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 quite a powerful piece here. You manage to convey a pretty traumatizing situation for our main character here and with the way you build up that backstory there, you really give us the readers a chance to connect with this person and really feel the weight of this loss that much more here.

Anyway let's get right to it,

My hands. I just sat there, staring at the bandages emptily, as I had been doing for hours, the same thought coursing through my shuddering mind over and over again. My hands. Or what broken remnants of them I had left, the mangled, twisted shapes hiding behind the bandages. I tried again in vain to bend my fingers, still stubbornly refusing to believe that all I could produce was this pathetic twitch and the sharp, agonizing pain. I kept trying anyway.

A small portable radio sat beside my hospital bed on a flimsy end table, the phantom tones of a grand piano haunting me. Every note reminded me of those beautiful black and white keys, the kind I could never play again. I used to be— used to be— a pianist, before the war. A good one, too. I played in Carnagie, Vienna, Geneva— everyone used to say I was a prodigy. Dad used to call me “his little Mozart” when I played for him. But more than that, music was my life, my breath, it was everything to me. Letting my fingers roam free on the cool ivory keys was how I cleared my head, how I felt things I needed to feel. It was the language I spoke when my words couldn’t do their job. Telling my wife I loved her couldn’t even scratch the surface of what I felt for her, only my music could even come close to that. Or telling my daughter I—

Something seemed to catch in my throat as I thought of her, my deadened eyes moistening and my useless hands starting to tremble. My daughter. I thought of her tiny, beautiful face, the way it was a year ago when I held her as we hugged our goodbyes. Her big blue eyes framed by her tresses of curly brown hair, welling up with tears of her own as she begged me not to go.

I took her delicate little hands in mine as I tried to explain to her that I didn’t want to, that I’d have given anything to stay there with her and her mother, but I just couldn't. She asked why, but I didn’t have the heart to explain war and the military and the draft to a four-year-old girl. I didn’t answer her, instead I just made a promise that I’d be back at home with her again in no time at all, and then we’d play catch and tag and everything else she wanted to do together. She forced a smile and hugged me tighter and quietly told me to be safe, and I swore her I would be.

My Lord, I didn’t mean to lie.

Tears were streaming down my face now as I thought of everything I could never do with her again. I couldn’t hold her when she needed me close, I couldn’t play with her when she wanted a father, and I could never take her hands in mine to tell her I loved her. I would never walk her down the aisle at her wedding, I would never hold my grandchildren when they were born, I would never—

I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to clench my fists, my hands coming closer to moving than they had in days. This was too much. I couldn’t handle any more, I just... couldn’t. My tears fell harder as I started to rock back and forward in my prison of a bed, the maddening sound of the radio still playing incessantly. I wasn’t even strong enough to turn it off. A cry of anger mingled with despair fled my lips as I slammed my shoulder into the end table, sending the radio and a dozen other useless objects crashing to the floor, and at last, after a moment of clattering, I was left alone in silence,my broken sobbing the only sound in the room. I collapsed against the side of my bed, weary from, and of, everything, a single thought coursing through my mind as it slipped into darkness.

What am I without my hands?

Hello, Elfboy; happy Review Month!

Valkyria here leaving a review for the checklist challenge!

So, let's get to it:
This is an absolutely heartbreaking story. The emotions are conveyed great, and I feel so much pain for the narrator. The grief he feels at the loss of his hands is tear-jerking. Especially when he realizes what he had lost. The story goes deep into his mind and establishes his character fantastically.

My hands. I just sat there, staring at the bandages emptily, as I had been doing for hours, the same thought coursing through my shuddering mind over and over again. My hands. Or what broken remnants of them I had left, the mangled, twisted shapes hiding behind the bandages. I tried again in vain to bend my fingers, still stubbornly refusing to believe that all I could produce was this pathetic twitch and the sharp, agonizing pain. I kept trying anyway.

Every note reminded me of those beautiful black and white keys, the kind I could never play again. I used to be— used to be— a pianist, before the war. A good one, too. I played in Carnagie, Vienna, Geneva— everyone used to say I was a prodigy. Dad used to call me “his little Mozart” when I played for him. But more than that, music was my life, my breath, it was everything to me.

It was the language I spoke when my words couldn’t do their job.

What am I without my hands?

This story is... absolutely lovely. It sent literal chills up my spine as I kept reading and the story began to play out, developing the character and his grief. The story develops so organically, following his thoughts as he mourns his hands. I never truly think of losing a part of the body as too tragic - don't think of it much at all, actually. This mourning for something that many people don't consider too deeply is incredibly profound and wonderful, and it shows that a life is not the only thing that can be lost. Your writing style is beautiful and flows perfectly; I have no critiques. This is fantastic!

Hi Elfboy,

Mailice here with a short review!

That was an extremely powerful story. It had something so nostalgic and dramatic about it without being directly so. I was not prepared to fall so deeply into a kind of melancholy when I started reading it.

The theme you create here is spread throughout the story. It seems so sad and yet also so torn with these great descriptions, as if you wanted to create something that could be read here - that which could be spoken - and that which could be found between the lines - that which should not be spoken. The theme of the hands and what the person is with them, and how they are of use, made me feel that way, to look at it with different eyes. I really like your approach here of using a part of the body that can't be associated with the eyes and how you executed that idea.

You used a really, really good writing style and it took me from paragraph to paragraph. I really loved the structure and how you managed to make the transitions so smooth and lively. I also liked how this whole story revolved around just one room, and how it turned from the outside world to the inside world. I felt it was a good piece of how you managed to make that transition.

Above all, I found it very realistic how you portrayed the character, and how one clearly noticed how the grief had unfolded, like after a dam bursts where a tidal wave comes. You can clearly see how the despair grows with every new memory and every new thought of what can no longer be.

Two points I want to mention:

My hands.  I just sat there, staring at the bandages emptily, as I had been doing for hours, the same thought coursing through my shuddering mind over and over again. 

A small portable radio sat beside my hospital bed on a flimsy end table, the phantom tones of a grand piano haunting me. 

Hello!

RandomTalks here with a short review!

This is such a heartfelt piece. It is full of emotion and pain and desolation, and it honestly made me pause and think for a while. You have captured all these emotions and you have portrayed them with such care and expression that the reader can't help but feel overwhelmed. I liked the way you have shown his pain as well as as his frustration. The fact that he was a pianist makes his loss even more unbearable for him, and I think somehow that it is that point that he is never going to be able to move on from. He has not only lost his hands but also his passion and a lifetime of other chances and opportunities with his daughter.

I took her delicate little hands in mine as I tried to explain to her that I didn’t want to, that I’d have given anything to stay there with her and her mother, but I just couldn't. She asked why, but I didn’t have the heart to explain war and the military and the draft to a four-year-old girl. I didn’t answer her, instead I just made a promise that I’d be back at home with her again in no time at all, and then we’d play catch and tag and everything else she wanted to do together. She forced a smile and hugged me tighter and quietly told me to be safe, and I swore her I would be.

Oh, wow, I was not prepared for that, that was.. really good, wow. @_@ twas very sad but, beautiful at the same time? Goodness, I think I nearly started crying.
I think your professors going to love it <: Awesome job elf