RytorGirl

All right. I wrote this a while ago, dug it up, and thought: yuck. Now, whenever I find something I wrote a while ago, I try to fix it up. Usually, I succeed. And I've fixed this up reasonably, but the problem is, it won't lift itself to my expectations. Even though I've edited it, I still think of it as terrible. I doubt it has any hope. The prose itself, I feel, is the worst part. It's VERY poorly written. Anyway, here it is.

It's from the point of view of a homosexual male, talking about his lover who is in denial about his own homosexuality, thus hurting the narrator. And the fact that I had to explain that to you is only more proof that this story needs throwing away.

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He was my entire world. To this day, I sometimes wonder whether or not I was truly in love, or whether it was simply an obsessive fixation. I think about it often, picturing his face in my mind, how he was, how he could have been. And of course, my conclusion is always the same: He was, is, my world. I loved him more than I will ever love again.

Sometimes, when we were alone, I would inform him that he was breathtaking. He would smile, and tell me to shut up. He was painfully notorious for his modesty, but I loved making him blush. So I would speak the truth, and he couldn’t help but to smile, and that smile was my reason for living.

And then, there was her. She would wrap herself around him, and he would kiss her. Everybody watching would cheer, as a euphoric look crossed his face, and I that was all I needed to know that I was only proof of his imperfection. But I loved him, and I would become an ostensible silhouette in the corner of the crowd, the only wan face, watching as the school’s star basketball player kissed a girl who had always been faceless to me. She was his extravagant diamond ring, wrapped tightly around his finger, to shine for crowds and parties. And I was but a mere shadow in the most clandestine cavern of his life.

I still remember that night. We were in my room. I was playing Solitaire on my computer, and he was lying on my bed, propping himself up with his elbows. I couldn’t stand to look at him. His eyes -- too magnificent to be called gray -- a deep, thick, mercury, scintillating at the slightest hint of emotion, seemed to be following me. Finally, I had had enough. With a furtive laugh, not meant for his ears, I turned around.

“What?” I asked plainly, crossing my arms across my chest. In his presence, I felt so small. He deserved better than me, he deserved the girl.
But he was smiled at me, giving me the illusion that I was his world, too. He didn’t answer my question.

“Dude, why are you looking at me like that?” And I couldn’t restrain a giggle, perhaps born of trepidation.

“You look different tonight.” He said slowly, studying me.

And within seconds, I was no longer affable. My smile dropped, and I turned back to my computer game. I knew that I looked different, but I didn’t want to explain why. I didn’t want to explain how much his being with her hurt me. I wanted – for a moment, only a moment – to pretend that she had been born on the furthest corner of the Earth, and had never entered our lives.

My silence disturbed him.

“What’s wrong? Come on…”

When I didn’t answer, he changed the subject, although I knew the matter was not yet dropped.

“My dad’s been a little crazy lately… you think I could spend the night here again?” He asked, a casualty in his tone that almost flattered me.

I nodded; anything to keep him from his father.

“Thanks, Brandon, just for tonight.” He sang, “Now, come tell me why you look so sad.”

I rolled my eyes, trying to be confrontational. But I couldn’t – not while looking down the barrel of his eyes, his deadliest weapon. In another world, I climbed out of my computer chair, and into his arms, begging him to stop seeing the girl, begging him to love me more. But in reality, I studied him carefully, before deciding that it wasn’t safe.

But he was persistent.

And finally, words as his weapon, he lured me from the safety of my chair to come and sit next to him. “Now, tell me.” He asked again, “What’s the matter?”

The story must have been too big for me, because within seconds, the question tumbled from my mouth. “Do you love her?”

It could have ended at that moment. He could have confirmed, told me yes, he did love her. And I would have yielded. I would have taken the bullet, I would have let go of everything to make him happy, to let him run through the sunflower fields to the girl, leaving me in his shadow. But his answer was confusing. “It’s different.”

And although I knew, instantly, blindingly, what he meant, I dared to ask the question: “How?”

The moment I asked the question, I wanted to take it back. I wanted him to hold me, and never answer, and pretend that everything was perfect. Pretend that I was good enough, pretend that life was fair. I wanted to hide in his arms from the stalking truth, but I couldn’t.

“It’s different in a lot of ways, Brandon. I love you, but it’s different.”

It was the first time he had ever told me that he loved me, although I had pledged my affection to him countless times. I decided to wait a moment before responding, but when I did, my words traipsing weakly from my mouth and breaking over invisible glass, were barely a whisper. “Don’t tell me how it’s different.” I requested, and he wrapped his arms around me.

When he left, I cried. I was trapped between misery and rage, and in my indecision, I began to sob.


I walk into the school building, and she’s crying. She’s staring out the window, as if he’s about to come down the school’s footpaths, wearing the same jacket, the same smile. She’s crying as if he belonged to her, and to my dismay he did, more than he belonged to me at least. I want to strangle her – fucking whore– for treating him as if he was her everything.

But who am I to judge? He was everything to me too.

There’s going to be an assembly today, to commemorate him. I still don’t understand. I still don’t understand how something as small as a car could kill him, and something as small as an assembly could serve as his memorial; but then, life isn’t always about understanding.

