Young Writers Society

Home » Literary works » Novel / Chapter » Realistic


A Day in the Life...

by MainxStreamxDaydream


June 28th, 2011 – 8:00 AM

I trudge down the stairs finding my stepmom watching Oprah. She sees me, but fails to realize that today was my “vaginal escape day”, or as most people refer to it as a “birthday”. Sitting down, I grab the cereal box, pouring it into the bowl, my eyes narrowing in on the TV. Oprah was helping a young couple who came from nothing, had a kid and needed money big time. She was showing them their new car, a totally new wardrobe, and a brand new house. She probably bought them the finest yacht along with all that and gave them 1,000 dollars to spare. Oprah’s smile brightens the TV screen and I chomp on my cereal, silently hating on her.

My theories? Oprah and Morgan Freeman were probably Gods sent down to earth... I mean think about it, the lady’s got everything. She’s got enough money to go build hover crafts, pay the world’s greatest scientist to make a replica of her so she could live on forever, all while we are under her rule. Not only did she have the money goin’ for her, but she had this God-given gift to take the most depressed man who has had all his dreams shattered and probably cure him with her phlegm. She was Oprah. She was perfect in the people’s eye because she came from nothing and worked her way up to the top and still admitted she had some problems.

There wasn’t much reason for her not to be happy.

“Kudos, Oprah.” I mumble between angry chomps of cereal.

Of course, Oprah probably wouldn’t approve of me going on anti-depressants. She would most likely highly encourage me to go get some of my best wonderful OMGBFFL gal-pals, power through my problems, and have the occasional chick-flick movie night with a quart of ice cream or a box of chocolates-- whichever you prefer.

But I’m no Oprah. It probably doesn’t help when I already have a problem with my weight, so no ice cream or chocolate for me; my friends had their own shit to deal with and I don’t have the confidence Oprah does. Oprah is a saint, and trust me when I say I’m no saint sent from above. And I certainly do not have beams of light from God coming out of my ass every morning to say ‘Hello world!"
I quickly finish up my breakfast, grab my car keys and head for the door.

My stepmom turns to me, “Would you like me to drive you?” She chirps happily, turning off the TV as Oprah said goodbye to her millions of fans.

“Uhm...” I pause, considering the pros and cons of this future situation.

Pros? I won’t have to use up my own gas money...

Yeah that’s about it.

Cons? I will have to be in the same car with her while she tries pulling teeth with me on how my school was going, who my friends were, what the latest gossip was. Or she might even blast some of her crap music that could possibly break windows and make ears bleed.

“No, I’m good.” I say with a small nod and put on my Northface and walk into the garage. I sit down in the driver’s

seat of my car, grasping the wheel and letting out a sigh.

Anti depressants? Mmm, not really what I wanted to be doing. Going to see some person who’s going to analyze me from the inside out and try to dissect me like I’m some sort of lab rat.

Most teenagers on a Saturday would be out with their friends at the mall. Friends? I have three best friends, everyone else I pretty much despise. I guess the constant reminder that my dad is an ass, my stepmom’s a pampered pooch and my little sister gets everything she ever asks for didn’t really help my case.

I begin to make my way to the office of doom and drive down the road. The mucky rain seems to mock me as I switch on the windshield wipers.

Swish, swish, swish, swish...

My mind begins to go numb as the roar of the engine rumbles through my toes and the constant swish of the wipers fills my mind.

Pulling into the parking lot, I grab the car keys, and walk inside.

Mythbusters proved that walking through the rain got you less wet. No one ever believes me and runs through the rain.

Idiots.

I push the door open and walk to the elevator where a young mother and her husband were arguing about something. No doubt they were in couple therapy. I silently wait behind them and I don’t even think they notice me as they bicker and banter. The light blinks and a small ‘ding’ comes from the elevator and I step in after the couple does. They take notice of me finally and their voices lower to an eerie, not to mention awkward, silence. These were the moments when I wish there was actual elevator music.

I make it safely to the waiting room and sit down in the bland grey chair as I wait for the doctor to show up. I find an amusing piece of string on the arm of the chair and began to pick at it with my newly painted nails – I had painted them black just to piss off my stepmom of course. The string unravels slightly and I continue my handy work. The lady behind the desk was hunched over, her glasses nearly falling off the tip of her nose. I wonder if she hunched over more if she would find herself in a rut and not be able to get up from that sitting position. Did she have back problems? I bet if she hunched over any more her glasses would fall of her pointy-ass nose anyway.

