Young Writers Society

A/N: Hey guys! This is an edit of my one story Alcohol. I posted it up on the back-up site but it got no reviews sadly enough. It is fairly long, because after all, it is me who you are talking about. I rate this piece PG-13 so viewer discretion is advised. xD

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Alcohol

The loud sound of my open palm connecting to her flesh echoes through the hotel room, making her silent as she collapses to the ground. Her tears fall settling themselves into the carpet below her. She whimpers, she mutters and it angers me; it makes it impossible for me to piece my thoughts back together. I kick her, the rage coming out in ways that it should not be happening, in ways that even makes me feel disgusted. Yet, I kick her again, even more forcefully, yelling at her to get up, to stand on her feet.

But she doesn’t.

I grab her wrist and pull her to up to face me. She won’t look at me. The place where I hit her seems to be forming a bruise on her cheek, another bruise to match the other over her right eye. My senses blur together and my vision wanders in and out of focus. I think I can hear her ragged breathing. I think I can feel her trembling. The uncertainty, the frustration settles and I lash out once more.

“You garden-variety whore.” I yell, my anger coming in flashes of red. “Does he kiss you like I do?” She flinches at my words, her once seamless beauty changed in her grief. I throw her onto the old creaky bed and stand there facing her. I stumble towards her, confused at how hard it was just to do so. I swear under my breath and I taste the remnants of my recent beer, instantly craving for another.

“You have been with him, you have slept with him, you slut.” I growl, staggering towards her. She seems confused, obviously not understanding what I had said. My irritation increases at her ignorance and for contempt of myself for being in this state. Her golden hair falls around her and she hides behind it, using it like a veil in a last attempt in keeping me from her. A memory of a white wedding veil, dark eyes peering at me from beneath sends a chill up my spine. I gaze down at her crumpled form on the bed, appearing broken and seeming so frail. And she still cries; that stupid, pathetic, infuriating cry.

--

Adia was before me, her short brown hair falling lightly in her dark brown eyes. She was smiling her small, impish smile. I could feel her arms around me; I felt her kisses on my cheeks, my lips, and my neck. I felt her soft fingers running up and down my spine. I felt her own presence in my arms, the vitality and the desire to live emanating off of her. The joy of the life, the wonder of excitement, the thrill of love.

She whispered in my ear that she had to leave just then and that she would be right back. She promised.

I am left in darkness. She had left the television on in the living room and the droning of a news broadcast is the only thing I hear.

‘…the winds have reached level four. Hurricane Katrina should be hitting the Gulf of the Caribbean any time now. The water is already pouring above the dunes, the meagre protection put up against such a strong force of nature…’

What did it matter? I wasn’t even close to the Gulf of the Caribbean; I was farthest from those warm waters, safe in my little apartment in New York. Everything was so surreal in this pit of darkness. I could see nothing before me, absolutely nothing. But the news broadcast drones on, and then another comes, and then another, adding to this madness.

‘...the war in Iraq seems to be at another standstill. The Taliban have progresses in their own ways of attacking. They have been making IEDs, triggered by the simple radio signals of cell phones…’

‘…President Bush says it is a sad time in American history. The death toll for this deadly hurricane keeps on rising…’

‘…a strike has risen out side of Guantanamo Bay Prison against the way they were treating the prisoners which evidence shows to be inhumane…’

‘…how to lose 10 pounds in 10 days…’

The words just started to blend together, quicken pace, until I just wanted to cover my ears. I didn’t want to listen anymore. I tried to tune it out with other thoughts but the voices just kept piercing through the darkness. I was fed up with it when I finally decided to get up and just turn it off. I entered the living room, looking out the window casually as I did so out of habit, and turned towards the TV just to see a woman with bright red hair holding a bunch of papers and looking directly at the screen.

‘…another car crash on highway 95. The cause was apparent that it was driving under the influence, the drunk driver ramming into an innocent vehicle, both of them spinning off the highway. There was one fatality, a Caucasian woman around the age of 25, who was at the wheel of a silver Jaguar sedan. The woman was pulled out of the mangled car by fire fighters and placed in an ambulance. She died before they reached the hospital because of severe contusions to the head…’

The phone rang, breaking the silence. I didn’t understand why then, but a sense of foreboding surfaced and I took another look at the television. I picked up the phone just to hear a calm female voice on the other end.

