Published February 14, 2007
I met a glass man in a glass house. I was sixteen.
I don’t remember why I was there; I just know I was drifting off of the roof and back onto the floor, my body twisting like a contortionist, crawling
through cracks on the sidewalk into the vents of the brown-carpeted floor.
He asked me what my name was and I said, “Annie.”
He asked me if I meant to go on being called Annie and I said, “Maybe.”
The Glass Man let me in but he would not let me out.
His house had leather cushioning and hyperglycemic walls. His vinyl floors were made of acrophobia and his beds were made of needles. Once I was in his house I didn’t want to leave it. It was a bittersweet experience, to live in the glass man’s house. At least I wasn’t alone.
The Glass Man asked my purpose.
I answered him, “To breathe.”
And that was it. That’s it.
1.
I was taking loop diuretics. Alcohol is excessively caloric, so is the diet most druggies live off of: pizzas ordered by rich faggots with nothing better to do or eat, potato chips, Bacardi. Mostly the people who bought the drugs bought the food, and mostly they were fat, some morbidly so. I didn’t realize at first that the drugs would make me thin on their own, rid me of my appetite. But toward the beginning, before I found out, I used the pills, and I have the empty bottles and packages to prove it. Bumex, Edecrin, Lasix, Demadex—those are the prescription kinds you have to barter for. Ex-Lax, a less potent kind, could be stolen from the local grocery store.
In the very beginning, when I lived with my parents, I stole their prescription drugs. My mother had perpetual migraines and the Neurologist prescribed hardcore drugs for it. In general, three tabs of Oxycodone, that world-class number, plus one hunter-orange capsule of Gabapentin, could be traded for four or five hits of ecstasy, or two tablets of meth. Hydrocod, a heavy-duty pain pill, could be traded for bottles of laxatives. I even traded Valatrex, a large, dark blue pill that instantly ridded you of cold sores, to a girl with genital herpes, who was happy to take three or four pills in exchange for glass. The pills were meant to be consumed and get rid of sores on your lips, but each to their own.
I didn’t consider myself a drug dealer because we weren’t dealing, we were bartering.
They told me that marijuana isn’t bad for you, that it just kills brain cells, and brain cells get killed breathing. They said all it does to you is makes you relax and causes you to lose your short term memory. But I didn’t want to forget anything, I wanted to remember every detail, so I never smoked marijuana, or cigarettes, either. I smoked crack, and I did meth, and I heard that wouldn’t do anything to me but whoever said that, I can’t remember his name but his face is clear in my mind, whoever that was is a liar.
* * *
I didn’t like the way he was staring at me.
I was young, fourteen, and he was sixteen at least, a Junior, an upperclassman, and staring at me.
I looked at the tiles on the floor, opalescent patterns forming half-squares connected with black lines. I looked at my shoes, black sketchers with one broken shoelace tucked into the webbing, looked at the water-fountain, the cafeteria line. Looked back up.
Now he had a smile to go along with that near-opaque stare, partially hidden behind a canopy of thick, curly hair. It was dyed black with white-ish blonde undertones, a thick blue streak, a quirky side part, bangs. It looked like he spent a lot of time on it but never washed it. And that smile-that Aladdin-esque smile, it was a lie; I know it was a lie because it looked so safe.
I chewed my nails and flipped my hair so it would cover half of my face. He grinned and looked the other way, as though thinking, then back at me.
Then he stood up, separating from the gothic-lesbian-druggie group of friends he was with, and like Moses parting the Red Sea, came at me through the thick cafeteria.
I was very logical about it. I looked the other way, pretending I hadn’t seen him, and ducked into the ASB offices, pulling out a stack of paperwork and beginning the long job of filing it away for future reference. I was ASB Secretary.
My memory amazes me. The old Annie was overachiever extraordinaire.
I’m not going to be stupid and cliché and say something like “that was the poignant memory in my life, that was that life-altering second,” because a), it would be stupid to blame my problems on Trev, and b), it would be inaccurate. Trev didn’t get me into drugs. I got him into them.
He didn’t come straight through the ASB door, instead he circled around to the elementary playground outside and smiled at me through the window, waving and gesturing for me to open the side door. When I saw him there I grinned. He was so unobtrusive, so harmless.
I opened the door for him.
He walked into the glass house.
