The Forgottens

Thanks! =D
I'm still working on digging out that notebook -.-
I think I might just have to write new ones xD

So many have already dissected this, so I'm going to ignore them and dissect it myself. I really liked this piece, so I'd like to review/edit for you.

Isha wrote:
I take a deep breath and prepare myself to explain to you who I am;, where I've come from. Well, I'm but a figment of your imagination. I was written into existance by a few grudgingly-written paragraphs that are scrawled on loose-leaf paper somewhere. I was created off of some girl's insecurities. I'm the beautiful Mary-Janetypical Mary Sue that you will find in most stories written by teens. Pretty face, pretty body, perfect complexion, that sort of junk.

Well, I was written anywaysanyway. My creator named me Bailey. Just Bailey, no middle or last name to speak of. Of course, that's the least of my problems. I was written into a life of fame and fortune as a beauty queen from New York City. Perhaps you're familiar with it, but then again, perhaps you're not. AnywaysAnyway("Anyways" isn't actually a word. It's actually very bad spelling/grammar), I had been created and soon after, forgotten and released. You can't see me, can't feel me, but I know you. I can see you plain as day.

There are countless million of us, you know. Not just us who were forgotten (although that makes up most of us), but those who have been cherished for generations, too. Our destinies are completed once our journey through our books and movies ends. Then we're released here, to live in your world. Most places are so thick with us we can scarcely breath. Oh yes, we share your precious oxygen supply. Be afraid.(Bolded part= I like it )

I've managed to find a small town that won't squeeze the life from me, though. There are only a handful of us here, all of which are forgotten by our creators and all are intollerantintolerant(Wrong usage of the word "intolerant") of the crowds elsewhere. This is like our sanctuary. But anywaysanyway...

Being forgotten isn't all bad. It means that you can decide your own destiny, whether to be hero or villianvillain, who to fall in love with and all of that mumbo-jumbo. Then again, there is that knowledge that you were unwanted, unloved and unneccesary. That feeling can be haunting and believe me, it stings.

Perhaps I'm boring you now. I suppose it would be a good time to stop sitting on the top of this grocery store and do something exciting. Go ward off a famous villianvillain from attacking your fragile mind perhaps? I'm chuckling now at your confused expression. Yes, we can do that. Are you trembling in fear? Are your palms sweating? No? Hmmm...well, they should be. You have more reason to fear us than you think.

I jump from the roof and land on my feet in front of an elderly man. He passes through me without a second thought. I'm not really existant after all. Ha. As if old man, as if.

I lift my hands a little. It's starting to drizzle. Just a mist, really. It's one of my favourite things when this happens. The clouds are too heavy to hold everything in, but not quite heavy enough to pelt us with raindrops. It's refreshing and pure, not to mention it smells delicious.(Bolded part= Love this, plus it's very true.)

I turn my head to see another of the forgotten scurry inside a bakery behind a red-headed woman. Jeremy Strandoff, the one who hates rain. Written into some unfisnished novel about a fisherman's son. I think I'll go join him.

Well, until next time...Wait, before I go I want to make you a promise. I raise my right hand and raise my right hand into the air and place my left over my chest. I, Bailey, solemly swear that the next time we meet, I will take you on a real adventure. Something slightly more exciting than a bunch of me explaining how things really are in this crazy, messed up world.

Okay, well now....

Until next time my friend.

Woah... I actually have a few of these short stories written out in a notebook...an old notebook. I should find it and actually post them huh??

I forgot about this until I checked my notifications about 10 minutes ago... I think I WILL have to post a few of them!! xD

Amazing! I loveeeee it!!!!!!! The small nipicks are covered in previous comments, but I love the plot. I can really relate to this story. (As in all the unfinished stories i write, not that I'm a forgotten story character...) It's very unique and has a lot of voice. Keep writing!!!!

An extremely cool concept. I hope you turn this into a series of short stories. I assume they would be about all the different 'forgottens' and their stories? I hope so - that would be very cool. Keep it up

Hi! It's Rosie here.

Most of the reviewers here have already covered everything, so I'll be brief in this review. =]

I take a deep breath and prepare myself to explain to you who I am; where I've come from. Well, I'm but a figment of your imagination. I was written into existence by a few grudgingly-written paragraphs that are scrawled on loose-leaf paper somewhere. I was created off of some girl's insecurities. I'm the beautiful Mary-Jane that you will find in most stories written by teens. Pretty face, pretty body, perfect complexion, that sort of junk.

Well, I was written anyways. My creator named me Bailey. Just Bailey, no middle or last name to speak of. Of course, that's the least of my problems. I was written into a life of fame and fortune as a beauty queen from New York City. Perhaps you're familiar with it, but then again, perhaps you're not. Anyways, I had been created and soon after, forgotten and released. You can't see me, can't feel me, but I know you. I can see you plain as day.

