On a clear winter night.

Cigarette smoke wafts through the air, mixing with the scent of woodstove and weed. It reminds me of when we first entered the small garage, our clouds of breath freezing in the cold winter air.

We had been sledding down the hilly slopes next to the town graveyard, screaming like kids, our cares forgotten, hearts racing as we flew through the snow. An almost full moon surrounded by bright stars and wisps of clouds overlooked us as we sledded until we couldn’t feel our toes, and our teeth chattered. It almost seemed wrong, acting like such little kids in a place so full of gloom and silence, somewhere we’d all eventually end up.

It was later now, after all our socks were dry, and the room comfortably warm if you sit in the right place. It's quiet, the only sounds being a soft song in the background, the crackling of burning wood, and the occasional chit chat about the music choice. Tender subjects are carefully avoided. I stand in front of the hot woodstove, allowing the heat to warm my face and hands until I almost can’t stand it anymore. Behind me a rolled up dollar bill lays on a workbench lined with tools and lines of crushed up pills. A small puddle of red liquid seeps slowly into the concrete floor.

Cranberry lemonade. Its something you could find in a kid’s lunchbox.
But we are't kids anymore.

The bitter taste of alcohol can’t be hidden, not even by its flashy red and yellow checkered can.

“You know…you know,” my tall Spanish friend stutters, his speech a little slurred as he takes a large swig from the can sitting next to him. “When I wake up in the morning, reality is going to just hit me. Square in the face…She's gone, and it is going to suck.” He stands up, crushing the now empty can with his boot. “It’s really going to suck.”

A cloud of sadness suddenly seems more visible than the smoke, as everyone shares quick looks of concern. I've never seen him cry before, it is a slightly terrifying feeling when the strongest person you know breaks down. Like a porcupine flipping over showing its soft insides, a side you never see of them. It scares me; it makes me want to run back to when we were young…Back to a simpler time where you didn’t worry about being hurt by the ones you loved, scabbed knees and thorn scratches were the worst of your scars. You could put bandaids over them and they’d be forgotten after ten minutes. I look at his face and can tell it will be a lot longer then that for him to forget the girl who broke his heart.

As I walk over, I pick up the flattened aluminum wrapping my arms around him. Breathing in the scent of his coat as we hug each other tightly, his chin resting on my forehead, nose in my hair. Standing there, nothing needing to be said, we just seem to understand each other. We can never go back to the way things were, we are all growing up, and life is changing. You can’t stop it no matter how hard you try.

It looks good. I love all of your description. I can picture what's happening. Great job, I see no major issues. There's just a few knit-picks.

Cigarette smoke wafts through the air, mixing with the scent of woodstove and weed. It reminds me when we first entered the small garage, our clouds of breath freezing in the cold winter air.

We had been sledding down the hilly slopes next to the town graveyard, screaming like kids, our cares forgotten hearts racing as we flew through the snow. An almost full moon surrounded by bright stars and wisps of clouds overlooked us as we sledded until we couldn’t feel our toes, and our teeth chattered. It almost seemed wrong, acting like such little kids in a place so full of gloom and silence, somewhere we’d all eventually end up.

It was later now, after all our socks were dry, and the room comfortably warm if you sit in the right place. Its quiet, the only sounds being a soft song in the background, the crackling of burning wood, and the occasional chit chat about the music choice. Tender subjects are carefully avoided. I stand in front of the hot woodstove, allowing the heat to warm my face and hands until I almost can’t stand it anymore. Behind me a rolled up dollar bill lays on a workbench lined with tools and lines of crushed up pills. A small puddle of red liquid seeps slowly into the concrete floor.

The red is where you kind of changed to past tense for a bit.

Cranberry lemonade.

It’s something you could find in a kid’s lunchbox.

But we are not kids anymore.

The bitter taste of alcohol couldnt be hidden, not even by its flashy red and yellow checkered can.
(this isn't quite done just a quick taste of what I have so far still editing a bit)

couldn't

Hey Hoppeh, you're my first review this review Sunday -be happy-. Anyway, on with the review.

I liked the idea behind this piece, and it's beginning was great the way it started with them being kids, up to adulthood. But I think it would be much more of a contrast if you did it vice-versa. I also didn't particularly like the transition from childhood to adulthood, mainly this bit

It was later now

It just doesn't work for me and doesn't give the effect that I think you were going for.

