Young Writers Society

Last Glimmer of Hope

I was alone. I could hear the people on the street outside, laughing and talking. They were everywhere but I was all alone. It was dark and it was cold. And I was alone.
A quiet song played out on the road, but I didn’t listen. It was easier to try to drown out everything at once.
Until a few months ago I had not understood the meaning of ‘hell on earth.’ Now I wished I could go back to that innocence, when life had seemed an endless funfair, when the highlight of my day was a glass of chocolate milk before bed.
I had wept in anguish, and thrown fists against the walls. I didn’t want to hurt like this anymore but every time I thought of it, it was like falling down a bottomless pit. I was falling and falling and I couldn’t get out.
Numb. That was the feeling. I was numb and empty. Who had turned off the lights in my world? Who had plunged my life into blackness? Of course, I knew the answer to that. He was the answer to everything. No windows adorned my dismal bedroom and the walls and floor were black. There was only one other colour. Red. The colour of blood. My blood.
As more of the crimson ribbons spill from my veins it seems to hurt less. The deeper the wound, the less tears I shed. But I was tired, exhausted from this turbulent storm, this never ending circle, dragging me screaming down into a pit of despair. But did anybody hear my call?
Pain was my mistress. Pain, suffering and solidarity. I was desperate of other’s pity. I took in the sweet desolation of my small room, no more than a terrible coffin of disgrace and self-loathing.
The song got louder, and it was hard to ignore now. Dragging my heavy body onto the bed I threw the covers over my head, wanting the music to stop. The violin played a melancholic note, seeming out of key for a few bars. The notes soared through the walls towards me as I sunk further into loneliness, waking up to the sudden realisation of my own stupidity. It thrust through my heart like a knife yet I welcomed the pain.
But then, in a solitary shrill note, the song ended and the room was plunged back into silence. Everything that begins has an ending.
Then the door opened, and he sauntered in. That’s when my real nightmare began. A cigarette peered out of the corner of his mouth and his hair was wet, bedraggled. I tried to ignore him, not to look at his face. But it didn’t take long.
My dad looked down on me, lowering his face to watch me. His breath stank of alcohol, his paled face covered in stubble. I watched his hand cautiously as he reached out towards my face and flinched when he touched my forehead. His eyes were bloodshot and he gazed into mine as he tilted his head. I tried to relax myself and gradually my breathing began to ease as he ran his hand gently down my cheek.
Then he belted me straight across the face.
I fell backwards immediately, rolling off the bed and onto the floor. My arms scraped painfully across the dark carpet and I could feel the blood pounding in my head. He raised his arm again and then…
Darkness.
“Mama…wherever you are, please help me. I don’t want to be with Papa anymore… I don’t want him to hurt me…”
When I awoke again he was gone and the door was shut firmly. I wiped my hand delicately across my head, wincing as I felt the bruises beneath my fingers. I tasted the blood on my lips as I sat up, crawling back to the bed.
I couldn’t bring myself to do anything now; I just wanted to fall asleep and never wake up. I wanted to leave, to be free from this prison.
That was the last wish I ever made.
My last glimmer of hope.

I have no grammatical issues with this work, but it's not normally the kind of thing I like to read. I mean, it did its job. This piece has changed my mood to something darker; perhaps why I don't usually read this kind of thing. However, this proves how good it was. It kept me hooked.

Whilst I hate to say it, pain and suffering are now fairly mainstream in terms of literary works; especially self-inflicted pain. At least this wasn't one of those stories about a cutter. But again, there was something much more than usual about this story. I suppose it was the suspense, the fact I didn't know what kind of suffering this person was going through until near the end. And whilst I most certainly did not 'enjoy' this work, I do think it's good, and it's definitely capable of changing one's mood.

~JCK

Hey there icy!

This was short and full to the brim with emotion. I liked the descriptions you used, and the way you worded her feelings was great, too.

I was alone. I could hear the people on the street outside, laughing and talking. They were everywhere but I was all alone. It was dark and it was cold. And I was alone.

The repetition of 'alone' is fine, but it does get a little grating after a while. I think it would be better if you cut it down here and used it throughout the piece instead, as more of a constant theme. It's just that, as an opening paragraph, it seems like you're trying too hard to remind us that she's alone. It's a good theme, but too much in one short paragraph.

My dad looked down on me, lowering his face to watch me. His breath stank of alcohol, his paled face covered in stubble. I watched his hand cautiously as he reached out towards my face and flinched when he touched my forehead. His eyes were bloodshot and he gazed into mine as he tilted his head. I tried to relax myself and gradually my breathing began to ease as he ran his hand gently down my cheek.
Then he belted me straight across the face.

You use the word 'face' a lot in this part. I've tried thinking of different words that you could use, but I guess it's just a case of re-wording the sentences a little.

This was sad, and the ending was really sad, and I want to congratulate you on making me feel sad. Stories that contain a lot of emotion, especially negative emotion, are hard to get right. They can come across as too 'woe is me' but I think you did good here. You made me want to save the narrator. I didn't want her to have to suffer anymore.

I agree with the other reviewer in that the suspence was what kept me reading. I wanted to find out what it was that was making the MC so sad and, although the abusive parent has been done before, I think you wrote it well here. You didn't linger on the scene too long, but you managed to stuff it with enough emotion that it worked.

I hope this helps!

xDudettex