Young Writers Society

Dear reader,

This will probably be my last journal entry of my life for I no longer find writing to be a remedy. You see, dear friend, I am moving to Utah... far away from Charleston, South Carolina. It is not that I did not like Charleston, rather, this is a move far away from the ashen faces and oaken boxes that liter my past. I must, for all intensive purposes, find a small piece of redemption in the mountains. Perhaps my proximity to the basement of heaven will enable me to reach through the clouds and grasp a wispy moment of peace. I must try something... anything.

I am sure you are confused by now, so let me try to dispel your frustration with some clarity. You are probably the new owner of my apartment and found this testimony by accident. If this is the truth of the matter, please wait a moment and let me welcome you to my former residence. Please take good care of your new surroundings, just as I have done for you.

Now, if you would be so kind as to not shut this booklet. Instead, please continue reading. There is a story in these pages that I must tell someone... anyone. You see dear reader, I have become infatuated with my horrific past and feel like someone must hear it. I promise you will not be disappointed with your time investment.

Nine years ago from today, (April 16th) one of my dear friends (David) was murdered by his wife. I, only a young lad of fifteen at the time, was an absolute train wreck. My father was a very successful business man back then. He traveled across the country and I hardly ever saw him except for maybe two or three days a week. David was essentially my father figure for my adolescent years. Rarely a weekend went by that I was not spending the night at David's house with his son Joe. Joe was probably my best friend in the entire world back then. Joe was like his father in every regard: hotheaded, egotistical, overly opinionated, fiercely loyal, and trustworthy.

There was another boy David mentored named Peter. Peter, much like Joe and I, viewed David as his father simply because Peter's had passed away when he was three. Charles, Peter's uncle, had taken custody of the irresponsible and hotheaded brat, but did nothing in mentoring him on how to become a man. David saw to that, just like he did with his biological son and myself.

When David passed away, Joe, Peter, and I were left leaderless. We each handled our grief in a different way. Joe had post dramatic stress syndrome; one second a fourth grader emotionally and the next a wife beater. His violent mood swings and unpredictable temper made it hard for me to reach out to him. I could not for the life of me salvage the sanity of my favorite childhood friend. Instead, Peter and I worked together to convince Joe's aunt to send him to a reform school in hopes the shrinks would have a better chance at salvaging our brother's sanity.

Shortly after Joe left, Peter began disintegrating beneath the weight of his own sorrows. Slowly but surely, Peter began drinking himself to sleep every night. He also began sleeping around with a different girl every night. I spent that entire summer trying to comfort my friend as best I could, but nothing could cure his lust for self immolation.

That, dear reader, is when she came into my life. With the benefit of hindsight, I must confess, I wish I never met Catherine Tucker. I should have run away while I had the chance, but I did not. As Peter's condition worsened, I had only one person to turn to in my time of dire need... for God himself had abandoned me... and I embraced the Devil's daughter with ecstasy.

And that is where our story begins.

This is really great! But, I feel like you need to give more background. If you're planning on it, great.

Hi there! I’m here to give you a –hopefully helpful – critique!

Firstly, I’d like to say that this is interesting, at its base level. Everyone loves stories of other people’s pain, so you already have an audience for this. However, I don’t really like it. I mean, I understand that people will like it, and why they will, but I can’t get into it just yet. The speech is stilted, it feels way too sophisticated for the man speaking – he feels like a teenager. The words he uses are odd in the context, and unless he mention his age or that he is trying to be as clear as possible, they don’t fit with what you’re giving us.

In the third line you say “oaken boxes” < use “oak” it makes more sense and avoids the repetition of “en” from “ashen”. Throughout the letter we learn little bits and pieces, but there’s a lack of tone and emotion. We’re being told the events, the feelings, they’re all right there, but I don’t feel anything in the writing. It’s like he’s reading/writing from a text book.

Your ending is meant to inspire the reader to want to know more, to want to continue on to the tale itself. It doesn’t make me want to do this. The entire letter doesn’t make me want to read more, but to put it down now and find something more exciting, more alive. Perhaps this is merely how I’ve read it, and certainly your lack of tone affects this, but I think it’s also a problem in itself.

