Two Little Beautiful Girls

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Allen Paige never meant to lie when he said that he would only be away for ten minutes. He never meant to be dishonest when he hugged his two little beautiful girls at the door step, clutching at handfuls of their hair with his palms. It had felt soft, like silk in his hands. He could smell the conditioner in their hair. Their hair smelled like roses in spring time. Allen had felt the setting sun upon his back as he knelt down hugging his two young daughters. It comforted him, made him feel like the divorce was just a fragment of his wild imagination and him and Sally were still very much in love.

He let go, realizing that he held on for much too long, it wasn't like he was going away forever. Only for ten minutes he had said as his back popped like a toy pistol as he drew himself up to his full stature. His gaze settled back upon his daughters, his face softened. They were both clad in matching red uniforms with the button up buttons on the sides. Allen took note that one pocket was undone. Each had a little blue ribbon that imitated the color of the sky. They in turn looked up at him, their features were strikingly like their mothers. Big river pebble black eyes, cheeks that were supple and soft with a hint of rosy red and above all blond hair that shined brighter than any star could ever hope to achieve.

Allen looked away, ashamed that he couldn't see himself in his two little girls.

"Dad?" His daughters inquired in uncanny unison. Allen smiled and looked back at them, his V-Neck sweater was itchy and he scratched at his collar at the same time. The girls continued to look up at him with undying innocence, waiting for his reply. "Yes what is it honey?" Allen said smiling radiantly down at them.

His two daughters exchanged bashful glances at each other and giggled like only children can. One reached into her unbuttoned pocket and brought out a pink envelope beautifully embroiled with pink petals. His daughter shyly held it up for him to take it. He did, he felt the texture of the petals on his finger tips. They were real.

Allen began to tear off the envelope when a small hand grabbed his pant leg. "No daddy, read it when you get back."

"Okay darling, I shall." And with that he patted each of his girls heads and turned down the sidewalk down toward his car. He called after them, "I'll only be ten minutes."

His daughters waved as he drove past in his outrageously big shiny blue Ford that twinkled like a polished jewel. As he sped up he looked back in his rear view mirror. A half smile was upon his face, they were still waving on their tip toes. The time was 5.45 PM.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________

Allen Paige parked his car and killed the engine. He could hear the tick of his eight cylinder engine as it begins to cool down. He walked up the foot path, minding the jagged edge of cement by sheer instinct. He rounded the corner to his front door. His eyes still adjusting to the dark. The time was 10.25 PM. Allen stopped abruptly as if their was an invisible barrier that he alone could see. The front door was open and the hinge creaked solemnly in the brisk wind that blew. His heart began to hammer in his chest like an actual hummingbird was trapped inside his chest.

He took a cautious step forward, then another. He was slacked jawed, his eyes were rolling around in his sockets. He felt dizzy, he didn't know if that was the alcohol or the sheer surprise on finding the door wide open. He closed the door behind him, he flinched as it made an haunting clink as it swung into it's rightful place. His throat was dry, like he had tried to consume dry sand. He tried to call out, but was unable. All that issued from his mouth was a dry rasp that was barely audible. He entered the kitchen, he felt like a robber in his own house as he fumbled around in the dark. He dared not flick the switch. He absorbed the darkness like it was a cloak, a veil of security.

His foot steps echoed down the hall way, everything was still. Like the world as a collective whole had paused to view this moment. Allen stopped, the only sound was his thumping heart. He had reached the room in which his two daughter shared when they stay over at his place. Something caught his eye in the moonlight, it twinkled eerily. Upon the door knob was a blue ribbon. Allen felt as if a bucket of icy water had been poured over him. At the back of his mind he wanted to be far away, far away from this place. He wanted to be back in the bed with the woman he had met at the bar. But even that thought was distant and insignificant.

He drew in a raspy breath, and clutched the brass door knob. It was cold, it felt similar to the icy glasses of the bar. He twisted the door knob and pushed. The room was dark and Allen had to squint to see, ironically, what he didn't want to see. His two little beautiful girls lay slumped together. He moved closer, hoping that they were only sleeping. He sat on the bed, it squeaked as he anticipated it would. Allen placed comforting hand upon his daughters. "Honey muffins," he whispered. There was no answer. He carefully rolled them over. Their eyes were open, his heart skipped a beat. He began to smile, but their once vibrant eyes rolled listlessly back in their sockets until their was only the whites visible in the cruel moonlight. Allen placed a hand around them and with the other began to caress their cheeks, whispering to them. Rocking them back and forth.

He bent his head down, he could still smell the faint aroma of their conditioner. He nuzzled his his nose into their hair, trying to take in their scent. Something wet and warm met his nose. He jerked up, the tears were like streams running down his cheeks. He felt the sticky substance upon his nose. It was slightly congealed blood. He turned back to his life-less daughters, truly taking in the scene. They wore their pajamas and their favorite book lay opened on the side of the bed. Their once dazzling blond hair was thickly matted with blood and a small stream of blood had trickled down one the girls eyelids and cheek. It looked like a tear. Choking back heavy sobs, Allen reached into his pocket for his handkerchiefs. He stopped, his hand wrapped around the pink envelope. With shaky hands he drew it out and ripped it open. His hear melted and another long moan erupted from his mouth. Their was a picture, a child's drawing of two stick figures holding hands. In child like scrawl were the names Mummy and Daddy.

