gone as much as I knew that this would be hurtful. He took a step forward balancing all of his weight on one foot and smiled in the way that made me cringe, then, he lunged.
Chapter One
Acquaintance
Sixteen.
Perfect age, right. Wrong. This is when everything starts to change. Especially for me. Feelings are more sensitive. Sensitive. I really wished that word didn’t exist. It hurts. I used to be sensitive.
But, that was before I knew. Before I knew the truth. We’ll get to that later.
Now is me dreading to get in the car.
“C’mon Maria, it’s not gonna be that bad! You’ll have fun! Meet some new people, you need to have some fun. You’ve been so…..” my Dad paused at that, “so…….mopey.”
“I’ve not been mopey!” I shouted. I think that I shouted a little too sharply.
“Get in the car.” he said. I had said it too sharply.
I reached for the radio button, but he touched the back of my hand, signaling that he wasn’t in the mood. Or I had made him too angry.
We drove past some trees and old buildings. My dad really did live in a dump. We passed so many shattered things. Imagine a ghost town and it was worse than that. One of the log cabins that we passed, we stopped at. It was really little. One door that was on the side and two or three windows on the back. I wondered why not in the front. Were they trying to keep the sunlight out?
I was awoken from my thought from a deep, husky voice.
“Well, hello! Long time no see! I’ve been waiting to see you since you was a little young’un.” it said.
The windows were so tinted that I had to roll down my window to get a look. I reached for the handle and twisted it downward. There stood an old man, he was much shorter than I was. In fact, he was probably shorter than a seven or an eight year old. Then I noticed why, he was in a wheelchair.
“What’s this young’un’s name again Bill?” he asked my Dad.
My dad smiled at me and then at the old man. “It’s Maria Dad.”
“Dad?” I asked my Father.
“Honey, this is your Grandpapa Frank. You’ll be spending time with him a bit.”
I was so shocked that I didn’t even notice the young looking man that walked up.
“This is my little helper, Nathan.” he smiled. “He helps out a lot around here.”
Nathan smiled and put his hand out. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Maria.” he said. I couldn’t understand why this boy was so peculiar. He spoke normal. He walked normal. He just didn’t look normal. He had dark eyes. Dark eyes. Almost black. Long, black hair put up in a ponytail. He was so big and muscular, you would think that he was an underwear model, instead of a help.
“Well,” he said, “I best be going. I have much more work to do.” He looked straight at me then. Like he was trying to tell me something without physically speaking. “Good day, Maria.” He smiled as he walked off.
“Good day.” I said again. I looked at the clock on the car. Seven fifty-two. “Dad,” I said, now focusing on the more important things. “I’m going to be late!”
“Oh, look at the time. I am so sorry Frank, I have to go now! I’ll see you later. Maria will come by right after school! Won’t you Maria?” Dad said looking at me while he raised his eyebrows. Telling me to say yes.
“Of course I will. Right after school.” I instantly regretted saying it.
We pulled away from the driveway and headed for school. I had so many questions that I wanted to ask Dad. Why was Frank in a wheelchair? Why did Nathan act so weird? Who was Frank? But, I decided not to ask. I would always get the same answer I always got. ‘Save em’ for the Beavers’. It was liable to come up sometime anyway.
We pulled up to it, a school that was supposed to be a school. But it really looked like an old, run down, fit for mice, factory. Or something of the sort.
I opened the door of the truck and walked on the cold uneven pavement-that was supposed to be a sidewalk-to first period. I heard some footsteps behind me. Oh no. I didn’t want Dad to follow me. He did anyway.
“Dad, I don’t need you to walk in with me like I’m some kindergartener. I’m fine on my own.” I said, while turned around completely the other way. Sure enough Dad wasn’t there. Whose steps did I hear. Everyone was already in first period. I ran to class.
I had hoped that I would meet some nice acquaintances and talk some friendly talks. I was wrong. I walked up to Mr. Barren’s class and sat down. When he called my name for roll, he noticed that he didn’t remember the name, so he made me stand up in front of the class and introduce myself.
“H-he-hello. M-my n-name is,” I looked up at the twenty-five kids staring at me with un-amused faces. “m-my n-name is,” and that’s pretty much as far as I got. I’m not good at being in front of people.
“Go ahead,” Mr. Barren told me, getting agitated. “we all want to hear.”
Then, it was all green and more green. If you know what I mean. I felt like I was going to faint-and I did. But I didn’t hit the floor. That was the most peculiar part.
Instead, I was caught by gorgeous arms, which carried me to the nurse’s office.
“Take her to the clinic!” was the last voice that I heard.
After that, I listened to a high pitched, crackly voice-which was actually the nurse’s voice.
“She’s okay, she just fainted. She must not be too great in front of-”
“I’ll take her home.” said a beautiful tone. I thought that it couldn’t even begin to be a voice of a human. It was just too graceful. The voice was like the ocean, like the heaven’s angels. I already loved the voice-even though I had no idea whose it actually belonged to. I figured it was probably the guy with muscular arms that took me to the clinic.
He picked me up with one arm, put me over his shoulder and carried me out the door. Before I knew it, I was at my truck. But, he didn’t even know that what kind of car that I had.
I opened my eyes and saw the most beautiful figure that I ever thought was possible. He had black hair, short cut and shimmering in the sunlight. But, when I looked at him, it wasn’t just his hair shimmering, but his whole body was shimmering in the light. Beautiful eyes, no wait beautiful doesn’t even begin to cover it. Picturesque eyes. Gorgeous little things. I saw all of this while in his arms. Remember that I don’t even know this beautiful little devil’s name.
“Is this your car?” he said. I was so drowned in his beauty, he had to say it again, before I could hear him. My ears weren’t in command with my eyes.
“I said, is this your car?” he said again with a smile on his face. He was probably used to all this attention, he seemed to be enjoying it.
“Yes.” I managed to get out of my almost stunned mouth.
“Are you okay.” he turned the corners of his mouth into a smile. (by the way, gorgeous smile)
Here we go again with the-having to say it twice before I noticed that his dazzling mouth said anything with that heaven’s angels voice-thing.
“I think so. How did you know that this was my car?” I asked, puzzled still.
He didn’t answer. I didn’t expect him to.What do you think of this Story?
Your story has strong merit. For me, it is difficult to read through long narratives on this forum, but I did in this case because the tenseness kept building. Good job!
On the other hand, you need to edit the story a few more times regarding correct use of punctuation--including commas after the line of dialogue and before the tag. Concentrate on punctuation because that seems to be your weakest area.
Additionally, I recommend eliminating much of the repetitious words or phrases meant for emphasis as is done in street talk. Doing it once, maybe even twice, could be acceptable, but making it a habit causes the reader to build a bad taste in his mouth.
One item few novice and professional writers are shady about is the use of a comma after the question mark or exclamation point before the ending quotation mark. A comma is inserted in these events when the tag is composed of a participial phrase, an independent clause, or a long independent clause beginning with a coordination conjunction.
Example: “I said, is this your car?” he said again with a smile on his face.
Change it by adding the comma immediately after the question mark and before the ending quotation mark, as this:
';I said, is this your car?,'; he said again . . .
Watch the use of common street talk in your narrative. Yes, the story must reflect a personality, but one that writes well.
