Young Writers Society

His voice lay in her mind like a bedded lover. She'd been overanalyzing every word he'd said today, each time uncovering more hidden emotions. Pacing the floor for the millionth time, she ran her fingers though her long, dark hair and let out a sigh. She was grasping for something solid to hold onto in her jumbled mind. What exactly had happened? She sat back down and stared into her bowl of Kix cereal. It offered no answer. Lifting another spoonful to her mouth, she revelled in how the taste reminded her of childhood innocence. She sat there for a moment. It was probably the most peaceful moment she'd had all day. It didn't last long. Soon, she was up again, pacing and fiddling with her hair. It really was the ugliest shade of brown. She hated it. Pacing past the refrigerator, she caught a glimpse of her reflection. She closed her eyes and tried to push the repulsive image away. Instead, she was reminded of the last time she had seen it--in the glare of an alarm clock on his bedside table. She took a deep breath and sank back into a chair. The vivid images she was suddenly bombarded with began to make her head ache. Maybe, if she could get the words and thoughts out of her head somehow, she could stop revisiting the situation for the negative feelings she associated it with. So, she picked up a pen and started writing.

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"I love you too," you whispered to me, readjusting our blankets. I knew you meant it because after you said it, you just held me. You didn't ask for any favors, didn't try to slip your hands under any clothing, you just held me. And it was beautiful. "I don't deserve you" I said. You kissed the back of my neck in response, then wrapped your strong arms around me possessively, as a child would his teddy bear. "No" you whispered into my shoulder. "I don't deserve you." In that moment, I felt appreciated, important...wanted. You really did want me when you said that. You wanted my love. Not just as a means to meet your ends, but as a way to better your life. I decided to take that as a compliment, but didn't let myself become too convinced. How could you love me so much? I'm nothing. But you, you're everything. I am never the lucky one, so why did I get to be the one with you? "How are you so perfect, babe?" you asked me, snuggling yourself tightly around my body. "I'm not," I said. "I don't know what you're seeing, but I'm glad you see it." I twisted to face you and you placed a beautifully simple kiss on my forehead. Pink Floyd was still playing in the background-- a bluesy soundtrack to the love I knew we were about to make. It seemed right that there would be something like Pink Floyd crooning at a moment like this. It wasn't our first time; you knew it as well as I did. For some reason though, you made it seem as though it was. Maybe you could sense my insecurities and wanted to remind me, as you usually do, that there is nothing I could do to lose you. The whole unplanned situation just rolled so nicely off your cuff, and you offered a weak laugh at the perfect irony surrounding us. I forced myself to smile back, and then you kissed my smile.
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Taking a gulp of tea, she sighed and justsat still for a moment. No pacing, no combing, just silence. She closed her eyes. Why couldn't she believe him? His remark on her perfection now seemed like a taunting sneer.She'd never be perfect. He could do so much better that this--he deserved more. More than what he had to offer him, anyway. Yet, he still wanted her. He was still obsessed with her. Why? How could being in love hurt? Wasn't it supposed to be better than this? She buried her face in her folded arms, spilling her tea everywhere. She didn't even notice. So many emotions boiled inside her, and as she though about what she had written, a puzzling idea struck her. Maybe being in love with him hurt because she knew she was holding him back. But, they loved each other, wasn't that right? She noticed the spilled tea for the first time, but didn't have the prescence of mind to do anything about it. She just watched as the milky liquid streamed over the edge of the table. She pictured her sanity disappearing more and more with each drip that hit the kitchen tile. Was she crazy? Yes...probably.

"His voice lay in her mind like a bedded lover. II love this line- a perfect start She'd been overanalyzing every word he'd said today, each time uncovering more hidden emotions. It was starting to bother her. What exactly had happened? Taking another bite of cereal that reminded her of her childhood innocence, perhaps expand/clarify this- the imagery is good but the idea is not very clear she let her mind wander back once again to the events of the afternoon. Picking up a pen, she decided to write it down. Maybe writing it would help her understand some obscure, miniscule detail that could change the way she felt about him.