You need to hook the reader completely into what you’re saying until they cannot but continue onward. I think you might want to look into the tone of your piece, most of all. That plus the issue of the age. These will help the overall effect and possibly make it so that the ending is more enticing. All in all, it’s not bad, and it’s relatively interesting, but I think it needs work.
If you have any questions or issues, or just want to chat, feel free to PM me.

*Hearts* Le Penguin.

Penguin is right, his style of speech just isn't suitable for a teenage. If he was a thirty year-old man, than perhaps. I personally didn't mind the tone, but I can still see how it needs work.

When David passed away, Joe, Peter, and I were left leaderless

"Fatherless" would be a more poignant word, but it's your choice.

Instead, Peter and I worked together to convince Joe's aunt to send him to a reform school in hopes the shrinks would have a better chance at salvaging our brother's sanity.

I find "shrink" to be a really disparaging word. Are you sure you want to use it? Would you be more likely to trust a "shrink" or a "therapist"? I'm just asking. On a sidenote, I like how the narrator and Peter consider Joe to be their brother, even though he isn't biologically so. Small, used, yet still touching.

I didn't find any other mistakes than that. But Penguin is right, the tone might be a bit too formal. I can't think of any advice, however. Just keep writing, and see where the story goes. Also: don't be afraid to experiment every now and then. If you feel that something isn't working (such as POV, tone, etc.), don't hesitate to try something else in a new draft.

Good luck.

Thank you for the pointers. I will say that it is important to remember that the narrator is at least 24 (if not older). He mentions that he was 15 when the murder happened, which was nine years ago (15+9=24), thus, the narrator is in fact an older man looking back on his assorted past. He is not a teenage narrator.

Here is part two... or chapter one if you will.

“I don’t want to talk to her anymore,” Andrew protested angrily.

I tried to ignore his constant torrent of complaining while I shot up aliens in Halo. I rolled my eyes up to the heavens in frustration but said nothing. Even if I had tried to say anything, that phone would have interrupted any wisdom I might have been able to offer. Sure enough, the annoying ringtone resumed to break my concentration for the fifth time in the past half an hour.

“Damn it Andrew,” I growled as was sniped by an unseen enemy, “if you are going to be an ass about it just let me talk to her so we can get back to our game. That will shut her up.”

“I can handle it thanks,” he said, taking a gulp of water before chucking the bottle across the eggshell white room.

“Obviously not,” I smirked, “she loves you man, total infatuation. Five years from now she is still going to be hounding you. Maybe you should just give in and get the marriage going already.”

Andrew, my best friend outside of Joe, silenced me with a mean-spirited glare. He brushed his shaggy long hair out of his blue eyes with an angry flick of his wrist. His other hand flicked his phone open with an audible click.

“Look, I don’t wanna talk to you anymore tonight,” Andrew snapped before the hysterical girl on the other line could say anything. I tried to ignore the high-pitched squeals that exploded forth from the earpiece.

“That’s it,” Andrew threw the phone at me in bitter disgust, “you can talk to her. I am done with this crap.” He wrestled the controller out of hand without another word, thus leaving me with only one choice.

I picked up the phone with more than a little hesitation. . I had never intended on actually talk to this shrieking harpy, I just liked pestering Andrew about her “love” for his desirable body and intelligence. Overall, I felt it was a bit trite and unhealthy, but it made my friend uncomfortable and reduced his usual radiant, cocky aura so I had no immediate objections.

“Hello?” I asked hesitantly.

“Who the hell is this?” Cathy demanded.

“This is Tyler, I know we don’t know each other, but Andrew is getting pretty frustrated over here. Maybe if you just talk to me for a bit and blow off your steam then you will feel better about….”

“No I don’t want to talk to you, I want to talk to Andrew,” she sniffed.

“Can’t let you do that, it would be better if you just leave him alone for now.”

The phone clicked as she hung up.

“Told you,” Andrew chuckled as another alien fell underneath the weight of blistering hot metal.

“Shut it and put me back in the game,” I responded.

