My short story im writing... Feedback.
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09-01-2013, 12:04 PM (This post was last modified: 09-01-2013 12:18 PM by Chas.)
My short story im writing... Feedback.
Ive tried and failed with writing stories before. I get too carried away and want to get to the juicy bits of my ideas and forget to add structure and build up.

Ive been working more patiently for the last week on this project and I wanted to share the first part of it to get some feedback please.

(Warning: Its written in my style, which means that anybody who like doesnt like lazy grammar and spelling mistakes will probably despair.)

6th January
1983






The cold rain fell heavily through the night and hit the
window of the small, semi-darkened room. The only protection against monsters
was the soft light from the landing through the open door. The rain was loud
and scarey and the small toddler in the cot didnt like it. The rain hadnt
bothered him at first because he had nearly reached sleepytime, but it quickly
got worse and he didnt like it. He started to cry as mummy would make the rain
go away and when she didnt come he remembered he was alone with
this....”bedtime”


The child stood up against the massive bars that held him
in and he stretched on one foot at tippy toe
to get at the top, he really had to stretch to do it and when he did he
lost his un-coordinated balance and with
a gentle thump he landed on his rear, facing the darkest corner of the room.


It was a void to him, an empty place so devoid of mummy and all things nice...warmth, hugs, sweeties,
kisses and love. The boy knew only little of fear at that point but what he did
understand thrived with the monsters in
the darkness. The only thing he could make out in the abyss was part of the
head of his rockie horse, but the darkness dulled it and covered part of its
eye and face and it didnt look so nice anymore, it wasnt his friend, it wasn’t
his rockie.


Some of the rain was slowly turning into hail outside and
the wind continued to smash it against the window in waves. The cold nastyness
of the wet and dark sounded like it could break through to the boy at any
moment and he shut his eyes to its noise and began to wail again, no tears
would come and his throat was allready sore. He was very tired but sleepytime
was being stopped and mummy wasnt coming and he was scared. He opened his eyes
and peered into the dark again, all the monsters were still there, unseen, and he quickly turned on his side away from
them and to help get up to look at the door. When he stopped looking at the
dark he felt a bit better, he couldnt see it but he kind of understood it was
still there somehow, waiting.


Slowly..steadily..clumsily the toddler began to stand up
on his spongy matress holding onto the massive bars that surrounded him for
help. Pushing himself against the bars he peered out his prison towards the
door. The door seemed an eternity away over the soft blue carpet and the light
that came through lit up part of the left side of the room. He could see nearly
all of his wooden toybox with its black shiney metal handles and part of his
blue wall, there was part of his wardrobe he could see (that had held darkness within,
even in day) and it scared him a little. To push that fear home another large
gust, possibly the biggest that night hit the house and drove now mostly hail
into the window of the small room. The toddler not only heard the noise but he
also slightly felt it as it rocked the house and he didnt want to turn around
to it.... the noise... he didnt wanna peer into the darkness again but it felt
like it wanted him to. He wanted to cry but was allready snotty and when no
crying came at all he wet himself. The comotion of everything, no mummy in
sight and the dark wet loud pushed the small boy into his first ever knowing of
something resembling panic and he once again looked at the door. Just slightly
away from the doors light was a small softish looking object and the boy
recognised it as the leg of ‘Eddy... his Teddy Bear. Looking at eddy all alone
the boy saw it in the dark, much like himself, and he wanted it more because of
that reason. He wanted to protect eddy and he could would protect him back and
he reached out for the toy but no matter how hard he reached teddy was always a
million miles away. The rain outside was turning into a small nasty storm and
the boy needed now to do something for him and eddy. The door would let more
light in and the boy needed to open the door but it was over a huge climb and
an eternity away to get to and was impossible...it was hard to understand but
the noise and the rising panic..the darkness... the boy started staring at the
door, mummy was beyond the door and he wanted it open. Doors were impossible
things for him anyway, they normally had bars as well but with a lot of fear
and will he imagined with everything his young consciousness knew, the
humongous door opening. At first he saw nothing and the noise reminded him of
the darkness once more and it felt like it was on top of him and he was wet and
hewantedhismummyawayfromthenastydarknessopendooropen...and then something....