The clacking of her fake fingernails against the keyboard stops for a moment and she looks over at me slowly. I, unflinchingly, stare back at her until she gets too uncomfortable to hold eye contact. I sigh, going back to the string on the arm of the chair and could not find it anymore. Maybe it ran away, afraid of being pulled out of the comfort of the dusty chair.

I suppose I can show some empathy towards the poor string. I bet it has some family or something too...

Oh god, who I was I kidding. It was a goddamn piece of string.

Out of sheer boredom, I begin counting my teeth... My last count was eighteen, but I knew the regular adult mouth had twenty-eight [not including molars]. Then again, I was sick the last time I counted my teeth. I had been watching Family Guy and definitely had a good dose of Nyquil in my system.... No wonder I was off.

“Kariana Graham?” A voice calls from the doorway and I look up.

“Yup.” I say flatly, as I take in the appearance of this doctor. He was tall, prominent nose, dark brown eyes and neatly shaved. He wore a very bright cyan blue shirt and a silver tie with neatly pressed pants.

A pretty clean guy if I do say so myself.

He waves his hand and I stand up, taking note of the stack of papers wedged between a perfectly intact manila folder. I am in shock by this of course. I have never even met this doctor before and he’s probably got my entire lifeline in that manila folder...

He probably knows how many teeth I have.

Creepy.

“Well, hello there, Miss Graham. I’m Dr. Pikor.” He ushers me through the door and into his office.

He eyes me up a bit, and I frown. I know I am a bonanza of problems but he didn’t have to look so goddamn intrigued.

“Hi...” I say, almost afraid to ask what sort of information he had about me in that manila folder. I walk into his office and sit down cautiously on the leather two-seater couch.

I sat down and the stiff leather farted under me.

God, that’s embarrassing. What if he thought it was me? I shake off the thought and look up at the doctor. He sinks into the deep navy blue chair across from the couch and places the manila folder on his lap neatly, flipping through the twenty-billion pages... What was this, a secret life of Kariana Graham?

Maybe I’m being a bit vain by thinking the man was stalking me but I think I have a reason to be skeptical.

“Oh, Kariana,” He begins, looking up from the papers after a few moments, a big pearly white smile upon his face – did he have twenty-eight teeth? Did doctors make mistakes in their counting, too?

Whoa, wait a second, bub... There is no reason to ‘Oh Kariana’ me... I think to myself; my eyes narrow on him.

“I’ve been reading through your transcript here and it seems to me like you’ve had a lot of struggles in your life.” He says, almost in a pitying way.

I don’t like pity to be honest. It bothers me. I lean back in the farting leather chair and cross my arms over my chest.

“Mhm?” I ask, wishing he would just give me the prescription and leave me the hell alone.

“I just want you to know that if you want to talk about anything you can always call me and I can help you withwhatever you need.” He leans over, handing me a neat card with his name and number.

“Yup, looks good.” I say shortly, examining the card with intensity. The black font seems to leap out at me against the silver paper.

Dr. Pikor... More like Dr. Prick... The name seems to stick in my brain and grow like an unwanted infestation of bees.

He takes out a pen from his shirt pocket, “Now, Miss. Graham, would you mind me asking a few minor questions?”

I pick at the rip on my jeans and I look up, my expression flat.

“Well, I suppose so... I do believe it would be awfully dickish of me to say no considering my ‘rents are paying about 150 dollars for this session.”

He chuckles, “Well... Yes... I suppose it would be.”

Why is he laughing? My temper shortens slightly as I stare at the man.

He leans over a bit more, as if about to tell me a secret that could save someone’s life, “You know, I was once like you. Just a little sapling waiting to be pried open and blossom,” – What is this guy gay or something?—“I was a rebellious little one at that.”

I raise an eyebrow. Where is he going with this?

“I had to struggle through the low times of my life in order to really find out who I was. It was only a matter of time before I realized my calling, and who I was to truly be. But it took me a while to be able to grasp that concept, and that is what I’m here to help you do. To find your true self and to let go of all those negative emotions ya got bottled up in that head of yours.” He chuckles and my eyes dart back and forth slightly.

“Now,” He begins, grabbing his pen, “How is your family life, Miss Graham?” He asks and the interrogation process began.

“Peachy.” I mutter and he pauses.

“Should I write that down as part of the description, or should I wait for you to elaborate?” He asks, almost dryly.