There are countless million of us you know. Not just us who were forgotten (although that makes up most of us), but those who have been cherished for generations, too. Our destinies are completed once our journey through our books and movies ends. Then we're released here, to live in your world. Most places are so thick with us we can scarcely breath. Oh yes, we share your precious oxygen supply. Be afraid. [My favourite sentence! ;D]

I've managed to find a small town that won't squeeze the life from me, though. There are only a handful of us here, all of which are forgotten by our creators and all are intolerant of the crowds elsewhere. This is like our sanctuary. But anyways...

Being forgotten isn't all bad. It means that you can decide your own destiny, whether to be hero or villain, who to fall in love with and all of that mumbo-jumbo. Then again, there is that knowledge that you were unwanted, unloved and unnecessary. That feeling can be haunting and believe me, it stings.

Perhaps I'm boring you now. I suppose it would be a good time to stop sitting on the top of this grocery store and do something exciting. Go ward off a famous villain from attacking your fragile mind perhaps? I'm chuckling now at your confused expression. Yes, we can do that. Are you trembling in fear? Are your palms sweating? No? Hmmm...well they should be. You have more reason to fear us than you think.

I jump from the roof and land on my feet in front of an elderly man. He passes through me without a second thought. I'm not really existent after all. Ha. As if old man, as if.

I lift my hands a little. It's starting to drizzle. Just a mist really. It's one of my favourite things when this happens.[Try rewriting this.]The clouds are too heavy to hold everything in, but not quite heavy enough to pelt us with raindrops. It's refreshing and pure, not to mention it smells delicious.

I turn my head to see another of the forgotten scurry inside a bakery behind a red-headed woman. Jeremy Strandoff, the one who hates rain. Written into some unfinished novel about a fisherman's son. I think I'll go join him.

Well, until next time...Wait, before I go I want to make you a promise. I raise my right hand and raise my right hand into the air and place my left over my chest. I, Bailey, solemly swear that the next time we meet, I will take you on a real adventure. Something slightly more exciting than a bunch of me explaining how things really are in this crazy, messed up world.

Okay, well now....

Until next time my friend.

Hey Isha. ^^ Comments in red, as usual.

Isha wrote:This is just something I did in my spare time earlier this morning. It's not really a story story, just an introduction to a series of short stories I plan on doing. Let me know what you think

I take a deep breath and prepare myself to explain to you who I am; where I've come from. I'm not sure I want to be explained to, but I'll give your character the benefit of the doubt. Well, I'm but a figment of your imagination. I was written into existance by a few grudginly-written Watch word repetition. paragraphs [Delete that are] scrawled on loose-leaf paper somewhere. I was created by some girl's insecurities. I'm the beautiful Mary-Jane Did you mean Mary Jane or was it really Mary Sue you meant? oO that you will find in most stories written by teens. Pretty face, pretty body, perfect complexion, that sort of junk.

Well, I was written anyways. My creator named me Bailey. Just Bailey, no middle or last name to speak of. Of course, that's the least of my problems. I was written into a life of fame and fortune as a beauty queen from New York City. Perhaps you're familiar with it, but then again, perhaps you're not. I liked the voice you had until this sentence. "Perhaps" killed the voice. Use maybe instead. Anyways, I had been created and soon after, forgotten and released. This sentence is phrased strangely. Revise. You can't see me, can't feel me, but I know you. I can see you plain as day.

There are countless million Pick one - they're countless, or there are millions of them. of us, you know. Not just us who were forgotten (although that makes up most of us), but those who have been cherished for generations, too. Our destinies are completed once our journey through our books and movies ends. Then we're released here, to live in your world. Most places are so thick with us we can scarcely breathe. Oh yes, we share your precious oxygen supply. This would bring up a logical flaw - why can we breathe fine when you guys can't seem to? Be afraid. Haha. I like that sentence. xD

I've managed to find a small town that won't squeeze the life from me, though. There are only a handful of us here, all of whom are forgotten by our creators and intolerant of the crowds elsewhere. This is like our sanctuary. But anyways...

Being forgotten isn't all bad. It means that you can decide your own destiny: whether to be hero or villian, who to fall in love with and all of that mumbo-jumbo. Then again, there is the knowledge that you are unwanted, unloved and unneccesary. That feeling can be haunting and, believe me, it stings. Revise this sentence.

Perhaps I'm boring you now. I suppose it would be a good time to stop sitting on top of this grocery store and do something exciting. Go ward off a famous villian from attacking your fragile mind perhaps? I'm chuckling now at your confused expression. Voice shift. Steady. From the beginning until this point she sounds like a smart teenage girl. She's suddenly shifted into something else. Yes, we can do that. Are you scared? Are your palms sweating? No? Hmmm...well they should be. You have more reason to fear us than you think.

I jump from the roof and land on my feet infront of an elderly man. He passes through me without a second thought. I don't really existafter all. Ha. As if old man, as if. Dude, the old man said nothing. oo"

I lift my hands a little. It's starting to drizzle. Just a mist really. It's one of my favourite things when this happens. Awkward. Rephrase. The clouds are too heavy to hold everything in, but not quite heavy enough to pelt us with raindrops. It's refreshing and pure, not to mention it smells delicious.

