Here's the revised version of He's Just Human, with a new title.
Currently being edited.
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My mother refused to touch anything in Karim's room, so it remained exactly how it was--covers pulled back on the bed, a half-glass of tea congealing on his desk. The coroner had returned his cell phone in a little plastic bag and she had dropped it, recoiling like it was something diseased.
Stark was sitting on the edge of his bed, a pile of books that had originally belonged to him at his feet. A piece of green fabric poked out from his closed fist--one of Karim's shirts, folded and compressed into a unit impossibly small.
"Stark?"
He looked at me. "Nods, I don't want to be here anymore."
Everywhere she looked she was reminded of him – the hook where he’d hang his jacket, the spot on the ground he’d leave his backpack, the railing he’d hit his head on when he was five. Everything brought back the memories.
Everything brought back the pain.
attending a funeral in three days.
No one makes contact, though – no one comforts the other.
He’s laying there – motionless. Cold. His face is pale, and his lips are blue.
whether they’ll be attending a funeral in three days.
The only sound is the occasional hiccough of a crying mother and the steady roar from the receptionist’s computer. While the rest of the hospital is bustling with activity, the waiting room feels dead.
This might just be me, but When I hear someone say "think of something," I have the impression of somebody thinking up something; thinking up an idea, philosophy, theory, solution, whatever. I'm not sure that made any sense. XD Let's just cut to the chase: I think this would be better as "think ABOUT something."Any job will do at this point; he just wants to think of something else.
I agree about the "three days" thing. Funerals aren't always three days after the death, so maybe you should just delete the whole part that I made bold?Twenty other families who don’t know what’s happening behind the closed doors, whether their lives will ever be the same again, whether they’ll be attending a funeral in three days.
Saying "the other" seems awkward, to me. Maybe try saying "another?"No one makes contact, though – no one comforts the other.
This is just me, but it seems like it would be more natural to put the steady roar first, then the occasional hiccough. If you do that, then it will register the computer roar as a constant in out mind -- then when we read about the hiccoughs, we'll have a better picture of it all. Ya?The only sound is the occasional hiccough of a crying mother and the steady roar from the receptionist’s computer.
Do you mean to say "his seat?" I think that would make more sense...Back in her seat, Matty is sitting up, rubbing his eyes to chase the sleep out of them.
Elaborate. What makes them look naïve? Is it the contrast of their small, fear-shriveled forms against the sturdy, authoritative form of the doctor? Is it simply the look in their eyes? Elaborate.My parents stand there, looking like naïve little children.
This is unclear. It should be "If he looks down, Brendon’s gone. If he smiles, it’ll all be alright." (also notice that "alright" is one word)If he looks down, he’s gone. If he smiles, it’ll all be all right.
I think you should either delete the "this" at the end, or change it to "so."My parents know this, but they’ll wait for his voice to tell them this.
This is a bit unclear as well; who is the "him" in the first sentence? The father? that's what I realized after a little while, but at first I thought it was Matty because that's who you were just talking about.As I cross the room, my eyes meet the doctor’s, a second before he tells him.
He looks down.
The period after "it" should be a colon, methinks.When something bad happens, people have three ways to deal with it. They can ignore it completely, be upset but move on, or be stuck in grief.
You should either delete "had" or make it into "have."They are upset about what had happened, but they won’t show it.
This is pretty nitpicky, but if she never thought about it again--how could she be talking about it now?I was upset the next day, and I never spared him a second thought after that.
I would just say "I can see the [plump] outline of the full moon through the thin curtains." (you don't need to use the word "plump" but I think an adjective wouldn't be bad there)I can see the outline of the moon – it’s full – through the thin curtains.
She sits across the room from me, [no comma] and doesn’t seem to notice that anyone else in the room.
Twenty other families who don’t know what’s happening behind the closed doors, whether their lives will ever be the same again, [dash instead] whether they’ll be attending a funeral in three days.
They make sure [s]they[/s] to keep the waiting rooms quiet, though.
“Is he going to be all right? Will Brendan be all right?”
I should go over, [no comma] and cover his ears, but I’m frozen.
My parents stand there, [no comma] looking like naïve little children.
The doctor holds a clipboard in front of his stomach. The ink smudges slightly under his fingers.
They’ll need the physical action to make them believe it.
As I cross the room, my eyes meet the doctor’s, [no comma] a second before he tells him.
When something bad happens, people have three ways to deal with it. They can ignore it completely, be upset but move on, or be stuck in grief.
My father is the first, and, [no comma] following his example, so is Matty.
they’ve done this so many times before that they have it down to a science.
She could barely [s]made[/s] make it in the front door before she burst out crying
The other side wants me to follow my mother’s example, [dash instead?] to break down and cry right now on this staircase.
It’s the same as it was last night. His clothes lay on the ground. Papers cover his desk, falling onto his wooden chair. His blankets are pulled back to the foot of the bed, and there’s an indent on the mattress from where he’s slept, night after night, year after year.
I blink my eyes, and, [no comma] just for a second, the room changes.
His stethoscope swings side to side as he sways on his feet.
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