Young Writers Society

This is an interesting story and it raises the question of life after death and more specifically the ability for the dead to communicate with the living. I had like the way, you had introduce the funeral as a way to connect to the latter part of the story.

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(I will explain on connection of paragraphs)

The first and last paragraph details of her outgoing and windy lifestyle. However when reading the middle part, I find some little connection to the first and last. Sure, you had shown us the cause of it but the cause seem insignificant to its effect. Had the secret really grieve her so much? If so, then show us.
You had written, “I took a deep breath, lowered my head, and let all the bad things inside me drown out the rest.” But the paragraph after this does not correspond to its former. Try to show how she really drown the bad things by bodily language or by allusions or metaphors. Before you can introduce the final piece, you can reveal an event that connects to the last paragraph. This can be done to the MC to look back to her family or that she held tightly her hair to hide the anger. That way, the last paragraph-were I predict is a way to get revenge or let out her emotions- can be connected to the middle part.
This is not the only one, the words were you say that the MC is contended with hating the world- a connection to the last- seems weak. How come she hates her? Yes, you have shown reason later but at this point try to give some clues on the latter information. This is through by letting us inside her mind. Say that the people around her are friends of the sister and that the MC don’t know many of them. That way, we can relate that the sister is more perfect than the MC and her ‘death’ causes great grieve and betrayal. That is how the paragraphs connect.
Okay, this may not be much but you need to work in connection of paragraph. It is not necessary to connect every paragraph in detail but connect the major parts that can let the reader understand. This is by showing-which you must work. Try to void basic words such as “ I hate the world and I am content”. Instead, try to show how she hate the world through the funeral.
Other than that, I like the story. Good job.

Hello, dearie. Loveless here. *bows*

Well, well, well. Honestly, I'm a bit pissed off that you left me with such a mind-racking ending. jMin *hugs* thank you. The gods know I don't like correcting errors while typing on my cell. Its just too darn hard. Well, onto the review.
Plot:
Wowza -Yes I know wowza is not a word. Leave me alone spell check!-, I must admit, at first I mentally said 'another story about a teen gone bad because of death', but you made me eat my words with sprinkles when I found out she wasn't actually dead! The beginning was shaky, but I like the way you repeated it at the end.
Questions
Why did the MC cover for her "dead" sister? Why isn't the sister dead? What the hell is going on? Is the sister a vampire? Immortal? Pixie? Elf? Werewolf? Mermaid? Mutant? Come on, help me out here! I'm simple aching to know.
Style:
Goshums -Leave it, spellcheck.-, this was very well written. You didn't use much repetition, and your vocab was superb. Even when I labeled this as an old fashioned cliche, I continued reading.
Conclusion -sorry, shower time-:
This was amazing, and I must say, if there isn't a part to I might have to hunt you down.

Big kiss, class dismissed:
Muffins 'n' Machine guns x)

Hey TenYo, I really liked this piece. Before I start talking about it, let me first show you some things that you should take a second look at, which will be in bold and my comments will be underlined:

I don't care what people think of me. I fight with my parents, argue with the neighbours, stay out on school nights and go dancing with boys who are five older do you mean five years older? than me. I am a lost cause, and have been since that windless, Mid-January morning, when the frost flooded the cemetery air.

Snowdrops drifted into the grave as we lowered the coffin down into the ground. We liked to think that we where were burying a blonde young lady with a freckle-faced smile, except I couldn't help but feel that the my insides where were as empty and untouched as the soft silk lining.

Whilst mother cried in my uncles uncle's arms, father pushed his thumb and forefinger hard into his eyes to hold back the tears. His cheeks where is it a Brit thing to spell "were" as "where"? red, underneath his eyes where puffy and purple, having not slept in weeks. I didn't feel the slightest bit of grief; I just felt angry. Letting that anger turn bitter and stale seemed to be the only condolence anyone could have offered. Mm, I love that last sentence

Here were my parents and I, but not her. Here was me, when it used to be us. Here we were three when we should have been four. Um, this paragraph sounds awkward. The sentence structure feels a bit off

'She still hasn't accepted it,' my aunt muttered to a skinny man I recognised only from the huge gatherings we used to have at Christmas. I used to like her. The tight wrinkles in her red hair fascinated me as a child, and she had the same freckles that my grandmother had, and my mother, and my sister, but not me. My hair was brown, and my skin was plain. Today I hated her, just like I hated the rest of the world, and I was quite content to do so.

I bit down on my black hat and shook my head and shoulders, shuffling the snow from my head and coat. Accepted it? My ass. Perhaps they saw the words stamped across my forehead, because my aunt gave me a pitied pitiful? smile and the man widened his eyes. I stared at them both until their shoulders tensed and they turned away awkwardly.

I was getting agitated. A few steps forward and I stood before the mound of freshly turned soil.

'Here we lay an empty coffin,' I muttered to myself, comforted by my own version of the priests priest's speech. how about a colon instead of a period? 'And pray that god will accept this space into his kingdom of heaven.'

A sudden buzzing against my leg made me jump. I glanced around to see if anyone had noticed, then reached into the deep black pocket in my coat for the phone. Without taking it out I glanced only at the number printed across the screen. My mind, my heart, even my shoes where full of that burning feeling. I hated everything in the whole world, but I knew that when I answered that phone I would find the one thing that lay at the heart of it all.

I could have covered my eyes and pretended to walk off crying, that would be the normal way for someone to take time alone to grieve - but that would have looked even more suspicious. Everyone within the mile knew just how hostile I was right then, and my careless stroll across the graveyard was enough to deter anyone from following me. I kept walking until I was clearly out of hearing range.

'Hello?' The voice on the other end asked.

'It's done, congratulations.'

'I'll never forget this,' she said, with as much kindness and sincerity as she ever had. 'I swear, I'll make it up to you.'

'How?' I spat. 'You're dead remember.'

'I promise.'

'Bullshit.'

'I will, just listen-'

'Bull, shit!' That was loud enough to make a few people turn their heads, including my father, who looked at me in a way I'd never seen him do before. It was as if I was the one making him cry.

I think she tried to carry on talking, but I put the phone down before I could hear any other words from her. Hands stuffed in pockets I walked back to stand in front of the stone. It was ironic. I loved my sister more than anyone else, she was my best friend and closest ally. Now, standing in front of her grave, I almost wished she was dead.

For what reason did I have to grieve? The beautiful sister who betrayed us, or the years that I would spend carrying this burden she'd given me. The thoughts started to fill my mind until my throat started to hurt and my eyes filled with water.

I took a deep breath, lowered my head, and let all the bad things inside me drown out the rest.

I don't care what people think of me. I fight with my parents, argue with the neighbours, stay out on school nights and go dancing with boys who are five older than me. I am a lost cause, and quite content to be so.