Dead

Hey just so everyone knows i didn't mean to put this under Sci-fi. It is a romantic fiction sorry.



“Yeah. I know. No really Mom I’m fine. Yeah, I’ll call you tomorrow with the date. I love you too. Bye,” After I hung up with my mom I sat down on the couch... and cried. No, not cried sobbed. I mean what else is a girl supposed to do when he husband just died. I mean I’m only 24 and I’m a widow, a freaking widow.
At the moment my annoying phone rang singing that terrible Mozart song. I pushed my curly blonde hair out my face.
“Hello?” I answered trying to sound like I hadn’t been crying like only two seconds ago.
“Hi,” A mans voice answered back.
“Umm...not to be rude but who is this?”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. I am Bill.. from the funeral home.”
There I sat, talking on the phone, planning my dead husbands funeral. He asked dumb questions like cremated, flowers, coffin? I just felt like saying shut the hell up! Then I thought it has to be done sometime, so why not now? Now I think about how bitter I must sound. I wasn’t always this bitter, it’s a recent thing.
I actually like to think of myself as a very nice, vibrant girl. I’m sporty, funny, lovable, loving, and pretty. Oh my, am I pretty, with my blonde ringlet curls, gorgues blue eyes, and perfect lips. That sounds a little egotistical but I knew that no matter how bad I looked to myself, I was stunning. He told me that too, Alex told me that every day.
The image of Alex’s face used to be so vivid in my mind. I could of pointed out every freckle, mole, dimple, and yes even zit on his face. Now only two days after his death the vision is disappearing. His silky brown hair, stop-you-in-your-tracks brown eyes, and not to mention his perfect personality. He was conservative but outgoing. Nice but not to nice. The thing that I most loved about him was his gift to be able to remember every single thing. Man did I love him...why? Why me? Why him?
During my mind trip to the past I dozed off. I dreamt that it was all a joke and that Alex hadn’t actually been shot. Then he came back and lifted me off my feet and into his arms so tight I couldn’t breathe but yet, I didn’t want to. Then my phone rang. I hate that phone I swear I will disconnect that thing someday.
“Hello?” I was half asleep when I anwered.
“Mercedes?” I could tell it was my mother.
“Nope, this is Alex!”
“Ha ha Merce..it’s your mother.”

“No way...really?”
“Honey...”
“What?”
“I think it would be good if you came out to eat with us...please?”
“Us...meaning?”
“Your family, Grandma, Grandpa, Cousins.”
“No.”
“Mercedes? Honey...it will be good for you.”
“No. It won’t. You’re not getting this mom. My husband is dead, I don’t want to go out with anyone,” I was being a bitch but I couldn’t help it.
“Well...okay. I’ll call you later.”
“Bye.” I hung up the phone and pulled the cord out of the plug. I felt bad for yelling at her but at the same time, why doesn’t she get that I’m not ready for socializing yet. I mean I don’t even want to talk her much less my cousins and crap.
I just decided to curl up into a little ball on the couch and sleep. Even though I had been doing a lot of sleeping lately. I didn’t really have much else to do.

