Young Writers Society

The only sources of warmth for him that day were just the puffing steam from the cup in his hand and the hot coffee inside it.
Because you have only, you don't really need just. It's repetative.

A sigh escaped from his lips and quickly frozen into white smoke, wavered in front of his weary eyes.
Frosen should be froze. Wavered should be wavering.

Why am I here?
You don't have to do this, but I would italicize this for dramatic purposes.

while he pull his thin jacket closer to his body.
Pull should be pulled.

It is Christmas, and everyone is hurrying to return to their warm, cozy home.
Is should be was. I would reread this for tense changes. It happens a lot in this story.

If he could choose, he would chose to wait for her anywhere else but here.
Chose should be choose. There's some word for this rule. Parallel... something.

He was a hopelessly romantic person in love.
They are the best kind.

...I met her here, after all.
You switch POV's here. I think it's a thought. I would mark it in someway, so we know that.

He was greatly tempted to give up on searching for his inspiration and return to home
I would leave out to.

instead of having to stay out here and frozen to death, but he waited there.
Freeze instead of frozen.

And he did, fatefully, he did.
I'm not sure what you mean by fatefully. Like the stars destined it... or what. I've never really heard it used that way before.

There were just merely the sounds of footsteps on snow, a few rustling noises of her hand swept the snow off her seat,
Swept should be sweeping

He knew that he was not one of those persons with the right mind, but who else could be like him?
I get what you're saying, but I would say "one of the people in their right mind."

Curiosity took over him, and he took a stealthy glance at her, and found her doing the same with him.
You don't need the second comma.

they quickly turn away due to a ridiculous social rule that prevent two strangers to look into each other’ eyes.
Turn needs to be turned, and prevent needs to be prevented. I loved this sentence. It's completely true. Just don't get my English teacher started on it.

there was something that drawn him to turn his head again, to looked at the girl sitting next to him once more time.
Drawn should be drew. Looked should be look. Once should be one or get rid of time.

he saw her turned to look at him at the same time he turned to look at her.
Only the first turned should be turn.

before silently turning back to the blank papers before them and minding their own business.
Because of the repetion, I would change the second before to in front.

He suddenly realized he has found an idea for a story.
Has should be had.

He could write about her, about this interesting meeting with a girl who seems to just as strange as him.
Seems should be seemed.

Quickly set his pencil in motion, he drafted out pages of writing, before noticing that there were the noise of more than one pencil on paper.

He turned his head aside once again to the girl, and this time, he did not find her looking back at him. She was absorbed in her work, drawing a sketch of a portrait. He moved closer to look at it, and it took him a while to realize that the person in the sketch strangely resembled him. Without even a thought of how rude he was, he asked: “Is that me?”

her words flustered:
You need were before flustered.

“Y-yes...I-I am sorry.”
Put contraction in your dialouge to make it sound more realistic. I am should be I'm, so it reads like an actual person off the street is saying it.

“Don’t worry,” he smiled, “I am also writing a story about you too, so we are even.”
Same here.

He nodded. “I was just looking for an idea to write, and I just somehow find an inspiration in you.”
Find should be found.

somehow I can only draw you best.”
I'm not sure what you mean here. Do you mean she can only draw him? Or do you mean that she just got an idea from him?

eyes widen with amazement.
Widen should be wide.

There was a moment of the invisible wall between them fall apart
Instead of of the, put where.

She started, wiping her tears from having to laugh too much, “Do you...”
Get rid of to. Laugh should be laughed.

Another cold wind blew directly to his face, forcing him to stop his reminiscence and drank some more warm coffee from his cup.
It sounds like the wind is drinking some coffee when it's the MC.

Then she would come later, sheepishly apologize to him before beginning their routine:
Apologize should be apologizing.

The words stuck within his mouth and refuse to come out. He couldn’t understand how he could so easily write about characters that can say those simple words flawlessly, and yet when he had to say it, he found it nearly impossible.
I completely relate.

