Young Writers Society

The trees look se so young and verdant.

I’m not sure for what or whom, but I just did.

I never usually pray, but I felt feel spiritual today. It left leaves me happy and light headed.

I stuff my earplugs, my phone And the book inside my bag.

I love the way how the flavour lingers in my mouth afterward.

I feel the weight of the bottle in my bag.
Ugh, empty.
Making a mental note to bring a larger bottle, I continue my walk across the large open ground where the sun’s rays reflecting off the buses, give the entire place a hot, dusty feel. You don’t need a comma between buses and give. Also, I think it should have been worded differently, “…where the sun’s rays reflected off the buses, giving the entire place a hot, dusty feel.” In which case you would need to keep the comma, but that’s just a matter of opinion.

Walking among the tall yellow cuboids What is a cuboid? Are you referring to buildings?, I scan the front of each, looking for that number, No comma here. which reminds me of home, of civilization. Number 37 was parked between 39 and 56, looking older, slower and dirtier than its neighbors. I recognize the bus; it is driven by old Mr. Bai. You’ve already identified the bus (number 37) so you needn’t be redundant. You could say that you recognize the driver, which could lead to a description of Mr. Bai. Is he old? Young? Dark? Mean? Also, in such an environment you describe (I’m guessing India) shouldn’t all the buses be dirty? Unless those were the fancy, more expensive buses. Oh, and you misspelled ‘neighbours.’

Oh God, not him. He is slower than a scooty on a highway. Scooty? I’d say scooter. Also, I would change that bit about the highway. I don’t have any suggestions as to what you should change it to, but it just needs to be changed. XD

I hoist myself into in, waving a few hellos to my fellow bus-mates. I drop my bag on an empty three-seater. Next to the window, of course. I never deny myself of such pleasures. It is a Saturday; the bus wouldn’t be filled. I hope no one sits next to me. Into in? That makes no sense. How about ‘Hoist myself in’, or ‘Hoist myself into the bus.’
Also, as tired as she is, I’d expect her to nod a hello, instead of waving. Plus, with such a bus, I’d expect the seats to be two-seaters. Take note that I don’t know whether or not this bus is based on a real bus, so all I say is merely a matter of opinion.
The last three sentences are completely different ideas, and they transition rather choppily. I suggest you merge them a little more, such as: “I never deny myself such pleasures on a Saturday, since the bus is nearly empty. I hope no one sits next to me.”


I place my rear on the hot, velvet-cushioned seats that are never really comfortable. Velvet? I suggest vinyl- or zinc-covered seats, since that’s what they are in my experience of bus seats.
Damn, there’s nor proper leg room here. ‘No’, not ‘nor’. Also, I would expect her to know that already, since she’s taken this bus before. Perhaps she could say, ‘As usual, there was about as much leg room in the bus as there was comfort in my position.
I raise my feet onto the seat, arching my back to a more relaxed position. How could that possible be a more relaxed position? Maybe she should ‘lean back’. The seat drinks the sweat off my legs.

A casual glance at the people in the bus confirms the fact that there are no cranky professors. I scrunch up my dupatta*, and place it between my bag and me. It is so much better when my neck can breathe. I wave at another familiar face.

“How was your day?” I ask her, as she moves to sit behind me.
“God, don’t ask. H.O.D. has my ID. I’m shit screwed.”
What is an H.O.D? And who is the friend? She appears only once, and


I wipe my damp forehead on my sleeve [b]and plug my earphones. Not to listen to music, but to block the noise of the moving bus and everything outside. But she was just talking with a friend! Why puts earphones in? That isn’t very clear. I pull out the book I was reading. The black formations, equally spaced and precise, call me. I’ve corrected the last sentence, but in my opinion it should like this: “The equally spaced, black formations call out to me. I am pulled by it into their stories and lies. The beautiful words swim across my eyes. I grab onto them, letting them take me to places I’ve never been to. Landscapes are being formed in my mind; the once green, rustic streets of Madras and the barren walks across Australia.

Sub-consciously, I shift my feet, so that my knees rest on the seat in front of me. I continue flipping pages. My mind processes the story and my opinions, simultaneously.

