Young Writers Society

The bedsheets laid undisturbed beside me that night. Once in a while, the wind would rattle off percussive rhythms against the shutters of my room, but it was never him. I didn't expect it to be him.

The late hours came and went; before long, the first rays of sunrise filtered across my bare feet with a warm glow. I didn't open my eyes though. I remained entangled, unmoving in my blanket until sunset of that same day. As the chorus of crickets outside my window resumed their symphony, as the evening breeze died down into a respectful silence, I became all too aware of the horrible emptiness of being alone.

I didn't move in inch. Now that night had returned, I felt the automatic mask of numbness slip over me. Like the night before, I shunned all feelings into a nice little corner in the back of my mind.

It was either that, or I finally fell asleep.

I awoke a time later staring at his eye.

That's just it though. It was the eye and nothing else. A simple, innocent-looking eyeball sat upon his pillow: the brown iris stared back at me as if belonged to a child...so pure and innocent.

I recognized whose eye it was without realizing it at first. Of course I knew countless people with the same eye color, but as I watched my distorted reflection on the surface of the glossy iris, my heart dropped... quite a bit. There was no question it was his. I couldn't breathe, and I couldn't stop smiling out of pure hysteria. It was when I reached up to wipe the tears from my stinging cheeks that I discovered the other eye enclosed in my right hand.

My lungs burned for hours from screaming. I threw up blood later that day. I wanted to go insane. I was going crazy over the fact that I wasn't going crazy.

I doubt many people understood the feeling of holding a glossy eyeball in your hands--the eye that belonged to the same person who used to wipe the tears from one's own eyes. The agony tore at me as if my limbs were being pulled seperate ways by horses.

The day passed away as inconsiderately as the day before. The only difference was that I'd made myself get out of bed and brought myself to dial the numbers that would put me in direct contact with him. It was high time that I finally asked him why he insisted on sending me such strange gifts.

Once in a while, the wind would rattle off [s]percusive[/s] percussive rhythms against the shutters of my room,

Finally. A good writer.

Thank you! I really appreciate your help. Error fixed!

Hey, Ten Sweet Bliss!

Katharsis is right. ^_~ You have a really awesome style--it flows well, and you know how to put a sentence together. (Doesn't sound like it should be rare, but trust me, someone who knows what they're doing is.)

I wasn't expecting to like "mysterious" quality of the narrator, either, but I did. I think it was a good fit for this piece. However mysterious your narrator might be, though, there are a few things you have to keep in mind:

WHO ARE YOU AND WHY DO WE CARE?

The problem with having a nobody narrator is that they are, well, a nobody. One of the ongoing battles writers face is making their readers care about their characters. This can be done with what I like to call the National Enquirer approach.

From Suzanne's The Party Killers:

Agatha’s bones shivered beneath her skin as she stood under the hotel’s awning. She swore she would hear her knees knocking if the rain wasn’t smothering all sound. A butterfly was suffocating in her curls. She plucked it out and repositioned it. No one had told her it was a brooch and that it didn’t go in her hair. Her emerald dress was covered in sequins and from afar she looked like a fish.

You've probably seen the covers of supermarket tabloids--"Nicole Richie Too Skinny!" "Jennifer's Amazing Transformation!", and so forth. With character-driven stories, you want to start them off with a bang. You want your main character to appear with a pouff of smoke, and have the rest of their introduction just as magical.

With your story, however, this appearance can be more subtle. You need to come up with an entrance that will endear us to your main character, however, because at the moment, she doesn't have the bling or the body to convince us that she (or he?) is worth listening to.

Creating this intimate, loving relationship between your characters and your readers is really important--I think my main problem with this piece was that it was extremely passive. She/he threw up, I didn't care. I simply wasn't attached.

[I'm going to refer to your character as "she" just to keep things consistent.

MAIN CHARACTER STEPS TO FABULOUSNESS:

- Introduce a conflict, or a predicament. Why is she waiting for him? How does she feel about waiting?

- What is their history together? Who is this guy? (This Van Gogh complex simply must be explained.)

THE POINT

I think my second problem with the piece was that it didn't seem to have a point. I really, really wanted to love it--anything with disembodied eyeballs is totally my thing. But it didn't seem to have a message, and it didn't seem to have the "motion" that a story with a full plot and cast seems to have.

Your writing is beautiful stylistically. However, the lack of attachment and the lack of a plot was kind of tough to buy. "Snapshot" stories are all right, as long as there is some sort of meaning or significance to it. You've set the bar pretty high with significance with the eye, but I wasn't certain if it was metaphorical or real, or why he would do that, or anything such. Structure is going to be your mission for the next few stories you write. You've got major talent, you just need to know how to put it together. ^_^

__

Feel free to PM me if you have any questions, or if you have something else you'd like me to take a look at. I'd be happy to.

*clutches heart* You found me out! I had purposefully and quite foolishly left the plot vague to fill in later as I wrote, but obviously that idea didn't work. Thank you so much for your advice though. I believe I've garnered a lot from what you're saying--I'll definitely work on my structure, so thank you again for pointing all this out to me!