I smirk from the humor and sigh, “It all started when I was born…”

Dr. Pikor stares at me, as if I was joking but I sigh quietly with a chuckle, “No, seriously… My parents divorced when I was six months old.”

Once he was done, he grabs a sheet of pink paper from his perfectly kept white binder of wonders.

Pink?

I shrug mentally and he unfolds his glasses and slips them on – which, by the way, he also pulled from his shirt pocket. It makes me wonder what else he had in his magical shirt pocket. Maybe a tiny hoard of leprechauns living in a green handkerchief. I smile inwardly at the thought, a Mary Poppins pocket! He begins to scribble down some things on the paper. He rips the pink page from a yellow one and hands me the yellow page.

“Here’s your prescription.” He says, “Now, the label will tell you what to do. I trust you’re old enough to understand and read. Also not to overdose.” He looks over his glasses, raising an eyebrow.

Yeah, right, me overdosing. I may suffer from this horrendous thing called depression, and I might live in a nice little place we like to call hell but I would never go to suicide.

I can give you the whole talk of how suicide is silly and I have so much to live for in this world and I am working at not being so depressed.

But the truth is, I’m a whimp. I could never take my life away. It scares me too much.

I nod, “Of course, Doc.” I say, tapping my foot.

“Have you ever thought of maybe doing a sport, it sometimes releases endorphins to help you feel better about yourself?” He says, looking through the Secret Life of Kariana again.

“I used to do swimming.” I say with a shrug.

He looks up, “Oh, my nephew swims!” He smiles brightly, “What stroke did you do?”

“Butterfly.”

“Oh, my nephew swims the breast stroke... Is that what you call it?”

I nod.

“That’s great!” He smiles, “I think, that if you wanted to, you could try out for the swim team again.”

I raise an eyebrow. Flamboyant doctor say what?

“Uhh, I don’t know about that.” I say, shaking my head.

“Maybe you should think about it.” He says, checking his watch, “Oh, listen, my next patient is coming in, but you should definitely think about rejoining the swimming team.”

Swimming team? Ew, who uses that terminology.

I stand, giving a friendly goodbye and a nod. Swim team? I had been on there for seven years; no way was I going back now. Plus, I was most likely out of shape and I would drown if I jumped into the water. As I walk out of the building, I try desperately to think of the perfect excuse not to start swimming again because I know my new doctor will probably ask me every day if I was thinking about rejoining.

Maybe it’s because I’m deadly allergic to chlorine.

Or my family dislikes me swimming.

Or how about I just use the excuse of ‘My depression is worsening, if I go near the water I might have thoughts of drowning myself’.

My brain must’ve been off because I couldn’t think of one legitimate excuse that didn’t make me sound like a lazy tub of lard.

God I hate this...

Me and my lazy lard-ness...

I drive back home and walk inside, throwing my prescription on the kitchen counter. My dad looks over his papers at me.

“How was it?” He asks his voice showing a slight heightened of interest. I decide to spare him the details.

“It was fine.”

“Good to hear.”

I nod and watch him put his nose hastily back into the newspaper. With a sigh, my feet trail down to the living room and I check the grandfather clock in there: 12:36 pm.

“Kari!” I hear my voice and my little sister looks up from her Barbie’s. I dread looking over at my sister. She was like a puppy, once you start paying attention to her, she doesn’t leave you alone. Once you even make the slightest bit of eye contact, you are sucked into playing Unicorns and Barbie’s for hours on end with her.

“Kari, will you play with me?” Her innocent voice melts me slightly inside and I give in, sitting down on the worn, cream colored carpet. Someday I hope we get new carpet in here, it was kind of dirty.

“Here, you can have that one, it looks like you!” She excitedly thrusts a Barbie into my hand.

NO way could this Barbie ever look like me. This particular Barbie was named Theresa I believe, brown hair, blue eyes. Pretty much Barbie’s twin, brunette form.

“Aaand I will have this one.” She pulls out a blue eyed, blonde haired Barbie and brushes a hand through her Barbie’s hair.

“C’mon! We’re going to go see my Fairy Godmother up in the woods!” She says through her Barbie, “But first, dress nicely because we’re having lunch at her house.”

She almost seems to be scolding me; I mean I’m sure my doll’s bright green bikini was socially acceptable for a lunch with a Fairy Godmother...

I roll my eyes sarcastically and she pulls out the wooden chest filled with shoes, dresses, skirts and pants. She fiddles through chest, finding a light fuzzy pink dress and dressing her Barbie in that. I pick out a simple black dress for mine, and black heels.