This line

our clouds of breath freezing in the cold winter air

also throws me off, I understand the image you're trying to get across but that line just sits a bit awkwardly with me.

Your character's personality don't really show, not even a couple bits of dialogue to differentiate them from one another. Although your last line was amazing, and it kept me thinking even as I'm writing this review, it kind of lingers long after the story.

Hope -ha ha, hope- this helped,

Anger

Hey, here as I said, to review. I love the atmosphere of this piece, but I wish it were a little longer. I'll nitpick first, as per usual.

It reminds me of when we first entered the small garage

I know it doesn't flow as well, but I think that's technically correct.

our cares forgottencomma, hearts racing as we flew through the snow.

Its quiet

"It's", not its.

Its something you could find in a kid’s lunchbox.

"It's", not its. Same as above. You're using the contracted form of "it is", so you need the apostrophe.

The bitter taste of alcohol couldn’t be hidden

Surely should be "can't", considering this is predominantly in present tense? Your tenses do jump around a little bit. Don't write in present tense unless it really fits the story, and especially if you naturally don't keep to it while writing.

“You know…you know,” My tall Spanish friend stutters

*my, because it's not the start of a new sentence, so no capital is needed.

like a porcupine flipping over showing its soft insides

Love this.

I agree with AngerManagement about the character development here. You mention that the Spanish guy breaks down, but from what we see, he makes a bitter passing comment on having a hangover and doesn't follow it up. It doesn't really constitute a breakdown. Next thing we know, the MC appears to be comforting him and speaking about how they're no longer innocents. I think you need to at least develop that scene so we see a bit more of this emotional turmoil, and perhaps understand the MC's relationship with this character further. Some of the descriptions are beautiful, but the piece as a whole feels a bit abstract. I wanted something more tangible in these characters, even if we're only gifted some more observation. Bar that criticism, I love the theme here, and the way in which you approach it. It's very atmospheric.

Sorry it's so short, but I hope it's at least slightly helpful. xD

- Jet.

Hey! Great story! Only a few nit picks.

Cigarette smoke wafts through the air, mixing with the scent of woodstove and weed. It reminds me when we first entered the small garage, our clouds of breath freezing in the cold winter air.

We had been sledding down the hilly slopes next to the town graveyard, screaming like kids, our cares forgotten hearts racing as we flew through the snow. An almost full moon surrounded by bright stars and wisps of clouds overlooked us as we sledded until we couldn’t feel our toes, and our teeth chattered. It almost seemed wrong, acting like such little kids in a place so full of gloom and silence, somewhere we’d all eventually end up.

The sentence I highlighted in red is a bit awkward. With that, I would like to point out that your sentences are bit long. Watch out for run-on sentences!

It was later now, after all our socks were dry, and the room comfortably warm if you sit in the right place. Its quiet, the only sounds being a soft song in the background, the crackling of burning wood, and the occasional chit chat about the music choice. Tender subjects are carefully avoided. I stand in front of the hot woodstove, allowing the heat to warm my face and hands until I almost can’t stand it anymore. Behind me a rolled up dollar bill lays on a workbench lined with tools and lines of crushed up pills. A small puddle of red liquid seeps slowly into the concrete floor.

Cranberry lemonade.

Its something you could find in a kid’s lunchbox.

But we are not kids anymore.

The bitter taste of alcohol couldn’t be hidden, not even by its flashy red and yellow checkered can.

Why are these all different paragraphs? Seems a bit excessive.

“You know…you know,” My tall, Spanish friend stutters, his speech a little slurred as he takes a large swig from the can sitting next to him. “When I wake up in the morning, reality is going to just hit me. Square in the face…and it is going to suck.” He stands up, crushing the now empty can with his boot. “It’s really going to suck.”
I feel like you din't give us enough information! Once again, watch the long sentences.


