Young Writers Society

Ben Williamson was a mistake. He found this out as a young boy, living in a dingy, red-brick-against-grey sky type of building in Bedford, Brooklyn. He was too young for school, too young to realize that his mother was a tired mess during the day, hands itching to get just one beer and a full-out drunk by night. He was too young for anything more than playing with his broken Superman action figure, an arm ripped off, the Superman embazelment scratched until it became nothing more than a glimmer of color on the action figure's chest.


His mother day after day stared blankly at Ben, a bit of pity, a bit of regret in her watery blue eyes. Instead of getting a job, instead of calling the landlord to fix the leaky faucet or ask for an extension on the rent; instead of acting like a mother, she told him stories, a bottle of Corona in one hand, a lit cigarette in another,


"I neva' wanted you. Your father, I neva' even knew his name," she said in a hoarse voice, her eyes, bloodshot, shadowed with dark bags, closed briefly as she paused for a long drag, the ash falling to the dirty carpet. Smoke whisped out of her stained ruby-red lips, dancing up into her thin bleach blonde hair and she continued the story. Maybe once she was beautiful, but that doesn't matter now. The originally bright blue walls of the apartment, had faded down into a dull grey. No matter how much spit and shine you wipe on it, it'll still be unyieldingly grey.


"Me and Anita, we was at a club in the city. Met him there, I don't even remember his name. I was too high off a' whateva Anita had in her bag," she said, chuckling at the memories, before falling foreword, her chest wracking with heavy coughs. She downed another gulp of beer, emptying the bottle before standing and stumbling over to the tiny cooler by the door, steadying herself as the world swam and swayed before picking up another. She returned to the used in Laze-Boy she bought for ten bucks at a yard sale, reclining back and finishing off her cigarrette. She dropped it, still smoking, onto the floor and stamped it out, her foot near where Ben sat playing with his idol.


"Benny! Are you listening? Mammy got to tell you something important."


Ben stopped spinning Superman in the air, letting the hero hang limply in his hand. It was a gift from "That damn Amanda" as his mother so gently put it. His aunt Amanda visited every week, with a new toy or a new shirt for him. She had tried to adopt him when he was a baby, claiming that her sister 'had a problem and needed to address and correct it before she could handle the responsibilities of being a mother' or something fancy like that. Amanda was younger, prettier with a good teaching job and a cop husband. Ben's mother had hissed and yelled her way out of it, half dragging him to the new apartment in Bedford. He was barely a child and loved Auntie Amanda because she always gave him macaroni and cheese and called him her 'darling'.


Ben looked up at his mother, sucking on his thumb, his bright blue eyes wide in either admiration or fear, probably the latter.


"We went back to my place and then two months later, doctor told me I was pregnant with you. I couldn't get no abortion cus' the money, so I was stuck. I know it wasn't your fault. But my life and dreams gone, cus' of you. You were a mistake,"


She took a sip of her Corona, not quite enjoying the taste, the burn, but glad that the edges of her vision were completely blurred, that suddenly taking a very long nap seemed like a good idea. She turned away from Ben, staring blankly at the wall, indicating that the one-sided conversation was over.


He was too young to quite understand exactly what his mother was talking about. She often went on tangents like this one. It was strange, sometimes she was loving and sweet, making him yummy food (never macaroni and cheese, though)and saying that she was going to get help, that she was going to get a real job.


These moments of love would only occur after Ben's mother would wake up in a shallow pool of her own vomit, her head pounding, her son sitting a couple feet away, planning with his Superman action figure or maybe after hearing the hushed whispers of the neighbors 'Disgusting woman can't even take care of herself, let alone a child" and always, always after a visit from Amanda, the beloved younger sister, who came full of presents for Ben and an envelope of cash for her sister.


But then Anita would call or maybe she would see a half-empty bottle of amber liquid in the sink and tip back her head, desperate to forget. His five year old mind caught the last sentence of her rants, as it was the one she repeated most often.


"You were a mistake."

Heyya! Truth here for a review,

jasminebells wrote:Ben Williamson was a mistake. He found this out as a young boy, living in a dingy, red-brick-against-grey sky type of building in Bedford, Brooklyn. He was too young for school, and too young to realize that his mother was a tired mess during the day, hands itching to get just one beer and a full-out drunk by night. He was too young for anything more than playing with his broken Superman action figure, an arm ripped off, the Superman embazelment scratched until it became nothing more than a glimmer of color on the action figure's chest.


His mother, comma day after day, comma stared blankly at Ben, a bit of pity, a bit of regret in her watery blue eyes. Instead of getting a job, instead of calling the landlord to fix the leaky faucet, comma or ask for an extension on the rent; instead of acting like a mother, she told him stories, a bottle of Corona in one hand, a lit cigarette in another. Period

"I neva' wanted you. Your father, I neva' even knew his name," she said in a hoarse voice, her eyes, bloodshot, shadowed with dark bags, closed briefly as she paused for a long drag, the ash falling to the dirty carpet.
¶
Smoke whisped out of her stained ruby-red lips, dancing up into her thin bleach blonde hair and she continued the story. Maybe once she had been beautiful, but that didn't matter now. Now that t he originally bright blue walls of the apartment, had faded down into a dull grey. Just a suggestion here No matter how much spit and shine you wipe on it, it'll still be unyieldingly grey.


