Young Writers Society

Raindrops, rinsing the already barren roads. Each little droplet of water filled the void inside her heart a little more, making the pain harder and harder to bear, until it couldn’t hold them anymore. Then icy tears flowed from her open eyes, and down her pale cheeks. She raised a hand to brush away a strand of sodden hair from her face. She pulled an umbrella out of the carrier bag, grasping it in her wet, frozen fingers. A gust of wind, more determined than she had been for months, swept it away from her. It soared a metre or so and then crashed down onto the hard, cracked concrete, a token of her indecision.
She did not chase the umbrella but rather stared after it with tear-filled eyes as the wind carried it further away. She felt the icy pool of water stir inside her, spreading a chill so intense that she felt, for a few moments, as if she would never be able to warm herself again.
She half-closed her eyes, watching the umbrella as the wind carried it further down the street. It was white, covered with an army of black polka dots. And then she turned, so that she could not see it anymore, and walked away. The rain did not bother her, for the chasm inside her heart felt better full of ice than completely empty.
Two blocks until home. Like a child, naïve and fearful, she kept her eyes on the ground, careful not to step on the cracks in the old, worn pavement. It was the oldest part of the town, untouched for years. Leaves littered the pathways, their tones ranging from fiery orange to ominous red.
Inside it was warmer. Warmth spread through the draughty rooms of the house, and into her body. Dry clothes caressed her skin; a steaming mug of hot chocolate lay on the table beside her, but she did not touch it.
Before her was a journal, its snow white pages spread open and occupied by lines and lines of small, jet black words. She fingered the pen in her hands, the ink staining her fingertips. The ice inside her heart, now melting thoroughly in the warmth, gave a dangerous lurch. Tears threatened to spill out of her eyes, and a shiver ran through her soft skin and seeped into her bones.
The first few words were shaky.
I am not in love. I have never been in love. A pause, to bite the edge of the pen and gaze down into the journal. And so there is no real reason for the sadness which fills me so completely that my bones tremble, that my soul gives way to something darker and deeper. Insecurity, need, and temptation. Insecurity is the worst monster of all. It whispers words harsh enough to devour my entire soul.
Insecurity, in all its grand devastation, filled too many moments of her already shaky life. She wished that she could just push it away, but it seemed inevitable that it would instead linger determinedly, linger to cloud her brain with words which were of no use to her.
The bonfire flared up in a show of leaping flames and spitting ashes. Her eyes watered, clouded by the grey clouds of heavy smoke. The flames wavered before her, playfully, as if to claim her along with the journal she held in her hand. Slowly, she released it from her fingers, and the flame began to devour it.
When she returned, hours later, it was no more than a pile of blackened, charred ashes.
Insecurity. There would always be a part of her which would wish for conflict; conflict can be resolved. She would spend the rest of her life stirring it up, teasing it onto paper, sifting through it with a magpie's deep wanting. Words would be her collectibles, the deep desire and passion for them coursing through her veins.
She would never be able to simply sit down and be content, for there is always a desire there, always a need, for as long as we’re human.

One day this will be no more than a pile of charred ashes, if that, only a mark of what once was, and, more significantly, everything that could have been.

Hello there MorningMist, Palip to review for you . If you don't mind, I'll be reviewing this as I go along, so pardon my pointing out any "mistakes" resolved later on. Here goes:

