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Spoiler

Well, I just read through this and thought it might be a bit confusing and pointless to anyone, but I also thought I might as well post it for anyone who's looking for something to read. I'm not even sure it this counts as a short story, but it's here anyway

Well, this started off being based on something, then as it continued, it ended up being based on something else and then it just ended up where it is now =P

Sorry for any little spelling grammar mishaps in advance, I'm not generally good at proofreading my own work because I really can't stand reading anything I've written...

Also, sorry for this kind of confusing piece. I was trying something... new and I decided I wanted to get to posted before I went to bed... =P

Thanks for reading this =)

EDIT: Proofread it (kinda...) and changed bits of it... Hopefully that's somewhat 'improved' it =P

For fifty minutes a day, you sit in that spot and watch the day pass.

You watch as others mess around, then attempt to do work and ultimately fail, giving into the peer pressure that calls them like a siren's song, leading to their destruction.

You know they can't help thinking, 'What will be hers?'

You look around the class 'discretely' before slowly pushing your chair out, getting up and leaving the room.

You don't get the teacher's permission, but you leave for the 'bathroom' anyway.

You think or even hope no one will notice.

You arrive back to an overwhelming number of questions from her, but each time, they are the same.

You wonder why you can't be left alone, why even when you push them away, you are not abandoned, but at the same time, wonder why they don't bother to inquire further.

You sit there, appearing to stare into space, dreaming of a world outside your current one, but you are slouched back in your chair- thinking.

You think: deeply and a lot.

'I really don't care,' you say, scoffing at the idea of taking anything seriously.

Everyone believes you; everyone believes you don't.

Why should you care?

You have everything without having to even pick up a pen

Everything she wants.

At least, you look like you don't try. Maybe you really do try.

Maybe the moments you spend staring into space are not at all wasted.

Somewhere inside, you have greater battles that any of those who question you will ever have.

You hide behind insults, criticism and mockery you give others, fearing that one day, it will all come back.

You fear that one day, all the pain you've given others will be returned and that that day, you WILL care.

You fear that it will break you. Again.

'That's not a good thing,' you tell her in a belittling tone.

Why?

Do you really want her to think it isn't good?

Do you think maybe she already believes your piercing words?

You don't know what it puts her through every day, hearing you trying to tear her down bit by bit, trying to manipulate her and crush her to nothing.

On the other hand, maybe you do know.

Maybe you do have that sick, twisted mind you and everyone else jokes about.

Maybe you thrive on watching other people die inside.

Or against all odds, maybe you're innocent. Maybe you just have no idea what you're really doing.


'No one cares,' you state blatantly.

She knows that no one cares, but she tells you anyway, just in case there really is someone in there who thinks she matters.

You used to care and make false claims that you'd always be there.

Now you say you don't.

She cares though, about herself and you.

She doesn't know what you want, but she knows she wants to help you.

She tries every day, but you push her away, leaving scars you'll never see and she'll never admit to having, making it harder and harder for her each day.

'Stop it!' the other she yells in attempts to control you.

You can't control yourself- your manipulative, wicked self.

You don't understand what is really happening beneath all the straight-faced tolerance.

You keep doing it, she keeps trying to hold back the fear and burning anger she feels.

When she finally breaks, you cannot comprehend why she is crouched down low with face buried in her hands.

You do not know what the tears streaming down her face are because of you but at the same time, for you.

You do not know why, but everyone points the finger at you.

The other she shakes her head, but when you try to take it seriously, laughter escapes.

You see her hiding her head under the table: she cannot bear to see you anymore.

She cannot fight back anymore, so she hides, longing to be found.

'I love you,' She says, meaning everything behind the words.

You remember Her, the last time you were together, the last time you were whole.

You remember the way She made you feel: the warm, fuzzy feeling, the smile that lit up your faces and the way She made life seem so much easier.

You remember being in Her loving arms and Her being in yours.

You love Her too. You wish She was always with you.

You hear Her voice inside you as well as terrorising voices of so many others.

You don't know what you are supposed to do with or about them.

You can't bring yourself to seek anyone else to help you anymore.

You know their heads and hearts ache trying to figure out what to do about you.

'What's that on your knee?,” she asks, worry coming through in her tone.

Pain; on your knee; everywhere.

Pain is on your knee, literally etched into the flesh.

You won't say how it got there.

You won't even admit to its presence, but she knows.

They know.

'I'm always here,” She says to you.

She'll never leave, or maybe She won't leave. You just know She's always there.


You sit there in that desk for fifty minutes a day.

Maybe your thoughts and dreams about about Her, about being outside your current world.

The words you read on the backlit screen are Hers.

When you're in that desk, you don't think about English class.

You think about everything else.

You think of this.

At least, this is what she thinks you think of.

This is what she'll probably tell the other her.

You have written an interesting composition and you have made good use of literary techniques such as repetition. However a good suggestion is to polish it a little because too much repetition may not create the same effect on the reader as you wanted to. i found myself losing track halfway through, any how, it is very creative and emotive and i think you are a great writer. No one can write perfect, it is how the reader interprets it, so you just have to work on leading the reader to interpret your fiction piece the way you wanted them to. Nevertheless, it was a good read and i definitely liked it.

Great story! I really liked it. I liked peeking into the minds of the people here, the way you showed the conflict. It was a bit confusing, yes--at first I thought he (?) was sitting under a tree, for some reason--but the content is very good. You're an excellent writing.


Your grammar, syntax, etc. are rough. They need a lot of polishing. Aside from English class (which won't solve everything and I'm not sure where you're from or what you'll get there, which is why I only mention it in passing), the way to fix this is to read people who can write well. This means people who have been writing in the English language for several years, enough to grasp things like imagery and "show, don't tell", that sort of thing. I'd recommend the mods on this site--they're mods for more than their level-headedness. :3 Other than that.... Ted Dekker has some free things online, but fair warning, he tends to screw with your mind. LIke, a lot. As in, getting inside a Nazi's/killers/etc's head. It's fascinating, but should not be taken in large doses. C.S. Lewis may have some free things since he's so well-published and he's dead, I'll have to look into that, actually. Anyway, the point is to read the works of people who are known for writing well. It'll rub off on you.

I noticed a few spelling mistakes in this, buuuuut I can't find them anymore. D: They were simple, though.

Overall, this was very good. I actually liked the repetition, but it's one of my favored techniques. :3 Thanks for posting! I enjoyed reading it.

Well, reviewing this as someone who knows rather more about the topic than most people on this site, it's going to be hard to talk as though I don't.
I suppose there are no prizes for guessing who the 'other she' is? Or who any of them are, for that matter ... although I confess halfway through I got a bit confused about which 'she' you were talking about.
From a writing point of view, I thought it was very good. I thought the format and style were interesting and your writing was good, although there were a few proof-reading errors that I, like your previous reviewer, can no longer locate ... Oh well.
Speaking as someone who knows, in part, what this is about, I'll say I understood much of it; there was little I couldn't guess at, but I was kind of disturbed by all of it.
A few good points there, Sensei.
Hoping I'm not being too glaringly obvious,
Ignis.