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The Power of Pop Secret



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Sat Nov 20, 2010 5:07 am
ErBear says...



My mind is reeling so fast right now with confusion and doubt, the only thought I manage to formulate is, “Why?”

Memories worm their way back in also. I think back to kindergarten and all the time spent in the loft with him, talking about our favorite holidays and new episodes of Mr. Rodgers' Neighborhood. To second grade when he won a giant jar of Wonka Nerds, and we lugged it home and ate every single one. We were sick for weeks, but became addicted to those crazily-colored sugar treats.

Erik Levers and I were always together, joined at the hip, like brother and sister. In fact, we considered each other our siblings, because we had no sisters or brothers of our own. But I came to realize that we were so much more than that. We were each other's rock, the one person we could trust anything with. I came from a middle-class family, who occasionally struggled to get by, but we usually worked it out. His parents were divorced and they had somehow lost all contact with his mother and her side of the family. His father, who was an only child himself, was an absent doctor always at work, and both of Erik's grandparents had died, so he had no one to call 'family' except me, Anna Trueman.

All of our friends believed that we were destined to be together when we got older. But there was nothing romantic between us, ever! We both had friends; but over the years his had slowly turned against him, leaving him with no one but me and his absent father. He was a little out of touch with the world; I guess we both were, but my friends accepted me for it and his didn't. I couldn't believe the stories he sometimes told me, the things his wild mind had thought up. After a while, I realized that the stories that he was making up were just an escape from real life. A life where his dad supplied the money, and Erik took care of the rest. While he had his quirks, he was the most independent person I knew; not many young boys can semi-run a house and still do well in school!

We had sleepovers all the time in fifth and sixth grade. We lived in a very safe neighborhood, so he could leave his house whenever he slept over. The neighbors were snobby, but promised to watch over him and the house if anything ever happened. Half of the nights he would be at my cheerful house, and the other half I would be at his gloomy, depressing one. He said many times that home to him was staying up late, watching comedies until we cried from laughter, and eating an endless supply of Pop Secret Movie Theater Butter popcorn until we were sick.

I seriously don't know what happened. I don't know why, in seventh grade, my best buddy Erik Night started avoiding me. I don't know why we broke apart. I do know that his father lost his job, and they lost the house and all their assets. He moved to a lower-class house and pulled out of school. Every time I tried to go by Erik's house and comfort him, to console him, he pushed me away. After getting rejected for a year, I decided it was time to move on. But his well-being always stayed in the back of my mind.

And then, in the middle of eighth grade, on a Saturday evening, he pulled the trigger.

The bullet went hurtling towards his head.

And somehow did not end my best friend and brother Erik's life. He turned the gun away at the very last second, and the bullet flew past him and into the wall.

And I found myself sitting in the hospital, him beside me, both of us as silent as the grave. I didn't know how he had gotten there, but when I came in, he was sitting outside of room 239, looking alive, but still dead somehow. He was so pale that he didn't look real at all.

When I had come rushing in, the desk clerk sharply told me to be quiet, but after I asked for Erik, her tone softened and she told me an extriemely confusing and surprising thing-- Erik had told the police to call me-- not his dad, not his neighbors, but...me.

It was the first time seeing him in over two months. My arrival seemed to catch him by surprise, like he was a deer and I was the headlights. His expression when he saw me reminded me of his 3rd grade surprise birthday party, when everyone hid under his bed, waiting for him to come home. We all intentionally 'forgot' his birthday to make his surprise that much more amazing, and it was. When we popped out screaming and cheering, I swear he almost peed his pants. It was hilarious.

But this situation was the exact opposite. I had to... get to the bottom of everything.

“Why, Erik?” I took a deep breath, anxious and scared for his response. I didn't know if I even wanted to know.

He seemed startled by my question, as if we were playing the silent game and I, the opposing player, had broken the rules.

“What?”

That was the first word he had spoken to me in over a year.

I zipped my coat up to my chin, put my backpack on the floor, and tightened my gloves. Even though the walls and electricity kept the swirling winds outside, I felt no warmth.

“You heard me.”

“Huh?”

His darting, one-word answers unleashed an agony that I had never felt before.

“The nurse told me what happened.”

He dropped his head into his hands, running his fingers through his hair, and still avoiding my eyes and my questions.

Clearing my throat, I tried a different angle:

“What changed, Erik?”

“What?”

“I said, what changed? With us. We were best friends; you were my brother! I loved spending all that time with you. Hell, we grew up together! How could you just... just...” I couldn't finish my sentence.

He finally looked at me, really looked at me for once. His eyes took in my puffy, red face: my worried and hurt expression. He winced as if he couldn't stand the torture of just looking at me and dropped his gaze to the floor once again.

“You still had me," I said, knowing I was treading on thin ice but still taking the first step. "You weren't alone. I've been waiting this whole time for you to come back, so we could be even just friends again. I miss you. I miss the way you laugh, sing, cry, talk, dance. Everything. You just left. And I have no idea why."

Silence.

Tearing up, I whispered, “What did I do?”

