Silly--HEAVILY EDITED

whence wrote:“Honey… are you sure you want to go?”
“Yes, I ar’dy told you!”

The adorable girl had her jaw stuck out in [s]the[/s] perfect measure of her stubbornness. Her mother was torn between laughing and crying. Why was she being so stupid? Of course she could go… no use being silly about it, after all.

“Well, do try and have fun, dear.” Why was she adopting this horribly worried voice? No matter…better to just drop her off quick--maybe she could still catch the judges’ decision (that Simon was quite the charmer).

The youth’s face radiated joy as the slam of the car door was lost amid the bass of thunder--the first sign of a summer-storm. As the taillights bled into the June heat,Gorgeous Description! Ellende ripped through the heavy air. She imagined that each point of grass was a wicked spring, determined to launch her up…out--all the way to the moon. So she skipped, using their fragrant buoyancy against them, slinging herself forward, faster, with each bound; the satisfyingly elastic resistance whipping back in perfect time with her heartbeat. Her lips began to crack from the force of smiling, she was going so fast, she’d surely die from this manic exhilaration, when--

“Careful there, dear. You wouldn’t want to trip." The voice had a lyrical quality about it, and Ellende began to feel pleasantly drowsy as she listened.

“Come along, now… we’ll just nip you over here to be with all your little friends.” The lady’s words subtly sped up as she uttered them, fitting in perfect rhythm with the child’s heartbeat.

“Yes, Miss Prost,” Ellende sang dutifully.
She skipped to keep up, much to the bemused twinkle-of-a-laugh that belonged to the hostess.

The cloud cover formed a crystalline shell over the lawn, and at once they burst into falling mist. Paper tablecloths drank in [s]this[/s] the moisture, and archaic truths were spilling, spelling across their thin fronts. And thus the party began.I didn't understand that at all. I really dont get it.

“More sherbet, dear? My… you do look silly in those hats,” always accompanied by that light, ringing chuckle. There was a piñata (though soggy, the candy inside was sticky-sweet). The beast was hammered to the metronome of heartbeat (or heartbreak?). Vivacity is no means for survival, and it just echoes the colors; the brutally soft music in a life’s end. It was such a silly animal.

Not crazy about the parenthses. It draws away from the story. They're after thoughts and perhaps not needed? If they are find a way to incorporate them more without seperating them.

From the side yard came the greatest sight yet: a great rotund kiddy pool, over-inflated and violently pink. A hose isTense Change! I should eat you I really should. lol snaked out, and slowly the weight of water stills the ludicrous thing.

Dr. House was still muttering from the set at Ellende’s home when the storm proper was unleashed. In her mind, it was all contained in the crystalline cloud-cage that even now enveloped them. Indeed, it seemed as if those licks of light were much too close to accompany the bass of thunder that paired them. But worse still was the waiting; that pause between the bolt and the boom. It was in one of those mute periods that they all streaked inside, seeking shelter from silence and storm.

But Ellende stayed. She refused to leave without getting her turn in the nonsensical pool. It sat there, like some tomb of licorice, just waiting to reverse the norm. But it was that haunting thrill that so enticed her, and thus the youth slid over the lip of the plasticized wheel, and into the crystalline hubcap itself. The rain blending with her prickling tears, diluting their salty bite, the little girl, stopping to see for the first time, realized the world was a much wi[l]der place then she thought. Gravity’s no fun, she noted sourly. It stuck this pool, an’ in time it’ll stick me. Her anger was filtered through defiant surprise as the glass slide aside, and the hostess approached her charge.

“Honey, come inside. You shouldn’t be in that wretched thing. You’ll likely catch cold, or worse yet shiver through some lightn’in,”

Ellende’s glower faltered as Miss Prost neared, looking inexplicably wetter then the little girl. She was at the rim of the pink atrocity, and reaching forward. Suddenly Ellende had the very strong urge to take the woman’s hand; after all, why shouldn’t she? But Gravity took things in its own miserable course, and the grass-points conspired to send Miss Prost, shrieking, to the bottom of the ridiculous bowl with a bounce. She came up, sputtering and spiteful.

“It’s silly, really,” the child offered helplessly. “Us being out here an’ all”.

