Young Writers Society

Good Morning/Afternoon/Evening/Night(whichever one it is in your part of the world),

Hi! I'm here to leave a quick review!!!

First Impression: Well...this was a really sweet little story. Its definitely a nice description of the reasons and emotions that surround our protagonist here falling for this person...it definitely feels super realistic to how I imagine this sort of thing happens in real life.

Anyway let's get right to it,

'

I might be in love with a hippie. I wonder if he'll like me when he's sober.

I found myself debutante in the messy passenger seat of his truck, and his body stretched across me, rolling down the window on my right. I was hypnotized by his aura, by the ruffian musk of his pleasantly suffocating aroma. I could feel his history scolding his high, and the sweet thoughts boiling inside of his colorful mind. He was like the pills they used to make me take-- little poppy seed poppers that were as orange as my insanity-- they gave me vivid nightmares and made me feel heavy enough to crush the pavement but yet I was sky high and eager to run into traffic with invincibility. Watching his fingers guile the wheel was a whole other fantasy, warm sunlight hugging us with loud, unfamiliar music, his unclothed torso glistening with lustful gold. His closeness sent me a decade back in time, made me remember rocking back and forth to classic rock with an atmosphere stained with stale beer as my father swam his way through another scotch-on-the-rocks. But none of this was even moderately unwell. His voice was the jewel upon my newfound crown. He spoke lowly, slowly, letting each vowel linger just long enough to emphasize his distaste for primness, and I was too lost in the ether about him to notice anything outside of the small grin that appeared on his lips.

His mouth, his lips, his face, his eyes, I was shivering in the sunlight of a good time. I was gasping and sighing within myself, watching him move, watching his body move over me, watching his eyes twinkle and watching him drive barefoot. He reminded me of Mama, and her flagrant apathy and how proud I was to sit with her, and here I was with him. He was the bad inside of me, the deep little secret locked up in my black box heart that escaped only with a crystalline bottle of the blood of the son or another heavy night in a lover’s bedroom. He was like the dial on my scale hitting final 0. I was euphoric, more than appreciative to watch him curse under his breath and yell at the sky and sing into the speakers.

We found and wound our way away from his friends, and marched and walked through a park near my house until we were alone and my heart started to flutter as hard as its metaphor.

I stumbled, my hand instinctively reaching for my neck and preparing to count my pulse, and watched him bend into me.

I think that’s when I fell for him.

Hey Kittybee! Flite here for a review! This is one of the more interesting short stories I've encountered on YWS I must say, your short story seems to be drawn-out poem then a short story. I say this, because there was a certain beat as I read the story. Anyways, I won't bore you with my ramble. Let's get right to it.

Technical things:

Word choices:

I found myself debutante in the messy passenger seat of his truck, and his body stretched across me, rolling down the window on my right.

...Watching his fingers guile the wheel was a whole other fantasy, warm sun...

...my heart started to flutter as hard as its metaphor...

Watching his fingers guile the wheel was a whole other fantasy, warm sun..

I was gasping and sighing within myself, watching him move, watching his body move over me, watching his eyes twinkle and watching him drive barefoot. He reminded me of Mama, and her flagrant apathy and how proud I was to sit with her, and here I was with him. He was the bad inside of me, the deep little secret locked up in my black box heart that escaped only with a crystalline bottle of the blood of the son or another heavy night in a lover’s bedroom. He was like the dial on my scale hitting final 0. I was euphoric, more than appreciative to watch him curse under his breath and yell at the sky and sing into the speakers.

He reminded me of Mama, and her flagrant apathy and how proud I was to sit with her, and here I was with him.

But none of this was even moderately unwell. His voice was the jewel upon my newfound crown.

I typically don't read hippie love pieces, but I'll do it, since it's review day. By the way- is Tachycardia a place?


I found myself debutante in the messy passenger seat of his truck, and his body stretched across me, rolling down the window on my right. I was hypnotized by his aura, by the ruffian musk of his pleasantly suffocating aroma. I could feel his history scolding his high, and the sweet thoughts boiling inside of his colorful mind. He was like the pills they used to make me take-- little poppy seed poppers that were as orange as my insanity-- they gave me vivid nightmares and made me feel heavy enough to crush the pavement but yet I was sky high and eager to run into traffic with invincibility. Watching his fingers guile the wheel was a whole other fantasy, warm sunlight hugging us with loud, unfamiliar music, his unclothed torso glistening with lustful gold. His closeness sent me a decade back in time, made me remember rocking back and forth to classic rock with an atmosphere stained with stale beer as my father swam his way through another scotch-on-the-rocks. But none of this was even moderately unwell. His voice was the jewel upon my newfound crown. He spoke lowly, slowly, letting each vowel linger just long enough to emphasize his distaste for primness, and I was too lost in the ether about him to notice anything outside of the small grin that appeared on his lips.

^^All of that up there. (What does debuntante mean?) It needs to be split up a little or else it's just some humongous paragraph that is hard to read, it should be like this, for example:

I found myself debutante in the messy passenger seat of his truck, and his body stretched across me, rolling down the window on my right. I was hypnotized by his aura, by the ruffian musk of his pleasantly suffocating aroma.

I could feel his history scolding his high, and the sweet thoughts boiling inside of his colorful mind. He was like the pills they used to make me take-- little poppy seed poppers that were as orange as my insanity-- they gave me vivid nightmares and made me feel heavy enough to crush the pavement[,] but yet I was sky high and eager to run into traffic with invincibility.

Watching his fingers guile the wheel was a whole other fantasy, warm sunlight hugging us with loud, unfamiliar music, his unclothed torso glistening with lustful gold. His closeness sent me a decade back in time, made me remember rocking back and forth to classic rock with an atmosphere stained with stale beer as my father swam his way through another scotch-on-the-rocks. But none of this was even moderately unwell. His voice was the jewel upon my newfound crown. He spoke lowly, slowly, letting each vowel linger just long enough to emphasize his distaste for primness, and I was too lost in the ether about him to notice anything outside of the small grin that appeared on his lips.

What do you mean by "history scolding his high"? (Paragraph 2 in the split-up section of what I just wrote) What does his hair and eyes look like? How tall is he? etc, etc. And what does the girl look like that is explaining the poem?
Him

tha-thump

His smile

tha-thump

His terrible posture

tha-thump

His mind


I suggest putting the "tha-thump" parts in italics and than putting a comma after it. I kind of felt like it was not really needed, that the parts with "his smile, his terrible posture, his mind" could be revised somehow. Overall, your description is great!

Not sure if this is even a short story. Haven't posted in nearly a year.