* * *
I used to smell things, when I lived at home. Things that are typical in every normal home, like Lysol and permanent ink markers and dry detergent. I loved the smell of detergent, I sometimes ran my fingers through the salt-like grains and lifted them to my nose and inhaled until I could taste them in my throat. I smelled the Jergens soap and the lavender Soft Scrub while scrubbing the toilets and sinks and bathtubs. I liked to stand in the dogs’ shed and sniff the scent of new wood panels and dog food.
I just liked smelling things. Normal things like cookies and flowers and perfumes had no real appeal to me, but I picked up thick, old books and held them to my nose until I couldn’t distinguish the smell anymore, and I intentionally hid cleaners and Pine Sol and dusting supplies in my bedroom, and rub the soaps on my walls. Not so I could get high off of the fumes, just because I found the scents addicting.
At my new house, at the drug house, there aren’t any of those old familiar things to smell. There’s liquid detergent that has no enticing scent and the only soap in the bathroom is Suave shampoo, thick as Jell-O and as artificially blue. Everything smells like B.O. and the stench is ground into the carpets and the greasy walls, and everybody laughs too loudly at The Simpson’s on T.V., and I don’t even like the Simpson’s, makes me feel my brain slowly seeping onto the floor.
There is a dog, though, his name is Bartholomew. Pete Stoner (yes that is his name) trained him to sniff out and bark at policemen, but that’s all he really does. Bartholomew is a Chihuahua, he’s a real yippy thing, gets on everyone’s nerves, craps on the furniture, that stuff, but if a policeman comes around we figure we’ll have just enough time to feed Bartholomew all the evidence and let the dog overdose to keep us out of jail. We’ve already done that to our last pet, Meow The Cat. Lauren saw the cops coming and yanked our stash up and mixed it in the cat food, then let Meow The Cat out the back. She died on our porch but she was just a stray anyway and I didn’t want to go to jail. Really all I lamented was the loss of our stash.
Bartholomew isn’t too different from Meow The Cat, we picked him up at an animal shelter and he’ll eat basically anything, because we forget to feed him most of the time, and mostly he eats old pizza crusts and stands there shaking. Well join the club, Bartholomew.
After snorting, Trev and I went outside and sat on the back porch. I still have my bangs cut to go over my face so no one can really see me, but Trev is always wanting to push it out of my thin, lined face so he can get a look at me. I look older than I am.
We sat and looked at the sky and said it was a curtain to keep the dust out, and the stars were poked holes in it, and Trev said that the ozone can evaporate for all he cares, and if the sky keeps evaporating too all there will be is miles and miles of light. That made me laugh, because there’s nothing wrong with light, but he said it with his nose all wrinkled.
* * *
It’s Monday, so I have to go to school.
Some people say that school is irrelevant, because we don’t have a future anyway, but I go maybe three or four days a week and get Ds and slide through because I figure, it can’t hurt, and it’s free, and a High School Degree is apparently something to be desired, say the infomercials, and I don’t want to be forty trying to get my high school degree through some stupid extortionate online program.
So I go to school with my hair in my face, and wearing my shabby clothing, make-up mussed, and I drag Trev and Lauren along with me when I can and they can. People in the hallways stare at me and it makes me wish I had never been an ASB secretary. The teachers and guidance counselor called it a “fall from grace.” I like to call it “treading lightly on the path to enlightenment.” My mother called it “Damning and ridiculous.”
Take your pick.
(meh there will be more)
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139,529 Literary Works • 672,599 Reviews
Keep up the good critiques, but check the date--the author has long abandoned this particular piece!
Hello,
I love, love, love the beginning poem. It really sets up the story well and is a wonderful piece of work on its own. You seem to know a lot about drugs, lol. Hopefully that just means you did your research well, but however you know I think it's a strong part of the piece. It makes the character seem real. I also like how the character is unapologetically quirky. She sniffs things, actually I do too but its not quite to that degree. That particular trait endears me to her instantly. She's also not perfect, not even a stereotypical "good person" which I think means she will be more interesting. I think your style is very real, abstract in a way that a person' mind might really seem if it was transfered to writing. It reminds me faintly of Juno or Waitress in that the main character is offbeat but cool in an uncool sort of way if that makes any sense. I will disagree with an earlier review because I do think your characters are strong so far. It is a first chapter so I would expect them to sill be a bit fuzzy around the edges. I definitely want to read more. Nice work! Sorry that I didn't find anything for you to change, lol. The closest I got was not understanding one or two words, as mentioned above, but that doesn't mean you should change them, necessarily.