A pallid arm thrust forth, and seized Ellende in a vice grip; the woman's fingertips pinching just behind the ears. Now it was her turn to sputter, and any hint of defiancy leaked out of her face for the first time in her short, sweet life. Running down her throat, it mixed with her choking breath, and again was that laugh like the sparkle of a bell. The rain pierced the little girl's eyes, and it bled their color down her cheek. A trace of green against the white, that flowed all the way down to join skin pigments in the water below. Projectile blood joined the mixing colors of the boisterous pool, and the youth fell upon her knees. As a grimace contorted Miss Prost’s etched face, (set as stone against the horror), a flash of lightning lit the scene for the voiceless smirks watching at the window. Leaning into her efforts, focusing the whole of herself on the back of the wench’s neck, the mistress guided Ellende’s face past the film at the water's edge, into the spectrum and silence below. A crystalline end, and the world missed a beat and one more heart slowed. The cloud cover drifted apart, and a bleached body (stained with the pigments washed from her skin and eyes) padded against the pink ground. It was a silly thing, the elasticized bounds of life amidst death.

“Well come along then, children. There’s still cake to be had,” and all the while, with that ringing mirth; a laugh like tinkle of a bell.

_________________________
author's note: I'm sticking with poetry from now on

...*Disclamer* These are all my opinions I am not an expert so this may sound weird (if thats the case just ignore it) and I haven't read any of the other critiques so I apologize if this has already been said...

“Honey… are you sure you want to go?”
“Yes, I ar’dy told you!”

The adorable girl had her jaw stuck out in the perfect measure of her stubbornness. Her mother was torn between laughing and crying. Why was she being so stupid? Of course she could go… no use being silly about it, after all.

“Well, do try and have fun, dear.” Why was she adopting this horribly worried voice? No matter…better to just drop her off quick--maybe she could still catch the judges’ decision (that Simon was quite the charmer).

bass of thunder--

her up…out--all

So she skipped, using their fragrant buoyancy against them, slinging herself forward, faster, with each bound; the satisfyingly elastic resistance whipping back in perfect time with her heartbeat. Her lips began to crack from the force of smiling, she was going so fast, she’d surely die from this manic exhilaration, when--

“Careful there, dear. You wouldn’t want to trip." The voice had a lyrical quality about it, and Ellende began to feel pleasantly drowsy as she listened.

“Careful there, dear. You wouldn’t want to trip." The voice had a lyrical quality about it, and Ellende began to feel pleasantly drowsy as she listened.

“Come along, now… we’ll just nip you over here to be with all your little friends.” The lady’s words subtly sped up as she uttered them, fitting in perfect rhythm with the child’s heartbeat.

The cloud cover formed a crystalline shell over the lawn, and at once they burst into falling mist. Paper tablecloths drank in this moisture, and archaic truths were spilling, spelling across their thin fronts. And thus the party began.

More sherbet, dear? My… you do look silly in those hats,” always accompanied by

(though soggy, the candy inside was sticky-sweet).

The beast was hammered to the metronome of heartbeat (or heartbreak?).

Vivacity is no means for survival, and it just echoes the colors; the brutally soft music in a life’s end. It was such a silly animal.

A hose is snaked out

storm proper

wi[l]der

Gravity’s no fun, she noted sourly. It stuck this pool, an’ in time it’ll stick me

“Well come along then, children. There’s still cake to be had,” and all the while, with that ringing mirth; a laugh like tinkle of a bell

ok, thanks a whole friggin' lot Claw. I did some fairly major edits, but I still need to cut out about 250 words.

“Honey… are you sure you want to go?”
“Yes, I ar’dy told you!”

The [s]unknowingly[/s] adorable girl had her jaw stuck out [s]furiously[/s]; [comma, d00d, not semicolon] the perfect measure of her resolution[don't use such an "adult" word while describing a child. Decision works just as well]. Her mother was torn between laughing and crying. Why was she being so stupid? Of course she could go… no use being silly about it, after all.

“Well, do try and have fun, dear,” why was she adopting this horribly worried voice? [Make the comma after "dear" a period, and capitalize "why"] No matter…better to just drop her off quick--maybe she could still catch the judges’ decision (that Simon was quite the charmer).