(.....)


.... that he didnt like and left toddler blinking,
looking at the door slightly dizzy and confused. What the boy had just felt was
like nothing he had experienced in his short basic life. It was unknown and
with that brought a small amount of fear. It made him want to cry. He looks
back down for eddy and smiles when he sees that eddy was somehow in the light
now, in fact the room had got a bit lighter and he could see all of his toybox
and wardrobe now as well as his fireman poster.


If the feeling was the first new thing to happen to the
boy that night then the unknown electrical charged clouds are the second and lightning hits a farm ¾ of a mile away. The noise and the light....
drives the boy further into his panic and as his small brain feels it can take
no more he turns back to the door with pure terror written on his face and in his wide eyes. He
didnt like the feeling but he needed something to get rid of the noise... the
wet.. the dark...for mummy... and this
time he gets pulled
into the feelling, all he wanted was thefeartostopandhewantedmummyandthedooropeningwouldbe....


..(Something indescribeable happens) ..


... the boys world changes and he is brought back to nothing
but red and yellow hot pain all over his body and he screams and he screams and
he screams... all thoughts of darkness and noise are gone as he is helpless in
this new unknown hell and pain tears his very young and fragile substance of
feeling to pieces.


When the boys mother heard the bang she thought more
lightning had struck and hit the house but when she heard the screaming
immediatley afterwards instincts kicked in and she tore up the thirteen steps
of the two bedroomed semi a couple at a
time. When she ran into her boys room and saw him she stopped dead in her
tracks, it was like momentarily her instincts were replaced by something else.
She watches the boy scream in the lightning filled room, the weather sounding
like the end of days is outside and she looks out the window to all of the chaos
and she sees herself reflected in the pane looking lost, out of touch and not
belonging to this situation. She wavers
and it all come rushes back...instincts.. love... her poor boy... She reaches under his armpits and lifts her
little boy out of his small cot and clasps him against her sobbing, she holds
him tightly and he is stiff, it feels like his is having a seizure and his
screams are almost unatural, heartbreaking almost and in her mind she begins to
panic. When she turns around doing her best to sooth her poor boy it is only
then she sees the imprints in the wall from the handle and the two corners of
the door. The imprints are plain to see as the new white plaster shows out in
deep grooves againt the newly decorated blue walls and the door itself is
leaning at an angle as its had its bottom hinge ripped off and the handle is
completely bent out of recognition. As she holds her screaming boy in her panic
she thinks “What the fuck is going on” that she realises what stopped her from
picking up her boy just, that she was feeling it again...now, and against her
own will she feels herself loosen grip slightly on her own flesh and blood, her
own dear boy, her little soldier who she would die for... unsure, filled with
fear....whilst his screams tear loud
above the deafening night storm.


(Im Copy and pasting from Word, I dont know how I fucked up the paragraphs/sentences in the next section but I cant seem to fix it)

24th December 1988





It had been snowing on and off gently for four days and everything was covered in a few centimeters of snow apart from the boys small front garden that was a bit sparse of snow due to being used up to build the medium, but crude sized snowman. There It stood in the corner next to the privet hedge, it had the traditional carrot skewered in for a nose but instead of coal for the eyes and mouth it had darkish grey stones salvaged from digging up that the boy had done earlier with his friends from the side of the road.

Some small twigs posed pathetically as arms and as it stood there untriumphantly the snowmans creator sat on the frosty front door step of his house looking over his creation with no enthusiasm. His mind was elsewhere and it wasn't on tomorrow, that he was of course looking forward too more than anything.. it was on going back to
school and the worry that brought.


The boy likes his school. He likes the teachers and he used to have many friends. The work is interesting most of the time and he does well at it. The only thing that ruins the whole thing is him being number one target to the biggest boy in school, who also happens to be the school bully, who also happens to be the pe teachers son, who also happens to be golden boy in sport for the school. He doesnt know why he got picked out as a target, him
and his main bully used to be good friends. They attended each others birthday parties before and got on, but now ,today its mostly mocking that he “doesn’t know who his real dad is” and the nickname, even his friends have started whispering away from the ears of the teachers when not on the playground.... “bastard”

He didn't even know what it meant but he knew it was a swear word, that it belonged to him and when people spoke it they did it with hate.


