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!!

Anyway let's get right to it,

I’ve been dead for a while now.

I cannot remember much about my life. Only glimpses or snippets of things, as if I’m flicking though an old and familiar book with words crossed out and pages torn. A warm smiling face in the sunlight, a big empty house with long corridors, and a cold November day. I’ve long since given up trying to desperately weave together what small fragments of my memory remain, for it is hopeless. It seems I have forgotten nearly everything.

How long have I been like this? How long have I been dead? It is impossible to say. Time has long since left my consciousness, all sense of direction flying away with it. I may have been like this for hundreds of years. I must have been. Mustn’t I?

I do not feel anything. I am numb. But I can still sense that I am something, that perhaps I have limbs or bones. But I cannot move them. I have forgotten how.

No blood runs through my veins, no air is exhaled from my lungs. I'm definitely not living.

I wish I could remember how to open my eyes.

Oddly, I do not seem to sleep, but at the same time I do not feel awake. I am stuck in between, floating over the brink of nothingness.

Has time passed? Has it been seconds? Or years?

Lying here, I have felt my body rot. My hands have turned blue, my skin has cracked and peeled, my internal organs have melted away, merging together and then disappearing completely. My flesh has rotted, crumbling away beneath me. I cannot tell what parts of me are left.

Maybe I don’t have any eyes to open.

But something still remains. My thoughts. I can think. I can still cling to a few precious memories. I play them over and over again in my mind, desperately hoping that I will not forget anything. Although I get the feeling that I have already forgotten many things. Too many things. My memories have deserted me, abandoning me to whatever this is. It is not life, and it is not even existence. It is nothing. I am nothing.

I just want it to be over. I want everything to stop. I just want to die. But properly die. I must still be dying. Surely this isn’t what comes after death. It can’t be, can it? I thought there was supposed to be something. Something. Clouds, light, fire, pain. Anything.

But this must be death. What else could it be?

I just want to be able to feel again.

All I know is that I’m dead, lying in what must be my coffin. Buried far beneath the surface, hidden away in the darkness forever. Alone. Only just existing. Desperately trying to remember. Trying to remember myself, trying to remember how to move, and trying to remember how long I have been like this.

But it is impossible to say.

The most terrifying thing I can imagine is being like this forever. Merely ash and floating thoughts.

But the most terrifying thing seems to be the most likely.

I will always be dead.

This was a very poignant story, and it made me feel much nostalgia, unease, and sorrow. The last line sent chills down my spine. With such simple words, you managed to successfully convey what the narrator felt and project those feelings to the readers in my opinion.

Where to begin?

I suppose I can start by saying holy crap. There are goosebumps on my arm from reading this piece. I literally could feel my lungs being squeezed and suffocated at the thought of lying there, unmoving and not breathing. Wow. The detail is spectacular, your imagery is impeccable. There are so many questions that come from this too, such as how did your character die? Was it painful? Why are they still there? I find the topic of death a bit scary, and overall very interesting to write about. I think you have succeeded in bringing this chilling tone to your writing as well, and I absolutely adore the line "Time has long since left my consciousness, all sense of direction flying away with it." The syntax of this is simple yet intricate. Overall, I think you did a great job on this. It truly is what we all fear most: to not belong anywhere after we're gone. To sit in a rotting coffin for all eternity, and I think you touched on that fear perfectly. Well done!

Hey, AmeliaGryffin! Lupa here for a review! Let's begin...

1) "Yes… I’m dead alright." This line here doesn't match the mood of your poem. From what I've read, you're going for a solemn feel. You're just too casual in this sentence for it to fit.

2) After the two slash marks near the end of the story, you're basically repeating everything that you said before it. I suggest taking out the first paragraph after the slashes. It gets redundant at times--the narrator keeps saying, "I'm dead, and I know it too. Here's some reasons why I know." And for the third time, you associate the word "desperately" with "remembering." Give your readers something original there. I have a feeling you're setting us up for the ending, so make the last part more exciting.

3) Just saying, your ending is quite nice (excluding all the things I said in 2). I liked your last sentence especially. Don't change anything about the last sentence (or two).

You did pretty well! Sometimes, writing about death isn't the easiest, but you've pulled it off. Keep writing!

XOX,
Lupa22

The part where you mention the organs melting away completely makes me shiver. Nice.

Hello,

Dear God. This is good. Like, spectacularly good. So many things I liked—where to begin?

Imagery. Let's start there. Your imagery is captivating (well, really, this whole piece is captivating). You've painted some flawless pictures here. Crystal clear descriptions, and cleverly written too—all the things I look for when it comes to imagery.

Each sentence fits together, flowing perfectly, working to create seamless paragraphs of grim, hopeless beauty. That's the thing about this piece: No matter how sad it is, how drab and dark, there's a beauty to it. It starts, really, with your character's voice. It's a voice that had me spellbound from the first word. The sorrowful narration as we're given an overview of this character's afterlife was rich, guiding us through your original, fascinating version of death in a way that was mesmerizing and tragic. (Sorry for all the descriptive words—I can't help myself.)

I really do like the version of death you've explored here. With stories about ghosts/dead people/the afterlife, it can be easy to fall into tropes and do what a million other writers have done before, but you've managed to present something that feels new. The idea—being trapped in a coffin, not quite awake and not quite asleep, with only a few memories to keep you company—is chilling. It's the kind of idea that could come off as hackneyed with an inept writer at the helm, but you've done it justice.

If I were trying to criticize something, I'd mention that there were occasions where you stepped dangerously close to portentous territory, and a couple of times where you repeated yourself. But overall, it's hard to give much in the way of constructive criticism, as this piece—from that great first line to the bookending final sentence—was practically perfect.

That said: I have some nitpicks. Here they are.

I’ve long since given up trying to desperately weave together what small fragments of my memory remain, for it is hopeless.

It is impossible to say. Time has long since left my conscious

Has time passed? Has it been seconds? Or years?

It seems I have forgotten nearly everything.
...
Although I get the feeling that I have already forgotten many things. Too many things.