Short Story

dominiquecruz wrote: »

I just had a quick glance through it there OP, not an uplifting morning read does it make Take any bit of feedback with a pinch of salt, because personal writing is always ultimately subjective, but there are a few things I'd point out about this piece.

For me, I felt the plot suffered from its own drabness; I'm no stranger to sad or difficult writing, but I think in order to make this kind of writing effective, it has to be new or unique in its approach. In your story, boy gets bullied, boy self harms and boy eventually tries to kill himself. Unfortunately, as you say, this is a common narrative for teenagers today, but that can often mean that as an exercise in prose it can be a mundane read if it's not done right. What were you intending to communicate? Was it just meant to be a snapshot of troubled adolescence? Perhaps this says a lot about the society we are living in, but self-harm/suicide no longer possess any inherent shock value, and so to write about them, there needs to be some elements in the story that make their inclusion stand out.

The problem with the short-short story as you've written it is that the reader can only ever have limited contact with his subject. The sort of daily existence that your protagonist leads is fairly well-grounded, but beyond that, there isn't enough space to truly get to know or understand your character. All he is in this text is a victim, and without a bigger picture of who this person this, it's hard to be devastated or hugely empathetic at the tragic denouement. This is where I would say that the short story, because of its limitations, needs to be less explicit, more subtle it is delivery. Rather than having the melodramatic conclusion that you do, it might be worth considering the implication but not the effectuation of the final act. References to his scars, maybe, which don't tell the reader that he self-harms, but allows them to put two and two together. For example, something as simple as having him stop to buy two or three packets of pills on his way home, without ever explaining what he intends to do with them, can be more powerful than actually describing the act of the suicide itself.

I don't believe that writing should ever pander to an audience that wants a 'happy' story, but at the same time, I think it's hard to redeem a narrative that goes from bad to worse and ends on a total bum note. Although it might be anchored in reality, the consistent bleakness of your story makes it hard to fully get behind. I don't know if you've read it OP, but if you get a chance you should check out The Virgin Suicides by Jeffrey Eugenides: it tells the story of 5 young sisters who kill themselves, but approaches it in such a unique way that it never gets mired in its own tragedy and makes for a really interesting, if objectively upsetting, read. I know you don't here have a novel at your disposal, but it's worth thinking about how you want to tell this story in a way that will endear itself to the reader.

All this said, I think you've got a talent and I think you can certainly write. There were some nice little observations/insights in your piece; I liked the interactions with his parents. They make dinner, oblivious, and for whatever reason, as often happens, he pretends that he's spent his afternoon looking at magazines and living a 'normal' teenage life. I liked how his once best friend is now the tormentor, and how he can listen to music and feel safe, almost happy. Be careful with some of the typos and use of language: refereeing (referring), Hussain (Usain ) Bolt. There are some things that could probably be better expressed too: 'I felt the slight feeling', for example, can read a bit redudant.

Apologies if I sound in any way harsh or overly critical, it's your first proper piece and it's a great start. Keep at it and you'll do nothing but improve. Also, if there's anything about my critique that you would like to criticise, feel free. I'm not a professional writer, as such, so maybe my opinions are totally invalid. Good luck.

echo beach wrote: »

Congratulations for tackling such an important and serious topic. You are correct in saying it isn't talked about, except in a 'oh isn't it terrible' way, and certainly isn't confronted and dealt with.
The story is generally well-written, apart from the few minor but annoying typos, and shows a lot of promise.

I suffered from some gender confusion. My experience is that bullying, even in a mixed school, tends to be gender specific, i.e. girls bully girls and boys bully boys, so when the first bullying came from girls I assumed the narrator was female. I may well be wrong and I'm sure there is often overlap but that might be worth looking at. Also when he listens to a Rihanna song. I know boys like watching her videos but I'm not so sure if they have her on their i-pods. Maybe it was meant to suggest he has a feminine side to his character and the bullying has a homphobic element but that doesn't really fit in with his interest in gaming and again I found it contradictory. The choice of method is also a feminine one, with a boy, especially one with a fondness for violent computer games, maybe preferring something more dramatic, but that could be just my sex stereotyping.

