Young Writers Society

Naked fires in empty fields…there was just too much rage gone unheard… …microsleeps in every drag…and her heart was paying now for things she didn’t do.... turning away from goodbyes she had a cold cold heart…spring mornings never brought joy…. the sound of birds was pitiful noise…and pencils were only sharp to make you bleed…her heart and mind marched in synchrony to protest against being shackled to a painful spring memory…and she could still paint it, with every detail and emotion...in a time when she was young enough to scar and too alone, choosing not to know hurt from joy…the world is etched in stone for the young…the universe had a supreme order which you knew little about…suffering so much greater, you really must not be complaining about your pain…love songs seem to sing about the same things over and over again…so lifeless and clichéd…. it was worse this spring morning through the blinding cigarette smoke…spending time with the neighbours wasn’t much of an option…when she rather not think up theories of what happened to mum and dad…she rather know that grandma was coming back that evening…she had to pass her childhood through…thoughtlessly and believing…the klooner boys did a good job to pretend…but the instructions seemed clear..She was sleeping over and there was to be no swearing…scampering across the road, she could feel the heat of the tar through her rubber slippers… it was one of those silent hot spring days…just past the knee high yellow grass..where girls got kissed and never noticed..Uncomfortable precious moments under the sun...as she packed her pale yellow pooh bag, Shane klooner had dropped by to say hello…but the house never seemed emptier…and as she said to him she was almost done, her voice seemed to resound through cobwebbed corners of her home…through the tins and off dusty unopened cabinets..and more than something seemed wrong…Shane’s eyes seemed to move uneasily in their sockets…as he frowned the dirt smeared across his sweaty forehead seemed to scream out warnings and white regretful apologies…but as she tried to shake off all the signs, she wouldn’t help but shake…couldn’t help her legs feeling like water…the thick air seemed to push on her like a wall with every step he took...but as Shane, all of 12, lunged and grabbed her through her skirt, she screamed slightly..wide eyed and confused...but as Shane gasped he seemed to feel all of the world anger …and as he ran out, she lay down curled up into a ball, the corridors seemed to grow in length...and grandma didn’t seem to appear…and that spring morning everyone was a bit too late to come to help her…and as she continued to choke on her tears and screams, the streams of sun through the windows showed her where to look for no help. And stuck in the middle of the spider web of spring sunlight, and there he was..her father .and how she wanted to run to him..under his arms and wait for him to light her eyes…but he seemed far…just far enough…telling her it was going to alright…weaving into symbols…relaxed, his arms seemed to unfold…she had a story for him, for him to tell her it wasn’t her fault…but just too far, just far enough to not pick her up as she lay there broken…and she was forever broken…and in spring all is not well. And she seemed to be forever a prisoner of the memory… and still she cried and screamed only alone…so don’t sing her songs. She can never again belong…she’s been left alone for far too long…

This is good, but really hard to read. I had to break it down so I was able to read it. After you use those dots - you use a capital letter. You described it well, but it sort of bored me - You never managed to grasp my attention. (Don't worry, it is VERY hard to do that.)