Wow. She has a beautiful way of mixing the past and the present. She seems to do it so effortlessly. The poetic references are perfect.
On that book, why would any writing want to mix past and present? Verb is very important to writing. This, by the way, is something you got down pat. I haven’t spotted a single tense mistake yet!
My eyes hurt. I place my finger between pages 322 and 323 and close it. I shut my eyes, embracing the black depths of rest.

The book is good. And the idea of rural Madras is fascinating. I’d love to visit a place like that. I should visit the museum. And the Skywalk Mall. It’s just a long bus-ride away. It’s so close to Tarika’s. That lucky girl. But, I feel sad for her. How long can she survive this ordeal of failing? She really needs to work hard and she’s to change the way she thinks about studying. I wonder how fast thoughts travel. It should be an interesting experiment.
Her thoughts wander a lot, which is realistic, but distracting. I suggest you have her open her eyes, hear and/or feel things. Those little interruptions would break up that large block of text and make it easier to read. Plus, it would help immensely in describing her surroundings, fellow passengers, bus noise, etc…
My eyes open again, adjusting to the off-white of the paper.

I love the beginning to this sentence.Days later in the book, I shut it at, Chapter: Sunday. I and look out the window. A blur of bright, fresh green mingled with flashes of steel and soothes my eyes.

We’re past the flyover. We’re back into civilization. It shouldn’t be long now, to reach home. It is such a refreshing change to look out. The trees look se young and verdant. I should stop reading a lot in the bus. The drab black, grey and white will tire me. It’ll probably increase my power. Technically, lower, but still. This** reminds me, I need to get my glasses back from the shop. I must tell appa. Oh, there’s IIT! The campus is so awesome. I should’ve gone for those classes and ended up there. I regret not having gone for those classes. Of course, I’d never admit it.
Once more, try to break up her thoughts. Also, it should be ‘this’ not which. It’s strange, since ‘which’ sounds nicer to me, but it’s not the proper grammatical rendering of it.
And that’s appa’s office. I wonder if he’s looking out the window.
This bit above should be in italics like the rest, since its also part of her thoughts. Also, you could describe her father’s office a little.
The bus trudges forward, stopping at all signals and bus stops. I see people get down, smiling a bye to their friends. I see Krish lug his bag down.
I wonder what he’s thinking about. Probably cursing the driver for not having installed a radio on the bus. I bet he’ll half-run home for the IPL updates.



Another signal. My knees slip off the seat. I see two traffic policemen outside, who are having a talk, laughing about something.

They seem to find something very amusing. I’ve never seen policemen like this before. They seem like nice people. Not like the ones who stopped me on my scooty. It was a waste of two hundred bucks. But, it does make a good story. I wonder what makes people become policemen. What is their drive? I’m sure none of classmates will become one. I hate my class guys. They’re plain stupid. And very local.
Cluttered thoughts. I’m beginngin to think that this girl does most of her talking inside. Which brings up the question, is she basically built off you? XD

I feel my phone vibrate. A text. It is another of those bloody adverts. We pass the pavement shops selling beaded jewelry. The bus takes a right turn, as we cross a temple. I’m absorbed by the Ganesh idol.
Ugh, I hate the adverts. Here in Thailand they’re twice as worse though, thy text you and schedule recorded messages to send out. So you pick up the phone and find just a recorded voice talking about the newest promotion and all. Bleh.
The black stone gleams, with the oil smeared on it. There is a brand new white cloth, embroidered with gold that is placed around the idol. The marigolds, garlanded around the idol provided a stark contrast.
Strangely, marigolds are the same types of flowers Thais put on the statues of Buddha. But instead of white cloth, they use gold.
I pray. I’m not sure for what or who, but I just did. I never usually pray, but I felt spiritual today. It left me happy and light headed.

Maybe I should start praying more often. Or maybe not. If I do, then I won’t feel like this, I guess.
Lovely bit of philosophy.
I stuff my earplugs, my phone And the book inside my bag. ‘And’ doesn’t need to be capitalized.



