flames on memories

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It was a beautiful house, old and wooden. I remember moving in. I was only six but as it was the first day I set eyes on it, I’ll remember it forever. It was Victorian style, white with the old wooden beams. It was a 15 minute walk from the town, surrounded by fields of corn and cattle. Its gardens full of blossom trees and rose bushes. It’s like something from a fairy tale, a little girls dream.
I’m stood here now, going through the memories, my brother’s first steps, me learning to ride a bike and of course, my first kiss. It was a spring morning and me and my friend, the guy who I loved but was never brave enough to tell, Steven. We were building a tree house in the blossom trees, the pink petals floating around he’d picked me up and we tumbled to the grass, the sun was so bright, made his golden hair glow. I never wanted that day to end. He just looked me dead in the eye and kissed me. He stole my breath, and my heart. He was everything to me but now, I don’t talk to him. I don’t talk to anyone. I don’t want them to feel my pain, no matter how hard they try to get through to me, I just push them away.
The house looks so beautiful, right now, in the dark. Soon to be lit aglow it will be even more stunning. It used to be full of those happy memories, the ones that now haunt me in my sleep. I took one of the gasoline canisters and began to douse everything. I walked into the living room. Ironic really, as that was where the body of my father laid, bloodied, blunt force trauma to the head. He was the first to go. The blood spatters in the carpet, people have tried to wash them away but if you know where to look there still there. I felt tears welling up but I swallowed them back. No more. Not until this is done. I walked on through down the hall, lined with pictures of our now broken family, there once happy smiles just ghosts from the past. I splashed them all. Just wanting to forget.
I walked to the kitchen door, I couldn’t go in. This is where they found my mother’s body, bruised and beaten. He’d raped her here in her own home, whilst her husband lay dead in the living room and her 3 year old sun upstairs asleep. I sprayed as much as I could in there, the image of her body still scared into my eyelids. I went through the rest of the house. I walked into my brother’s room, he was taken, and I won’t ever see him again. His laugh seemed to echo through the house. I finally came to my room. It looked so young compared to me now. It was only a month ago, the murders, but I have changed so much. Pinks and whites filled the room. Minnie skirts and push up bras scattered on the floor. The walls lined of pictures of me and my girl friends, people I never wish to speak to again, then my favourite picture, the one of me and Steven up in our tree house. I wish I never pushed him away, he properly hates me now. I slipped that picture into my pocket; I could never stop loving him.
I finished off the house and walked outside, took a swig of vodka from the bottle I took from the pantry. I ignited my lighter and threw it into the house. It burst into flames. I loved it. I watched every bit of the memories burn but yet the pain still stayed. I chucked the bottle at the house; it smashed sending out an explosion of flames. I felt tears streaming down my cheeks, the pain still as strong as ever.
“I thought I’d find you here” his voice startled me. I spun and came face to face with Steven. His golden hair reflecting the flickers of the flames. I threw my arms around him. “I thought you’d given up on me” I said when I finally found my voice. “How could I give up on you?” I smiled for the first time since the loss of my family. I turned and he wrapped his arms around me kissing my cheek. With the warmth of the fire on my face and him behind me I could finally breathe “I told you I would never leave you” he wisped into my ear. I turned so we were once again face to face. I got lost in his blue eyes and our lips touched, our tongues locked then suddenly it was gone. The pain. I took his hand and we watched the memories burn and the fairy tale house disappear into the darkness of the night.




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Hey Emiloo :)

It was a beautiful house, old and wooden. I remember moving in. I was only six but as it was the first day I set eyes on it, I’ll remember it forever. It was Victorian style, white with the old wooden beams. It was a 15 minute walk from the town, surrounded by fields of corn and cattle. Its gardens full of blossom trees and rose bushes. It’s like something from a fairy tale, a little girls dream.


I think your opening paragraph has very good description, but I think that if you switch the words around a bit it can be more effective.

It was quite a beautiful house; Victorian style with a perfect coat of white paint and vintage wooden beams. Even the location was stunning. Wide, lush fields of corn, and grazing herds of cattle. There was a garden of rose bushes near the front gate and an orchard of apple trees were in full blossom. It was just like a scene out of some little girl's fairytale. I can still remember clearly the day I first saw it.

Well, that was a bad example, but what I'm trying to say is don't be afraid to go overboard with description here. Like what time of year was it? I'm assuming spring because trees were blossoming, but then technically the corn fields would not be growing yet therefore how did she know it was corn?

