totally revised. piano player that draines soul

Sara had been depressed for as long as she could remember, it was her horrid mother who made her feel so sad. She was always there with a look of scorn or contempt. She hated Sara, she really did. Not once in her life had Sara actually believed her father when he said she was her true birth mother, not once. Sophia, her mother, almost always stayed up in her room which smelt of stail air and used up cigarettes. Sara had only been in there once, when she was five. She remembered it all to well.

She'd had a stomach ache one afternoon and went up to her mothers room to see what she could do. In pian it took her a while to make it up the long flight of marbled steps, but she eventually got there. When she walked inshe had not seen her mother, so she went over by her curio cabinet and to play with her mother's pearl encrusted hair brush, those pretty little diamond earrings, and her favorite thing of all, the ruby red lipstick. Suddenly she felt her hair being wrenched back. She looked around and there was her mother.

"You little snot nosed brat," she screamed her face pulsing, and red with fury, "how dare you touch my things!?"

"But, momma..." Sara started


"And I told you NEVER to call me that. I am Sophie to you, you little brat!"

Sara lunged for the door, but was not quick enough to avoid a jarring blow to the back of her head. She stumbled out of the doorway in pain and confusion down to the hall closet three rooms away.

Shaking her head, trying to get rid of the memory of that horrible day, she walked over to the shining black piano and started playing. She played with her heart, not from pieces of paper. When people heard her music they felt her sadness and pain. Her sad, despairing songs drug you in and kept you hostage, even after they were finished. It was like she took a bit of the audiences soul with every song, every concert. Some would leave felling empty almost as if they were a ghost. One women, Mrs. Jona Balance, had had left a concert almost in a catatonic state, tears streaming down her face, that night she was barely find her way back to her own house, back to her son.

But for Sara, the concerts were one of the few times she felt happy and lighthearted

She heard the door creak open, but didn't stop playing until a voice broke into her sanctuary, bringing her back to her prison.

"Miss Saranai," Mayton, the butler called, "tea is ready in the drawing room, and your father,"


"Call me Sara, I hate Sarania!" Sara yelled, but Mayton continued,


"Your father wishes you to look your best, there is a lady guest," and with that he left.

Good piece - love the idea - some spelling and grammatical errors that drag it down a little, and the section about Sara's relationship with her mother is a little melodramatic, but great job!

This is so much better.

I like how you put the bit about the window at the start rather than near the end and putting that bit in about her mother was good, a bit over the top, but good.

Ok, just one thing, Mayton tells her to come down for tea but she walks over to the piano and starts playing. I would put the bit about the piano playing before Mayton comes into the room.

So it would look like this:

Sara had been depressed for as long as she could remember, it was her horrid mother that made her feel so sad. She was always there with a look of scorn or contempt. She hated Sara, she really did. Not once in her life had Sara actually believed her father when he said she was her true birth mother, not once. Sophia, her mother, almost always stayed up in her room that smelt of burning forests and used up cigarettes. Sara had only been in there once, when she was five, Sara remembered it all to well.

She had had a stomach ache one afternoon and went up to her mothers room to see what she could do. It took her a while with the hurting stomach to toddle up to towering marble steps, but she eventually got there. Sara walked in, but did not see her mother, so she went over by her curio cabinet an started playing with all her mothers pearl encrusted hair brush, those pretty little diamond earrings, an her favorite thing of all, the ruby red lipstick. Suddenly she felt her hair being wrenched back, she looked around and there was her mother.

"You little snot nosed brat," she screamed, "how dare you touch my things, did I tell you to make my room and belongings smell of filthy dirty pig droppings!?" Her face pulsing red with fury.


"But momma." Sara started


"And I told you NEVER to call me that, I am Sophie to you, you little brat!" And with that Sara lunged out the Dore, but not quick enough to avoid a jarring blow to the back of her head. Sara stumbled out of the door way in pain and in confusion down to the hall closet three rooms away.

Shaking her head, trying to get rid of the memory, she walked over to the shining black piano and started playing. Imagining dark hallways, burning candles, and cobweb covered ceilings. She played with her heart, not from pieces of paper. When people heard her music they felt what she felt, and usually ended up crying. Her sad despairing songs drug you in and kept you hostage, even after they were finished. It was like she took a bit of your soul every song, every concert. You would leave felling empty and unhappy, almost like you were a ghost. But she would feel happy, and bliss full, those were the only times she did. Some who went to every concert ended up becoming drone like, dead like. One particular individual, Mrs. Jona Balance, had gone happy, and left staring in blackness at nothing at all with tears streaming down her face, sometimes she could barley find her way back to her own house only a few blocks away, back to her son


She heard the door creak open, but didn't stop playing until his voice broke into her sanctuary, bringing her back to her prision.

"Miss Saranai," Mayton, the butler called, "tea is ready in the drawing room, and your father,"


"Call me Sara, I hate Sarania!" Sara yelled, but Mayton continued


"Your father wishes you to look your best, there is a lady guest." and with that he left.


Mayton thought it improper to go by anything other than your full name. Mayton thought many things to be improper.

Notice I have added a few sentences to make it work this way, but they are not very good, they are just there to make it work so you can see if you like it better this way or the first way.

There are things in there you can still improve on, but it has come so far from when you first posted it here that I'm sure that you can turn this into a stunning story. I don't have time right now to post specific suggestions, but if I get a chance after work I will.

This is a touch over dramatic, especially at the beginning but it's not a bad story. In general you should add some more description and expand it. As for some specific sugggestions....

Sara had been depressed for as long as she could remember, it was her horrid mother that [I think who would sound better than that but it's upto you and try to show the reader that Sara is depressed rather than telling us.] made her feel so sad.

She had had [Perhaps she'd had rather than she had had.] a stomach ache one afternoon and went up to her mother's room to see what she could do.

It took her a while with the hurting stomach to toddle up [s]to[/s] the towering marble steps, but she eventually got there.

Sara walked in, but did not see her mother, so she went over by her curio cabinet and started playing with all her mother's pearl encrusted hair brush, those pretty little diamond earrings, and her favorite thing of all, the ruby red lipstick.

And with that Sara lunged out the [s]Dore[/s] door, but not quick enough to avoid a jarring blow to the back of her head.

Sara stumbled out of the door way in pain and [s]in[/s] confusion down to the hall closet three rooms away.

When people heard her music they felt what she felt, and usually ended up crying. Her sad despairing songs drug [You switch to present tense here and I think it would sound better if you stayed in past.] you in and kept you hostage, even after they were finished.

But she would feel happy, and bliss full [I think you mean blissful.], those were the only times she did. Some who went to every concert ended up becoming drone like, dead like. One particular individual, Mrs. Jona Balance, had gone happy, and left staring in blackness at nothing at all with tears streaming down her face, sometimes she could [s]barley[/s] barely find her way back to her own house only a few blocks away, back to her son

__________________________

Other than that there are some punctuation errors and such but don't worry about it. The base of the story is quite well written and I think this has the potential to be a good short story so keep working on it.

This is much much MUCH better. Did you type this on word or just put it in directly? I would recommend that you make a word document first, as that will straighten out the spelling and grammatical errors.

cool. watch some of your grammar and punctuation...