When I Died...

A few days ago I committed the most awiful sin in the bible. I'm not sure if God would forgive me for what I had done. I'm not even sure if there was really a God out there, but when I felt the energy leaving my body and the veins began to hurt I came to realize something. I'm was finally happy that I done this. Why am I happy? Even though my body was slowly dying, and my soul was now bonded to the earth we all walk upon I'm free. Free from the pain that the world caused me. No one would miss me. No one would cry over me at all. My soul can finally rest in peace. That part was wrong...I'm wrong at that part. I have a step father. He's the only person I have with me or had, but I hate him and I'm sure he hates me all the same. He blamed me for my mother's death. She died in a house fire a few years ago because she ran back inside the flaming house trying to find me. I felt guilty, watching the house colasping down nothing but ashes and smoke. I remembered the tears that I cried and the screams that I screamed for her to come back that I'm outside.

Each and everynight since then my step father beats me. Child abuse was the new term for it. He was drunk and I couldn't get away from him. I had no friends...since the accident of my mother's death and at times I wanted to kill myself right on the spot. But I stopped myself thinking of mom. She wouldn't want this. She sacrificed her life for mine. But that thought didn't stop me today. The beatings got worse and when the beer bottle crashed ontop of my head almost blacking me out instantly, I felt the blood pour down my head and the pain soon came. My step father's grunts telling me to get up and stop faking. I couldn't help to reach for the broken shard of glass and cut my life away. When I was young I sometimes feared death, but I wished that when I died I would meet up with my family that passed away before. I felt so hopeless...So dead. So alone. The pain wouldn't go. Now staring down at my pale body, all signs of life fading away fast. I kind of wish I haven't but I can't handle the pain anymore. I felt numb...without pain. This was what I wanted. I knew I should be afraid after seeing my body before me covered in crimson liquid. I'm dead...but yet I felt so alive.

This was really good. I saw the two paragraphs and I thought this would be super short and not much of a story, but you blew me away. I never knew two paragraphs could have such a interesting story to them. It was interesting in every aspect. I liked everything about it. There were no misspellings or grammar errors. It was a fantastic story and it was very deep in a not-to-deep kind of way. Like it was deep but not too deep. But anyways, keep writing, I loved this story.

I didn't think much about the story seeing its length. But once I went through it I was blown away. You put so much thought, so many emotions in such a short story. I loved every aspect of it. I didn't find any major grammar mistakes as such but given my dismal grammar maybe you should check with someone else too. Once again, good job !

Hi!

Okay, this story was a bit flat for me. You have chosen a topic that could be written with an emotional punch, yet, I don't think that you achieved that completely. It was good, but it could be better.

I think that one of the main reasons why the story was a bit flat was because throughout the story you told us what was happening. Which is all swell and cool. But since you used first person, I kind of expected interior monologue and emotions. But there wasn't a lot of that present. Most of it was just narration.

Let's take this paragraph for example:

The beatings gottened worse and when the beer bottle crashed ontop of my head almost blacking me out instantly, I felt the blood pouring down my head and the pain soon came. My step father's grunts telling me to get up and stop faking.

Now, the character wasn't thinking much there, just the character telling us what's happening, but nothing on what they think about all of it. So, it didn't let me know what was going on in the character's head. At least, not as much as I would like. One way to fix that would probably be to go through the story again and think to yourself, can you tell us what's going on to the charcter's mind right now? If you can, then write it down, tell us what the character is thinking of, not just what's happening around the character at the moment.
Now, the paragraph above could be re-written as:

The beatings gottened#FF0000 ">(it's just got, not gottened. Since got is past tense anyway) worse and when the beer bottle crashed on top of my head almost blacking me out instantly, I felt the blood pouring #FF0000 ">(It's in past tense, at least, I think it is. So you can't put -ing at the end of verbs, since that would suggest the event taking place presently. And really, if you get hit by a beer bottle, chances are blood would trickly down your forehead. Instead of pour, since pour suggest a lot of blood, which I don't think you'll get with a beer bottle) down my head and the pain that followed after was so overwhelming that I barely registered my father's grunts telling me to get up and stop faking.

Do you see how we would feel more to the character if you put what's going on the character's head and emotions in there? It lets us to get inside the character's head easier, which is what you should be aiming to do, I think to get across how sad child abuse is.

Other than that, you did a pretty good job. The topic you chose was a good one and the plot was pretty good. Feel free to PM me if you have any questions.

When I read this, I can't help
but thinking that you've had to
have at least experienced this
a little bit to know about it. I
think this helps some readers
relate to you, thus sympathize
with you.

Just look what
Janette whats-her-face did in
the Glass Castle. Boy did she
have a messed up life.

I'd still be extra vigilant to
ensure no one is reading your
work just out of sympathy,
because to good writers and
a larger general audience
might just think it's needy.
Remember, writing is a
communicative art, it's prone
to be abused as an avenue for
people who need attention.
By that same token, if you
were one who was abused, I
am sorry for you, and my
deepest condolences. I can't
stand it when people bring
children into this world with
no idoda' or plan to see them
go through it, only waste away
in their own pitiless shame or
indulge in over active ego's
feeding on the fest-bar of
broken dreams.

Keep writing. I once heard a
man say writing can be a
purging process. God, what
was that writer's name who
really capitalized on self-pity?
Gosh. I just can't remember.
Maybe there's a reason for that.
(And that's not just because
I'm retarded).