kinzygirl223 wrote:“Yeah. I know. No really Mom I’m fine. Yeah, I’ll call you tomorrow with the date. I love you too. Bye,” After I hung up with my mom I sat down on the couch... and cried. No, not cried sobbed. I mean what else is a girl supposed to do when he husband just died. I mean I’m only 24 and I’m a widow, a freaking widow.
At the moment my annoying phone rang singing that terrible Mozart song. I pushed my curly blonde hair out my face.
“Hello?” I answered trying to sound like I hadn’t been crying like only two seconds ago.
“Hi,” A mans voice answered back.
“Umm...not to be rude but who is this?”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. I am Bill.. from the funeral home.”
There I sat, talking on the phone, planning my dead husbands funeral. He asked dumb questions like cremated, flowers, coffin? I just felt like saying shut the hell up! Then I thought it has to be done sometime, so why not now? Now I think about how bitter I must sound. I wasn’t always this bitter, it’s a recent thing.
I actually like to think of myself as a very nice, vibrant girl. I’m sporty, funny, lovable, loving, and pretty. Oh my, am I pretty, with my blonde ringlet curls, gorgues blue eyes, and perfect lips. That sounds a little egotistical but I knew that no matter how bad I looked to myself, I was stunning. He told me that too, Alex told me that every day.
The image of Alex’s face used to be so vivid in my mind. I could of pointed out every freckle, mole, dimple, and yes even zit on his face. Now only two days after his death the vision is disappearing. His silky brown hair, stop-you-in-your-tracks brown eyes, and not to mention his perfect personality. He was conservative but outgoing. Nice but not to nice. The thing that I most loved about him was his gift to be able to remember every single thing. Man did I love him...why? Why me? Why him?
During my mind trip to the past I dozed off. I dreamt that it was all a joke and that Alex hadn’t actually been shot. Then he came back and lifted me off my feet and into his arms so tight I couldn’t breathe but yet, I didn’t want to. Then my phone rang. I hate that phone I swear I will disconnect that thing someday.
“Hello?” I was half asleep when I anwered.
“Mercedes?” I could tell it was my mother.
“Nope, this is Alex!”
“Ha ha Merce..it’s your mother.”

“No way...really?”
“Honey...”
“What?”
“I think it would be good if you came out to eat with us...please?”
“Us...meaning?”
“Your family, Grandma, Grandpa, Cousins.”
“No.”
“Mercedes? Honey...it will be good for you.”
“No. It won’t. You’re not getting this mom. My husband is dead, I don’t want to go out with anyone,” I was being a bitch but I couldn’t help it.
“Well...okay. I’ll call you later.”
“Bye.” I hung up the phone and pulled the cord out of the plug. I felt bad for yelling at her but at the same time, why doesn’t she get that I’m not ready for socializing yet. I mean I don’t even want to talk her much less my cousins and crap.
I just decided to curl up into a little ball on the couch and sleep. Even though I had been doing a lot of sleeping lately. I didn’t really have much else to do.

________________

Hey there! I liked this I mean it was short and to the point I hate it when people ramble in their own storyb, whihc, thankfully you didn't and that's usually true people usually sleep when there is nothing else to do, but I would think that she wouldn't answer the phone, and I think you should probably make it like.... 2 weeks? A month? Not two day two days you'd still feel numb, you would be out of tears and your eyes would be swollen out of their sockets. Anywho I liked this nad i hope you continue with it. Good luck, keep writing.

As always
-Max

“Yeah. I know. No really Mom I’m fine. Yeah, I’ll call you tomorrow with the date. I love you too. Bye,” After I hung up with my mom I sat down on the couch... and cried. No, not cried, I sobbed. I mean what else is a girl supposed to do when her husband just died. I mean I’m only 24 and I’m a widow, a freaking widow.

At the (that) moment my annoying phone rang singing that terrible Mozart song. I pushed my curly blonde hair out my face.

Nice but not too nice. The thing that I most loved about him was his gift to be able to remember every single thing.

“Hello?” I was half asleep when I anwered.

Answered


Okay that wasn't so sad as i thought it was. I mean if i had a wife and if she had die then i would be much more sadder, but she was just kinda sobbing and whats worse you didn't tell us, the reader how her husband died. Try deepening the plot or story, make it a little sadder and your done.

Hello!

First off, I want to quote the first page of a rather famous book called "A Grief Observed" by C.S. Lewis. He did the Narnia series, but this is something radically different from that and it's pretty awesome in the anguish that you can see. H. is his wife who died from cancer. He knew she was going to die, eventually, but when she actually did die, he tore himself up with grief. He wrote this and many other pages in a journal and then, after reading it, was so humiliated by it that when he did publish it, he did it under a pseudonym.