He had really been pushed recently what with Melanie from 2C asking him to be her boyfriend and him getting all shy and embarresed over the whole thing on the way home one day, it wasnt his fault but his bullies had leapt upon it and him, like vultures they picked him clean of his emotions and pride that little bit more with their laughing and mocking and accusations. He didnt understand and when melanie herself started taking the mickey everybody
started doing it. His tormentors alternated between calling him “girly” or “gay” or a combination of both with his bastard name and he started to be become a bit more alienated from everybody. He still had friends but it was more like they just tolerated him or walked all over him, it was the same when he was out playing with them in the street away from school and his bullies.


He didn't want to go back to that but he was scared. It was virtually him against everybody in the whole school. He was known throughout the place as someone weak and even had the younger years picking on him, once getting beaten up by a gang of them, and the thought of doing something and failing scared him a lot even at his young age. He was lost and alone and his only shelter in the world was home. In his misery the boy stares
unseeingly up at his snowman as it stares back unseeingly at him with it stoney eyes. The boys lost thoughts now cascade into misery for the future and he begins to despair, in this he feels deep pain and confusion for himself and it makes him angry that he should feel this way, how unjustly he is treated and how he is no different to everybody and he wishes he could tell them to shut up, or to bog off just for a minute andtojustleavehimalonesohecan.....



...(the feeling he thought were a dream was now very real and happening and it hit him like an adrenaline shot, a realisation and dreamlike memories of some deep rooted pain and fear rose in him like Deja Vu and he began to feel its force sucking him in, he started to fight)..


“No nono nonono nono.... please no...please no...what is this... help... help me... please.... gotta make it sto....otta keep it away...pleas.. no no no no...”


..(He fought it but was losing)...


“Noooooo... pleeaasssseeeeee... go away.....HELP!......I dont want thi.... im scar.. ...why me?...muummmm”


..(The boy could take no more, he felt like he was going to be lost to the feeling and at the same time like another world was calling him and in his despair of the world and how unfair this all was to his reality he let the feeling out, he had to there was no other choice)....


.... the whole entire snowman not only silently explodes but in its outwards aftermath what remains disintegrates, turning into a haze before dissappearing from sight forever. Nothing moves on the street and all is silent. In those few remaining moments afterwards there is only the disturbance of the air as falling snow whisks around where the snoman stood and that too quickly calms down, after that it looks like the snowman had never even been there. It no longer casts a shadow from the red and yellow lights attached to the side of the house and the whole garden is bathed eerily in their light now.


The boy had curled up into a corner of the front door and was weeping. His small body violently wracking, He was so confused with his world that he wept for everything. He wept for being bullied at school, he wept for knowing his mum was unhappy with her boyfriend and her life and how she mostly took it out on him, he wept for not being able to tell anybody, he wept for next doors cat that got run over by the next door neighbours from the other side, he wept for feeling so alone in the world, he wept for feeling a freak with a uncontrollable power that he knew nothing, had heard nothing about and didn’t want. He wept because he felt no love from anything in the world and couldn’t bring himself to say “those three words” because somehow he felt he had lost the ability or the
reasoning to understand what love was.

“John...”

John had been so lost in everything happening he hadn't heard his mum open the door to tell him James Bond was starting on the television in 5 minutes and would he want trifle or a mince pie and custard? He hadnt heard her question him first gently, then with more puzzled concern in her tone. He didn’t know she had stood watching him plead and struggle. He wasnt even aware that at the very precise moment she slowly reached out and touched him was the same moment he screamed and destroyed the snowman and lastly he had no Idea that his mum had stood there with her hand over her mouth, feeling that same fear that disconnected her from her boy all those years ago, taking two small steps back as he collapsed weeping into the door, feeling like she didn’t know what he was and he was in no way part of her.


Through the weeping though John had heard his mum quietly whisper his name and it was to her his mind now raced for sanctuary. John looked up and when he blinked what met his eyes were not his mother looking down on him with love and concern. The very thing he didn’t know he was searching for all the time... what met him was a woman who looked frightened out of her life of him, like he was a evil stranger. A woman who looked older and who held in her eye, the same look of loathing the other kids at school gave him.


