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No Title

by RWMcKinleys

No Title

I’ve never been a fan of moving, especially every two years. It’s become almost tradition for us. If I could have it my way, we’d stay, right here in Cloverton. But whoever gets what they want? I mean you can beg, pray, or do whatever it is you do, when you want something to happen, does it ever actually work? Maybe somewhere out there, above the firmament, an alter me actually has the normal life. Maybe he has the perfect everything, no problems, just tranquility. Just maybe. . . My ears are use to doors closing, my heart use to tearing, and my eyes use to watching town after town pass. I find myself in these times, when I have no one else but the voice. The voice that calms me, expresses my true feelings, and comforts me.

I’ve gotten better dealing with it, dealing with the range of emotions. I try and try to forget memories of each city. Deep down inside they rest, inside a vault waiting to be replayed, waiting to be seen only by me. Names and faces flash past me, each with their own little story and emotion. Each one I delete, each one I choose to forget. I don’t want to remember them; I want to start all over again. It’s like playing a video game, but resetting it every time. So when you wake up, and play the game, everything is different. At least, that’s how I view it.

The drive has been long, boring and dull, almost like sitting in darkness, there’s nothing to see, nothing that catches your eye. Besides me, my camera that I brought along, filled with memories of Cloverton, faces and emotions captured in a timeless freeze. I go through each frame, every time seeing something or someone I loved. Each time I press the same button, delete. . . I watch as the picture instantly disappears, as if erased to never be seen again. It becomes repetitive, the same finger strokes, the same response. Delete. . .

My eyes widen, my heart starts to beat a little faster. I remember seeing her for the first time, I remember touching her and feeling her soft skin. I remember the love we both shared. I remember it all, and I’ll miss it more than anything. She was radioactive, poisonous with love. A poison that infected me and filled my heart. Her beautiful tan skin, gleaming deep blue eyes and silky black hair fill the camera screen. It’s vibrant, pushing away the dark clouds that surrounded me. I feel alive when I see her. I can feel the blood rushing through me. At the same time, I feel a certain emptiness without her. I debate, ponder about clicking that button. Arguing with myself, fighting the temptation to keep it. I struggle a battle I’m already losing. I fight a war I can’t win.

If you’ve ever loved someone as hard as you could, then were forced to leave them, you can understand. They are all you want to think about, all you want to hear and see. You wish that you could hold them a little longer, love them till the end of time. And be with them forever. If only life could grant that. Then we’d all be happy. We’d all love someone instead of hating. Our world would spin at a much faster rate. If only. . . I stare without breaking concentration, my finger right over the button. I can’t decide, not right now, I’ll wait till I can. My finger moves to the left clicking “skip”. Another photo of her pops up, this time the both of us. We are leaning on each other, sitting on a bench as the snowflakes descend. Both of us smiling, not looking even the slightest bit disturbed.

A growing pain aches from within, my heart rumbles without her. She’s an addiction, the drug that I need. I press skip, saving myself from the ever-growing emptiness. As I continue to fly through the photo’s I see more and more of her. Half the rest of the album is just her, all memories that I’m forced to remember. I close my eyes and put down the camera, hoping to reset, just like a game.

(Time Passes)

The humming from the engine in the car comes to a rest. The vibrations that once filled the seats end. I open my eyes to be greeted by tall pine trees surrounding us. The sun has fallen upon the Earth, and the moon has risen. My dad and mom open their doors, shutting them as they walk towards a two story wooden house. Isolated in the middle of nowhere, I don’t even know where we are. Mysterious like, the house in the middle of the woods. Almost has an unsettling filling to it. Whatever though, I’ll eventually get use to it.

My body is more than stiff, it feels as though I’ve been dead for a long time and now all of a sudden I’m alive again. My neck stings from sleeping wrong, my legs cramp from being in the same position. My eyes adjust to the deem light. My whole body starts to adjust. I open my door and slowly crawl out, taking it easy on myself. Trying not to overdo it. My arms stretch out wide, feeling the cool breeze flow right pass me. It’s rejuvenating. It’s what I needed. The house isn’t much, by the looks of it; it’s an American foursquare that’s been beaten to death. Overgrown by its foundation, taken back by the forest. Something that you’d see in a horror flick.

I really don’t care; I don’t mind helping to put it back together. I’ll be force to anyway so why not try and enjoy it. My parents struggle with the door, but manage to open it. I swear a cloud of dust spat out from the house engulfed them. I laugh a little at the sight; it’s a new memory to add. A new memory to a new beginning. I grab our bags out of the trunk and carry them one by one inside. Most of them filled with clothes, but others evidence of our pass. Each one carrying a little piece of our lives from different cities. All brought along so they can remember where we’ve been.