We played till about three in the morning. It was summer then, intense humidity and heat kept us locked away safely indoors. No one wanted to go out side in the repressive heat; it was close to the mid seventies even at night. On that particular night the humidity and temperature were so uncomfortable Andrew and I decided to sleep in his basement in hopes for some relief. We slept on top of sleeping bags near by each other. I was just about to fall asleep when Andrew suddenly asked me a question I will never forget.

“Joe is doing better isn't he?” Andrew mumbled, half way asleep.

“What?” I rolled over, surprised. We hadn’t talked in probably an hour. How did he know I was still awake?
“Joe isn’t doing well,” he replied, louder this time. I tried to see his face in the dark, but the lack of windows in the basement hindered the lighting significantly. I had a hard time focusing in the dark and see beyond my utter exhaustion. I had been up well past five the night before taking care of Joe that night. Joe had, as usual, been drinking and had gotten a little violent. Ours truly of course had the distinct pleasure of babysitting throughout the night.

“What makes you say that?” I asked, resting my head on my hands curiously.

“You never talk about how him anymore,” Andrew yawned. "I figured that meant he’s doing fine.”

This is where I should have confessed all of Joe's sins, but I held back In my 20/20 hindsight, I should have told Andrew about the drugs, the women, and the liquor. I did none of the three; instead, I did what every young man would do to protect his friend in this situation. I honored that unwritten, ancient code that you protect your brother, regardless of potentially dangerous condition.

"Oh yeah much better," I lied.

We fell asleep after that short exchange. I did not sleep that night, instead I was subject to terrifying nightmares. I saw a skeletal woman with grey eyes. They were always watchful... they saw inside my troubled soul. As my dream continued, she became a witch, using her evil sorcery to make me a meat puppet to her whims.

And just as she was about to tell me her name, I woke up to the smell of bacon.

I tried to ignore his constant torrent of complaining while I shot up aliens in Halo.

Although this paragraph is certainly written well, I would consider changing the reference to the game Halo in this. Just keep in mind that 20 years from now, not many people are going to know what Halo is. Yes, it's a really popular game now, but I know many games that were popular once on the PC and aren't well known by people my age and non-gamers. I wouldn't mind reading this in the book, and it certainly will not kill it. Nonetheless, how professional do you want to take yourself?

Even if I had tried to say anything, that phone would have interrupted any wisdom I might have been able to offer

This is only a nit-pick, but I think whatever wisdom sounds a bit nicer. This entirely up to you, however, since this may just be an opinion.

“Damn it Andrew,” I growled as was sniped by an unseen enemy,

I don't like any of this. Sorry. I find the simile to be over-dramatic. Getting shot by a sniper is real serious business. Relating these two separate contexts is almost a joke to me. Try something else.

Note: Sometimes contrast is good, but I don't like the contrasting that is going on in this story. The narrator narrates in an almost poetic tone, yet he talks to his friend like some punk. This just doesn't clash well, in my opinion. You should consider doing something about this.

Wait... perhaps it's not as bad as I think it is. He's fifteen during the time of this story, and he's twenty-four as he tells it. Experiences can mellow people out considerably if they're serious enough. Still, it doesn't make me like the contrast any better. I'm just saying that this could be justified, that's all. This is up to you, just take my words into consideration. That's all that I ask.

I had never intended on actually talk to this shrieking harpy,

Shrieking harpy, ha-ha. Good one.

“This is Tyler, I know we don’t know each other, but Andrew is getting pretty frustrated over here. Maybe if you just talk to me for a bit and blow off your steam then you will feel better about….”

You end dialogue with a hyphen when the speaker is interrupted, not an ellipses. Also, ellipses consists of three periods when a sentence is left unfinished, and four periods when a sentence is finished followed by a pause. I've seen this mistake made many times, however, so at least you're not alone.

Note: I mentioned Halo before in this review. I'm thinking about it again, and it's possible that the reference will make the book more cinematic, which may not be such a bad thing. Movies tend to make references to popular video games at the time the film was shot. Still, many writers make an effort to avoid pop-culture references. This is your decision, and since you know what you're going for more than I do, I can't really give you my word of advice on this.