He then drank the coffee gulps after gulps like a man drinking wine to search for bravery in drunkenness.
Beautiful sentence.

“I-I...”
“...Love you?” She finished his sentence for him, and took a sip from her cup.
“...Now you are the one reading my mind.” He embarrassingly hid his face behind his hand.
“Great minds think alike, right?” She grinned. “I love you too.”
Awww...

And then slowly, he felt the warmth in her hand fading away as the siren wailed from afar.
Another great sentence.

With his hands still shaking, he turned his head aside once again, slowly and painfully. He could only see snow and his frozen cup of coffee beside him.
Great ending line.

“Oh really?” She teased him. “What about yours writings?”

megsug wrote: There were some typos that I'm going to point out. Now for the fun stuff...

The only sources of warmth for him that day were just the puffing steam from the cup in his hand and the hot coffee inside it.
Because you have only, you don't really need just. It's repetative.

A sigh escaped from his lips and quickly frozen into white smoke, wavered in front of his weary eyes.
Frosen should be froze. Wavered should be wavering.

Why am I here?
You don't have to do this, but I would italicize this for dramatic purposes.




while he pull his thin jacket closer to his body.
Pull should be pulled.

It is Christmas, and everyone is hurrying to return to their warm, cozy home.
Is should be was. I would reread this for tense changes. It happens a lot in this story.

If he could choose, he would chose to wait for her anywhere else but here.
Chose should be choose. There's some word for this rule. Parallel... something.

He was a hopelessly romantic person in love.
They are the best kind.

...I met her here, after all.
You switch POV's here. I think it's a thought. I would mark it in someway, so we know that.

He was greatly tempted to give up on searching for his inspiration and return to home
I would leave out to.

instead of having to stay out here and frozen to death, but he waited there.
Freeze instead of frozen.

And he did, fatefully, he did.
I'm not sure what you mean by fatefully. Like the stars destined it... or what. I've never really heard it used that way before.

There were just merely the sounds of footsteps on snow, a few rustling noises of her hand swept the snow off her seat,
Swept should be sweeping

He knew that he was not one of those persons with the right mind, but who else could be like him?
I get what you're saying, but I would say "one of the people in their right mind."

Curiosity took over him, and he took a stealthy glance at her, and found her doing the same with him.
You don't need the second comma.

they quickly turn away due to a ridiculous social rule that prevent two strangers to look into each other’ eyes.
Turn needs to be turned, and prevent needs to be prevented. I loved this sentence. It's completely true. Just don't get my English teacher started on it.

there was something that drawn him to turn his head again, to looked at the girl sitting next to him once more time.
Drawn should be drew. Looked should be look. Once should be one or get rid of time.

he saw her turned to look at him at the same time he turned to look at her.
Only the first turned should be turn.

before silently turning back to the blank papers before them and minding their own business.
Because of the repetion, I would change the second before to in front.

He suddenly realized he has found an idea for a story.
Has should be had.

He could write about her, about this interesting meeting with a girl who seems to just as strange as him.
Seems should be seemed.

Quickly set his pencil in motion, he drafted out pages of writing, before noticing that there were the noise of more than one pencil on paper.

He turned his head aside once again to the girl, and this time, he did not find her looking back at him. She was absorbed in her work, drawing a sketch of a portrait. He moved closer to look at it, and it took him a while to realize that the person in the sketch strangely resembled him. Without even a thought of how rude he was, he asked: “Is that me?”

her words flustered:
You need were before flustered.

“Y-yes...I-I am sorry.”
Put contraction in your dialouge to make it sound more realistic. I am should be I'm, so it reads like an actual person off the street is saying it.

“Don’t worry,” he smiled, “I am also writing a story about you too, so we are even.”
Same here.