Their was more like child like scrawl below:

"Dear Daddy, we hope that you get better soon and we wish that things could back to normal .With you and Mummy, we can live in a big pink house like Barbie does and we can own little ponies that we can ride too. But I wish their was no deevorce in the world. We love you Daddy forever and ever.

"I love you too, my two little beautiful girls." Allen whispered. The tears fell like rain upon the letter.
"There is no comfort without pain; thus we define salvation through suffering." Cato




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Points 257
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The story was filled with suspense from beginning to end, and i loved every bit of it, wondering what's going to happen next.
The choice of language was very good and mature and you get an A on that.
But a few things though, what happened to the girls, you didn't say...and their mom?????

Aside from that, great job!
A+...
lOL, GOSH, i FEEL LIKE A TEACHER.
kEEP WRITING.....
I write because there's nothing left to say...




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I DISLIKE YOU FOR MAKING ME CRY!!! :'(
Jk Jk :D
This a very powerful story with alot of suspense packed into such a short story. Very nice but....I WANT TO KNOW MORE!! What happen to them or what kept him gone so long??
I'm not inclined to resign to maturity.
If it's alright, then you're all wrong.
But why bounce around to the same damn song?
I know, you know, that I'm not telling the truth.
I know, you know, they just don't have any proof.
Your worst inhibition's gonna psych you out in the end.




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Points 1379
Reviews 12
Good gods, I'm speechless. And I still can't feel my knees. And I didn't cry, though it was close, but apparently the language barrier kept me from tears. Good, otherwise my make-up would melt.

Gosh, I'm shivering. That was just simply amazing. Your descriptions are incredibly vivid, though when you described him coming home I for once wanted to skip it. I loved when you spoke of the darkness as a protective veil. You have some spelling mistakes, but I don't wanna go through it again, so I'll just advice you to proof-read it yourself.

I didn't quite understand how it turned out after they divorced. I take it that Allen went living in a different place and the girls were staying at that place sometimes? He drove out his ex-wife's house and the second part happened in his own? And what happened to the girls? Somehow, the whole setting makes me think they committed suicide, but it seems silly, since the children don't really think of that.

But, I'm asking those just of plain curiosity. You don't need to add anything to the story, these details are unnecessary. You did a great job transfering emotions through actions and I admire you for that. My own ability to transfer emotions through actions and simple words feels so tiny compared to you. Damn, you made me shiver, lose my knees somewhere, almost cry and hate myself now. Awesome.

Well, I'll certainly show this story to my brother next time when he wants to divorce his wife and leave his two little girls. I hope it'll shove him down to his knees just as it shoved me. Thank you. And keep up the good work!

--Eve




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Gender Female
Points 3682
Reviews 66
Spoiler
Allen Paige never meant to lie when he said that he would only be away for ten minutes. (Interesting beginning. It has me curious and wondering what you mean by that.) He never meant to be dishonest when he hugged his two little beautiful girls at the door step, clutching at handfuls of their hair with his palms. It had felt soft, like silk in his hands. He could smell the conditioner in their hair. Their hair smelled like roses in spring time. Allen had felt the setting sun upon his back as he knelt down hugging his two young daughters. It comforted him, made him feel like the divorce was just a fragment of his wild imagination and (that) him ('he' instead of 'him') and Sally were still very much in love.

He let go, realizing that he held on for much too long, it wasn't like he was going away forever. Only for ten minutes he had said as his back popped like a toy pistol as he drew himself up to his full stature. (This sentence should be two instead of one. It's a run on.) His gaze settled back upon his daughters, his face softened. They were both clad in matching red uniforms with the button up buttons on the sides. (Try describing this sentence another way. "Button" is a bit of a mouthful, and can get repetitive if you use it twice in the same sentence.) Allen took note that one pocket was undone. Each had a little blue ribbon that imitated the color of the sky. They in turn looked up at him, their features were strikingly like their mothers. Big river pebble black eyes, cheeks that were supple and soft with a hint of rosy red and above all blond hair that shined brighter than any star could ever hope to achieve.

Allen looked away, ashamed that he couldn't see himself in his two little girls.

"Dad?" His daughters inquired in uncanny unison. Allen smiled and looked back at them, his V-Neck sweater was itchy and he scratched at his collar at the same time. The girls continued to look up at him with undying innocence, waiting for his reply. "Yes, what is it honey?" Allen said, smiling radiantly down at them. (Just honey? Isn't he talking to both of them?)

His two daughters exchanged bashful glances at each other and giggled like only children can. One reached into her unbuttoned pocket and brought out a pink envelope beautifully embroiled with pink petals. His daughter shyly held it up for him to take it. He did, he felt the texture of the petals on his finger tips. They were real.

Allen began to tear off the envelope when a small hand grabbed his pant leg. "No daddy, read it when you get back."

"Okay darling, I shall." And with that he patted each of his girls heads and turned down the sidewalk down toward his car. He called after them, "I'll only be ten minutes."