In that moment, aged just 9 years old, a very essential part of inside John died.


Thats all im gonna post ATM, im over the 10,000 word mark but basicly the feedback im after is... is it interesting? Would you carry on reading? Does it flow? and anything else anyone has to add.

For no matter how much I use these symbols, to describe symptoms of my existence.
You are your own emphasis.
So I say nothing.

-Bemore.
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09-01-2013, 12:12 PM
RE: My short story im writing... Feedback.
More please..I'm in.

See here they are, the bruises, some were self-inflicted and some showed up along the way. - JF
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10-01-2013, 12:38 PM
RE: My short story im writing... Feedback.
Mm, perhaps I should post some of my old stuff on here. Consider You inspired me, Bemore. Big Grin

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Poonjab
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10-01-2013, 12:40 PM
RE: My short story im writing... Feedback.
I think that Feedback is a crap title.

Drinking Beverage

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10-01-2013, 12:46 PM
RE: My short story im writing... Feedback.
(10-01-2013 12:40 PM)DLJ Wrote:  I think that Feedback is a crap title.

Drinking Beverage
I asked for that with my lazy grammar.

It shall and will allways remain nameless, just like all my poetry. I like people to give it their own titles.

For no matter how much I use these symbols, to describe symptoms of my existence.
You are your own emphasis.
So I say nothing.

-Bemore.
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10-01-2013, 01:02 PM
RE: My short story im writing... Feedback.
But more seriously...

When do we get the next installment? It's 3am here. Shall I wait up?

Yes

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10-01-2013, 01:08 PM
RE: My short story im writing... Feedback.
(10-01-2013 01:02 PM)DLJ Wrote:  But more seriously...

When do we get the next installment? It's 3am here. Shall I wait up?

Yes
Ill let you have one more date, im quickly gonna go over it now and then I will post. The rest though you will have to wait for im afraid.

For no matter how much I use these symbols, to describe symptoms of my existence.
You are your own emphasis.
So I say nothing.

-Bemore.
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10-01-2013, 01:22 PM
RE: My short story im writing... Feedback.
17th march 1990


John had done the grind on his skateboard a million times
before along the small kerb on the corner of his street on his way home from
school. The same kerb where somebody had drawn a crude picture of him sitting
on top of an even cruder penis, with an arrow pointing towards his house....
but today was different because as John hit the grind his mind was elsewhere as
he had called old Bob, the janitor an “Old Cunt” in anger. Bob wasn’t a teacher but he was an adult who worked at
the school and the last thing John needed was the grief for getting into
trouble. He didn’t mean to say it and was annoyed at himself for doing so. Whilst
John was running this through his head his back truck hit the kerb too early
and he felt the back of the skateboard stop dead on something but he continued
onwards flailing through the air to hit the ground heavy on his chin and chest.
As he lay there for a moment holding his breath waiting for the pain to kick in
through the shock, his skateboard catches up with him and one of the trucks
hits him in the face on the bridge of his nose and cheek.


Holding himself, a feeling of learned resignation makes
his whole body sag as the pain starts to kick in but that soon turns
intoangerasjohngrabstheskateboardgetsupand....


..(has that now, slightly familiar feeling)..


... throws it so hard upwards in the air it becomes a
small speck and is gone out of sight in the vast blue of the sky




Your gonna have to wait for the rest.

For no matter how much I use these symbols, to describe symptoms of my existence.
You are your own emphasis.
So I say nothing.

-Bemore.
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10-01-2013, 01:35 PM
RE: My short story im writing... Feedback.
Consider

Does he turn green when this happens?

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10-01-2013, 01:42 PM
RE: My short story im writing... Feedback.
(10-01-2013 01:35 PM)DLJ Wrote:  Consider

Does he turn green when this happens?
He can if you want him to.

Without giving too much away these sections are just a quick build up/explanation of how John manages this "power" of his. Im nearly up to todays date and John will change the world.........

For no matter how much I use these symbols, to describe symptoms of my existence.
You are your own emphasis.
So I say nothing.

-Bemore.
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