Anyway, here it is:

No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear. I am not afraid, but the sensation is like being afraid. The same fluttering in the stomach, the same restlessness, the yawning. I keep on swallowing.

At other times it feels like being mildly drunk, or concussed. There is a sort of invisible blanket between the world and me. I find it hard to take in what anyone says. Or perhaps, hard to want to take it in. It is so uninteresting. Yet I want the others to be about me. I dread the moments when the house is empty. If only they would talk to one another and not to me.

There are moments, most unexpectedly, when something inside of me tries to assure me that I don't really mind so much, not so very much, after all. Love is not the whole of a man's life. I was happy before I ever met H. I've plenty of what are called 'resources.' People get over these things. Come, I shan't do so badly. One is ashamed to listen to this voice but it seems for a little to be making out a good case. Then comes a sudden jab of red-hot memory and all this 'commonsense' vanishes like an ant in the mouth of a furnace.

On the rebound one passes into tears and pathos. Maudln tears. I almost prefer the moments of agony. These are at least clean and honest. But the bath of self-pity, the wallow, the loathsome sticky-sweet pleasure of indulging it--that disgusts me. And even while I'm doing it I know it leads me to misrepresent H. herself. Give that mood its head and in a few minutes I shall have substituted for the real woman a mere doll to be blubbered over. Thank God the memory of her is still too strong (will it always be too strong?) to let me get away with it.

It goes on, it really is a short book, but a good one, one of the most raw books of his that I've seen. I really recommend it!

Anyway, now on to your story! After reading your story, I didn't believe the narrator at all. It didn't seem like her husband really died. Remember that a husband is your best friend and lover. Imagine your best friend. Now imagine your best friend dead. What sorts of thoughts would go past your mind?

For me, if my best friend died, I would be completely devastated. I wouldn't want to eat, drink, do nothing. I would cry randomly. My family would force itself on me, despite my wish to be alone, and make sure I take care of myself. I wouldn't want to talk on the phone and since I would be too upset to talk on the phone, somebody else would do that for me. I wouldn't be able to talk at all. Humor would be difficult for me to comprehend, to accept. I wouldn't talk back at anyone--I would ignore them. I wouldn't think of myself--in fact, I would probably neglect myself until somebody had to come over and help me.

“Yeah. I know. No really Mom I’m fine. Yeah, I’ll call you tomorrow with the date. I love you too. Bye,” After I hung up with my mom I sat down on the couch... and cried. No, not cried sobbed. I mean what else is a girl supposed to do when he husband just died. I mean I’m only 24 and I’m a widow, a freaking widow.

It sounds weird... if she were really grieving, I wouldn't think that she would be thinking so much about what's she's doing. I would simply say, "I sat down on the couch and cried." I think the rest of the whole thought process of crying vs. sobbing is simply gratuitous. Also, the word "freaking" is an ugly word and you should get rid of it.

At the moment my annoying phone rang singing that terrible Mozart song. I pushed my curly blonde hair out my face.

So it sounds like she was sobbing one minute and answering the phone the next. I would have her stare at the phone a little bit. Maybe she would turn it off after listening to the song? Maybe she thinks about classical music and how it connects with her husband? Maybe she ponders why she put that song there in the first place? Who knows! But it's got to mean something.

“Hello?” I answered trying to sound like I hadn’t been crying like only two seconds ago.
“Hi,” A mans voice answered back.
“Umm...not to be rude but who is this?”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. I am Bill.. from the funeral home.”
There I sat, talking on the phone, planning my dead husbands funeral. He asked dumb questions like cremated, flowers, coffin? I just felt like saying shut the hell up! Then I thought it has to be done sometime, so why not now? Now I think about how bitter I must sound. I wasn’t always this bitter, it’s a recent thing.

I think it's unlikely that a funeral home would call her like that.

I actually like to think of myself as a very nice, vibrant girl. I’m sporty, funny, lovable, loving, and pretty. Oh my, am I pretty, with my blonde ringlet curls, gorgues blue eyes, and perfect lips. That sounds a little egotistical but I knew that no matter how bad I looked to myself, I was stunning. He told me that too, Alex told me that every day.