His daughters waved as he drove past in his outrageously big shiny blue Ford that twinkled like a polished jewel. As he sped up he looked back in his rear view mirror. A half smile was upon his face, they were still waving on their tip toes. The time was 5.45 PM.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________

Allen Paige parked his car and killed the engine. He could hear the tick of his eight cylinder engine as it begins ('Began' instead of 'begins'. Maintain tense.) to cool down. He walked up the foot path, minding the jagged edge of cement by sheer instinct. He rounded the corner to his front door. His eyes still adjusting to the dark. The time was 10.25 PM. Allen stopped abruptly as if their (there) was an invisible barrier that he alone could see. The front door was open and the hinge creaked solemnly in the brisk wind that blew. His heart began to hammer in his chest like an actual hummingbird was trapped inside his chest.

He took a cautious step forward, then another. He was slack-jawed, his eyes were rolling around in his sockets. He felt dizzy, he didn't know if that was the alcohol or the sheer surprise on finding the door wide open. He closed the door behind him, he flinched as it made an haunting clink as it swung into its rightful place. His throat was dry, like he had tried to consume dry sand. He tried to call out, but was unable. All that issued from his mouth was a dry rasp that was barely audible. He entered the kitchen, he felt like a robber in his own house as he fumbled around in the dark. He dared not flick the switch. He absorbed the darkness like it was a cloak, a veil of security.

His footsteps echoed down the hall way, everything was still. Like the world as a collective whole had paused to view this moment. Allen stopped, the only sound was his thumping heart. He had reached the room in which his two daughter shared when they stayed over at his place. Something caught his eye in the moonlight, it twinkled eerily. Upon the door knob was a blue ribbon. Allen felt as if a bucket of icy water had been poured over him. At the back of his mind he wanted to be far away, far away from this place. He wanted to be back in the bed with the woman he had met at the bar. But even that thought was distant and insignificant.

He drew in a raspy breath, and clutched the brass doorknob. It was cold, it felt similar to the icy glasses of the bar. He twisted the doorknob and pushed. The room was dark and Allen had to squint to see, ironically, what he didn't want to see. His two little beautiful girls lay slumped together. He moved closer, hoping that they were only sleeping. He sat on the bed, it squeaked as he anticipated it would. Allen placed comforting hand upon his daughters. "Honey muffins," he whispered. There was no answer. He carefully rolled them over. Their eyes were open, his heart skipped a beat. He began to smile, but their once vibrant eyes rolled listlessly back in their sockets until there was only the whites visible in the cruel moonlight. Allen placed a hand around them and with the other began to caress their cheeks, whispering to them. Rocking them back and forth.

He bent his head down, he could still smell the faint aroma of their conditioner. He nuzzled his his nose into their hair, trying to take in their scent. Something wet and warm met his nose. He jerked up, the tears were like streams running down his cheeks. He felt the sticky substance upon his nose. It was slightly congealed blood. He turned back to his life-less daughters, truly taking in the scene. They wore their pajamas and their favorite book lay opened on the side of the bed. Their once dazzling blond hair was thickly matted with blood and a small stream of blood had trickled down one the girls eyelids and cheek. It looked like a tear. Choking back heavy sobs, Allen reached into his pocket for his handkerchiefs. He stopped, his hand wrapped around the pink envelope. With shaky hands he drew it out and ripped it open. His hear melted and another long moan erupted from his mouth. Their was a picture, a child's drawing of two stick figures holding hands. In child like scrawl were the names Mummy and Daddy.

There was more like child like scrawl below:

"Dear Daddy, we hope that you get better soon and we wish that things could back to normal .With you and Mummy, we can live in a big pink house like Barbie does and we can own little ponies that we can ride too. But I wish their was no deevorce in the world. We love you Daddy forever and ever.

"I love you too, my two little beautiful girls." Allen whispered. The tears fell like rain upon the letter.


Well...where do I start? The piece had made me curious at first, but I'm afraid I lost interest in it when I started reading further into it. There is no apparent conflict. Yes, your character is dealing with a divorce, and he loves his daughters--but what does he do because of it? What happens to him for it? You mentioned he goes to the bar because of it--but why not show us what happens in the bar? We want details about the characters you write, details that tell us who he is and what he does and why. The characters also don't appear to have a lot of personality. You need to fix that--a story is no good without characters that interest us.

A note about details--at present you seem to prefer description over conflict. It can lag down a story excessively if you describe the physical environment more than is necessary. Details are necessary, but it's the character you want to focus on--not the world around him. Insert more dialogue, put in more thoughts, mingle the physical with the mental. Don't write about the appearance of the characters so much, either. Some of the best works I've seen don't care about the appearance of the characters, but rather describes their inner world very well.

You also left a lot of plot holes in here. Why and how did the daughters die? Did someone get in and kill them? And if so, why would someone do that? And the divorce...I could go on and on. In short, you could've done better with this piece.
I am the workingman, the inventor, the maker of the world's food and clothes.
I am the audience that witnesses history.
- Carl Sandburg, I am the People, the Mob



The opposite of belonging is fitting in.
— Dr. Brené Brown