Get a copy of ';The Elements of Style'; by Strunk and Williams. That little reference book is a must to have near your keyboard.
Note: regarding copyright. Your story is automatically copyrighted when you wrote it and placed it in hard-copy form. Plageurism is possible, but doubtful from this forum. Mailing a copy of your manuscript to yourself is not necessary or needful. Print a copy of your manuscript having your name and the date written. That will suffice.What do you think of this Story?
Thank you, Bella Swan, for selecting my reply as best. I wish you success in your writing and with this story you've posted. Editing is a necessary pain for improving in the skill of writing.
Sorry, I'd rather eat my own flesh with a grapefruit spoon than read all of that.
What was your question?
And what the heck is a ';rheumatic pattern';?
too long
Wow, very good.....BRAVO !!!!! 2 thumbs up...Need I say more?
i didn't really understand it until i read i though a few times. But it was really good. You have a gift for writing, use it.
Sounds really good. I'm guessing yuo've read the Twilight Series, too. I like the story, though. Seem well thought-out so far and just great.
Just reading the frist paragraph made me sleepy. It was all to pridictable, without originality. what is with the 'young'un'?
WOW this is really good!!!! Two thumbs up!!!!! Damn this is good
wow. that was *really* good. but i dont get the preface.... BUT the descriptions were absolutely beautiful, nice job!
Wow, amazing is all I can say.You have a gift, use it!Such beautiful writting.
it is great, but you shouldn't show anybody that online, it was kind of silly of you to do that, because since it isn't copyrighted someone else might steal it. I am writing a book and its great, i'm almost done, it will be about 300 pages.
I focused on nothing but the rheumatic pattern of my breathing. In and out. Inhale and exhale. I was vastly petrified. He walked toward me with a shady smile on his face. I awaited agony and pain.
There was no warmth or bliss. The caring features vanished and turned into harsh, cold structures. How terribly I grieved to be safe in his arms. In his arms. I knew that he was gone as much as I knew that this would be hurtful. He took a step forward balancing all of his weight on one foot and smiled in the way that made me cringe, then, he lunged.
Chapter One
Acquaintance
Sixteen.
Perfect age, right. Wrong. This is when everything starts to change. Especially for me. Feelings are more sensitive. Sensitive. I really wished that word didn’t exist. It hurts. I used to be sensitive.
But, that was before I knew. Before I knew the truth. We’ll get to that later.
Now is me dreading to get in the car.
“C’mon Maria, it’s not gonna be that bad! You’ll have fun! Meet some new people, you need to have some fun. You’ve been so…..” my Dad paused at that, “so…….mopey.”
“I’ve not been mopey!” I shouted. I think that I shouted a little too sharply.
“Get in the car.” he said. I had said it too sharply.
I reached for the radio button, but he touched the back of my hand, signaling that he wasn’t in the mood. Or I had made him too angry.
We drove past some trees and old buildings. My dad really did live in a dump. We passed so many shattered things. Imagine a ghost town and it was worse than that. One of the log cabins that we passed, we stopped at. It was really little. One door that was on the side and two or three windows on the back. I wondered why not in the front. Were they trying to keep the sunlight out?
I was awoken from my thought from a deep, husky voice.
“Well, hello! Long time no see! I’ve been waiting to see you since you was a little young’un.” it said.
The windows were so tinted that I had to roll down my window to get a look. I reached for the handle and twisted it downward. There stood an old man, he was much shorter than I was. In fact, he was probably shorter than a seven or an eight year old. Then I noticed why, he was in a wheelchair.
“What’s this young’un’s name again Bill?” he asked my Dad.
My dad smiled at me and then at the old man. “It’s Maria Dad.”
“Dad?” I asked my Father.
“Honey, this is your Grandpapa Frank. You’ll be spending time with him a bit.”
I was so shocked that I didn’t even notice the young looking man that walked up.
“This is my little helper, Nathan.” he smiled. “He helps out a lot around here.”
Nathan smiled and put his hand out. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Maria.” he said. I couldn’t understand why this boy was so peculiar. He spoke normal. He walked normal. He just didn’t look normal. He had dark eyes. Dark eyes. Almost black. Long, black hair put up in a ponytail. He was so big and muscular, you would think that he was an underwear model, instead of a help.
“Well,” he said, “I best be going. I have much more work to do.” He looked straight at me then. Like he was trying to tell me something without physically speaking. “Good day, Maria.” He smiled as he walked off.
“Good day.” I said again. I looked at the clock on the car. Seven fifty-two. “Dad,” I said, now focusing on the more important things. “I’m going to be late!”
“Oh, look at the time. I am so sorry Frank, I have to go now! I’ll see you later. Maria will come by right after school! Won’t you Maria?” Dad said looking at me while he raised his eyebrows. Telling me to say yes.
“Of course I will. Right after school.” I instantly regretted saying it.
We pulled away from the driveway and headed for school. I had so many questions that I wanted to ask Dad. Why was Frank in a wheelchair? Why did Nathan act so weird? Who was Frank? But, I decided not to ask. I would always get the same answer I always got. ‘Save em’ for the Beavers’. It was liable to come up sometime anyway.
We pulled up to it, a school that was supposed to be a school. But it really looked like an old, run down, fit for mice, factory. Or something of the sort.
I opened the door of the truck and walked on the cold uneven pavement-that was supposed to be a sidewalk-to first period. I heard some footsteps behind me. Oh no. I didn’t want Dad to follow me. He did anyway.
“Dad, I don’t need you to walk in with me like I’m some kindergartener. I’m fine on my own.” I said, while turned around completely the other way. Sure enough Dad wasn’t there. Whose steps did I hear. Everyone was already in first period. I ran to class.
I had hoped that I would meet some nice acquaintances and talk some friendly talks. I was wrong. I walked up to Mr. Barren’s class and sat down. When he called my name for roll, he noticed that he didn’t remember the name, so he made me stand up in front of the class and introduce myself.
“H-he-hello. M-my n-name is,” I looked up at the twenty-five kids staring at me with un-amused faces. “m-my n-name is,” and that’s pretty much as far as I got. I’m not good at being in front of people.
“Go ahead,” Mr. Barren told me, getting agitated. “we all want to hear.”
Then, it was all green and more green. If you know what I mean. I felt like I was going to faint-and I did. But I didn’t hit the floor. That was the most peculiar part.
Instead, I was caught by gorgeous arms, which carried me to the nurse’s office.
“Take her to the clinic!” was the last voice that I heard.
After that, I listened to a high pitched, crackly voice-which was actually the nurse’s voice.
“She’s okay, she just fainted. She must not be too great in front of-”
“I’ll take her home.” said a beautiful tone. I thought that it couldn’t even begin to be a voice of a human. It was just too graceful. The voice was like the ocean, like the heaven’s angels. I already loved the voice-even though I had no idea whose it actually belonged to. I figured it was probably the guy with muscular arms that took me to the clinic.
He picked me up with one arm, put me over his shoulder and carried me out the door. Before I knew it, I was at my truck. But, he didn’t even know that what kind of car that I had.
I opened my eyes and saw the most beautiful figure that I ever thought was possible. He had black hair, short cut and shimmering in the sunlight. But, when I looked at him, it wasn’t just his hair shimmering, but his whole body was shimmering in the light. Beautiful eyes, no wait beautiful doesn’t even begin to cover it. Picturesque eyes. Gorgeous little things. I saw all of this while in his arms. Remember that I don’t even know this beautiful little devil’s name.