On that particular night the humidity and temperature were so uncomfortable Andrew and I decided to sleep in his basement in hopes for some relief. We slept on top of sleeping bags near by each other.

I felt really cozy when I read this I remembered spending the nights at my friend's playing video games. I feel like I can relate pretty well to this, and something as small as this made me feel warm inside. But what I think really gets me is that these two sentences show the brotherly affection they share without stating it outright in the narrative. Just thought that I would share that with you

I was just about to fall asleep when Andrew suddenly asked me a question I will never forget.

Please don't say this. I think stuff like this is really overused in amateur-fiction. Try to make the reader feel the importance of the question without stating the importance. That would be my advice.

"Oh yeah much better," I lied.

How much effort did he put into making it sound like a convincing lie? I don't know, I just like small details such as that

I saw a skeletal woman with grey eyes. They were always watchful... they saw inside my troubled soul. As my dream continued, she became a witch, using her evil sorcery to make me a meat puppet to her whims.

And just as she was about to tell me her name, I woke up to the smell of bacon.

Huh...interesting.

Despite the things I said, I think you did a decent job. You at least piqued my interest.

Thank you for your help! I appreciate it! I have gone back and made the corrections you have requested. Very insightful and helpful. Here is part three. I changed bacon. It was late at night and I had no idea where that was going...

I woke up to the sound of Andrews cell phone ringing. I glanced over at my snoring friend, expecting him to wake up with a start. Instead, he remained in his deep, hibernation like sleep. I rubbed my eyes delicately before reaching for the phone. I will justify this action with this very simple reasoning; I did not want Andrew to wake up. I had no intention to purposely interact with Cathy, but there her number was again, flashing across the flashing blue screen. I took a deep breath and opened Pandora’s box.

“Hello?” I mumbled.

“Andrew?”

“No, he is still asleep it’s Tyler,” I held my breath as I waited for the mini explosions to erupt from the other side of the phone with feminine ferocity.

“Oh,” she giggled, “you boys sound alike in the morning.”

I wavered. Was this calm before the storm? The harpy like shrieks echoed in my ears from last night’s brief conversation.

“You seem happier this morning,” I observed with a smile despite my caution. Cathy sounded very attractive when she wasn’t shouting at me in that strident voice she favored when she was distressed.

“Well,” she paused, “I felt really bad about last night. I am sure you think I am some kind of psycho bitch but I swear I am somewhat normal. You just caught me on a bad night.”

I got up from my sleeping bag, deliberately trying not to make the fabric crinkle as stood up. My eyes flashed toward Andrew, half expecting his eyes to glaring at me reproachfully, but his body remand sprawled on the ground lifelessly.

“Nah, I understand,” I whispered as I darted out of the room. I found myself on the steps of Andrew’s wooden deck, gently resting my head against the cherry red banister. The heat was already near unbearable, close to seventy- five and muggy. I scanned the garage for any trace of Andrew’s parents, relieved to see the Lexus and the Explorer had already vacated the premises.

“Do you know what love is Tyler?” Cathy asked me, her voice shaking me from the cobwebs of my dreamlike state.

“No,” I confessed perplexed by her question, “I have heard a lot about it, but I doubt I have ever felt it or known what it feels like to be in love.” What kind of girl asked a complete stranger that question at eight in the morning?

She paused.

“I love Andrew and I want you to help me convince him we would be great together.” Judging by her no nonsense tone, I knew she was not only serious about this laughable issue, but also obsessed beyond all measure imaginable.

“Do you want me to blunt with you?” I replied.

“Yes.”

I let out a long sigh as I cracked the bones in my back, “Andrew just doesn’t think of you that way. You honestly would be better off forgetting about him and find a better guy.”

She cried. I suppose it is difficult for you to believe such a ridiculous thing, but I swear to you on David’s grave, she was bawling like a child getting mercilessly spanked. I gave the greatest effort I could muster to stop the sobbing girl from drowning in her own tears.

