From collection of bigger works
Text format:
“Открой дверь,” tingling back pain, cracked paint on a white door now stained with words, “Я сказала, открой дверь.” A beating I could take, a few jabbed splinters were nothing compared to her. Her? Can that even be used for her? With hair as wild as a horses, held up by a clip in the back, loose strands feel like hay brushing up on bare skin. Hands rough as the pavement, a voice strained by the generations. Her. The voice that tears through walls, condenses you into a miniscule star that threatens to fade into the sky. To stand up to her would be to say you’re not afraid of death, but the stinging of her calluses will never leave your mind.
Was it right? When my hand reached for her neck, was I wrong to release my anger onto her. The boiling water turned into a shweeeee that came out of a teapot, and poured onto the aching hands of the container. Like roots reaching for the source of contamination, caught onto the pole of a street lamp. Illuminating the darkness in only one spot. She. Anger and uncertainty, a shiver, a step back. Performing tango to the death, separated only by the words of “family”. Bonded only through the plaguing sickness to escape. A race to see which one will live, yet a hope that both will feel peacefulness. “Just GO, LEAVE,” sirens blaring through the house, the steps of heavy boots on the staircase, “JUST DON’T MAKE ME DO THIS.” Yet she made me do it. To prove a point, I was guilty.
She said I was guilty,
Guilty of intervening with my destiny, guilty for placing hands on one who had done the same to me. But she birthed you? She created you! Somethings wrong with you. To birth and to nurture, yet the nurture came in the shape of hinges and broken noses. “Как ты могла так поступить со мной?” Sowing out the words to me with needles and string, as if I was a dog to obey her orders. Commands. One ear and out the other, no longer bothering with trying to understand her words.
Points:
Time spent:
IP address:
Canary word: Present
Possible AI signals:
Original Text:
Are you sure you want to delete this comment? This cannot be undone.
Mark this comment as a review? Points will be awarded to the poster.
Your comment was posted, but it wasn’t long enough to count as a review. Reviews need about four complete sentences (at least 250 characters). Try writing another review that explains your thoughts in more detail — the author will appreciate it, and you’ll earn points for it.
139,205 Literary Works • 672,505 Reviews
Hello, oirichu! Happy Review Month! Valkyria here to leave a short review for your work. Let's get into it:
There's an unsettling feeling throughout this piece, interlaced with bits of horror and dread. The imagery is beautiful and haunting. And I love the use of "She" and "her". You don't explain who she is, but we can infer that this person is most likely the narrator's mother based on the context. There are these difficult questions of pain, and whether it is right to inflict pain on those who caused it.
The only thing I was a little confused by was the spelling of "sowing." Sowing means planting seeds for plants and crops. I think you mean "sewing" with an e, which is the needle and thread.
This is a fantastic read. I enjoyed it a lot!
Hello!! Thank you for such a kind review Valkyria!! I did make a little hiccup with sowing into sewing, but if it makes a bit of sense I use the literal term of sowing (to plant) as a methaphor for nurture vs nature
Sorry english isn't my native language but I'll fix the slip up with sewing, thank you for noticing!! <3
Take this as a comment or a review based on how helpful what I'm saying actually is, this is the first time I've done this.
Your description of "Her" is great, I especially like:
"loose strands feel like hay brushing up on bare skin."
I can really feel that, and I feel the wording "brushing up on" is much better than the simple alternative "brushing against", the addition of direction adds so much more descriptive value.
The inner conflict of the narrator is so relatable. She doesn't want to hurt "Her/She", who I assume to be her (the narrator's) mother, but it's necessary, "'JUST DON’T MAKE ME DO THIS.'" The narrator has had enough, she didn't want to resort to violence but she had no choice. It's a choice between pain and freedom, is it really freedom, though? The memory of what her mother put her through will never leave, "the stinging of her calluses will never leave your mind."
To me this is a story about conflict, pain, confusion, family and sacrifice. I really enjoyed it, it's got so much emotional value and it's clear in the words. I hope something I've said is of help in some way.
Thank you for choosing my writing as one of your first time reviews <3 This was a very sweet and well-put together review and I'm always happy to know you felt an emotional connection through it at the end. Welcome to YWS!! Enjoy your days, continue to write and express yourself!