Erik turned to me and practically shouted, “God, Anna! You did nothing, nothing! You were perfect, had a perfect life, perfect friends, perfect everything. Perfect, just fine Anna. Not a worry in the world.”

Startled, I felt myself pulling away from his burst of anger, but forced myself to stay in the present and said, “Erik, I...”

“No, Anna, no! I was not perfect, are you kidding me? I am not perfect. I am nothing. Nothing is what you did and nothing is what I have become. I didn't deserve to be your brother anymore.”

A new emotion flared. Anger.

"So the reason that you've been avoiding me is because I was too... good for you?"

He took a moment to think and then said, “Yes and no.”

I noticed him tearing up, and realized that the only other time I had seen him cry was in fifth grade when I accidentally socked him in the face and knocked his tooth out during an extremely competitive game of softball.

I told myself that I had to stop living in the land of what had been.

“What's the real reason you stopped talking to me? Was it because you told me you loved me that night and I didn't feel the same?”

He recoiled as if I had punched him in the gut. Silence.

“Then why?” I repeated in frustration.

“Because you were too perfect,” he said, interrogating me with his hazel eyes.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

He turned bright red and stuttered. “Nothing. Never mind. And I didn't love you. I was confused.”

“Oh? You were? Well, that's funny. You know what? I don't even care. I just want my brother, who's been ignoring me for the past year of my life, and who just tried to kill himself!”

Silence again.

“Riddle me this, Erik: why do I even bother anymore?”

“Because you still care.”

“And you don't?” My voice had taken on a pleading tone now.

“No.”

Choking back sobs, I slowly reached down, opened my backpack, and pulled out the one item that I thought would remind him of our friendship. I had grabbed it on my way to the hospital when I heard the news. Not taking my eyes off his face, I gently placed a pre-popped bag of Pop Secret Movie Theater Butter into his lap.

I left, letting a trail of peppermint candies drop behind me.

And never looked back.
Last edited by ErBear on Wed Feb 16, 2011 3:21 pm, edited 9 times in total.
~formerly Ilovebubbles123

"There's only one thing
to do
three words
for you.
Ooh, I love you.

There's only one way
to say
those three words
that's what I'll do.
Ooh, I love you. "

For you.
  





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Sat Nov 20, 2010 10:56 pm
GeeLyria says...



Oh, Lord... Bubbles, this story is fantastic. I'm in love with your writing and your story. I cried while reading it, but I won't tell you because I might sound Ridiculous! I saw no grammar errors. I would change NOTHING, it's perfect for me... and...PLEASE... if you write something more send me a link.
Sincerely, Solvy!
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Mon Nov 22, 2010 12:38 am
Idraax says...



Ilovebubbles123 wrote:Erik Levers, 14 years old, approximately 5'7, I think there should be an is hereavoiding my glance, trying to hide himself.

My mind is reeling so fast right now with confusion and doubt, the only thought I manage to formulate is, “why.”

Memories worm their way back in also. I think back to kindergarten and all the time spent in the loft with him, reminiscing about our favorite holidays and talking about Mr. Rodgers. To second grade when he won a giant jar of nerds, and we lugged it home and ate every single one. We were sick for weeks, but became addicted to those crazily-colored sugar treats. Then to fifth grade when I accidentally socked him in the face and knocked his tooth out during an extremely competitive game of softball.

We were always together, joined at the hip, like brother and sister. But we, as I came to realize, were so much more than that. We were each others rock, the only thing that motivated us to go through our day. I came from a middle-class family, who occasionally struggled to get by and had hard times. His father was a doctor who was missing from his life, and his parents had divorced when he was three, so he had no one to call family except me.

All of our friends believed that we were destined to be together when we got older. But there was nothing romantic between us- yes, we were in love, but in a sibling way. I had friends, and he had some, but over the years they had slowly turned against him, leaving him with no one but his beloved sister and his absent father. His dad supplied the money, and Erik took care of the rest. He was the most independent person I knew- not many young boys can run a house!

We had sleepovers all the time in fifth and sixth grade. Half of the nights he would be at my cheerful house, and the other half I would be at his gloomy, depressing one. We stayed up late, watched comedies until we cried from laughter, and ate an endless supply of Pop Secret Movie Theater Butter popcorn until our fingers were permanently greasy.

I don't know what happened. I don't know why, in seventh grade, he started avoiding me. I don't know why we broke apart. I do know that his father lost his job, and they lost the house and all their assets. Every time I tried to comfort Erik, to console him, he pushed me away. After getting rejected for a year, I decided it was time to move on, but his well-being always stayed in the back of my mind.

And then, in the middle of eighth grade, on a Saturday evening, he pulled the trigger.

The bullet went hurtling towards his head.

And missed.

And I found myself sitting in the police station, him beside me, both of us as silent as the grave.

Which is where he would have gone.

If he hadn't.

Missed.

“Why, Erik?”

He seemed startled by my question, as if we were playing the silent game and I, the offensive team, had broken the rules.

“What?”

That was the first word he had spoken to me in over a year.

