Young Writers Society

You’re riding on endless trails and endless fields. Seeing nothing but the turning, twisting, and winding of the trails Repeat of word ‘trail, try and use something else through the evergreen forest ahead of you. Mentally feeling nothing but relaxed, because the more speed you pick up, the more and more of your problems you are dropping on the beaten path behind you. There is dripping sweat on your face from the hot July sun, no need for comma here as the same sun that is drying the bits of mud that have splashed on your perfect face, legs, and arms. As the sound of your engine is hinting to switch to third gear, the vibration of the three-wheeler starts in your hands, gripped onto the handle bars with white knuckles, and moves throughout your entire body. The mixed smells of sweet newly bloomed flowers and the gasoline you are using for your enjoyment, no need for comma here fills your nose. The only thing that insures you that you’re still connected to the ground, no need for comma here is the gentle, faint, whipping of the tall green blades of grass against your legs. It’s As if you can taste the freedom on your lips and feel it on your sun kissed skin.
Except it’s not your sun kissed skin, it’s mine. Three-wheeling is my way of expressing freedom- because every second I’m riding faster, I can let go of more and more things.
In first gear, the wind is blowing against me hardly enough to even begin to move my long dark hair, before its (no need for apostrophe) strong enough to make my eyes water, before I’m actually having fun. This is when I let go of all the little things, the stupid comments, the dirty looks, and all that jazz.
“Emily, why can’t you be just like everyone else? Follow the crowd, don’t stand up for people, especially if no one likes them,” Katie said to me in a whisper. This dialogue doesn’t seem very natural to me, maybe you could change it just so it doesn’t follow this whole cliché idea of the ‘popular’ kids being so mean and stuff.
“Because,” I explained “I can stand up for them, even if I am one of the popular people around here. Just because other people don’t follow your guy’s stereotypes or status quo, doesn’t mean that they should be put down for being themselves. Jesus Christ, all of you girls need to grow up!”
She knew I didn’t like her and that I never planned on doing so. After she looked me up and down a few times, she rolled her eyes, spun on her heels, and she walked away so fast, with such anger, that her face was beginning to turn a bright red. This sentence has way too many commas, try breaking it down into two sentences or adding connectives.
So,[b]no need for comma here I guess because I’m pretty and popular, no need for comma here I’m supposed to be heartless and stuck up.
Picking up more speed, let go of the gas; shift down, left, then back on the gas. Second gear, where I can catch air on the little bumps, go through deep dark brown mud puddles without getting stuck, and where the wind is blowing strong enough against my face that it can blow back my messy hair and show my whole perfect complexion. I really like the metaphor here!
“Emily, are you really going to wear that? Think about what everyone else will think,” Rosie tried to explain.
All I ever think of when she does this is that she could get anyone to do anything she wanted, simply by using her pretty blue eyes, and perfect little smile to manipulate people, and that pissed me off. See, everyone thinks that ’cause she’s so beautiful, everything she says is right. She’s supposed to be my friend, but all she cares about is what other people will see her as along with whoever she is.
“Why would I care what they have to say or think?”
“Duh, that’s all you have in 10th grade, reputation.”
“Yes, because ‘ya know, I don’t have more important things to deal with right now than what all these stuck up people have to say,” I told her sarcastically, “Just leave me alone, sometimes I can’t stand how you people act!”
School time, “I’ll wear the exact outfit she told me not too, just to prove I can be myself,” I thought aloud. I don’t understand why she won’t even talk to me, or even sit in the same table as me! God! Stupid insecure people these days!
Don’t get me wrong, I love my friends to death. But it’s like, let go of expectations from others, be your own person. Please yourself before you try and please other people. They all eat their own words when they tell each-other to be leaders, not followers. This is too informal for a story, I’ll say more about this later on in the review
There goes the whining of my engine, telling me I’m going too fast for second gear. Moving up to third, let go of the gas, shift down, slide over, hit the gas. Going so fast that the whipping wind is making my eyes water, as I’m sliding side to side to ensure that I make the turns of the steep trail without tipping. Sometimes at this point I like to stand tall feeling untouchable to my next problem. Again really good metaphor
“Why is it that you can’t do anything beneficial for this family, Emily?! You are one of the few kids in this town lucky to have parents still together, with a halfway decent marriage, and you act like it’s such a bur-,” my mom realized how my dad worded that and cut him off. I get confused at who is talking here, I know it’s the mum but the whole scene seems to change so maybe you could introduce this new setting slightly better
“Halfway decent? what the hell is that supposed to mean? You aren’t happy either? You act like it’s just as big of a “burden” on you as it is on Em-.” Here goes the fighting my mom and dad, they can never let each-other finish a sentence, it’s almost like they would be too intimidated if they let each other get that far.
