My Melody (prologue)

I stared at the bubbles I'd blown into the sky. Translucent little mirrors, reflecting my blank face. I watched as the wind carried them up high. They rose higher, and higher, almost touching the eye of heaven. But then, they started to fade. Their thin little shells started to wrinkle, as though tired from their journey. Then all of a sudden, they popped.

I had no idea what I was thinking when I mixed dishwasher liquid and water into a pan and starting blowing bubbles with a loophole I'd made with wire. Maybe it was the countless articles I'd read about how bubbles bring back sweet memories of your childhood. I wanted to feel that joy. I wanted to remember what it was like, all the yips when the bubbles were blown, the shouts when we chased them around, trying to pop as many as we could before they soared into the sky, then the screams as soap got into our eyes.

But it would never be the same. We never can resurrect the dead. The same goes for dead memories.

I threw the liquid soap to a patch of dead grass, then marched back inside the house. The house that was once filled with the sound of music. Of my brother on his violin and me on my piano, performing our Pachelbel Canon duet. I could still feel the cool keys beneath my fingers, surprisingly soft in my experienced hands. I closed my eyes, trying to relive the moment. Then I sighed. There was no use thinking these things.

It's been one whole year, yet it seemed only yesterday when I could still play my orchestral symphonies. It wasn't only my piano. It was my school, my friends, my family, my independence. Basically, my life.

I had no idea it would happen to me. I wouldn't have been surprised if it was diabetes, cancer even. Besides, it ran in the family. But not this. Never this.

Someone tapped my shoulder. I spun around, and I saw that it was my mom. She pointed at my hand, the one that was still carrying the pan, shaking her head grimly. It turned out that I was dripping what remained of the liquid on the marble floor. I had spaced out. I'd been doing that a lot lately. I smiled apologetically, then I trudged up the stairs. I wondered if I would ever smile with my eyes again.

I washed the pan and wire, missing the long forgotten gurgle of water. Then I dried them, then stashed them underneath my bed, along with my MP3 player and sheet music.

I fluffed up my pillows and lay back on my bed. Then I closed my eyes and waited for sleep to come. My dreams were my only release. My beautiful dreams of festivals and orchestras. I felt the waves of unconsciousness roll over me. Then I was awake. I was back to my world of sounds.


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what do you think? is this a good start, or did i bore you to death?
please critique. thanks for reading

Hmmm...I have never been very fond of bubbles, but that is beside the point.

I liked the imagery, the contrast between the care-freeity (not-a-word) of bubbles and then the deep sorrow of the death of a sibling. I'm assuming her brother died. In this particular instance I think it would almost be more affecting to have it be in third person. Describing the blank girl who is much too old to be blowing bubbles but also looks much too sorrowful to be engaging in such a cheerful activity. I think it would have a certain amount of gravitational mystery to it. The lackadaisical pace of the story is slightly disconcerting and will not draw alot of attention.

The idea is good and the emotion seemed fairly real. But I think it could be better and so I recommend more black and white imagery; despair and sorrow that quickly changes to ferocious need for childish security; refusal grow up. It would give the story much more depth.

I hope this helps...good luckery...

Ermmmm... Her brother is still very much alive. The thing she'd lost was her hearing

Hi there!

This was an interesting start and no, you didn't bore me to death. I was intrigued to know what was going on and I liked the idea of following the story of a deaf person who used to be able to hear. I've never read about that before.

But then, they started to fade. Their thin little shells started to wrinkle, as though tired from their journey. Then all of a sudden, they popped.

You use 'then' at the beginning of both sentences and it isn't the most great word to use as an opener. Perhaps consider something else?

We never can resurrect the dead. The same goes for dead memories.

I like the idea of dead memories but I can see that these sentences may confuse the reader and lead them to believe of a death. Perhaps talk about losing something instead, rather than death. Or just re-word it slightly.

Basically, my life.

Scrap 'basically' and you'll see that the sentence becomes more dramatic.

Then I dried them, then stashed them underneath my bed, along with my MP3 player and sheet music.

Lots of 'then's again. Remember, this isn't a list. Also, I think you could expand here even more. Talk about the stash of things you want to forget about under the bed. Use some language techniques here.

I was back to my world of sounds.

Doesn't really make sense seens as she is deaf. I dunno, maybe it's just me but that sentence just doesn't seem to work.

Overall a fairly strong start. I suggest more description and perhaps some flashbacks or memories to make the ideas clear.

Pm me if you would like me to look at the next chapter. I'd be happy to.

Keep writing,
Alainna
xxx

I thought it was a good, engaging start. I'm interested, I hope more comes soon.

I'm really sorry I can't say much more...