"Me and Anita, we was at a club in the city. Met him there, I don't even remember his name. I was too high off a' whateva Anita had in her bag," she said, chuckling at the memories, before falling foreword, her chest wracking with heavy coughs. She downed another gulp of beer, emptying the bottle before standing and stumbling over to the tiny cooler by the door, steadying herself as the world swam and swayed before picking up another. She returned to the used in La-Z-Boy she bought for ten bucks at a yard sale, reclining back and finishing off her cigarrette. She dropped it, still smoking, onto the floor and stamped it out, her foot near where Ben sat playing with his idol.


"Benny! Are you listening? Mammy got to tell you something important."


Ben stopped spinning Superman in the air, letting the hero hang limply in his hand. It was a gift from "That damn Amanda" as his mother so gently put it. His aunt Amanda visited every week, with a new toy or a new shirt for him. She had tried to adopt him when he was a baby, claiming that her sister 'had a problem and needed to address and correct it before she could handle the responsibilities of being a mother' or something fancy like that. Amanda was younger, prettier with a good teaching job and a cop husband. Ben's mother had hissed and yelled her way out of it, half dragging him to the new apartment in Bedford. He was barely a child and loved Auntie Amanda because she always gave him Mac' n' Cheese and called him her 'darling'.


Ben looked up at his mother, sucking on his thumb, his bright blue eyes wide in either admiration or fear, probably the latter.


"We went back to my place and then two months later, Doctor --Is that a name? If yes it should be capitalized, if not, then disregard my comment-- told me I was pregnant with you. I couldn't get no abortion cus' the money, so I was stuck. I know it wasn't your fault. But my life and dreams' gone, cus' of you. You were a mistake,"


She took a sip of her Corona, not quite enjoying the taste, the burn, but glad that the edges of her vision were completely blurred, that suddenly, comma taking a very long nap seemed like a good idea. She turned away from Ben, staring blankly at the wall, indicating that the one-sided conversation was over. He was too young to quite understand exactly what his mother was talking about. She often went on tangents like this one. It was strange, sometimes she was loving and sweet, making him yummy food (Never Mac 'N' Cheese, though)and saying that she was going to get help, that she was going to get a real job. But then Anita would call, comma or maybe she would see a half-empty bottle of amber liquid in the sink and tip back her head, desperate to forget. His five year old mind caught the last sentence of her rants, as it was the one she repeated most often.


"You were a mistake."

Awh, that was really sad.
I really liked the emotion you portrayed. You did a good job of characterizing with lots of wonderful descriptions and keeping on subject without forcing too much information on us. All that, without too much mistakes

Great writing! I enjoyed.
Keep on writing!

-Truth-

Hello!

So, I'll just start with a few nitpicks I found and then I'll get onto the actual review!

I found that sentence way too long. Perhaps you could cut it into separate sentences?

... she said in a hoarse voice, her eyes, bloodshot, shadowed with dark bags, closed briefly as she paused for a long drag, the ash falling to the dirty carpet.

Tense change, I think there is, with 'doesn't':

Maybe once she was beautiful, but that doesn't matter now.

No need for the comma here:

The originally bright blue walls of the apartment, had faded down into a dull grey

I think you mean 'forward'?

... she said, chuckling at the memories, before falling foreword...

Now, onto the review. I actually liked this short story. I really sympathised for Ben; I can't imagine how his life would turn out, knowing he was a mistake and that his mother doesn't want him. But I also sympathised for his mother too: how her life was ruined after she gave birth to him and how she's weighed down by her responsibilities as a mother, thus becoming an alcoholic. It's also frustrating to know she won't give her son to the Aunt, but in a way, that shows how she doesn't want to give up on her son and shows how she actually loves him. This piece of work provoked a lot of my emotions and I'm glad it did. The ending was most effective, so bravo to that!

But there were a few problems. I noticed that more than half of your sentences started with 'She', 'He', 'Her' or 'His'. After a while, it sounds bleak and flat, so to improve that, use a variety of sentence structures. Also, there was an unbalance of showing and telling, where I thought that you told the story more than you showed it. Though, when you did show, I was very impressed! But still, remember to show more! This story has lots of potential!

Overall impression? I enjoyed it and when I finished reading it, I wanted to read more and hoped that you would write a second chapter, but then I realised it was a short story Keep writing, though! I'd like to read more of what you write!

Thien

Hello there.

I won't do anything that's concerning grammar since Truth and Thien already did most of it. I would only be repeating and that wouldn't help, would it?