He nodded. “I was just looking for an idea to write, and I just somehow find an inspiration in you.”
Find should be found.

somehow I can only draw you best.”
I'm not sure what you mean here. Do you mean she can only draw him? Or do you mean that she just got an idea from him?

eyes widen with amazement.
Widen should be wide.

There was a moment of the invisible wall between them fall apart
Instead of of the, put where.

She started, wiping her tears from having to laugh too much, “Do you...”
Get rid of to. Laugh should be laughed.

Another cold wind blew directly to his face, forcing him to stop his reminiscence and drank some more warm coffee from his cup.
It sounds like the wind is drinking some coffee when it's the MC.

Then she would come later, sheepishly apologize to him before beginning their routine:
Apologize should be apologizing.

The words stuck within his mouth and refuse to come out. He couldn’t understand how he could so easily write about characters that can say those simple words flawlessly, and yet when he had to say it, he found it nearly impossible.
I completely relate.

He then drank the coffee gulps after gulps like a man drinking wine to search for bravery in drunkenness.
Beautiful sentence.

“I-I...”
“...Love you?” She finished his sentence for him, and took a sip from her cup.
“...Now you are the one reading my mind.” He embarrassingly hid his face behind his hand.
“Great minds think alike, right?” She grinned. “I love you too.”
Awww...

And then slowly, he felt the warmth in her hand fading away as the siren wailed from afar.
Another great sentence.

With his hands still shaking, he turned his head aside once again, slowly and painfully. He could only see snow and his frozen cup of coffee beside him.
Great ending line.

This was already getting really long, so I looked up a tense rules website for you. Here it is.

The only sources of warmth for him that day were the puffing steam from the cup in his hand and the hot coffee inside it. As the evening sun started to set and the freezing December wind threatened to turn him into an ice statue, he quickly took a sip of the coffee and felt the heat spreading down his body through his throat. [An odd way to order it since it goes down your throat first. Perhaps, '...felt the heat spreading down his throat and deep into his body.'] A sigh escaped from his lips and quickly froze into white smoke, wavering in front of his weary eyes.

He found himself silently asking the indifferent crowd upon the festive street in front of him, while he pulled his thin jacket closer to his body. [This would be better if you leave the thoughts as a stand alone. You don't need to tell us he's asking these people, just describe them. So maybe: 'His eyes looked out at the indifferent crowd walking to and from, upon the festive street, and he pulled his thin jacket closer to his body.'] It was Christmas, and everyone is was hurrying to return to their warm, cozy home. And yet, there here he was, sitting on a snow-coated wooden bench in the park, pondering upon the reason why he was there wondering why. [More dramatic.] However, hHis mind was as hazy and gray as the winter sky above, and it was not until a few minutes had passed, that an answer came to him, not clear, but dull like the sound of an old bell echoed through mist: Hhe was waiting for her.

If he could choose, he would choose to wait for her anywhere else but here. [This part doesn't make sense since he clearly can choose but chooses not to.] In fact, it was a choice of sitting inside the cafe nearby where he bought his coffee and sitting out here in the cold. Any normal person would most likely not consider the second choice. However, he was not normal. He was a hopelessly romantic person, hopelessly in love.

His thoughts scattered to the wind as his mind playing played a flash back. It was not long ago that he was just an aspiring young writer, with only a few short stories written then completed. At that time, he was fighting against a serious case of writer’s block, and on his quest to search for inspiration, he came to this park. Never did he know that he would find more than just inspiration when he sat down on the snow-coated bench that winter day. [I don't like this sentence. Your reader already knows this so you don't need it and it's unoriginal.] As he watched the busy streets in front of the park, he found his mind empty of ideas. He was greatly tempted to give up on searching for his inspiration and return home instead of having to stay out here,[/s] and [/s]frozen to death, but he waitedthere. Waited for what, he did not know. He just felt that he would find something to write about if he sat there long enough in the cold. And he did.

