Thread: The lives we lead and the burdens we carry. [Warning: Language]

To anyone who struggles with addiction, the loss of a loved one, or simply the feeling of being lost yourself...

Kit sat on the edge of his bed finishing up the first cigarette of the morning, burning the butt down to the ash until the filter burned at the tip, flicking a few sparks out into the open. The fiery dust blew down bed and made a few specks in the already stained bedspread before Kit put out the cigarette by twisting it down in a nearby glass ashtray. It was already overfilled and wreaked of smoke. He brushed his smooth French manicured nails on his purple boy shorts and stood up, stretching himself.

He coughed out a few belts from his worn out lungs as he rubbed his eyes thinking about last nights binge – a fifth of vodka and then some, a few roaches strewn about on the floor. His clothes were crumpled in the corner, desperately needing a wash as his pale, bare heel stepped in some watery vomit.

He turned and stared at a mirror, wiping off the bile on a dirty towel that he found. Staring at his faint blue eyes, looking like bleached orbs of amethyst with little black pinpoints in the center. He bushed his hair from his cheek, making a swooped bang out of the thick black and purple hair that somehow always seemed to be the most immaculate part of him at all times.

He slightly burped up a little backup as he stayed still, breathing slow, in a trance, only hoping he’d be able to stay upright. He ran his finger over his nipple and an old scar from heart surgery as a kin – heart broken from birth.

Looking back at the bed, he wobbled, and his eyes hazed in and out of focus, seeing what looked like a body but under a blood red comforter, with the same veneer of grime that the entire room did. Kit adjusted the bulge between his stuck out and jagged hipbones – his lowlife anorexic body calling out for help – but unable to get any help from the helpless.

His stomach felt like a bubbling pot of acid and his head as if it was caught between a vice and some other heavy metal grasp. In no place, he’d promised he’d smile one of these days, but who was the stranger in bed? No stranger then usual though, far removed from even knowing if it was his place or not.

The diluted, hot orange sun poured through the tears in the cardboard where the glass window used to be, reflecting off the hanging crucifix necklace that Kit’s grand-mama gave him before she made her date with divinity. God wouldn’t help him change, can’t change the helpless. Kit leaned forward and flew forward, feeling a slight euphoria, still on his high as he went through the air to land down on the body – still not knowing who it was.

His eyes were closed shut, his veins throbbing, his mind spinning, leaning down to the body he said – “fuck me” – but he already fucked himself, he opened his eyes again, and saw himself in the mirror. And for the first time in three years, he collapsed to his knees, hands on his forehead, and he cried.

If anyone happens to be curious, when I write short stories like this, I write them very quickly and I am almost always influenced by music. This is the song that I was listening to for the duration:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zHxhv...layer_embedded

Hi Kaskadian

Interesting read. I might prefer to read something like this written in first person, and if I was writing something like this I'd definitely go the first person route. I think what this is lacking are the reasons for the low self-esteem and addiction/bingeing, and you can get that information across in either third or first pov, but in such a short piece it might mean the narrator simply telling us the reasons in this third person. In first you can get into the mind of the character as narrator, and explore his thoughts more naturally, without it coming across as info dump.

Apart from that, there's some typos in here, which are ironed out easily enough with a fine-toothed comb.

Good luck with this.

Scott.

My comments or any changes are in blue, I'll point out any problems I've seen or things/images I particularly liked.

To anyone who struggles with addiction, the loss of a loved one, or simply the feeling of being lost yourself...

Kit sat on the edge of his bed finishing up the first cigarette of the morning, burning the butt down to the ash until the filter burned at the tip, flicking a few sparks out into the open. The fiery dust blew down the bed and made a few specks in the already stained bedspread before Kit put out the cigarette by twisting it down in a nearby glass ashtray. It was already overfilled and reeked of smoke. He brushed his smooth French manicured nails on his purple boy shorts and stood up, stretching himself.

The name Kit seemed jarring to me as I've only ever known it to be used as a females name, but, that's neither here nor there, just a personal preference really. I thought butt's were cigarrettes that had already been discarded rather than while still being smoked, however, terminology/slang changes place to place. The ash would not make specks unless it was burning through the sheets, otherwise it would leave specks or deposit specks on the bed.
While i like the image of the manicured nails, it does not fit with the rest of the piece, he has broken windows, his body is emaciated, he's into drugs, why would he spend money on his nails? I am aware that he could be doing it himself, but why would he bother? The character does not seem like he would care enough about himself to spend time doing it.

He coughed out a few belts from his worn out lungs as he rubbed his eyes thinking about last nights binge – a fifth of vodka and then some, a few roaches which were now strewn about on the floor. His clothes were crumpled in the corner, desperately needing a wash as his pale, bare heel stepped in some watery vomit.