“Is this James Lockhart?”

“Yes.”

“My name is Elizabeth Martin, and I am from the Accident Reconstruction Team and I am here to tell you that around 9:15 this night, your wife Adia Lockhart got into a car accident.”

I couldn’t peel my eyes from the television screen and my heart started to beat faster, the sense of foreboding deepening and my mind automatically starting race.

“I am sad to inform you that she died on her way to the hospital. All our best wishes are with you in this grievous time. We would like you to come to the hospital just to verify that it is indeed you wife…”

I felt the misery find its way out, tears falling down my cheeks. My Adia, my love, dead. The voices faded out and left me with agonizing silence.

--

'I am choking, I am being strangled. The strong tanned hands clench my neck,
Cutting off my breathing. My toes start to go numb and so do my fingers but I do not push against this invisible killer. I do not struggle. I embrace the coldness, the dull sensation of this murder.

This simple death is the only thing keeping me from being with Adia and I embrace it. Just thinking about not having to ever have to meet this reality again could bring a smile to my face. A sense of fearlessness rushes over me. I do not fear what was after as long as she was there.

I feel a sharp pain blister through my chest. My heart is hungering for oxygen; my lungs are hungering to take in air, to release carbon dioxide. It feels like strings are being cut from inside me the longer these hands stay wrapped around my neck, pushing into my wind pipe. I start convulsing, not out of choice, but because my own body wanting to live. The desire to live. The joy of living, the wonder of excitement, the thrill of love.

And then I realize it is my hands wrapped around my own neck.'

--

I stepped into the room, just to be blinded by fluorescent lights. All I could manage to see was that the walls were white and that the tiles were also white. Immaculate. A subtle smell reached me. It was a retched smell, horrendous. It burned my nostrils and sent an involuntarily lurch to my stomach. I did not dwell on it for very long because right away, my attention was brought to the steel table set up in the middle of this quiet room. A white sheet covered the body I knew to be there, it covered the cause of that smell.

I felt a touch on my arm and I turned to see a blonde haired woman, the one whose name was Elizabeth Martin, the one who had scheduled this meeting. She looked up at me reassuringly and I walked towards it weakly, not knowing if I would have been able to do it.

A doctor, also wearing a white lab coat and blue gloves lifted the sheet slowly away from the dead corpse. I stared at it in horror, my stomach doing an involuntary flip.
It couldn’t have been my Adia; my beautiful, strong Adia.

But it was sure enough. They had cleaned her up, her brown bangs falling lightly into her face. Her mouth in a hard grimace. I knew on the other side there was a huge depression in her head for where her skull had collapsed. Cuts and scars littered her face and her nose was surely broken. Her skin was pale, and when I touched it, cold. So very cold. I felt the tears coming once more, the tears which had been plaguing me for the last couple hours.

To my disgust, a fly landed on her face and walked across it, undisturbed. I felt the bile rising in the back of my throat. It was definitely her. My Adia.

I fell to the white floor, and I felt Elizabeth’s arms around me, whispering assurances that everything would be alright. She said I didn’t have to worry about my work at the hospital. I could take as much time off as I wanted. She said everything would be alright.
I just laid there, relishing the coolness of the tiles against my skin.

--

'My senses seem to dull and mingle with my feelings of loneliness and misery. I
Feel the sharp pang of reality, of the brutality of it. I never want to see it again. I never want to face the hopelessness of it. I drown myself in intoxication. I drown myself in the alcohol, the same alcohol which caused the love of my life dying.

It dulls my senses, places me in a world where I need not have to feel pain, or happiness, or anything at all. I succumb to the tainted corners of my mind, remembering nothing. I pick up copies of my favourite books, only to put them down again because I can not piece the words together. My mind is corroding away. I remember being read to, that sweet voice coming through this unstoppable haze.

But it is the drink I crave; that pick-me-up is the only thing keeping me going. I need it; I need the beer, the brandy, the whiskey, the rum. They are the only things needed to keep me from becoming sober, to keep me from the sharp sorrow of the real world.

I get glimpses in the moments when I was closest to sobriety, sometimes moments of a funeral, or a birthday, but the main one is a wedding. It is a mirror image of my first, but I face not Adia at the altar, some other woman, a beautiful blonde twig of a woman, and I see her reassuring smile, the smile that is not Adia’s. I see the veil. The image disappears into the back of my mind, the drunkenness returning to me once more, covering everything in that sleepy haze.'

