A scream jerks you from sleep, ruining the dreams to which you always run in lieu of reality. No words, never words, just a high, echoing, demanding scream in the night. You peer at the clock and correct yourself. Early morning, not night.
You push yourself up, forcing yourself to hurry, but too tired to truly feel any panic. You yawn when the scream increases, rub your eyes when the pitch shrieks up an octave.
A crash tells you of another of her tantrums. You push her door open as she slings a table against the opposite wall. You sigh and lean against the door frame, crossing your arms as you watch her actions disinterestedly. Her curling, dark blonde locks tangle against one another as she yanks a book from the night stand by her bed and lobs it at your head. You knock it from the air with one lazy hand, one eyebrow rising in what could only be distain if only your eyes weren't uncaring. She launches her petite frame at you, attacking your face with her abused fingernails. She makes contact with your cheek, clawing down the furrows she has made in years past.
No longer can the pain induce your anger. You enclose her arms with your own as you pick her up and cart her down the hall, stopping only when you reach the table where the first aid kit always sits, ready, waiting on the next injury. You slide into the chair, balancing her on your lap precariously, not quite ready, even in your uncaring state, to let her arms go.
You peer into her purple eyes and realize you haven't searched into those violet depths for love in months. She suddenly sags against you and you reach for a Band-aid, peeling off the back and wrapping it around one of her slender fingertips. You continue while murmuring pointless assurances that you know haven't been real in weeks. You pat her hand once you finish, not willing to disturb the silence by trying to move her, even if she sits uncomfortably in your lap.
Her eyelids droop as they always do after a show of her temper and she whimpers. You carry her, as you once did on your wedding night, back to her bedroom, tucking her in and sitting with her until she sleeps soundly.
You approach the mirror in the hall, jerking away from the reflection of your face, four furrows marring what used to be a rather striking face. Blood dries into the neck of your sleep shirt as you try to bring yourself to examine the reflection you are so diligently avoiding.
"Daddy?" Her quiet little voice draws your attention, so easily diverted, to her still form at the end of the hall. You kneel, opening your arms as an invitation. She runs into them, wrapping her tiny arms around your neck in a warm embrace. She leans back, her violet eyes, her mother's eyes, boring into yours and you blanch, forcing her away into her nanny's arms. After she is dragged away, crying for you, you curse. You can't look into your daughter's eyes any more than you can look into the mirror to face the uncaring monster you have become.
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139,453 Literary Works • 672,565 Reviews
Hazy and unfocused prose. The progression of plot is fairly obvious, but the specifics are blurry. Who was the girl at the end of the hallway? Who was the girl who was laid to bed? Is it the same girl? Is it the daughter of "you" / the narrator? Why is the "wedding night" mentioned? Is one of them actually his wife? Is his daughter his wife?
I'm tempted to think that they are two separate people, because of all the love and attention her/their eyes are given. If one is his wife (the one who is laid to bed), and the other is his daughter (the one who is at the end of the hallway), then it would make sense that both of them have eyes of the same colour. Pointing out the colour of their eyes would be a good way to signify that they are related to each other. In fact I should hope that this is the case, as I see no other reason to describe her / their eyes. Pointless descriptions of such remind me of the sea of fanfics and the mary sues that live there, where one can find eyes matching every colour of the rainbow (and then some); yet ultimately they are there only to look pretty. They do not build character, and they do not help deliver the message behind the piece. If I want to look at pretty eyes, I'll hang out with my girlfriend. I don't read for pretty eyes.
Not sure about the use of second person in this piece. In my experience, second person is best used when describing an ordinary individual suddenly finding themselves in an extraordinary situation. Aside from the piece I linked, another notable spot where second person is used extensively are choose-your-own-adventure books. The "you" is not a character; it is a placeholder for the reader, and as such, the "you" will never have any history, any development, or any personality. If any of these things are present, they will be minimal and as close to the baseline human as possible (i.e. an interestingly developed psychopath character might click his tongue in approval upon finding a corpse in the dumpster, but a baseline human would probably scream and call 911). In this story, however, the "you" has a rich implied background. Why is he in this situation? How did he come to be in it? Why is he so callous about it? The story says "you", and that means I look into myself for these answers, but I do not find them. I don't have a purple-eyed daughter/wife who claws my face off. If I did, I certainly wouldn't "watch her actions disinterestedly" while she is having an attack of some sort and is obviously not okay. These are the actions of a character with a history and a background of reasons why he does what he does; these are not my actions. I am not the "you" the story describes. It shouldn't be talking about me.
