First Post Quite Short...(Note: Implied Suicide)

Inkivaari

So, my English teacher really liked this, haven't written in a while, since everything I do turns out to have pretty much the same subject matter: Loss, Death, Suicide, Heartache etc. Would you guys give it a read and tell me what you all think, visa vis whether I'm a tad screwy in the head, or whether I should continue on...thanks!!

European Cities

This city is perfect, if that’s the right word. Most people would call it depressing, and I guess it is, but that what makes it even more perfect.

Nobody knows me here, and I cannot speak the language. I’m perfectly isolated.

I flew out here, visited the sights, the cathedrals, museums, did the touristy things. Now I’m walking the dark cobbled streets back to my hotel, five stars, and, according to the website, the most lavish in this city.

I wont be here for much longer.

I look around me, up to the night sky above these obscure buildings, and take in a breath. The air is cold and crisp, as a breeze seems to whirl around me, lifting my black hair above my head, like a dark halo. But I am a fallen angel; broken.

I am alone.

The bells of some distant church knell, telling me its now eleven. I continue walking towards my temporary residence, and meander inside.

Slowly, I ascend the stairs, taking in the soft lighting, and the rich red
carpets. Its dreamlike. My vision becomes hazy as my eyes water. This place is almost too perfect. I keep my speed slow as I run my hand along the wall on my journey to my room.

After a few moments, I pause at my door, and fumble with the key. Sliding it into the lock, I twist the wrought iron handle and push the heavy mahogany door open. As I enter, I pull my key back out and place it on the table next to the crisply made bed. The door swings shut with a soft click, as I remove my shoes and place them under the vanity.

Padding to the bathroom, I remove today’s smudged makeup, and tie my hair back to reapply it. After I line my eyes as heavily as ever, I smudge them just a bit, until I deem them perfect. Moving silently through the room, I fix my hair, brushing it out.

I need to look perfect.

Once I’m ready, I get the disc I made just for this purpose; the songs I deem, perfect. I place it gently in the stereo, and play it at a low level, the songs I chose flowing into the still night air.

I lay back on the black sheets, twiddling the blade in my hands waiting for the bell to toll midnight.

As I hear the first bell ring I take the blade to my wrists, relishing the feel of the cold metal against my skin. I slide it slowly downwards, taking the first six knells for the left, the next six for the right. Symmetry is perfection, in my opinion.

As the life drains from my body, I let out my final breath, one word going with it.

“Perfect.”


--Please Review--

Inki x

MikeC101

Inkivaari wrote: »

So, my English teacher really liked this, haven't written in a while, since everything I do turns out to have pretty much the same subject matter: Loss, Death, Suicide, Heartache etc. Would you guys give it a read and tell me what you all think, visa vis whether I'm a tad screwy in the head, or whether I should continue on...thanks!!

I liked it a lot actually. Enjoyed the mood you evoke in it, and the style of writing is nice: simple but all the more effective for it, in my opinion.

The usual caveats apply: this is just my opinion, take what you need and discard the rest.

Inkivaari wrote: »

European Cities

This city is perfect, if that’s the right word. Most people would call it depressing, and I guess it is, but that what makes it even more perfect.

I like this, maybe "suppose" instead of "guess" would fit with the narrators use of language a bit better? - but that's a minor thing, and probably just a personal thing for me.

Nobody knows me here, and I cannot speak the language. I’m perfectly isolated.

I flew out here, visited the sights, the cathedrals, museums, did the touristy things. Now I’m walking the dark cobbled streets back to my hotel, five stars, and, according to the website, the most lavish in this city.

I wont be here for much longer.

Love the last line. It starts to hint at the possibility of a darker ending - but maybe take the *implied suicide* out of the title and I wouldn't have picked up on it. I can't be sure, though the sentence stands out nicely on it's own.

I look around me, up to the night sky above these obscure buildings, and take in a breath. The air is cold and crisp, as a breeze seems to whirl around me, lifting my black hair above my head, like a dark halo. But I am a fallen angel; broken.

I am alone.

I like this a lot too.

The bells of some distant church knell, telling me its now eleven. I continue walking towards my temporary residence, and meander inside.

"it's" instead of "its"
I'm not sure about the use of "meander inside". To me meander means twisting and winding. I think a more direct word, but perhaps the use of meander earlier, while walking through the town, would imply some inner reluctance to end the day?

Slowly, I ascend the stairs, taking in the soft lighting, and the rich red
carpets. Its dreamlike. My vision becomes hazy as my eyes water. This place is almost too perfect. I keep my speed slow as I run my hand along the wall on my journey to my room.

Very nice paragraph, the "keep my speed slow" jars me a little bit - maybe something a little more in keeping with the dreamlike tone of that paragraph?

After a few moments, I pause at my door, and fumble with the key. Sliding it into the lock, I twist the wrought iron handle and push the heavy mahogany door open. As I enter, I pull my key back out and place it on the table next to the crisply made bed. The door swings shut with a soft click, as I remove my shoes and place them under the vanity.

Like the mood here - the use of a key, the heavy door. Again, evokes a more distant era - though obviously it's not, references to the website previously.

