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Archetype00x

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A sort of mirror reflection on what I've been through the past couple of years.

Belying her calm voice and sunny expressions at school and at home, the fourteen-year-old girl who now squatted in her second-floor bathroom was most certainly not alright. The bottle of sleeping pills in her quivering hand always seemed like such a dangerous thing, such a delicate weapon – in many ways, it resembled botulin toxin; in small amounts, it was harmless, and even bettered your life and appearance in a sense. However, take too much, it crawled through your throat, through your veins, infecting every inch of you like a creeping black plague until it inevitably strangled you.

Her parents were fighting again. Ever since her father had had the affair, her life had gone from very comfortable and secure, to a shredded mess of alcohol, betrayal, lying and desperate pleading for her mother, to please, please she sobbed, screamed, inside herself, stop drinking. Her father . . . what a disaster. She didn’t care about him anymore. That man whom she was born from might as well have been dead. It was almost surreal in a sense.

She wanted to scream. She wanted to shout, to cry, to ... for the love of God, to do something. Anything. But she was merely a husk of what she used to be, bottling up her emotions until she suffocated them completely, as if all the alcohol her mother slugged down every night and every night her father had begged her and begged her to forgive him for what he did, had hollowed her out from the inside.

Her thoughts drifted to her sister, her brothers. Matt and Pat were off to college, and Katie was too young to understand all of this.

She whispered a silent prayer and ran her finger over the black lettering of the label before popping open the cap and emptying out it’s contents into her blood-stained palm, which had been saturated many nights before this one with the crimson evidence she needed to spill to know that she was still a living, breathing person.

As she slipped one pill after another into her mouth, swallowing each one with great care, and even as she crawled behind the shower curtain and into the tub so perhaps, just perhaps, her sister wouldn’t find her first in the morning, she wondered still what fate awaited after her fell asleep for the last time.
 

Annoyance

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[I apologize for the double post]

Archtype that was just...wow. Although I noticed the 2nd paragraph could use a bit work with repeating stuff or something like that. I dunno. Just distracted you almost...
But it's still deep as hell. Again though...no ragdoll you're acting upon.

Maybe I should just change this to ANGST or something silly like that.

Hm.

I dunno what to do about my own damned activity. Some leader I am.
 

Joy

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Don't worry about it NU. It's no big deal for any kind of inactivity.
 

Annoyance

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It is when it hits the 2nd page. I hate that. Then nobody posts at all because NOBODY goes to the 2nd page at fanfiction...
 

Samber

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I like the idea of this activity Ninja! I may post eventually, though, I am hardly ever sad. Whenever I write somthing meaningful or insightful it's usually about broad topics such as life, friendship, love, etc.

But I may post somthing in the meanwhile. ^_^
 

Annoyance

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Nobody said it had to be sad.
Some happiness would be good.
You can make it sad or comical. I don't mind. I encourage variety.
 

Aly-chan

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On NU's first post, I'd say ( She wanted this comment, through it may be a stupid opinion.) that the only things I may be disliking is the switching of the sentence's structure/grammar/whatev. It seems like you were thinking a bit too hard about what to write in that part of your session. I think the best way with that part is to just think of something different that still fits or go with the regular "She walked down the dirt road..." etc.

Reminds me of old man talk. :D THAT WAY SHE WENT >:

But I am just a 13 year old girl >_>

*ahem*
 

Wallflower

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Eyes closed, pen flying across the paper was the way to go.

It was called "Freeform Writing", and it's closing your eyes and just writing. Even if it's scribbles, it was supposed to mean something. For her, though, it wasn't scribbles. She'd written one word over and over again on the sheet of paper without even realizing it. Love. Love, love, love, love, love. It was quite puzzling why she wrote that word; her life had been quite lacking in that aspect as of then.

She DID have her heart set on a boy. It was wonder why they weren't already together: they laughed together, cried together, sang together... They even stared quite lovingly into each others eyes at one point or another. She didn't get it, though. She was gorgeous, he was average. She deserved much better, he didn't even deserve her. Something, just something, guided her attraction and desired toward him, and she didn't understand why. As such is love.

She had reason to believe it was really love, too. There were no butterflies when he was around. No, no, they were gazelles stampeding. This was far more than a simple attraction. It was love at it's most refined, and she needed it. Fourteen long, lonely years were lived out, and she needed someone. Someone to hold. Someone to kiss.

So, she lived. Everyday, with the hoped that they would finally be together, and everyday another disappointment. One day passed, and they were simply talking.

"So, what high school are you going to?" She asked. Oh, how she wanted so bad for him to go to the same school as her.

