Young Writers Society

Quotation marks around what people say (" ") would make it easier to read. Thought its your choice. I loved the piece.

First of all, let me say that this is absolutely beautiful. I almost don't want to review it.

(((All of my comments look like this.)))

The small house is lit against the black of the night. Laughter comes from the lit up home in the dark. The house is warm. (((The words "house" and "home" are used a little too much here.))) There are five people, four are good friends already. One of the guys brought a friend of his, but everyone is comfortable. There are two bottles of half-drunken wine bottles. A tall can of Coors Light. Several glasses with pictures of John, Paul, George and Ringo printed on their sides. A pipe whose contents are black and gray.

Five people are laughing. A boardgame lies before them, the sound of the television playing a musical in the background.

They are laughing. They laugh at their game and at the movie and at each other. The house is warm and lit up and they are laughing, their mouths wide, some eyes open some eyes closed. (((Almost a creepy scene. I like it.)))

Do you have some water? The new one asks. Her voice is sweet.

Yeah, there’s a sink and a filter, the owners of the house say. It’s over there, they say.

I’m going to the bathroom, one of the guys say.

The girl walks to the kitchen, the boy walks to the bathroom, and the other three sit and speak and laugh.

Is the water over here? Says the girl.

Its over there, they say.

The girl walks and puts her cup under the water filter and she gets heavy, too heavy for the water filter and the water filter falls over. (((Wow. How she gets too heavy.)))
The music of the television stops being heard. The three in the living room freeze, stare, run to the girl in the kitchen who has fallen against the water filter, against the table, against the chair beside the table, onto the floor. They run and hold her up, but she is gone. Her eyes are rolled up into her eyelids and she is pale. The guy that (((who))) holds her up, the one that (((who))) knows her the best, holds her up and stares straight into her rolled eyes. He stares deep into the whites of her eyes and he sees her skin and sees that life is absent from her alabaster canvas. Her skin is the whitest white he has ever seen. Underneath her eyes are two bags, bags that weren’t there ten minutes ago. The bags are dark gray. They look like two crescent-eclipsed moons against a white backdrop.

(((After this, there's nothing to review. God. I freaking love this.)))