Youth in My Eyes

Hey Atticus!

Here as requested. That's a good story. You should definitely work o it.
My comments and nitpicks are in red.

. Intro
I've read a lot of books that tell the story of a man's youth. The trails#BF0040 ">(I think you mean trials.) he went through without the knowledge he now possesses. The lessons he's learned and how he would have made the right choices if he was represented#BF0040 ">(I think you mean ‘presented with.’Not sure, represented is the right word here.) the opportunity again.
Retrospect- always gets the best of us.
I'm by far no man, but I'm trying. I really am.

This is normally the part in one of these books where you get the background drop on who I am. But to tell you the truth, I sorta#BF0040 ">(I prefer sort of. Sorta is fine when used in dialogues, but, personally I’m not a fan of contractions in the narrative) hate these parts. So I'll try to make this as non-zombie brain dead as possible.
My name is Atticus.
Atticus Gallows.
I'm a Junior in High school, and my mind is a tangled web of half baked ideas. I the spider -with a meal trapped in my web, try to get close enough to drink the wisdom of a idea;#BF0040 ">(You need to rephrase here. I don’t quite understand you.) but my attempts in vain: as I watch my idea break free, and fly away.
I live in Rosedale, Maryland. It's a few hours out from Baltimore.
I can't begin explain to you how much Baltimore means to me. When I walk these streets at night; I can feel the buildings breathing. In, and out. In, and out. The walls shake with life; and the vibrations of voices bounce off the shiny wet street. Most times when I drive down to Baltimore it's normally raining.#BF0040 ">(Since you’re already using ‘most times,’ it would be better if you removed ‘normally.) I indulge#BF0040 ">(Not sure indulge is the right word here.) in the skyscraper's higher floors. I take an elevator high enough to look out over the winding city streets, and wait till night fall. The dark clear night sky's#BF0040 ">([color=#BF0000]skies, not with an apostrophe.) [/color]of Baltimore filled with flickering diamonds gazing down upon a nocturnal sea of cars, lights, and people.#BF0040 ">(This sentence isn’t structured right. Rephrase it.) All moving, breathing, and dancing to the city's rhythm. The white and red lights of the cars zipping by on the highways leave long tails behind them. All the tails behind one another blinding: creating a illusion of a never ending twisting snake dancing down the roads. #BF0040 ">(I like your idea being portrayed here. Very good. But the sentence needs rephrasing.)The windowpane I look out of, is crying with trickles of rain running down it. As I'm lost in the world below, my own reflection seizes my attention. I'm left in total serenity as I look my mirrored self straight in the eyes. Just another rainy night in Baltimore. It leaves me breathless the whole ride home.
My academic stature, I'll admit could be damn well higher. I just don't try. I just#BF0040 ">(<Don’t use just again. It sounds awkward to read.) pass so I won't get yelled at by my father. To me school teaches a lot of other valuable things far more important than Chemistry, or Math. School makes you learn; how to socialize effectively, show up on time for something daily, turn in work that had a deadline, and put up with a salad bowl of different people and personalities to go with them. The hidden agendas. It's not a bad thing, but some people just don't catch on. In fact a helluva lot of my peers don't make this connection: a price I'm sure they'll pay one day. #BF0040 "> (<Again, I’d rather not the informal helluva in the narrative.)
Ignorance is bliss.
It's been made clear to me over my sixteen years of living that my judgment is a lot stronger and wiser than a lot of the people I hang out with. I'm not saying in anyway here that I'm better than any of them. Because the truth, is I'm not. I just have a better ability determining a good idea from a bad idea. Despite this fact, I often act a lot like a regular teenager. I joke, I cuss too much, I lie, but I know when to turn it off.
Someone once told me, “You have the eyes of youth, and the soul of an aged man.”
These are thing that I have experienced and how I'm learning to deal with them. I'm writing this in the hopes that there is someone like me out there. Someone who by some off beat chance that is the rhythm of this world, picked, found, borrowed, checked out, stole, bought whatever. How you came across it, is of the least-most importance. What is important is it's in you're hands, and your willing to give up a little part of your life, and listen.
My childhood, to tell you the truth I don't remember all to well. When I was little I had a friend at the end of my neighborhood street who would come play with me. One day we had a horrible idea to play with the pine cones that fell from my tree in the front yard. I have pretty good memory of everything up till then so I'll try to paint my picture. It was the summer of what year I don't recall. My father had cut the grass the day before, so the grass felt pretty damn good in between my toes. My friend Austin road#BF0040 ">(< You mean rode.) his bike down to my house and jump off the bike in motion when he reached my drive way. The bike with no center of balance#BF0040 ">(<Technically, the bike does have a center of balance, and when a person sits on it, he adjusts to maintain the CoB. So, you should probably say something like he lost his balance.) wobbled a few times then fell over on the concrete. I remember the noise of the crashed bike made me turn around to see him.
“Yo! Atticus! What's up?” Austin said. He had a black strap going across his chest that was connected to a black bag on his back; with two silver handles poking out of the zipper. #BF0040 ">(Nice description here.)
“I brought my baseball bats: wanna play?” I walked towards him with a smile and said sure thing. #BF0040 ">(You could dialogue-ify the sure thing.)
The bats were aluminum ones; light, but could still do some real damage. I would soon be finding out first hand.
Austin didn't bring baseballs. So we got the idea we could just use all the fallen pine-cones around the tree. We picked some up. I watched Austin throw one in the air. On his face complete focus on the falling pine-cone. His tongue was hanging out a little bit. As the pine-cone came closer to eye level he swung. Pow! The pine-cone shattered into a million little pieces in mid-air. We laughed and continued our genocide of the pine-cone population.
After awhile finding pine-cones became a trouble. Few were left. As I was moseying around the grass looking for one with my head down; Austin had thrown a pine-cone sky high. He was staring up watching the pine-cones decent, as I unknowingly walked towards him. I was still looking in the grass for another pine-cone. I had walked right in front of Austin and he didn't see me. The pine-cone had reached his eye level, and so did my head; but to#BF0040 ">(< You mean too.) late. He swung. I was sent to the ground instantly on pure force of impact alone#BF0040 ">(<Okay, this is a bit awkwardly phrased. Just saying by the force is fine.). I blacked out a little bit, but I came around long enough to get inside. I had my hand on the back of my head it felt wet, but I didn't look. I didn't see Austin when I got up. I would find out later that he ran off as soon as he hit me because he got scared. Stumbling into the kitchen yelling at the top of my lungs for my mother. She found me on my knees and rushed to see what had happened to me, and why I was covered in my own blood. When she came to her knees I saw more fear in her eye's then I had in my own. Which just made me more scared. She put a towel behind my head to try and seize the bleeding. I can't remember much after that because I passed out. Last thing I saw was the towel covered in blood. I woke up later that day in the hospital with my mom and dad by my bed. I had over twelve stitches in the back of my head that the baseball bat cracked open.
My Mother and Father#BF0040 ">(<You don’t need to capitalize mother and father.), they split up when I was in the third grade... I think. It's a little fuzzy. I do remember my mother- she was always caring. A stay at home mom. I can vaguely remember her teaching me little math tricks to give me an edge in school. Like the numbers that add up to ten. Nine plus one, eight plus two, seven plus three. You get the idea. The point being she was a good mother, and still is.
After the split, my dad was going through a lot. As he gained full custody of me, and worked shift work. He's been though so much, that I'm proud to say I am his son. My father rarely drinks, and doesn't smoke. So neither do I. It's personal preference, but I do take some strange pride in it.
I am an only child, and most days and nights I was always by myself, due to my father's constant work schedule. I grew up quickly, cleaning up after myself, feeding myself, waking up on my own, showering, going to sleep with no one else in the house.
I grew very used to being by myself. I liked it. Independence... to an extent. #BF0040 ">(I like this bit.)