“Is this your car?” he said. I was so drowned in his beauty, he had to say it again, before I could hear him. My ears weren’t in command with my eyes.
“I said, is this your car?” he said again with a smile on his face. He was probably used to all this attention, he seemed to be enjoying it.
“Yes.” I managed to get out of my almost stunned mouth.
“Are you okay.” he turned the corners of his mouth into a smile. (by the way, gorgeous smile)
Here we go again with the-having to say it twice before I noticed that his dazzling mouth said anything with that heaven’s angels voice-thing.
“I think so. How did you know that this was my car?” I asked, puzzled still.
He didn’t answer. I didn’t expect him to.What do you think of this Story?
Your story has strong merit. For me, it is difficult to read through long narratives on this forum, but I did in this case because the tenseness kept building. Good job!
On the other hand, you need to edit the story a few more times regarding correct use of punctuation--including commas after the line of dialogue and before the tag. Concentrate on punctuation because that seems to be your weakest area.
Additionally, I recommend eliminating much of the repetitious words or phrases meant for emphasis as is done in street talk. Doing it once, maybe even twice, could be acceptable, but making it a habit causes the reader to build a bad taste in his mouth.
One item few novice and professional writers are shady about is the use of a comma after the question mark or exclamation point before the ending quotation mark. A comma is inserted in these events when the tag is composed of a participial phrase, an independent clause, or a long independent clause beginning with a coordination conjunction.
Example: “I said, is this your car?” he said again with a smile on his face.
Change it by adding the comma immediately after the question mark and before the ending quotation mark, as this:
';I said, is this your car?,'; he said again . . .
Watch the use of common street talk in your narrative. Yes, the story must reflect a personality, but one that writes well.
Get a copy of ';The Elements of Style'; by Strunk and Williams. That little reference book is a must to have near your keyboard.
Note: regarding copyright. Your story is automatically copyrighted when you wrote it and placed it in hard-copy form. Plageurism is possible, but doubtful from this forum. Mailing a copy of your manuscript to yourself is not necessary or needful. Print a copy of your manuscript having your name and the date written. That will suffice.What do you think of this Story?
Thank you, Bella Swan, for selecting my reply as best. I wish you success in your writing and with this story you've posted. Editing is a necessary pain for improving in the skill of writing.
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Sorry, I'd rather eat my own flesh with a grapefruit spoon than read all of that.
What was your question?
And what the heck is a ';rheumatic pattern';?
too long
Wow, very good.....BRAVO !!!!! 2 thumbs up...Need I say more?
i didn't really understand it until i read i though a few times. But it was really good. You have a gift for writing, use it.
Sounds really good. I'm guessing yuo've read the Twilight Series, too. I like the story, though. Seem well thought-out so far and just great.
Just reading the frist paragraph made me sleepy. It was all to pridictable, without originality. what is with the 'young'un'?
WOW this is really good!!!! Two thumbs up!!!!! Damn this is good
wow. that was *really* good. but i dont get the preface.... BUT the descriptions were absolutely beautiful, nice job!
Wow, amazing is all I can say.You have a gift, use it!Such beautiful writting.
it is great, but you shouldn't show anybody that online, it was kind of silly of you to do that, because since it isn't copyrighted someone else might steal it. I am writing a book and its great, i'm almost done, it will be about 300 pages.
Is my story any good so far?
Sorry it's kind of long, and I'm only 11 by the way:
';Casey! Come clean up these dishes! I need you to clear the tables please!'; It was THE call. The night call. Everynight the whole family gets the call, the call to come close up shop. Casey always cleared dishes for the family resturaunt. It was just another one of her routines. Another routine she dreaded.
For years now, all she's wanted was out. Out, out out. Out of this dumb, tiny town, full of nothing. Casey wanted bigger, so much better. She wanted to model. She dreamed of modeling her entire life, something most people out in the middle of nowhere couldn't quite understand. ';How could such a girl dream up a thing like that?'; they would ask. ';Isn't everyone content with becoming a farmers wife, raising kids and singing in the church choir?'; they'd theory.
Maybe everyone else was. Possibly all the women out here were okay to amounting to nothing, making no difference other than how big a pumpkin their husband and son could grow. But Casey wasn't an everyone. She was most deffinetly a SOMEONE, but no one would ever know because of this stupid old town, blocking her on her path to SOMETHING.
A bunch of Nothing
It was Monday morning. Fate, Texas is still and quiet at 4:30 in the morning. Actually, it's usually always quiet no matter what, because really how loud can a town of 497 people really get? I'm willing to bet not that loud. Most people aren't up this early around here, probably nobody, but if anyone is, I'm going to say it would be those drama queen because it takes them so long to get ready.
I'm not that kind of girl though. The only reason I'm up is because one, it takes me a while to fully get up and get ready and secon, because of my anxiety. It's not techincal, or determined by a doctor, but I have determined it myself. I have terrible anxiety with school. I don't even know why, because everythings fine there (except my friend situation) and school is my only escape from this little town, take my mind off of it. But for some reason, I just get overwhelmingly stressed and overthink things to much. My heart starts racing, I can hear my heart pounding, and almost every morning I have emotional breakdowns and cry. A little like a child running scared from a clown. A lot of the time, when I get to school, I'm pretty much out of. I won't want to talk, do my work, or even think. My body tries to tell me to shut down. When everyone asks me, my excuse is ';I'm tired.'; The problem is that this town is so small, this whole place thinks I have some kind of sleep apnea or something. In the FaceBook tags, I'm famously known as ';Sleepy,'; like from the seven dwarfs.
Lately though I've figured out that if I wake up super early and pop in my iPod, it calms me down and I have barely any problems. Music is practically my saving grace now, I don't know what I'd do without it.
After my music session, I go get in the shower. This takes careful doing, because I have to be quiet as to not wake my younger brothers. Not to mention I'm afraid of the shower drain after some freaky clown movie I saw when I was a little girl. After my shower I get dressed. My usual outfit is a V-neck T-shirt, with jean shorts, a big chunky cow boy like brown belt, and my cowboy boots. I love my cowboy boots to death. They are a light, wooden brown, and smell like new leather. They shine like a new born baby's bottom, and they fit like a glove. By the time I finish getting dressed, my hair is dry enough for me to style it. My hair is naturally curly, so I like to leave it that way. All I do it lightly blow dry it on cool as to keep the style. Next I hairspray the loose ringlets of auburn hair as I cover my mouth so I don't breathe in the heavy scent and choke on it.
Now I do my make-up, this is what takes the longest. I apply my concealer, and foundation as usual, then I use a warm pink blush on the apples of my cheeks, and lightly dust an even coat of bronzer all over so I don't look to terribly pale. Now I apply a thick coat of black eyeliner to rim my hazel green eyes. I wing it out a little and make sure to take my time, my eyes are my best feature. I carefully coat my eyelashes in a thin coat of masscara, making sure not to cause clumps or make anything look spider vain-y. Last but not least I apply a light plum eyeshadow to what left of my eyelid. This is probably my favorite part of the day because after I become old and saggy, I'm talking when bo-tox can no longer fix me, I won't be able to model right? So I want to become a make-up artist.
