Young Writers Society

When I climbled the mountain that morning, it was cool, the mist hung in the air over the tiny coves and crevices that had assisted me up. The sun had not yet bled it's rays from the heavy grey clouds and I wondored for a moment if the sun could reach up this high, if the grass which spun out of the graveled surface could ever taste it's yellow joy. I wondored. It was quiet, no one climbs Mount Vincend this late in the fall. No one, except someone who doesn't plan on coming down.

I didn't bother to make this a tv classic - there was no note - no sign; let the world question. Remember me. From the height of the mountain, I could see my car, one tiny black dot miles below. The lights that replaced the sun in the town below just made it to shadow's length alongside the mountain. The furthur you climbled up Mount Vincend, the colder and wetter things get. My boots slipped on the muddy gravel and blasted rock as I got closer to the falls. I could hear them already, roaring, spinning, gallons of water pouring into twsiting, swrilling pools. Yes, this was my chance to prove to the world that I had power. I could make changes. So much for the days cooped up in minimum wage offices, pouring over crap I can't deceiver, watching as the big leagues I went to school with do better than I ever could. Yes. It's time to proove my power.

The air was sharp but thick when I reached the falls. I slipped once, drawing blood to both my hands and knees. And oh the misquitos are bad up here by the water. One cracked sign across the water, faded by time and nature. "Warning. Dangorous water levels. Keep out out(!) Ha. Ha. I won't listen. I have the power now. The top of the falls can be reached by a ledge, slippery, rocky. I am soaked and bitten down. My bloody hands grasp onto the rock until I find an appropriate footing.

The water is so loud up here I can't hear myself thinking, the anger, the presure feeding into my thoughts. That waterfall and I, you might not know it, but we're more alike then you might think. Always shoving on, getting mocked and singled out. And finally, just pouring off the ledge, giving up, once and for all. I watch a mosquito rip into my skin, watch him drain my blood. Watch him release his fangs and take flight again. Taking flight. I press my feet into the cold water. The pressure builds. My knees slip in. My hips. My body now, floating down the falls. 16 feet of pure, raging water and I've got front row seats.

Okay. Despite the spelling and grammatical errors (and there were quite a few of them), I liked this. The defiant, fed-up-with-life attitude of the speaker really came out strong with this, and I could feel myself really relating to her. However. The spelling errors and inconsistency with the tense made the story difficult for me to read and detracted from the story considerably. Please try to edit thoroughly before posting another story.

And keep writing. You definately have potential.

What she said.

But you've got some great descriptive details, especially in the first paragraph. At times, though, they were a bit much. Careful about the descriptive passages. Sometimes if you have too much, people can get lost in the images and forget what the story is.