Young Writers Society

The impact of his hand across my face sent me to the ground. I wasn't afraid of him anymore, a thing like was almost routine now.

“What is wrong with you?” His stern words were kind of worthless since he was still stoned.

My father was a very violent man. Some nights he would come home so intoxicated that he would think I was his a stranger and call the police. Somehow he always ended up down at the station, spending a few nights in jail. Tonight was one of those nights, but I was no stranger.

He pulled me up by my shoulders and dug his thick distorted nails into my caramel skin. The door slammed shut as I watched Chris scatter away from the window.

He squeezed me tighter and shook me, “Why was that boy here?”

The anger he had built up in jail was always taken out on me, one way or another.

“W-we had a project...” I stuttered. Being strong was one of the personality traits I lacked, but believe me you wouldn’t be able to hold your own either if you were being shaken by a man who could make you quiver with only his eyes.

“You were kissing him!” He shouted at me, and his nails dug an inch deeper in me.

“I-I’m sorry,” I wailed, my guilty hazel eyes mirrored his and look for an ounce or forgiveness, or maybe even shame.

He dropped me and headed for the door. I exhaled relief as I rubbed my sore shoulders. He placed his hand on door.

“Don’t ever let me see that boy here again. Intiendo?”
Sometimes he would throw some Spanish into his short tirades to make it more meaningful, but by no means did it matter.

“Yes, sir,” I said softly.

The bang of the door slamming made me jump even though it was no shock to me. The engine of the white Cadillac calmed my nerves as I watched my father pull out of the driveway.

I turned the bathtub facet right. As I waited for it to fill I stared at myself in the mirror. Disappointment was all I saw. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on me, but I wasn’t happy. Most girls I knew just wanted a tight ass and a nice rack, but I wanted so much more. I wanted beauty.

I returned to the tub and turned the facet off and poured in the bubble bath. I threw my clothes in the hamper and stepped into the tub. This feeling overcame me as I sank down into the bath. Warmth. My father didn't accept Chris, but he refused to say why. Before my father walked in I was the happiest girl alive. The way Chris would look at me with his flirty blue eyes was indescribable. He placed his soft tender fingers on the back of my neck when he kissed me. I ran my fingers through his chestnut hair then across his perfect face as I stared back into his dazzling eyes.
I stepped out of the tub and wrapped the towel around me. I flipped open my phone and viewed my new text message.

Are you alright?I miss you already- Chris

My blithe expression stared back at me in the mirror. I told him I was okay.

This was good and you have some great characterization. I don't know if I'm supposed to dislike Chris but I get the feeling he's a bit of a coward and the father is absolutely vile. Here's a few specific suggestions -

Some nights he would come home so intoxicated that he would think I was [s]his[/s] a stranger and call the police.

“You were kissing him!” He shouted at me, and his nails dug an inch deeper. [s]in me.[/s] [Or if you do want a bit more, perhaps 'an inch deeper into my flesh']

“I-I’m sorry,” I wailed, my guilty hazel eyes mirrored his and looked for an ounce [s]or[/s] of forgiveness, or maybe even shame.

_____________________

Other than that, it was nicely written. Perhaps describe the girl a bit more. Rather than just telling us her figure, what is it about herself that she doesn't find beautiful? What does her face look like, eyes, hair, nose etc. Just a bit more information and maybe add a touch of description of the rooms.

its really good stuff. i like the description of the charicters. i felt a little lost cuse i was thrown into the middle of a sence. like there was no build up it just started. i myself as a guy dont particuly like the fact that chris ran but thats more of my whole "im a man and if i truly love/like this girl i should protect her no matter how much pain if brings me" but thats just me. i felt that u could have put in some background while she was in her bath because u threw us into the middle of the story u could have explaind about herself or how the father was addicted to pot or about chris. stuff like that. but other then that stuff i think its really good.

Hey, 'tis Jabber! I don't know if you know me, but now you do! Thought you'd want another crit of encouragement! ^^

It was actually pretty good. Right away, I hated the father and felt dead sorry for the girl. And...how did Chris leave? Did he run off like a coward? Or did he have to leave for a better reason and was only being responsible? Maybe you'll explain later.

Speaking of the girl, I hope I get to know her name soon! ^^

This feeling overcame me as I sank down into the bath. Warmth.

Is this all you can say about the bath? I didn't feel very warm when you said it. And I think a bath would be felt and recognized so much more when stressed and beat by your father. We got five senses, keep that in mind! (smell, hear, sight, feel, taste)

Otherwise, I didn't have much problems with this piece, except that you don't continue it. I think you should keep going, and let me know when you have more. I'd be happy to crit. ^^

Keep writing!

Jabber, the One and Only!

I edited the first part and I'm going to post the second part after this. Enjoy !



The impact of his hand across my face sent me to the ground. I wasn't afraid of him anymore, a thing like was almost routine now.

“What is wrong with you?” His stern words were kind of worthless since he was still stoned.