I zipped my coat snug up to my chin, and tightened my gloves. Even though the electricity kept us safe from the swirling winds outside, I felt no warmth.

“You heard me.”

“Huh?”

His darting, one-word answers unleashed an agony that burned my soul. I found myself erupting like a volcano, all my thoughts trying to swirl out of my mouth, jumbled like a hot, sticky mess.

“Why, Erik? You heard me. Why did you try to kill yourself? WHY? You could have been dead. DEAD. Gone. Forever.”

He dropped his head into his hands, still avoiding meeting my eyes.

Clearing my throughtThis should be throat., I tried a different angle:

“What changed, Erik?”

“What?”

“I said, what changed?”

He finally looked at me, really looked at me for once. His eyes took in my puffy, red face, worried and hurt expression. He winced as if he couldn't stand the torture of just looking at me and dropped his gaze to the floor once again.

“You still had me. You weren't alone. I've been waiting this whole time for you to come back, so we could be siblings or even friends again, but you never wanted that. After a year of self-inflicted isolation, I stopped trying to break through your walls. I was waiting for you to emerge, like a butterfly. But I can see you stayed in your cocoon for as long as you could possibly bear.”

Silence.

Silent tears running down my cheeks, I whispered, “What did I do.”

Erik turned to me and practically screamed, “God, Anna. You did nothing, nothing! You were perfect, had a perfect life, perfect friends, perfect everything. Perfect, just-fine Anna. Not a worry in the world.”

“Erik, I...”

“No, Anna, NO! I was not perfect, are you kidding me? I am not perfect. I am nothing. Nothing is what you did and nothing is what I have become. I didn't deserve to be your brother anymore.”

A new emotion flared. Anger.

“Dammit, Erik! Is this why you've been avoiding me for the past year?! Because I'm too perfect for you!”

He took a moment to think and then said, “Yes and no.”

“Well then, tell me why else I'm too perfect for the person I've been desperately needing for the past year, will you?”

Silence.

“Then why.”

“Because you were too perfect,” he said, now interrogating with his hazel eyes.

“What the HELL is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. Nevermind.”

“Oh, nothing? Well, my brother, who's been ignoring me for the past YEAR of my life, just tried to kill himself. So it has to mean something!!”

Silence again.

“Riddle me this, Erik: why do I even bother?”

“Because you still care.”

“And you don't?” My voice had taken on a pleading tone by now.

“No.”

Sobbing, I slowly took the already-popped bag of Pop Secret Movie Theater Butter out of my backpack and dropped it in his lap. Getting up, I collected my things, and headed towards the door.

I left.

And never looked back.

I liked this. The emotions really came across. I think you should write the same scene from Eric's point of view and then maybe write a sequel? It would be interesting to read. Keep going! :D
Check these out please! :)
Alezrani
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Mon Nov 22, 2010 12:50 am
MilkNCookies says...



A.M.A.Z.I.N.G. I'm not an emotional person, and I cried. Well done!!!!
"Fantasy is a way of looking through the wrong end of the telescope."

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Tue Nov 23, 2010 2:57 am
icanbefixed says...



OH MY GOD I WANT MORE:D

Tay it's amazing.

I want more.
and I want popcorn now.

I don't have any problems at all with this:). at ALL. yaay!

tell me when you write more:).

I'll be SURE to read and review for reals!
The hardest mountain to climb will have the greatest view. Everything at a different angle: memories serve as double vision, a view from the valleys as well as the precipice. But everything that goes up must come down.The descent from the peak will be twice as graceful & three times as difficult
  





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Tue Nov 23, 2010 8:31 pm
Tigersprite says...



Tiger here to review! Your story was recommended on the Under-appreciated Works by Fellow YWSers page which you may find here: page.php?id=756 Comments will be in bold.

Ilovebubbles123 wrote:Erik Levers, 14 years old, approximately 5'7, avoidingavoided my glance, trying to hide himself.

My mind is reeling so fast right now with confusion and doubt, the only thought I can manage to formulate is, “why.” "Why?"

Memories worm their way back in also. I think back to kindergarten and 'then to' I can't imagine that they played in a loft as pre-schoolers all the time spent in the loft with him, reminiscing about our favorite holidays and talking about Mr. Rodgers So before Second Grade, when they were about four or five, they reminisced about their holidays? I don't think reminisced is the right word, maybe talked about would be better . To Second Grade when he won a giant jar of nerds Erm...this sounds weird. Maybe you could use another word for the sweets? , and we lugged it home and ate every single one. We were sick for weeks, but became addicted to those crazily-colored sugar treats. Then to fifth grade when I accidentally socked him in the face and knocked his tooth out during an extremely competitive game of softball.

We were always together, joined at the hip, like brother and sister. But we, as I came to realize were, so much more than that This might work better as: But I came to realize we were so much more than that or We were so much more than that as I later came to realize Either one might work better. We were each other's rock, the only thing that motivated us to go through our days. I came from a middle-class family, who occasionally struggled to get by and had hard times This is the same thing as 'struggled to get by'. Choose one or the other . His father was a doctor who was missing from his life, and his parents had divorced when he was three, Put the father-missing-from-his-life thing after the parents-divorced-when-he-was-three thing so he had no one to call family except me What about his mother? Just because she is divorced from his dad doesn't mean she's not family. Actually, with the non-present father thing you've given the impression that she's raising him by herself, so what about her?.