We aren’t outlaws; we aren’t running from people or things that we’ve done. We just can’t stay in the same place for long. There’s no reason other than that. No matter how much we love the place, we will move eventually. I can’t remember one place that we’ve stayed for more than two years. Probably because that place doesn’t exist. My name is Drake; I’ve been pushed and tugged along all my life. Trying to make new friends and memories each time, and then watching them torn away from me. Now I’m in the middle of nowhere. There’s an uncertain path in front of me, with an even murkier destiny. The game has been reset and it’s time to play. I’ll make it through this.

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688 Reviews

Points: 56536
Reviews: 688

Sun Jan 16, 2022 9:06 am
ForeverYoung299 wrote a review...

Hey! Forever here with a tiny review!!

This was kind of a reflective piece we had here. I quite enjoyed reading this. Let's get into the review.

Well, I liked the main theme of the story. If I am not much mistaken, the main theme is moving away from loved ones and the nostalgia surrounding them. The separation of the narrator from the person they used to love is such a painful feeling. The narrator ardently tries to forget them but they can't... apparently, it's not at all easy. You did a great job at portraying the pains the narrator had at the moment of narrating all these incidents and being nostalgic. There's also this theme of adaptation, I guess. Because if someone moves to a new place, it takes quite some time for that person to get adjusted to everything. That could be portrayed a bit better though instead of just putting it in the last paragraph.

It really needs a title though. Finding a title can be immensely hard but in this case, I don't think it was very hard. Simply "moving away" would solve the matter. Or maybe "Trying to erase the past". I don't know how good they are but I think at least better than no title. Title is after all that element which makes the reader read the first line of the story, which in turn makes the reader read the rest.

Another thing that I noticed is that the length of the story is longer than required. Like when you write a short story, it's very important that you remain as precise as you can. Describing a thousand things and a thousand feelings is always a better idea when it comes to writing novels but in the case of short stories, there is generally a plot or an incident which I kind of missed here. It's completely your decision though. If you could just sum up all the feelings in a shorter piece, it would have been much better. At present, it contains 1184 words. Just imagine that you will have to write it in 500 words. Obviously, that would make you to cut a number of unnecessary details out of the story. That is very necessary.

The setting of the story was a very suitable one. I liked how you set the story in a journey itself rather than simply making the character recall everything. It suits very well with the main theme of moving away. I felt like describing a journey of life in an one hour or a journey of a comparatively short period of time.

Jumping to the next factor and that is writing the whole story in present tense. It gave me the felling that it's never going to stop; it will simply continue forever. If it were written in the past tense, I am afraid that the feeling could be curbed but present tense was excellent choice in this case.

Overall, I think it was a good piece. It's just in need of some more vivid feelings rather than the heavy ones you have put in the story.

Keep Writing!!


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862 Reviews

Points: 1946
Reviews: 862

Wed Oct 10, 2012 8:12 am
Griffinkeeper wrote a review...

Hey RW,

Time for a review.

First, the title. It really needs one. A title like "No Title" sends a message that either A) You don't care about what you've written or B) You're not creative enough to come up with a title.

Second, the opening. It needs a better hook. The first two paragraphs involve the character angsting about her life. Frankly, I don't know her well enough to care about her life. For me, it's like I just got on board a bus and some crazy woman is telling me about how her life and how she feels, without my asking.

Suppose for a moment that, while listening to this crazy woman angst endlessly, I looked around the bus and saw a man carrying a turkey on his lap. I would immediately gravitate towards the man with the turkey on his lap, because something about it is unusual.

Well, this is awkward. Turns out that your protagonist is actually a guy. The writing style is more in keeping with a female protagonist. Guys tend to be more guarded about their feelings and their emotions. Part of this, I think, is so that we can be strong for those that are feeling weak. Between being emotional and being stoic, guys will gravitate towards stoic. If they hurt, they do their best to hurt in private.

This makes things odd, because the reader perceives that this protagonist is just telling his sad emotional story to any stranger, instead of someone that he knows and trusts.

When you put it all together, we're reading about a person complaining about moving and heartbreak, and his expression of these complaints isn't really anything inventive.

I would suggest you try writing it again, but this time in the third person. That way, you can show us what he is doing, without telling us his deep emotions. The guy with the turkey on his lap didn't say a word, but he drew our interest. We don't need our protagonist to be loud or angsty, he just has to draw our interest. The third paragraph may be a better way to start this story out.

I think Amelia Earhart wants you to get some ice cream.
— SilverNight