“Kari? Have you seen the other bright pink high heel?” She asks, holding the shoe near my face.

I hold out my hand, “Here, let me check in the box real fast.” I say and she nods, handing me the wooden chest.

Searching through the wooden chest, a small frown flickers across my face, “I’unno, Boo.” I say placing the chest down.

She shrugs, “It’s okay.” She pulls out a light pink shoe and places it on the doll’s other foot, “There, she looks pretty now.”

How could she possibly find these dolls pretty? Maybe it was just me, but I actually noticed Barbie’s imperfections.

No one had perfectly blushed cheeks, or a perfect smile on all the time or bubbly blue eyes. She had stick legs, and boobs much too big for her own health – which I am sure she most likely had a lift, or an enlargement or two in her lifetime. I’m pretty sure that Barbie was an extremely unhealthy person in general. I mean, she’s got this on/off thing with Ken, and she’s got the rough and tough GI Joe around the corner as a backup boyfriend in case she gets bored with Fabulous Kenny. She definitely had some relationship issues goin’ on... Now I’m just taking a wild stab in the dark here, but this most likely spawned from early exposure of daddy-daughter issues. She always looks fierce, and has these fabulous cars, houses, planes, and whatever else you can possibly think of and, dare I say, she probably never worked a day in her life.

Yet the only thing that was wrong on Barbie to Lace was the two mismatched shoes.

I sigh, “Ready to go to your Fairy Godmother’s house, Barbie?” I ask with my doll.

Lacie frowns, “My dolls name is Tara.”

“Oh... My bad.” I say with a small laugh, and I put on my girly voice, “Ready to go to your Fairy Godmother’s house, Tara?”

If I’m playing, why not try to have fun with it.

“Yes!” She brings her doll up onto the couch, “Psst... Kari...This is where the Fairy Godmother lives.” She whispers to me and I quickly scramble my doll over to the couch.

I play along with her, bored out of my brains. I began to make up stuff as we played.

“Hey, Theresa, guess what?”

“What?” I ask, swinging my doll this way and that to show excitement. Can you show excitement through a plastic toy?

“My Fairy Godmother gave me the power to turn into a mermaid!”

“Wow! No. Way.” I over exaggerate the words, “Well, I have that power to, and I am secretly the Little Mermaid.”

“Well... I’m the Little Mermaid too.” Lacie says, almost competitively.

“Well, then I’ll be the big mermaid.”

“I’m the BIGGEST mermaid!” Her eyes narrow slightly.

“I’m super skank mermaid.”

I feel my dad’s eyes narrow on me from across the kitchen. I unwillingly look over at him and he glares at me. My eyes drift back over at Lacie and she had let it swing by her with no questions asked.

I laugh lightly, wishing I still had that sort of innocence, to trust that people were saying only good things. To be able to believe in whatever anyone else says with no questions asked.

I continue playing with her for another hour or so, until eventually she grew bored of playing Barbies.

She looks over at me, “Kari...Can I have a grilled cheese?”

I nod, “Make sure you clean up your toys though first.” I say and she nods, grabbing all the Barbie clothes off the floor and shoving them into the wooden chest and placing her Barbies into the toy bin.

I stand up and walk over to the kitchen, searching through the fridge and taking out the cheese, bread and butter.

The wonderful meal of champions these days I suppose. Her new favorite thing was to eat is her grilled cheese with ketchup. Kind of like how I ate mine with BBQ sauce. I don’t know, I guess I’m more like a pregnant lady when I’m hungry. I crave the most random shit in the world. It’s pretty disgusting. But that’s the joys of being a girl, Aunt Flo, strange cravings and food babies.

The good life.

My dad and stepmom come downstairs all fancied up.

“Kariana, we hope you don’t mind too much but we have a party to go to downtown. Would you mind watching over Lacie tonight?”

I eye up my stepmom for a moment, her perfect straight, reddish brown hair which hit around her delicate and even shoulders, her sun kissed brown skin and her chocolate brown eyes. In some ways, she reminded me of the Barbie. She had this supermodel body, which honestly made me feel like crap when I stood next to her perfectly thinned out self. I had always been lacking in the perfection department.

Then again, sitting in my room for hours on end pointing out how one boob was slightly bigger than the other, and one foot was a bit on the shorter side probably didn’t help my confidence level – which had been shot down by age ten ‘b-t-dubs’ [‘By the way’, in case you didn’t catch my teenage lingo].

I nod, “Yeah, sure.”