My main problem with the story was that much as I wanted to I couldn't feel the appropriate level of sympathy for the narrator. Part of me wanted to shout at him, 'Tell your parents. Tell your teachers. Drop out of school. Change schools. You have other options.' From real life I know it isn't that simple but nothing in the story made it clear to me that none of those choices are possible for him.
I thought you did convey well how when he didn't have control of what was happening to him this was the one way he could take back control.

I honestly wouldn't have thought this was a first effort. You can only improve with practice. You may want to try re-writing this story in the third person, or even from the point of view of the main bully, and see if that tells you any more about the very believable character you have created.

pickarooney wrote: »

Is there a logic to the victim self-harming and then immediately committing suicide? It seems a little contradictory.

Internal Pain
Everyday I struggle to make it through the day and all I can think is, 'I'm alone'. I'm a social outcast because I'm different. I'm not like every other student in my school and I'm bullied because of it. I'm abused because of being unique. I'm a gamer, an intelligent student and a music lover, but none of the kids at school care about that. They dislike me because I'm slightly effeminate and immediately assume I'm gay, and the student's at my school don't take kindly to gay guys or anything different at that. I haven't even figured out if I was gay myself yet I was getting abused for it. I hate it, I hate them, I hate me.

I knew I would need a lot of courage to get through the day, but what days don't I. It was the first day of the new school year, and I was already sucked back into a world of cliques and drama. But thankfully, the day was nearly complete with only ten minutes remaining. Luckily for me I had survived. I just kept my head down and got on with my studies. I was lucky to be a diligent student, as if it weren't for my studies I'd be nothing. When the final bell rang, I made my way to my locker to grab what materials I would need for the night. As I was searching through my locker I could hear whispers behind me, ''Look at him! He's a freak!''. I knew straight away who they were referring to, me. I pretended not to hear them and continued packing my materials away. When I finished I slammed my locker shut and turned around to where I came face to face with the loud whisperers. It was Sarah Jackson and her friends, the cool crowd if you may. They took one look at me and laughed. I'm not going to lie, it hurt. I felt like crying right there, but I didn't. I managed to control my tears and shake off their snide remarks. I quickly scrambled away from them and made my way down the school hallway. As I walked down the hall, I could feel people laughing at me. Shouting horrible things at me, even though I probably never spoke to them in my life. It's time's like this I wish I had a friend, someone to confide in. Unfortunately for me I was too much of a social outcast to even be seen with. I continued to ignore the harsh comments and ran to the exit. I slammed open the main door and stormed towards the gate.

Once outside the school gate I felt the slight feeling of relief. I was safe, or so it seemed. I turned around the corner and started travelling down the main road. As I was walking, I decided to stick in my headphones and listen to some music. A Rihanna song came up and it cheered me up. It cheered me up so much so that I began smiling with a skip in my step. Big mistake. I practically skipped around the corner and bumped into a crowd of kids from my school. ''Watch where you going, freak!'' one giggled. ''Uh, er, sorry!'' I mumbled. I quickly walked away and could hear another one of them shout ''That's right, run home to your Mommy, you idiot''. I was so embarrassed. I just knew people would be laughing about that for the next week. I popped into the local newsagents on the way home, to pick up a copy of my favourite gaming magazine. Whilst at the magazine stand, I began to browse through some other publications. I picked one up and began to have a ponder. Without me even noticing, two girls from my class were at the till behind me. Thankfully they didn't notice me. ''He's such a nerd!'' one remarked. ''Tell me about it, he's so creepy!'' the other laughed. I knew it was me they were speaking about. As soon as they left, I grabbed my magazine and purchased a packet of pills as well. The shopkeeper looked at me funny. ''Feeling ill, are we?'' she enquired quite nosily. ''No, my Mam is.'' I replied briskly and shuffled quitely out of the shop.

