Young Writers Society

About the story:




I still can’t get over it.

I wish I never asked you to go. Even though it was New Year’s Eve, even though we wouldn’t be seeing each other for God-knows-how-long because the next day I’d frantically pack because the next day I’d have to run and take the 7 o’clock train to get back to Uni, I’d rather know that I could sit next to you and just chat because you were there, and–and–

It’s hard, trying to remember that you can’t come back.

I remember it. It was a dark, rainy night. The puddles on the road shimmered in the light from the lampposts. You and I were in your ancient burgundy golf down the high street. You had this CD on of your favourite band that I happened to dislike – it was a dodgy rock band, I think – and you and I were talking and laughing and having a great time. I remember at the traffic lights, you grabbed the bottle of perfume Blue Jeans and sprayed it on yourself. You knew I used to adore it when you wore that perfume. I remember you leaning in to kiss me.

The lights turned green as you abruptly pulled away. You quickly pushed the accelerator pedal, but it took a few seconds for the car to move. Cars horned behind you, but you didn’t care. You raised the volume anyway, and carried on talking and laughing. You were halfway through this joke about a member in that band, but stopped when the rear of the car hit another while parallel parking. “Dodgy brakes. I need to get ‘em fixed soon.”

You and I stepped out into the cool, fresh summer air of the night. We walked along the cracked and bumpy pavement, looking at the stars. As we approached Dan’s house, we could already feel the bass vibrations on the pavement for the party.

We walked inside. It was incredibly warm and smelled sickly-sweet as if coke had been spilled everywhere. There were a few cans of it hidden somewhat discreetly under the table.

“Dance the night away...”

You started to dance. “’Part from the disco at school, it’s my first party.” I hung back near the walls, not far from you, making a great big fool of yourself. I stood there, expecting my head to fall off at any second from all that laughter.

Then you disappeared for a bit. Half an hour later, I started looking for you and found you in Dan’s kitchen with a bottle of Vodka, and some other stuff on the kitchen. “What on Earth are you doing, Tom?”

“Making cocktails,” you muttered, not bothering to turn around. A minute later–
“Voila. Vodka, cranberry, and lime!” You whisked around, the cocktail sloshing around and a bit sloshed onto the floor. “Shit.”

I snorted with laughter. Then, you started to go crazy with it. “Vodka and this!” “Vodka and that!” and then God knows what else. I decided to stay sober so we could drive hope. I was probably the only sober person out of everyone at the party, but yet, we were having a good time. Dancing the night away, like the music said. Well, you were, anyway.

At around 11, once I dragged you away from the kitchen, already very drunk (I wouldn’t have been surprised if – if it didn’t happen – you called me the next morning complaining with a bad first hangover). I leaned into your ear and whispered, “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too,” you replied, slurring. You leaned in to kiss me, but tripped and fell into a tall muscular man, in complete opposite to your small, lean build.

He growled and shoved you onto the floor as you slammed into the wall. I could’ve sworn my heart skipped a beat.

“Get the –” I winced as he swore “–off me you drunk bastard!” He yelled. The house suddenly turned quiet. Even the music turned down.

“Wanfigh’?” you replied, still looking disorientated and dizzy. “You wanfigh’–”

The bloke walked towards you and slammed a fist into your cheek. I tried to wrap my hands around you to try and stop you retaliating and causing everything to escalate, but you broke free and aimed a punch at his stomach. He dodged the punch before grabbing you and throwing you as if he was in the Olympics doing the Hammer Throw. You slammed once again into the wall.

“No!” I squealed. “Get off him!” I charged at him, but someone grabbed me from behind.

Your body slumped onto the floor, blood covering the wall. He slashed at your unconscious body on the floor, while I stood there, unable to try and stop it all...

Geranium. Fir.

***

I put my arms around your unconscious body in the ambulance. You were unconscious so you wouldn’t have heard any of the crap I said about how your Grandad was dead and your mum was in Spain, unable to be reached. Your face was covered in scratches, smeared in blood. Your eyes were closed; your chest rose and fell ever so slightly with every breath you took.

I didn’t bother wiping away my tears. You’d have probably hated seeing me like that, but all I was concerned about was making sure you’d be OK.

“He doesn’t look good, I’m afraid,” said the paramedic, placing an oxygen mask over your mouth. Tears streamed down my cheek. I wiped it off, looking at the smudged mascara over my hands. “Airways... breathing...” the paramedic murmured to herself.

