Wilderness

Hey
This is just a first draft of a new story, and I've only just started it.
My best friend read it and percieved the main character entirely different to how I intended it. Just wondering on your opinions.



I don’t believe in silence. I always manage to hear a distant bellowing, the rumble of traffic or the subtle beat of a heart. I can hear mine now, beating hard against my ribs, pounding in uncertainty and just waiting to erupt. I often think it will. As though one more breathe of my life, one more moment seeing from my eyes, could cause a beat to stumble and collapse.

I smoke in my room. The fumes encapsulate in the walls and seep into the carpet. She would have told me to put it out. She would have taken it from my lips and stumped it in the ashtray. Once, she kissed my mouth and pulled back in disgust. She spat on the floor, looked me in the eyes, and stormed out. The door slammed behind her and the sound resonated. I stayed in the same place, in the same composure, waiting for her to return. I almost waited till the sun came back, just thinking how much I fucking loved her, but how I just couldn’t do it right. Eventually, I lit another cigarette and went back to gazing into nothingness.

She left me after that.

My fingers relax and the bud falls out the window. I swear out loud, repeatedly, the words getting softer under my breath. I climb back onto my bed and close my eyes. It’s dark, all I see is black. I open them again and blink, trying to see the colours she once told me about. She said my bed was blue, the shelves were brown and the walls were cream. I try so hard to see the colours, but the darkness shields it all. I get up, lock the door and turn the lights out. My head stops spinning and I stop straining to see through the obscurity.

It was not silent. The room was quiet, but I could hear the sprinklers outside and the dogs barking next door. I didn’t move. I didn’t want to disturb my equilibrium, or what was left of it.



So thats just the start of the story..and I think I have a tense problem...but still.
My friend percieved the person telling the story to be a female in a lesbian relationship. (However, my friend is a lesbian...so that may have been her influence.)
I always intended the character to be a male...but now I'm questioning.
Do you think the story (what you have read) feels right with a straight male or a lesbian as the narrator??

Also, she thought the main character was blind, which is why their sound was hightened. Is is what you thought? Because I meant it to be emotional darkness.

(It's kinda hard to answer without knowing where the story is going....but whatever you say will be helpful).

Thanx for reading.

Lani

__________________
"I wanna know the pain."
"The pain?"
"Yer," she replied, "all the struggles, the agony. I want to feel it, too."

~ Eight Cups of Coffee.

LoneWolf

Hiya, I liked this a lot. The imagery was beautiful. I thought that the character was a lesbian at first, but then I realized that it was a guy later on. Maybe to solve that prob you could add in some characterization to distinguish that, like...I run a hand across the stubble on my chin. Something that shows he's a guy. And I didn't really think he was blind. I got the emotional darkness part. But very good, very clean. Nice work, I look forward to seeing more of your work around SS. Thanks for the read!

__________________
My aim is to put down on paper what I see and what I feel in the best and simplest way. --Ernest Hemingway

Jimmy_James

I usually agree with LW...and this case will be no different, she's an intellegent young vixen after all. But yes, you do need more descriptive qualities to your character, to establish exactly who we are working with here. As she said stubble on the chin, but you can also use memories...boyhood if possible...and you know it doesn't have to be completely clean...as much as LW puts on that front

Excellent work though, as a future english teacher, I would definately give this an A

__________________
Chuck Norris doesn't actually write books, the words assemble themselves out of fear.

Wilderness

Hey
Awwww! Thanx so much for the nice comments! I'm smiling.
I have written more. I'm 1400 words in now. I have added a few lines that makie it very clear that it is a male and it elaborates on the emotional darkness.

I will post more of it when I have cleaned it up a bit and maybe when I get a chance to write some more. (I'm pilled with school work right now).

Thanx again guys!

Lani

__________________
"I wanna know the pain."
"The pain?"
"Yer," she replied, "all the struggles, the agony. I want to feel it, too."

~ Eight Cups of Coffee.

Rob

In the opening, the reader is usually expecting the author to provide a setting, a main character, and some idea of the story goal or problem that the main character faces.

As we can see from the earlier comments, your main character was not sufficiently clear, so it's good that you say you've added something to address that.

The first paragraph describes the character's heart beating. I didn't think it contributed much to your opening, and I've seen beating hearts described so often that unless you've got a good reason to do so, I'd suggest you spend fewer words to describe something so ordinary. As it stands, I'd say chop the first paragraph completely - there are better ways to begin your story.

As for the rest of the opening, even if you identify your character as male, I have no idea where he is or why or how old he is or anything else that would make the character seem real. All of this needs to be addressed in your revised opening.

Good luck with your writing.