I turn my head to see another of the forgotten scurry inside a bakery behind a red-headed woman. Jeremy Strandoff, the one who hates rain. Written into some unfisnished novel about a fisherman's son. I think I'll go join him.

Well, until next time...Wait, before I go I want to make you a promise. I raise my right hand [ Delete and raise my right hand] into the air and place my left over my chest. I, Bailey, solemly swear that the next time we meet, I will take you on a real adventure. Something slightly more exciting than a bunch of me explaining how things really are in this crazy, messed up world.

Okay, well now....

Until next time my friend.

Just wow. What a cool idea. Mind. Blown.

I like your style of writing and because it is from Bailey's point of view, it's okay to be a bit disjointed in what you're writing because speech, or thought, isn't as clear as something that is scripted and laid out like an actual story.

I didn't like the way you kept on repeating, "anyways". It made me think that Bailey thought she was rambling on about something uninteresting, when in fact, it was quite interesting, I didn't want her to stop explaining what was going on.

If I noticed any errors etc, I can't remember them now. But just in case, I'll do a quick scan (comments in red, repetition in green):

Isha wrote: I take a deep breath and prepare myself to explain to you who I am; where I've come from. Well, I'm but a figment of your imagination. I was written into existance by a few grudginly(grudgingly)-written paragraphs that are scrawled on loose-leaf paper somewhere. I was created off of some girl's insecurities. I'm the beautiful Mary-Jane that you will find in most stories written by teens. Pretty face, pretty body, perfect complexion, that sort of junk.

Well, I was written anyways. My creator named me Bailey. Just Bailey, no middle or last name to speak of (Propersitions aren't words to end sentences with ;p). Of course, that's the least of my problems. I was written into a life of fame and fortune as a beauty queen from New York City. Perhaps you're familiar with it, but then again, perhaps you're not. Anyways(the first "anyways" was okay, this one seems to be repetitive), I had been created and soon after, forgotten and released. You can't see me, can't feel me, but I know you. I can see you plain as day.

There are countless million(millions) of us you know. Not just us who were forgotten (although that makes up most of us), but those who have been cherished for generations, too. Our destinies are completed once our journey through our books and movies ends. Then we're released here, to live in your world. Most places are so thick with us we can scarcely breath. Oh yes, we share your precious oxygen supply. Be afraid. (loved that part)

I've managed to find a small town that won't squeeze the life from me, though. There are only a handful of us here, all of which are forgotten by our creators and all are intollerant of the crowds elsewhere. This is like our sanctuary. But anyways... (Again, the use of "anyways" here doesn't quite flow)

Being forgotten isn't all bad. It means that you can decide your own destiny, whether to be hero or villian, who to fall in love with and all of that mumbo-jumbo. Then again, there is that knowledge that you were unwanted, unloved and unneccesary. That feeling can be haunting and believe me, it stings.

Perhaps I'm boring you now. I suppose it would be a good time to stop sitting on the top of this grocery store and do something exciting. Go ward off a famous villian from attacking your fragile mind perhaps? I'm chuckling now at your confused expression. Yes, we can do that. Are you trembling in fear? Are your palms sweating? No? Hmmm...well they should be. You have more reason to fear us than you think.

I jump from the roof and land on my feet infront (in front is two words, to my knowledge) of an elderly man. He passes through me without a second thought. I'm not really existant after all. Ha. As if old man, as if.

I lift my hands a little. It's starting to drizzle. Just a mist really. It's one of my favourite things when this happens. The clouds are too heavy to hold everything in, but not quite heavy enough to pelt us with raindrops. It's refreshing and pure, not to mention it smells delicious.

I turn my head to see another of the forgotten scurry inside a bakery behind a red-headed woman. Jeremy Strandoff, the one who hates rain. Written into some unfisnished (unfinished) novel about a fisherman's son. I think I'll go join him.

Well, until next time...Wait, before I go I want to make you a promise. I raise my right hand (I think you mean, "You raise your right hand, and I'll raise my right hand") and raise my right hand into the air and place my left over my chest. I, Bailey, solemly swear that the next time we meet, I will take you on a real adventure. Something slightly more exciting than a bunch of me explaining how things really are in this crazy, messed up world.

Okay, well now....

Until next time my friend.

Thanks! About that last part about the fanfics, that was going to be my first actual story story xD

Hi! I'm Narniafreak!

Wow, this was really interesting. It really caught me and I even ignored my friends new message on Facebook for a few minutes to finish it. The concept was incredible. I never thought of a story about those forgotten characters. Great job!

Although this was an introduction and your character was explaining a lot of what was going on and will be going on, there was a lot of info dump and not enough action. You had some action at the end which was good, but maybe slip a few showings in there instead of tellings.

I take a deep breath and prepare myself to explain to you who I am; where I've come from.

You can't see me, can't feel me, but I know you. I can see you plain as day.

There are countless million of us you know.

There are only a handful of us here, all of which are forgotten by our creators and all are intollerant of the crowds elsewhere.

I jump from the roof and land on my feet infront of an elderly man

It's starting to drizzle. Just a mist really

I raise my right hand and raise my right hand into the air and place my left over my chest.