She came to him without a word. There were just merely was the sounds of footsteps on snow, a few rustling noises of as her handsweeping swept the snow off her seat, and the clicking of her mechanical pencil as she opened her sketch booktold him of her presence next to him on the far side of the bench. At first, he did not pay any more attention to her than he would to any stranger on the street. However, a thought dawned on him: “Who in the right mind would sit here in middle of winter?” [Italicise this like your other thoughts.]

“Don’t worry,” he smiled, “I’m also writing a story about you too, so we are we're even.” [Just an example of how to make your dialogue more natural. I'll talk about this a little at the end of the critique.]

Silence fell between them at this revelation as they looked at each other, eyes wide with amazement. What could be even stranger, a writer and an artist on their quest to search for their inspiration, come to the same place, and found what they were searching for within each other? There was a moment of where the invisible wall between them fall apart, and they burst out laughing next together in middle of the bench [We already know where they're sitting, it would be better if you described how they backs fell against each other or how her skin brushed against his.]. They were strangers no more.

“...Want some coffee?” [Finishing sentences is cliché. It would be better if he simply says, 'Coffee?'] He asked her, unknowingly finishing her sentence.

Another cold wind blew directly to his face, forcing him to stop his reminiscence and he drank some more warm coffee from his cup. It was getting late, and the robust street earlier has become considerably less busy. But he is was used to this. She was always late. Every day after their first meeting, it was always him who came to the park first and waited for her. Then she would come later, sheepishly apologizing to him before beginning their routine: he wrote about her, and she drew him. Sometimes they would show each other’s works and commented, share their work and comment, sometime they argued about what they think thought would be better for his writing or her drawing, and most of the time they procrastinated and just talked about life while enjoying their coffee. Before he knew it, he realized that he was starting to look forward to their meetings. And she too, admitted the same when he told her. They could sense that they were becoming something more than just friends. They could sense it when they sit sat nexttogether in those winter days, at first on the far sides of the benches, and then closer, and closer to each other, until their bodies touched, and they shared their warmth just by leaning on the other. But they could not say their feeling out loud. He was not ones that can who could say those kinds of things easily. He thought that he could not find it within himself to tell her, until one Christmas.

F It felt no less awkward than before, as they sat down on the wooden bench, and started to talk about trivial things. It didn’t take more than a quarter of a cup of coffee before they were out of topics to talk. It was then that he took a deep breath, and said: “I have something I want to tell you.”

“...Now you are the one reading my mind.” He embarrassingly hid his face behind his hand.

The only sources of warmth for him that day were the puffing steam from the cup in his hand and the hot coffee inside it. As the evening sun started to set and the freezing December wind threatened to turn him into an ice statue, he quickly took a sip of the coffee and felt the heat spreading down his body through his throat. A sigh escaped from his lips and quickly froze into white smoke, wavering in front of his weary eyes. This is a great opening paragraph. It's not the clichéd; Once upon a time or the One day.. etc. Your detail and description I feel are really peeking here.

Why am I here?

He found himself silently asking the indifferent crowd upon the festive street in front of him, while he pulled his thin jacket closer to his body. It was Christmas, Now I'm asking myself Why didn't Rain post this at Christmas?! and I'm also sighing in dispair. and everyone is hurrying to return to their warm, cozy home. And yet, there he was, sitting on a snow-coated wooden bench in the park, pondering upon the reason why he was there. However, his mind was as hazy and gray as the winter sky above, and it was not until a few minutes had passed, that an answer came to him, not clear, but dull like the sound of an old bell echoed through mist: He was waiting for her.

If he could choose, he would chooseThe repitition of 'choose' is choppy. I think by cutting it out completely it would help/ Just do He would wait her her, here. to wait for her anywhere else but here. In fact, it was a choice of sitting inside the cafe nearby where he bought his coffee and sitting out here in the cold. Any normal person would most likely not consider the second choice. However, he was not normal. He was a hopelessly romantic person in love. Very sterotypical sentence. It's extremely over-used. Either rephrase this or put down something completely different. I'm beginning this might just be the beginning of a 'fairytale thingy' if you get my drift..