It’s a silent walk home. I shut myself from the buzz of the cars and bikes. I and cross the road, oblivious to the traffic. An auto screeches to halt; it would’ve hit me if it weren’t for the sensible driver. I smile apologetically, “thank you, and I’m sorry.” I think it should have been, “I jump backwards in surprise and shout apologetically, “Sorry!”



I continue down the road, sub-consciously avoiding the bumps and man-holes. I pause at the local department store.
A chocolate would be good. Lunch today wasn’t very heavy either. Fine, I’m going in

“Anna***, one ten-rupees Dairy Milk.” I tell the shopkeeper in Tamil. He fishes it out from under the counter. I take it and walk out. I tear the purple wrapper off, to reveal, the golden foil. I remove that as well and shove the wrappers in my bag.
In Thailand, we also have a word similar to that one, but it sounds like ‘Pee’. XD
I take one huge bite. It melts in my mouth. I finish it in another bite. Dairy Milk. Heavenly. There’s nothing else as delicious and inexpensive as this. I love the way how the flavour lingers in my mouth afterward.



As I amble along, I see a dead cat on the side. It looks frozen, its white and grey fur is surrounded by flies. I hold my breath instantly and walk fast. I’m disgusted, freaked out, sad and curious all at once. I’ve never seen a cat’s death before.

Oh God, the poor cat. I wonder how it died. Maybe there was an accident. But then, it wouldn’t be on the sides of the road. Maybe it had some injuries. I wonder what it was thinking about as it died. I wonder what death’s like. I wonder what death is.
The way her thoughts ramble here are great! Don’t change that, since it really expresses her character.
About a metre away from the cat, I let go off my breath. I smell something awful and rotten. Am I imagining it, or is it really from the cat?
I’ve seen it million times, but each time it was dried and shrivelled, and no smell. Blegh


I walk the rest of the way home, with morbid thoughts of death weighing down on my thoughts.

I ring the bell and climb up the stairs. My mother opens the door.
“Hi, Honey, How was your day?” Don’t capitalize ‘How’. Adding ‘Honey’ or some other fond name is optional, but it seems like something a Mother would say.
“Fine ma. The usual.”

I feel the weight of the bottle in my bag. [Good opening line.]
Ugh, empty.
Making a mental note to bring a larger bottle, [You just gave us the character's thoughts. It feels unsettling and out of place to have you mention her/ him making a mental note directly after this. It would be smoother to tag onto the above line something like, 'Should have brought a biiger one' or 'Shoulda brung a bigger un' depending on your character's voice. It's too early for me to properly estimate that.] I continue my walk across the large, open ground where the sun’s rays reflecting off the buses, give the entire place a hot, dusty feel.

I hoist myself into in, waving a few hellos to my fellow bus-mates. I drop my bag on an empty three-seater. Next to the window, of course. I never deny myself of such pleasures. It is a Saturday; the bus wouldn’t won't be filled. I hope no one sits next to me.

I place my rear on the hot, velvet-cushioned seats that are never really comfortable.
Damn, there’s nor proper leg room here.
I raise my feet onto the seat, arching my back to a more relaxed position. The seat drinks the sweat off my feet.

A casual glance at the people in on the bus confirms the fact that there are no cranky professors. [Quite a mouthful. Maybe '...confirms the lack of cranky professors.'] I scrunch up my dupatta*, [Maybe nix the comma?] and place it between my bag and me. It is so much better when my neck can breathe. I wave at another familiar face.

“How was your day?” I ask her, as she moves to sit behind me.
“God, don’t ask. H.O.D. has my ID. I’m shit screwed.”

My eyes hurt. I place my finger between pages 322 and 323 [Better flow if you say '...between page 322 and the next, then I close it.'] and close it. I shut my eyes, embracing the black depths of rest.

