Young Writers Society

It sounds like the ocean.

I always think that when I hear the wind rushing through the trees. Sometimes, I find myself getting lost in that sound, imagining that I'm on the seashore again, feeling the cool graininess of sand between my toes. But when I open my eyes, I never am.

In the summer, the leaves are green and healthy, and they can resist the wind, holding onto the trees like an anxious child clinging to its mother. But when autumn arrives, they loosen their grip. They finally surrender to the wind's persistent tugs and drift away, dying shells of their former selves.

Sometimes, I like to imagine how it would feel if I were a tree, shedding my leaves to reveal the bare black skeleton that shivers beneath. I like to imagine what I might look like without the cloak of beauty that covers me.

Perhaps the smooth skin on my hands would peel away first. Beneath the layer of skin-leaves, I would discover what my hands truly are. They would be calloused and frail, the fingers broken and flimsy. They used to be strong before they held the hand of someone who didn't love the girl to whom they belonged. When that someone left, they reached after him, begging to be held again. They reached so desperately at the empty air that they broke, and now they are useless.

The next leaves to blow away would be the ones covering my face. Gone would be the pretty brown eyes, and in their place would be a set of icy orbs, their sweltering color washed away by salty tears. No longer are the delicate pink lips soft and warm. Instead, they are a bright shade of chapped scarlet, bleeding from being bitten by sharp teeth.

Finally, the leaves covering my torso would depart. Gone would be the tiny, muscular waist, replaced by broken ribs and decaying skin. If somebody were to peer through the gashes caused by people attempting to get at my heart, they could see the heart itself, beating slowly and unsteadily. At times, they might watch as it almost ceased beating altogether. And, if they were to look very closely, they could see a set of blurred initials burned into the bruised, purple surface.

The me that lives beneath the beauty is so different from the one that I see when I look in the mirror. Still, just because I can't see it doesn't mean that it doesn't exist. It's there, and it will always be there. I think that everybody has a version of themselves that lives beneath the surface, a raw, bleeding person that longs to be accepted by the world. Maybe someday, I will be able to reveal the real me. When that day comes, maybe everybody will reveal who they really are. Maybe, amidst a swirling torrent of amber leaves, I will dance with the rotting skeletons of the rest of the world, singing through my bleeding lips.

Maybe it will sound like the ocean.

All I have to say is amazing!

The first sentence makes the reader stop and think, "What sounds like the ocean?" Very good hook at the beginning.

Perhaps the smooth skin on my hands would peel away first. Beneath the layer of skin-leaves, I would discover what my hands truly are. They would be calloused and frail, the fingers broken and flimsy. They used to be strong before they held the hand of someone who didn't love the girl to whom they belonged.

When I read this part of the story, I will admit I became a bit confused. From the beginning, I thought this would just be a philosophical story using the seasons and the trees as comparison. Once you got through the awkward introduction of the fact that the intention of love was going to be in the story, you did well with the rest of the flow. Consider adding a few more sentences to make the flow better and not have the reader re-read a sentence and come out of the trance you put them under.

When that someone left, they reached after him, begging to be held again. They reached so desperately at the empty air that they broke, and now they are useless.

I like this part of the story the most because of the emotion behind these sentences. Especially the second one. Relating the fact that reaching for that sense of belonging to something bigger that it destroyed them hits a special note for everyone, whether it be love or simply trying to get on someone's good side. It shows that when you try to go after someone, you lose something very important of yourself if you are not that careful. Hence in this situation, your arms/branch limbs.

And, if they were to look very closely, they could see a set of blurred initials burned into the bruised, purple surface.

Not very in love with this line though. The sentences before it have a feeling of hyperbole that gives a good intention of what the speaker is feeling. This seems to send the message over-the-top and add that extra, and not needed, icing on the already great tasting cake. I seemed to point this out because when I read it, it drew me out of the trance of the story again. It is like hearing in an advanced math class that 2+2=4 and being taught an entire lesson on it. It is already known and not needed anymore repetition. Time to move onto the harder stuff; in this case, moving the story one sentence closer to the end.

The me that lives beneath the beauty is so different from the one that I see when I look in the mirror. Still, just because I can't see it doesn't mean that it doesn't exist. It's there, and it will always be there. I think that everybody has a version of themselves that lives beneath the surface, a raw, bleeding person that longs to be accepted by the world. Maybe someday, I will be able to reveal the real me. When that day comes, maybe everybody will reveal who they really are.

This is the big moment for the speaker, when they finally get a chance to blurt out what they feel about this entire transformation. I am a very opinionated person in my writing when the character has gone through something similar to what I have, or the character has a similar mindset as I do. This is another case. This is probably my favorite pat of the story when you get to hear the character actually speak about what he/she feels, what he/she hopes, etc., etc.

Maybe, amidst a swirling torrent of amber leaves, I will dance with the rotting skeletons of the rest of the world, singing through my bleeding lips.

Maybe it will sound like the ocean.

Love, love, love these last two sentences. The switch from direct opinions and thoughts to a dreamy, abstract sort of thinking is beautifully written here. I absolutely adore this kind of switch from style to style and you obviously do a good job at it.

No grammar mistakes found by myself or Firefox. I do not have any specific suggestions for changes in sentence structure or particular sentences needed to be deleted or added. Overall, brilliant job. Just watch the hyperboles and re-read your work to make sure you understand right on the spot rather than looking over it and thinking, "What did that just say? Let me read it again..."

Keep up the good work and keep writing! I expect to read more from you. :]

Hi there!

I must say I particularly enjoyed this piece! I really like the way how you wove the story around a tree with the narrator. Great job there as well!

Admittedly I had to read it twice to 'get' the story being told. Probably my fault, so don't worry.

I implore you to keep writing! As this is a splendid example of what you are capable of!

~ T.K