I really like the way this is written. I like the transitions between the different sections and I like the beginning part about the glass house.
So I think it's good. But have you done these drugs before? I think it would be hard to write something that is completely about drugs you've never done, that's why I asked. By the way if you ever want to research any information about any drugs go to http://www.erowid.com because it has all sorts of information.
Don't stop using "big" words. I wouldn't have noticed them if other people hadn't pointed it out. There didn't seem to be anything that would interfere with readability, in my opinion.
I'm pretty sure there are. Not the most common way of taking it, though.
It's perfectly possible to be a precocious sixteen-year-old girl while on meth. And I don't think it's the kind of drug that screws with your vocabulary. I definitely don't think you should change the style of the narration.
I was taking loop diuretics. Alcohol is excessively caloric, so is the diet most druggies live off of: pizzas ordered by rich faggots with nothing better to do or eat, potato chips, Bacardi.
I really like these lines, but I saw later in the story that she's into meth and stuff and not weed. The above lines seem way more like they're about potheads; meth junkies don't eat. She basically says that later in the paragraph, so I'm kind of confused about the references to pizza and potato chips. Did she eat pizza and potato chips? Or did she just expect that from drug culture before she knew what she was getting into? You're certainly right that meth and stuff gets rid of your appetite. I've been told it makes food seem absolutely disgusting. One time my friend drove me to the Taco Bell drive-thru when he was on speed (I didn't know he was high or otherwise I wouldn't have let him drive) and when I ordered he was practically gagging at the idea of the food. Completely disgusted.
I even traded Valatrex, a large, dark blue pill that instantly ridded you of cold sores, to a girl with genital herpes, who was happy to take three or four pills in exchange for glass. The pills were meant to be consumed and get rid of sores on your lips, but each to their own.
This is funny.
But I didn’t want to forget anything, I wanted to remember every detail, so I never smoked marijuana, or cigarettes, either.
Since cigarettes don't cause memory loss it seems out of place in this sentence.
I got the impression she drinks. Was I wrong on that? Because someone who doesn't smoke weed in order to avoid forgetting things is probably not going to drink, either. I've certainly forgotten plenty of nights from alcohol. Back in my heaviest-drinking days I'd say I blacked out on at least small parts of most days of the week.
I smoked crack, and I did meth, and I heard that wouldn’t do anything to me but whoever said that, I can’t remember his name but his face is clear in my mind, whoever that was is a liar.
I don't think anyone would really believe that...
Then he stood up, separating from the gothic-lesbian-druggie group of friends he was with
I love this description of the friends.
The old Annie was overachiever extraordinaire.
This is a good line because I can now guess pretty well what got her into drugs. Probably in order to stay up and get stuff done.
I figure, it can’t hurt, and it’s free, and a High School Degree is apparently something to be desired, say the infomercials, and I don’t want to be forty trying to get my high school degree through some stupid extortionate online program.
I like this.
I think I'd like to read more of your stuff, but not tonight...now I'm off to go party and drink alcohol, because hey, at least it's not crack.
*Is confused* How many people did I shang'hai anyway?
Gosh. I got busy. Teehee..
Let me begin, Misty, by telling you that you've got a wonderful writing style. I tend to cram too many words into a piece, overflow it with length and convolution. As a result, I tend to get a lot of notes back along the lines of: You're a really long-winded writer and I didn't get what was going on through most of it... ^_~ You have no such affliction - this reads at a great pace. Style-wise, there's very little for me to pick apart. The piece comes across as knowledgable and clear: not the showy kind of knowledge, where the author feels the need to jump out in front of the offer and holler "Look! Look at what I know!" Nor did it come across as juvenile, an author writing about something that she really doesn't understand. It all comes back to pacing - pacing of prose, pacing of style. The pacing, Misty, was excellent. It made the story. I thoroughly enjoyed and I urge you not to give up on this: I really think you've got something here.
At times the sequence of events touches on the melancholy, and I mean that in a good way. Melancholia does not always detract - here, it gives off the feeling of bittersweet, which by remarkable coincidence is exactly Annie's opinion of the Glass House. ^_^
I also liked your depth of metaphor - more specifically, the Glass House. A few notes here, though, on that:
--
I met a glass man in a glass house. I was sixteen.