I’m stood here now
standing

going through the memories
should be MY memories
We were building a tree house in the blossom trees, the pink petals floating around he’d picked me up and we tumbled to the grass, the sun was so bright, made his golden hair glow
this feels a lot like a run-on sentence. Try to find a way to fix this.

The house looks so beautiful, right now, in the dark.
Could you find a more exciting way to describe the night? The house looks so magnificent in the pale moonlight. The beautiful white house was stunning against the midnight sky. I mean, there's so many different ways to say it besides 'dark'. Try to make it sound as original as possible.

I walked into the living room.
You never actually mentioned that she entered the house. I assumed she was still outside admiring the house.

I walked on through down the hall, lined with pictures of our now broken family, there once happy smiles just ghosts from the past. I splashed them all. Just wanting to forget.
I really like this bit.
scared into my eyelids.
scarred

It looked so young compared to me now.
Everything looked so juvenile now.

Minnie skirts
mini skirts

Overall, it's good. You have a lot of emotion here. The only thing you should work on is getting more description, because at times it just feels bland. I did like you comparing the house to a little girl's dream house, and the light from the fire flickering in Steven's hair, and the dousing of gasoline over the portraits. Don't be afraid to go all out with words and description. I gave you some suggestions for you to take or leave, don't take them too seriously :)
Anyways, I hope I helped.
Have an awesome day,
~blacksheep
The bad news is we don't have any control.
The good news is we can't make any mistakes.
-Chuck Palahniuk




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Hey, Emiloo! :)

As with every review I do, I'll start off with the little nitpicks that I recognised! So here they are:

Its gardens was full of blossom trees and rose bushes.


There seems to be a tense change here:
It’s like something from a fairy tale, a little girls dream.


'My friend and I'
... me and my friend...


This confused me. Should they be separate sentences? Maybe I'm just reading it wrong:
... the pink petals floating around he’d picked me up...


'Bloodied' seems to be an odd-sounding word choice
... my father laid, bloodied...


...if you know where to look there they're still there.


I'm not sure whether it's possible to swallow back tears when they well up in your eyes:
I felt tears welling up but I swallowed held them back.


The Sun is much older than three years old xD
... her 3 year old sun son...


... her body still scarred into my eyelids...


Minnie Mini skirts and push up bras...


His golden hair reflecting reflected the flickers...


Commas or full stops go after the end of dialogue. Also, a new paragraph starts when different people talk during dialogue:
“I thought you’d given up on me,


... he whispered into my ear.


This made me cringe slightly. Too much detail xD It's probably because I'm a guy though:
... our tongues locked...


Now, onto the review!

I quite like the concept of this story here and how you conveyed the narrator's feelings and emotions so well, but in terms of plot, there were a few things that I thought were missing that would really grip the reader. Who killed her dad? Who raped her mum? Why? Were they people she knew? I think adding in this information in a really smart way would really help this story become more effective. Though, if you will take up this suggestion, don't tell the whole story in a separate paragraph. Do it subtly!

There seemed to be a change in tense every now and then, so remember to re-read over it and try to recognise these change! It's not a huge problem though. Also, whenever you're writing dialogue, always start a new paragraph when different people speak. It makes it all easier to read and distinguish the different dialogue of characters. Remember that there are also different ways of starting sentences, so you don't have to always start with 'I', or 'He' or 'They' :D

Here's an edited version I made for you. I don't usually do this, but since you asked me by message, I thought it'd be nice to help you out more. You don't have to use it, though:

Beautiful, the house was. Despite its Victorian appearance, the wooden house still had a quaint feel to it. It was beautiful. I remember the first day I set my eyes on this house – when I moved in. I was only six at the time, but that didn’t matter. I’ll still remember it forever. From the town, it was only a fifteen-minute walk. Its garden was full of blossom trees and rose bushes, surrounded by fields of corn and cattle. It was like something from a fairy-tale. A little girl’s dream. My dream.

Now, in the dark, my house looked even more mesmerising under the stars. Though, at that moment, I wasn’t focused on it. I just stood, flicking through my memories --my happy memories-- that seem to always torment me – constant reminders of a time I couldn’t relive. My brother’s first steps. Learning to ride a bike. My first kiss. Of course, that first kiss! I remembered it so well.

It was a spring morning. My friend, Steve, and I were building a tree house in the blossom trees, the pink petals fluttering around us. After picking me up, we tumbled to the ground. Oh, the sun was so bright; it made his golden hair glow. He just gazed into my eyes and then drew closer, kissing me. He stole my breath. He stole my heart. Steven was everything to me, but things had changed. I didn’t talk to him. I didn’t talk to anyone. No matter how hard they endeavoured, I just pushed them away. They didn’t need to understand my pain.

