Original Solitude

[Doaj]

[[Please tell me what you think. If you'd like a continuation of this story, or like my writing and would like me to write another story, please ask so here.]]

He couldn't help but watch as the woman doubled back. He kept himself hidden from sight as she slowly began to retrace her steps. He didn't want to be seen, but he needed to do this. She slowly got to her knees and began tracing her fingers along the stone path. He knew what she was looking for. She rose again and placed her hands on her hips. The hidden spectator smiled as he realized that she's been so accustomed to society that even when nobody is around, she acts based on if people were. Putting her hands on her hips shows "attitude" and individuality.
Of other importance, she was getting flustered. Her mouth formed into a worry that creased her beautiful skin in a way no beauty should be flawed. He had his own plans for her beauty. She began walking out of the alleyway and onto the beaten path. A blatant sigh passed her lips as she looked back into the alley with almost contempt. She was upset at the darkness for hiding what she sought. The darkness didn't hide it though.
She turned around and looked at the empty street. The man slowly rose from his camouflaged covert. "Excuse me, miz?" He said slowly and politely. She turned with a startled look on her face, and her black bangs fell in front of her eyes, but just a little. A stutter came through as she said, "Yes?"
The sweet light-red lipstick she wore on top of her beautiful head of velvet-black hair, just past ear length. Long enough contrast with her pale skin, but short enough to seem creative. Her eyes, oh my. He could see her eyes so clearly in the dark, they were so bright that even about five meters away they shone. Literally, he thought, They really do shine.
"Were you looking for this?" He asked, doing his best at keeping cool. Against his thoughts of fret and worry, she said, "My earring? Where did you...How?" She seemed awe-struck by the situation. Looking for the better part of fifteen minutes fruitlessly, to turn around and have some kind man with exactly what she needed. As he returned the item he tried to make small talk.
"You do know how late it is, right?" He said, his eyes unwavering as he looked down into hers. He'd been watching for so long, and there was nothing like seeing them up close. He'd actually dreamed of this moment. Longed for it as one does their true love.
"Yes, well, sometimes I'm just too busy to worry about what people think of me." Against everything he'd previously known. Then why place her hands on her hips? Why would she bother with make-up, lipstick, a buoyant haircut? He saw through her facade. This is what his mother had meant when she had told him of all the liars in the world. Just like Eve, who fooled Adam into damnation, this woman with her lies, she's so deep in her lies that even she doesn't know it. He'd have to set her free.
"Miz, I apologize. I don't believe that you know as much about yourself as I do. Let me show you what I know."

 

[Ryvius]

I think I probably like this story as it is, let's your imagination decide the ending. It was a little too short to get a feel for any of the characters though, I like to be able to empathize with the victim ya know? I'd love to see some more short stories from you.

 

[Doaj]

It was actually intentional that you didn't get to know the characters; that's also why I didn't give them names. Always used pronouns.

EDIT: Oh, and so for the next story I write, I can make it longer. Continuation of this, start familiarity with characters, add new characters, delve into background, etc.
What would you like to see? I'm willing to take this far, as I'm trying to challenge myself and having others tell me what to write would work advantageously for me, if nobody minds.

 

[Ryvius]

It works all right for this story, but it's so short it's just like the first chip. I always like the moods you tend to set with your stories, If you write a longer story be sure to post it.

 

[unphased]

Wow. That was an extremely well written short story! From the onset, you began to guide the reader through the mind of this stalker, and you did it superbly. From the way he noticed her mannerisms, to the insights of her very personality from the way her features subconsciously give off signals ... just wow. Sharp stalker insights, from such small actions - and believeable insights - incredible.

I would go so far, and even further, as to disagree with Ryvius - and maybe even yourself a little. I felt that you did indeed delve into the personas of each characters, and what was even more amazing was that you did the majority of this through the use of sharp descriptiveness and insights, not through hordes of dialogue or drawn out prose.