She spoke at his funeral. She got up in front of everybody, and told them how wonderful he was. They didn’t ask me to, because nobody knew that I had been in love with him.

But he doesn’t have to worry. I didn’t cry until I got home. I’ll keep his secrets.

billypurkiss

That is rather good!
I quite like it actually!

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"I want booze! I DEMAND Booze!" Withnail And I
"Gravity is merely an object of imagination" Mr.Happy
"Running away is one of life's mere necessity's" Southend-on-sea's tramp.

RytorGirl

Really? Thanks! I appreciate it!

JeshiiDoveLove

This is actually very good. I didn't expect the ending, and the conversation seemed very natural, as did the emotion. Other than a few mechanical problems (I think I cuaght a typo, but it's stupid-thirty in the morning here and I can't be sure: I'll check again tomorrow if you wish) I see nothing glaringly wrong with it. Definitely worth a second read-through when I'm not so tired and have more time. I'll also say I loved the line,
Possibly because I've been there, and recently. Beautiful piece overall, and if you think it isn't up to par, then I can't wait to read the stuff you're proud of and can only hope to reach this level in my own writing.

JeshiiDoveLove

okay, second run-through ^_^

Quote:

Everybody watching would cheer, as a euphoric look crossed his face, and I that was all I needed to know that I was only proof of his imperfection.

I think you started to type "it" and decided on "that" instead and didn't delete the whole thing or something, but that extra I should disapear

Quote:

His eyes -- too magnificent to be called gray -- a deep, thick, mercury, scintillating at the slightest hint of emotion, seemed to be following me.

I would move the second dash from behind "gray" to behind "emotion"

Quote:

“What?” I asked plainly, crossing my arms across my chest. In his presence, I felt so small. He deserved better than me, he deserved the girl. But he was smiled at me, giving me the illusion that I was his world, too. He didn’t answer my question.

just delete the "was" there... and you forgot a line break I think.

Quote:

“You look different tonight.” He said slowly, studying me.

should end the dialogue in a comman, not a period, and "he" should be lowercase. general rule for dialogue tags like "he said" or "she wailed" or whatever. should look like
"You look different tonight," he said slowly...
I won't go through and find all of them you did like that, just point out the first instance.

Quote:

I rolled my eyes, trying to be confrontational. But I couldn’t – not while looking down the barrel of his eyes, his deadliest weapon.

nothing wrong here: I simply ADORE this line. very nice touch ^_^

Quote:

I wanted to hide in his arms from the stalking truth, but I couldn’t.

I'm not sure how I feel about using "stalking" here... it doesn't seem right to me.

Quote:

I decided to wait a moment before responding, but when I did, my words traipsing weakly from my mouth and breaking over invisible glass, were barely a whisper.

This one seems overladen with commas and might be better suited if it were broken up.

The end is still very strong and very potent. overall, beautifully written.

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It wasn't good luck that brought us together. If anything, it was long months of bad luck that finally proved to us that what we were doing separately was never going to work, and together we'll beat it all.

RytorGirl

Thank you so much! I'll go through right now and change those errors on my copy of that story. Thanks for taking the time!

Just Jim

Hi Rytor,

I don't write mean critiques. If I think something is terrible, I just don't comment.

The story line is good, and you have created the tension you want.

The writing is not so good, I think.



Breathtaking isn't information. You could tell, or even gush, but not "inform".
"painfully notorious" ????
"help but to"



You're reaching here, overwriting. Everyone cheering, euphoric look, and "I was proof of his imperfection." all in one sentence ?



He could have told me, yes, he did love her. I would have yielded, taken the bullet, I would have let go of everything to make him happy.

This is very intense. The extra words take away from the energy. "I would have" 3 times is annoying.

Don't throw it out. Do the hard work of a rewrite. Pick on every sentence.
The story is powerful. Less words will make it more powerful.

Go for it.
Jim


You can tell a story, and capture emotion.

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there is no hurry. We shall get there some day - Pooh

Most of my stories are at:
http://jimsstories.wordpress.com/

RytorGirl

Thanks! I really, really appreciate critiques. I'll definitely go through and rewrite.

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TheMBC

Wow, just wow, I mean wow!

BTW that (^) means I'm speechless. That was a wonderful story, it was great and unpredictable...loved it!

RinK

First of all, this story is amazing.

The fact that you could doubt it astonishes me. I didn't actually read your introduction until after I read the story, and I think you made it VERY clear that he was homosexual and in denial about it. I understood that.

Some of the description needs a little bit of re-working, but that's it. You had me drawn into the story, and I felt so sad reading it. Many people don't approve of homosexuality, but you portrayed it as beautiful, which is the interesting part. I could feel the narrator's deep longing.

Please, don't give up on it. You have talent - a LOT of talent - and I really don't want to see this story end up in the trash.

RytorGirl

Thank you guys so much!

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samuel1306

This is good! Why don't you like it? It sounded a bit cliche at some parts but it comes to work out pretty well!

Don't give up on this story... ...the plot is there and just several more edits and i bet it will read like a bestseller. I'll be waiting for more!

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