I don’t remember why I was there; I just know I was drifting off of the roof and back onto the floor, my body twisting like a contortionist, crawling
through cracks on the sidewalk into the vents of the brown-carpeted floor.
He asked me what my name was and I said, “Annie.”
[...]
The Glass Man asked my purpose.
I answered him, “To breathe.”
And that was it. That’s it.
[The short sentences really compliment this, but you've got a few errors in consistency. In the first line, for instance, 'glass man' is uncapitalized. Yet further down, you refer to him as the 'Glass Man', and you make sure that it conveys his import to the writer - was this swtich intentional or was it consistency? Also, in the last line, it gets a bit redundant. I would leave it as "And that was it" - otherwise you have extra words here that you don't need, and the repetition in this context trips the reader up rather than pulling her along.
It's a great extended metaphor, the whole thing. ^_~]
They told me that marijuana isn’t bad for you, that it just kills brain cells, and brain cells get killed breathing. They said all it does to you is makes you relax and causes you to lose your short term memory. But I didn’t want to forget anything, I wanted to remember every detail, so I never smoked marijuana, or cigarettes, either. I smoked crack, and I did meth, and I heard that wouldn’t do anything to me but whoever said that, I can’t remember his name but his face is clear in my mind, whoever that was is a liar.
[This is a very nice juxtaposition here, between forgetting and remembering. The fact that she is unable to remember his name hits the chord perfectly. She's so unaware... so naive, and yet thinks herself so knowledgable in the ways of the world. You've got exemplary character development in this piece - and I mean that sincerely.]
Now he had a smile to go along with that near-opaque stare, partially hidden behind a canopy of thick, curly hair. It was dyed black with white-ish blonde undertones, a thick blue streak, a quirky side part, bangs. It looked like he spent a lot of time on it but never washed it. And that smile-that Aladdin-esque smile, it was a lie; I know it was a lie because it looked so safe.
[I think in the fourth line you want that to be "And that smile, that Aladdin-esque smile, it was a lie..." Note the comma, sans the dash. Great physical description of Trev.]
... And with that, I've run out of technicalities to cite. ^_~ I'm not flattering when I say that this is one of the best short pieces I've read on the site for a while. You're got impeccable characterization, perfect description, wonderful pacing.
--
Edited and Tagged: (Critted for the CCF)
*was similiarly shanghaied*
... a while ago, and now that I've returned from exile, I very much look forward to critting this. ^_~ I've printed it out and will read through it for tonight - your crit should be forthcoming tomorrow. (Or, if not tomorrow due to some unanticipated crisis, the next day.) Sound good?
So far, I very much like what I've read. ^_^
This is very well-written. As others have said, your character's voice is very believable, the imagery is so vivid, you use interesting words. I loved the beginning; so intriguing.
It did kind of seem like this was... more style than substance? I know it was meant to be somewhat rambling and confusing because that's how your character would feel, but reading it I got a bit impatient.
Eeg that critique was pathetic. *was shanghaied*
Misty -
This is largely overwritten and overburdened with information. You're talking about a meth user--thoughts aren't as progressed or eloquent as these are.
In a sense, yes, there is some amount of beauty to the broken, fragmentary lives and short-term experiences drug-users live by, but this story fails to latch on to that beauty. It is written from what I would consider a perhaps precocious sixteen year old girl--not somebody on meth.
For that reason, I'd suggest a major reconsideration of where you're coming from with this. As it stands, the narrator is also a character in the story, and it simply falls apart for me with that condition. Your narrator must be someone else--either omniscient, or someone not on meth. The alternative is, of course, to rewrite, and that is the option I would suggest you take up.
All the best,
Brad
Hey Misty. Here's my crit.
This is much too long a sentence for the mood you're trying to set here at the beginning. I would split it like this. It also helps us understand what it is you're trying to say with the break in there.
You have this wonderful detached style at the beginning here. Use its full potential.
Same here.
Hm. I'm not sure I like "to breathe" here, although your next pair of sentences helps make this seem so dramatic or artsy or whatever its usage is making me feel here.
Capitalization not necessary here.
I think something stronger here would actually look better. Something like "Stupid bitch." Or something condescending like that. Pardon my language. ^_^
Keep the detached tone here as well.
Here too.
I just thought the em dash worked better in this instance.
More detached stuff.
Get rid of the whole issue of his hair. It's really not that important and I felt you spent too much time here on his hair.