Padding to the bathroom, I remove today’s smudged makeup, and tie my hair back to reapply it. After I line my eyes as heavily as ever, I smudge them just a bit, until I deem them perfect. Moving silently through the room, I fix my hair, brushing it out.

Is there another word you could use instead of "smudge" the second time? The repeated use so close together feels a little off.

I need to look perfect.

This grabs my attention. "For what?", I'm thinking. Honestly - remove the *implied suicide* warning from the header, it would have increased the suspense for me!

Once I’m ready, I get the disc I made just for this purpose; the songs I deem, perfect. I place it gently in the stereo, and play it at a low level, the songs I chose flowing into the still night air.

No comma between deem and perfect.
The use of "I chose" after songs feels unnecessary. I think it flows more nicely without it.

I lay back on the black sheets, twiddling the blade in my hands waiting for the bell to toll midnight.

"Twiddling" feels a bit out of place.

As I hear the first bell ring I take the blade to my wrists, relishing the feel of the cold metal against my skin. I slide it slowly downwards, taking the first six knells for the left, the next six for the right. Symmetry is perfection, in my opinion.

Very nice, I like the use of the knells.

As the life drains from my body, I let out my final breath, one word going with it.

“Perfect.”

--Please Review--

Inki x

It's good, I like it a lot. Nice and short, and effective. Maybe have a go at submitting it to somewhere that publishes flash fiction, see what the feedback is like.

weiming

Lacks depth.

I can understand, from the protagonist's viewpoint, she is perhaps trying to keep herself afloat on light, simple thoughts, avoiding the gravity of what is actually taking place, but as a reader I need something more, or at least a hint of it. I have no emotion invested in the main character, there is no hint whatsoever as to what has led to her current state, without any of this it reads like a "to do list" of suicide.

>MikeC101 has already done a line-by-line, so I'll skip that here but I will say I actually didn't like the use of "knell". I just so rarely see "knell" used as a verb outside of middle English. I imagine watching a movie and actually hearing a bell toll as the person raises blade to wrists and it kind of makes the work cross the line from shallow to trite, that and the black sheets on the hotel bed.

Perhaps a little reality beneath the veneer of fantasy the main character has made for herself. Maybe some musings on what has brought her to the end of her road, perhaps some more substance to add dimension and set off the simplistic narration. I think I would enjoy that more.

bakkiesbotha

Inkivaari wrote: »

So, my English teacher really liked this, haven't written in a while, since everything I do turns out to have pretty much the same subject matter: Loss, Death, Suicide, Heartache etc. Would you guys give it a read and tell me what you all think, visa vis whether I'm a tad screwy in the head, or whether I should continue on...thanks!!

European Cities

This city is perfect, if that’s the right word. Most people would call it depressing, and I guess it is, but that what makes it even more perfect.

Nobody knows me here, and I cannot speak the language. I’m perfectly isolated.

I flew out here, visited the sights, the cathedrals, museums, did the touristy things. Now I’m walking the dark cobbled streets back to my hotel, five stars, and, according to the website, the most lavish in this city.

I wont be here for much longer.

I look around me, up to the night sky above these obscure buildings, and take in a breath. The air is cold and crisp, as a breeze seems to whirl around me, lifting my black hair above my head, like a dark halo. But I am a fallen angel; broken.

I am alone.

The bells of some distant church knell, telling me its now eleven. I continue walking towards my temporary residence, and meander inside.

Slowly, I ascend the stairs, taking in the soft lighting, and the rich red
carpets. Its dreamlike. My vision becomes hazy as my eyes water. This place is almost too perfect. I keep my speed slow as I run my hand along the wall on my journey to my room.

After a few moments, I pause at my door, and fumble with the key. Sliding it into the lock, I twist the wrought iron handle and push the heavy mahogany door open. As I enter, I pull my key back out and place it on the table next to the crisply made bed. The door swings shut with a soft click, as I remove my shoes and place them under the vanity.

Padding to the bathroom, I remove today’s smudged makeup, and tie my hair back to reapply it. After I line my eyes as heavily as ever, I smudge them just a bit, until I deem them perfect. Moving silently through the room, I fix my hair, brushing it out.

I need to look perfect.

Once I’m ready, I get the disc I made just for this purpose; the songs I deem, perfect. I place it gently in the stereo, and play it at a low level, the songs I chose flowing into the still night air.

I lay back on the black sheets, twiddling the blade in my hands waiting for the bell to toll midnight.

As I hear the first bell ring I take the blade to my wrists, relishing the feel of the cold metal against my skin. I slide it slowly downwards, taking the first six knells for the left, the next six for the right. Symmetry is perfection, in my opinion.

As the life drains from my body, I let out my final breath, one word going with it.

“Perfect.”


--Please Review--

Inki x

A lavish five star hotel would probably not have an old fashioned metal key and wrought iron door handle, but a modern lock with an electronic key card. It might work better if you set this scene in a run down old place.

Or you could remove the description of how exactly you opened the door and what you did with the key afterwards.

Inkivaari

Thanks for taking the time to read it guys! Its not perfect, I know, but its been a while.

Again, thanks for taking the time to read, I really appreciate any feedback!

Inki x