Your writing style is excellent - sharp and to the point - and yet, within this, you manage to describe, detail, and form imagery to the reader without any problems what so ever. Whether intentional or otherwise, your use of short dedicated sentences further enhances the stalker / approaching feel throughtout the piece, and all the insights and thoughts that they contain.

My only qualm, and this is just a small one, is that I would personally get rid of that final line. Unlike anything else in the text, I felt that it was un-needed. Ending the piece on the thought of him having to set her free was perfect, and leaves a lot more to the reader's imagination that him having to spell it out and say it. Again, a small thing, but my only qualm with such an excellent piece.

Your grammer and spelling is simply outstanding for someone of your age. Writing wise, there was only one small thing that I picked up on:

She was upset at the darkness for hiding what she sought. The darkness didn't hide it though.
She turned around and looked at the empty street. The man slowly rose from his camouflaged hideout.

In this instance, the over-use of the word 'hide' was very apparant, the one blemish on an otherwise perfect piece. Potential suggestions would be 'concealment / concealing', or 'masking'.

So yeah, like I said, I really really enjoyed reading this short story. It works extremely well as a one-off, so I personally don't think that it should be continued in any shape or form, but I personally would love to read more of your work. Excellent stuff.

 

[Doaj]

Thank you very much for your response, Unphased. I completely agree with you on the 'hide' topic, I did use that too often. I went through and revised that as that was my first draft and I hadn't read it through after I posted it until Ryvius' comment. I'm glad you enjoyed this piece and if you would like to hear more, I'd be glad to write more.
I do disagree with you on the final line of the prose. Personally, I thought that because there's such little conversation in it, that it'd give off a strange, maybe even disdaining 'vibe' that may put the reader off. I chose that because I wanted to the reader to be that much less connected with the characters. This man is a stalker and possibly worse and I don't want the reader to easily connect with him.
If another felt the same way, then I believe I would change it for bettering my work, but otherwise I prefer it this way.
Again, thank you for your kind words.

 

[unphased]

Indeed. If there is one thing that I've learnt is that everyone will have a different opinion or thought about your work. It's only if several people share the same perspective that you should personally start thinking of altering it and making changes that have been pointed out. You'd be far pushed to please everyone equally!

And hey, no problem at all! I really enjoyed reading and responding to this story, and yes, would very much love to read more of your work. For someone of sixteen, I think you're quite talented.

 

[Doaj]

My Heartache

Well, as it turns out, I've taken advanced fictional writing classes for...three years now? But only cuz I love it so much .
I'll write somethin' now then. I'd love to hear your critique.



Abigail looked at her hands intertwined in her lap. She could see the faintest glimmer of where a tear had landed. She took a deep breath and looked up for the first time since having sat down. Around her were the generic, green pastel walls. All of the delusional people who only want something to actually happen to them. Your cough is just a cough, sir. Please stop wasting my fucking time. Next. Abigail could see the same mood on everyone's face, staff and otherwise. She wondered if the same could be seen on her own.

Frances felt the slightest panic as his eyes flickered open to see many faces above him, all the same, all refusing to be seen from behind their white masks and latex gloves. Frances couldn't remember for the life of him where he was or why. He could hear their hurried voices and they often moved out of view. He calmed quickly and just sat dazed, without the slightest worry. The last thing he heard before he closed his eyes again was the sound of his monitor flatlining.

Dr. West was almost frightened when he heard the hectic and worried voice cry out his name. Looking down he saw a woman with her hands folded in her lap, her voice was ruined by make-up that had been washed down her face in tears. She was noticeably in her later thirties, but it wasn't a bad thing, she aged well. Her hair was lovely, it was honey-blond and fell enticingly upon the swells of her breasts. Those, unfortunately, were beneath the top of her dress, which was dark green like an emerald and the earth tones that swirled lethargically through the creative design seemed to match well with her hazel eyes.
"Can I help you, ma'am?" Dr. West said, doing his best not to seem impatient. "How's my husband's surgery coming along?" He could see the apprehensive look on her face and he knew that the stress couldn't be good for her image. Could give her wrinkles if she worries like that. He thought to himself. "I'm on my way there right now." He said and turned about face, heading to her husband's room.

