Note: Regarding those who may be a little squeezy, there's mild blood towards the end of this short story, though a very minium amount.
Ahem. Anyway. I wrote this story a while ago. It's very short and nothing special, but I felt like sharing it with you. I hope you enjoy, and any critcism or comments you may have is completely welcome!
“I am still so naïve; I know pretty much what I like and dislike; but please, don’t ask me who I am. A broken, fragmented girl, maybe?” - Sylvia Plath
She makes a deal with herself. If her bed is fixed accordingly, all tidy and proper, then she will be fixed. Her individual will be whole, cracked particles of her being will finally fit together like one of her many jigsaw puzzles that she never has the zeal to complete. If it is perfect, she thinks, then I will be perfect.
Satisfied with the prearrangement, she gets to work. She strips the bed nude, the cotton sateen sheets and billowy pillows carelessly thrown to the floor in a heap. She picks up the corn colored sheet, thin and light, holding it by its crinkled edges. She puts it on the bed, resorting it several times until both sides are completely even (she thinks.) Then comes the comforter that almost drowns her in a sea of yellow that mirrors the mid-July sun that she would often curse every time she went out. It takes a little while, but she manages to put the comforter on the bed. Lastly came the pillows. She had vehemently beaten on them, combed them with her fingernails, and even blew on them for a reason that was not apparent.
She takes a step back and examines her masterpiece. Smiles that foolish girl smile that she thought made her look like a girl who had it all together. Next step: she closed her eyes, breathed in heavily, and waited for the inevitable feeling of utter completion that would fill her soul with happiness. Any minute now, it will come It is perfect, so I am perfect.
One minute. Two minutes. Three minutes. Eight minutes. Nothing changes.
She is not unified. She is not happy. She does not feel whole. She is right back where she started. Arranging her bedset was nothing more than a short detour, a tiny vacation. She is still the same incomplete, lost person she was when she woke up this morning, and the morning before that, and the morning before that morning. What’s missing did not come running back to her, instead it ran further away. She is Not Perfect.
That is when she starts scratching her arm, scratching and scratching because her peripheral vision has been painted red, she screams inside her mind and though she can’t hear it, she thinks it’s the loudest sound she’s ever heard. She scratches and scratches and hates the world and herself, hates her own incompetent incompletion. I hate it, she thinks. I hate…
She scratches and scratches until she sees blood hidden under her nails, red and dark and dirty. It is blood, her blood, and she should be scared, scared that she can’t muster up the energy to find herself but she can muster up the energy for inflicting self-harm upon her broken person.
But it occurs to her that she doesn’t really care at all.
Here to review!
My name is Omniyus, and I will be reviewing this short story for you. So, time to start. (Sorry, I don't have much reviewing power in me right now, but I'm trying.)
This sentence is a nice, big, run-on sentence. Be careful about dangerous predators like this one.
Ah, the effect of blowing on things so it might help a little bit. Priceless.
After that, this is really a dark and deep piece. It makes you think about how nothing can be perfect no matter how hard people try.
this is a really good piece. It's short, but sometimes shorter is better.
I hope this helped, even if a little bit,
Omniyus
Very well-written! Brilliantly executed; rather haunting, in fact. I speak only for myself, but I've certainly had moments where I fall into that deep pit of darkest despair (rarely; I'm a very cheerful person generally, and I've never turned to measures half as drastic as self-harm). It's a serious topic, and I think you captured the mood of it very, very well. So bravo! (And, knowing a little bit of French, I like the title. :p) The quote at the beginning is excellent as well; I've heard vaguely of Sylvia Plath, but I've never quite gotten around to reading any of her books/poems/etc.
I'm going to attempt a bit of a review, but I don't claim to be any sort of expert, so you are completely entitled to ignore every suggestion I have to give. c:
Firstly, I noticed quite a few tense changes -remember to stick with just one! Present, or past?
"Her individual will be whole, cracked particles of her being will finally fit together like one of her many jigsaw puzzles that she never has the zeal to complete." This a great sentence (they all were, I'm resorted to being incredibly nit-picky), but there are a few, tiny things that I think could perhaps be done to improve it. The word "particles" doesn't quite work in the context of "cracked"; perhaps substitute something that else? (Think: what cracks/can be cracked?). As well, I don't think the personal pronoun "her" is quite necessary in reference to the jigsaw puzzles -"the" might work better for flow. As well, I think that perhaps the "has" when you speak of the lack of zeal towards the completion of the puzzles should be "had", because you are speaking of past experience, puzzles that she did before?
"She puts it on the bed, resorting it several times until both sides are completely even (she thinks.)" I don't think "resorting" is exactly the word you were looking for. Resorting has two meanings; falling back upon (turning to, etc.), and sorting again. Never of them quite make sense in that context. As well, the brackets seem a bit out of place, as you never use them again in the story. They're a one-off, and rather more visible and a bit awkward for that. Maybe try to add in her thoughts without using brackets?
"She had vehemently beaten on them, combed them with her fingernails, and even blew on them for a reason that was not apparent." This sentence seems a bit awkward. I don't think the "on" when referring to the beating of the pillows is necessary, for starters. Secondly, "combed" is a bit of a strange word choice, as one can't really comb a pillow, and it doesn't draw upon any sort of imagery in relation to what she is doing to those pillows. It doesn't quite make sense. As well, the end bit, about the blowing for no apparent reason just seems a bit out of place. Blowing on one's pillows just seems like a slightly bizarre action, and brushing it off with the 'for no apparent reason', just makes it even more strikingly so.
"Next step: she closed her eyes, breathed in heavily, and waited for the inevitable feeling of utter completion that would fill her soul with happiness." The "utter" is a bit unnecessary; is there any other way to be complete?
"it will come It is perfect, so I am perfect." Missed a period there!
"What’s missing did not come running back to her, instead it ran further away." Sentence fragment. The second part seems a bit awkward -it doesn't flow very well. Maybe ditch the 'instead' and try something more along the lines of, "What was missing did not come running back to her; it only ran further away." Merely a suggestion!
"She is Not Perfect." The capitalization seems a tad awkward. I think I understand where you're coming from with it, but it detracts from the flow of the piece slightly, and leaves one on a hinge for a moment as they have to stop and think: wait, why did they capitalize that? The purpose is sound, but it's a bit unnecessary.
"scratchesuntil" Forgot a space!
"she sees blood hidden under her nails" Technically, if it's hidden, you can't see it. Perhaps just ditch the 'hidden'?
To wrap it up, I just want to say again that this was very well done, and I enjoyed it immensely! I hope to read more work from you soon! C:
Hey Ryis!
These brackets at the end shouldn't be there.This is a very well written short piece. There is alot of good descriptions of the surroundings and what is going on. Your character's thoughts are well put as well and the reader can quickly get into it and understand her position.
Now, I love how you opened with a Sylvia Plath quote, there's alot of inspiration there and she was and is; quite an underestimated writer. I did alot of research on her some years ago and her works, as well as her own story got to me.
As for some critique, there's only two things I would point out.
And lastly: Back to the opening quote, without it I feel we don't really know how down or deep your character is really feeling. That is, if you even know of Plath. Just pushing your story and description a bit further will make it more clear without needing the quote.
Very good stuff. This is impressive writing, keep it up.
Cheers
Birkhoff