falling to earth - I'm not sure it's the right expression. Try using a more "watery" verb (for example, rinse or slosh; I prefer the former).
Each little droplet of water filled the void inside her heart a little more You need to define yourself clearly here. Does "filled" mean that the void in her heart is being diminished, or is it getting worse?
icy rivers flowed from her open eyes I'm not sure about the choice of words. It could be just me, but if my eyes cried rivers, I would be worried.
Out of the carrier bag in her wet, frozen fingers she pulled out an umbrella Sentence structure. See how "She pulled out an umbrella out of the carrier bag, grasping it in her wet, frozen fingers," sounds.
A gust of wind, more determined than she had been for months, Lovely
It soared a metre of so I know it's a typo, but I hate it when reviewers don't point them out!
She did not make to run after it, or to catch it, instead staring out after it with tear filled eyes Hmm....I think the repeated "after it" is what's bugging me. Perhaps you can try, "She did not chase the umbrella but rather stared unblinkingly as it tumbled over the pavement in the inescapable grasp of the wind." Or something like that, I'm not quite sure the wording is right .
the pool of icy water I'm sorry I am truly nitpicking, but I am too fussy for my own good. I would say "icy pool of water".
watching the umbrella as the wind carried it further down the street I've already apologised for it .
It was white, covered with an army of black polka dots. Perfect description .
for it felt better for the chasm inside her heart to be full of ice than completely empty. The chasm inside her heart felt better full of ice than completely empty.
she kept her eyes to the ground On the ground, not to.
It was autumn; leaves littered the pathways, their tones ranging from fiery orange to ominous red. Omit "it was autumn". It only requires some critical thinking on behalf of the reader to figure that out .
The ice inside of her heart, Remove "of"
And so there is no real reason for the sadness which fills me so thoroughly that my bones tremble Try to use another word instead of "thoroughly". You use it quite...thoroughly .
in all of its grand devastation You must do something about your of's.
But words are only temporary; as is everything in life. I strongly disagree with this line. All literature contrasts with this statement, for it is immortal. It outlives mankind and everything else.
One day this will be no more than a pile of charred ashes, if that, only a mark of what once was, and, more significantly, everything that could have been. Very strong ending. Well done.

To be honest, I cannot see where this is going. It is too obscure. But, that does not mean it is not an entertaining piece of writing. The writing is very much to my liking, and you start off and finish very strongly. Your vocabulary captures the misery of the girl and considering that you wrote this in a few minutes, you definitely show talent....you portray the scene almost as if you passed through the experience yourself. A few more details, and voilà, you have an acceptable, luring romantic story. Signing off, Palip.

P.S. I hope you find this helpful

Oh my goodness, I thought that this was an amazing peice! I love your writing, and I envy it! This type of writing I can achieve on my rare days, but you make it look so easy. You put so many fabulous words together, and they are all so descriptive, but not overly descriptive either. This is just a fabulous job at a fabulous peice and oh my goodness (again) after this I am going to read so much more of your work because I am just so impressed by it! I love how your peice starts with a fragment (did you read Brave New World? The book starts that way, too) and thus, it is very captivating because of the fact that it is not a complete sentence. I loved it. The only part that I was not entirely sure about was the part when the burns her journal. Why would she do that? Isn't it very important to her? Also, it seems that what she needs to do right now is write, write her fingers off, until the sun breaks the fog of dawn, and yet, she simply writes a few words and burns it. I was also slightly comfused as to where the bonfire appeared. Does she have a fireplace in her room or has she tranitioned outside? Also, if I were burning something filled with my sadness, pain, and hate, I would sit there and watch it burn, not leave it only to find it in ashes hours later. Also, if she did venture outside, isn't it raining? How did she create the bonfire? Or was it made before the rain, and by who? These are probally a few questions that you may want the reader not to know, but I want to know, ehich is good! This girl is filled with mystery, and she is so three-dementional, she is very interesting. I adore your character. I also admired how you made the whether outside to mimik how she feels on the inside, that was very nice, but I would think that you should try something called a onomatopoeia. This is when you use words that sound what they say. When I say this, I mean use words that, when you read or say them quickly, would create a dreary, raining type of sound (such a slosh, slush, ect.) This can make it fabulous when it is read out loud to others, which I think this story should be for it is a very fabulous peice of work. I hope that this helps you and I am going to read a review more of your work now!

first I'll start by saying that your creative writing is really good and emotional. Your description is very powerfull and the vocabulary you used is ambitious and to a good use. I'd like to hear more on this story and see it developed, who is the subject that has broken this girls heart? It's some thing I'd really like to know. Keep writing !