Snatching a gasoline canister from the house, I began dousing everything. I walked into the living room and froze in my tracks. Only a month ago, a corpse laid in this room. My father’s corpse. He was the first to go. “Blunt force trauma to the head”, the detectives said. Those blood splatters on the carpet wouldn’t disappear, regardless of the amount of times I tried. They were always there, reminding me. Tears brimmed in my eyes, but I held them back. No more crying. I walked down, through the hall, whose walls were lined with pictures of my broken family. Those once happy smiles were just ghost from the past now. I splashed them all, just wanting to forget.

As I neared the kitchen door, my legs trembled. Another corpse was found inside there. My mother’s: bruised, beaten. He had raped her in our own house, while a 3 year old son slept in the room above. I sprayed as much as I could with the gasoline canister, the image of her body scarring my mind. I dragged my legs throughout the rest of my house. Into my brother’s room. He was taken now, but I could still hear his laugh echoing and echoing. Only God knows when I’ll see him again. My room looked so juvenile. It wasn’t me. Not anymore. Not after what happened. Pink and white colours swathed the room as miniskirts and push-up bras were scattered across the floor. Pictures decorated the walls. Pictures of people I never wished to see again. Pictures of Steven and I, up in our tree house. I shouldn’t have pushed him away. He probably hates me now. Peeling the picture from the wall, I slipped it into my pocket. But I could never stop loving him.

Then, I finished. Marching outside, I snatched a bottle of vodka from the pantry, ignited a lighter and then threw it at the house. It burst into flames. I loved it. I only stood there watching the fire encapsulate those memories, but they didn’t burn as I hoped. I could still feel the pain, the grief. I chucked another bottle at my house; it smashed, followed by an explosion of flames. I felt tears streaming down my cheeks, the pain still as strong as ever.

“I thought I’d find you here,” His voice startled me.

I spun before my eyes fell upon Steven, his golden hair reflecting the flickers of the flames. “I thought you’d given up on me,” I cried, flinging my arms around him.

“How could I give up on you?” Hearing this made me smile, something that became impossible after the loss of my family. Steven kissed my cheek as the fire’s warmth stroked my face. “I told you I would never leave you,” he whispered into my ear.

Nothing seemed to matter as our lips locked. Everything was fine now. The pain had died. Taking his hand, we watched the memories burn and the fairy-tale house disappear into the darkness of the night.


Overall, I really liked this story! It has a lot of potential to become a great thriller if you work on it and try to improve by adding more emotion and information to grip the readers. Well done! Keep posting more and I'll definitely review for you!

Good luck!
Thien
‎"I dream my paintings, then I paint my dreams" - Van Gogh




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thanks you guys, there shure to help, with this it was for in the morning so im shure there were a few off bits :S if youve ever read anyof my other pices youll see i love to wright horror,depresion and death,dont know why i just do,i just love to see the emotion on my friends faces when i read them to them XD




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Heey there! So, you have a wealth of good elements here. The quality of visualization is really good. In a story like this, you have lots of room to go into detail about the memories. The details of her good memories contrast well with the tragic ones and I think you can play this up even more. The details you have, like the push up bras and mini skirts, give a lot of information about the age and life of the protagonist before hand, without saying barely anything at all. This is a really good quality in writing. Hold onto that! Being able to imply things rather than just telling the reader is something a lot of writers lack.

The structure of this short story and the description is really good, but you'll really need to work on your spelling and grammar to improve in writing in general. But compared to the skills you already have, that shouldn't be difficult to improve on. I'm not going to nitpick on specifics because that's already been done, but it's just a general note that you should work on fixing. Making sure you're in the right tense and you stick to it is something you'll really need to pay attention to as well. For example, 'It was a beautiful house, old and wooden. I remember moving in,' you're already having issues. Since the house still exists, and she is remembering it at that moment, it should either be, 'it is a beautiful house' or, alternatively, leave that sentence the same and change the second sentence to 'I remembered moving in'. Personally, I have a more difficult time staying in a present tense, but if you like the way it sounds, just be very conscious of the words you are using.

If you have any questions, feel free to message me and all of that!

Christy
'I finished a manuscript and my editor said "great, now rewrite it" and I said, man, I'll just photo copy it,' __Mitch Hedberg



shady and rina are systematically watering down the grammar of yws
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