The Most Depressing Game

I don't mean to sound desperate, but comments would be nice.


Often I think about the times that I've seen the same thing repeatedly, even at the moment I'm seeing them. The pattern it follows, becoming a cliche so much it's not even a cliche anymore. Feelings and emotions become so much more to the people in the middle, the spectators merely entranced with the desire they have for themselves. Those people that don't believe in it still aren't changed, yet even they can't escape it. Oh, the woes of Spring.

I feel like it takes over too much, like it should simply stop while I'm still put together, but it never lets up. It hits you where it hurts, everytime. For some reason, even if it never happens, it's just as painful to watch. It, of course, happens, but we wonder why we succumb to it even after we've learned.

How should I feel when I've crawled back and realized that it's just a trip to the land of heartbreak and sorrow? The same as everyone else, but I feel like that pain is different, like mine's special somehow. I think everyone feels that way. When it happens, I think it really is different, as opposed to just plain being self-absorbed. At least, I hope it is, like what we go through is not a waste of time, like we all lie to ourselves for personal comfort.

I see it, days that you think it mught happen, hope it doesn't but it does anyway. Some days it comes unexpectedly, just dropkicking it's way in front of you before you can distract yourself.

I see, it happens now.

It was unexpected, we in the room were simply minding our own and thinking about ourselves when in she came, in front of those two, already sad and nuts. I can't help but look up from my business. She's pretty loud right there. He just stares, frustrated and shocked, and the other, the one I know better, is simply astonished and blushing. She throws a speech about things we in the room shouldn't hear, but she sees no one but him. It happens like that. His eyes have that pitiful look as her eyes begin to turn glassy. But then she says something only those two know. Suddenly the one I know turns away, and dashes out before he can stop her. The one that barged in says one last thing, something to do with pain and love, and leaves him standing there.

It finally occurs to him that there are people around, and he finally steps out of his bubble and gets red. He excuses himself, for everyone can hear both of the girls arguing outside.

I don't know what to do except concentrate on my own stuff, but I can't help it a few minutes later, after the clearing of throats and the whispers dripping in scandal. The person I know is a person closer than a simple friend, and the words out of the other woman's mouth were worse than anything.

I don't know why this happens again, especially to her. She, of all people, should have learned by now, but she gets into ruts and holes bigger than houses. Later, I see the damage more than anyone else. Her face is less and she's no longer as cheery.

He picked the other girl. She'd been her best friend. What a whore. Her heart's broken. He's the best thing in her life.

I hear it all again. I try not to feel like I'm watching a Lifetime marathon, she is my sister, but she gets into it again and again.

I wonder why two best friends would put themselves in such a compromising position over a dick like him, but then she cries. And I can't think of anything else. All that comes is that one resolution: playing the game again only gained her a loss. Playing around with love not only hurt her, it hurt me. I get pain everytime a heart breaks. And nothing gets better until it gets better. There she sobs, here I hurt. It's almost pathetic, but it happens too much for me to remember that it is.
***

Next week, she's happier than a kitten with yarn. It's a new guy, and I can't wait until another best friend comes around to traipse on their "inseparable bond almost stronger than sisterhood".

This time, however, I've decided to make a change that I believe helps more than anything, and affects her the most, the only change I can make: I went to the store and changed from regular to Kleenex.

It was...good to read, though almost too introspective. I didn't understand the last line, what is "regular"?

You should read over this a few times, there are some errors and places of confusion. Give the people names, not just he and she and the one I know, and the girl. Because I start to loose track of who is a girl, and who is a guy.

The majority of this is babbling introspective, so I'm not exactly fond of it. A story cannot survive on narrator alone. It had a bit of a plot, but its hard to fish out. The first five paragraphs were long, and the most introspective of the whole section. I'd say its purple prose thinking, but its not, its just description of the abstract.

No, I'm not saying its bad, but these sort of things don't always make a good story.

maybe you should write a story with some dialogue...It makes a story interesting when you create characters and mold them into who you want them to be. Be the God in your story...Make a romantic story...let the readers want more. Leave them in suspense...As for the whole first person thing, I don't really care for it much. It's always "I this and I that" Try to put the story in another perspective. Write about someone....it's fun. You don't have to take my advice, but I assure you. You might make me your number one reader. Sorry, I haven't much to say about your story. Keep up the good work!

I liked this. It's quite meaningful. A few things, though:

The first couple paragraphs didn't strike me as being that great. While having some good points (I liked paragraph 3), it's as if that narrator is a bit too drawn into their own thoughts. Try to streamline this first part.

My biggest gripe with this would be that everyone is unnamed--I wouldn't mind, but it gets quite confusing trying to figure out whether you mean the guy, the girl, or the other girl.