What sounds egotistical is not that she says it, but rather that it sidetracks the story. You should delete this.

The image of Alex’s face used to be so vivid in my mind. I could of pointed out every freckle, mole, dimple, and yes even zit on his face. Now only two days after his death the vision is disappearing. His silky brown hair, stop-you-in-your-tracks brown eyes, and not to mention his perfect personality. He was conservative but outgoing. Nice but not to nice. The thing that I most loved about him was his gift to be able to remember every single thing. Man did I love him...why? Why me? Why him?

Yes, his looks are very nice, but what did he do that she remembers? Why does she love him, specifically? Tell his story!

During my mind trip to the past I dozed off. I dreamt that it was all a joke and that Alex hadn’t actually been shot. Then he came back and lifted me off my feet and into his arms so tight I couldn’t breathe but yet, I didn’t want to. Then my phone rang. I hate that phone I swear I will disconnect that thing someday.
“Hello?” I was half asleep when I anwered.
“Mercedes?” I could tell it was my mother.
“Nope, this is Alex!”
“Ha ha Merce..it’s your mother.”

“No way...really?”
“Honey...”
“What?”
“I think it would be good if you came out to eat with us...please?”
“Us...meaning?”
“Your family, Grandma, Grandpa, Cousins.”
“No.”
“Mercedes? Honey...it will be good for you.”
“No. It won’t. You’re not getting this mom. My husband is dead, I don’t want to go out with anyone,” I was being a bitch but I couldn’t help it.
“Well...okay. I’ll call you later.”
“Bye.” I hung up the phone and pulled the cord out of the plug. I felt bad for yelling at her but at the same time, why doesn’t she get that I’m not ready for socializing yet. I mean I don’t even want to talk her much less my cousins and crap.
I just decided to curl up into a little ball on the couch and sleep. Even though I had been doing a lot of sleeping lately. I didn’t really have much else to do.

The humor thing and Mom's response doesn't seem very realistic. Maybe you can revise it so you have her think about memories of Alex? You can have her mom interrupt her with a phone, but it's awkward now. And what's to stop them from coming over?

Anyway, hope that helps! Emphasize the grief and it'll be better.

The first question I have to ask is, how is this story a science fiction story? There don't seem to be any parts of it that involve a scientific aspect. You might consider asking Nate to move it to the Other Fiction section, as it may be more at home there. Anyways, let's get to the review.

He asked dumb questions like cremated, flowers, coffin?

Cremated should be cremation. It flows a little better.

“Hello?” I answered trying to sound like I hadn’t been crying like only two seconds ago.

“Hi,” A mans voice answered back.

“Umm...not to be rude but who is this?”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I am Bill.. from the funeral home.”

A couple of things I want to point out in this section. It might not be such a good idea to have her say " crying like only two seconds ago." I don't know of very many people who still talk like a teenager when they're twenty, and I know of even less who like to read teenage talk in anyplace but dialogue. You could use the excuse that this is first person, and you could probably get away with it, but my caution still stands.

Also, if someone from a funeral home would call the family of the deceased, they would not simply answer with a hi. They are business people, therefore they would answer in a professional manner, especially with a subject as delicate as a loved one's funeral arrangements.

This story does have potential. You just need to give it some tender love and care, perhaps expand it a little. Do that, and I have no doubt this will be a story you will be very happy with.

Hey Kinzy! I will be your friendly little reviewer. :3

“Yeah. I know. No really Mom I’m fine. Yeah, I’ll call you tomorrow with the date. I love you too. Bye,” After I hung up with my mom I sat down on the couch... and cried. No, not cried sobbed. I mean what else is a girl supposed to do when he husband just died. I mean I’m only 24 and I’m a widow, a freaking widow

I think it's slightly awkward to start the story with this sort of neutral plop into a phone conversation. I'd like to see at least one sentence before this, a prelude to this sentence, to glide us into the setting, or the character - something simple.
"Bye." <-- period
"No, no cried - sobbed" I think a dash would suit your purpose here best.
"I mean, what else is a girl supposed to do when her husband just died?" Comma, and question mark. And whoa! This is a very informal question. Try easing us into this profound fact. You can't mention her husband dying so informally, casually.