Before I leave my room, I slip some hoop earings through my earlobes, and put my hand braided bracelet on. When I get downstairs I help with my brothers breakfast and make myself a lightly toIs my story any good so far?
*How* you've written it is great, but *what* you've written is...well, let me explain..
Firstly, how old is this main character? If you're 11, you shouldn't be writing about people older than you - even though you can use your imagination, you won't be able to capture the character completely, and you don't have enough life experience to make it believable or authentic.
Also, if your main character is 11, stop right now. 11 year olds shouldn't be wearing all that make-up and hoop earrings (which remind me of a hooker, may I add)...so think carefully now about your character choices.
Also, what you've written is nonsense! You've written a shallow, vain character who thinks she's prettier, smarter and better than everyone. If that's what you were going for, then congratulations, but if not, think about it more.
Its silly how she says all these things about how she wants to make something of herself, and make a difference and be something. What? A Model? This idea is laughable - she can't change the world and ';be something'; by wearing skimpy clothes and parading around in high heels. Change her thoughts a little, and get rid of the ';make a difference'; part, because modeling doesn't do that.
Either change what she wants to be, or the thoughts she has because they don't match. People who want to be models want fame, glitz and glamour - not to change the world (unless of course they're a Miss California contestant).
But apart from *what* you've written, the *way* you've written it was extremely effective; very well done for an 11 year old. However I agree with what someone said about the make-up routine. Its not effective, its irrelevant and boring. Maybe still include the make-up part, but perhaps talk more about why she does it, how it makes her feel, and that Autumn Plum No.5 is her all time favorite eye-shadow because it highlights her eyes and coordinates with her apricot lipgloss. You know, something that reveals character.
Remember that what I've said is my opinion, and you don't have to agree with me.
Good job, good luck and happy writing :)Is my story any good so far?
you want to be a model, dont u?
The first part is VERY good but when u start talking about ur make up nd routine in the morning is when it gets boring I think u should keep the part about Texas and the tiny town but leave out the morning routine
';Casey! Come clean up these dishes! I need you to clear the tables please!'; It was THE call. The night call. Everynight the whole family gets the call, the call to come close up shop. Casey always cleared dishes for the family resturaunt. It was just another one of her routines. Another routine she dreaded.
For years now, all she's wanted was out. Out, out out. Out of this dumb, tiny town, full of nothing. Casey wanted bigger, so much better. She wanted to model. She dreamed of modeling her entire life, something most people out in the middle of nowhere couldn't quite understand. ';How could such a girl dream up a thing like that?'; they would ask. ';Isn't everyone content with becoming a farmers wife, raising kids and singing in the church choir?'; they'd theory.
Maybe everyone else was. Possibly all the women out here were okay to amounting to nothing, making no difference other than how big a pumpkin their husband and son could grow. But Casey wasn't an everyone. She was most deffinetly a SOMEONE, but no one would ever know because of this stupid old town, blocking her on her path to SOMETHING.
A bunch of Nothing
It was Monday morning. Fate, Texas is still and quiet at 4:30 in the morning. Actually, it's usually always quiet no matter what, because really how loud can a town of 497 people really get? I'm willing to bet not that loud. Most people aren't up this early around here, probably nobody, but if anyone is, I'm going to say it would be those drama queen because it takes them so long to get ready.
I'm not that kind of girl though. The only reason I'm up is because one, it takes me a while to fully get up and get ready and secon, because of my anxiety. It's not techincal, or determined by a doctor, but I have determined it myself. I have terrible anxiety with school. I don't even know why, because everythings fine there (except my friend situation) and school is my only escape from this little town, take my mind off of it. But for some reason, I just get overwhelmingly stressed and overthink things to much. My heart starts racing, I can hear my heart pounding, and almost every morning I have emotional breakdowns and cry. A little like a child running scared from a clown. A lot of the time, when I get to school, I'm pretty much out of. I won't want to talk, do my work, or even think. My body tries to tell me to shut down. When everyone asks me, my excuse is ';I'm tired.'; The problem is that this town is so small, this whole place thinks I have some kind of sleep apnea or something. In the FaceBook tags, I'm famously known as ';Sleepy,'; like from the seven dwarfs.
Lately though I've figured out that if I wake up super early and pop in my iPod, it calms me down and I have barely any problems. Music is practically my saving grace now, I don't know what I'd do without it.
After my music session, I go get in the shower. This takes careful doing, because I have to be quiet as to not wake my younger brothers. Not to mention I'm afraid of the shower drain after some freaky clown movie I saw when I was a little girl. After my shower I get dressed. My usual outfit is a V-neck T-shirt, with jean shorts, a big chunky cow boy like brown belt, and my cowboy boots. I love my cowboy boots to death. They are a light, wooden brown, and smell like new leather. They shine like a new born baby's bottom, and they fit like a glove. By the time I finish getting dressed, my hair is dry enough for me to style it. My hair is naturally curly, so I like to leave it that way. All I do it lightly blow dry it on cool as to keep the style. Next I hairspray the loose ringlets of auburn hair as I cover my mouth so I don't breathe in the heavy scent and choke on it.
Now I do my make-up, this is what takes the longest. I apply my concealer, and foundation as usual, then I use a warm pink blush on the apples of my cheeks, and lightly dust an even coat of bronzer all over so I don't look to terribly pale. Now I apply a thick coat of black eyeliner to rim my hazel green eyes. I wing it out a little and make sure to take my time, my eyes are my best feature. I carefully coat my eyelashes in a thin coat of masscara, making sure not to cause clumps or make anything look spider vain-y. Last but not least I apply a light plum eyeshadow to what left of my eyelid. This is probably my favorite part of the day because after I become old and saggy, I'm talking when bo-tox can no longer fix me, I won't be able to model right? So I want to become a make-up artist.
Before I leave my room, I slip some hoop earings through my earlobes, and put my hand braided bracelet on. When I get downstairs I help with my brothers breakfast and make myself a lightly toIs my story any good so far?
*How* you've written it is great, but *what* you've written is...well, let me explain..
Firstly, how old is this main character? If you're 11, you shouldn't be writing about people older than you - even though you can use your imagination, you won't be able to capture the character completely, and you don't have enough life experience to make it believable or authentic.
Also, if your main character is 11, stop right now. 11 year olds shouldn't be wearing all that make-up and hoop earrings (which remind me of a hooker, may I add)...so think carefully now about your character choices.
Also, what you've written is nonsense! You've written a shallow, vain character who thinks she's prettier, smarter and better than everyone. If that's what you were going for, then congratulations, but if not, think about it more.
Its silly how she says all these things about how she wants to make something of herself, and make a difference and be something. What? A Model? This idea is laughable - she can't change the world and ';be something'; by wearing skimpy clothes and parading around in high heels. Change her thoughts a little, and get rid of the ';make a difference'; part, because modeling doesn't do that.
Either change what she wants to be, or the thoughts she has because they don't match. People who want to be models want fame, glitz and glamour - not to change the world (unless of course they're a Miss California contestant).
But apart from *what* you've written, the *way* you've written it was extremely effective; very well done for an 11 year old. However I agree with what someone said about the make-up routine. Its not effective, its irrelevant and boring. Maybe still include the make-up part, but perhaps talk more about why she does it, how it makes her feel, and that Autumn Plum No.5 is her all time favorite eye-shadow because it highlights her eyes and coordinates with her apricot lipgloss. You know, something that reveals character.