My father was a very violent man. Some nights he would come home so intoxicated that he would think I was a stranger and call the police. Somehow he always ended up down at the station, spending a few nights in jail. Tonight was one of those nights, but I was no stranger.

He pulled me up by my shoulders and dug his thick distorted nails into my caramel skin. The door slammed shut as I watched Chris scatter away from the window.

He squeezed me tighter and shook me, “Why was that boy here?”

The anger he had built up in jail was always taken out on me, one way or another.

“W-we had a project...” I stuttered. Being strong was one of the personality traits I lacked, but believe me you wouldn’t be able to hold your own either if you were being shaken by a man who could make you quiver with only his eyes.

“You were kissing him!” He shouted at me, and his nails dug an inch deeper in my flesh.

“I-I’m sorry,” I wailed, my guilty hazel eyes mirrored his and looked for an ounce of forgiveness, or maybe even shame.

He dropped me and headed for the door. I exhaled relief as I rubbed my sore shoulders. He placed his hand on door.

“Don’t ever let me see that boy here again. Intiendo?”
Sometimes he would throw some Spanish into his short tirades to make it more meaningful, but by no means did it matter.

“Yes, sir,” I said softly.

The bang of the door slamming made me jump even though it was no shock to me. The engine of the white Cadillac calmed my nerves as I watched my father pull out of the driveway.

I turned the bathtub facet right. As I waited for it to fill I stared at myself in the mirror. Disappointment was all I saw. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on me, but I wasn’t happy. Most girls I knew just wanted a tight ass and a nice rack, but I wanted so much more. I wanted beauty. Chris was the only person to call me beautiful, ever.

I returned to the tub and turned the facet off and poured in the bubble bath. I threw my clothes in the hamper and stepped into the tub. This feeling of warmth overcame me as I sank down into the bath. I inhaled the floral lavender scent and exhaled my apprehension. I grinned to myself when I began to think about how much Chris really wanted to stay with me, he wouldn’t leave if I hadn’t forced him. I thought I should save the evil wrath of my father for myself. My father didn't accept Chris, but he refused to say why. Before my father walked in I was the happiest girl alive. The way Chris would look at me with his flirty blue eyes was indescribable. He placed his soft tender fingers on the back of my neck when he kissed me. I ran my fingers through his chestnut hair then across his perfect face as I stared back into his dazzling eyes.
I stepped out of the tub and wrapped the towel around me. I flipped open my phone and viewed my new text message.

Ava, are you alright?I miss you already- Chris

My blithe expression stared back at me in the mirror. I told him I was okay.

This is the second part, I'll add more soon. =]


Crescent View High school was the most segregate school on the planet; racially and socially. I didn’t understand why people would separate themselves from people who were different from them. It wasn’t just the school, it was the whole town. But the school was probably known most for there cliques, or their disorder. The preps, the jocks, the goths, the cheerleaders, and the ghetto kids you name it. Everyone had there place, except me. I was a dancer, contemporary dancer. For an average African American, it wasn’t normal by any means. For once I was actually relieved to not be normal. Being different was more my style. Dancing was the only thing keeping me sane for a long time. My mom and I use to spend hours in the studio dancing, she was phenomenal and I wanted to be just like her. When I was younger I told her I wanted her and me to open a dance studio in New York, so we could show them how it’s really done. She took that dream away from me 6 years ago. She just left one morning without saying goodbye. She was dead to me, and if my father ever got a hold of her again, she would be. That’s when the hitting and the drugs started. I’ll never forget that.
I opened my locker and bent down. I rummaged through my locker as I searched for my math book and calculator.
“Hey sexy,”
My body jerked upwards as I felt a hand clutch my rear. I quickly turned around to see Bjorn grinning wildly. His vividly white teeth contrasted with his darker-than-midnight complexion. The smile was wiped off when I smack him across the face.
“Damn girl, chill!” he barked, rubbing his sore cheek.

“Don’t ever touch me again!” I snapped and I slammed my locker. I asked my dad to transfer me to a different school a couple of times, kind of subconsciously hoping he would say no so I could stay with Chris but also awaiting a yes so I could get of that hellhole!
I angrily dragged myself to my class and sat down.
“Ava, you’re late!” Mr. Matterson muttered in a sing-song voice. Just the sight of him aggravated me. Always slicked back with too much gel, his full head of charcoal hair was full of useless facts. His gray eyes would scan the classroom for tardiness and rule-breaking. He said he was French but I thought he was just a loser.
I leaned back in my desk and folded my arms, “Sorry...” I mumbled.
A whole day at this dump really drained all forms of energy from me. The curdling cheese-black meatball-not cooked pasta didn’t seem very appetizing to me today. Arguing with my “friends” took a lot of me too. They were stubborn- headed Latinas that only dated the guys that wanted nothing other than their bodies. Needless to say, Chris didn’t really fall into that category.

The blatant hellish bell for the end of the day was probably worse that standing next to the fire alarm, but at this point it was kind of soothing knowing that I wouldn’t have to hear it for the next two weeks.

