Young Writers Society

She doubts me. She loathes me. She hates me. My sweet little angel, embedded in white sheets, doesn't want me to hold her. Her mother, scorned by a car crash, has left me here to pick up the pieces. I was once a proud father; now I am nothing more than a babysitter to her. She looks more and more like her mother every day. Those hazel eyes becoming more clearer and clearer as the days wane on. The inheritence of appearance is almost ghost-like, as if Mum's presence is within her. It's like some sort of reincarnation or ressurection of thought and appearance.

She cries every day. She hopes for me to pick her up. She never does because I never know when she wants something. Her name is preventing me on the cusp of sanity to climb back up, from a tragic fall into the abyss. Her crying, endless nights, the baby alarm. No more am I allowed to move on from her mother's death if my baby is so much like her. I really don't get it. Why do I, with all of my grief, have to cope with all of this? It's her fault I'm here, trapped in a glass case of the most complex of human emotions. The nature of my eyes is primitive in stark comparison to her majestic spheres.

As if I cannot already be having this amount of pure unluck, it's her brithday today. She wants me to celebrate her day even though she has no one else to celebrate it with. She may aswell live this day like any other. It's endless. To hear her cry is like the wake up call to my own personal hell. The semi-darkness of her shadow, almost transforming, is holding my hand close to my heart. It's as if she's gradually changing into the evil I forsee in front of my very eyes.

It's getting late. Sitting back down I turn on the TV, to hopefully have a night of peace this time. But then she starts crying again.

Hi there! Welcome to YWS!

This is a very good piece. I like how you told the background within the lines of the story rather than before it. That way we got the information we needed as we read. I like the way you described the situation your main character is in. You portrayed him very well and he's definitely relatable. The situation he's in is a rare one and we cannot expect him to deal with it easily. You did a good job describing his feelings.

Overall this is a good piece and I enjoyed reading it. PM me if you have any questions about anything! Keep writing!

how this is a great I really liked the plot. I like how it can actually touch the readers feelings. It's a very depressing book i love it! keep writin!

Hey Fred! Welcome to YWS! Feel free to swing by my wall of you need anything or just want a chat
Onto the actual review now then.
This is a really good piece, if not a little short. If you really want to improve it - I suggest working on the importance of show not tell.
If you're unsure as to what this is, allow me to explain. If not, feel free to skip this next ramble as it won't really be of much use to you!
What’s the difference between show and tell? Well telling is the dependence on simple description: Rose was an old woman. Showing, on the other hand, is the use of suggestive description: Rose moved slowly across the room, her stooped form propped up by a refined wooden cane gripped in a twisted, hand that was covered by lucid, liver-spotted skin.
Both showing and telling express the same information — Rose is old, but the former simply states it flat-out, and the latter doesn’t need to state it, because you can see from the description that she is elderly.
Showing is better for two main reasons. First, it creates mental pictures for the reader. When reviewers use terms like "vivid," "evocative," or "cinematic" to describe a piece of prose, they really mean the writer has succeeded at showing, rather than merely telling.
Second, showing is interactive and participatory: it forces the reader to become involved in the story, deducing facts (such as Rose's age) for himself or herself, rather than just taking information in passively.
That's about the basics, but if you're confused don't hesitate to ask! I think the idea you;ve got here could even be turned into a novella
Keep it up!
Icy.

Haiii!

Okay so you have a beautiful beginning, though I'm not sure that 'scorned' is the right word in that second line. It feels really awkward and it's hard to know what impression to have or what mental image to conjure up. Also, where you have 'more clearer and clearer' ditch the more as it's only slowing your sentence down. I'm not sure about the speaker talking about his wife as 'Mum's presence' as he'd surely think of her by name or as his wife or as the child's mother. The way you've phrased it, it seems like you mean to say his own mum. The last sentence of the first paragraph is a tad repetetive. I'd suggest refining it or changing it. Maybe simply, 'It's like some sort of reincarnation.' would be more solid and dramatic.

She cries every day. She hopes for me to pick her up. She never does [Never does what? This doesn't follow on from the previous sentences!] because I never know when she wants something. Her name is preventing me on the cusp of sanity to climb back up, from a tragic fall into the abyss. Her crying, endless nights, the baby alarm. No more am I allowed to move on from her mother's death if my baby is so much like her. I really don't get it. [A change in tone here. This is much more colloquial and younger than the speaker has been until now. I think it would be more in character as, 'I don't understand, really I don't.' or something along similar lines.] Why do I, with all of my grief, have to cope with all of this? It's her fault I'm here, trapped in a glass case of the most complex of human emotions. The nature of my eyes is primitive in stark comparison to her majestic spheres.

I'm not sure about describing the child's eyes as spheres, you're stepping into a cliche there. It's almost as bad as orbs, though not quite. Maybe have another think of what's more original and what image do you really want to give? Are the child's eyes green and round like garden peas or are they blue and soft as the downy feathers on a baby blue jay?

Alright so I like this, but I expected more from the ending. It felt unfinished and unresolved, what message did you want to give us with this story? So maybe extend it just a little and have him come to terms with his child, either positively or in a more negative light. Perhaps he decides he can't handle it and resolves to give the girl up or maybe he sees something in her smile and knows he has to raise her, has to see her grow into a woman so that he can be comforted by that smiel again. I don't know; it's your story. But give us something more to take away.

Feel free to ask if you have any questions and hopefully this has been helpful!

Heather xxx

Amazing!
Let me tell you, one thing I love to read, is a sad story. I do all of the time. However, of all things in which I've read, this is the only one that would have possibility to bring a single tear to my eye. So very much emotion lies within this story. Very, very well done. I hope you write more like this one.
Keep writing! -Guider

Hi there!!
This was really nice. Um..I'm not exactly sure how to explain why, but it was. xD

Her mother, scorned by a car crash, has left me here to pick up the pieces.

I don't think scorned is the right word here.

Those hazel eyes becomeing more clearer and clearer as the days wane on.

That would read better

The inheritence of appearance is almost ghost-like, as if Mum's presence is within her. It's like some sort of reincarnation or ressurection of thought and appearance.

I think there was too much 'appearance' here, even though it's only repeated twice.

She cries every day. She hopes for me to pick her up. She never does because I never know when she wants something.

She never does what?

No more am I allowed to move on from her mother's death if because my baby is so much like her.

I think that would sound better.

As if I cannot already be having this amount of pure unluck, it's her brithday today.

Unluck is not a word, and it should be 'birthday'.

She wants me to celebrate her day even though she has no one else to celebrate it with.

Huh? Obviously she would want him to celebrate her day with if she had no else to celebrate it with.

The semi-darkness of her shadow, almost transforming, is holding my hand close to my heart.

I didn't understand this sentence.

It's as if she's gradually changing into the evil I forsee in front of my very eyes.

I didn't like this sentence. And it should be 'foresee'.

It's getting late. Sitting back down I turn on the TV, to hopefully have a night of peace this time. But then she starts crying again.

I liked these sentences. Nice ending

One thing I didn't get (maybe I'm just dumb) was the birthday part. How does she know/think all that if she's just a baby? Maybe you were trying to say something else, or..I don't know? But apart from the nitpicks, that was all I noticed.

Great job!! Keep writing )

Well written! I really like the vibe of this piece. I agree with IcyFlame and If I could make any suggestion it would be that you can expand this, it can be a part of a brilliant novella!!! or maybe just a 'longer' short story with a sense of completeness. You can build on this and it could work wonders..

PEACE, bro... Keep em comin'