All of our friends believed that we were destined to be together when we got older. But there was nothing romantic between us- yes, we were in love, but in a sibling way This part sounds odd, perhaps you could move the words around a bit?. I had friends,comma not really necessary here and he had some so did he, but over the years they had slowly turned against him Why? Explain , leaving him with no one but his beloved sister In the paragraph above you said nothing about a sister, you said the narrator was his only family. Either add the sister above or get rid of her. And again, what of the mother? Is she dead? Then mention it. and his absent father. His dad supplied the money, and Erik Finally. Since the first sentence, you haven't mentioned the boy's name. Perhaps you should do this in the first paragraph as well. took care of the rest. He was the most independent person I knew- not many young boys can run a house!

We had sleepovers all the time in fifth and sixth grade If he was basically running his house, how would he have time for sleepovers? . Half of the nights he would be at my cheerful house, and the other half I would be at his gloomy, depressing one But what about the sister? If she was so beloved, surely she would have been friends with the both of them and the house wouldn't seem so gloomy? . We stayed up late, watched comedies until we cried from laughter, and ate an endless supply of Pop Secret Movie Theater Butter popcorn until our fingers were permanentlygreasy.

But then I don't know what happened. I don't know why, in seventh grade, he started avoiding me. I don't know why we broke apart. I do know that his father lost his job, and they lost the house and all their assets. Every time I tried to comfort Erik, to console him, he pushed me away. After getting rejected for a year, I decided it was time to move on. But his well-being always stayed in the back of my mind.

And then, no comma necessary here in the middle of eighth grade, on a Saturday evening, he pulled the trigger.

The bullet went hurtling towards his head. Where'd he get the gun?

And missed.

And I found myself sitting in the police station Don't you mean hospital? He just shot himself. , him beside me, both of us as silent as thea grave. Where's his Dad? Where's his sister? Where's his Mother? Why would the police call her, of all people?

Which is where he would have gone.

If he hadn't.

Missed. The other sentences being separated gives this part a dramatic effect, but I really think 'missed' should go with the above sentence. It looks really odd by itself.

“Why, Erik?”

He seemed startled by my question, as if we were playing the silent game and I, the offensive team, had broken the rules. In the silent game, are there offensive and defensive teams? I'm pretty sure everybody is just supposed to keep quiet.

“What?”

That was the first word he had spoken to me in over a year.

I zipped my coat snugup to my chin, comma not necessary and tightened my gloves. Even though the electricity kept us safe from the swirling winds outside, I felt no warmth. What does that mean? Electricity kept them safe? Eh? Maybe you want to explain that sentence or make it clearer.

“You heard me.”

“Huh?”

His darting, one-word answers unleashed an agony that burned my soul. I found myself erupting like a volcano, all my thoughts trying to swirl out of my mouth, jumbled like a hot, sticky mess. Or: all my thought trying to explode out of my mouth together. It's the same thing, but simpler and shorter.

“Why, Erik? You heard me. Why did you try to kill yourself? WHY? You could have been dead. DEAD. Gone. Forever.”

He dropped his head into his hands, still avoiding meeting my eyes.

Clearing my throat, I tried a different angle:

“What changed, Erik?”

“What?”

“I said, what changed?”

He finally looked at me, really looked at me for once. His eyes took in my puffy, red face, my worried and hurt expression. He winced as if he couldn't stand the torture of just looking at me and dropped his gaze to the floor once again.

“You still had me," I said. "You weren't alone. I've been waiting this whole time for you to come back, so we could be siblings or even this sounds odd. friends again, but you never wanted that. After a year of self-inflicted isolation, I stopped trying to break through your walls. I was waiting for you to emerge, like a butterfly. But I can see you stayed in your cocoon for as long as you could possibly bear.” People don't really talk like this. Self-inflicted isolation? Emerging like a butterfly? They just sound too strange to believe.

Silence.

As silent tears runningran down my cheeks, I whispered, “What did I do?

Erik turned to me and practically screamed shouted, “God, Anna. You did nothing, nothing! You were perfect, had a perfect life, perfect friends, perfect everything. Perfect, just- what's with the dash here? It's not at all necessary fine Anna. Not a worry in the world.”

“Erik, I...”

“No, Anna, NO! I was not perfect, are you kidding me? I am not perfect. I am nothing. Nothing is what you did and nothing is what I have become. I didn't deserve to be like your brother anymore.”

A new emotion flared. Anger.

“Dammit, Erik! Is this why you've been avoiding me for the past year?! Because I'm too perfect maybe you should italicize it for emphasis for you?!”

He took a moment to think and then said, “Yes and no.”