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"I love you too," you whispered to me. You meant it and I could tell not needed herebecause after you said it, you just held me. You didn't ask for any favors, didn't try to slip your hands under any clothing, you just held me. And it was beautiful. I felt appreciated and important and...wanted. You wanted me when you said that. You wanted my love. Not just as a means to meet your ends, but as a way to better your life. You made me feel as though you needed me to make your life good.repetitive ideas I decided to take that as a compliment. "How are you so perfect, babe?" you asked me, snuggling yourself tightly around my body. "I'm not," I said. "I don't know what you're seeing, but I'm glad you see it." this is just glorious I twisted to face you and you placed a beautifully simple kiss on my forehead. Pink Floyd was still playing in the background-- a bluesy soundtrack to the love I knew we were about to make. It seemed right that there would be something like Pink Floyd crooning at a moment like this. It wasn't our first time; you knew it as well as I did. For some reason though, the whole unplanned situation just rolled so nicely off your cuff, and you made it seem as though it was the first time again. You offered me a weak laugh in response to the perfect irony that surrounded us. I smiled back, and then you kissed my smile. good

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She sighed, took a gulp of tea, and closed her eyes for a moment. What was this odd feeling in the pit of her soul?a bit awkward Looking over what she had just written, she saw remorse in her words, with a hint of regret maybe. She vacantly wondered what it was she was regretting. He loves her, after all. Wasn't that right? They had talked through their problems, set things straight again. What then, was she regretting? She loves him too. Then, a puzzling concept struck her-- maybe, just maybe, being in love could hurt just as much as being out of it. maybe this idea should be brought about differently Was she crazy for thinking this? Maybe. Probably."

---Overall I liked your ideas and your imagery as it struck gold mostly, it just needs a tighter control. Keep on writing, I see the potential.
Cheers

Thanks for the review! I will get right on those corrections. I agree with all of them! Thanks so much!

~Jess

Hey TinyDancer!

This piece seems a little bit too short, and I think you can definitely expand on some of the scenes in here! In this story, you have three distinct parts. You have her puzzling over what happened, then you have her writing down what happened, then you have her puzzling after she written. So, let's break up the three parts up, shall we?

1. This part is really too vague, and you really need to expand on some of the sensual imagery that you can in order to make this truly powerful! For instance, what does she do when she is nervous? I tend to get all fidgety and everything. So, if I were writing about someone who is nervous, I tend to have them repeat themselves, drop things, and the like.

For instance... here's something I wrote once:



And mind you, I am not saying that I am God's gift to writing or anything like that. There are parts in the thing I just sent you that make me wince. But, you have the characters repeating themselves. You have the characters fidgeting. They drop things, they try to smooth things up, they can't seem to look at each other, they are desperately using small talk as a way not to actually address the issue. I mean, I don't even have to say that something is wrong between them in the narrative, and you know that something is wrong because of the way they act. They act nervous. They're trying to forget the issue, but they know something is wrong.

And I think you need to do something like this here. Make her a lot more fidgety and worried than she is. That way, the drama gets passed on to us!

2. This part doesn't really have any conflict. I mean... where is the conflict in this part? It seems weird that she would be so worried about everything and so stressed out about it and think that love is so hurtful, when this entire scene sounds intimate. Both people here seem entirely receptive about love and making love. This is not their first time. She does not protest when he comes on to her. The only time she really protests is when he calls her perfect, but this issue really isn't brought up again, nor does it seem like anything which would be disturbing.

3. The conclusion she comes to is just odd. I mean, most people would be happy to have great sex. Something is wrong, obviously, or else your main character wouldn't be so stressed out and confused about everything. They've had sex before, after all... why would this particular (awesome!) bit of love-making really make her question everything? There must be something behind this doubt. So, definitely make this a lot more clearer. If you want to make her introspective, she might as well think about this even more and try to figure out what felt so wrong.

...so yeah! Just a couple of thoughts.

Hope this helps!