--

I watched her from the other side of the bar, never losing sight of her golden hair, or flirtatious smile. The familiar rage came to me as I saw her stoop over to kiss him. He pulled her closer, and the innocent kiss became much more. Her fingers threaded through his hair, and his hands found their way below her shirt stealthily. They fell over in their booth and their bodies became an undecipherable tangle.

I got to my feet, outraged and headed towards their table, ideas racing through my mind. I nearly fell over but someone caught me and helped me stand upright again, saying something about how I was smashed. I shrugged the man off and looked over towards them once more hands balling themselves into fists. They were still in their tangle of intimacy.

Because of my slow progress, I watched a waitress look at them in disgust and place the bill on the table. The man pushed Elizabeth away and placed a handful of bills onto the table and turned once more towards her. He hunched over and I thought they were going to start up again, but instead he whispered something in her ear which made her laugh lightly. I felt my heart shrivel inside. They both got to their feet and exited the bar.

Angered and frustrated, I pulled my keys out of my pocket and headed for the bar door, but again was stopped.

“Man, I can’t let you drive. You can barely walk,” the guy spoke.

“I am going to drive,” I said gruffly, and tried to push him out of the way, only ending up crashing into another table.

“I am sorry sir. Let me call you a taxi.”

“I told you I am fine.” He did not appear to hear this or understand it for he pulled out a fancy cell phone and started to dial a number. I took the chance and brushed past him. Once out side I realized that they were gone, and that there was no way that I could follow them. Opening my door, which I had not locked in my drunken haze, I fiddled with the ignition. After a couple minutes I got it going and I managed to get out of the parking lot.

I returned home, just to fall unconscious, alone, in my bed.

--

I am over top of the blonde haired woman, hands binding tightly around her neck.
I feel my thumbs pushing into her wind pipe, collapsing it and causing the air to never be able to return to her. She is struggling, writhing in my arms, the tears falling down, blue eyes staring up at me. She is trying to speak to me; she is trying to get me to stop. But there is nothing to stop this anger inside of me, this realistic ache that never seems to leave me.

She was not my Adia. She was not the one who I loved. She was not the one who I wished to see everyday, to hold in my arms. And I hold that against her.

Her head starts turning, eyes almost bulging out of her head, her mouth open wide as if releasing a silent scream. But she grows limp, her hands fall to her side, and her pupils start to dilate. I release her, realizing just what I had just done. I back off the bead, tears surfacing in my own eyes. I see her crumpled form on those old hotel bed covers; I see her long golden hair now matted. I see the bruises which my hands had left on her neck.

She was dead.

And I had killed her.

I found an instant sobriety right then and there, the sharpness of reality catching me. Why? Elizabeth wouldn’t have had to die if she didn’t do what she did. The details of that night coming back to me in rounds. I see her kissing that man. I see his hands reaching up her shirt, I see his black hair and square jaw. I see her gentle frame pressed against him. I see their legs tangled in the red booth.

When she looks up, a sudden awareness hits me, shocking me. It wasn’t her. Her features were too delicate, her eyes a placid green, her nose slightly bulbous. That golden haired woman long ago wasn’t my Elizabeth. Elizabeth hadn’t actually…

The tears come instantly, finding themselves falling recklessly from my own cheeks. I fall back, slamming into the door and collapsing down to the ground, hands grasping at the grey carpet. That bland color reflecting the defeated feeling mirrored unto myself. I couldn’t get over looking at these big tanned hands, evidently murderers in their own right. I fell and pressed my face to the floor, wanting the coolness of the tiled floor in the morgue years ago. I didn’t want to get up, I didn’t ever want to move again. But I had to do something.

I got up just to be stopped in my tracks. I stared at her, that broken form on the bed. I became engrossed with watching a fly walk undisturbed across her flesh.

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So, what do you think? I would love to get at least some input on this because I inevitably want to make this the best I can possibly make it. I do hope to get your input.

~Incognito

So, fist of all, let me understand. The story begins with he man hitting the woman and then the following part talks a bout the man's history, right?
If I'm right, well, I really liked your story. It's well done, I didn't found spelling mistakes. There were few puntuation issues but just some use of commas and periods. Something I'm sure that if you read again your story, will be able to find and correct.

Her tears fall settling themselves into the carpet below her.