"Tech."

"But I'm going to St. Mark's..."

"So, is this goodbye?"

"I guess."

How badly she wanted to say what she felt, how badly she wished that they would meet again, even once before fate tore them apart. Sadly, it was not so. He was wisked away before her very eyes, never to be seen again.

Oh, how she missed that feeling of love.

---

I wrote this one through the point of view of a girl, trying to reflect what I thought- no, knew- were someone else's feelings, but then I quickly realized I was reflecting my own views. This one's a sensitive one.

Any comments, critique?
 

Annoyance

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Eyes closed, pen flying across the paper was the way to go.

It was called "Freeform Writing", and it's closing your eyes and just writing. Even if it's scribbles, it was supposed to mean something. For her, though, it wasn't scribbles. She'd written one word over and over again on the sheet of paper without even realizing it. Love. Love, love, love, love, love. It was quite puzzling why she wrote that word; her life had been quite lacking in that aspect as of then.

She DID have her heart set on a boy. It was wonder why they weren't already together: they laughed together, cried together, sang together... They even stared quite lovingly into each others eyes at one point or another. She didn't get it, though. She was gorgeous, he was average. She deserved much better, he didn't even deserve her. Something, just something, guided her attraction and desired toward him, and she didn't understand why. As such is love.

She had reason to believe it was really love, too. There were no butterflies when he was around. No, no, they were gazelles stampeding. This was far more than a simple attraction. It was love at it's most refined, and she needed it. Fourteen long, lonely years were lived out, and she needed someone. Someone to hold. Someone to kiss.

So, she lived. Everyday, with the hoped that they would finally be together, and everyday another disappointment. One day passed, and they were simply talking.

"So, what high school are you going to?" She asked. Oh, how she wanted so bad for him to go to the same school as her.

"Tech."

"But I'm going to St. Mark's..."

"So, is this goodbye?"

"I guess."

How badly she wanted to say what she felt, how badly she wished that they would meet again, even once before fate tore them apart. Sadly, it was not so. He was wisked away before her very eyes, never to be seen again.

Oh, how she missed that feeling of love.

---

I wrote this one through the point of view of a girl, trying to reflect what I thought- no, knew- were someone else's feelings, but then I quickly realized I was reflecting my own views. This one's a sensitive one.

Any comments, critique?

You've posted three and yet you don't do the 2nd part. :<

I love what you're writing, Melons but you gotta do the other side of the story. This could be perfect for this activity. What does the guy think about her?
 

Annoyance

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Just make sure you actually DO type it...

I'd like to have a good example for the writers club binder.

So far nobody has done the 2nd part of the whole thing.
and all I'm doing is re-editing mine...

Edit: again...I edited the crap out of it.

It started out so small and now double spaced it takes up an entire page. Craaap.
 
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its_beca

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Walking down a dirt road in the forest was an average girl going at a medium pace. As she walked, her silver necklace scrapped against her cold shivering skin after every step she took. To be honest, she hated walking...and yet she trudged on; she had a mission. What this mission was, however, she did not know for sure. This feeling she had was strange and unfamiliar to her and she had no idea what to do about it. All she knew was that she wanted to talk to him. She felt like she needed to be with him.

Why did she want to talk to him? He was the one who broke her heart into glass-like shards...and yet she trudged on. And there he stood in the path underneath the trees looming over them, making the sky's stars unseen. He reached out his hand and called her forward. Her mind raced telling her to run away, that what she was doing was foolish. She didn't listen, she couldn't listen as she slowly walked forward to him.

This isn't what you want, is it? For him to play you like a puppet? You are the toy, he is the child. You want this? To trick you and just use you for what he wants and then throw you away when he finally gets tired of you? This isn't right and you know it. Please. Listen to me. Please...listen.


Her thoughts pounded in her skull as he started to sing in his velvet voice as they walked the path together to their unknown destination. It was almost like he was trying to lull her away from his lies and distract her from all common sense left in her head. The girl was becoming even more confused than she already was before. She felt happy being with him here and wanted this moment to last forever. And then in a whir his arms were completely locked around her.

The girl was scared, but wanted to stay because she felt happy that he wanted to hold her. Happy that he wanted to be with her as much as she wanted to be with him...but no. She knew better. She knew he did not truly love her back. All an evil trick and a lie that she did not need.

She remembered the necklace she wore around her neck; a tiny but sharp sword on a weak chain. With one free hand she pulled it with all the strength she had in her. The charm broke off the chain as he bent his head down to kiss her cheek and continue down to her neck. And then, with all the strength she still had, she stabbed into his soft side causing him to quickly let go of her. Instead of worrying about the wound he recently received, he looked like he was trying to figure out why this seemingly innocent girl had just stabbed him in his stomach. Without another thought she pulled away with tears in her eyes.