Remember that what I've said is my opinion, and you don't have to agree with me.
Good job, good luck and happy writing :)Is my story any good so far?
you want to be a model, dont u?
The first part is VERY good but when u start talking about ur make up nd routine in the morning is when it gets boring I think u should keep the part about Texas and the tiny town but leave out the morning routine
REDO: What do you think of this story/writing?
All reviews are welcome, and people -please have an open mind about this story. It's not meant to harm and/or seclude anyone.
Timothy stood next to the large oak table quietly; waiting patiently for his master to arrive for the dinner he had been working all day on –Thanksgiving Dinner. The table was set for two, both of the chairs next to each other since Arnold was a predator and Timothy was the prey. On the table was an assortment of foods, ranging from waffle casserole to turkey with stuffing.
Timothy was a boy of 16, with shaggy auburn red hair and black freckles that looked more like pieces of burning ash scattered across his red cheeks. He had a diamond shaped face and slim eyebrows, his lips kept in a straight line but burning the color of blood due to abuse. His eyes were almost crystal clear, a glassy blue which showed fear and alertness –no sense of happiness or comfort residing in the almond shaped eyes. His person was slim and short, only towering at 5’6” with posture a king could own but an air of abuse that proved him lowly. He wore a white button-up shirt with baggy black jeans, his sleeves rolled up and his feet only wearing black socks. To the person unaware of his background and lifestyle –they would think him to be only a regular teenage boy who probably did drugs on the weekends (which wasn’t saying much, seeing as how every teen was nowadays). But his wrists shown different, scarred and thin from countless abuse from ropes or wires tied on too tight.
Abruptly the sound of somebody walking down the steps woke Timothy from his gaze on the floor. He lifted his head up slightly as Arnold walked in. Arnold grinned, slightly amused at the teens obedience to him. “G –good evening,” Timothy stuttered out in his low and cumbersome voice.
“As to you, Timothy –you’ve made an excellent round of food…but where’s the beer?” Timothy’s eyes widened slightly at the question, his lips trembling. He had “forgotten” the beer. Yes –Timothy had “forgotten” the beer due to how sexually active the older man got when he was drunk.
“I –um –“
“Timothy, Timothy, Timothy….do you want me to school you in giving and receiving again?” Scared by the threat, Timothy rubbed his wrists and felt his whole body feel tight and stiff like an iced over pole in the middle of a snowstorm.
“No –no sir, I’ll go and get the beer right away –“
“It’s Master,”
“O –of course, Master…” Timothy waited for his master’s wave of the hand or word for him to go and get the beer. But getting no response Timothy spoke, “May I go –“
“You may go, and put up the food in the fridge for later and then go and wait in my room. I’ll get the ropes.” Arnold interrupted, his voice assertive and sending Timothy into shivers of dread. Arnold left the room without another word as Timothy slowly gained control of his feet, hands, and body as he started to take the food from the dining room and into the kitchen –storing them it all into the fridge that was already over-flowing with uneaten food. Stomach growling, he finished putting all the food in the fridge and silently climbed up the stairs to the second floor. On his way there his usual pink skin looked pale –knowing exactly what he was walking towards. He knew that if he was disobedient he would only end up crying and screaming more than he suffered from normally. But on some nights Arnold could be aggressive, almost beastly –
“Glad to see you could make it, Timothy.” Arnold smiled smugly while standing up from his bed.
“Mind closing the door for me? I know how you like to drown out your screams…” Chuckling at his own words Arnold headed towards Timothy who was closing the door and locking it, his back to his master.
Timothy jumped suddenly at the older man’s hands which were now crawling around his waist and to his front side, unbuttoning his shirt while pressing him against the wooden door. Timothy bit his lip to fight a whimper as his button-down shirt and undershirt were thrown on the ground. “Come on,
Timothy, come on and play with daddy…” Aggressively Arnold snatched Timothy’s wrist and dragged him towards the king size bed, throwing him onto it and grabbing the ropes hastily. The red haired boy buried his face in the red comforter while his wrists got tied to the beds upper panels –a tradition that made him want suicide like a kid wanting the latest toy. In no more than ten seconds, though, Timothy felt deadly pleasure as the man bit and licked down his neck –not giving the younger boy a warning, for he was too used to the unhealthy situation to even be a little surprised.
Shaking, Timothy laid frightened in the bed. His wrists were stained with dry blood that had escaped his wrists from the night before –hanging over the side of the bed and into the trash that had been placed there for moments like this. Arnold had left for work earlier that morning, but Timothy still couldn’t move. He felt frozen and hungry –not a trace of fat left on his now regainingREDO: What do you think of this story/writing?
That was amazing. Keep writingREDO: What do you think of this story/writing?
That was amazing. I am hooked. I even paused the music I was listening to so I could better focus on this. Please continue to write this story. I wish you the best of luck with it.
w.o.w. this is really good! AMAZING! keep writing! i really want to read more! oh and one question. is this supposed to be modern day? because his name timothy sounds like ';back then';. so could you clarify it to me?
thanks.
and once again, AMAZING!
Very good!!!!! Please keep writing, you've got a lot of talent!! :)
P.S. Thanks for answering my question! :p
omg that was AMAZING!!!!!!! please please please please please please please please please please please keep writing ...you have like, a gift or something
GREAT GREAT GREAT KEEP WRITING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
OK new Agata Cristy OR J.K Rowling ...
Just keep going forward
.
.
.
It seems you'll over taking the world !!
that was freakin amazing!!!
my only suggestion would be to add in a few commas to break up the longer sentences
omygodomygodomygod
you are wayyyyyyyy to good.
I really like this, nice work.
Amazing. Beautiful. I felt like I was there.
I'm hooked now, so please post it online somewhere and give me a link!!! =)
omg! that chapter was so good, towards the middle i started crying! it was sad! in a good way! u have a gift
Your too good to be showing this to people on the internet! Someone might try to steal it! Keep writing please! It has a really dark/interesting vybe to it, I like it.
:)
Wow.... I absolutley Hate to read BUT THIS WAS SOO GOOD!!!!Like i want to go to the library right now and try to find writing like this. Excellent wow wow wow is all i can say!! Good writing skills very good writing skills really pulls you in I would pay for writing like this. The story itself i found slightly disturbing ,but the writing and fluency if thats even a word is really very very good. PLS continue to write and pls post the rest. Im going to post a question on good books to read and I would like if you could maybe try and answer it if you have the chance. Given your awsome writing ability i would like to know what types of books you read or what kind of writing inspires you so when you get the chance could you just type in ';What are good quality books that pull you in?'; into answers and let me know if you can. similar to your kind of writing. OMG Thankyou for sharing that i actually really enjoyed that and I just need to tell you again that i absolutlely hate to read and I want to read now cause of that, omg thankyou soo much' :-)
i love how you put in details, thats the key to a good story%26lt;3
keep writing this is good!!! :)
Timothy stood next to the large oak table quietly; waiting patiently for his master to arrive for the dinner he had been working all day on –Thanksgiving Dinner. The table was set for two, both of the chairs next to each other since Arnold was a predator and Timothy was the prey. On the table was an assortment of foods, ranging from waffle casserole to turkey with stuffing.