“This is what I mean me and your mother wouldn’t ever fight like this if you appreciated what you had once in awhile.”
I know the only reason he blames me is because he refuses to admit to doing anything wrong. So, I calmly walked away, running my fingers down our freshly painted burgundy walls, wondering why kids have to be more mature than their parents sometimes? It’s not fair.
Sorry, I can’t be perfect. No one can be
I usually never make it into fourth gear, but today I have something big I really need to let go of. So, I let go of the gas, shift down, over, down, then back on the gas again. This time going and maintaining full speed. The wind roaring in my face just like his voice the night of our big fight. I can still sometimes smell the liquor on his breath from his drunken stupor. For some reason I can’t get him out of my head. Probably because he was the first I truly cared about. He cared about me, I know it. He just didn’t show it too well.
Sean knows all he has to do is flip his skater hair, flash me a smile with his perfect teeth, and make me look into his eyes that were greener than the forest I rode in, to make me be okay with him drinking, and be okay with the fact he was late for our dates. Again, instead of having lots of commas, this sentence could be broken down into more sentences or use connectives to join bits together That’s exactly what he thinks he’s going to do tonight, but I won’t let him,” I thought to myself, right as his car had pulled up. He hopped out,
“Ready for our date? You look beautiful,” He said with his words slurred, not able to stand straight.
“You think I’m going anywhere with you acting like this? If you do, then think again. Because I’m not putting up with this.” I said as I tossed him a bottle of Whiskey.
“What’s this for?” He asked stupidly.
“This is your going away present, you’re leaving me for good. I don’t want to be with you anymore.” Without a word he got in his car and drove away. Wait isn’t he gonna beg for her or something? I understand he’s drunk, but still…
I texted him saying I loved him, and i was sorry.
“I was just frustrated,” I pleaded on his answering machine.
It was too late for apologies. I knew this as I saw officer Johnson strolling up my front walk, In his navy blue uniform. Except this time, there was no flash of a badge, no click click click of the cuffs, only an officer knocking on my door lightly shaking like an addict going through withdrawals. I answered the door and immediately after he had said,
“I’m so sorry Emily,”
As he removed his hat and lowered it by his chest. I broke out into tears and fell into his arms, as he awkwardly hugged me not knowing how to react.
“Sean was in a drunk-driving accident, and had passed away,” that’[/b[]s all I could stand to hear. I pushed him aside and ran for my car. As he followed me, I drove off to the scene of the accident. When I got there they were carrying him out of the scene in a body bag. As I was standing behind that yellow caution tape, seeing all the flashing lights, listening to all the sirens, I knew this was [b]my entire fault. I couldn’t get the pictures out of my head with his blue mustang and a stranger’s car all tangled up like a ball of metal. Those pictures will forever be there, along with the smell of the Whiskey on his breath, along with ringing of the sirens all that night. I will never forget his perfect face or his soothing voice. The one thing I will always be sure to remember,no need for comma here is the voice mail he had left me seconds before his accident.
“I’m sorry, I know I have a problem, and I’m sorry I put you through this, so I thought I would talk to you about giving me another chance if I stay sob-.” That was all he said before the screeching of the tires and his screaming began. Then all was silent, end of message.
Even though I have found a way to be free from everything going on, I don’t think I will ever be free of the thought that I contributed to his death. I helped in the taking of a life of a person only a year older than me. Knowing in a few years I’ll be graduating is great, knowing I took that from someone, ruins it. Knowing he would have had everything ahead of him, if i wouldn’t have told him to leave. How do I go on in life? Knowing I took someone else’s.