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E - Everyone

a burst of affection from sixth grade

by chaussettes


I wanted to spill at her what I felt in all my favorite colors, cross my heart and hope to die (with a twelve year old's hand pressed on a yet flat chest). She's sat right in front of me, back straight as a ruler and with some leftover sunshine spun in her hair, flooding the hollow of her neck, making her collarbones deep lakes of gold when she accidentally faced me. This was always a strange view to the puppy-fat-short me, her front curves and the shadows of her were unexplored landscapes of spotty skin to me. I've only ever saw her from behind, functioning as a thick shadow that followed her everywhere but melted into nothing once she noticed the grease of Me licking and soaking up her feet.

Don't get me wrong, when behind her, I have never felt the need to follow the arch of her back lower and lower until I'd be considered a pervert, down to the purplish garden of her voluptuous skirt and thin ankles. I just existed behind her in algebra and art class, not studying numbers or painters though. My papers and tests were always clear, except for the times i copied the solitary crowd of moles on her right shoulder, during June, with a pen I stole without feelings of guilt. I knew the shape of her neck by heart, better than one hundred and twelve multiplied by three anyways. 

I learnt to compare and shamelessly enjoy our painful differences, not missing a chance to pinch on my fat when she leaned over and I could almost feel the bumps of her fragile spine under my palm covered with a layer of sweat. Her paper thin translucent skin compared to mine that's always been dry, elegant back with budding angel wings whenever she wore a dress compared to my acne, soundless coughs in the winter against my runny nose and teary eyes.

I. Just. Could. Not. Concentrate.

Ever.

She won over the education system with just her back, or maybe I've lost in life.

When the teacher's voice flooded the room in rasp tilts of famous names (with bad pronunciation), I was probably connecting the Monet Moles on the back of her neck in weird shapes, hoping someday she'd turn around and see through the uncomfortable crust of Me, only to see the Me that adored her, the way twelve year olds do. And while the teacher who's name sounded like smoke coughed out her name softly (I shivered), my own name felt icky like when you're doing the dishes and the naivety of your fingertips meets what used to be dinner. My skin was never not itching. It was often so hard I hoped it would burst, get rid of all the pinks and reds and blacks, maybe even the yellows she wore so often. 

I wanted to tell her how I feel in between numbers and stains of yellow but how could I tell an i love you with a mealy-mouthed lisp to a pair of eyes, a pair of rose petal lips, freckle-peppered nose and cheeks instead to a constellation of clueless moles?

Back straight as a ruler, my  voice drowning in everyone's elses voice, her confused look that I wanted to mistake for an interested one so badly, brown eyes with stars stuffed into them, their shade leaning towards surrealism.

I said can you lend me the blue and she bared sharp teeth, reaching for some indigo and the sky shrinked into a can. Bite me, I wanted to say to her shark teeth as I painted a double colored sky, leaving sea and sky under my fingernails. She turned around, giving me back my usual view con-des-cen-din-gly (my twelve year old self also had issues with spelling), and put her hair, free of sunshine, into a soft messy nest, securing it with dry brushes and in process killing the birds I imagined living in there, silencing their cries.

Nipping on the blue from under my nails, I've decided that: tommorow, I'll sit somewhere else in art, somewhere where connecting the dots won't make me fall in love. I cannot draw straight lines anymore, someone please lead my hand! Maybe it's okay though, her hair's naturally wavy.

I hope she doesn't know my name. Maybe she'll forever associate me with the name of Anna or Charlotte or something like that, something that sounds like her Van Gogh clothes and baroque cheeks.

(I still kind of love her, cross my heart and hope to die)


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61 Reviews


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Mon Nov 27, 2017 7:40 pm
StuckOnEarth wrote a review...



Hi! I'm Space, here for a review. ^^

I absolutely love the imagery, metaphor, and descriptions in this story. It's so heartfelt and the details are so well-written. You set a great mood to both characters, you and her. To be honest, I imagined you as a girl before you described " Maybe she'll forever associate me with the name of Anna or Charlotte or something like that, something that sounds like her Van Gogh clothes and baroque cheeks", which is probably a good sign when you're getting the reader to know the character. (I loved "Van Gogh clothes" and "barogue cheeks", by the way.)

Other then the wonderful character description and metaphors, I can clearly see the point or theme of it, how you, or the protagonist, loves this girl who barely notices you/the protagonist.

Overall, it's very well-written, except for the few flaws like run-on sentences (which honestly worked for most of the story, except for the rare times where it got a bit confusing) and the one or two spelling errors.