Honestly, I think I'm too into my words and that's why I can't settle on a good plot. For this I guess I was doing a whole sister's objective--she doesn't fall in love or anything, but her sisters do quite a bit and she's just dragged along or something like that.

I don't know. I'm so choosy. But I'll pick it up, I think.

Again, comments to me are the rough online equivalent of gold, on this website, at least.

Perhaps if such a thing as love existed so powerfully in human form, I believe I would demand they answer me this.

If love was the worst and best feeling and a broken heart wasn't even a feeling, but more of an initiation everyone went through, then what exactly could that mean about someone having gone through it more times than should be counted? Other than being extremely gullible, I had to find that it had something to do with absolute emptiness. A hole darker than the deepest ditch and wider than the craters on the moon, something closer to the heart yet farther than a person could reach. Something I obviously didn't know a drop about.

It happened to also be a question for four girls(my sisters, in fact) apparently trying to find a road that they should realize by now leads to a cliff higher and steeper than the Sears tower when it came to something like this, because they were probably the most empty of all sorts. And although I always asked it and left it in the air for a long enough time to be solved, it was never answered. I doubt it will be, since even the brightest of geniuses don't seem to know much about love either (how complicated could it be anyway compared to Physics?), but I hate most unanswerable questions because I know I won't find an answer soon enough.

That's why I decided on something one night that would probably make me insane or absolutely immune to this...this--thing. This disease called...whatever it was that made people go so lame and opposite.

It began during a productive dinner at a Mexican bar my sisters loved dragging me along to, bearing witness for them or something or other. I really didn't like it. During the hot days flies flew all over like planes on a runway and the bartender had tendencies to glare at everyone except my sisters, and in the most incorrect ways possible. Any other day was a crowded one, with men always sidling on by like my sisters were the sole women on earth that would satisfy their needs as males. It was hard to find a distraction from such deeds because many of the things with a plug except the lights didn't work, the food wasn't something to jump about, and the normal reaction of witnessing a man hit on a close relative tended to kick in. This night wasn't exactly original either. There was the same nameless but troubling bartender and the same troupe of men around my sisters and the same me not in it. There was also the same yearning to be old enough to drink so I wouldn't have to really 'be there'. Not much had changed.

Except when the bells above the wooden door clanged and caused a few people to look, such as myself. When I did, I almost smiled. It was either pure salvation or hearty amusement that had come.

He had started by looking around with vague but obvious curiosity at such a structure, at what exactly was keeping such a place from collapsing under the floors above it. I couldn't blame him; I did the same pondering the first time I walked in. The place, called Abajo del Botella (bottom of the bottle) had a certain air to it that made a person who would first walk in think 'what's holding it together?', with walls of wood that seemed to be as thin as paper, and lighting that belonged in a B-grade horror movie. The restaurant (actually, more bar than restaurant) was small and could only fit fifty people at most if they all stood on their toes on the dusty hardwood floor, already scratched fom many renditions of Vicente Fernandez and Marco Antonio Solis albums and many others on the jukebox. The windows weren't what I would call clean, but the bartender appeared to think that if you could barely see how dirty the cars in the small parking lot really were, then it was good enough for customers. Finally, the whole place was directly beneath a six-story hotel, not really part of the building but of the structure, which could be told by the look it held when someone was outside looking in (something not very necessary). It appeared as if it could snap at any second underneath the building, and yet, it has yet to for four years of it's running. The 'owner' called it God; I called it a good job on the foundation. Either way, the look was interesting enough to make someone want to just go in and look. Of course, for someone such as myself, I wish I could have just passed by it and never seen it again.

The man was as curious as he was tall and good-looking (something I had to admit, for I knew he had little else going for him), and was out of place already with his dress, for it was actually quite tasteful. Everyone else was as casual as possible without being mistaken for a homeless person, which these people actually were, in some cases (well, they at least became so after a night there). This was also not only the reason he shined brightly (he was washed, for one), but the reason many eyes drifted to his pockets, which bulged with something somebody in the place wanted.

It would be entertaining because I had an idea who it was.

It was quite obvious that he hadn't come for a drink, a rest, a sit, a game of darts (which was more of a game of wave the hand with nothing in it), or anything that involved being an actual customer at the bar, because he made a trail straight towards my direction, much like a spook hot on a criminal's heels. However, it was not towards me. I doubted he even saw me, because he seemed to only see one person ever since she'd dropped him. Quite pathetically, one could add, and be phenomonally correct.

In his stately tan coat and black trousers down to his expensive-looking shoes and up to his dark crew cut, he intimidated all the men around my sisters without even a stare in the eye---he was already twice most of their heights---and out of his way, and he saw her, not in his mind.

