Young Writers Society

“I can’t understand you.”

“So?” His voice was harsh and unimaginably cold. He knew she couldn’t hear him.

“I can’t understand you. This music’s too loud.”

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

The stench of perfume and smoke evaporated as they stepped outside of the nightclub. It was late. She hugged herself tightly against the cold. He paused for a moment, examining her in the street light. Blonde. Perfect bone structure. Shining blue eyes.

“Do you have a car?”

Her lips were so red. Livid, almost.

“Yes.”

They walked down the street together. Her shoes clicked. It was almost business-like. Maybe in another life she would have been a hooker. Maybe she was a hooker. No, she had told him what she was. He couldn’t remember though. Secretary, probably.

A few minutes later they were in the car. She looked out of the window hungrily while he drove. Neither of them had spoken. She had put the radio on. Or maybe he had, he couldn’t remember. Rolling Stones.

“Are you going to fuck me?”

He smirked a little.

“Maybe.”

“You better.”

He glanced at her with a raised eyebrow. She stared back defiantly. His smirk grew.

“Keep pulling that face. You’re adorable.”

“Adorable? What am I, a kitten?”

“No. I’m working on the assumption you’re a girl.”

“Whereas you’re just another guy. I won’t remember your name tomorrow.”

He blinked and let the moment pass.

“We’ll see.”

The silence of his house was oppressive. He had decided she couldn’t be a secretary. She was far too assured. She paused for a moment while he shut the door behind them.

“Nice place.” She murmured. He turned to regard her and saw more than just poking playfulness, more even than the cold, flint-like flirtation that is sometimes found among the beautiful, for they learn to assume lust from others and do not understand how to go about creating it. He saw a shining cruelty in her eyes, and a delightful shiver ran up his body.
They were the same.

The thought took hold of him and his intricate web of thoughts collapsed. Animal passions sprang up in its place, and he grasped her in his arms.

They took what they wanted from one another. Two sets of damaged goods with holes where ‘love’ or ‘empathy’ should be. Animals.

this caught my attention and kept it. It was well written with the exception of a few talking heads. As good as it was it didn't feel quite right.... prehaps you could have made it a little bit longer? It did not feel finished. I think you should expand on it.

Bye!

I agree with Ad, you did end it a little bit abruptly. However, with the exception of that, it was well written. It made me wonder what their issues are, and did not leave me confused (as many other stories have when they end this fast). For a short story like this, you have done well! I would love to see more works of yours in the future! Keep writing!

Hey there Babs! 'Tis Lavvie again. I seem to have a knack for reviewing almost everything you post.

If there was a point to this story, I didn't spot it. It was just like they were at a club and then they drove to a house and had sex. I saw no plot line except for maybe the minor fact that this man was unsure about who this woman was. Either way, that didn't stop him from falling for her guile and so I don't feel like it was much a plot. A short story cannot be without plot otherwise it's just a sketch of something. I'm not sure what to call this. It's neither sketch nor story since it lacks plot. So what is it? You tell me.

I disliked how I just felt like I'd jumped into these two random people's lives. One minute I'm surfing around on YWS and the next I'm reading a lustful romance between two unknowns. If you want to keep these two characters fairly anonymous or secretive, then it may bode you well to at least describe where they are in the beginning. Obviously, yes, it's a nightclub, but what is this club like besides the obvious overwhelming smells of who-knows-what and blaring music? What's its atmosphere like? Is this where the two people met? Specifics, specifics, specifics, Babs. Don't be scared.

Describe more what it was like during the car ride. Despite the fact you write it so flippantly, non-chalant, like it's nothing of importance, I feel that it's important. This guy is intelligent - what is he thinking? Is he scared the girl is going to reject him? Is he anxious to get to his house and see what happens? What is he thinking during this silence in the car? Does it unnerve him or not? You mustn't be so blase about it all because these emotional descriptors can really help set a type of mood for the entire short story and possibly hint to a plot point, however weak and minute it may be.

As for nitpicks, I have one:

“I can’t understand you.”

I think the word 'understand' would be better in a different sort of context. Since it is music (I think?) that is causing her to not 'understand' him, the word 'hear' might be more suitable. If he was slurring words, though, it might be different. He could be, but you've not stated that, be it directly or implicitly. As far as I know, she can't hear him because of the music. 'Hear' is just so much more exact and fitting in this context.

If you have questions about this review, don't hesitate to shoot me a PM.

Yours,
Lavvie