Young Writers Society

“Is your mother home?” the inspector questions me, standing just outside the houses door step.

“She’s working a late shift tonight.” I reply. “Things have gotten hectic lately, ever since dad…” I trail off, clenching my sweaty palms.

Tears sting behind my eyes while my heart burns a tissue.

Mum had taken me earlier to the doctors to get it checked, he said it was due to too much stress and told me I needed to rest.

But how can I rest?

Ever since dad…

No. I can’t bring myself to say it. Saying it means accepting it and that’s something I won’t allow myself to do. I promised myself I wouldn’t give up hope.

And I never.

Ever.

Go back on a promise.

I zoom back into reality, blinking the tears away before they get a chance to show.

“Erm,” The inspector clears his throat awkwardly, “very well then, can you tell her to give me a call when she gets home?”
I eye him suspiciously. “What for?” Hope expending beneath my chest.
No, not again.

I try lowering my expectations.

Last time I had let my hopes rise high, I had hoped for news of my dad, but ended up disappointed. My hopes crashed so hard they left a hole through Earth. I could’ve sworn I spotted China.

But it’s too hard to lower them.

The desperation of knowing any little information about my father always brought me to my knees.
Begging for an answer.

“It’s rather important she does.” He replies hesitantly.

“I can always pass on the message.” “No,” He says flatly, “this is rather very important.”

I narrow my eyes as I study his face closely. He looks ghostly pale for a tan skinned man.

My heart skips a beat.

No.

That’s the sign I have feared for these past three weeks.

The sign of bad news.

“It’s about my father,” I say slowly, “isn’t it?” “I’m sorry Miss Scarlett, it is strictly classified.”

No.

My heart beat quickens as I search his dim brown eyes.

“Please, tell me.” My voice trembles as I plead, “please.”

For a while the air is fills with uneasy silence, then he sighs. “I’m sorry. But I have to discuss this with your mother first.”
I try to blink but I’m too late. My vision blurs with tears. One manages to slide down my left cheek. I wipe it away hoarsely before the inspector can react. My throat a box of sand.

I clear my throat which only makes it hurt more. “Is that all.” I say with as much dignity as possible.

I hated it when people saw me cry.

He looks down at me with sympathy. “You know, you don’t have to act so strong in front of me.” He says in a soothing voice.
This only pisses me off.

One thing I hated more than people see me cry was…

When people pity me.

“Who’s pretending?” I outburst rudely. He opens his mouth to reply but I interrupt him, “I believe you’ve got work to do?” “Miss Scarlett-” “Have a good night, Inspector Lenny.” And with that, I slam the door shut to my apartment, lock it, and run to my room to cry for the fourth time tonight.

As I run I repeat to myself,

My name is Isabelle Scarlett,
and my dad did not go missing three weeks ago.

ExtremeFreakShow -

So, hello there; I almost felt mean saying your username above! I felt like I was insulting you, which is icky. Alas, I should probably "get on with it" and do the review of this, now, should I not? However, it is very nice to meet you! Now, to the review:

After I finished reading through this, my first thought was that I was hungry and that the pack of Oreos in the fridge looked really darned good. More sophisticated, however, was my second thought, which was: wait, is this a story? To be quite honest, perhaps "brutally" so, this tidbit seems to me to be more of a blurb, the sort of thing that you would see on the back of a book cover. As far as I know (admittedly, I don't know that much) this forum is for stories, not blurbs. But nonetheless: I shall review the idea itself!

For some reason, this plot-line seems very familiar to me. Perhaps it is just me or I have had way too much tea today and it's fizzing in my head, but I feel like I have definitely seen this idea somewhere before. What I like about your idea is that it has conflict and conflict, m'dear, is a definite key to a good story, so that's superb. It's just oozing with conflict, I can see it. And, oh, do I love it! However, another thought train of mine was, well, what kind of mum would move their whole life to another state just so the daughter can be with her friend? That's a load of bullfrogs! Not a single - not even one - mother I know would act as such. It's such incomprehensible. You want your characters to be relatable, so we feel them; that, m'dear, is hardly relatable, at least not for me. I don't think it's relatable for much of anyone, actually.

Also: just personal opinion, but if you must name your character Isabella and give her the same last initial as the infamous Isabella Swan, please, please, please, do not let her nickname be Bella as well. It's too much of an association at the moment, I believe; alas, that is just me - it would be fine to keep it, but it is a thin line and Twihards are vicious people, you know, and if they think you are imitating darling Bella they might just get all crazy on you, dearie.

Next, the strangely drawn to thing bothers me quite a large deal. I see it so much in stories nowadays and to be in just seems like an author's opt-out. It's a very Twilight-ish deal, that "drawn to" thing. The whole "oh, I've been alive for hundreds of years and I'm drawn to you" stuff - it's just weird. What I like (and this opinion, make no mistake) is a good, real romance with mistakes and messy kisses and possibly love and not a lot of angst. Your readers want something real. Give them that, they'll love you for it. Give them dinner dates at Taco Bell and running down Fifth Avenue after playing a joke on a hot dog stand worker, etcetera. Catch my drift?

However, I do like the twist that she is getting notes now too. It's cool. Spiffy, indeed. Message me when you write more, m'kay? Thanks for giving me the pleasure of reviewing this.

- roach

Hello, ExtremeFreakShow!!
I think this is a very good piece of writing in its unique quality, and I especially admired your use of rough simile in the "my throat a box of sand" part, and I like how you've made your protagonist quite stubborn in the sense that they cannot accept the inevitable, and although I do think I have read something quite similar to this before, I believe that your build-up of a stubborn character and usage of rough language and I admire it. I also quite like the twist, and I'm eager to read more from you. Message me when you write more, okay? I can't wait to read more, nonetheless!!