...I met her here, after all.

His thoughts scattered to the windThis doesn't read right. It makes no sense. Are you meaning basically that his thoughts went wild? Try this; His thoughts were scattered wildy, rushing furiousing inside his head.. or something like that. as his mind began is missing from this sentence.playing a flash back. It was not long ago that he was just an aspiring young writer, with only a few short stories written then. At that time, he was fighting against a serious case of writer’s block, and on his quest to search for inspiration, he came to this park. Never did he know that he would find more than just inspiration when he sat down on the snow-coated bench that winter day. As he watched the busy streets in front of the park, he found his mind empty of ideas. He was greatly tempted to give up on searching for his inspiration and return home instead of having to stay out here and frozen to death, but he waited there. Waited for what, he did not know. He just felt that he would find something to write about if he sat there long enough in the cold. And he did.

She came to him without a word. There were just merely the sounds of footsteps on snow, a few rustling noises of her hand sweeping the snow off her seat, and the clicking of her mechanical pencil as she opened her sketch book told him of her presence next to him on the far side of the bench. At first, he did not pay any more attention to her than he would to any stranger on the street. However, a thought dawned on him: “Who in the right mind would sit here in middle of winter?”

He knew that he was not one of those people in their right mind, but who else could be like him? Curiosity took over him, and he took a stealthy glance at her and found her doing the same with him. Their eyes met for a split second, before they quickly turned away due to a ridiculous social rule that prevented two strangers to look into each other’ eyes. He silently stared at the blank note book before him as the last attempt to preserve his dignity. Still, there was something that drew him to turn his head again, to look at the girl sitting next to him one more time. And just like the last time, he saw her turned to look at him at the same time he turned to look at her. Something sparked between them, and they both chuckled, before silently turning back to the blank papers in front of them and minding their own business. He suddenly realized he had found an idea for a story. He could write about her, about this interesting meeting with a girl who seemed to just as strange as him. Quickly set his pencil in motion, he drafted out pages of writing, before noticing that there were the noise of more than one pencil on paper.

He turned his head aside once again to the girl, and this time, he did not find her looking back at him. She was absorbed in her work, drawing a sketch of a portrait. He moved closer to look at it, and it took him a while to realize that the person in the sketch strangely resembled him. Without even a thought of how rude he was, he asked: “Is that me?”

The girl was startled, and instantly held her sketch book close to her chest, her cheeks were burning red hot despite the freezing air, and her words were flustered: “Y-yes...I-I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry,” he smiled, “I’m also writing a story about you too, so we are even.”

“Really?” She could not hold back the surprise from showing on her face and unconsciously moved closer to him and took a glance on his writing.

He nodded. “I was just looking for an idea to write Again I'm not sure this flows as well as it should. Try; I was just out looking for inspiration I guess.. something to get the ball rolling if you know what I mean.. or not. But whatever , and I just somehow found an inspiration in you.”

“Me too!” She exclaimed, “I was trying to find something to draw, and I felt like I could draw about Cut out the 'about' here. Its incorect. you when I saw you. The repitition of 'you' is too much. Rephrase.”

Silence fell between them at this revelation as they looked at each other, eyes wide with amazement. What could be even stranger, a writer and an artist on their quest to search for their inspiration, come to the same place, and found what they were searching for within each other? There was a moment of the invisible wall between them fall apart, and they burst out laughing next together in middle of the bench. They were strangers no more.

She started, wiping her tears from having laughed too much, “Do you...”

“...Want some coffee?” He asked her, unknowingly finishing her sentence.

She quickly covered her mouth to stop another burst of laughter, and finally asked, trying to be as calm as possible: “Are you reading my mind or something?”

“Great minds think alike.” He grinned.



