When a flower withers

Claire, was the name of my older sister. She meant alot to many. No one told her.

Minutes after she joined a conversation, everyone would be laughing. Even the gloomiest one amongst them would smile. She had the charm few women had. Even at home she turned our darkest days into loving moments. Moments when we should have been afraid and sad, we laughed togather because Claire had the power to do that. She was also the kind of person that everyone felt comfortable to confide in. I always came to her when my girlfriend and I had a fight. She never judged. Infact she never said anything significant. But somehow I always walked away with renewed spirit and a clear mind. Sometimes even strangers became victim to her daring sense of humor. Without even noticing it, they would start telling her things they would not tell a soul.

She meant alot to many. No one told her.

One day she called Mother and Father into their bedroom for a private talk. I don't know what was said in that room, on that day but ever since then, Mother started loosing hair and Father grew mute. Their first born child was terminally ill. The death clock ticked and tocked in the hearts of our family. Our household sank into deep depression. Everything changed forever. If only it had been someone else. I would have taken that punch for her if it was possible. Claire's permenant place was now in her room in a bed. Stuck. Like a flower rooted in a garden, battling acid rain. Like a flower withering.

She meant alot to many. No one told her.

One morning, I woke up and heard Mother screaming and Father crying. It's confusing and equelly horrific to hear your parents cry. It's beyond what your security could bare. It took seconds before my head found reason. I realized what happend. She passed. I was afraid to get out of bed. Afraid to go into the room where Claire lay lifeless and Mother and Father mourned. I put my head back on the pillow again and closed my eyes.

Years has passed since she died. Today I can't even remember the sound of her voice anymore. In the weeks that followed her funeral, I used to form a picture of her in my head to easy the pain of loss. These days it's becoming harder to recall her face. She is moving away from our hearts and minds. Maybe it's a blessing. Sometimes, before I go to sleep, I pray to see her in my dreams because it's the closest I could get to her. In my dreams she's always standing at the backdoor with me. She's always telling me the same story which I never listen to. I always wait for her to stop talking so I could hug her and tell her how happy I am that she's still alive. when I hold her, I feel her face against mine. I hold on to the feeling wishing it was no dream untill I wake and start crying.

I don't know how much sense this makes but sometimes . . .

When a flower withers . . .

It blossoms into the greatest love.

Hello Ashley, corrections in red.

Ashley529 wrote:

And she was the sunshine of my morning
A cloud of love floating by
she looked up to the heaven one day
And heard Him say:
'It's time to come home.' - All 4 One

Claire, was the name of my older sister. She meant a lot to many. No one told her.

Minutes after she joined a conversation, everyone would be laughing. Even the gloomiest one amongst them would smile. She had the charm few women had. Even at home she turned our darkest days into loving moments. Moments when we should have been afraid and sad, we laughed together because Claire had the power to do that. She was also the kind of person that everyone felt comfortable to confide in. I always came to her when my girlfriend and I had a fight. She never judged. In fact she never said anything significant. But somehow I always walked away with a renewed spirit and a clear mind. Sometimes even strangers became victim to her daring sense of humor. Without even noticing it, they would start telling her things they would not tell any other soul.

She meant a lot to many. No one told her.

One day she called Mother and Father into their bedroom for a private talk. I don't know what was said in that room, on that day, but ever since then, Mother started loosing hair and Father grew mute. Their first born child was terminally ill. The death clock ticked and tocked in the hearts of our family. Our household sank into deep depression. Everything changed forever. If only it had been someone else. I would have taken that punch for her if it was possible. Claire's permanent place was now in her room in a bed. Stuck. Like a flower rooted in a garden, battling acid rain. Like a flower withering.

She meant a lot to many. No one told her.

One morning, I woke up and heard Mother screaming and Father crying. It's confusing and equallyhorrific to hear your parents cry. It's beyond what your security could bare. It took seconds before my head found reason. I realized what happened. She passed. I was afraid to get out of bed. Afraid to go into the room where Claire lay lifeless and Mother and Father mourned. I put my head back on the pillow again and closed my eyes.

Years have passed since she died. Today I can't even remember the sound of her voice anymore. In the weeks that followed her funeral, I would form a picture of her in my head to ease the pain of loss. These days it's becoming harder to recall her face. She is moving away from our hearts and minds. Maybe it's a blessing. Sometimes, before I go to sleep, I pray to see her in my dreams because it's the closest I could get to her. In my dreams she's always standing at the backdoor with me. She's always telling me the same story which I never listen to. I always wait for her to stop talking so I could hug her and tell her how happy I am that she's still alive. when I hold her, I feel her face against mine. I hold on to the feeling wishing it was not dream until I wake and start crying.