I prayed that you’d be fine. But that heart monitor–it was as if it kept screaming at me to give up and die myself. He’s not dead. He’s not dead. He’s not dead... Sometimes it would make a frightening beeping noise. The numbers in red – beats per minute – plummeted and soared, like a plane unable to keep a steady altitude. The numbers in green seemed to have something to do with Oxygen. I looked at those numbers. They didn’t look too good.

I couldn’t see if we had stopped, but I could tell because the things in the ambulance stopped moving around. The engine was still humming as the back doors opened. We were greeted by a team of doctors out in the rain wearing white, with a hospital stretcher next to them.

“Quick, quick, on here now–”

Bad thoughts in my head swirled around. I saw you dead. I saw your lifeless body in the morgue. In the grave...

More tears fell. Was it my fault that this happened? If I hadn’t thought of that idea, would you not have been in that stretcher with the blood and scratches all over you? Would you–

“Looks like we need to operate. Looks horrible without even the X-ray. Call the porters to take him to the X-ray theatre and we’ll discuss from there.”
I looked up from my gaze towards the floor. Already, as we were still moving swiftly through the corridors, one of the nurses was fumbling with something–a needle perhaps. Another was holding a tray of equipment.

We turned sharply to the right and entered a room. One doctor knelt down and drew in a few millilitres of crimson blood from your arm. Another tried to push you over to your back. “Clearly broken,” he muttered to himself. “Get the porters. We need an X-ray and it’s straight to the Op Theatre.”

He broke your back.

Two male porters wearing baby blue uniform walked into the room and were preparing to take you to be X-rayed. I grabbed your arm and kissed your hand. You still smelled strongly of alcohol, but that perfume was still faintly there.


They placed your body as carefully as they could onto a hospital bed. It jostled and then began to move. I stood up and watched you go. Go. Go...

***
I waited for hours in the ward. Hours. Days. Weeks. Months. Years. Eternity.

I was sitting on the bed, with the cheap, blue, disposable curtains you’d find at hospitals closed. The lights were dimmed, the only sounds being the occasional beep of a heart monitor if their heartbeat got too high or too low and the snoring of one lady in the far corner near the window.

I didn’t know how long the operation would be going. All I knew was that I’d be here, waiting for you. I finished watching London’s fireworks a few hours previously. They were good, but I’d have rather watched a set of fireworks go off in sync with Big Ben chiming or the fireworks swirling around the London Eye in the same way that a hamster runs forward in a hamster ball.

A tear fell, as I lay in the bed, glancing at the ceiling...

I woke up in the morning to someone’s heart monitor beeping. I didn’t even realise I had slept. Straight away, I leapt out of the bed to find a nurse waiting outside our ‘area’ where the sunlight streamed out of the windows.

“It’s bad news.”

I burst into tears. It was like being told you’d be going to hell for something good you did. As if the sky had fallen. As if 2012 really happened and apocalypse was looming. When you died, it was like I died a little bit too. My stomach felt empty. I felt... empty. Nothing.

When I got your ashes, I put them into the tin box that your cologne had come in. It still smelled faintly of you. Of that citrusy, woodsy scent. I spread them over the Thames, like you said once to.

I wear it sometimes. It’s as if that’s the wax that keeps the candle in me burning. As if that candle is the way to keep you there and my memories of you alive.

Ducky~

Ola! I am here to review~ Wheee~

So. I'm not going to go in any particular order. I'll just say each point as it comes to my mind. (Well. I DO have a splitting headache at 11:30 at night. But never mind that.)

First thing I have to tell you. Even when the story ended, I felt like it was from a boy's POV rather than a girl's. Which is expected because there's only such an extent to where a boy can write from a girl's POV. And vice versa. At least, that's what I think anyway. I don't really know what you can do about that, but I just wanted to mention it anyway.

Secondly:

“Viola. Vodka, cranberry, and lime!”

I'm pretty sure it's Voila.

Thirdly:

You leaned into kiss me

Separate words, dearie. It's in to not into.

Next:

I could’ve sworn my heart skipping a beat.

This is gramatically wrong. There are two ways to write this. I could've sworn I heard my heart skipping a beat. OR I could've sworn my heart skipped a beat. Choose either of the two. Or just fiddle around with it and write a completely different sentence.