Like this one. i know puntuation is very subtle and it needs real concentration in the reading to find it, but they are very important. So here I think you need a comma between tears and fall.

the rage coming out in ways that it should not be happening, in ways that even makes me feel

Here maybe, instead of a comma, a semicolon.

The uncertainty, the frustration settles and I lash out once more.

The sentence is good but I think that instead of comma you use and. Example: the uncertainty and the frustration settle and lash out once more.

I would continue but, I'm runnig our of time,right now (someone need the computer). But, it was just few things I noticed and they can be easily corrected if you rearead the story. I liked it. I think it can be better.

XOXO
Pudin

Hi! :D I'm just reviewing this as I read it, so I may end up picking up on something already mentioned, or end up repeating points a few times, sorry if I do!


At the beginning we have this domestic-abuse situation as told from the perspective of the male abuser, but there's something about it which doesn't seem quite believable.

I think there's too little description of what his feelings are, what his actions are, and more of it is focused on her and what she's doing. It's almost like the narrative is focusing on all of her thoughts and feelings rather than on his. He also seems to be very calm considering what he's doing, it's said that he's all in a rage but what he's coming out with instead is cool, well-structured, and observant. He notices the bruise forming on her face (although, at that point I think there would be more of a bright red mark as bruises can take a while to form, and I don't think that a slap to the face would really be enough to create a bruise as it's more on the surface, a punch on the other hand) and still uses positive language when he describes her, golden hair, that she once had seamless beauty. When you're angry, when you're really really enraged I think the brain tends to skip all those little things and just focus on the anger at hand.

Also if he is drunk, which from the drink he can taste and staggering he is, then his thoughts would not be this well-formed--heck when I've been drunk I just tend to stop thinking altogether. I think if he had more animal, more instinctual reactions and thoughts it would be a lot more fitting.

As a last point on this section, I think she really needs to be given more of a name, as there's far to many shes and hers all over the place. Even derogatory terms such as bitch or whore or things along those lines would be petter than a load of pronouns.

Adia was before me, her short brown hair falling lightly in her dark brown eyes. She was smiling her small, impish smile. I could feel her arms around me; I felt her kisses on my cheeks, my lips, and my neck. I felt her soft fingers running up and down my spine. I felt her own presence in my arms, the vitality and the desire to live emanating off of her. The joy of the life, the wonder of excitement, the thrill of love.

There are a lot of pronouns in here, it made my head hurt a little and a lot of them can be taken out. In fact, I think this whole paragraph could be compacted down and a lot of double-talk taken out. The repetition of I felt her x on my y, could really be shortened and all put together, and I think it would give it a lot more flow.

and the droning of a news broadcast

But the news broadcast drones on

Maybes describe it differently the second time?

Everything was so surreal in this pit of darkness. I could see nothing before me, absolutely nothing.

This confused me, as I could only think that the reason he couldn't see anything was because it was dark or something, but the description of Adia earlier on (hair in eyes, smiling) would indicate that the narrator could see her, and so he couldn't be in darkness?

“My name is Elizabeth Martin, and I am from the Accident Reconstruction Team and I am here to tell you that around 9:15 this night, your wife Adia Lockhart got into a car accident.”

This seems like a very harsh and blunt way to tell someone that they've lost a loved one. Most police forces try to get tell the victims family in person as it's a much better way to inform them rather than a cold administrative way. I think they would be more likely to express condolences as they were giving the news "I am very sorry to tell you..." and, as it's not always easy to tell who's to blame when someone's gotten into a car accident everyone remains neutral, so I think it would be more "you wife Adia was involved in a traffic accident."

“I am sad to inform you that she died on her way to the hospital. All our best wishes are with you in this grievous time. We would like you to come to the hospital just to verify that it is indeed you wife…”

Again, this could be put in a much more sensitive manner, and again I don't think that any of this would be given to someone over the telephone as it's such terrible news. I'm also unsure as to whether they'd need to ID the body in such a hurried way--if she was in her car then they'd very easily be able to get her information from the number plates--which, I assume, is how they'd be able to contact him in the first place.

I got up just to be stopped in my tracks. I stared at her, that broken form on the bed. I became engrossed with watching a fly walk undisturbed across her flesh.

Please change flesh to skin? I had the same problem with the first line at the beginning, as I normally associate flesh with raw meat, or what's underneath our skin--the more fleshly part of us, and so to me those lines didn't seem to fit quite properly.