Concerning the plot, it seems like a good one. I like the emotions, like everyone already mentioned. If it weren't for the emotions in it, it wouldn't be worth reading. I would like, although, to read it from Ben's point of view. He doesn't understands, and plays, when the reader actually understand and feels bad for him? It's just a suggestion, but having it as third person has its advantages.

You could always write more about it. More about his aunt or something... Anyways, I'm just rambling on right now.

Keep up the great work!

-Other One

Since the others have thoroughly critiqued the mechanics, I'm going to talk on a bit of a more abstract, higher plane.

The mother is a pretty good character. She has her own manner of speech and seems a truly dismal and loathsome character. So you fleshed out that end. Nice. But then you have

It was strange, sometimes she was loving and sweet, making him yummy food (Never Mac 'N' Cheese, though)and saying that she was going to get help, that she was going to get a real job.

which is great, because she's a character with multiple dimensions. But you spend so little time on it. And there's no catalyst for when and why she becomes sweet. The real-life characters like this that I've known usually convert to the "sweet side" when they've recently lost something, when they get a rare clarity to see their own sadness, etc. And that kind of thing is very revealing of a character. If you could just inject something like that, instead of just saying "sometimes she could be loving and sweet (for no reason)", it would add a lot to her believability.

I think, overall, the premise needs a little work. You start the story as if it's going to be narrated by Ben and told through his eyes (which it is sometimes), but then the story becomes dominated by the mother's monologue. So is the story about Ben or is it about the mother? I realize it's about the mother having Ben, but y'know, then the whole focus of the story becomes a spoken summary of her past life, which isn't entirely compelling.

I think we need to spend more time with Ben. More time experiencing his squalid living conditions, instead of just having a cursory glance over each aspect.

I think what you have here is basically a character study--not a story. If you want a short story, then what you need is a conflict and character motivation--people doing things to get things. What you have here is a snapshot of a day where we're sitting and listening to the mother talk and thinking vaguely over some of the bad things that are going on (she's drunk, his aunt wants to adopt him, the apartment stinks).

Your setting and character and tone work well. You just need to flesh it out, wander the halls, poke and prod things to see how they react. I think you would succeed if you tried.

Hey, thanks for the request! The human Host of Horus is ready to review!

So I review by four criteria. Red:Grammar. Maroon:Likes Purple:Suggestions/questions And then give an overall.

Grammar: I will try to stick away from the items mentioned my other users.

He was too young for school, and too young to realize that his mother was a tired mess during the day, her hands itching to get just one beer and a full-out drunk by night. I made a few corrections here, but you might want to look over it. The sentence is a run on and it makes it a little hard to read and understand. He was too young for anything more than playing with his broken Superman action figure. A figure that had it's arm ripped off, and the Superman embazelment scratched until it had become nothing more than a glimmer of color on the action figure's chest. Here I also made corrections for the same reason. They are more suggestions and you should feel free to alter them, but the sentence is a run on and it should probably be fixed.  

cigarette in another. (Period instead of comma.)

Smoke whisped out of her stained ruby-red lips, and danced up This is an inconsistent verb. Whisped and then dancing. This happens a few times through-out, and I am going to challenge you to find them.

She took a sip of her Corona, not quite enjoying the taste, the burn, but glad that the edges of her vision were completelyConfused as to how she takes another sip. You said previously that she had just finished it off.

Suggestions/Questions:

to her thin bleach blonde hair and she continued the story. Maybe once she was beautiful, but that doesn't matter now. The originally bright blue walls of the apartment, had faded down into a dull grey. No matter how much spit and shine you wipe on it, it'll still be unyieldingly grey. What do you mean? Is she continuing to speak the story? In that case, it should be in quotations. I was a little confused.

 

closed briefly as she paused for a long drag, the ash falling to the dirty carpet.Maybe it is just me, but what is the ash exactly? Did I miss something?

Likes: I liked the characterization for the most part. (explain below.) Hated the whole mistake thing... But this is only because I feel bad for the kid I liked the way you presented it. Good imagery.

Overall: I liked the characterization, but wished we could have known more about the kid, Ben. We don't know a ton about him and that was a little bit of a downfall. Overall, I thought it was a nice piece, even though it was sad and I look forward to reading part 2. I'll try and get to that later tonight!

-HostofHorus

Hey Horus,

Thanks for the review! For the Corona sipping thing, I'm *pretty sure* I stated that she got another one from the cooler by the door, I'll check though. For the apartment walls thing, it was narration, I think I was trying to portray the walls as her life, kind of. The walls and her life were once bright, but now they've faded to grey and no matter what you do, it'll always be grey. For the ash thing, it was ash from the cigarette she was smoking.

I'm planning on writing a different 'Part Two' before the one you're going to read because I think I rushed it and as Firestarter said, I gave the begining and the end with no middle.

Thanks again!

~Jas