At the moment my annoying phone rang singing that terrible Mozart song. I pushed my curly blonde hair out my face.
“Hello?” I answered trying to sound like I hadn’t been crying like only two seconds ago.
“Hi,” A mans voice answered back.
“Umm...[s]not to be rude[/s] but who is this?”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. I am Bill.. from the funeral home.”

What does that terrible Mozart song sound like? Describe.
"a man's voice"
No more ellipses here. I don't like ellipses, I think that periods look much better stylistically. "Um. Who is this?" She's not really being rude. He called her.

There I sat, talking on the phone, planning my dead husbands funeral. He asked dumb questions like cremated, flowers, coffin? I just felt like saying shut the hell up! Then I thought it has to be done sometime, so why not now? Now I think about how bitter I must sound. I wasn’t always this bitter, it’s a recent thing.

"planning my dead husband's funeral"
She has a very informal, casual thought process for someone who's husband just died. You need to work on her emotion, and detail her expression of it - you're much too simple right now. Complicate it. Death is complicated.

I actually like to think of myself as a very nice, vibrant girl. [s]I’m sporty, funny, lovable, loving, and pretty. [/s]Oh my, am I pretty, with my blonde ringlet curls, gorgues blue eyes, and perfect lips. That sounds a little egotistical but I knew that no matter how bad I looked to myself, I was stunning. He told me that too, Alex told me that every day

Don't list attributes like that. Instead, portray them in your writing so the reader can percieve these from the main character.

His silky brown hair, stop-you-in-your-tracks brown eyes, and not to mention his perfect personality

Try to never describe people as perfect in your writing.

Your making her emotions and her reactions very, very simplified - you need to complicate her train of thought, how she describes her situation, how she feels. Then it will be much more realistic. You keep saying "my husband is dead" as if to get this fact into her head so we can feel the grief that this statement should spark, but you shouldn't rely on this sentence to spark a reaction from the reader. We, as readers, need emotion, more detail, more thoughts on her thoughts. Not just the cold, emotionless fact that her husband is dead.

I hope I help - PM me if you have questions! Keep writing!

~ Clo

I can't say I cried. I never cry during books. But this needs some more mourning. As quoted by Gail Casron Levine, "MAKE YOUR CHARECTERS SUFFER!"

I need details! I want to know how her husband died! Well, I know he was shot, but why was he shot? Was he someone important? Was he in the middle of something at the wrong time? What happened? How did she learn about it? How did the people who told her get a hold of her?

Also, describing the grief is good. You just say she cried. Because this is in first person, I need some real emotion going on. Emotion that will make people's heart ache! Postivly make your CHARECTERS SUFFER!

(I know I sound kind of dramatic, but I try to get into the mood of what I'm writing.)

Usually, I love short stories. Stories that end up being verbose (like my own) start to bore me; just get on with the story! But this was too brief. If it were an outline of a conversation in one part of the entire story, then I'd say it was fine. But I want to know more about it. There was some brilliance in the self-description and description of Alex, but other than that, it was kind of boring. And this was a sad scene! Something like this should have emotion to it, make me feel a little bad for the character. But there was nothing. I didn't even know why the husband was shot. Also, make Mercedes a little sadder. A girl who cries right after she hangs up with her mom shouldn't be joking a short time later, especially saying she's her dead husband.

Try to pretend you're the main character; what would you feel if you lost a husband, especially to senseless violence (although we don't know for sure). And try to be a bit more descriptive; what is the person doing while they're talking? How are they talking? Where are they? Add those things to your conversations, and you'll already look like a better writer.