Timothy was a boy of 16, with shaggy auburn red hair and black freckles that looked more like pieces of burning ash scattered across his red cheeks. He had a diamond shaped face and slim eyebrows, his lips kept in a straight line but burning the color of blood due to abuse. His eyes were almost crystal clear, a glassy blue which showed fear and alertness –no sense of happiness or comfort residing in the almond shaped eyes. His person was slim and short, only towering at 5’6” with posture a king could own but an air of abuse that proved him lowly. He wore a white button-up shirt with baggy black jeans, his sleeves rolled up and his feet only wearing black socks. To the person unaware of his background and lifestyle –they would think him to be only a regular teenage boy who probably did drugs on the weekends (which wasn’t saying much, seeing as how every teen was nowadays). But his wrists shown different, scarred and thin from countless abuse from ropes or wires tied on too tight.
Abruptly the sound of somebody walking down the steps woke Timothy from his gaze on the floor. He lifted his head up slightly as Arnold walked in. Arnold grinned, slightly amused at the teens obedience to him. “G –good evening,” Timothy stuttered out in his low and cumbersome voice.
“As to you, Timothy –you’ve made an excellent round of food…but where’s the beer?” Timothy’s eyes widened slightly at the question, his lips trembling. He had “forgotten” the beer. Yes –Timothy had “forgotten” the beer due to how sexually active the older man got when he was drunk.
“I –um –“
“Timothy, Timothy, Timothy….do you want me to school you in giving and receiving again?” Scared by the threat, Timothy rubbed his wrists and felt his whole body feel tight and stiff like an iced over pole in the middle of a snowstorm.
“No –no sir, I’ll go and get the beer right away –“
“It’s Master,”
“O –of course, Master…” Timothy waited for his master’s wave of the hand or word for him to go and get the beer. But getting no response Timothy spoke, “May I go –“
“You may go, and put up the food in the fridge for later and then go and wait in my room. I’ll get the ropes.” Arnold interrupted, his voice assertive and sending Timothy into shivers of dread. Arnold left the room without another word as Timothy slowly gained control of his feet, hands, and body as he started to take the food from the dining room and into the kitchen –storing them it all into the fridge that was already over-flowing with uneaten food. Stomach growling, he finished putting all the food in the fridge and silently climbed up the stairs to the second floor. On his way there his usual pink skin looked pale –knowing exactly what he was walking towards. He knew that if he was disobedient he would only end up crying and screaming more than he suffered from normally. But on some nights Arnold could be aggressive, almost beastly –
“Glad to see you could make it, Timothy.” Arnold smiled smugly while standing up from his bed.
“Mind closing the door for me? I know how you like to drown out your screams…” Chuckling at his own words Arnold headed towards Timothy who was closing the door and locking it, his back to his master.
Timothy jumped suddenly at the older man’s hands which were now crawling around his waist and to his front side, unbuttoning his shirt while pressing him against the wooden door. Timothy bit his lip to fight a whimper as his button-down shirt and undershirt were thrown on the ground. “Come on,
Timothy, come on and play with daddy…” Aggressively Arnold snatched Timothy’s wrist and dragged him towards the king size bed, throwing him onto it and grabbing the ropes hastily. The red haired boy buried his face in the red comforter while his wrists got tied to the beds upper panels –a tradition that made him want suicide like a kid wanting the latest toy. In no more than ten seconds, though, Timothy felt deadly pleasure as the man bit and licked down his neck –not giving the younger boy a warning, for he was too used to the unhealthy situation to even be a little surprised.
Shaking, Timothy laid frightened in the bed. His wrists were stained with dry blood that had escaped his wrists from the night before –hanging over the side of the bed and into the trash that had been placed there for moments like this. Arnold had left for work earlier that morning, but Timothy still couldn’t move. He felt frozen and hungry –not a trace of fat left on his now regainingREDO: What do you think of this story/writing?
That was amazing. Keep writingREDO: What do you think of this story/writing?
That was amazing. I am hooked. I even paused the music I was listening to so I could better focus on this. Please continue to write this story. I wish you the best of luck with it.
w.o.w. this is really good! AMAZING! keep writing! i really want to read more! oh and one question. is this supposed to be modern day? because his name timothy sounds like ';back then';. so could you clarify it to me?
thanks.
and once again, AMAZING!
Very good!!!!! Please keep writing, you've got a lot of talent!! :)
P.S. Thanks for answering my question! :p
omg that was AMAZING!!!!!!! please please please please please please please please please please please keep writing ...you have like, a gift or something
GREAT GREAT GREAT KEEP WRITING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
OK new Agata Cristy OR J.K Rowling ...
Just keep going forward
.
.
.
It seems you'll over taking the world !!
that was freakin amazing!!!
my only suggestion would be to add in a few commas to break up the longer sentences
omygodomygodomygod
you are wayyyyyyyy to good.
I really like this, nice work.
Amazing. Beautiful. I felt like I was there.
I'm hooked now, so please post it online somewhere and give me a link!!! =)
omg! that chapter was so good, towards the middle i started crying! it was sad! in a good way! u have a gift
Your too good to be showing this to people on the internet! Someone might try to steal it! Keep writing please! It has a really dark/interesting vybe to it, I like it.
:)
Wow.... I absolutley Hate to read BUT THIS WAS SOO GOOD!!!!Like i want to go to the library right now and try to find writing like this. Excellent wow wow wow is all i can say!! Good writing skills very good writing skills really pulls you in I would pay for writing like this. The story itself i found slightly disturbing ,but the writing and fluency if thats even a word is really very very good. PLS continue to write and pls post the rest. Im going to post a question on good books to read and I would like if you could maybe try and answer it if you have the chance. Given your awsome writing ability i would like to know what types of books you read or what kind of writing inspires you so when you get the chance could you just type in ';What are good quality books that pull you in?'; into answers and let me know if you can. similar to your kind of writing. OMG Thankyou for sharing that i actually really enjoyed that and I just need to tell you again that i absolutlely hate to read and I want to read now cause of that, omg thankyou soo much' :-)
i love how you put in details, thats the key to a good story%26lt;3
keep writing this is good!!! :)
I know its annoying but what do you think of this?
Chapter 1
Attempted suicide, not simply suicide, it was attempted suicide. How could I have possibly failed at something so easy? Only a few weeks ago it was the anniversary of the dreadful yet inerasable event. During the past year I鈥檇 gone through a series of counselling and health checkups unwillingly. Mum and Ross had watched me like a couple of ravenous vultures not leaving me alone or with anything potentially life threatening. They鈥檇 never understood me, and would cease to until the true end of my days. I was on mental pills. I鈥檇 spiralled into the darkness of depression and had been taking pills ever since, they helped me stay on the lighter path. Light was good, light was right and light was the only way to keep sane.
Since the attempt I鈥檇 began to look in the mirror and see myself, not a frightening hallucination I used to be subjected to but ordinary Christine Evans. I could see my tumbling falls of blonde hair and my watery eyes of emerald green. I鈥檇 also boosted my confidence meaning life at school had become less of a challenge. In the months before my attempt I鈥檇 felt the walls closing in. I鈥檇 imagined the kind, friendly eyes to be murderous and thirsty. After regaining my sanity I鈥檇 reconnected myself to my friends and made a new alliance in that short year.