“Well then, tell me why else I'm too perfect for the person I've been desperately needing for the past year, will you?” This sentence is strange and mixed up and made me read it through twice. I think you simply meant: Then why have you been avoiding me?

Silence.

“Then why?I repeated in frustration.

“Because you were too perfect,” didn't we just go over this? he said, now interrogating me with his hazel eyes.

“What the HELL maybe you should put this in lower case and italicize it instead of capitalizing it is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. Nevermind.”

Oh, Nothing? Well, my brother 'friend' , who's been ignoring me for the past YEAR of my life, just tried to kill himself. So it has to mean something!!”

Silence again.

“Riddle me this, Erik: why do I even bother?”

“Because you still care.”

“And you don't?” My voice had taken on a pleading tone bynow.

“No.”

Sobbing, I slowly took the already-popped bag of Pop Secret Movie Theater Butter out of my backpack Why did she have this in her backpack? It's very random. and dropped it in his lap. Getting up, I collected my things, and headed towards the door. Wouldn't she have to wait for the police to let them go or something?

I left.

And never looked back.


All in all, this was pretty good. There were, however, quite a few things that didn't make sense and some more things I think were not very clear. You could go over these and the story would be even better. Spelling-wise it was absolutely fine.

Moving on to the story itself, you show us quite clearly that Anna cared for Erik, but you never really show the reverse, you merely tell us. And in their conversation, it is very hard to believe that they were ever friends. There were a few points in their talk where Erik was so stiff and wooden it was hard to feel for him at all. It's also like he tried to kill himself for no reason, I don't think you described his depression at home in enough depth. Having a barely present father doesn't mean he'll be depressed enough to kill himself.

Anyway, it was a good story. Great job, and KEEP WRITING!

TIGERSPRITE
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Wed Nov 24, 2010 1:59 am
RoseGryffindor says...



Wow! This is utterley amazing! I would love if you turned this into a book! I would totally read it! Suspenseful and the story is told nice. The emotion is conveyed clearly as is the scene this is a wonderful story!
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Wed Nov 24, 2010 7:13 am
Vampyre says...



Well, I came to review, but honestly could see no grammar/spelling mistakes, and nothing I would change or correct!
I loved your story, and I loved the emotion, and...and...Oh I just loved it all! *squee*

Only thing I would comment on is would a 14 year old be 5'7"? I would have thought he'd be a little shorter...
But anyway, sorry this isn't a proper review, but I just could see nothing to improve upon!

Vampyre
That night she drew her swan breath in a bed
Made soft with all her razor blades,
That kissed her wrists with the romance you lacked.
As the hands that you’d kissed now dealt the trades


  





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Wed Nov 24, 2010 7:04 pm
CandyVenom122 says...



Okay, this is my first review on this chapter, so I am still new to this.
I love your story. It's amazing, and gripping. You showed the emotions of the two pretty well, and I am looking forward to reading a sequel. The only thing that you can improve a bit is the dialogue. It's very emotional, but at certain parts seems unnatural. For instance, this part "After a year of self-inflicted isolation, I stopped trying to break through your walls. I was waiting for you to emerge, like a butterfly. But I can see you stayed in your cocoon for as long as you could possibly bear."
  





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Tue Jan 04, 2011 9:35 pm
AllyGrLxOX says...



Please write more! I'm begging you!
*Gets down on hands and knees* Please, please, please, write more!
In Erik or Anna's POV, either works because both are filled with emotion and are AMAZING!

Sincerely,
A truly hooked reader who demands more! :D
HEY YOU!
Yeah you! :D

You should check out my latest novel "Part of the Night!"
http://www.youngwriterssociety.com/novel.php?id=877
^Click,Click,Click,Click,Click,Click,Click,Click,Click,Click,Click,


Why haven't you clicked on the link yet!
  





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Fri Jan 07, 2011 1:12 pm
Megan1234 says...



Wow, this story was gripping! Are you going to write more or is this the end?

Just a few minor notes...

Erik Levers, 14 years old, approximately 5'7, avoided my glance, trying to hide himself.

Yes, it catches my attention, but I don't feel we need to know how tall or old he is just yet. The age would come in when you mention the grade they are in.

I love your descriptions of their childhood together! So sweet and entertaining.

How is it the bullet missed his head if he pulled the trigger? If the gun was pointed to his head, he would have no reaction time to pull down or pull the gun away.

Also, if you do write more, will his depression be explained more?

I couldn't finish my sentance

Sentence, not sentance.

His eyes took in my puffy, red face, my worried and hurt expression

Try a semi-colon instead of the comma between "red face" and "my worried". It seems to flow better with that.

but still talking the first step

I think this should be taking, correct?

Once more, I loved the story! Write more? Please?

Hope I helped!
<3 Meg
  





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Fri Jan 07, 2011 7:12 pm
BenFranks says...



Hey there,

I tell you what I love about you're story: it feels real. I find myself trying to critique, but I'm having second thoughts. When I read this, there's one thing that I recognise is most present and that is your own style. It's fascinatingly lyrical for prose and I found it an absolute pleasure to read. For example, those sugary sweets? It just seems like too real a situation for a novel and I love it.