“There’s some leftover Chinese in the fridge, you can bring Andy and Nina over if you’d like.” My stepmom says and I

nod with a smile.

“Thanks.” I say and they both wave goodbye and head out the door.

Almost as if my two best of friends were psychic, my phone began to ring as soon as the door shut.

“Hullo?”

“Yo, what are you doin’ tonight?” Nina’s voice rings in my ear.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY, KARI!” Andy’s voice almost blasts my ear drums out, no doubt they were together, sitting happily on Nina’s bed doing nails or something.

“I’unno,” I say, shrugging the phone into the crook of my neck as I turn on the stove and grab the pan from the bottom drawer of the island in the kitchen, “I have to watch Lace though— “

“Hold up, hold up… But it’s your fucking birthday, are you kidding me? The folks won’t let you go out?” I could picture Nina raising her eyebrow, hand placed firmly on her hip.

I cut off a piece of butter from the stick, dropping it into the pan, watching it sizzle as I swirl it around.

“Nope.” My voice is bland, the enthusiam lacks as I set the sandwich on the pan and sidestep over towards the drawers, grabbing a spatula.


Note: You are not logged in, but you can still leave a comment or review. Before it shows up, a moderator will need to approve your comment (this is only a safeguard against spambots). Leave your email if you would like to be notified when your message is approved.







Is this a review?


  

Comments



User avatar
41 Reviews


Points: 612
Reviews: 41

Donate
Wed Feb 06, 2013 3:35 am
View Likes
Supermeggs12 wrote a review...



If I must say, make sure you put the 18+ warning in the description. It is funny, though.

I would say to work on your dialogue punctuation, but Hannah already covered it. I like your characters voice, it sounds very real and it gives your character more personality. You also, need to make sure you aren't adding in too many details and description, that will bore the reader very quickly.




User avatar
1313 Reviews


Points: 23286
Reviews: 1313

Donate
Mon Feb 04, 2013 3:35 pm
View Likes
Hannah wrote a review...



It was all smooth sailing up until this point:

My stepmom turns to me. “Would you like me to drive you?” she chirps happily, turning off the TV as Oprah says goodbye to her millions of fans.


“No, I’m good.” I say


Oh no! Do you need to brush up on your dialogue punctuation?

I have three best friends, everyone else I pretty much despise.


And comma splices?

didn’t really help my case.


Please be sure to be careful to keep the same tense throughout your piece. *doesn't

her husband were arguing about something.


*are

Okay, and here where you start describing every single moment of being in the elevator is where I lose you the first time. I am with you and this speaker's unique voice up until this point, but it suddenly turns into "then this happened, then this, and I, and I, and I" (lots of sentences starting with eye, not a lot of sentence variation). I skim until here:

Oh god, who I was I kidding. It was a goddamn piece of string.


And maybe just 'cause it's a line of it's own. That makes me go back and read a little bit (that she's picking at the string), but I really don't feel like it. You've lost me. What are you going to do to get your reader back during that part? I recommend speeding it up a bit. Do we need to know every single solitary step on the way to the doctor's office. You can be fluid with time. Move us forward so you don't lose us. Keep us with you and excited to listen.

He was tall, prominent nose, dark brown eyes and neatly shaved. He wore a very bright cyan blue shirt and a silver tie with neatly pressed pants.

A pretty clean guy if I do say so myself.


I think I'd swallow your info dump if you coated it with the voice-heavy "a pretty clean guy if I do say so myself" first.

He probably knows how many teeth I have.

Creepy.


Oh god, so perfect. You know how to use previous mundane descriptions to bring life to your character. I am just really not interested in the elevator talk and the string picking. I liked the teeth counting, for the record. xD

I sat down and the stiff leather farted under me.


You know why I'm showing you this.

Maybe I’m being a bit vain by thinking the man was stalking me but I think I have a reason to be skeptical.


I don't believe this part in her voice. I don't believe she'd actually think he was stalking her. I like how she analyzes things oddly, but stalking is too strong. And I feel like she knows doctors, like she's been to one before, if she's been prescribed anti-depressants, so... this seems wrong.

The black font seems to leap out at me against the silver paper.

Dr. Pikor... More like Dr. Prick... The name seems to stick in my brain and grow like an unwanted infestation of bees.


Not only do I not like that first, personality-void sentence, but it doesn't work well with another sentence so close to it that also starts "noun seems..."