Tom had always been there, but on the outskirts of social groups. He鈥檇 always intrigued me, which I was sure of. His rusty coloured hair was ruffled carelessly and his brown eyes were dark, on the verge of red. He had a strange warmth that seemed to illuminate from him which drew me in after my many months of bitter coolness. After hearing about my dark situation he attached himself to me, my sudden protector. He was toned and mouth wateringly beautiful but we kept our relationship on a friendly basis, to his apparent disappointment. I knew girls looked on with venomous eyes but I didn鈥檛 care for there judgmental ways.
And then there was him鈥?br>
He was here once again. I could smell him; it was always the first symptom. For two weeks now I鈥檇 been dreading he鈥檇 come. I could smell his strong aroma of what I imagine bottled winter smells like. History had become something in some ways to look forward to everyday and in others avoid.
It had started with Mr Gregory introducing the topic for the session. Had I but known Mr Gregory was going to be our teacher I would have avoided choosing the subject. I sat at the back of the classroom, not because I tended to chat a lot or muck about, it was because it was the safest place as far as I was concerned. Mr Gregory had a tendency to lean threatening over the desks of those in the front rows. Two down from me remained, as always, eerily empty. It hadn鈥檛 ever been assigned to a student, for as long as I鈥檇 done history that is. That was until precisely ten past nine on a drizzly Monday morning, in other words the anniversary of my unforgotten suicide attempt.
I smelt him first. Mr Gregory didn鈥檛 allow us to open any of his classroom windows, in fear of one of us trying to escape out of it, so the scent hadn鈥檛 drifted through there. I checked the scent again. Surprisingly the rest of the class hadn鈥檛 been stirred by it, this cancelled out the suggestion of bottled fragrances like Lynx or Charlie. Many people in my year spent half of their lives spraying themselves with the new scents. Puzzled, I slouched back into my chair and returned my attention back to Mr Gregory, more than unwillingly. Looking at the board I found that the words weren鈥檛 making much more sense than usual. I finally resorted to not paying attention at all.
I was dreamily staring and to space and didn鈥檛 notice a strange and mysterious figure stride casually into the room, glance around and sit in the abandoned chair to my far right. He retrieved a bounded notebook, stained and battered, from his equally tattered bag and began to take notes. He scribbled rapidly, writing more than Mr Gregory had. The fact that nobody had noticed his entrance would have intrigued me, if I鈥檇 have been paying attention that is.
It was only when I exchanged looks with the windows view I spotted him out of the corner of my eye.
His tall, broad frame was placed in a careless fashion over the cheap plastic chairs the cheap-skate council had provided. Every so often his hand would pause to give him a second to read over his notes. A look of brief concentration sharpened his expression. I found myself entranced by his mysterious enamour. His tufts of floppy black hair fell hasty across his perfectly sculpted features. It was his eyes that truly fascinated me, memorable indigo pools looking humorously at the board; at least someone seemed able to decipher the mess of words. His eyes sat cosily in his almond shape sockets. He looked like a normal boy, but all my instincts were screaming to me that he was more than human. That in itself drew me to him. I instantlyI know its annoying but what do you think of this?
I love it!! While it is obvious that you are not yet a mature, seasoned writer, you are nevertheless quite capable of creating striking and memorable images in the mind of the reader...... ';bottled winter'; for example: way cool image!! You have a great imagination, and manage to hold the interest of the reader well (and i REALLY want to know how and why the mysterious boy whose eyes ';sat cosily'; in their almond-shaped sockets (missed the ';d'; while proofreading i see, lol!) was ';more than human'; - i smell a sci-fi romance thriller coming on :-+). 3) After writing a section of a story, go back over it and see how it could be made to not only flow more smoothly, but also check to find places where there are too many words that don't add much to the forward momentum of the narrative - or where there seem to be words or concepts missing - such as ';cheap skate council';: one is left to wonder ';Band council? City council? Village council?'; - filling in blanks like this, so long as it is done carefully so as to enhance interest instead of distracting the reader, adds to the setting: band council tells you right away, for example, that Christine lives on a reservation.
Overall, very promising: you have what it takes to be a GOOD writer - a firm grasp of the English language, good vocabulary, lots of imagination, the ability to come up with memorable phrases..... i would encourage you to keep on writing and to take every opportunity to sharpen your skills.
A few words of advice: 1) check your writing carefully for grammatical errors - like ';bounded notebook'; - which is also 2) an awkward construction, which there are also a few other examples of in your writing - like ';fell hasty';, referring to his hair: just doesn't quite work.I know its annoying but what do you think of this?
If you know it's annoying, why do you expect people to read and critique anyways?
is this a poem or something?
Its amazing, yu wrote that? really desciptive with lots of suspense!!
good luckk in writing !!
omg, ts great! keep writing, and I want to be first in line to buy this book!
~Sierra
i don't think anyone is going to read this unless they have enough time but thanks for trying
it sounds very depressing maybe u should a counselor
Story not finished, but bravo on the first part! :)
Wow, it's very good!
Beautifully amazing. Actually, send me the rest when you get started!
It's like a copy of twilight a little. The organization is really bad and it's hard to keep up with the changing ideas it is hard to understand. Check your spelling. Nice vocabulary though.
I'll be honest, I only read about the first paragraph and skipped around through the rest. I feel you're trying to hard to make your sentences and languages sophisticated, but it only makes them unnecessarily complicated. In prose like this, you're not writing an essay, so keep the language and sentences a bit simpler and more to the point, and the reader will be more interested in the story. And by simpler I don't mean 'dumb it up' but use diction and structure appropriately for the story you're telling. Feel free to disagree, this is only my humble opinion.
It's really is annoying! I think you love this pocket book story but you don't have to write it down here thought. Oh well,Have fun and good luck.
You are off to a good start here. But a word to the wise. if you want people to be drawn to your story, even on here, learn to make anything you post clean. By that I mean, correct spelling as best you can, also grammar. Indent paragraphs, or even remember to put paragraphs in. Most people probably clicked on this, saw the mass of words and went on.
It should be ';bound'; not bounded..
But do you see what I mean? You have a very good start to a story here but when put it out with all its mistakes showing, few people will wade through it to find the gold. I did and thought it was very interesting. it doesn't have to perfect, but it should be presentable.
Good luck and keep writing!
OMJ OMJ OMJ that isz soo gud
Yu have to continue and yu ahve to publish it and I gotta buy it!
Itsz soooooooo good!!!
If yu finish please pretty please let me know
nalaiajonas@yahoo.com
OMJ itsz soooo gud!!!
Omj itsz VERY VERY VERY GOOD!!!!
XOXOX
God blesz
It was good but Tom seems a lot like a copy of Edward Cullen in his days of eating humans... cuz that turns you eyes red and then they get darker.
Attempted suicide, not simply suicide, it was attempted suicide. How could I have possibly failed at something so easy? Only a few weeks ago it was the anniversary of the dreadful yet inerasable event. During the past year I鈥檇 gone through a series of counselling and health checkups unwillingly. Mum and Ross had watched me like a couple of ravenous vultures not leaving me alone or with anything potentially life threatening. They鈥檇 never understood me, and would cease to until the true end of my days. I was on mental pills. I鈥檇 spiralled into the darkness of depression and had been taking pills ever since, they helped me stay on the lighter path. Light was good, light was right and light was the only way to keep sane.
