The cool air of the spring evening stroked my face and played with my hair as I walked down the road alongside my mother. Though we did not exchange words, we were perfectly content despite what I would soon learn was our oblivion to everything that surrounded us.
It wasn’t long before, up ahead of us, we spotted a girl around my age. Even just seeing her from behind, I knew she was an absolutely stunning person both inside and out. The purple dress that didn’t quite hit the tops of her knees glowed against her dark skin, and her hair spiraled into the most feminine, beautiful afro you’ve ever seen. I was very aware of my footsteps, which slowed as if of their own accord and yet denied any of my meager hopes of controlling them. It didn’t matter though. The very corners of my eyes—the parts that were too far on the side to focus on what was right in front of me, too far on the side to focus on what the rest of my being was focusing on—even saw my mom practically as entranced as I was.
The girl never noticed, though. She kept walking along, us trailing behind probably gawking like teenage boys that managed to get into a college frat party. Really, I would like to see what we looked like right then. Or maybe I wouldn’t.
Anyways, she kept walking along, humming like a songbird too afraid to test its highest notes, until she reached a flowerbox hanging from a white picket fence surrounding your stereotypical small-neighborhood-in-the-big-city perfect little house. She turned to the yellow chrysanthemums that strained toward the setting sun, and we stopped in our tracks to watch as she bent down, inhaling deeply when her nose reached the delicate petals. Her eyes closed and I watched as her whole story was suddenly revealed before my eyes as if I had grown up alongside her. Her air was that of a kind and gentle old soul, though I could feel that she lived in the, let’s say, undesirable part of town that began several blocks down the street. I could feel that she took this walk not to feel shame by comparing her home to these and the what one may call “perfect” families that lived within, but rather to escape, to imagine what her life could have been had she lived here and not just over there.
I plead that you don’t ridicule me for feeling this way and knowing these things as I claim to—I honestly do know how it must sound to you. Just trust me, and maybe the day will come when you are lucky enough to have the same sense.
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125,011 Literary Works • 672,841 Reviews
Hello there, Luata here for a review. I haven't reviewed a chapter work yet, so here we go. This review is purely suggestions, if you don't like what I have to say, don't change it! This is your work and this is only my opinion, so ... yeah. I apologize if it comes across to harsh. Mistakes will be fixed in red in this review and rewrites will be written in blue so here we go!
If you don't mind, I would like to rewrite this section [which is the way I would rewrite it, if you don't like it, don't use it, it's entirely your own opinion on what is best]. So here we go: It wasn't long before we spotted a girl who looked to be about my age. She looked stunning, even from behind, wearing a purple dress that didn't quite hit the top of her knees, positively glowing against her dark skin. Her hair spiraled into the most beautiful afro you've ever seen. I was so very aware of my footsteps which has slowed as if of their own accord and I gave up any hope of controlling them. I could my mom in my peripheral vision and even she was entranced as I was.First off, I haven't read the other chapters, [I know, shame on me], so I'm not 100% sure about everything since I'm missing a significant gap [a.k.a the beginning of the story] so I apologize if I get plot points wrong and the such
Characters:
I like the things you have going right now with the characters! The flashback is good, but I'm not sure what it is for [which is my fault as I haven't read earlier chapters] but the one thing I have to say on the issue of flashbacks is that they are hard to write. I mean, it is a character remembering something and the number one mistake writers make in writing flashbacks is that the character can remember every single detail in the flashback. Almost always, which isn't realistic! I mean, I understand why, so the reader has the imagery and the feeling from the memory, but unless the memory is burned so vividly in your mind, you aren't likely to remember every detail.
Grammar:
Other than that section, I really liked the rest of the piece and the sentiment you have presented as well as addressing a strange prejudice that seems to plague families as to where they live whether it be in a so called "scummy part of town" or the nice, large houses where other families live. Nice job in addressing this issue, it bothers me often.
Great piece!
Write on!
~Luata
Amazing job with the italics! It was just great and it served it's purpose very well. And again, with the description! It's amazing how you put so much detail into so small a word count.
Really, this is just stupendous and I only have one teeny piece of criticism...
"I was very aware of my footsteps, which slowed as if of their own accord and yet denied any of my meager hopes of controlling them."
Yeah, that sentence is the only thing. It was a little confusing and I still don't completely get it after reading it three times. Just revise that sentence and I'd say this would be absolutely perfect! I absolutely adore your writing!
Keep it up!
-Infinitywriter
Thank you! Will do
Wow :')
That's something applause
Thank you!