Another cold wind blew directly to his face, forcing him to stop his reminiscence and he drank some more warm coffee from his cup. I figured you are bringing us back to reality? This is not very clear. I was looking for the next part of 'the dream' or something and then we came to this. I had to really think for a while until I figured out what was happening. First of all skip a couple of lines to make is obvious and then use a more simple opening line like; Another blast of cold air forced him to fall back to his reality which was London. (Or whatever) Another chilling breeze caused him to bring the cup up closer to his lips and take a sip of liquid warmth. It was getting late, and the robust street earlier has become considerably less busy. But he is used to this. She was always late. Every day after their first meeting, it was always him who came to the park first and waited for her. Then she would come later, sheepishly apologizing to him before beginning their routine: he wrote about her, and she drew him. Sometime they would show each other’s works and commented, sometime they argue about what they think would be better for his writing or her drawing, and most of the time they procrastinated and just talked about life while enjoying their coffee. Before he knew it, he realized that he was starting to look forward to their meeting. And she too, admitted the same when he told her. They could sense that they were becoming something more than just friends. They could sense it when they sit next together in those winter days, at first on the far sides of the benches, and then closer, and closer to each other, until their bodies touched, and they shared their warmth just by leaning on the other. But they could not say their feeling out loud. He was not ones that can say those kinds of things easily. He thought that he could not find it within himself to tell her, until one Christmas.

On that day, he came to their usual meeting spot with two cups of coffee – one for him, and one for her. However, to his surprise, as he walked to the wooden bench, he saw her from afar, with two cups of coffee on a paper tray in her hand. As they stood facing each other in front of the bench, they were unsure of what to say. He knew that her extra cup was for him, and she knew that his extra cup was meant for her, and both of them felt awkward for having an unnecessary cup of coffee.

“Well,” she broke the silence between them, “I am not late for once today! And I bought this for you.” She handed him a cup. “Merry Christmas!”

“Thanks.” He smiled, “but I have something for you too.” He placed his extra cup into her tray, and took her offered cup from her hand. “Merry Christmas.”

Felt no less awkward than before, they sat down on the wooden bench, and started to talk about trivial things. It didn’t take more than a quarter of a cup of coffee before they were out of topics to talk. It was then that he took a deep breath, and said: “I have something I want to tell you.”

“Hmm?” She turned her head and looked at him, waiting.

The words stuck within his mouth and refuse to come out. He couldn’t understand how he could so easily write about characters that can say those simple words flawlessly, and yet when he had to say it, he found it nearly impossible. He then drank the coffee gulps after gulps like a man drinking wine to search for bravery in drunkenness. But coffee was no alcohols, and after a cup and a half, having almost burnt his throat from drinking too much hot liquid, he was only able to start with great difficulty: “I-I...”

“...Love you?” She finished his sentence for him, and took a sip from her cup.

“...Now you are the one reading my mind.” He embarrassingly hid his face behind his hand. Ok this is the first bit that I really don't like. Saying I love you for the first time is not something to be taken lightly ar just something that you just.. do/ Its specail and should be very real. Its unrealistic for them both to finish each others sentences in a scence like this as it would seem rude and out of place of the girl to jump to the conclusion that he loves her. As far as we know they haven't even kissed. You have room for another full paragraph here. There doesn't seem to be enough emotion at all in this part.

“Great minds think alike, right?” She grinned. “I love you too.”

His recollection was cut short by a sneeze. It was getting colder as the night starting to fall, and the lukewarm coffee wouldn’t be enough to keep him from freezing anymore. He could feel the cold seeping through his clothing and greedily stealing his body heat away.

She will come.

He knew that she would come. He knew that she would come,I think cut this line out. Is it a typo? like she always does. The time he spent with her was the happiest time in his life. It was, and will forever be. On that day he met her, he found more than just inspiration. He found his meaning of life. They were just two lonely persons, wandering in the winter of life, seeking for some warmth. And they found that warmth within each other, the warmth that keeps them to continue to live on.
Slowly, he placed his hand over his heart. There, neatly folded in a chest pocket, was an unfinished drawing of him by her. She gave him this drawing on that Christmas day a year ago, and he had always keep it with him since then. And as he placed his hand on the drawing, he closed his eyes and started counting his breath.