I don't know how much sense this makes, but sometimes . . .

When a flower withers . . .

It blossoms into the greatest love.

What I liked is how you repeated that line after every paragraph, it felt more reflective that way. I don't really understand what "no one told her" means, though. Did no one tell her how they felt about her?

My major critique is that it wasn't as emotionally touching as you wanted it to be. It was all tell and no show. I had to take her brother's word for it when he said that she could brighten a room, because there were no examples or anecdotes that showed her brightening a room. Do you understand what I mean? I think this piece could be better if showed me how she was special. Like, she says something outrageous at a family gathering and everyone laughs, or a scene where Claire is helping her brother with his girl troubles.

Hope this helped, keep writing <3
~Lauren

Hi, Ashley!

So, I was in need of something to review, and I thought that I would give this a look! It's definitely an interesting story and you have the right ideas. It's definitely sweet, but somehow, it doesn't feel like this is as emotional as it could be. This is really short, and while stories that are this short can work, here it feels like you can take some of that space to add more detail. The sister feels like a very passive character; try to dive more into her character and what her relationship with Clare was like. Are there any specific memories between them that she holds especially dear?

Instead of telling, show -- how did Clare light up the lives of everyone? How old was she when she died? Did she have any specific aspirations for the future? Despite the fact that she and your narrator are siblings and are probably going to bicker, does she regret anything in specific? What exactly does the narrator love the most about her sister?

Also, I'm not quite sure what time period this is supposed to be set in; your language just feels a little uncomfortably/forcefully complex. I'm getting the gist that this is in modern day, and I don't really know of anyone that calls their parents mother and father any more. If this is supposed to be set a long time ago, I would make more references to that.

I do like your ending, but I think that you can expand on it just a bit more. You say they're moving on, but how exactly are they moving on? Are they still sad? Do they see traces of her everywhere? Your last line -- it's very true, but instead of telling us flat at the end, I would have your narrator realize it over the course of the story.

Once you add the detail and start showing instead of telling, you can really set your tone and make this as emotionally invested as it probably should be. Since there isn't much of a plot line, you should really focus in on the character of Clare and how she interacted with other people, which I think you have an idea of, but it just isn't fully showing quite yet.

Hope this helps you with your revisions; feel free to drop me a PM if you have any questions.

~ Elinor

I liked this Ashley but I have to say you need more emotion in this! Describe lols and normally I don't like describing but this would really shine if you added more to it such as how she looked like, her age, how she made them laugh, provide examples ^^ I hope you will rewrite this and best of wishes!!! I know you can make this really beautiful and I hope you rewrite it!!! If you need any help just send me a PM or post on my wall I"m all ears!!!! Keep up the good work and best of wishes! May you receive many helpful reviews.
Soulkana<3

I must concur. You tried to beat us over the head by telling us "Love Claire! Love Claire!" but all you did was just tell us "she brightened rooms" and "she made people laugh." What you really need to do to get us to love someone is to show us their compassion. Show us her humor. Give us a unique example. Give us a breath of life from her.

Also, a nitpick others missed is

Mother started loosing hair

"Loosing" means like "letting go and allowing to go free" more like an arrow or chained up dogs. What you want is "Losing" as in "Ceasing to have."

She meant alot to many. No one told her.

You say that a lot (note the two words for "a lot"), but it doesn't actually come up in the story. Again, you're telling us and trying to get us to believe this, but you're not showing how this actually is true.

I put my head back on the pillow again and closed my eyes.

You had a chance to inject some emotion into your narrator...and you missed it. But then you force it down our throats in the next paragraph in a series of more "telling" sentences.

I don't know how much sense this makes but sometimes . . .

When a flower withers . . .

It blossoms into the greatest love.

Honestly, it doesn't make any sense. When you want to use a metaphor, you can't just force it. That'd be like saying, "When a plane crashes...it soars above everything." You can't just say, "I know this doesn't make sense" and then say something that doesn't make sense at all and pretend it has a deeper meaning.

Perhaps, you could have gone the route kind of like "the circle of life." Something like "When a flower withers...its seeds give rise to new life" or something.

Also, I'm just not so sure that the song lyrics at the beginning contribute anything to the story. It's kind of a tired old device that all overly sentimental stories try to use.

I can appreciate the emotion and heaviness that you want to inject into your writing, but you have to realize that just stating "I am sad" doesn't allow you to relate to strangers across space and time.