I don't know what ABS is either. It should at least be explained once.
I feel like you should put some emphasis on the word Annie here to show her distate for the old Annie. Perhaps italicize it or put it in quotation marks.
What?
Just some suggestions. Also, I think another curse word would be appropriate here. Like maybe the f-word (in adejective form) in front of body odor.
This part confused me, especially the part about light. It doesn't really make sense to me.
Nice! The writing is tight for the most part. You have a nice personality going here, to be sure, but there is a lack of anything really happening. It's more like a sketch then an actual story. Also, I would seriously consider making this to only a short story when you expand on it, which means not above about 8,000 words. Your narrator is interesting enough for a short story, but I'm sure after hundreds of pages of her musings, we'd get rather tired of her point of view.
I wasn't sure if the ending was totally appropriate here. That last section was kind of out of character. The whole "it's free, so why not?" attitude doesn't really fly. That just stuck out at me.
Good luck! It was a nice read. Hope revision and future drafts go well.
I really enjoyed reading this. The imagery was very vivid and clear. The characters are developing nicely and I'm anxious to read more. I'm guessing as you write more you're going to provide even more background info on your main character right?
Overall nicely done, sorry I couldn't be more helpful with the critique...I'm not the best critique-er in the world.
As requested! *flies into the room like magic* heh heh.
I think the punctuation here is funky. The first semicolon, I think, should be a comma but....Personally, it doesn't matter, because I hate the sentence. It sounds so poetic! But (and this could be a me thing) it makes almost no sense. What actual action is being shown to us here? The only one I could come up with is the "I" comes into a house. but the way you describe it is.....bizarre. If this is like...the way it's supposed to be, and it does make sense, some how...can you please help me, and explain it!? I don't get it...I really like the description of the cafeteria and the friends, very real to me. But the transition here, between paragraphs, is bad. From what I can pick up, its now two completely different scenes. Or I'm really confused.
eh...I don't know what to say? I liked it. I loved it, actually. But then... I didn't. The order of things hurt my head! Maybe I'm not meant to think out of order? As I realized what it was about, the previous sections started to make a little more sense. I was trying to look for some meaning behind the glass house and all, I was thinking a crack pipe but... couldn't find the meaning I was thinking there would be.
It was somewhat too...psychedelic at the beginning for my taste (what else is it?) but some of your lines are really well written, and I did like it. It's not a book I'd probably read, just because I didn't understand it right away. but...with the drugs and all, it fit. You maybe could have done it better, maybe set the timing differently, or explained it better. I read one story once, and it was written beautifully, but like one big drug trip. It was so cool.
Some of your sentences were weird, grammar wise, and just didn't read right, but I didn't pick them apart because it seemed like it fit your 'style'. The last problem I have is with this, ASB. You should never use things like that (forgets the word) unless you have already mentioned what it means, or its overly common, like TV. and even then using the actual word television is better. But I don't know what an ASB is, so as a reader I'm 'turned off' by that.
Over all, it was weird, and different, but for some reason, I liked it. Hope I helped!
Are you sure we dont know each other? This sounds an awful lot like my uncles house. Nevermind, family issues.....
It was frightfully acurate. the one thing though is there aren't really tablets of meth. Crystal meth you might call a tablet but it's more like shards. Regular meth is a liquid. You either inject it or snort it.
Thats the only thing I noticed.
**is shanghaied** mahaha I love that word. **sees people looking at her strangely** What?
Anyway, lets get down to work.
OPENING REMARKS:
I like this. I'm not usually one for those "dark" and slightly confusing stories which kind of mess with your head, but I love the idea of a "glass house" and the tone was very fluid and readable.
COMMENTS:
I met a glass man in a glass house. I was sixteen.
Lurve the intro. I am instantly hooked.
His house had leather cushioning and hyperglycemic walls. His vinyl floors were made of acrophobia and his beds were made of needles. Once I was in his house I didn’t want to leave it. It was a bittersweet experience, to live in the glass man’s house. At least I wasn’t alone.
I would replace "hyperglycemic" with "hypoglycemic" and then you have yourself a winner; unusual description but fitting and surrealist.
I was taking loop diuretics. Alcohol is excessively caloric, so is the diet most druggies live off of: pizzas ordered by rich faggots with nothing better to do or eat, potato chips, Bacardi.
