My eyes open with searing pain. Sunlight peeks through to pin me to the sheets. Yet, I arch my back, blood turning into lead. The world appears in myriad of hues; cobalt blue and a tinge of flickering orange that meets my iris. Clouded and unreadable, they look at their own reflection- a surge of unmistakable disdain for the shattered pieces. Standing chips away at what's left of me, yet I push. A phantom weight and the ache of an absent limb.
How long does it last? I don't care.
Those hands push with whatever left to switch off those perpetual tunes, once mellow, now pounding through my ears so loud, it's hard to hear my own thoughts. Books with the comfort of words, a reality in its own, lay covered in dust. The world closes around me, its hard to breathe. All these thoughts keep rushing, my hands grip the table tight. Those heavy drops, crystal clear, fall against my soft, scarred skin. Its those those colors again
Does it hurt when I gulp down water? I don't care.
A soft smile tugs on my lips, easing that tight feeling in the chest. The dizziness fades slowly. My face brightens the moment I realize I had been noticed. All thoughts stay put, just listening to him. He understands, at least he says so, so I stay. Hurtful words escaped me leaving the edge of my pupil is painted crimson red.
I hurt him. I don't care.
They are scared. Did I do something? Maybe its the furrowing of my brows, or that grim look on my face. The smile I have plastered on for them must have something to do. Is it my fault? I am sorry. Its not the same anymore. They appear so insouciant, yet I feel like tearing my skin apart. I talk to them, their friends and who not? They say that something's off. They say they are ready to talk. They say they need time alone. Do I feel blinded? I am sorry.
Does it matter? I don't care.
Would it matter? It will be an action far far easier, a simple mechanical move. A small blade is all it takes, doesn't it?
The question just deepens my crippling soul. That excruciating pain makes me scream but my lips are tight shut. My lids are heavy, with the void left in my mind. My knees are giving in, with the only holding them being my trembling hands. Breathing hurts
Existing hurts.
How long does it lasts? I don't care.
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125,021 Literary Works • 672,739 Reviews
Hia, the dice chose your story this time so let's see!
"Sunlight peeks through to pin me to the sheets" oh that's such a nice description!
I'm not so sure about the grammar here: "Those hands push with whatever left to switch off" I keep thinking it should be "whatever is left"
Maybe you can clarify and explain it to me?
That said it feels like this is about depression and how once beloved things are neglected. The books now covered in dust as a sign of being unable to enjoy what once brought joy?
Why the double those here? "Its those those colors again"
Unrelated I think but I actually wondered if the narrator might rly have lost a limb? It could be a reason for depression after all. But with the rest of the story... That doesn't seem to be the case.
Especially with how the only cheer the narrator seems to have is hurting him, whoever that may be.
I keep wondering if it matters that we never learn just what kind of weight the narrator carries. Just what caused that mental state. Because sometimes the brain just does this and you can't get out.
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Arghhhh I'm just so busy with reviews I need to start reading my own stuff. Before I begin yapping, thx a lot for your reviewww. Every little piece of insight is helping me to become a better writer.
I thank u very much for pointing out my error, I think I need to start decluttering my mind but you were correct. It is supposed to be "whatever is left".
I usually don't read them once they're written as they become to depressing.
I appreciate you very much for actually understanding what the flash fic was about- depression.
However the narrator DID NOT enjoy hurting him and thus the line- "it those colors again". The colors actually were supposed to represent my hazy vision when I start crying- actually the colors mentioned are the same colors I see when I start crying (this is getting hella long)
Not knowing what caused the narrator to be like this is part of the package- enjoy it to ur fullest.
AND NO, the narrator (which is I ) DID NOT lose a bone
Love, peace and some of "I need help"
Nandini
Dragonight here to leave a review on this painful story.
That was straight dragon FIRE
The feelings in this story were well portrayed. Each moment was excruciating in its own way and each paragraph was different in the kind of pain it described.
It kind of reminds me of a war veteran suffering from injury and perhaps drugs to numb the pain? Could also be someone who lost a limb in a terrible accident that left them scarred.
But the scariest part, I find, is that someone could feel this way from abuse or phycological trauma alone.
This story has a poetic feel to the way it is structured and the words chosen. Rather than telling a story where things are happening it is more told through feelings and imagery. A very unique way of telling a story and a good one too.
Some loose scales
Not much to criticize here. The grammar was a bit off in a few spots but that comes with the poetic nature of stories like this so I'm not sure if that needs correcting.
For example:
As mighty wing soar overall
The way you separated the paragraphs was interesting and you used it well to make the intermediate sentences stand out.
Final wisdom of the dragon friend
I don't know if this story has anything to do with its writer, but often these stories are great ways of describing how we feel and making some sense of it.
Of course, sometimes a story is just a story and this one was able to evoke the feelings of the main character well.
May blazing dragon-fire light your path and ignite the flames of your inspiration.
Thanks so much
Your review (my first review) means a hella lot to me. I was scared that YWS reviewers would eat me up, but that wasn't so bad
Also thank you for pointing out that error, I will make a mental note to correct it.
On your final wisdom, I would like to add that an author writes about what he/ she knows.
Again thx a lotttt