Young Writers Society

This is the first in a bunch of stories of moments that have happened in my life. I couldn't write them like a normal non-fiction, because it didn't feel like me so this is how the first came out and the rest followed. If you wish, you can tear it apart. It'll help me in the end.

---

She stepped, then she fell.

The Jell-O like legs, she was used to. The sense that she’d been on the merry-go-round far too many times to count didn’t bother her.

Her arms no longer supporting her scared her to death. The fact that her sight didn’t turn into a dark tunnel cued her that something was different this time.

When she hit the ground, she felt nothing.

It was as if she were watching the world through someone else’s eyes. She didn’t mind that at all.

Until she started shaking.

And that shaking turned to violent convulsions.

Her head hit the vacuum. There was only a vague tingling sensation where she hit the hard plastic. It was perfect, not feeling the pain. It was absolutely wonderful, if you forgot about the spasm.

Then it stopped.

No slowing calmly.

It just stopped.

It took a moment for the feeling to come back to her. Her mother asked if she was okay.

She lied.

She hid in that place she’d found.

Watching life through another’s eyes.

She wasn’t allowed to not be okay. Too many people counted on her.

So she’d hide.

It was easier to hide from it.

The trance seemed to work, as she went throughout the day in an almost suffocating routine.

No one knew.

Except her.

But that didn’t matter.

The morning stayed in her head. She couldn’t hide. It was there. Always there.

The numbness wasn’t enough to convince her body that the convulsions were nothing.

It didn’t work.

No matter how many times she repeated to herself.

It couldn’t be okay.

The bed that was her refuge welcomed her and she delved into worlds not
her own.

Wrote things she wished were true.

Until the dark came and swallowed her senses.

It was okay now.

It would be until the alarm woke her and told her otherwise.

Eventually, the hiding would work.

It had to.

It just had to.

Hi Lacey! I have to say first that you sound like such a survivor! But I'm not sure if for you to tell what happened to you would be to painful, but I kept wondering what happened as I continued to read. The sentence "Her arms no longer supporting her scared her to death," seemed out of place, for a minute it left me a little confused. Now for what I loved about this piece, I thought this was great imagery! It was so vivid, you really created great images! Keep writing this was an excellent start and I definitely will be reading the rest of your works. I'll be praying that God heals you.

Whoaaa!
That was absolutely great! Mostly because I could relate, especially towards the end, it felt like you were starting to describe me.
I loved it I absolutely adored it, maybe non-fiction is your thing!
Especially the

She wasn't allowed to not be okay. Too many people counted on her.

That reminded me of my daily life right there.
Stay strong, and remember that people feel like we do and that's why we all help each other.

You're great. Awesome.

*grabs newbie and huggles obnoxiously*

Aww, it sounds like you’ve obviously had it rough but I think that anyone who is able to write about their own life is stronger than I am.


But looking at this from a writing point of view, this is very short and right now, it’s only sort of a shell of what this story could be. You started off really well at the beginning but then the sentences became very short and choppy, more like a poem. In fact, a lot of them are fragments, which are kind of – from a grammatical view point – a big no-no.

Also, this leaves your readers with a lot of unanswered questions. You start talking about something but only briefly. Try to settle in on one event and exploring only that event. It can make for a more concrete plot line.

But you have definite potential here with some work. If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to ask.

~lilymoore

Wow, again. This was awesome. I definitely can relate to you. In all ways. The anxiety in the first poem I reviewed of yours and in the convulsions (Both from drugs and some unknown reason) and in the way you think that you have to be okay, for everyone else. To many people need you for you to be weak, so you stay strong until you just start to break but you only let yourself break behind closed doors. I started trying to find other ways to deal with everything, drugs, alcohol, sleep, guys. They only gave me a temporary fix though, at the end of the day, when I woke up, the high wore off or the boy went home, I was back down, crying under my covers, behind a locked door with the lights off, acting like I'm sleeping.It's not that I don't love being there for everyone or anything, I love it, I pride myself on being a strong person for everyone, something they can hold on to and take shelter under when the storm comes but sometimes its just too much. I started writing, got on some medication and started doing counseling. I was diagnosed with Bi-Polar Depression. I hope everything works out for you and if you ever need to talk just message me.

Much Love and Luck,
XOChange

...............Wow. This is powerful......it's really quite well written - save for the format, i think it reads rather like a poem, but other than that, I didn't see many grammatical errors, so you're good with that. Keep up the good work!