The book is good. And the idea of rural Madras is fascinating. [Very full sentences, maybe fragment it more. Even a writer doesn't always think in full thoughts or a reader. Maybe more like, 'The book is good. Rural Madras, fascinating! Baking hot days on dusty roads, working in the fields with sweat rolling down my bare feet and the rusty iron of machinary just in view and - the museum! I could go there.' Etc.] I’d love to visit a place like that. I should visit the museum. And the Skywalk Mall. It’s just a long bus-ride away. It’s so close to Tarika’s. That lucky girl. But, I feel sad for her. How long can she survive this ordeal of failing? She really needs to work hard and she’s to change the way she thinks about studying. I wonder how fast thoughts travel. It should be an interesting experiment.
My eyes open again, adjusting to the off-white of the paper.

Days later in the book, I shut it at Chapter: Sunday. I look out the window. A blur of bright, fresh green mingled with flashes of steel and soothes my eyes.

We’re past the flyover. We’re back into civilization. It shouldn’t be long now, to reach home. It is such a refreshing change to look out. The trees look so young and verdant. I should stop reading a lot in the bus. The drab black, grey and white will tire me. It’ll probably increase my power. Technically, lower, but still. This** [It's thoughts, people don't think in a grammatical correct function. Which sounds more natural so use that. There's a lot of inflections we make in speech and thoughts that don't match our written language. If you can pick up on those, you'll be that bit further to having realistic characters.] reminds me, I need to get my glasses back from the shop. I must tell appa. Oh, there’s IIT! The campus is so awesome. I should’ve gone for those classes and ended up there. I regret not having gone for those classes. Of course, I’d never admit it. [Sounds not very much like thought these last few lines. It's more like you've taken indirect thoughts and just changed everything to I. An example is that you might quite easily say, '...not that she'd ever admit it.' but a person is more likely to think, 'Should have gone there, can't complain now though, what's done is done. It would bring shame to admit that.' Not an example which fits your character's voice but I hope that makes sense.]
And that’s appa’s office. I wonder if he’s looking out the window.

The black stone gleams, with the oil smeared on it. There is a brand new white cloth, embroidered with gold that is placed around the idol. The marigolds, garlanded around the idol provided a stark contrast.

I pray. I’m not sure for what or whom, but I just did. do. I never usually pray, but I felt feel [Watch those tenses.] spiritual today. It leaves me happy and light headed.

It’s a silent walk home. I shut myself away from the buzz of the cars and bikes. I cross the road, oblivious to the traffic. An auto screeches to a halt; it would’ve hit me if it weren’t for the sensible driver. I smile apologetically, “tThank you, and I’m sorry.”

I continue down the road, sub-consciously avoiding the bumps and man-holes. I pause at the local department store.
A chocolate would be good. Lunch today wasn’t very heavy either. Fine, I’m going in.

As I amble along, I see a dead cat on the side. It looks frozen, its white and grey fur is surrounded by flies. I hold my breath instantly and walk fast. I’m disgusted, freaked out, sad and curious all at once. I’ve never seen a cat’s death before.

Oh God, the poor cat. I wonder how it died. [Differentiate between thoughts and not thoughts. Should be, 'How... how did it die? Car, disease, something else?' or something along those lines.] Maybe there was an accident. But then, it wouldn’t be on the sides of the road. Maybe it had some injuries. I wonder what it was thinking about as it died. I wonder what death’s like. I wonder what death is.

About a metre away from the cat, I let go off my breath. I smell something awful and rotten. Am I imagining it, or is it really from the cat?

I ring the bell and climb up the stairs. My mother opens the door.
“Hi, Hhow was your day?”
“Fine ma. The usual.”

Walking among the tall yellow cuboids, I scan the front of each, looking for that number, which reminds me of home, of civilization. Number 37 is parked between 39 and 56, looking older, slower and dirtier than its neighbors. I recognize the bus; it is driven by old Mr.Bai.

I hoist myself into in, waving a few hellos to my fellow bus-mates.

Damn, there’s nor proper leg room here.

“How was your day?” I ask her, as she moves to sit behind me.
“God, don’t ask. H.O.D. has my ID. I’m shit screwed.”

Sub-consciously, I shift my feet, so that my knees rest on the seat in front of me. I continue flipping pages. My mind processes the story and my opinions, simultaneously.

This** reminds me, I need to get my glasses back from the shop.