A cloud of sadness suddenly seems more visible than the smoke, as everyone shares quick looks of concern. It is a slightly terrifying feeling when the strongest person you know breaks down, like a porcupine flipping over showing its soft insides, a side you never see of them. It scares me; it makes me want to run back to when we were young…Back to a simpler time where you didn’t worry about being hurt by the ones you loved, scabbed knees and thorn scratches were the worst of your scars. You could put bandaids over them and they’d be forgotten after ten minutes. I look at his face it can tell be a lot longer then that for him to forget the girl who broke his heart.
The last sentence here is awkward too.

As I walk over, I pick up the flattened aluminum wrapping my arms around him, breathing in the scent of his coat as we hug each other tightly, his chin resting on my forehead, nose in my hair. Standing there, nothing needing to be said, we just seem to understand each other. We can never go back to the way things were, we are all growing up, and life is changing. You can’t stop it no matter how hard you try.
Try making the first sentence two sentences. It will read a lot better.

Over all, I enjoyed your story! I loved the bittersweet look of growing up. I only had a few nit picks, but you have a good short story. Maybe it is a little to short. Watch your sentences!

Hey there!

This is an interesting piece. Good theme and a great atmosphere you've built.
I like your start. Good. But you transitioned to 'later' too soon for me. You could build a little more in the beginning. Also, as AM said it doesn't give the effect which you were trying for.

Loved the lemonade-alcohol bit.

My only major complaint is that with this being so small, there isn't much char development. And I think this would read better if you extended it a bit. It's a very good flow and I would love to have more of it, if only to solidify the story in my head and make me 'feel' this growing up more.

Have a great day!
~Lava

Hiya, Hope! Here to review.

Overall, I really did enjoy reading this because I kind of found it intriguing (sorry for spelling) to read. I also think that you used lots and lots of descriptions within it even though it was short. I really do like your beginnning and end. My main concern is the way you've made the characters, but it's very minor.

I agree with others in saying that there weren't many problems with this piece other than the fact that it was short. Because of this, I don't know anything about the characters and can only learn what they are like from what they do or say. I didn't pick up any names from this or anything really.

I think you've used the right amount of dialogue and the dialogue you used was very realistic and interesting. It helped shape the characters quite a bit.

Alright, sorry this is short, there isn't much more to say, which is probably a good thing. Hope I helped you!
~Tamara
x

Hello, Hopeh.

The actual length of this piece isn't really the problem for me here, it's actually the lack of development in some places. What you've written is really nice, and the beginning especially was very emotive and sensory.

However, what I think this piece really needs is a strong sense of contrast between the childish feeling and the complete realisation of adulthood you get at the end. Right now, it's not developed enough for the contrast to shine through and for the conflicting emotions to really shine.

In the beginning, when you talk about feeling like kids again, I think you need to bring up a few 'staple' things from childhood and incorporate them into the paragraphs without actually specifying that they're from childhood. That way, without specifically saying it you'll be giving this part of the story a very childlike feeling that will change the mood entirely.

When you get to the inside bit, I think you need to work on your character development. To really introduce the contrast the characters need to seem more 3d as such, therefore their emotions will seem stronger to the audience and further distance them from childhood. Another way of doing this would be to emphasise the sensory effects in their house - with the smell and sight, use metaphors and similes to emphasise it and create a better effect than the one you already have.

Other than that, it was lovely, a really good job. <3

Hey there Hope!

First of all, I like the opening and much more with the ending. The story concept is nice because it gives bit of a message to the readers. But I totally agree with the previous critiques, though I'm not really going to repeat everything they just said. But you know that matter is been beat to death because it has to be, right? ^^

But we are't kids anymore.

I find a typo. 83

I don't really have much thing to say since this is short. But you shouldn't limit yourself of the length. It doesn't mean that when you want it to be simply short, then it should be short. No, that's not it. A short story should contain good setting, plot and characters. And it should have this realistic style for your readers to connect well with your main character. as with your story, you should develop more of the relationship between the MC and his friend. So that it'd be clearer for us to understand their situation as friends. But anyways, didn't I ever mention how I like your descriptions? Keep that up, Hope.

Overall, this is good but could be better, you know. Hope this helps.

Keep writing,
Yuri

First off, I gotta say that this is a wonderful piece. It pulled the reader in and interested them with every sentence you wrote. But, I do agree with the writers above me, there are some edits that need to be done. I loved it so much, it's great!

Nike

Keep Writing!