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: Okayy...so this one is a bit of a disjointed story, from its title, to the beginning, to that middle scene to how it ends. I feel like a separate guide is needed to understand what this story is really trying to tell us here which is not a great sign. Its mysterious, but its just a bit too mysterious to the point we can't really tell where this is going and that's not great.

Anyway let's get right to it,

Focus. The word reverberates the mind of a predator as it surrounds its prey. I sip my drink in the dark, quietly wrestling the animal in me. "Dying to get out, I know. Hush now". I scan the room, trying to figure out where I fit and I realize, I don't. I don't mesh into these people's lives. They all seem to fit the scene like it was a play and then, there's me. I'm not the director , just an outsider. I sigh and get up. Making my way through the crowd, they carry me away like a current and I don't care.

I look in the mirror and don't recognize the 21 year old staring at me. The lady at the gas station says I look timeless and I'll appreciate it when I'm older. My mom says everyone can tell I'm older because of the look in my smoldering eyes. I don't know how that gives me away. I shrug at this. My phone goes off on the nightstand for the 12th time today but i ignore it. "Not right now, baby".

"Anthony?". I look across the table and see a woman staring back at me. Concern and sadness mixed with...relief are written all over her face. I must've missed something again. The Anthony's in my head scramble to remember what she said but my mouth tries to usher an apology in the meantime. She notices the puzzled hurt look on my face and rests her warm hands on mine. From the corner of my eye, I see one single rain drop hit the window. I look across the table and I see her for the first time. The wrinkles. The worry lines. The bags under her eyes. It's heartbreaking to realize everything about a single person when it's too late.

I park the car on the hill and rest my head on the headrest. Looking around the quiet hilly scenery laid out before me, it gives me a heartache. I look out on my right and see it. The praying hands, pointing straight to Heaven. I get out of the car and walk uphill a little ways and stop before the rose I bought. My knees buckle and I fall. All the emotions I had the last few months come flooding out of me and I rush for my Bible. "I'll read your favorite book". I sat there, in front of the only woman who knew who I was and apologized all day and night. Before I leave, I place my hand on her tombstone. "I'm sorry".

"Not right now, baby" she mouthes. I shift my weight in the worlds most uncomfortable chair. The room is too loud, yet I can still hear my heart beating above it all. "Hush" I tell myself. I squirm in my seat, itching to get up but I force myself to sit. Sit, boy. I feel like a dog. She makes me feel like a dog, begging for water. Only it's not water I want nor am I a dog. I feel something much viscious and worse happening to me...I'm awake or so I think. It's too dark to tell. If she's here, I'm still asleep, then again she has taken over my nightmares lately. Im searching for her in the dark beside me, for whatever reason. "Not right now, baby". The words replay themselves, like a broken record I play. Her perfume fills my nostrils and it happens again...

"It's never happened before you". She rolls her eyes, twirling her dirty blond hair. I stare at the red cup in front of me. She takes her brown coat off to reveal a black dress. I focus on a passing car but she eyes me from the side. 'No'I tell myself. My legs shiver, telling me to go but I force them to stay. Stay, boy. Her pale fingers reach for something from her coat pocket. She puts a cigarette to her lips. "Don't get excited" she says to me. I try to flee back inside but she grabs me on my waist. "You shouldn't have done that" I whisper.

She grabs onto my back. I want something else. Something deeper than the skin. Our skin gleams from the sweat. I try to kiss her but get hit with it. "Not right now, baby". The words swim around my head for what seem like forever until she slaps me back to reality with a moan. I look down and see her teeth illuminate in the dark. "What?" I ask. She shakes her head, swings her legs over the edge of the bed and lights up. I hope the cigarettes will kill me before she does.

Anxiety creeps in my bed at night. I look at her and wonder what I did to deserve this. My mind takes me back to the night I got the call. "Get over it. I did.". I want to punch her, the same way she punched me with the news. It's as if someone , somewhere , is laughing at me. I'd be laughing too but not because it's funny. It's like watching a train wreck, only I am the train. I touch all the places I touched before but they aren't mine anymore. The room spins.

Hello,

This is a really trippy story you've got here.

As Lauren said, it's very surreal—the way it slides from one event to the next haphazardly, without any rhyme or reason, makes sense based on the beginning (that very first line—"focus"), which tells us this is an unfocused, frenzied character.

I do agree with everything Lauren said, about wishing that the story within this story—what happened between these two people, namely—was made a bit clearer. At the same time, I do like that readers are able to draw their own conclusions and, also as Lauren said, put the pieces together—however they see fit.

Your style of writing is extremely intriguing and engaging, to say the least. I love non-linear stories, and stories that break the rules a bit, do things in a different, fresh, bold sort of way. You've definitely accomplished that with this piece. I don't think I've ever read anything quite like it, so points for originality.

The roughness of it—choppy sentences, sharp, abrupt turns from one scene to the next—really suit the material. We get a strong sense of the narrator but in the most subtle of ways—you've painted a very abstract but compelling picture. I also love the pervasive, latent sense of dread and paranoia running through the piece, coupled with the franticness and chaos. It has an almost noir-ish vibe.

So basically, I loved it. It's not for everyone, Lord knows, but those that like this sort of writing will adore this piece.

Anyway, onto nitpicks:

"Dying to get out, I know. Hush now".

I scan the room, trying to figure out where I fit and I realize, I don't.

I'm not the director , just an outsider.

I look in the mirror and don't recognize the 21 year old staring at me.

My phone goes off on the nightstand for the 12th time today but i ignore it.

"Anthony?".

The Anthony's in my head

She notices the puzzled hurt look on my face

From the corner of my eye, I see one single rain drop hit the window. I look across the table and I see her for the first time.

All the emotions I had the last few months come flooding out of me and I rush for my Bible. [...] I sat there

I shift my weight in the worlds most uncomfortable chair.

I feel something much viscious and worse

Im searching for her in the dark beside me

'No'I tell myself.

Something deeper than the skin. Our skin gleams from the sweat.

Hi DarthAntRin!

Whoa. I love the way this story shifts from one place to another. It's kind of dreamy or unreal and gives the whole story a sense of mystery. Stories like this are always so interesting to me, ones that you have to fit together like puzzle pieces and try to figure out. You have a really strong start here to a story like that!

That being said, I think there are parts that are a little too mysterious. By the end of the story it's clear there's a relationship between two characters that seems to have become abusive. One character is controlling the other, but it also seems like the character being controlled (Anthony?) might have done something to get revenge on the abusive character. I suspect this because of the moment when Anthony visits the grave. But since we don't have much more information than this, end of the story leaves me confused rather than on the brink of figuring something out.

Stories, even abstract stories, have an arc. Right now, there's the feeling of a beginning, middle, and end. The events in the story don't appear to happen chronologically which is fascinating, and shouldn't change, but what actually happens isn't quite clear enough to build tension to a climax and then back down to some sort of resolution. Basically, the chain of events should be just clear enough for us to come away at the end with some sort of greater understanding about the story. As it stands, while the experience of the story was lovely and unsettling in one of the best ways, I don't have that understanding at the end. I'm missing the kind of satisfaction that comes with finishing a story. That satisfaction looks differently in an abstract story like this, but we should still have some solid place to land.

All in all, fabulous start! With the right amount of clarity introduced to this story, you'll have something really excellent on your hands.

Keep writing!

--Lauren