After about a half hour passed, I finally gotten her to settle down and talk to me about different topics. The name Andrew was never mentioned again in our conversation, instead I diverted her attention to the weather and to the past school year. Our conversation lasted for well over three hours under that blistering morning heat, and even though I was dripping from head to toe with salty sweat, I remind with her on the phone till Andrew woke up.

Surprisingly, he was not upset with my actions but instead rejoiced in the knowledge that overdramatic stalker was no longer interested him. Cathy gave me her screen name and phone number and encouraged me to call her anytime I wanted. I obliged her unspoken wish the minute I returned home from Andrew’s house.

The next month flew by in a blur of late night conversations and secrets. I found myself attracted to the serious girl, her demeanor reflecting my newly found opinion of the world. Joe was only getting worse as time marched on, his body barely able to catch up to the torturous rituals he would put himself through regularly. Unfortunately, he was becoming even more uncontrollable, ever prodded on by cleansing fire of whiskey and vodka. The nights I spent talking to Cathy were suddenly turning into group therapy sessions. Truthfully, she was the only one who was able to comfort me those sleepless nights. I suppose it is not too far from the truth to say she is the only one who know how to settle me down after I had taken care of Joe.

Hmm, I actually really like this. I haven't personally read many stories from a male POV, much less romances, and I think you have a good thing going here.

One thing, though, I think you could do with a little more emotion throughout... especially in the orignal letter. It's a guy pouring out his emotions, and you need for it to be something beyond grasping... The reality is that a diary entry or a letter like that are always going to be the best reflection of who a person is and what he's feeling, so you need for it to be as real and deep as possible.

Besides that, I'm definitely piqued, and I look forward to reading more... especially curious as to why, if things seem to be going so well, he ends up referring to her as the "Devil's daughter".

»Sam.

VehementWriter wrote:Hmm, I actually really like this. I haven't personally read many stories from a male POV, much less romances, and I think you have a good thing going here.

One thing, though, I think you could do with a little more emotion throughout... especially in the orignal letter. It's a guy pouring out his emotions, and you need for it to be something beyond grasping... The reality is that a diary entry or a letter like that are always going to be the best reflection of who a person is and what he's feeling, so you need for it to be as real and deep as possible.

Besides that, I'm definitely piqued, and I look forward to reading more... especially curious as to why, if things seem to be going so well, he ends up referring to her as the "Devil's daughter".

»Sam.

Again, thank you for the kind comments. I am glad ya'll are enjoying this little story. The next part will be out tomorrow. I look forward to your reactions. The emotion of this piece shall come in time pretty soon you will start seeing the author's facade breaking under the weight of memories. I am purposely making it calm at first.

Oh and before I forget, the narration before they meet has been changed a little so keep that in mind. Again, thank you for your helpful comments.

I don’t know about you, but there is no way I think like that. Who’s writing? Do they really think like that?

post dramatic stress syndrome

I believe you mean post traumatic stress syndrome

Very interesting. It's an interesting beginning to a story him writing a story to the next owner of his home. Thinking about it though, if I was the next buyer of his home I'd probably be a little creeped out.

Horserider wrote:I don’t know about you, but there is no way I think like that. Who’s writing? Do they really think like that?

post dramatic stress syndrome

I believe you mean post traumatic stress syndrome

Very interesting. It's an interesting beginning to a story him writing a story to the next owner of his home. Thinking about it though, if I was the next buyer of his home I'd probably be a little creeped out.

Like how? Can you be a little more specific. I am really curious cause enjoy hearing what people have to say!

Ah yes thanks for that little pick up. It is supposed to be creepy, but it is symbolic. The narrator (tyler) is making his last "testament" to his troubled past and feels the need to put it down on paper before he bolts for the mountains where he hopes his past won't catch up with him.

Ironically, I was not the only one that had ghosts plaguing my past. Cathy, unfortunately, had just as many if not more tribulations in her life than I had endured. I remember the conversation, the nauseating repulsion that built up inside me after that horrifying night two weeks into our moonlight talks.

“So what is your darkest secret?” I asked as I squished an ant on the aggregate sidewalk. The dark sidewalk was dimly illuminated by a streetlamp. I held the phone tightly against my ear, hanging onto her every word. I didn’t care about the time, I knew it was well passed four, but sleep was no longer of significant consequence anymore. All sleep brought was nightmares.

