Author's note: If you'd like to correct any grammatical errors in this that's okay, but I'd be more interested in knowing how you reacted to the short story while reading it. As always I hope you all enjoy (:
When your life falls apart it doesn’t fall apart in pieces or chunks. No, that would be too easy. Instead, it falls apart in flakes. Tiny, painful flakes that you try and collect, hoping that maybe you’ll be able to put them back together. But once they’ve separated from the whole you it’s impossible to glue them back. That part of you is gone forever.
You die, flake by flake. Your speech loses some of its fervor. Your smile dims. There’s nothing you can do. You just stand there falling apart hoping to find a cure for this disaster, but you know there is none. This is incurable. Soon, you realize with a start, you’ll reach bone and from there you can’t go back to being who you were.
Having your life fall apart transforms you. You don’t know what to do. Do you really have to save yourself since no one around is bothering? How do you save yourself? You wish to find some answers, but answers don’t exist. All your answers were blown away by the air that you used to breathe, the same steady current of air that swept away your flakes.
Identity does not exist and neither does happiness. Who are you? A silhouette or a shadow? Does it even matter? No, it doesn’t, because no matter who you are your world will still be falling apart; you will still be gasping for air. Your bones will be exposed to the cruel, cruel world and you won’t be able to do anything about it.
You’ll drown in sorrow, a black sorrow placed upon you by the pitiless turn of events your life has taken. You’ll think back to the good times because you think that bringing them back will prolong your inevitable defeat.
But it won’t.
Instead you’ll torture yourself, making everything more painful, which you’re surprised you still feel. But then again of course you still feel pain and sorrow, despair and fear. It’s impossible to feel joy and glee, delight and pleasure when you are falling apart. They’ve become distant memories in your brain, which eventually too will flake away.
When your life is finally done falling apart you’ll be a skeleton, a former version of yourself without the complex flesh that made you who you were.
You won’t speak.
You won’t hear.
You won’t see.
Everything that was yours will have been taken away from you. But finally you’ll be safe. It’s the only way to ever be safe from the pain. You won’t exist and if you don’t exist your life can’t harm you.
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So first of all, I think this is a really cool concept, flaking away. It's a pretty strong image, and I agree that I wished you had incorporated it a little more into the piece as a whole.
"Your bones will be exposed to the cruel, cruel world and you won’t be able to do anything about it." In this partuicular sentence, I would avoid "cruel, cruel world" because it sounds out of place and cliche. So much of what you've written is very original thinking and heartfelt, but that become cheapened when something cheesy is thrown in there. If you said something like "Your bones will be exposed to the chill of reality" or something, where the words make you feel uncomfortable, it'd be more powerful.
Actually, I would say that you could push this piece even farther in that direction. The image of a person flaking away until the bone is pretty gruesome, and I think that was your point, that sometimes things hurt so bad they feel like they're just a slow torture. If you describe that process throughout the piece, first the layer of skin goes, then the organs, where the bones are left dry and bare, and then those too are gone, and all your left with is emptiness, I think this would be even more powerful.
"When your life is finally done falling apart you’ll be a skeleton, a former version of yourself without the complex flesh that made you who you were." This is a really cool line. One of my favorites.
I think it would be interesting to take away the last few sentences. I think you don't need it, because the reader will feel a sense of relief that the pain is over, without telling them that it is. After a piece that is describing a torturous process, just the fact that is it over, and the audience can kind of breathe, and that's enough to get the feeling you want.
Overall, pretty cool, dark piece.
I really can relate to this and it's a little scary, but it's true and beautiful all the same. The concept seems so simple yet you take it to a whole other level. You expand it to something that really opened my eyes and I congratulate you on that
Grammer wise I didn't see any errors, and the flow was well done too. But I do agree with EmmVeePi as it's more of a monolouge type blurb rather then a story, bit it was still very well written 
First of all I wouldn't call this a short story, I don't know what I'd call it but its not a story as it has no plot. It is very easy to read, not overly complex or confusing, you kept it all very clean and dynamic which I applaud you for(I think there is this trend in modern literature that the more complex the better. I dont buy in to that.).
The concept of the flakes I like but I would love for you to use it a little more, the word only appears once after the third paragraph and since the flake seems to be the centerpiece of this work as well as the title I would like to read it once or twice more.
Finally this piece I find boring. Forgive me if I am out of place but it is basically one long(or not so,) emo rant. I think it would be great inserted into a longer story somewhere as your main character falls apart or maybe as a letter his/her troubled lover writes to your main? Anyways on its own it carries little interest nor bears any real weight.
Thats just me and what I think, hope that helps.
Hello, Imagine! I'm Rosie, and I'm here to review this piece.
First, I'd like to discuss the concept of this piece. By describing the dissolution of yourself in the way you did, you introduce an interesting, unique artistic element to your work. I'm not sure if you write poetry, but if you do, I suggest considering writing a poem inspired by this piece. This story is dramatic, and poems are a wonderful medium through which to express dramaticism.
My main criticism concerns the way in which you confronted the feelings you conveyed. For example:
"You die, flake by flake. Your speech loses some of its fervor. Your smile dims. There’s nothing you can do. You just stand there falling apart hoping to find a cure for this disaster, but you know there is none. This is incurable. Soon, you realize with a start, you’ll reach bone and from there you can’t go back to being who you were."
This is very well written. Your writing flows and I find it easy to read; I find no shortage of vibrant words to hold my attention throughout the entirety of this piece. But I sort of feel like I'm being lectured, and I don't think that that's at all what you intended when you wrote this. I think that you wanted to affect your readers emotionally. It's obvious that you're passionate about writing and the feelings you write about, but for me, this feels a tad preachy and falls short of the potential I see in it.
I was taking a writing class a few years ago when I came across a piece of advice that changed my outlook on writing drastically. The author of the book I was reading wrote that he tells his students to "show, not tell." Let me explain.
This is telling:
She was lonely and sad; she constantly missed her friend and wondered when he would return.
This is showing:
Brushing a teardrop from her cheek, she stared longingly at the letter her friend had wrote her from Brazil.
There are many different ways to express your feelings. As a writer, it's your job to discover the best way to say what you need to say. Perhaps, instead of presenting your emotions in the way you did here, you could concoct a conversation between two characters and convey them through dialogue. You could introduce a single character and have him/her write a journal page about their feelings. The possibilities are endless.
I adore what you've said here. I sense that this piece means a great deal to you, and your work should never be otherwise. Please don't be offended by my criticism; it's one girl's opinion on your work, and if you love it, don't change a word. At the end of the day, your opinion is paramount.
Always keep writing!
-Rosie