II. Echo
Life started getting a little bumpy with the first day of middle school. I made friends quite easily. That really was never the problem. But what was a huge problem was a girl by the name of
Echo C Valentine.
That name would haunt me for years to come.
First period. Of the first day. Art class.
We sat on these long rows of brown tables that were too tall for our undeveloped little bodies. We used stools, unbalanced wobbly old stools. #BF0040 ">(<You sit at tables and on stools. So, it would sound better if you rephrased these two lines.)
I remember thinking, “If I fall off this thing she's going to think I'm the biggest loser in here.”
My hands gripped tight around the rim of the cold metal circular seat for extra support. I rocked back in forth out of nervousness. Echo sat across from me. She was, in my opinion, the most gorgeous girl I had ever seen.
Her green eyes could choke me at the sight. She had long brown hair, that mirrored silk. Light brown skin, soft to the touch. She was a bit smaller than me, and still is to this day.
I was constantly looking down at the four skinny legs of my stool. I didn't dare make eye contact. I was too afraid. To afraid to be engaged in a conversation only to trip over my own words. But then it happened. It was inevitable.
She said something like, “You know, a picture lasts longer.” She had seen me looking at her when I thought she wasn't paying attention. As soon as she looked up. I'd look down. Pretty obvious, but hell, I couldn't help myself.
Still looking down, I some how uttered, “Sorry...” She laughed. That was how I met, Echo Valentine.
After that the year seemed to fly over me. Echo and I became best friends. But I got trapped by our friendship. I loved her. Flat out loved her#BF0040 ">(< This sentence doesn’t sound good. Remove it.). But she viewed me as a brother. That, is the most painful thing I've ever.. #BF0040 ">(Remove the dots.) been through.
I was trapped like this for about four years, up until my sophomore year of high school. I loved her and stayed holding on to her for that long. Every day just hoping I'd get closer. I had everything planned out in my head. And I thought about it so much I believed myself. I wanted her to be my first kiss, first to hold my hand, first to say, “I love you.” I wanted her to be my everything.
The most powerful weapon of the human being- the mind- Is also the most self destructive.
As you can guess, nothing went the way I wanted. I watched her date, I watched her kiss, I watched her fall, and I'd pick her up.
I learned when she was wearing a mask. And when she wasn't. No one could see her mask but me. When she had it on, she was fake to people she just didn't want to bother with. You know, that mask we wear to school so people look over us. It's to avoid attention. I, the student, I smile, I do the work, I don't misbehave. I do this so you look over me. So that if my suicide ever came up, no one would see it coming.
“He was such a good student! He never gave me any problems, he had a A in conduct, and had a B+ all year round. I had no idea.” That's why people like me and Echo wear our masks. #BF0040 ">(Like this too!)
We hate the attention. We don't want our problems to show because we don't want people to worry. The voice of the school can be unforgiving.
“He's always so depressed, I wonder whats wrong?”
“Who? Him? Oh, he's a weird-o.”
Those are the kinds of conversations we try to keep from peoples' mouths.
I couldn't give you a good reason as to why it took me so long to move on. I just played the fool, and I did it so well.
The puppet has to have strings.
Echo had me warped around her finger and she never had to try. Her voice, was a siren's song. We share so many memories. To this day to be honest with you, I still dream of her from time to time.