Naturally, plot kind of counter-fights all this when it turns into a suicidal kind of theme, but it is still written very quite well. What I will say though is that I preferred the memories a lot more to the plot of the physical narrative. It began feeling a little aggrovating nearer the end because it does become rather cynical and tense. I tell you how you can improve this though: balance things out. Why not take the story and mix it up a little bit? Instead of having memories -> events, why not stick in flash back memories every so and so during the movement and continuation of plot? That way we can avoid feeling drab at any point and enjoy your style and plot.

Anyway, sorry that wasn't much use, but a very good piece.
*Likes*
Ben
  





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Fri Jan 07, 2011 9:42 pm
SporkPunk says...



Hey Bubbles! Sporks here, as requested. :D I go through the story, making comments as I read. Technical errors are in red, word choice suggestions are in green, and my commentary is in purple. Got that? Good. :) My full-text review is in the spoiler. xD

Spoiler! :
Erik Levers, 14 years old, approximately 5'7, avoided my glance, trying to hide himself.

My mind is reeling so fast right now with confusion and doubt, the only thought I manage to formulate is, “Why?

Memories worm their way back in also. I think back to kindergarten and all the time spent in the loft with him, talking about our favorite holidays and new episodes of Mr. Rodgers' Neighborhood. To second grade when he won a giant jar of Wonka Nerds, and we lugged it home and ate every single one. We were sick for weeks, but became addicted to those crazily-colored sugar treats. Then to fifth grade when I accidentally socked him in the face and knocked his tooth out during an extremely competitive game of softball.

We were always together, joined at the hip, like brother and sister. In fact, Erik and I considered each other our sister and brother, because we had no siblings of our own. But I came to realize that were so much more than that. We were each other's rock, the one person we could trust anything with. I came from a middle-class family, who occasionally struggled to get by, but we usually worked it out. His parents were divorced and they had somehow lost all contact with his mother and her side of the family. His father, who was an only child himself, was an absent doctor always at work, and both of Erik's grandparents had died, so he had no one to call 'family' except me, Anna Trueman.

All of our friends believed that we were destined to be together when we got older. But there was nothing romantic between us, ever! We both had friends, but over the years they had slowly turned against him, leaving him with no one but me and his absent father. He was a little out of touch with the world; I guess we both were, but my friends accepted me for it and his didn't. I couldn't believe the stories he sometimes told me, the things his wild mind had thought up. After a while, I realized that the stories that he was making up were just an escape from real life. A life where his dad supplied the money, and Erik took care of the rest. While he had his quirks, he was the most independent person I knew- not many young boys can semi-run a house and still do well in school!

We had sleepovers all the time in fifth and sixth grade. We lived in a very safe neighborhood, so he could leave his house whenever he slept over. The neighbors were snobby, but promised to watch over him and the house if anything ever happened. Half of the nights he would be at my cheerful house, and the other half I would be at his gloomy, depressing one. He said many times that home to him was staying up late, watching comedies until we cried from laughter, and eating an endless supply of Pop Secret Movie Theater Butter popcorn until our fingers were soaked in grease.

I seriously don't know what happened. I don't know why, in seventh grade, my best buddy Erik Night started avoiding me. I don't know why we broke apart. I do know that his father lost his job, and they lost the house and all their assets. He moved to a lower-class house and pulled out of school. Every time I tried to go by Erik's house and comfort him, to console him, he pushed me away. After getting rejected for a year, I decided it was time to move on. But his well-being always stayed in the back of my mind.

And then, in the middle of eighth grade, on a Saturday evening, he pulled the trigger.

The bullet went hurtling towards his head.

And missed.

And I found myself sitting in the hospital, him beside me, both of us as silent as the grave. I didn't know how he had gotten there, but when I came in, he was sitting outside of room 239, looking healthy enough.

When I had come rushing in, the desk clerk sharply told me to be quiet, but after I asked for Erik, her tone softened and she told me one of the most surprising things I've ever heard in my life- Erik had told the police to call me- not his dad, not his neighbors, but...me.

He glanced at me, one quick look, but it told me all I needed to know.

“Why, Erik?” I took a long deep breath, anxious and scared for his response. I didn't know if I even wanted to know.

He seemed startled by my question, as if we were playing the silent game and I, the opposing player, had broken the rules.

“What?”

That was the first word he had spoken to me in over a year.

I zipped my coat up to my chin, put my backpack on the floor, and tightened my gloves. Even though the walls and electricity kept the swirling winds outside, I felt no warmth.

“You heard me.”

“Huh?”

His darting, one-word answers unleashed an agony that burned my soul. I found myself erupting like a volcano, all my thoughts trying to swirl out of my mouth, jumbled like a hot, sticky mess.

“Why, Erik? Why did you try to kill yourself? WHY? You could have been dead. DEAD. Gone. Forever.”

He dropped his head into his hands, running his fingers through his hair, and still avoiding my eyes and my questions.

Clearing my throat, I tried a different angle:

“What changed, Erik?”

“What?”