Cheers,
Omni

Wilderness

Here is the continuation from my first post.
I havent changed much in the first part I posted, mainly just gramatical errors and lines thats werent necessary.
What do you think of this part?
There is still more, but I havent written it yet as I'm a bit bogged down with school work at the moment.
(Also, I'm going to be writing more about the cutting scene, I'm just waiting to get some more information and details on it)
Sorry if this offends anyone.





I wake in the night but I don’t feel the cold. She used to protect me from it; she would cover me with the blanket and wrap her arms and legs around my body. Our limbs would tangle, but I couldn’t feel her warmth. I told her once, that I couldn’t feel it, and she rolled over. I touched her back and traced her spine with my fingers. I could feel her shaking.
Tell me the reasons I should stay, she whispered.
I don’t have any reasons
Then why should I stay?
Because I…I…you know…
You can’t even say the words.
I can. I said, lying.
Then say them! Look me in the eyes and fucking say them. She was so desperate and fucking frustrated.
I looked her in the eyes, but I couldn’t say the words. I wanted to, I wanted to tell her how much I loved her, but the words couldn’t form in my mouth and they came out as a mumble.
She continued to shake and I could hear her weeping. I wanted her to stop. Fuck, I didn’t want her to feel my pain.
I’m sorry.
Why don’t you even try anymore? You used to try. You used to try so hard. Why have you given up?
I didn’t answer her that night. I fell asleep with her next to me, but when I woke, she was gone.

I fall back asleep but I don’t dream. The night seems long and dark. I wake feeling as unrefreshed and exhausted as I did before. I look across and see her body under the blanket. I sit up and put my hand on her, but it just sinks through. I forget that she’s gone.
I go to the bathroom and crouch on the floor. I see the red stains on the tiles from places I forgot to clean. I open the bottom draw and gaze in. I see the razors, scissors and the many blades, but they don’t seem so bad. They’re enticing; they’re calling for me. I take the scissors out and roll up my sleeve. I stare at the scars on my arm. They run all the way up to my elbow.

She once saw them, the scars. I tried so hard to hide them from her, but the fresh blood had seeped through my sleeve. What happened? She asked. I pulled my arm away and told her it was nothing. What did you do? She tried to grab my arm again, she was crying. What did you do to yourself? She kept asking. I moved around and held the sleeve down, but she was stronger than me. She held my hand and tugged the sleeve up. She paused, her face was damp and her lips were quivering. Oh my God. She kept saying it. Oh my God. She bit her bottom lip and cried. It’s all right, I tell her. It’s okay. I heard my voice crackling. She touched the scars with her fingers. What have you done? I told her I was fine. Why did you do it? Why? She pleaded for an answer. She leant down and kissed them, trying to take the pain away. Why? She kept whispering.

I raise the scissor blade and touch the tip of it to my skin. I press it down hard until I see the beads of blood. I slide it across my skin, one centimetre, two, three, four centimetres. I watch the blood dribble down my arm and drip onto the floor. I don’t feel it; I don’t feel the pain I used to. I’ve become so fucking numb. I can hear her in my head, her voice echoes. What are you doing to yourself? Her echo asks. Why are you doing this? I answer her, although she’s not here. I say out loud, I feel real. I feel alive. I just want to feel alive. I’m almost yelling. I can hear my heart beating faster and faster. It beats for her. Can she hear it?

I pull the scissors away and watch the red materialise on my arm. I can see the red. It’s the only colour I see through the darkness. I rip a few squares of toilet paper, fold them and cover the new wound. I press it hard and the blood absorbs through. I rip some more and scrunch it, and press it harder on the cut. I lean back against the wall and bang my head against it. I keep doing it till my head is pounding. I just want to feel alive; I call out again, this time choking on the words.

I clean the bathroom floor and go back to my room. I light a cigarette and smoke it, allowing the fumes to encapsulate in the walls and seep into the carpet. I look around my room and everything reminds me of her. The walls we painted together, the bookshelf she bought me, and the bed we shared. On the nights she slept here, we would make love for hours. She would ask me to touch to her, to put my hands on her breasts and feel her. I wanted to tell her that being inside her lifted me from myself. That I felt alive and actually human. I could feel the blood circulating and pumping throughout my body. Then nights when she was away, I would cut myself to see the blood, to know that I was real.

I dress in the same clothes I wore the day before. I don’t look in the mirror, not since she told me I was beautiful. I don’t want any other image to turn her words to lies.




comments are welcome.

Lani

__________________
"I wanna know the pain."
"The pain?"
"Yer," she replied, "all the struggles, the agony. I want to feel it, too."

~ Eight Cups of Coffee.