At points I think this goes too deep into introspection, there's a lot of misery and darkness and loneliness and after a while it just becomes kinda hard to connect to the narrator as he's only really expressed through his feelings, and they're all so very negative. I might maybe this would be better if it were in the third person, as it might remove some of the temptation to go into all the emotive babble and there's be more physical action--the narrator actually doing more, and thinking less. I know I'm guilty of doing the same whenever I write in first person >>;;


Overall I quite liked this though, especially how the ending was almost broken up into two parts, the first at the beginning the second at the end, and then the resons why, the history neatly sandwiched in the middle. I think it was a pretty neat structure ^___^

I hope I was of some help, and that I didn't babble on for too long. If there's anything that you want me to explain or elaborate on, or something else you'd want me to take a peek at, then just shoot me a PM :D


-Tinny

I think you've had two very nitpickish reviews; especially considering that I was glued to the screen. Heck, I even teared up. Or sobbed once. Or let tears fall freely down my cheeks.
That was pretty freakin awesome; in my opinion. I want to bottle your talent and pour it over my keyboard. :elephant:
Although I do agree with a lot of the critiques; most importantly the thought process of a drunken person. something like:
I slapped her once, twice, but it wasnt enough, it was never enough; and what right did she have to look so hurt? The cheating bitch. I hit her; this time with a fist and when she went down....
ecetera.
But dang; was that A mazing!
Especially the last sentence. I know the feeling; when you're coping with a huge emotion you focus on one teeny detail, following it with your eyes while the rest of your mind tries to react the horror that just occurred.
Brava! I love it!

Hello Incog! I've been meaning to review this forever, but I mostly didn't want to pick at this very much because it's rather well written on a basic level. Just a few segments:

A memory of a white wedding veil, dark eyes peering at me from beneath sends a chill up my spine.

I'd like to see just a tinny bit more on this. Maybe putting how innocent she looked then, how disgusting she looks to him now? How he can't believe he married her, or he can't believe he's doing this to her? Something more to really weave this metaphor in.

The phone rang, breaking the silence. I didn’t understand why then, but a sense of foreboding surfaced and I took another look at the television. I picked up the phone just to hear a calm female voice on the other end.

I preferred your original paragraph where he knows who it is. The phone, then, could be breaking the silence and you'd avoid the phrase "I didn't understand why." I really don't like that phrase in prose, because it's too vague for any situation really. Foreshadowing at its worst, in my opinion.

To my disgust, a fly landed on her face and walked across it, undisturbed. I felt the bile rising in the back of my throat. It was definitely her. My Adia.

I'd like him to try and swat it away. It would incorporate this metaphor more.

I am over top of the blonde haired woman, hands binding tightly around her neck.

I believe it was this line that caused me to not fully believe that the blonde woman from before was Elizabeth. Also, the description in the bar scene was too vague for me to really believe the woman could be Elizabeth, and the work suffered for that. Add in some "familiar"s in the bar scene so we're second guessing ourselves. Have him be disgusted at how she seems to be doing the same things she did for him, laugh the same way, smile the same way... you get the idea.

*

Well, I had this very long review written out but then I realized this work didn't need it. Just a few tweaks here and there:

I'd look at the added in metaphors and incorporate them into the work more. I enjoyed reading them, and the richness that was added, but they do need just a touch more polishing to be woven into the work a bit more.

I found this a very easy read, no real issues jumping out at me right away. You did a good job fixing the vocabulary and probably the only reason I didn't choke up was because I knew the plot.

The only thing I'm slightly missing is the cops showing up. I now realize people in adjoining rooms might have heard the abuse going on and called the cops, so they could show up then. The story just doesn't feel all that finished anymore. There's a too big "what next?" question at the end. Of course, cops might make that question bigger, but... dunno, I'd just like to see it back in.

PM me with questions! Good job with the editing. ^^

~Rosey

little query: who's Elizabeth, and who's Adia? I'm sure that everybody but me gets it, but... I'm very confused.

probably i don't review like others, i think more about what you are writing, then actually looking for grammars and punctuation. nevertheless, the flow was extremely awesome, it didn't get awkward anywhere. it was captivating, and most importantly, you wrote about an imperative issue.
seriously, you have a talent to make serious topics look cool. i admire that about yor writing:).