Young Writers Society

The house was quiet, still. I cry, beg to move, but my arms, my legs, are frozen. Shock encircles me. I am numb. The TV flashes silently in the corner, the mute has been turned on, so that the dark, placid room is rubbed by the blue, gray images flashing on the screen, pulling at the shadows. Their mouths move, but no words escape. No words escape. I try to stand, pull at my legs, grab onto the edge of the chair. My knees shake, buckle. I fall back into the chair, one small, crystal tear falls into the palm of my hand. I watch it, watch as that tiny drop of water dissolves in my fingers, my cracked, olive skin. Watch it until you can never prove it existed. What will I say? How will I say it? I try to work my dizzied mind to form words, the right words, but my mind simply flashes back to the phone call, over an hour ago.

"Is this the Ramakrishna residence?"

"Yes. Can I help you?"

The man on the opposite end of the phone was confused by my accent. He paused, breathing heavily, trying to deceiver my words.

"Is this the home of Ghandi and Mohamid Ramakrishna ?"

"I said it was."

"There's been an accident on route 50, heading to Rochester. Please send someone here as soon as possible."

He hung up. Silence followed by a long, deadly, endless ring.

I can hear the gravel outside crunching beneath the weight of tires. Someone has come. I clasp my hands together, try desperately to balance on my knees. No such luck.

Isabella has arrived with Rod, her American boyfriend. She looks at me, staring at the soundless screen, the receiver dangling hopelessly.

"Emma...is something wrong? Are you OK?" I can't say it. My voice is soundless, powerless. "Emma....are you OK...answer me." I open my mouth, cough out the words. "There was an accident. Their dead." Isabella kneels down, takes my hand gently in her own. "Tell me what happened."
"A man called. He asked if they lived here. I said yes. He said there was accident and to get down to route 50 as soon as possible. I know it...they died." I sink lower into the seat. Isabella doesn't need to ask anything more. Rod is here now. "What happened here?"

From that moment I knew things would never, could be the same.

I really liked this. Especially the begining - it was very atmospheric and tense to read.

I have only two problems with this piece:
1) You sometimes used passed tense, even though the majorty is in present.
2) There are a couple of misspellings in there (such as 'their' when it should be 'they're')

Sorry to confuse people. I was acctually using past tense to relive the memory of the main character.

This has real depth to it. I considered it very well written. I never noticed the change from past to present tense at all. Do you live in New York, because there's a Rochester there. The only problem with your piece is that the entrance is one of the things that drags the reader in, but I had to go back to it to find out what she was so upset about. Very good description though, it pulled me right in. Congrats!

Your story really pulled me in from the start. I really liked the atmosphere, it was fast paced, and tence, and kept me reading. Is there going to be more on this? part two?

This was sort of the prolog so there should be another part (if i'm not too lazy to keep going) lol.