She ran and ran with all her might from the bleeding boy that she once loved.



(I'd really like opinions on this so...please respond.)


Otay.
Juvenile, yes. Why?
Because [don't mean to be blunt, kinda can't help it] your descriptions are unoriginal and your style somewhat broken and not particularly believable. :unsure:

Beginning with the end; was the sword not a necklace? If she'd stabbed his jugular it might be of some trouble to the boy, but what damage would a pendant do to a man's stomach? Also, he seemed to be more concerned with himself; he's been hurting her and yet whispers no apologies or sentiment as she continues to return. Wouldn't his initial reaction to being stabbed be more focused on himself? If you were stabbed, by anyone, wouldn't you first make sure of what it was and if you were okay? By saying he was more interested in her implies that he has aware he's been stabbed, what with, who by, and thus expecting it. Even those who hurt often have some idea of what they do.

I do like 'bleeding boy', but not 'that she once loved'.

You under estimate the emotional attachment and strength of love over someone, especially a woman. Internally wounded as she was, on a spur of the moment flourish of anger of course she could've attacked him, and yet, there was so little build up to said anger. Maybe some added description of feeling empowered by her grief and finally becoming strong enough to break away from him. She knows he does not love her, how does that make her feel?

How does she know he did not love her back?

Words like 'scared' and 'happy' - especially 'scared' - use a thesaurus. Anxious? Apprehensive? Etc etc


What was he singing? When did he stop? Is it symbolic? Or allude to some deeper part of their relationship? Could totally set the atmosphere. Give her chills, give her fear, give her anguish or hope or memories. Some sort of sensation, instead of just confusion; we already know she's confused, right?

Unknown destination? Did they reach it when they stopped walking or when she attacked him and ran away? Actually, it's just unnecessary; it brings attention to something irrelevant. D:

'thoughts pounding' - unoriginal. More so, the cliche refers to a headache, not just thinking; some physical discomfort, yis? And, by the end of it her thoughts seemed to be quietening, begging, not pounding.


[Rawr, this is rather over analyzed I'm afraid, my apologies, dont take the critique to heart.]

'broke her heart into glass-like shards' - a cute play on a cliche, but still cliche. If her heart is in shards, naturally it's broken. If it's glass-like it's perhaps brittle, weak or shimmering and beautiful.
Expand! :D

Why 'mission'? Why go on to say she didnt know what it was? Attention to the irrelevent. She felt drawn by a kind of necessity? The word 'mission' rather contradicts all the confusion and uncertainty she display through the majority of the piece.
There was no dialog and she wanted to talk...? D:

Could've done more with the dirt road and setting the scene. Yus yus. So much could happen on a dirt road, and so much implied. Refer to the surroundings where you can, the changes and adjustments to such. Or how it might remain the same.


'scraped against her skin' - like it, yis i do.There's a sort of malice in that, dangerous at the beginning and the end.
And then the 'she knew' and 'she felt', I liked difference there, catching on the exchange between the two.


The overall feeling i got from it was that it was/is a dream. An idea that could be muchly played with... wo0t! :D


Writing matures with the author.
But not if one does not continue to make attempts.

This piece shows your own thought processes, how the character develops in your mind and then the decisions you make as you make them, or after you make them. The difference is noticeable.
That, especially, is why your writing i would consider juvenile.
Planning works wonders for that. ;)


Aaanywho, i think i've made too big a deal out of a couple things. Mainly it's the random unnecessary stuff and some of the more unoriginal descriptions. yis yis.
:D
Good luck
keep writing!
 

Annoyance

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I wanted to put it out there that the guy doesn't care for me at all so...why would he apologize?
He only cares for his own gain. Plus he isn't weak. I probably should have mentioned that the necklace probably didn't even leave that bad of a wound...kek...

The guy I based this on randomly sings to apparently make the girls he likes [to trick] to smile...He just starts singing out of nowhere...kinda entrancing, really.
crap i have so much to still add to this.



I wanted to have that dream like atmosphere to it.

So...thank you for catching that.
This is all based on shit that's happened/me being pissed about him. I'm aware of the cliche's...I know I need to describe more. I see it perfectly in my head but sadly nobody's telepathic.

I love how it looks on one page though. I'm so going OCD...
 

Annoyance

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I try to listen to music.

Don't concentrate on writing...just write.
You can't force creative writing. You'll head'll crack.
 
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