I said about how your Grandad was dead

This part of the sentence wasn't very clear. From what I understood, I suggest adding "how" between "about" and "your".

Lastly:

They too didn’t look good.

I think you meant "They didn't look too good." But, then again, that might just be me. :/

Anyway, I liked the general idea of the story. But you could have added a little more description about the person who died. Also:

Dance the night away...

THIS SONG. <3

~Ceramica~

Hey, Blues!

First of all - I love what you've done with the topic "Blue Jeans". It's a sad but well-written story, with no major flaws -- although I have to agree with HPR's point about feeling quite a large part of the way through it as if it was from a boy's point of view, although I understood that it was meant to be from a girl's. Though again, there's not much you can do to change that. I think it was the idea of "perfume" which kept confusing me, too -- although there are men's perfumes, perfume does generally make you think of a female thing. Perhaps you could find a different word to use?

Reading through it, I really didn't notice any other major points. You mention that you don't know what it's like to be drunk -- which is alright, because you didn't go into too much detail in that area. Your narrator stayed sober, which was a good choice if you really don't know much about it. What you wrote in that aspect was fine, I think.

There were a few points I noticed which weren't technically wrong, but just bothered me somehow when I read them. I guess I'll go into nitpicking mode now and point those out:

You still smelled strongly of alcohol, but that perfume was still faintly there.

Musk. Sandalwood. Vanilla.

The bed jostled and then began to move. I stood up and watched you go. Go. Go...

This is completely unrelated to writing, but it bothered me just slightly that the scents in italics weren't oriented to the right as the others were. (You can see that I really don't have many good points to pick with this.)

Honestly, I really think HPR picked out most of the errors in this. I noticed that you said the doctors were carrying a hospital bed and for some reason that bothered me -- maybe you could say "stretcher" instead?

Otherwise, I really liked this. I love some of the descriptions, the way you've written the boyfriend's dialogue, and the way you ended it -- Nothing. It's a great ending.

I guess that all I can say now is that I suggest for your next short story that you either write from a male's first person point of view, or perhaps try writing with a female main character again, but in third person.

Sorry for the lack of constructive criticism -- I'm just really struggling to find points to make. (Which is a good thing, because there aren't many major errors or problems with this.) I think you've really improved it since you first showed it to me. Great job!

~Misty~

Hello! I really love your story. You integrated the layers of the perfume extremely interestingly, and don't worry, you did include a very emotional, very real element into it. I just have a few comments. (Red is where I've changed minor spelling/grammar.)

...God-knows-how-long because the next day I’d frantically pack because the next day I’d have to run and take the 7 o’clock train to get back to Uni, I’d rather know that I could sit next to you and just chat because you were there, and–and–

This is a very fascinating group of words. As I read it, I couldn't tell if you purposely incorporated a measure of confusion into, or if it was simply unintentional. The repetition of "because the next day...because the next day," was an issue for me though. Also, this is an enormous sentence. Make "I'd rather..." its own sentence please, for the sake of fluidity.

As for your overall introduction, I found it a mess of words. You were trying to say too much in one little paragraph. I believe the last part, "I'd rather..." is extremely incongruous in relation to what was spoken above. Touch on the fact that you wished you hadn't asked them to go and your "even though" spiel. Then break in order to delve into the more sentimental dimension of the story. Trying to cram it into one little paragraph causes it to not only become unintelligible, but meaningless...like an unimportant growth on a larger being. I do like the ideas though, and the way you utilise voice is impeccable. The only reason I spent so much time on this one spot is because it is the intro, the first mark you make upon the reader.

You and I stepped out into the cool, fresh summer air of the night. We walked along the cracked and bumpy pavement, looking at the stars. As we approached Dan’s house, we could already feel the bass vibrations on the pavement from the party.

Is it not still raining? Also, you described a darker atmosphere before. I do not mind that you've transitioned into a "cool, fresh summer night...stars...etc" but as a reader, I would appreciate a little transition. I do like how you've used the weather to influence the mood of your story.

Then you disappeared for a bit. Half an hour later, I started looking for you and found you in Dan’s kitchen with a bottle of Vodka, and some other stuff in the kitchen.

Not a big problem, but I would appreciate if you would not repeat the same word twice in one sentence. You don't need to have it there twice and it's a bit of a faux pas.