Since the attempt I鈥檇 began to look in the mirror and see myself, not a frightening hallucination I used to be subjected to but ordinary Christine Evans. I could see my tumbling falls of blonde hair and my watery eyes of emerald green. I鈥檇 also boosted my confidence meaning life at school had become less of a challenge. In the months before my attempt I鈥檇 felt the walls closing in. I鈥檇 imagined the kind, friendly eyes to be murderous and thirsty. After regaining my sanity I鈥檇 reconnected myself to my friends and made a new alliance in that short year.
Tom had always been there, but on the outskirts of social groups. He鈥檇 always intrigued me, which I was sure of. His rusty coloured hair was ruffled carelessly and his brown eyes were dark, on the verge of red. He had a strange warmth that seemed to illuminate from him which drew me in after my many months of bitter coolness. After hearing about my dark situation he attached himself to me, my sudden protector. He was toned and mouth wateringly beautiful but we kept our relationship on a friendly basis, to his apparent disappointment. I knew girls looked on with venomous eyes but I didn鈥檛 care for there judgmental ways.
And then there was him鈥?br>
He was here once again. I could smell him; it was always the first symptom. For two weeks now I鈥檇 been dreading he鈥檇 come. I could smell his strong aroma of what I imagine bottled winter smells like. History had become something in some ways to look forward to everyday and in others avoid.
It had started with Mr Gregory introducing the topic for the session. Had I but known Mr Gregory was going to be our teacher I would have avoided choosing the subject. I sat at the back of the classroom, not because I tended to chat a lot or muck about, it was because it was the safest place as far as I was concerned. Mr Gregory had a tendency to lean threatening over the desks of those in the front rows. Two down from me remained, as always, eerily empty. It hadn鈥檛 ever been assigned to a student, for as long as I鈥檇 done history that is. That was until precisely ten past nine on a drizzly Monday morning, in other words the anniversary of my unforgotten suicide attempt.
I smelt him first. Mr Gregory didn鈥檛 allow us to open any of his classroom windows, in fear of one of us trying to escape out of it, so the scent hadn鈥檛 drifted through there. I checked the scent again. Surprisingly the rest of the class hadn鈥檛 been stirred by it, this cancelled out the suggestion of bottled fragrances like Lynx or Charlie. Many people in my year spent half of their lives spraying themselves with the new scents. Puzzled, I slouched back into my chair and returned my attention back to Mr Gregory, more than unwillingly. Looking at the board I found that the words weren鈥檛 making much more sense than usual. I finally resorted to not paying attention at all.
I was dreamily staring and to space and didn鈥檛 notice a strange and mysterious figure stride casually into the room, glance around and sit in the abandoned chair to my far right. He retrieved a bounded notebook, stained and battered, from his equally tattered bag and began to take notes. He scribbled rapidly, writing more than Mr Gregory had. The fact that nobody had noticed his entrance would have intrigued me, if I鈥檇 have been paying attention that is.
It was only when I exchanged looks with the windows view I spotted him out of the corner of my eye.
His tall, broad frame was placed in a careless fashion over the cheap plastic chairs the cheap-skate council had provided. Every so often his hand would pause to give him a second to read over his notes. A look of brief concentration sharpened his expression. I found myself entranced by his mysterious enamour. His tufts of floppy black hair fell hasty across his perfectly sculpted features. It was his eyes that truly fascinated me, memorable indigo pools looking humorously at the board; at least someone seemed able to decipher the mess of words. His eyes sat cosily in his almond shape sockets. He looked like a normal boy, but all my instincts were screaming to me that he was more than human. That in itself drew me to him. I instantlyI know its annoying but what do you think of this?
I love it!! While it is obvious that you are not yet a mature, seasoned writer, you are nevertheless quite capable of creating striking and memorable images in the mind of the reader...... ';bottled winter'; for example: way cool image!! You have a great imagination, and manage to hold the interest of the reader well (and i REALLY want to know how and why the mysterious boy whose eyes ';sat cosily'; in their almond-shaped sockets (missed the ';d'; while proofreading i see, lol!) was ';more than human'; - i smell a sci-fi romance thriller coming on :-+). 3) After writing a section of a story, go back over it and see how it could be made to not only flow more smoothly, but also check to find places where there are too many words that don't add much to the forward momentum of the narrative - or where there seem to be words or concepts missing - such as ';cheap skate council';: one is left to wonder ';Band council? City council? Village council?'; - filling in blanks like this, so long as it is done carefully so as to enhance interest instead of distracting the reader, adds to the setting: band council tells you right away, for example, that Christine lives on a reservation.
Overall, very promising: you have what it takes to be a GOOD writer - a firm grasp of the English language, good vocabulary, lots of imagination, the ability to come up with memorable phrases..... i would encourage you to keep on writing and to take every opportunity to sharpen your skills.
A few words of advice: 1) check your writing carefully for grammatical errors - like ';bounded notebook'; - which is also 2) an awkward construction, which there are also a few other examples of in your writing - like ';fell hasty';, referring to his hair: just doesn't quite work.I know its annoying but what do you think of this?
If you know it's annoying, why do you expect people to read and critique anyways?
is this a poem or something?
Its amazing, yu wrote that? really desciptive with lots of suspense!!
good luckk in writing !!
omg, ts great! keep writing, and I want to be first in line to buy this book!
~Sierra
i don't think anyone is going to read this unless they have enough time but thanks for trying
it sounds very depressing maybe u should a counselor
Story not finished, but bravo on the first part! :)
Wow, it's very good!
Beautifully amazing. Actually, send me the rest when you get started!
It's like a copy of twilight a little. The organization is really bad and it's hard to keep up with the changing ideas it is hard to understand. Check your spelling. Nice vocabulary though.
I'll be honest, I only read about the first paragraph and skipped around through the rest. I feel you're trying to hard to make your sentences and languages sophisticated, but it only makes them unnecessarily complicated. In prose like this, you're not writing an essay, so keep the language and sentences a bit simpler and more to the point, and the reader will be more interested in the story. And by simpler I don't mean 'dumb it up' but use diction and structure appropriately for the story you're telling. Feel free to disagree, this is only my humble opinion.
It's really is annoying! I think you love this pocket book story but you don't have to write it down here thought. Oh well,Have fun and good luck.
You are off to a good start here. But a word to the wise. if you want people to be drawn to your story, even on here, learn to make anything you post clean. By that I mean, correct spelling as best you can, also grammar. Indent paragraphs, or even remember to put paragraphs in. Most people probably clicked on this, saw the mass of words and went on.
It should be ';bound'; not bounded..
But do you see what I mean? You have a very good start to a story here but when put it out with all its mistakes showing, few people will wade through it to find the gold. I did and thought it was very interesting. it doesn't have to perfect, but it should be presentable.
Good luck and keep writing!
OMJ OMJ OMJ that isz soo gud
Yu have to continue and yu ahve to publish it and I gotta buy it!
Itsz soooooooo good!!!
If yu finish please pretty please let me know
nalaiajonas@yahoo.com
OMJ itsz soooo gud!!!
Omj itsz VERY VERY VERY GOOD!!!!
XOXOX
God blesz
It was good but Tom seems a lot like a copy of Edward Cullen in his days of eating humans... cuz that turns you eyes red and then they get darker.
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