She, of course, was humorously shocked. And of course she had to be. It was like a Doberman among Chihuahuas. Really, more that than not so, for the men were almost shaking as they each disappeared, like cockroaches if not dogs.

A moment passed, one that brought attention to light in the room and sound not existing and distractions not occurring on time. A moment that she probably thought was too long to be possible. A moment that she chose to stop being the herself that the men previously around her thought her to be, the herself that her sisters saw in public, and the herself that she tried to be all the time, so her guard couldn't be down and so she couldn't not be the sex kitten she'd dreamed of being since before puberty. That moment that I should have filmed and posted online so she would hate it forever. Because I couldn't savor that little act, I could only listen in.

Bianca cleared her throat, almost spilling her beer in the process. Her eyes became bug-like and she looked more vulnerable than ever, and she finally spoke under his view, which almost spewed venom. The voice she used, unlike being usually melodious and honeyed, was squeaking like bad brakes.

"W-what are you doing here?"

He answered nothing, just crossed his arms, and waited for a few seconds. I thought immediately of the great and terrible Chinese delivery guy from China Sun Buffet. Becuase of that, I was actually straining not to smile while my sisters had backed away. Bianca may have been surrounded by the army, and she still would have been on her own.

Then: "I just came to settle a debt." he said coldly.

Pretty much everyone in the room without a life was listening (everybody, just to clear that even further), and they all wore a confused look, just as bewildered as Bianca was at that moment.

"I-I'm so---?"

I believe no one saw when he snatched his wad out of those bulging pockets, because I didn't and he may as well have been next to me, and Bianca had been staring into his eyes, but I'm sure everyone had the other luxury, as their eyes were glued to Bianca.

In a swift move, he flicked a few hundreds at her, like a person would if perhaps, uncaringly buying gum. He seemed to make sure that they would hit her near or on the face, where she would clearly see them. Then, after much more confusion, he added, "I never like having embarrassing debt on my shoulder, I'm sure you've discovered." before waltzing out of the bar. Lights seemed to go on and the music seemed to get louder as he did. However, nobody removed their eyes from her for a few seconds, because the look, as sad as it was, was truly priceless.

That night, after the taxicab home (for she'd gone home first after the scorching incident, further eliminating my original ride home) I had a minor epiphany: that man, Gerard Pistlean (pronounced pist-lawn), had only done this out of spite, but that hadn't been the initial motive. He'd done it because the ridiculous man had been burned by my sister, Bianca Canbarrae (like most of the men within a mile radius, but one of the first to act on such emotion).

And although he did indeed hurt my sister and socially scar her, (although based on where he'd done it, I'm sure this one is manageable) further disowning me as an acquaintance and earning a woman scorned's sister, I did have to admit: this was something to be proud of. At least he hadn't cowered and cried. He supported what he believed about love---well, actually the Good Deed philosophy and the Golden Rule---and went through with it.

Just as, I realized when I paid the driver and stepped into my home, I would.

Okay, so here is my critique, which will not be so long.

I disliked this. This is because of the chosen words you have included in this piece and that made it a total drag for me. This may be because I have a very low amount of brain cells, but it's always nice to read something that makes you feel excited and not bored, like in a lecture.

Maybe this is how it's supposed to be. [If that makes any sense] As I know it is a chosen style of some novels, so in saying this, it is merely personal preference and me being selfish I think.

I liked the structure - it's nice to have a piece of writing that isn't all blocked together - and I kinda liked the concept, once I got my head around it. So... Yeah.

Maybe if you wanna appeal to the nation of slightly moronic people who are very simple - try to use different words of about.. two syllables.

^^

It was good in a way.Meaningful and deep.

It is good, but it doen't put you in the reading mode, if you know what I mean.

Some mistakes but can still make sense of it all.

I think it needs a bit of work though.

Really good.Not good enough

Its good but its very heavy reading hard to follow some times,
other than that very good!!

OK I READ THIS YESTERDAY AND I COULDN'T SIGN ON TO REPLY!!! BUT I READ IT BEFORE , SO I AGREE WITH MOST OF THE ADVICE BUT I THINK IT HAS POTIENIAL AND KEEP UP THE GOOD WORK. ...WELL U DID SO I BETTER GO REVIEW IT LOL. BYE MY BFF AKA COYOTE CLASSMATE.!

P.S.- I COULD SAY FORMER STALLION CLASSMATE BUT I DIDN'T LIKE YOU IN JUNIOR HIGH SO GO FIGURE LOL. JK JK YOU KNOW THATS NOT A 100% TRUE.