“I said, what changed? With us. We were best friends; you were my brother! I loved spending all that time with you. Hell, we grew up together! How could you just... just...” I couldn't finish my sentence.

He finally looked at me, really looked at me for once. His eyes took in my puffy, red face, my worried and hurt expression. He winced as if he couldn't stand the torture of just looking at me and dropped his gaze to the floor once again.

“You still had me," I said, knowing I was treading on thin ice but still talking the first step. "You weren't alone. I've been waiting this whole time for you to come back, so we could be siblings or even just friends again, but I guess you never wanted that. After a year of avoiding me, I stopped trying to find find what? and help. I was waiting for you to emerge, like those butterflies we saw at the zoo in fourth grade. But I see now that you stayed away for as long as you possibly could.”

Silence.

As silent tears ran down my cheeks, I whispered, “What did I do.”

Erik turned to me and practically shouted, “God, Anna! You did nothing, nothing! You were perfect, had a perfect life, perfect friends, perfect everything. Perfect, just fine Anna. Not a worry in the world.”

Startled, I said, “Erik, I...”

“No, Anna, NO! I was not perfect, are you kidding me? I am not perfect. I am nothing. Nothing is what you did and nothing is what I have become. I didn't deserve to be your brother anymore.”

A new emotion flared. Anger.

“Dammit, Erik! Is this why you've been avoiding me for the past year?! Because I'm too perfect for you!”

He took a moment to think and then said, “Yes and no.”

“Tell me why else I'm too 'perfect' for the person I've been needing for the past year, will you?”

Silence.

“Then why?” I repeated in utter frusteration. You don't need the "e." :]

“Because you were too perfect,” he said, interrogating me with his hazel eyes.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. Never mind.” "Nevermind" isn't a word. :P

“Nothing? Well, my brother, who's been ignoring me for the past YEAR of my life, just tried to kill himself. So it has to mean something!!”

Silence again.

“Riddle me this, Erik: why do I even bother anymore?”

“Because you still care.”

“And you don't?” My voice had taken on a pleading tone now.

“No.”

Choking back sobs, I slowly reached down, opened my backpack, and pulled out the one item that I thought would remind him of our friendship. I had grabbed it on my way to the hospital when I heard the news. Not taking my eyes off his face, I gently placed a pre-popped bag of Pop Secret Movie Theater Butter into his lap.

I left.

And never looked back.



Technical kinda stuff
I actually don't really have any nitpicks. My only suggestion, for the small stuff, is going back and proofreading. An easy way to catch the teeny mistakes is reading aloud. :D

Story
This is so, so sad. I really liked it a lot. Your voice is already very defined, which is good. I think maybe though, instead of a block of flashbacks, maybe weave them into your narrative. That would make it seem like the reader is actually privy to every thought of Anna's, which is what it seems like you were going for. xD

Overall
I have to admit, I expected some silly love story type thing from the first sentence, and thus I was a bit skeptical. BUT I continued reading and it's absolutely wonderful. Speaking of the first line though, it doesn't really grab my attention. Maybe take a different angle? Or just delete it, and begin with your second sentence, which is much more attention grabbing. :D

Keep Writing!
Sporks
Grasped by the throat, grasped by the throat. That's how I feel about love. That it's not worth it.

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17 Reviews



Gender: Female
Points: 1747
Reviews: 17
Sat Jan 08, 2011 9:06 pm
parigirle says...



Hi there! (:

Um... well, I honestly don't have much to complain about with this. xD Your voice is really distinctive and still literary at the same time. I find a lot of times, when a voice stands out, it's because the grammar is poor and the run-on sentences are plenty. But here, your style is very literary and very unique. I love your writing.

The only problem I have is the first sentence. I think it's been mentioned once or twice - I'm not sure, I didn't really read the previous reviews - but it's just... dull. I won't bore you with details of how important the first sentence is, since I'm sure you already know it all. I think the age and height is really unnecessary. Details like that are great, but not for the first sentence.

Also, I think that while most of your dialogue is very natural, this line isn't:
“Tell me why else I'm too 'perfect' for the person I've been needing for the past year, will you?”

This could honestly just be me being a nitpicky person, or just me being weird. xD But read it out loud... it just seems a bit long and awkward for a person to actually say. Maybe, "Tell me why else I'm too 'perfect' for my best friend, will you?" or something along those lines. Not a big deal though.

Overall, I loved this. I thought it would be a cliche story from the beginning, but it's unique and it's definitely very interesting. You have a great writing style and an interesting story. :)
  





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Gender: None specified
Points: 1385
Reviews: 16
Sun Jan 09, 2011 4:02 pm
TedusCloud says...



Your review as promised.

Ilovebubbles123 wrote:My mind is reeling so fast right now with confusion and doubt, the only thought I manage to formulate is, “Why?

A brilliant opener, truly brilliant. Don't forget question marks though.

Memories worm their way back in also. I think back to kindergarten and all the time spent in the loft with him, talking about our favorite holidays and new episodes of Mr. Rodgers' Neighborhood. To second grade when he won a giant jar of Wonka Nerds, and we lugged it home and ate every single one. We were sick for weeks, but became addicted to those crazily-colored sugar treats.


