Published June 4, 2018
Running
I remember running.
I was so light when I was young. I was thin and not at all tall either. Petite, my mom called me constantly. Understand, though, that I was in now way dainty. My pale skin was constantly covered in scrapes and cuts from blackberry hunting and tree climbing. My palms were calloused from my exceptional monkey bar skills. And my feet, my wonderful feet, were hardened like leather. I refused to wear shoes when the weather was warm, and sometimes when it wasn’t. My mother didn’t approve, but what could she do? Bare feet are the best for climbing, wading in ponds, and running.
My home was one in a sea of a hundred like it. Identical white box houses lined the streets. Many of those houses were full of kids, as mine was. My brother and I liked to play out on the street with the neighborhood children. Just across the terrace there were plenty. Boys, mostly, but I didn’t mind. We played hide-and-seek and darted between houses. We hoisted each other onto the tops of mailboxes. We swung on the branches of our front yard trees and scaled fences. And we ran.
I remember our races well. They were typically multi-medial. Some of us were on bikes, some on scooters, roller blades maybe, or even sitting on a skateboard. I preferred my own two feet.
I call the fun we had ‘races’ loosley. We darted up and down the hill of our street over and over, with no real start or finish line. We screeched with joy as we passed each other on our way down the hill. I sprinted my fastest and occasionally I beat those on bikes or scooters. It was then that I felt so golden.
It was so easy to carry myself then. Fifty pounds is nothing, especially in a child’s body. I zipped up and down the street with such ease. There was nothing to hold me back. My browned feet slapped the pavement with a sound that still brings me great satisfaction, and my hair, luminously blonde, flew epically behind me.
I was so incredibly and vividly alive.
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140,122 Literary Works • 673,030 Reviews
Hallå!
I like this. It's a fun little read: nostalgic/sentimental, with solid imagery and a simple enough idea to be rendered effectively in a compact piece. It kept me interested. The last line was very good—the sort of line that sticks in the reader's head, you know? And it kind of underscored what the piece was really about: being alive—young and carefree—more than just the clever misnomer title. All in all, it was pretty sophisticated, but the way it was written—simple, straightforward—kept things subtle. Good work.
As for criticism, by virtue of this being a short piece, I don't have too much. Here's what I will say:
I really like the first sentence here, about being light, because it's evocative and open to interpretation: Does the narrator mean they were light physically? Light emotionally? Both? The problem is that you then go and ruin the mystery by that second sentence, which makes it explicit you were talking about a physical lightness. Not only is the second sentence unnecessary, it's clunky exposition—and you reiterate the point much later in the piece by having the narrator say they were only fifty pounds, so it's a bit redundant. You hardly need to mention their height and weight at the start. The first line would be much stronger without the second sentence dragging it down.
Can any pair of feet truly be described as "wonderful"? Personally, I don't think so. I feel like the best way a foot can hope to be described is "not broken." Wonderful just sounds... excessive.
On this subject, I'd advise you to be careful to not let your more flowery writing impulses weigh down your stories. The line between gorgeous writing and overwrought/cheesy writing is a thin one—be wary. Rereading your work a few times, sometimes aloud, can help reign in bits that start to go over the line.
It's "loosely."
This line feel akin to what I was describing above (that sounded-good-in-your-head sentence that actually comes off overwrought and, in this case, vaguely archaic when written). The phrasing is quite awkward. Perhaps try simplifying—"I felt golden" works, although you may want to consider a word besides "golden" since I don't think it's terrifically well-suited.
Overall, this was good! A little polishing up and you'll be (pardon the joke) golden. XD I think you have a nice flair with your writing, and you excel at painting pictures in the reader's head. Nice work.
Write on~
Jezebel
Hello, shaniac here to review your piece!
In the beginning, I'm really enjoying how you bring out the character. You kind of show us that she doesn't want to live by her mother's image of her being "petite" or a girly girl, but instead a tomboy who enjoys running down the streets without shoes on. You incorporate a lot of feelings towards how it feels to be free and out of mother's grasp. Along with this, there is a generic housing complex, which seems interesting and kind of, in my mind, shows how the girl wants to escape being a generic girl on the shelf and be like the other boys in the neighborhood. That's just how I see it.
While this does have some footing (no pun intended) to become a good short story, I kind of want to see some more plot. By this I mean is you should have some problem that is happening for the narrator to accomplish. What I think the main plot could be is the narrator trying to get away from society and do her own thing. The running kind of shows this, but I may be overlooking it a bit.
With "we screeched with joy", screeched doesn't exactly feel like the right word here. I think instead it should be "yelled" or "hollered", because these words provide more of a childish glee than "screeched".
To cap, I think this short story is filled with lovely descriptions and you do seem to have a nice idea for future short stories if you do continue this one. The basic idea of it could be extended into more of a plot. Have a good day/night and if you have any questions, let me know!
Radrook here a once again to offer some suggestions.
Apologies if i offend. It isn’t my intention.
Please feel full free to cast aside all things you deem not helpful.
But if you do be sure its true by being extra careful.
That having been said:
Thanks for sharing this short story about the joys of running when one is young. brought back fond memories of running effortlessly for miles without tiring as well as sprinting.
The other activities mentioned such as picking blackberries and climbing trees also brought back very pleasant childhood memories. I used to pick blackberries all the time and did my share of climbing. Also, I like the way that you capture the carefree energetic tumult of play and the sheer exuberance of that special time of life.
All in all a very interesting read.
Looking forward to reading more of your work.
Suggestions
More emphasis on the running part would have been nice since that is the theme. So an improvement would be to provide more examples of just how easy running was in order to counterbalance other descriptions which seem to pull the story away from the running theme.
. . . . now way dainty.
[ . . . . no way dainty.]
. . . . multi-medial. [What does that mean?]
My mother didn’t approve, but what could she do?
[Made me pause and ask why the mother couldn’t do anything about it.]
Bare feet are the best for climbing, wading in ponds, and running.
[Made me pause and wonder why.]
---------------------------
The house is said to be full of kids but then only a brother is mentioned.
---------------------------------
To reduce the repetition of the word “houses”.
Many of those houses . . . .
[Many of those them . . . .]
. . . . darted between houses.
[ . . . . darted between buildings.]
[ . . . . when I was young
[. . . .when I was [seven] [a kid] [a child]