“Here’s your prescription.” He says, “Now, the label will tell you what to do. I trust you’re old enough to understand and read. Also not to overdose.” He looks over his glasses, raising an eyebrow.


What? I'm not sure I understand the process. She is already "on" anti-depressants, it seems from the first part of the story, and then I think she's also in therapy, but he talks to her for like five minutes and gives her the prescription? Confusing sequence of events could use some cleaning and clarification!

Flamboyant doctor say what?


Her voice is so strong. I love it! I can hear her in my head. Did you read this aloud to yourself to check it? haha

Oh nooo... and you lost my interest as soon as you started describing what the little sister was actually saying when they were playing barbies.

Plus you made me not want to read her anymore when she got too much for me to swallow:

Maybe it was just me, but I actually noticed Barbie’s imperfections.


Really? Maybe it was just you? No way it was just you. She's smart enough to not say dumb stuff like that. Plus, come on. Ragging on Barbie's been done. I basically didn't read that entire paragraph. Not saying it to be rude, but so you understand how I read your piece and see where you might need to hook me in again.

Mostly you don't need to describe every single moment of this girl's life. I feel like a slight fastforward here would work, too. Skipped their dialogue again. Oof, and you basically lose me until the end. What's gone wrong? There's no interest. There's no action. I'm interested in her at the doctor's to learn about how she reacts, but I picked up on how she is at home in just a couple of lines. I don't need to see her interaction with her sister unless it reveals something vital about her. If it did, it needs to not be hidden in inane dialogue that gives me no reason to start it.

Also, yeah, this was a weird place to stop. I assume you're going to keep writing, but keep in mind where you cut off your parts, yeah? Cut off at a scene change or time change or something, to keep the reader going smoothly.

My last concern is that after all there's no hint of where this is going. I will probably keep reading for a while, but there's gotta be direction at some point. That direction, hint of what's to come, will keep me reading to see how it turns out, you know? c:

PM me if you have any questions!

Good luck and keep writing!




User avatar
890 Reviews


Points: 33
Reviews: 890

Donate
Mon Feb 04, 2013 3:20 am
View Likes
PenguinAttack wrote a review...



Hullo!

I like this, it's funny and interesting but it also stops really abruptly at the end - were you writing more of this? I also popped a rating onto this for the language. Comments follow!

or as most people refer to it as a “birthday”. Sitting down, I grab the cereal box, pouring it into the bowl, my eyes narrowing in on the TV.
“vaginal escape day” is mad crude, but props on that. You repeat “as” twice in that first sentence, lose the second instance. In the way of the second sentence, it suggests you’re pouring the box into your bowl, instead name some kind of cereal: “I grab the box and pour sugary bites into the bow” or whatever.

I like that she silently hates on Oprah, I hate on Oprah vocally sometimes. Lovely.
“Kudos, Oprah.” I mumble between angry chomps of cereal.
I just really like this, how it’s worded. But you haven’t mentioned how Morgan Freeman is also a god. Except that obviously he is, because godvoice.

OMGBFFL
I don’t know what this stands for, so adding an asterisks and then later mentioning it down the bottom would be rad. I think it probably means Oh My God Best Friends For Life” but I don’t want to assume too much.

“No, I’m good.” I say with a small nod and put on my Northface and walk into the garage. I sit down in the driver’s
seat of my car, grasping the wheel and letting out a sigh.
Is Northface like, a stony face? I don’t know what it meaaans, The repeated “and” is a little annoying, try losing the first and, using “putting” instead of “put.” Also, weird line break which I assume was an accident!

How do you know the woman with the man have a kid? Unless there is a kid with them? I’m liking her inner thoughts so far, she isn’t totally annoying. You’re also skipping your tenses all over the place though, you need to decide if she’s in the present or looking back.

He probably knows how many teeth I have.
So perfect, this line. It just is, don’t look at me like that.

you withwhatever you need.
just needs a space!

He leans over a bit more, as if about to tell me a secret that could save someone’s life, “You know, I was once like you. Just a little sapling waiting to be pried open and blossom,” – What is this guy gay or something?—“I was a rebellious little one at that.”
OH MAN. She thinks he’s gay? I think that is an intensely creepy thing to say! Like… mad suggestive and creepy. Dr., you are creepy and also a bit of an ass.

I look forward to reading more from you! The characterisation is solid and your description is just enough to get us through. Please hit me up if you have any questions, queries or just want to chat.

~ Pen.





There is hopeful symbolism in the fact that flags do not wave in a vacuum.
— Arthur C. Clarke