I like the sense of nostalgia you create here. Building on it a bit more throughout the piece will help a lot.

All of our friends believed that we were destined to be together when we got older. But there was nothing romantic between us, ever!

Interesting shift in tone here. Are you implying one of those "TRUST-ME-THERE'S-NOTHING-GOING-ON-BETWEEN-US-BUT-I-LOVE-HIM-ACTUALLY" type things? If so build on it!

While he had his quirks, he was the most independent person I knew- not many young boys can semi-run a house and still do well in school!

I like this girl's enthusiasm.

He said many times that home to him was staying up late, watching comedies until we cried from laughter, and eating an endless supply of Pop Secret Movie Theater Butter popcorn until our fingers were soaked in grease.

I'm not sure why you chose the last image. Are you implying something? Because I would shy away from using such...jarring imagery here. Doesn't quite fit the mood of a Romanticist/Romantic piece. Maybe it's just me.


And then, in the middle of eighth grade, on a Saturday evening, he pulled the trigger.

The bullet went hurtling towards his head.

And missed.


Slightly impersonal. Well written, technically, but it's very...pointed and slightly academic in tone. I wouldn't be so detached here in style.


When I had come rushing in, the desk clerk sharply told me to be quiet, but after I asked for Erik, her tone softened and she told me one of the most surprising things I've ever heard in my life- Erik had told the police to call me- not his dad, not his neighbors, but...me.


Interesting development. She seems surprised, yes, but slightly blown out of proportion. Earth her a bit more - I'm sure deep down she's heard more surprising things actually.

It was the first time seeing him in over two months. My arrival seemed to catch him by surprise, like he was a deer and I was the headlights.

Love this.

His expression when he saw me reminded me of his 3rd grade surprise birthday party, when everyone hid under his bed, waiting for him to come home. We all intentionally 'forgot' his birthday to make his surprise that much more amazing, and it was. When we popped out screaming and cheering, I swear he almost peed his pants. It was hilarious.

Again a good sense of nostalgia.


But this situation was the exact opposite. This time, he glanced at me, one quick look, but it told me all I needed to know.

Slightly vague. What are you implying? What effect does this have on Anna? Give us any detail because if you don't the sentence is just making fun of the reader.


“What?”


I don't like him much :P
I zipped my coat up to my chin, put my backpack on the floor, and tightened my gloves. Even though the walls and electricity kept the swirling winds outside, I felt no warmth.

Brilliant. Good stuff.
His darting, one-word answers unleashed an agony that burned my soul. I found myself erupting like a volcano, all my thoughts trying to swirl out of my mouth, jumbled like a hot, sticky mess.

Again this slightly jarring imagery. Not quite sure what you want with it. I'm a bit apprehensive of it - perhaps things will be made clearer later in the novel?

He dropped his head into his hands, running his fingers through his hair, and still avoiding my eyes and my questions. I had never seen him like this... except for that fateful night when he came stumbling into my house, crying his eyes out and begging for my help... it was the night that had started everything.

Not a good thing to drop a bomb like that on us and then just continue nonchalantly on to the next event. Inform us or don't inform us - there's nothing in between. Teasing the reader is often a bad thing to do.

Erik turned to me and practically shouted, “God, Anna! You did nothing, nothing! You were perfect, had a perfect life, perfect friends, perfect everything. Perfect, just fine Anna. Not a worry in the world.”


A slightly cliched point. Please tell me this is not the real reason or I might look for the guy and punch him.
A new emotion flared. Anger.

Interesting. A mean streak? Build on this.


He took a moment to think and then said, “Yes and no.”

Ambiguous twat. Sorry I don't like him :)

I noticed him tearing up, and realized that the only other time I had seen him cry was in fifth grade when I accidentally socked him in the face and knocked his tooth out during an extremely competitive game of softball.

I told myself that I had to stop living in the land of what had been.

Woo! You go girl! Interesting that you'd bring an end to the nostalgia. Didn't see it coming.


I left.

And never looked back.


Fatalistically charming I would say.

The story is pretty interesting and well written - from the plot perspective. Your use of short sentences was intermittent and built suspense quite well. I do believe you've re-written it quite a few times so grammar-wise there was nothing that stood out except for this:

After a year of avoiding me, I stopped trying to find and help.

Lack of a referent makes it ambiguous. Insert a referent at least to one of the actions to make things clearer.

Some issues remain unresolved, and I think purposely since this is a novel correct?

I would shy away from teasing the reader like that. Introduce new points only when you can make them and flesh them out - otherwise you risk irritating them. Keeping things from them does not go for the "less is more" thing at all.

Also I would like it if you could clarify the use of imagery you selected. I find it intriguing - perhaps you're making a point? If not it's slightly jarring, and for some reason I get disgusted-slightly sexual undertones from them. If that's not what you were going for I suggest you show them the chop.

Good stuff :) Keep writing. With a few re-writes this could be perfect.
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