The corner of my lips headed upwards as I was embraced by Chris. I pressed my lips against his and for that moment I couldn’t stop smiling. He pulled back and grinned.

“I missed you, ” I smiled

“What happened after I left last night?” he said between kissing me.

I tried to shake the thoughts of last night away, “Nothing, he was just really pissed!”

He saw straight through me. “Ava, if he’s hurting you-”

“Chris, I’m fine…really,”

He stared at me for a while trying to find maybe any distress in my expression He ran his fingers up and down my arm and grinned sorrowfully.

“My parents are out of town for the week,” he said in a mischievous tone.
I grinned, “I guess you’re gonna be lonely then…”

I opened my locker and from the silence I received, that probably wasn’t the answer he was looking for.

“C’mon, I really don’t think it’s safe over there…” His solicitude was genuine but it was starting to aggravate me.

I placed my books in my backpack and closed it up, “I can handle myself; really, I have for a while now. Besides he hasn’t been home since Tuesday,”

“Ava, I just want spend some time with you, okay? So think about it and call me later.”

I sighed and watched him walk away. Escaping my house for a week was probably what I needed but I was afraid. What would happen when I returned? Would my house still be standing? Even though my father was really dreadful to me, he was blood and to me, I thought the extra effort to try and help wasn’t optional.

I swung my bag over my shoulder and headed home. The thought of going to Chris’ was starting to sound better and better when I recalled my brother coming home for vacation.
My brother was a statistic before he even turned fifteen. He was sleeping with girls, drinking and doing drugs. Not to mention, he was an exact replica of our father. We had the common sibling rivalry until I turned nine and everything changed. I used to look up to my brother back then and he would teach what I wanted to know. Every morning, I saw him take these little white pills every morning and I asked what they were for. He said it was to make him feel good, and he gave me some to try. For three months he continued to give me these pills, and I felt great except for the muscle twitching. When he stopped giving them to me, I crashed. I was in bed for days and I was having seizure. Finally he took me to the hospital and I could see how scared he was. The doctor told me I was being withdrawn from Methamphetamine. That word didn’t really mean much to me then I was older to realize what my brother had done to me. And still to this day I still like holding a razor to my wrist of sticking my head in the trash compactor.

I opened the front door to the smiling 27 year old sprawled out on our couch,

“Hey babysis,”

Hello! I'm back to crit your second part. ^_^ *begins to read*

Crescent View High school was the most segregate school on the planet; racially and socially.

"Segregate" should be past tense. Also, a double hyphon (--) could work rather than a semicolon.

I didn’t understand why people would separate themselves from people who were different from them

The repetition of "People" is a bit bothersome. Here's a suggestion: I didn't understand why some people would separate themselves from others who were different from them.

My mom and I use to spend hours in the studio dancing, she was phenomenal and I wanted to be just like her.

Here you can use a semicolon. Also, it should be "used" rather than "use." When we speak, you cannot really hear it's past tense, but it is.

but also awaiting a yes so I could get of that hellhole!

I think you're missing the word "out."

The blatant hellish bell for the end of the day was probably worse that standing next to the fire alarm

He stared at me for a while trying to find maybe any distress in my expression He ran his fingers up and down my arm and grinned sorrowfully.

There's a period missing in the midst of these words.

Every morning, I saw him take these little white pills every morning

Teehee, choose a place.

And still to this day I still like holding a razor to my wrist of sticking my head in the trash compactor.

This sentence is a bit confusing. Maybe rewrite this.

I opened the front door to the smiling 27 year old sprawled out on our couch,

“Hey babysis,”

Missing a couple periods here.

Overall, you did very well. The one thing I'd like to mention is the couple really long paragraphs in the beginning and end (I'm sure you can find them yourself ). They're a bit overwhelming. If there's a way to separate them into smaller paragraphs, that would be a good idea.

Paragraphs usually start every new idea. Take this paragraph for instance:

My brother was a statistic before he even turned fifteen. He was sleeping with girls, drinking and doing drugs. Not to mention, he was an exact replica of our father. We had the common sibling rivalry until I turned nine and everything changed. I used to look up to my brother back then and he would teach what I wanted to know. Every morning, I saw him take these little white pills every morning and I asked what they were for. He said it was to make him feel good, and he gave me some to try. For three months he continued to give me these pills, and I felt great except for the muscle twitching. When (Put "then" here instead )he stopped giving them to me [and], I crashed. I was in bed for days and I was having [a] seizure. Finally he took me to the hospital and I could see how scared he was. The doctor told me I was being withdrawn from Methamphetamine. That word didn’t really mean much to me then (Not a paragraph here, but...check it ^^ )I was older to realize what my brother had done to me. And still to this day I still like holding a razor to my wrist of sticking my head in the trash compactor.

AHHH! Lol, see what I mean? Where the bold is (except the last one)--that's where I suggest starting a new paragraph, but you can make changes to your liking.

Other than that, you did very well. Let me know when you have more--I'd be happy to review. ^^

Keep writing!

Jabber, the One and Only!