Young Writers Society

He stared at the mirror, and the mirror stared back at him.

It showed him scraggly, black hair, hanging lifeless on hollowed cheeks. It revealed to him bony limbs, dirt-ridden clothing, and the angry scars of war. It was brutally honest, and he hated it.

He looked upon himself with deadened eyes, picking out every flaw. In his mind's eye, this was everything, from his broken nose - still healing -to the needle marks on his arms. Every part was a scar, a gash across the imperfect monster that he was - and had always been. No matter how hard he focussed, he could not remember a point in time where he hadn't looked upon himself in such a manner.

Quickly, he was growing frustrated with himself, but he could not tear his eyes away. It was dark in the bathroom, the only light let in by a small, rectangular window near the ceiling. He refused to turn on the lights for fear of what else he'd see. Since the darkness had begun to manifest itself, he'd learned that light was no longer his friend.

Just as darkness did not give way to light, depression had no room for rapture.

Frustration began mixing dangerously with his thoughts as he unsuccessfully tried to fix himself. No matter how he parted his hair, washed his face, or dressed, there was no fixing him. He was broken, he knew. Completely and utterly. He could spend his life trying, but there would be no return for him.

With this in his mind, he gritted his teeth, and flung his fist forward, striking the mirror once, twice, before the shattering of glass caught his attention. For a second, he stood, paralyzed by shock at what he'd done. He'd completely destroyed what he'd become dependant on. The mirror was the fuel for his dismal life and he'd just - he'd just… He'd destroyed it!

Rage flipped to sorrow and to panic, but then settled back on rage. His eyes flipped from the mirror to the glass littering the counter. Could he? Would he? Or was he weak?

Of course he was weak - ugly - annoying - depressed - vengeful - weak -

Anger pulsed through his veins as he grabbed for the chips of glass. They tore his skin as he scooped them up, lightly at first, but he'd never felt so alive than the moment his grip increased and his hand began to shred. Blood slowly seeped between his fingers, dripping down his arm, staining the floor - but he could hardly care. This was real pain. This was what it meant to be alive!

He was forced to grit his teeth as he increased his grip, eyes shut tight. The pain overrode all over feelings, driving away panic, fear, depression. His mind was clouded with red; his whole world was overcome with blacks, grays, and crimsons. Still, he held on tightly for another few heartbeats before dropping the chips of glass with a strangled gasp.

Curiously, he turned his palm over, staring at the marks. The pale flesh was now marred with criss-crossing gashes, all of which were bleeding profusely. It was absolutely fascinating and terrifying at the same time. His eyes darted down towards the red-rimmed shards of glass, and he held his gaze there, staring at them as though they were the answer.

And maybe they were. Maybe they truly were the answer he was looking for. After all, he'd never felt so alive…

But what was the price of living on pain?



* * *

This was written for a contest. The emotion I was given was depression however it sort of turned more into rage. Ack, I hope it still works. Anyway, the song (the lyrics under the spoilers) is "The End" by "My Chemical Romance," though I kind of picked the words that fit (aka, editing out the third verse). Any comments are welcome.

How profound. I love the way you describe things. Keep on writing!

This is awesome! You found a message that proves so meaningful for so many people. That is what great writing does! Your descriptions are absolutely great, and you used the perspective to craft the perfect feel to the writing. This might be one of the most profound pieces I've read on this site!

my my my. The quality of work to be found on this site continually amazes me! (Also, where it says your age is "14", that's a joke, right? It's not?! *shocked face*) This writing is good. And I mean that. Really mature and some strong descriptions that - just wow.

However, I'm going to shout at you a little bit. When I review, I tend to look for misused commas and bad punctuation, bad spelling and non-capitalised letters etc etc... but you haven't given me any, not really. I hope you see how selfish this is! Hmph. Still, instead I will offer up some things that caught my eye, not to say "you need to correct this", more "what do you think about this?" So here goes.

It showed him scraggly, black hair, hanging deadened on hollowed cheeks. It revealed to him bony limbs, dirt-ridden clothing, and the angry scars of war. It was brutally honest, and he hated it.

He looked upon himself with deadened eyes, picking out every flaw.

I love this word. I can see that you love it too! But since it occurs twice in quick succession, maybe try out a synonym to replace one? Or a slightly different version of the word?

In his mind's eye, this was everything, from his (healing) broken nose to the needle marks on his arms.

I would like to suggest you consider "from his broken nose (healing) to the..." or "from his broken nose - still healing - to the..." not in any way because I don't like what you've written, just so you see the different possibilities. I think the two I've suggested can add a small hint of humour (self-depricating, of course) to the character. If you wanted

For a second, he stood, paralyzed by shock at what he'd done.

If you wanted to create a sense of breathless shock, then this use of commas is great. It just stood out a little at me... maybe take out the first one? No I don't think that's it - I think it's that there were just two words between the commas so it felt like there were too many... maybe try something like this: "For a second, he stood quite still, paralyzed with shock at what he'd done."

I love that all these things are minuscule and carry delicacies... and that is a reflection of the utterly high calibre of your writing talent. You are also the recipient of my 100th review - and I'm glad that this was it. Really great work

~*cottonrulz*~

Hey Cairo!

I know it's been a long while since you first entered this into the Capture That Emotion contest, but I'm bringing it out again to give you some feedback now that the contest's done.

You portrayed emotion really well here -- it felt realistic and not too over-the-top, and I liked that. However, as you mentioned in your spoiler, it was the wrong emotion. It had too much rage and not enough depression. I can definitely see how his thoughts and feelings took a swing to the darker side -- but then that became all-consuming and it sort of went off on a tangent about his anger, and I don't feel like it got brought back to depression.

Yes, he contemplates cutting, which is kind of the first thing that pops into mind when we hear "depression" and correlate it with "emo." But I don't feel like it really captured the essence of depression; there's usually more of a languid, hopeless feeling combined with a sort of frustration at life. There just wasn't enough of that first emotion to balance out the latter.

Now, the rest of the story was great. Your grammar was good, your descriptions were fresh and enjoyable to read, and your story structure was great. You did tie in the lyrics really well, and I think that may have led to some of your problem with the story's theme...MCR is rather depressing, but it's also a very angry type of depression. The kind that needs to lash out at someone/thing and make something else hurt. And I think that's the vibe you channeled in on while writing and so that's why your story took a turn to the rage.

Nevertheless, your entry was enjoyable to read and I thank you for entering the contest!

Cheers!
~Hawk