The lack of clarity extends not only to the plot, but to the writing itself, e.g.:
So is he hurrying, or is he too tired to hurry?
His eyes are... detached? Are they floating outside of his skull? Are they on stalks? Is he a snail?
What does "enclose her arms" mean? What is he carting her in? Did he put a straitjacket on her and then wheeled her around in a dolly that they use for transporting the violent lunatics? Or did he tie her up and throw her into a shopping cart?
Yes, the father-figure must be a terrible person for ignoring his tantruming wife/daughter, but why is he ignoring her/them? Why is he a terrible person? What made him this way? Why do I care? None of this is explored, all that's left is a disconnected scene with no real context or content. There is potential, there is great potential in this story, but it begs for length and exploration.
Your monster,
cC
The first and second girls are two separate people. I tried to go back and fix the unclear things. I, personally, wanted to see how I could do with second person. I might go back and do a prologue, though, if I do, it will probably be in third person. Thanks for the review!
Okay, review time!
I feel sad and sorry for him. I actually felt his pain when I was reading it. 
First of all let me just go a little bit fan girl-y over here(Minus the screaming) and say, "I LOVED THIS!!!!!!"
I kind of got the plot when I started reading it. This is a very sad story, it makes you wan to cry or console the little girl whose father has lost his love for.
But no matter what, you have not made me want to slap the father
Not many stories are capable of doing that
Having said that, may I just say I LOVED THIS? Oh wait, I already did.
Never mind.
I LOVED , LOVED, LOVED IT!!!!
*Sigh*
Okay moving on to the flaws:
I don;t really have much to point out other than the first few lines. But then again, it has already been pointed out twice, so I dont want to be the one reiterating the mistake.
I'll say this though. You might want to tone down the amount of commas you've used.
Other than that, I really can't find any flaws at all. *Gasp*
I guess this became more of a gushing than criticism
Oh who cares? You've don a really good job!!
Keep it up!
I'm waiting to read more of your writing! You've got yourself a fan
I tried to take a few commas out, but I have to say using commas is a crazy writing habit I've developed. I did fix a few I found that weren't grammatically correct, though.
Hey, buddy! Awesome first work! It was great to read, I really liked it.
It was a nice change from first and third, and you did it so very well, so kudos to you!
Alright, let's get down to it. First off, I believe catcha01 is right about the first sentence. It definitely did not flow right, I think a revamp of that sentence would suffice better. Perchance try something like: "A scream shatters the silence, abruptly jolting you out of your dreams, ones that you cannot remember but always wake up with a heavy heart."™ .. or something like that.
Next, I like the second person point of view you went with.
Third, excellent plot twist! You leave the reader curious, absorbed into the story, thinking. Who is this girl with the violent eyes? Is she his wife, his sister, his friend? Is the person speaking even a guy? Violet eyes, why does she have those? Why is she throwing a fit? Is she a bitch? Is she mentally challenged? Then it turns out to be a little girl, who's Daddy has lost love and affection for her.
It is very a very sad story, but was so well written! Like, omg, turtle. Good job! I love your style of writing. You used excellent descriptions to get imagery flowwing through my brain and I loved it. It was a great story. No grammar mistakes as far as I can see.
Good job! Keep up the good work.
- Iggy.~
I wasn't sure how well this would go over.
Thank you, Iggy!
Hiii Caeai, Love this story by the way. As my friends would say," You go deep,"
It's really beautiful and I bet true and happening on some households right now. Anyway...
CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM TIME!!!!!:)
1. Your first sentence: "A scream, nothing new, not now, wakes you" I don't think that it was the best way to start this piece. It dosen't flow all that well.
2. ( Mor of a compliment than a rewiew. Gotta break the rules sometimes right?) I love your ending it's so well Mysterious i guess.
Besides that your story was well written and well thought out. Glad I could get the chance to read it. Keep Writing.
Thanks. I'll try to think of a... (flowy-er?) sentence to start it.