[s]In a flicker of dormant estrogen,[/s] the youth’s face radiated joy[s]; the unfermented purity of ignorance.[/s] ["Unfermented" isn't a word, but in any case, wordyness ] The slam of the car door was lost amid the bass[bass? Why not clap, or strike, or something more akin to thunder?] of thunder--the first sign of a summer-storm. As the taillights bled into the June heat [that makes no sense. You just sed "The taillights are on, and it's hot". So? It's summer. duh it's hot.], Ellende ripped through the heavy air. [too figurative for my taste. Why not drove?] She imagined that each prolific point of grass was a wicked spring, determined to launch her up…out--all the way to the moon. So she skipped, using their fragrant buoyancy against them, slinging herself forward, faster, with each bound; the satisfyingly elastic resistance whipping back in perfect time with her heartbeat. Her lips began to crack from the force of smiling, she was going so fast, she’d surely die from this manic exhilaration, when-- [What just happened in all that? I want to strike it out, but I have a feeling you were trying to characterize or something. Wait - what were you trying to do? xD I have no clue. Describe something? Your abstract poeticness is slipping in.]

“Careful there, dear. You wouldn’t want to trip” [s]The voice was a dozen bells, each intonation a different pitch, blending together to create the most succulent harmony.[/s] [that just sounds stupid. Sorry dear.]

“Come along, now… we’ll just nip you over here to be with all your little friends.” The lady’s words subtly sped up as she uttered them, fitting in perfect rhythm with the child’s heartbeat.

“Yes, Miss Prost,” Ellende sang dutifully, skipping to keep up, much to the bemused twinkle-of-a-laugh that belonged to the hostess. [split this sentence up, ending at the dialog tag and starting anew at "She skipped to keep up..."]

The lawn was infused with faux dew as a mist of rain spread over it, paper table clothes drank in this moisture, and archaic truths were spelling across their thin fronts. [s]The precipitation took on the attitude of a low fog, more then anything.[/s] It was under this [s]crystalline[/s] shelter that the Birthday party began. [Er... I have problems with this paragraph. How is it faux, if it is rain? If it was pool water, maybe. Dew and rain water are the same thing, technically both a form of water deposit. Also, in the next close, you said table cloths got wet, but in too many words. I cut the next sentence, because it does nothing. "This shelter" sounds odd. What shelter? A building? A patio?]

“More sherbet, dear? My… you do look silly in those hats,” always accompanied by that light, ringing chuckle. [*gasp* That is not a dialog tag mister!] There was a piñata (though soggy, the candy inside was sticky-sweet [s]to perfection[/s]). [s]And it was with a cold beauty that the beast was beaten, again and again to the metronome of heartbeat (or heartbreak?), no matter the flamboyant thing’s will to survive, it was still torn apart with a sickening crack as the dense dark bat connect, resonating with undeniable truth, the comfort; the brutally soft music in a life’s end. It was such a silly animal.[/s] [I don't think I've ever seen someone use that many words to describe hitting a pinata xD you can be graceful, and beautiful, but this is bordering on some chaotic form of purple prose. like... black prose. It isn't fluffy, its just chunky. purple prose is fluffy.]

From the side yard comes [What tense are you in? Weren't you in past...?] the greatest sight yet; [That should be a colon] a great rotund kiddy pool, over-inflated and [s]a violent shade of blasphemy-[/s]pink. The hose is snaked out from Never, and slowly the bubble-gum behemoth is cemented down, the weight of that crystalline clamp thumb-screwing it against the oncoming rain. [For the love of all that is beautiful fiction, you are too wordy. Seriously Whence, you are describing every day things in the most ridiculous manner, and it isn't even funny.]

Dr. House was still muttering politically-incorrect diagnoses in the earthy living room at Ellende’s home when the storm proper was unleashed. In her mind, it was all contained in the crystalline pod that even now enveloped them. Indeed, it seemed as if those licks of light were much too close to accompany the bass of thunder that paired them. But worse still was the waiting; that pause between the strobe and the ululation; the bolt and the boom. It was in one of those mute periods that they all streaked inside, seeking respite from silence and storm. [I'm going to shoot you if I find the word, "crystalline" again. Use it logically, and for that matter, don't over use it. Also, you just use way too many words to describe things. I for one find a beauty in being able to describe something pleasantly with less words, like six word stories. The less words, the more beauty, the more weight it holds. Perhaps I'll teach you to cut through the literary "crap" in your sentences, because you are good, you just stuff everything full of needless description that no one can even relate to, picture, or imagine.]