I continued walking home along the road for some time. I felt sick, I just knew something was going to happen. I just didn't know what, until I heard them. Just before I turned onto the next street I could hear the shouting and roaring from behind me. It was them, Joey Marshall and his friends. Joey used to be my best friend when we were younger. He was the only friend I ever had. As soon as we started Secondary School, he stopped talking to me and started hanging out with a cooler gang. He took up smoking and started drinking regularly, despite the fact he's only seventeen. In first year he started beating me up, just for fun, and it's been continuous ever since. He wouldn't just hit me but he would actually inflict serious pain on me. He once choked me so bad, I had to go to A&E, he even broke my arm once. I was absolutely terrified of him, and he knew it too. ''HEY YOU! COME HERE!'' I heard him shout. I needed no further message to get me to run. I ran as fast as I could, faster than Usain Bolt. But, I could never fun faster than Joey. He eventually caught me. He grabbed my leg and tripped me to the floor. He kicked me into my ribs and spat on my face. I felt dead inside. He searched through my bag and threw my belongings onto the floor. He then put his hands in my pockets and dragged out my stuff. He threw my phone on the floor as it was old and worthless. He stole my last one and I had to tell my Mam I lost it, so she made me use an old one. He rustled through the rest of my stuff and took the little bit of cash I had. He then started giggling. I panicked, as I knew he was going to do something bad. ''Looky here, I found myself an iPod'' he taunted. ''No! Please! It was a gift!'' I pleaded. ''Shut the hell up!'' he screamed as he kicked me in the groin. ''Please Joey. Please'' I cried. ''Keep it you cry baby! I wouldn't want you to tell Daddy on me!'' he laughed sarcastically as he threw my iPod at me. I was less than grateful. ''Stand up!'' he shouted. I dragged my limb body to my feet and looked him in the eye. He smirked at me with an evil look in his eye, before punching me in my nose and knocking me to the floor. Everything went blurry. I remember him walking away giggling to himself. All I could do is lie there, on the cold September ground, crying.

After for what seemed like eternity, I managed to pull myself together. I placed my stuff back in my bag and put my iPod and phone back in my pocket. I limped the remainder of the journey home. Once outside my house, I had to pull myself together. My parents couldn't know what had happened as they would just throw a big fuss about it and look to call the guards. That's the last thing I need right now. I wiped the mud of my pants and the blood from my nose. I forced a smile on my face and I opened the front door. ''Your home late'' my mother called from the kitchen. ''Sorry got carried away looking at magazines in the shop'' I replied happily. ''Right, dinner will be ready soon.'' my father called. I was thankful they were in the kitchen as I could run up the stairs to my room without being seen. Once in my room I took off my uniform and left my stuff on the floor. I locked my bedroom door, to stop my parents from intruding. I sat on my bed in just my underwear. I looked down on my arms and legs, they were so clean. That's because they had all Summer to heal, but I just needed to do it again. I pulled open my bedside locker drawer and pulled out my penknife. I knew I shouldn't have, but physical pain is the only way I can make my internal pain go away. I placed the blade next to my skin and began to drag it across in numerous straight lines, watching the blood pour out. I felt the hurt. There's something good about it. Mostly it makes me stop remembering. It didn't help me too much though, as I was soon thinking about the pain inflicted on me by Sarah, the girls in the newsagents and Joey. It just wasn't fair. I was completely alone and a joke to everyone around me. I couldn't take it anymore.

I walked over to my bag, tears pouring from my eyes and blood from my arms, and removed the packet of pills. I was lucky Joey didn't take any notice to them. I returned to my bed and reached underneath it. I pulled out a bottle of Vodka and placed it on the locker. I put the pills next to it. I knew then, I had no other choice. This is my way of telling God 'You can't fire me! I quit!', and so I did. I put a total of twenty pills into my mouth and took a swab of Vodka. I forced myself to swallow it all down. Almost immediately I felt sick. All I could do then, was lie back on my bed and close my eyes.