Frances laid open on a table, surrounded by men in white and red. The cleanliness of a hospital rivaled by the blood of a man who was not meant to live. His insides looked astray and his face was calm, despite the struggle his body had been through. Dr. West swept his hand in anger across a table of medical supplies, scalpels and needles falling to the ground, the sound of glass shattering in sync with his guttural yell of frustration. He quickly changed from his bloodied clothes and walked out into the waiting room. Looking around, him and Abigail made eye contact simultaneously. She rose without being asked and approached against everything he wanted. Why couldn't she just leave? Why couldn't she just say, I already know he's dead, what do I need to sign?
Instead she would approach with her stunning eyes brimmed with tears before anyone could tell her the bad news.
She shivered as she looked at him, as if he would tell her if there was a God. As if he had every answer. As if it were up to him whether or not she could be happy.

She knew the answer by the expression on his face before he opened his mouth. She looked to the floor and her vision blurred as the tears fell. She cried as if the world itself were burning down around her, and for all she cared it was. She thought of everything she had been through with him, with Frances. She remembered the quirky smile he made whenever she caught him in a little, white lie. How he would lift her up and run around the house while she was slung over his shoulder, their laughter ringing loudly through the house they shared. She remembered what he said the first time he held their daughter.

"I can't wait to walk her down the aisle."​

 

[unphased]

Well, as it turns out, I've taken advanced fictional writing classes for...three years now? But only cuz I love it so much .

Well believe me when I say that it is definately paying off. You're writing is simply superb. Even within a short piece, you seem to capture characters (and more importantly, characterisation and development), emotion, and pace extremely well. Simply reading your work enlightens my own and the areas that I myself lack in.

This new piece was just as brilliant. I love the pace, the way you switched between characters, and as I mentioned, the amazing way in which you write characters. When I was reading:

She was noticeably in her later thirties, but it wasn't a bad thing, she aged well. Her hair was lovely, it was honey-blond and fell enticingly upon the swells of her breasts. Those, unfortunately, were beneath the top of her dress...

I said to myself, that's a such a typical and genuine male thought! You just have a really great way of really revealing to readers each character's mannerisms and personality within so few lines that it is, well, highly enviable. I felt for all the characters involved. I sensed the Doctor's struggle and helplesslness - which you excellently stated bordered on annoyance and frustration - as there is nothing that he can do, and yet, is looked to for explanations.

Instead she would approach with her stunning eyes brimmed with tears before anyone could tell her the bad news. She shivered as she looked at him, as if he would tell her if there was a God. As if he had every answer. As if it were up to him whether or not she could be happy.

Fantastic stuff!

I'm really struggling to be constructive here, as I thought that it was perfect. No grammar or spelling mistakes in sight, the structure and pace was excellent, again, characterisation superb for such a short piece. I really think you have a talent and will go far. The one mistake I spotted was simply formatting error:

"Can I help you, ma'am?" Dr. West said, doing his best not to seem impatient. "How's my husband's surgery coming along?"

Both being on the same line made it seem, at first, that Dr West was still speaking, a simple formatting mistake, but yeah, apart from that excellent all the way. I'll stop here, as I'll just keep praising you more, but seriously, amazing stuff.

 

[Doaj]

Well, thank you again and I'm glad you so thoroughly enjoy my work. If you still feel you lack in certain areas then I know there's a writer's thread around here just for chatting. I posted a detailed Help piece for a few areas and if any of those are the ones you feel you lack in, you may want to give it a read.

 

[Doaj]

"In a sense, I regret it."
"And what sense is that?" The judge asked.
"That his life ended so quickly. I would have made him suffer."

In retrospect, I see why I got a life sentence without parole. I do not regret killing my father, and I do not wish I hadn't been sentenced so severely. I never expected I'd kill someone in my lifetime, but there I was gripping a baseball bat tightly, hearing the crack against his skull as I let tears of anger fall from my chin and onto his huddled body.