I'm not sure about "the diet most druggies live off of" -- it sounds awkward. Perhaps better reworded as, "the diet most druggies live on"?
SUMMARY:
Wow, not much to critique, to be honest. Fast-paced, fluent, easily accessible. I would work on developing the characters a bit more perhaps, but character is not always the most important thing in a piece like this. In fact, it reminds me of a piece I read for uni called "Mercy" - I can't remember the author I'm afraid, but whoever she was, she didnt develop the characters much in order to make the point that her protagonist didnt see them as people, just as threats and objects. So...I guess what I'm saying is, it kind of adds to the story this way, LOL.
All in all, me like. I shall look forward to seeing how it plays out.[/url]
I just used the words that came naturally, I hadn't intended to take any of them out, except the hyperglycemic, which was obvious...I'll find a good substitute word eventually.
I actually liked the big words, though I thought some of them maybe didn't quite fit. That kind of gave it a quality of "you don't know what's going on in my head and that's ok with me" feel - built confidence and mystery into the character.
Opaque is basically the opposite of transparent, and hyperglycemic means your blood sugar is too high. (which doesn't quite work as an adj. to describe walls, so I'd change that... maybe hypoglycemic? or diabetic? I like the needle-related feel to the word, but it doesn't quite fit.
Keep the big words - it's good to experiment with them, get a feel for them. They make whatever you're writing more interesting. Don't swallow a thesaurus or anything, but I say keep them.
i like the fact that it has left me guessing as to where it is going but i too got lost with all the big words, too many in one place but otherwise i can't find any faults with it but then again i have only just started writing although i am an avid reader of "dark" writings
lol... isnt it something to do with food....
thats what it reminds me of....
YAY BITCH HAT!!!!
Teeheehee, quite adorable. Opaque is a wonderful word I discovered in a little kid star wars novel, it's kind of like foggy-eyed...hard to explain. And uh...I don't know what hyperglycemic means either *should not have admitted that in public* I just stuck something in as a space-filler and forgot to change it later. *contacts fog* nnyeg...
ok... try to be severe here lucy....
for a start... whats the plot exactly? is it just some short piece you felt like writing to get the fact across that Annie does drugs?
Also, too many big words. I dont want to come across as dumb (i am but i dont want you to know that, lol) but i didnt understand what you meant by "hyperglycemic" and "opaque". if you intend for people other than the super smart people on YWS to read this, perhaps dumb it down a shade.
How was that?
I shanghied EVERYONE into a critique. I am desperate *cough* Determined.
But yes, *cracks knuckles, puts on "bitch hat"* Let's get down to it!
alrighty *crakcs knuckles* lets get down to work.
i liked it. And i was honoured to get asked to critique. lol. from what i read, there was nothing wrong with it. Well done.
Sorry if you wanted a severe critique... i could write one if you want?
Interesting take on drug abuse and drugs in general. I like the metaphor of the glass house. Too lazy to actually do a proper critique. But I do want to know how this'll play out
LUNA
I really enjoyed reading this. It was full of description and passion and I could tell the whole time that you really cared about the subject in which you were writing. You had good back ground info and the beggining was ver intuiging. I also like the short and suspensful sentences you put in every once in a while. This is really something to be continued. Great job.
Keep it up!
-Rieda
This is the sort of work that gets published nowadays. And it doesn't only get published, it sells. Your style is very real and relatible. Even the structure of the story-how you never tell too much-is right there with what's on the best seller's lists.
It's not my kind of story, personally. While the writing is top-notch, I probably wouldn't read it. Here's why:
While you don't have much written just yet, what attracts me to a story is the characters. So far, there are know concrete characters. At least none you could feel like you know. If the story continues in this tone, while it is a popular tone, I think it might be difficult to really shape any characters beyond the silhouette figures that they are now. Though this is just something to look for as you write more.
Very real voice, of course it's believable. But I look forward to seeing more of Annie as a character.
As always,
Miss POKE
Wow, this is fantastic. I loved the surreal quality of the beginning, and the description of the scene at the end was great. I really like how you don't come out and explain everything, and the nonchalant way you leave us guessing. I very much enjoyed it, and can't wait to read more.
"And that smile-that Aladdin-esque smile, it was a lie" - change the first dash to a comma or the later comma to a dash, i.e.: "And that smile, that Aladdin-esque smile, it was a lie"
'Tis fantastic, I want more!