You cannot cough out strips of material to hold up your trousers it would be better if it was reworded to "He belted out a few coughes from his worn out lungs" the description following it is confusing, you start by describing what he had had the night before and changed it into what is littering the floor. That's why I've added the words. Are the clothes covered in vomit or is it on the floor and he just happens to step on it? this is a bit confusing and can be clarified, you can change it to "he noted they desperated needed washing as his pale, bare heel"

He turned and stared at a mirror, wiping off the bile with a dirty towel that he found (where? on the floor, dresser, old, broken chair?). Staring at his faint blue eyes, looking like bleached orbs of amethyst (amethyst is purple, so his light blue eyes would appear to be faded/light purple/violet, blue doesn't go to violet, if you wanted to keep the colour, maybe remove the blue so "he stared at his eyes, they were looking like ....) with little black pinpoints in the center. He brushed his hair from his cheek, making a swooped bang out of the thick black and purple hair that somehow always seemed to be the most immaculate part of him at all times.
At all times is redundant after you say always previously, you don't need to tell the reader twice and removing one will help make it stronger

He slightly burped up a little backup as he stayed still, breathing slow, in a trance, only hoping he’d be able to stay upright. He ran his finger over his nipple and an old scar from heart surgery as a kid (i think, you meant kid or else i've never heard of the phrase.) – heart broken from birth.
I like the description backup, it's gross but very apt. I also liked teh heart broke from birth

Looking back at the bed, he wobbled, and his eyes hazed in and out of focus, seeing what looked like a body but under a blood red comforter, with the same veneer of grime that the entire room did (held? did is not gramatically correct). Kit adjusted the bulge between his stuck out and jagged hipbones – his lowlife anorexic body calling out for help – but unable to get any help from the helpless.

eyes cannot haze in and out of focus, his vision can though. the description makes me think his eyes are going cloudy/clear cloudy/clear. I also like "unable to get any help from the helpless.

His stomach felt like a bubbling pot of acid and his head as if it was caught between a vice and some other heavy metal grasp (Vice's grip things, so his head would be in a vice, but cannot be caught between a vice and something else). In no place (to me that sounds like he's saying he never said he would smile, maybe try clarify this?), he’d promised he’d smile one of these days, but who was the stranger in bed? No stranger ( i know what you were trying to do here, but it sounds odd, maybe have it was no stranger than usual...)then usual though, far removed from even knowing if it was his place or not. (is he on something stronger than weed/alcohol? I don't know how you wouldn't recognise where you lived if you were only hung over, maybe clarify by saying something like he moves around a lot or is a squatter?)

The diluted (diluted how?), hot orange sun poured through the tears in the cardboard where the glass window used to be, reflecting off the hanging crucifix necklace that Kit’s grand-mama gave him before she made her date with divinity (hanging where? on him or on the wall?). God wouldn’t help him change, can’t change the helpless. Kit leaned forward and flew forward (maybe change one of the forwards, so he leaned forward and flew towards the body?), feeling a slight euphoria, still on his high (high on what? weed makes you lazy generally and a moment ago he was hung over. As I said previously is he one something stronger? description makes it seem like he is on something strong, along the lines of intravenous drugs but we don't see that at all, there isn't mentions of trackmarks or anything) as he went through the air to land down on the body – still not knowing who it was.
I like that you reiterate he has no idea who the body is, it could be anyone at all really and it adds to suspense.

His eyes were closed shut (his eyes are either closed, or shut, it's not necessary to include both), his veins throbbing, his mind spinning, leaning down to the body he said – “fuck me” – but he already fucked himself (i know what you were trying to say, but to me that sounds like he literally fucked himself, rather than fuck himself over, maybe change himself to but he was already fucked?), he opened his eyes again, and saw himself in the mirror. And for the first time in three years, he collapsed to his knees, hands on his forehead, and he cried.

why does the body not react? why doesnt he feel the body beneath him? how his feet sank into it? how the person moved at all? were they dead?


Overall I did like this, and a lot of what I say is suggestion which is down to personal taste. Also, a good way to self edit is to read it outloud that way you can hear the rythm of the piece.
I do not think you need to change the perspective, it should work equally well in both, however writing in the first person would open up more avenues if you wanted to lengthen it.

Hope I helped and keep up the good work!

Always ask yourself questions when you're writing. It seems to me that you're writing whatever comes to mind without a thought as to why what you're putting it down. For instance, why is your character crying? Why is he abusing drugs and alcohol? Why does he have manicured nails?

manicured nails, swooped bangs of thick black and purple hair, alcohol abuse, the scar, the overly emotional nature of the narration... I get the whole idea of this character, his thoughts, his suffering, and even a hint of what he's been through. his problem is a Generation Y problem. a perfect resemblance of a certain part of the population. someone else can get to the technical part, but that's all I can say. good one, Kaskadian.

(posting before I read any of the comments so I'm not biased...)

Alright. You've focused heavily on description, and I like how it's a nice vignette of his life. I wouldn't mind if there were a few more specifics that I could latch on to (reason why they were partying, where he is, what his plans are for the day/life, and more of his specific thoughts in general.

Also, though the description is good, it gets a bit much for me at times. The most awkward sentence, for me, is this: "Staring at his faint blue eyes, looking like bleached orbs of amethyst with little black pinpoints in the center." Partially, its not a complete sentence (there's not a subject or main verb). That's fine with me, but it's also a bit -- TOO much. Amethysts have nothing to do with the story right now. And why is he admiring his own eyes in the mirror? After waking up in that state, how could he feel at all narcissistic? The only way I can see this sentence working well (and it could) is if you show some of his thoughts about his eyes immediately following the comparison. And maybe taking out the "with little black pinpoints in the center." Something more like "The blue of his eyes gleamed like bleached amethyst" might work better, though I don't like my use of the word "gleamed."

Anyway, I am rambling. I like character vignettes. Try writing a little less quickly, and polish it up more -- otherwise, I like it.