One.

Two.

Thre-

“HEY!”

He heard her voice calling to him and opened his eyes. She was crossing the street, carefully looking around for incoming car before dashing toward him.

“I am sorry, really sorry.” She apologised to him while trying to catch her breath. “The traffic was insane!”

“It is alright.” He gently smiled to her. “Better safe than sorry right?”

“B-but I was late again...” She was nervously biting her thumb.

“It doesn’t matter.” He shook his head, still smiling. “Your safety is my utmost concern. There was an accident here last year, so I was really worried about you.”

“Gee, don’t worry too much, silly!” She quickly came beside him, and swept away the snow before sitting down. “I am here now, am I?”

“Yes...you are here with me now.” He stared into the black coffee at the bottom of his cup.

“Oh, and one more thing.” She fidgeted with her finger. “I am sorry for unable to finish your drawing.”

“Why are you apologizing so much?” He sighed. “I don’t care about anything else, as long as you are here with me, I am happy. I just love you that much.”

“S-stop saying those embarrassing things! People are looking!” Both of her hands were covering her blushing red cheeks.
“Hey, I did say I won’t care about anything but you.” He grinned proudly.

“Oh really?” She teased him. “What about yours writings?”

“Who cares about them? I would even risk my life for you. Hey, don’t laugh!” He frowned at her. “Look,” with his cup of coffee placed on the bench between them, he lifted up his two hands in front of him, and started to narrate to her with them as if telling a story to a little child. “Imagine this hand is you, and this hand is me. When you are in danger, I would run to you and whoop! Take you away to safety!”

She laughed and he watched her with a smile filled with happiness and joy. To be with her like this forever was all he ever wanted. But at that moment, he felt a hand placed on his shoulder.

“Brother, there you are.”

It was his sister. And he knew what she is going to tell him.

“Let’s go home, everyone is waiting.” She said to him, her voice heavy with worries.

“Go away.” He coldly replied to his sister and glanced aside. His love is there, looking at him, a profound sadness in her eyes.

“Brother, sitting out here in the cold is not good for you.” His sister continued. By using brother here I feel the cold relationship they have. I'm not sure if this is the image you want to get across so I used the colour RED. I like it though. Its good.

“Leave us alone.” Like a cornered beast, he growled dangerously.

“Us?...Brother...I brought your medicine.” Taking out a plastic bag fill with pills, his sister put it into his hand.
“I DON’T NEED THIS!” He furiously threw the bag into the pile of snow beside the bench.

“Please, brother, you have to face it.” His sister’s voice was gentle, but to him, they were the herald bells of doom.
With his shaking hands pressed against his ears, he mumbled, “No...Don’t say it...I beg you...”


But no matter how much he tried to prevent himself from hearing it, the words seeped through his hands just like the cold winds, and freeze his heart from inside. “Brother...She is gone. She died in the accident last year.”

The memories of that Christmas night came back and mercilessly ravaged his mind. He saw her walking across the street that day as they returning home. Her bag dropped, and the unfinished drawing flew out. She ran after it, oblivious to a car speeding toward her. He ran to her, and time seemed to slow down, as he witness her body flew into the air and bounced off the ground like a ragdoll. His body was heavy, and his legs dragging as he tried his best to run to where she laid - a pool of blood. Finally, he crashed down beside her. In her still-clenched hand was the unfinished drawing of him, tainted with blood. He cried out to her, begging her to stay with him. But she turned to him, weakly smiled, and placed the drawing in his hand. And then slowly, he felt the warmth in her hand fading away as the siren wailed from afar.

With his hands still shaking, he turned his head aside once again, slowly and painfully. He could only see snow and his frozen cup of coffee beside him.