I sit now in my cell with a stranger who wants me to tell of the most emotional incident I've had in my life. She has a journal, a #2 pencil, and a keen sense of detail. "What motivated your anger?" She said flatly, without looking up. She must just be doing this for a newspaper or some job. She has no real interest.
"Who said I was angry?" I find it most effective to answer their questions with questions. These reporters hate it. She picked up her things and walked from the room, after several more attempts. Oh well.
I won't lie- I was very angry. I just don't care to divulge. My reasoning didn't matter much, although my lawyer said it could get me out of prison via temporary insanity. I didn't care where I ended up. I wrote him a check for doing absolutely nothing to help my case and just asked that he leave me be. I left my belongings to family members and close friends, and nobody came to visit me. The person I was closest to, my own mother, was dead. Avenged, but still dead.
When my father discovered what she'd been doing, he lost control. He beat her senseless, and I hate him so much for it. If I'd have known earlier, I would have done something before he killed her, but nobody knew he'd been abusing her until it was too late. It isn't as if he'd been doing it for years, or even months. Apparently, he'd struck her for the first time about a week before her death. When he learned of what she was doing, he let her know how he felt about it.
When I went to my mother's house to help her with some of the repairs she needed done, and found her...

"Mr. Davis, I suggest you cooperate. Your life is in danger of its freedom. I would have you escorted from this courtroom had I not felt sorry for your compromising situation."
"I don't feel very compromised."

It was almost noon and I was on my way to my mother's. Since Dad had been working so many hours lately, they decided to hire me to fix their kitchen sink and repair a few of the doors that had been jamming lately. I let myself in to their suburban, blue, 4 bedroom house and found my mother lying on the floor. The living room table was broken beneath her and I heard the sound of glass shattering from upstairs. I had contradicting instincts then- one to find the culprit before they escaped,the other to make sure my mother was alright. I knew there were only two ways into or out of the house. The door I had just come in through and the back door, which was in sight from where I was. I crouched down to my mother and felt her neck. She was still warm, but her pulse was gone. I pulled out my cell phone and tried not to get the attention of whoever was breaking things upstairs. I called the police quickly and told them the murderer was still in the house.
Within a minute I heard the sirens, and I held a metal baseball bat that was in my old bedroom, on the first floor. Then, I heard footsteps coming down the stairs, and I knew that the police wouldn't be here in time.
But I heard his voice.
"The police? How the fuck did the police find out already?" As he finished his sentence, we made eye contact. His eyes went wide, and I'm sure mine did the same thing, but from here on, it wasn't me in that body.

"Can you tell me why you did it, Mr. Davis?"
"Not really. I could tell you why I didn't stop, though."

My face distorted into one of anger, and he looked like he knew he was going to die. And he looked like he wasn't ready. Before I could tell myself to do it, I had. The bat made contact with his right arm, as he threw it over his face in self defense. The crack resonated loudly. As I brought it back I heard him say, "Please, please listen to me. I'm so sorry, please." And then the bat hit again. I aimed lower this time, and his knee shattered on impact. he let out a scream (he may have screamed already, but this was the first one I heard) and I screamed back at him, "You son of a bitch!"

"Mr. Davis, you have been found guilty of murder in the first degree, refusing to obey police orders, and assault on a police officer with a deadly weapon."
"A baseball bat counts as a deadly weapon?"
"Mr. Davis...You had just beaten your father to death with the very same bat. Is that some kind of joke?"

Apparently, the fourth strike killed him. The third one had been to the head, as he was falling from the shattered knee, and the fourth had struck his broken skull. I wish I'd known that earlier, I'd told my lawyer. If I had known, then I wouldn't have hit him twenty seven more times before the police restrained me. And so I sit in my cell and wait for someone to show up some day who really seems to be interested in me. Maybe then I'll tell them what happened, but until then I will sit and wait. I will read every book in the prison library again, because I already have twice, and I will bide my time.
For I've tasted blood, and I will again.