Cathy gave a little laugh, a nervous one that showed her excitement about the question.
“Why should I tell you?” Cathy mocked my inquiry.

“Cause you know all my dark secrets,” I brushed my hair back with a grin. Oh how I loved that seductively confident voice.

Silence.

“You don’t want to know,” Cathy responded finally, all trace of her humor gone.

I stopped pacing, my mind frozen with terror. Had I hurt her? Had I offended her? Terrified, I sat down on the concrete, the gentle summer wind blowing against my perplexed face.

“Tell me.”

“Last year,” she paused, “I was abused.” I remained silent, pleading her for to continue in the most needy way.

“I was at a movie with some of my friends,” she continued, “I went out to use the bathroom during the movie.” Now she really held back. I could visualize the crystalline tears rolling down her cheeks.

“There were two guys that followed me,” Cathy sputtered, “they grabbed my arms and dragged me into the boys bathroom.”

Fifteen miles away, I balled my hands into fists. Something feral and carnal cried for revenge inside my bloodlust heart. I shivered unconsciously, barely able to control my voice.

“What happened?” I asked.

“One held my arms back,” Cathy chocked back a sob, “the other ripped off my pants.”

I shall not go into the rest of the details, for there is no need to in this account. I am sure by now, you have figured out exactly what happened.

I had heard enough. I howled as a banged my hands against the concrete.

“I’ll kill them,” I swore, “kill them both.” I languished in uncontrollable rage. My best friend had been sexually abused and she had never told anyone. I bit through my lip, anguished tears streaming down my reddened face as she wept on the other line. Men like them gave guys a horrible reputation. Damn them all to hell.

“No don’t kill them,” she pleaded with me, crying more than they deserved, “it was horrible at the time, and it still is but it opened my eyes.”

“What do you mean?” I shouted.

“I never knew what it felt like,” she confessed slowly, obviously trying to sooth my anger, “I never knew how good it felt. Over the past year it’s been the best feeling I have ever experienced in my life. Tyler, I crave it. I can’t help it. It’s been a different guy every week. They know I am easy, that I will do whatever they want.”

We talked about her addiction till the sun burst from the overcast clouds. Cathy’s lust for sexual attention had grown to ridiculous proportions over the months since her first incident. Luckily, Cathy confessed that she had resisted the urge since her and I began talking. Like Joe, I wanted to care for this girl, and I made her swear to me that she would break that repulsive habit. Cathy swore on it: she swore she loved me more than anything imaginable. I, being young and naïve, believed her promises of love and returned them with just as much compassion.

I needed her more than you can possibly imagine. She was the only friend I had outside of Andrew and Joe. Only the three of them understood what was going on in my chaotic life and one simply turned a blind eye from my perpetual suffering, one added to it, but Cathy ran the hellish gauntlet beside me step-by-step, inch by inch.

After that night, our relationship drastically changed. Whatever shackles our once private thoughts had been tossed aside without a care. We only needed one thing, the other and nothing in the world was going to come in between our love for one another. It was beautifully consuming. The pain Joe caused me was dulled whenever I heard her reassuring voice confirming our love would get us through whatever the world could possibly throw at our feet. Whenever she felt her late night urges she would call me and I would sooth her with my husky voice she so enjoyed. I am proud to say in the five months that followed, she never once slept with another man nor compromised her body in anyway.

[spoiler]
Red = My corrections or suggestions.
Bold = My comments.
Underline = What I’ll be commenting on.
[s]Red Strikethrough[/s] = Omit
¶ = I started new paragraph.
Ironically, I was not the only one that had ghosts plaguing my past. Cathy, unfortunately, had just as many, if not more, tribulations in her life than I had endured. I remember the conversation, the nauseating repulsion that built up inside me after that horrifying night two weeks into our moonlight talks.