Good job! :)

-Space




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Points: 126
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Mon Nov 27, 2017 7:14 pm
DawnLight31 wrote a review...



HI!

I really love this story it really conveys your fellings of witch is very hard.

"My skin was never not itching." this is a double negitive you could change it to "my skin is alwes itchy." or something like that

"I hope she doesn't know my name. Maybe she'll forever associate me with the name of Anna or Charlotte or something like that"
I can under stand this statement more than I should. but it also leads you to beileve that you are a girl.(theres nothing rong with that' I'm gay.)I think you were trying to consele your gender or just didnt fell like sharing it, I'm not shure though.

also in this paragraph you didn't capitalize the I in the I love you.

"I wanted to tell her how I feel in between numbers and stains of yellow but how could I tell an i love you with a mealy-mouthed lisp to a pair of eyes, a pair of rose petal lips, freckle-peppered nose and cheeks instead to a constellation of clueless moles?"

over all your story is verry good and has a lot of detail something of witch I'm terible at.And dont worry im bad at spelling to




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49 Reviews


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Reviews: 49

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Sat Nov 25, 2017 2:58 am
EKK15 wrote a review...



Hi!

Stopping by for a quick review.

I love the first line. Like love it. I think the piece as a whole is very innocent and pure, and it just brings me back to childhood and having feelings for another person. The way you described her is amazing as well.

"a mealy-mouthed lisp to a pair of eyes, a pair of rose petal lips, freckle-peppered nose and cheeks instead to a constellation of clueless moles?"

The line really stood out to me because of the word choice.

Overall I loved this piece, and I wouldn't really change any of it. I like the maturity in the language, but also the innocence of childhood in the way things are described. keep up the good work!!!

-E




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353 Reviews


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Sat May 13, 2017 3:03 pm
Tuckster wrote a review...



Hey there,
MJ here to do my best to bring you a short little review. Please don't be discouraged if my review sounds really harsh, I'm known for being ruthless. I'm not disappointed, and I don't think you're terrible, and I don't think you're worthless. You are amazing and have so much potential!

Firstly, I think the cross-my-heart-and-hope-to-die didn't really add to the plot. If you want to keep that element in it, I would weave it in a little more because it has very little significance right now and stands out from the main flow of the piece.

I have never felt the need to follow the arch of her back lower and lower until I'd be considered a pervert, down to the purplish garden of her voluptuous skirt and thin ankles
If he/she hasn't looked, then how does he know this? It's a beautiful description,
so I would change the above statement to make it seem like (s)he's seen it before, but hasn't stared. Also, I don't feel that looking would be a perverted action unless (s)he is much older.

My papers and tests were always clear
I don't want to assume that you mean the papers and tests showed the MC that he/she wasn't good at art or math, but that's what I'm understanding from the context. I would make this more clear right now so there's no clarification needed.

see through the uncomfortable crust of Me
This would be better if it was phrased as 'See through my uncomfortable crust'

My skin was never not itching.
This is a double negative, so it should be 'My skin was always itching'

Maybe it's okay though, her hair's naturally wavy.
This sentence seems a little pointless and unnecessary. It might be easier to cut this out rather than try to rephrase it so it fits in the context.

something that sounds like her Van Gogh clothes and baroque cheeks.
To be perfectly straightforward, I really don't know what you're trying to get at here. It was a great idea to try and incorporate arty words as adjectives, but in this case it just didn't work.

(I still kind of love her, cross my heart and hope to die)
Besides my above stated problem with the cross-my-heart part, this was a really sweet point to end on.

I can see you put a lot of time and effort into this piece, and if you keep that up you'll get to great things! Never hesitate to PM me with questions or ask me for a review!

Best wishes,
MJ




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8 Reviews


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Sat May 13, 2017 6:11 am
Niteesh wrote a review...



hi there!
Just wanted to say an amazing piece of art.
it's always difficult to portray the way you feel on a piece of paper,but you were amazing.
when you were describing her, i could clearly imagine what you were trying to convey.
Her bumps on the spine,seriously,you are so obsessed(haha).Brought a smile on my face while reading this,reminded me of those times in school,when we had a crush on someone and how we felt about her.
But above all,your literary work was so pleasing,thoroughly enjoyed your work!
"I still kind of love her, cross my heart and hope to die" The best part.
hope to see more from you!





"And the rest is rust and stardust."
— Vladimir Nabokov