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A Colloid of Glass

by Jkwriting


It lies there, subtly, delicately, softly, yet menacing. Its arms are pried similar to that of a mantis. Mouth open, I am well aware of whom it demands as its next prey. My stomach churns. Trying to grasp weak remnants of memories from which I can draw hope, my subconscious races. It fails, as I am transported to a cold memory that was locked up in my heart years ago.

I recollect the day I was on my trampoline. The drafts were cool, gently breezing, oddly easing, almost teasing, tranquil, pleasing, never ceasing, though a sort of eerie hum pierced the once calm air. The foreboding silence was answered by the sight of a scintillant yellow spider, similar to the creature I currently encounter. It sat on the trampoline's zipper, cutting off all means of escape. Nowhere could I turn; to no one could I turn. My screams were in vain, as the sound simply vanished into the empty void of air around me. I was trapped.

I feel like this now. Which way - no, how? - first, where will I flee? My eyes bounce around, attempting to catch a sight that can be of assistance. Truth dawns on me as does utter fear. In no manner can I escape now. Its twinkling features are majestic and almost beautiful. The raw claws and paws of the heartless beast of nature somehow awes me and draws me closer. It stares and smiles - that is what I believe, at least. Lips swiveling into a 'U', I faintly notice its bared teeth. Unconsciously, I am summoned. My limp body helplessly shifts towards the creature in dazed ecstasy, its spiteful, overgrown nails twitching in my direction.

The creature's eyes fix upon me. I see my soul reflected in those beady, glassy eyes, holding truths unknown to all, memories of a distant past, lost and left behind by time. In those burnished eyes of glass are reflected my insecurities, every possible flaw I possess. I recognize murky shadows as those of my past, upon which I dare not shed light but now have exposed, held suspended in the colloid of glass, visible to all eyes, though particularly meant for mine. It knows I am weak. It smells fear. I realize I must accept that fact that I am ensnared. However, my true self, somewhere deep within the dank chambers of my heart, shrieks a piercing moan, wailing, scampering, clawing, rushing, bemoaning, trying to pry itself out of the lifeless nightmare that gently strides towards the mantis-like form. Utter horror gains mastery of mind, the same hushed, tranquil, blithe mind that once belonged to me. Like quicksand, the harder I writhe from the creature's grasp, the tighter I find myself bound to it. The louder I scream, the further the air drains to dissolve my cries.

I have heard about the legends of Solomon Islands. Myth says that when tribals desire to clear a land for farming, they do not cut a tree down with an axe. Instead, they circle around the tree shouting malicious curses until it withers away and dies on its own.

I finally recognize that help will not come; I am without a way out. I abandon the vain struggles of my Sisyphean task, giddily succumbing to the creature. Slowly, I maneuver my way through what feels like thousands of eyes planted upon me. However, only one is truly watching. The creature's gaze, containing such depth, burns a hole through my head. It reaches out a scratchy arm and squeezes it atop my shoulders.

A realization suddenly strikes me, however, that the creature's motives are merely driven by schadenfreude. Only for pleasure does it pain, though its intentions are in vain. To yield would mean to relinquish the last feeble remnants of my pride. The dank odor of must chokes the palpitating silence. At last, defiance wins over the stronger fraction of my mind. I cannot do this. I will not do this. I will not let the creature dominate me, as doing so will bring sheer injustice to the being within me. I seize my final chance to break from the cruel bonds by which I am confined. Dark figures lurk in the deepest alleys of my heart as the true individual inside bangs on the inner walls of the cage that confines it. Evil clashes in my ears. A feeling of fervent rebellion urges me and surges within. Suddenly, the creature's glassy eyes shatter with a penetrating shrill. Glass washes the floor, tainted with the blood from ages of despair. The glass is destroyed forever as are the flaws held deep inside. I am free. My eyes squint, furious, slightly confused. Snapping out of the trance, I turn around and flee the classroom.


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711 Reviews


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Sun Mar 03, 2013 2:47 am
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ShadowVyper wrote a review...



Hey Jk!

Shady here with a review for you.

This piece is a bit rough around the edges, but I liked it. I liked the pure, unconstrained emotion you poured into this piece. The rhythm is nice, and distinctive; which is good. It feels like you were very sure of your beat/pace when you were writing this piece; which is very good.

Clean up the grammar a bit, and I'd say it's gold.

If you need anymore help or have any questions, don't hesitate to ask!

Keep Writing!

~Shady 8)



Random avatar
Jkwriting says...


Thank you so much for the valuable feedback, Shady! I really appreciate the suggestions and tips. I have a quick question. I wrote this piece a few weeks ago for an 8th grade Young Authors competition. However, it was greatly misinterpreted by my teacher, who did not seem to grasp the symbolism in each and every detail. If I had not told you what the story was truly about in the short description I gave, do you think you would have been able to understand what I was trying to convey and what my story actually meant? My teacher was thrown off a great deal by the last sentence, when I mentioned the classroom. I was not sure if my teacher just misinterpreted the story, or if my writing truly was vague and not understandable. My intent was to make the bully sound like some creepy creature and keep the story a little vague, but when viewed on a deeper level and closely inspected, to make it mean something more.

Appreciate your feedback.
Thanks,
Jk



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Fri Mar 01, 2013 2:18 pm
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Hannah wrote a review...



Woah! This! What? This is nice. This is so weird, and it needs a lot of cleaning up, but for some reason I like it how it is. I like this narrative of this dark room, and the idea that it's all just contained in imagination. Maybe because I love the power of imagining things, even though it doesn't move anywhere outward, it has movement inside, and I love that.

The problem is that there is no sense of place. The other problem is that the first person present tense that you're using makes the narrative feel kind of cheap.

The first problem can be pretty easily fixed. I know you're going for a vague sort of dream-like setting, but using it throughout the entire piece gives the reader nothing to hold on to. We need something. Some texture, some sound, some kind of light, something that defines the space we're in even if the only color you want to give us is black.

The second problem is a little more difficult. Because it's about someone's imagination, it's not like someone can tell about someone else's internal narrative. But the present tense, then, is maybe what cheapens it. It's like someone narrating their life as they're doing it, which seems pretentious. "Here I am, washing my hair so vigorously that my life force pours forth through my shampooed fingers". Maybe it's easy to turn melodramatic, which is definitely not what you need here. Your darkness is perfectly created just by the subject, the simple descriptions, and you don't need the speaker to butter it up at all.

So, consider past tense. What does it to for you? Consider some other kind of voice -- omniscient? What does that take away from the piece? What is necessary to you in first person?

Anywhoodles~ Hope this was helpful.
Keep writing and leave me a wall post if you'd like me to check anything else out.
Good luck, keep writing, and PM me with any questions!



Random avatar
Jkwriting says...


Thank you so much for the valuable feedback, Hannah! I really appreciate the suggestions and tips. I have a quick question. I wrote this piece a few weeks ago for an 8th grade Young Authors competition. However, it was greatly misinterpreted by my teacher, who did not seem to grasp the symbolism in each and every detail. If I had not told you what the story was truly about in the short description I gave, do you think you would have been able to understand what I was trying to convey and what my story actually meant? My teacher was thrown off a great deal by the last sentence, when I mentioned the classroom. I was not sure if my teacher just misinterpreted the story, or if my writing truly was vague and not understandable. My intent was to make the bully sound like some creepy creature and keep the story a little vague, but when viewed on a deeper level and closely inspected, to make it mean something more.

Appreciate your feedback.
Thanks,
Jk




I have my books and my poetry to protect me.
— Paul Simon