“So, what is your darkest secret?” I asked as I squished an ant on the aggregate sidewalk. The dark sidewalk You just said sidewalk twice too close together, you lose flow. was dimly illuminated by a streetlamp. That’s it? No more stuff about the surroundings to report? I held the phone tightly against my ear, hanging onto her every word. I didn’t care about the time, I knew it was well passt four, but sleep was no longer of significant consequence [s]anymore[/s]. All sleep brought were nightmares.

Cathy gave a little laugh, a nervous one that showed her excitement about the question.
“Why should I tell you?” She mocked my inquiry.

“Cause you know all my dark secrets,” I brushed my hair back with a grin. Oh how I loved that seductively confident voice.

Silence.

“You don’t want to know,” Cathy responded finally, all trace of her humor gone.

I stopped pacing, my mind frozen with terror. Had I hurt her? Had I offended her? Terrified, I sat down on the concrete, the gentle summer wind blowing against my perplexed face.

“Tell me.”

“Last year,” she paused, “I was abused.” First she was all hesitant, but then she gave in wayyy too easy… not realistic… I remained silent, pleading her for to continue in the most needy way.

“I was at a movie with some of my friends,” she continued, “I went out to use the bathroom during the movie.” Now she really held back. I could visualize the crystalline tears rolling down her cheeks.

“There were two guys that followed me,” Cathy sputtered, “they grabbed my arms and dragged me into the boys bathroom.”

Fifteen miles away, I balled my hands into fists. Something feral and carnal cried for revenge inside my bloodlust heart. I shivered unconsciously, barely able to control my voice.

“What happened?” I asked.

“One held my arms back,” Cathy chocked back a sob, “the other ripped off my pants.”

I shall not go into the rest of the details, for there is no need to in this account. I am sure by now, you have figured out exactly what happened.

I had heard enough. I howled as a banged my hands against the concrete.

“I’ll kill them,” I swore, “kill them both.” I languished in uncontrollable rage. My best friend had been sexually abused and she had never told anyone. I bit through my lip, anguished tears streaming down my reddened face as she wept on the other line. Men like them gave guys a horrible reputation. Damn them all to hell.

“No don’t kill them,” she pleaded with me, crying more than they deserved, “it was horrible at the time, and it still is, but it opened my eyes.”

“What do you mean?” I shouted.

“I never knew what it felt like,” she confessed slowly, obviously trying to sooth my anger, “I never knew how good it felt. Over the past year it’s been the best feeling I have ever experienced in my life. Tyler, I crave it. I can’t help it. It’s been a different guy every week. They know I am easy, that I will do whatever they want.”

We talked about her addiction till the sun burst from the overcast clouds. Cathy’s lust for sexual attention had grown to ridiculous proportions over the months since her first incident. Luckily, Cathy confessed that she had resisted the urge since her and I began talking. Like Joe, I wanted to care for this girl, and I made her swear to me that she would break that repulsive habit. Cathy swore on it; she swore she loved me more than anything imaginable. I, being young and naïve, believed her promises of love and returned them with just as much compassion.

I needed her more than you can possibly imagine. She was the only friend I had outside of Andrew and Joe. Only the three of them understood what was going on in my chaotic life and one simply turned a blind eye from my perpetual suffering, one added to it, but Cathy ran the hellish gauntlet beside me step-by-step, inch by inch.

After that night, our relationship drastically changed. Whatever shackles our once private thoughts had been tossed aside without a care. What? We only needed one thing – the other – and nothing in the world was going to come in between our love for one another. It was beautifully consuming. How so? Describe it more if you actually expect the reader to believe it. The pain Joe caused me was dulled whenever I heard her reassuring voice confirming our love would get us through whatever the world could possibly throw at our feet. Whenever she felt her late night urges she would call me and I would sooth her with my husky voice she so enjoyed. I am proud to say in the five months that followed, she never once slept with another man nor compromised her body in anyway. [/spoiler]


Hmm, I don't think I liked this particular part as much as the previous ones... I get that it's a letter, but still things are going too fast. It didn't feel like the emotions you described actually jumped off the page... it lacked realism, somehow... for starters, Cathy shared her deepest, darkest secrets way to easily, and over the phone? Didn't seem all too realistic - but that's just me.