III. Let go
Echo left me with so many scars. I try to stop counting them all. The number of times I was let down exceeds me. I came so close to the edge once I almost jumped.
Suicide- a real catch twenty two.
I don't know what I was thinking. I just wanted to have Echo, and seeing as how I had been waiting four plus years for her to come around. I was just done. Done waiting, done hoping, done praying, done listening, done breathing. Done. Just done. I could never bring myself to pull the trigger, but I thought about it.
Roulette: is more of a social game- unlike solitaire.
I crawled the rest of my way through ninth grade. I would zone-out so much during school it became a real problem. I could be in a circle of friends during lunch all of them talking, and I could zone-out. I would just lose focus on everything around me and slip away.
I remember this scenario
“I just can't stand being with him.” Echo said.
Well break up with him, I tell her.
“I can't do that...”
Why the hell not?.. (< No dots again.)I don't feel like even hearing it.
“He means a lot to me. I just need him to change.”
If he can't realize what he has, fuck him.
“but,” Echo's looking down at her feet “He just needs a little more time. He'll change.”
I turn to Echo and tell her to look at me, Your(<You’re. Not your.) so much better than him. Why do you insist on wasting your time?
What an ironic thing for me to say. Giving advice I don't even follow.
“I'm not wasting my time!” Echo paused for quite a long time. “To be honest I just don't want to be alone..”
That's when I lost it. I didn't show it, but I wanted to turn invisible. What would the difference be? She doesn't see me anyway.
I zoned out,
“Hey, are you even listening?” Echo asked me.
What? Yeah... you don't want to be alone. I know the feeling.
It was after that conversation that I abandoned my ideas of ever being with Echo.

Hey Atticus! Here as requested

This was really interesting. I loved the tone, the descriptions, the writing, the concept. It was really engaging to read, and lacked all the boring info-dumps that are very easy to fall into in a story like this. So great job!

Now I have some grammatical nit-picks. There are somewhere near a lot, hah. Don't be discouraged or anything by the amount, I was super-on-the-look-out for them today. xD

Anything bolded will be my additions.

Retrospect- always gets the best of us.

I the spider -with a meal trapped in my web, try to get close enough to drink the wisdom of a idea; but my attempts are in vain: as I watch my idea break free, and fly away.

Because the truth, is I'm not.

These are things that I have experienced and how I'm learning to deal with them.

Someone who by some off beat chance that is the rhythm of this world, picked, found, borrowed, checked out, stole, bought whatever.

How you came across it, is of the least-most importance.

What is important is it's in you're hands, and your willing to give up a little part of your life, and listen.

My childhood, to tell you the truth I don't remember all to well.

But what was a huge problem was a girl by the name of

Echo C Valentine.

First period. Of the first day. Art class.

That was how I met, Echo Valentine.

That, is the most painful thing I've ever.. been through.

Roulette: is more of a social game- unlike solitaire.

I crawled the rest of my way through ninth grade.

“but,” Echo's looking down at her feet,

I turn to Echo and tell her to look at me, Your so much better than him.

This sounds very personal, and very real. It became extremely emotional and the turning point really hit me when the bit about the masks began; suicide thoughts. It's intense, like looking into the mind of a hidden intellectual. It's also dark and thought-provoking. The character drives this story, not an action plot or anything filler. Impressive to say the very least. I look forward to more!

thanks weaver! I'll go back and fix that soon

I think this is really good.

Hey, and welcome to the site.

First off, I love your character's voice. It feels real to me, like someone sitting there talking. I like that you point out your character's pros and cons, and how he feels about himself. It also seems like he really knows what's going on around him, but doesn't forget that he's still a kid and doesn't make it preachy. Like you said, "The eyes of youth, and the soul of an aged man." You go from one subject to another, but...it works? I don't know how, but it does. Oh, and I have to point this out because I love it.

We laughed and continued our genocide of the pine-cone population.

I joke, I cuss to much...

He's been though so much