But Ellende stayed;[Period] she refused to leave without getting her turn in the [s]shockingly pink pond[/s] [Insert: pool]. [s]It waited for her, like some sickly-sweet comforter, a tomb of licorice, just waiting to reverse the norm.[/s] But it was that haunting thrill that so enticed her, and thus the stubborn youth slid over the lip of the plasticized wheel, and into the crystalline hubcap itself. [Expect to get shot the next time I talk to you. I really did like "The youth slid over the lip of the plasticized wheel" but everything else was wordy, including "stubborn." You don't need adjectives, show us she is stubborn by her demanding to swim, despite the rain or.. what ever. I can't tell.] The intangible hemisphere over the pool so resembled the skein at the edge of the storm-haze, that Ellende suffered from a stomach wrenching combination of déjà vu and vertigo. [What?] The rain blending with her prickling tears, diluting the salt-bite, the little girl, able to objectively see the world from inside her obnoxious bubble, realized that it was a much wider place then she’d thought. Gravity’s a bitch, she noted venomously. It betrayed this pool, an’ in time it’ll betray me. Her anger was filtered through defiant surprise as the glass slide aside, and the hostess approached her charge. [So you still had her think that? In all logic, it makes no sense. Your character is contradicting, it's a child for goodness sake! XP]

“Honey, come inside. You shouldn’t be in that wretched thing. You’ll likely catch cold, or worse yet shiver through some lightn’in,”

Ellende’s glower faltered as Miss Prost neared[s]; somehow looking much more drenched then the small girl.[/s] [New sentence: She some how looked wetter than the little girl.] She was at the rim of the pink obstrocity [s](which suddenly looked much more like a cage to the nervous youth)[/s], and reaching forward. Suddenly Ellende had the very strong urge to take the woman’s hand; after all, why shouldn’t she? But Gravity took things in its own miserable course, and the grass-points conspired to send Miss Prost, shrieking, to the bottom of the ridiculous bowl with a bounce. She came up, sputtering and radiating the kind of desperation that only true spite can bring.

“It’s silly, really,” the child offered helplessly. “Us being out here an’ all”.

A pallid arm thrust forth, and seized Ellende in a vice grip at her jugular. Now it was her turn to sputter, and any hint of defiancy leaked out of her face for the first time in her short, sweet life. Running down her throat, it mixed with her choking, and again was that laugh like the sparkle of a bell. [What running down her throat? The "defiancy" sentence was actually good, though defiancy isn't a word says Mozilla spell check] The rain broke through the lower bubble, and it bled the little girl’s eye color down her cheek; a trace of green against the white. Projectile blood joined the mixing colors of the boisterous pool, and the youth hit her knees. As a grimace contorted Miss Prost’s etched face, set as stone against the horror, a flash of lightning lit the scene for the voiceless faces watching at the window. Leaning into her efforts, focusing the whole of herself on the back of the sprite’s neck, the mistress guided Ellende’s face past the film of the water, into the spectrum of truth below. A crystalline end [I hate you and I hate "crystalline"], and the world missed a beat and one more heart slowed. The weather-prod drifted apart, and as a pigment-washed body padded against the pink ground, the last bubble burst forth. It was a silly thing, the elasticized bounds of life amidst death.

“Well come along then, children. There’s still cake to be had,” and all the while, with that ringing mirth; a laugh like tinkle of a bell.

Well, first thing I noticed (and I don't know if it's just me), it's incredibly wordy. So much, I can't concentrate on what's happening in the story and I'm trying to keep up with all these words packed into a paragraph. It's almost like you're using way too many words to describe a simple scene or action.

“Careful there, dear. You wouldn’t want to trip” The voice was a dozen bells,

The lawn was infused with faux dew as a mist of rain spread over it, paper table clothes drank in this moisture,