Young Writers Society

I am sitting in an eleventh grade math class. I have just found out that the boy I so dearly have worshiped from afar, and now have finally come to be friends with…has found someone else to be with. A girl I even know as an acquaintance. My eyes are stricken with still forming tears. My cheeks are red and stained with the mascara I so recklessly globbed on this morning. The people sitting around me take a glance at the girl making light wining noises in the far corner of the room, and take two guesses as to who it is. Hmmm, could it be me? I believe so my miserable compatriot. They turn away quickly once I give them a fierce look in the eye, but it was not my wish to drive their glances away. No, it was the opposite in fact, for I wish the entire world to feel my pain. Surely if anyone were to know of my suffering they would most definitely fling themselves at my side and pelt me with chocolates and honest, truthful sympathy. But alas, no one comes running, as I are so numb my mouth cannot open to form words. Only sobs escape me, rocking my body with slight convulsions of the heart.

I turn in the direction of the friend sitting behind me, and give her a pathetic excuse for a smile. Anything would be better than to feel what I am feeling at this moment, and I are desperately wishing for her to strike up a conversation. My manic glance awards me with a mildly concerned, “Hey, are you okay?” and a furrow of her brow. Choking out a disturbing laugh at the question, I then mutter something to the idea of, “I’m fine” and then go on to stare at her desperately. What to say, I wonder and pray that she inquires further. She does not. I am befuddled, because surely she must realize a person in my state is most obviously not “fine” as I so artfully put it. But nay, she dismisses my appearance and takes me at face, or rather, word value.

This fine example of human compassion then goes on to say in a borderline annoyed voice, “the room is cold.” I suppose it is, because this creature is clearly sucking the warmth from the room, and from my heart, leaving an icy chill to replace the numbness that had settled previously. Trying not to stare at her as though she were the devil, I mumble something about the math work, and my friend whips her head quickly toward you. Finally, I think, she has noticed me, as I so often have noticed her! Yes, she will now give me the respect I have given her in times of need! With her eyes focused intently and deeply into mine so that we can both see each other more totally than anything else in the room, she tilts her head sideways and asks me…with a hint of worry she says… “Can you help me with the math work? I have no idea what’s going on.” No you don’t! I scream mentally, still staring at her as if she was insane. Who are you, demon child, who cannot see the pain so clearly written upon my face like a stigma of the soul that exposes itself by way of expression! I do not say this though, and instead mutter dully, “sure.”

"light wining"
Whining

This was quite original... you had this olde english theme going with this high school drama thing.
I liked it... it was a bit too clumpped together though, paragraph wise... so yeah, I liked it anyway, good job and welcome to the club.

Well. Mixed opinions on this one.

Your style is different, which is good in itself: there are times when you sound way overpretentious; this tone might be excellent when writing intellectual deep-thinking prose, or serious meditations on life, living and whatnot, but it just doesn't cut it for highschool classroom melodrama.

And that brings me onto my next point: highschool classroom melodrama in general. I've said it, said it, said it before and I'll do the same ad nauseum, but angst just doesn't cut it. Why are you writing about kids with their minor and silly relationship problems, when you could be using that talent to much better effect? Relationships in general aren't the problem, it's this highschool attitude toward them that gets me down. Heartbreak happens. It'll happen again. There's no need to add one more piece of work to the pile that already exists with "angst" scrawled over its miserable length.

Right, that's all: you've got a ton of potential, don't waste it.

Wow... is that what people really think of during eleventh grade math? LUCKY! In my calculus class, people are supportive enough, but yeesh... the teacher. Your character is really lucky to have a math teacher that doesn't really teach math.

Which beings me to my point...

WHY IS SHE IN A MATH CLASS????

Settings are important for setting up a mood, and right now the mood is set up such as, "This is a math class, a place of learning, and of partial derivitives." Get what I'm saying? Yet she doesn't have the slightest clue of what's going on. I mean really! She could be anywhere and this same bit of writing could be done. So what's special about it? Give us a reason.

Besides, I think it might set it up well as it seems to be a comedy. Perhaps it's because I spent two hours working on two problems, in addition to several other hours of math homework, or maybe because I've been sick for a couple of days, but this story seemed remarkably funny to me.

Work on your grammar. Specifically, work on your dialogue grammar.

Yup... good luck!

Pain.

Somehow, this seems to describe my reaction to the angst poured all over my screen. Backgroundbob is right; the subject and topic in general is somewhat cliched. The more raw emotion you pour into this, the worse it gets, for this serves to convince the reader that they are looking at a cardboard cut out with emotions.

Surely if anyone were to know of my suffering they would most definitely fling themselves at my side and pelt me with chocolates and honest, truthful sympathy.

Well, consider this: I know her suffering and I don't really feel sorry for her.

thanks for the brutal honesty guy.
i've been getting a lot of shit for the angst, and the fact that it was in a math class, and no one feels sorry for my character.
well, that's tough, because i was describing something that happened to ME.
maybe i should have posted it in non-fiction...oops.
the fact that it was in a math class wasn't important, but that's where i felt those things, and i didnt want to taint the story.
if you just found out someone you were in love with was with one of your friends, i dont think you'd be thinking about the classwork.

besides my being bitter at some of you, thanks for the replies, and i really do take it into consideration.

because i was describing something that happened to ME.

No, no! This is exactly the point I'm trying to make: when your writing is centered around your own experiences, and told from your own point of view, it becomes angst. This is material for your diary: it only becomes publish-worthy when you link it to the situations and experiences of the wider world.

You should read the "Criticism of Poetic Interpretation" usergroup board, because Incandescence gets across what I'm trying to say far better than I do: you can't just write isolationist work - true literary maturity comes when you rise above your own situation in life, and become a voice for the entire world.

I liked this because i could feel the writers emotions. Very creative and descriptive.