At around 11, once I dragged you away from the kitchen, already very drunk {(I wouldn’t have been surprised if – if it didn’t happen – you called me the next morning complaining with a bad first hangover)}. I leaned into your ear and whispered, “I’ll miss you.”

Wait. What? Please reread this a tell me if you meant this sentence to be like that. (Red brackets.)

Geranium. Fir.

Okay. I liked the perfume notation up until this point. You have just described a man beaten and bleeding, with his spine broken, thrown against a wall. Then you just pop in like "Oh, and by the way, more perfume." It takes the edge off the scene in a very negative way. I understand where you'd want to incorporate contrast, but it really doesn't work as a transition. At all. If you have to continue with your scent commentary, perhaps choose a more aggressive/more depressing set of fragrances that not destroy the climax of your story.

Bad thoughts in my head swirled around. I saw you dead. I saw your lifeless body in the morgue. In the grave...

Interesting the the narrator would choose this little memory to include in her reminiscence. After all, it did turn out like this. I am just confused as to why this is necessary. You've solidified the fact that his life is hanging on a fraying thread plenty already, and the fact that you mention him dying here kind of takes away the crushing blow at the end where he really does die.

More tears fell. Was it my fault that this happened? If I hadn’t thought of that idea, would you not have been in that stretcher with the blood and scratches all over you? Would you–

I am confused as to what idea this person is referencing. It wouldn't work with the text I addressed earlier and it is not clear that it's addressing the overall idea to attend the party. Perhaps it would be best if this were cleared up or simply omitted. Although I do see its value as a transition.

Musk. Sandalwood. Vanilla.

I just wanted to tell you that this usage of the perfume scent was very well placed, in contrast to the one above.

I was sitting on the bed, with the cheap, blue, disposable curtains you’d find at hospitals closed.

You are at a hospital, no? There is no need to solidify your lengthy descriptions of the curtains with the fact that they can be found in hospitals. We know.

I finished watching London’s fireworks a few hours previously. They were good, but I’d have rather watched a set of fireworks go off in sync with Big Ben chiming or the fireworks swirling around the London Eye in the same way that a hamster runs forward in a hamster ball.

Your imagery throughout this story is very wonderful, however I'm questioning the relevance of this. Yes, it does address the setting, however aside from that it only detracts from the story by abruptly changing focus and not relating to the ideas surrounding it.

In conclusion, you story was very well written. Your word choice and the way you establish mood is nearly impeccable. I could tell that you lack real experience of this subject, but it wasn't that bad. All of my other comments are above. I do hope you take them into consideration because I believe that they will improve your already incredible story.

Sputnik

Ahmadbro!

Firstly, apologies for coming to this far too late. I have no words. *bows head in shame*
I'm quite impressed by this piece and the fact that you've implemented the subject matter so well with the situation.

My review isn't really necessary here since I see that you've already got plenty of great reviews from everyone before me. But nevertheless, I've become tempted to delve into the foray and review this short story despite knowing that my story-writing skills and technicalities in this type of literary field are far from being satisfactory. And be warned, I might be repeating a few things that the previous reviewers may have mentioned because I haven't read the reviews you've received to this so far.

Anyway, enough of the ranting. Now with the reviewing

So my first impressions on reading this were, "Alright, clearly, Ahmadbro isn't going to make this subject into some simple sweet/cutesy story about a perfume and how magical everything is when the scent approaches and all." No, you've outdone it far more better than I had imagined and I'm glad that you made this story the way it is.

In this piece, the perfume is more than just that. It's symbolism defines the very essence of the person who wore it. It went from being a memorable arousing factor of an individual to becoming a cherished keep-sake in the memory of the lost and beloved. While you've tried to focus on the significance of the perfume's value, you've also managed to keep the tone of the plot as real as it can get.

The story of a couple, narrated by the female (which is quite a welcome surprise, since I always find it wonderful when the writer speaks in the form of the opposite sex. So that's a really great feature to have in your story. And it definitely uplifts the novelty of the piece since you've pulled of the emotions of a young woman quite convincingly. So great job there.

“Wanfigh’?” you replied, still looking disorientated and dizzy. “You wanfigh’–”

Yes, I can totally hear this coming from two drunkards who want to bash the marbles out of each other.

There were some bits in the story that just seemed a bit awkward and a bit unnecessary.



Description, obviously, is an integral factor that can automatically strengthen a story's plot or discourage the reader from ever meeting his/her eyes with it. The descriptions that you've laid out for us here are almost very well done. And there could be places where you could have emphasized on a little bit more. But I'll leave that for later.

I prayed that you’d be fine. But that heart monitor–it was as if it kept screaming at me to give up and die myself. He’s not dead. He’s not dead. He’s not dead... Sometimes it would make a frightening beeping noise. The numbers in red – beats per minute – plummeted and soared, like a plane unable to keep a steady altitude. The numbers in green seemed to have something to do with Oxygen. I looked at those numbers. They didn’t look too good.

I don't know about the others, but for me, this was my favourite bit from the entire storyline. I really liked the comparisons and the feeling of anxiousness in the narrator's tone. Just goes to show how much potential you've got. So a big thumbs up for great stuff like this.

To me, the dialogue was very brief and there was never any heavy conversation throughout. And that's not a bad thing. But those brief instances of dialogues should be really gripping and appealing to make up for the loss of any more speech by the characters. Though here, the story seemed to manage with its limited dose of dialogue. I would however, have liked to know how it would turn out with more deep dialogue. But even the few words that had been uttered were very well worded and they sounded just about real in my head.

This piece was not without a few glitches here and there though. There were places that could have used a bit of brushing up.

I wish I never asked you to go. Even though it was New Year’s Eve, even though we wouldn’t be seeing each other for God-knows-how-long because the next day I’d frantically pack because the next day I’d have to run and take the 7 o’clock train to get back to Uni, I’d rather know that I could sit next to you and just chat because you were there, and–and–

Alright, so after the first fully complete sentence in this paragraph, we see the character become completely chaotic and start talking in such a panic-stricken tone. I can defintiely empathize with the narrator on her shock. But I would have also appreciated if there were a few periods to allow me to breathe from the incessant barrage of non-stop talking. The commas here become too overwhelming and ruin the pace of the story. A couple of full-stops here and there would have made this far more reader-friendly and understandable. And you've made this paragraph out to sound really significant. But the elements here such as her leaving to University and her conflict between staying together with him or leaving and all aren't even mentioned later on. So I would suggest that you add in a few periods in between. It's hard to digest so much text without a pause.

The next thing I'd like to bring up would be Blue Jeans. Yes, it's clearly understood that there's a perfume that is looming over the events of what has occurred. And there you were somehow trying to relate the ingredients of the perfume to the series of events that take place. I somehow felt that while you doing this though, that the whole idea of this being about the perfume was gradually fading away. The only thing that reminded me that this was still about Blue Jeans was the sudden appearance of a couple of ingredients at the end of each section.

What I did really appreciate was how you managed to use the names and attributes of the ingredients. That was a brilliant touch and I was really impressed by that. You used Citrus, Basil etc., during the beginning when the situation is relaxed and there's an atmosphere of calm and cool. The musk and fir represented the strong and gruel scenes that took place and match the wavelengths of those required elements since they are known to be rough and raw in their scent. The icing on the cake was when he had already died and you ended the story with 'Nothing'. Classy, but subtle.

So all in all, I really loved this short-story. It was strong, meaningful and implemented/integrated the perfume in such a clear and distinct manner. You've down me proud for sure. And I'm glad to have read this. And I'm sorry if I've echoed or repeated some points of the previous reviewers. They would have done a better job in making you understand those points right away.

The good outweighs the uncertainties and thus, makes for a great and satisfying read. Unfortunately, I've not lived up to the principles of the dare and I humbly seek your pardon for it. The rough draft s still gathering dust in one of my hard drives and is waiting to be further edited for indents and other knick-knacks to be sorted out. I don't really know for sure when I'll actually have the time to go back to it. Since once I open that document, I might just re-write the entire thing! I'm not sure about Misty's story since I haven't read it yet. But since I'm so happy with your result, as a token of my appreciation and also because I've lost so horribly in the first edition of the Triple-dare, I shall award you with a 1000 points as soon as the points system is back. ^.^

So until the next Triple/Quadruple/(insert number here)-dare, you are now proclaimed the undisputed champion along with Misty (if she's completed her's too ^.^). So keep the ink forever flowing. I want to read more and more from you. It inspires me to write stuff that doesn't come out as an accidental poem! xD

Great story, great plot, great writer. Well done, Ahmadbro.

Murtuza