heatherlouise

ok, this is just another short peice that i have just wrote. it was a spur of the moment thing and i was wondering what everyone thought. it could probably do with a lot of improvments so please don't hold back. oh, and sorry for getting the word count wrong, i hvae since altered my work so that it around 100 words now. sorry.
Heather





I cannot have babies. I have known from a very young age. It has been something which has plagued me for my entire life nearly, always hiding at the back of my mind, waiting to bite me on the arse when it thinks it necessary.

You see, when I was only fifteen I was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. In order to save my life they had to remove both of my ovaries and my uterus, or the womb.

I remember the day I had the operation. It was raining. Hard. The rain pounced off the hospital windows, and I could hear the babies crying from the maternity ward next door. A bit insensitive to place me so near to them I thought at the time. I remember the doctor, a ginger lady who was apparently very experienced. I remember crying to her, begging her not to take my ovaries. She said there was nothing else she could do.

The operation was a success, and I left the operating theatre cancer free. And children free for the rest of my life.

The sound of the night nurse brought me back to real life. To the hospital in which I had had my operation. I was waiting for my sister. She was having her third child, a C-section this time, and it was going to be a little while before I could see her. Once more, I could hear the sound of the babies crying. I was sitting in the maternity ward of the hospital wing, watching out of the windows. Like the day of my operation, it was raining. The sky was dark as it was the dead of night, and yet the hospital lived all around me. The babies lived around me.

Now, I hear you ask why I didn’t just adopt after having my operation. Well, I tried to. I went through all of the processes and procedures and I spent months on the waiting list. Eventually I got a baby. A little baby boy to foster for a few months whilst his mother was in hospital. I loved him like me own, spent all of my time tending to him and making sure that he wanted for nothing.

He was with me for seven months when his mother returned from hospital. She wanted him back, and I was to give him to her. I had been the one that had cared for him for seven months of his life. I had fed him, and clothed him and washed him and made him my own. And she wanted him back.

That night I made the worse mistake of my life. I packed the babies clothes and some of my own, and I left with him. We drove all night, and all of the next day. Unfortunately the police caught up on us and took my precious baby boy back from me. As if to rub salt in the room they said I would never be able to adopt or foster again.

The next few months after that were hard. I missed my baby and wanted him back ever so much. Every night I would sit out in the garden and listen for him, in the hope that he had come back home to me, his rightful mother.

That was seven years ago. I never saw him again. In fact, the only babies I have seen since are my sister’s twins, Jordan and Clarice. Jordan is the slightly older of the two by mere minutes. He is a right adventurous little swine, always trying to climb the stairs when our backs are turned, or skydive from the settee. Yes, my sister has her work cut out with him.

Then there is Clarice. She is a little angel, quite contempt with sitting in front of the plastic fire, watching the flames flicker in their place. The can suck her toes, stretching her leg right up under her chin and biting her little piggys.

When it comes to dinner time they each have their won high chair, one pink and one blue, and they sit with their little fists banging against the tray. When I scoop their food onto a spoon and we play “where’s the aeroplane?” they make the funniest little noises, gurgling spit bubbles down their chins and letting the food in their mouths bubble out between their lips. Even wiping the mess up for the tenth time that meal I knew I loved them more than anything.

But I wanted one of my own. I wished for one. Getting the urge to get up and walk, I wandered over to the nursery section. Behind the glass wall I could stand and watch the babies. All in their little cribs, lines and lines of them, some laughing at the starts painted on the ceiling, others crying for their mother.

Near the door a little girl caught my eye. The most beautiful baby I had ever seen. At only a few hours old she had little wisps of blonde hair on her head and bright blue eyes that watched me behind the glass. I swear I could hear her thoughts. She had been abandoned she told me, and wished for a mother.

I shook my head. I couldn’t do that. She was not my child. But she was asking me, begging me to take her. Fighting with my thoughts I finally gave in to her. Checking that the nurse in with the babies was busy occupied with another child I rushed through the door and scooped the little angel into my arms. My little angel. Her big blues stared up at me and I felt my heart melt right there. That moment I named her Amelia.

Remembering I had to get away I ran as fast as I could with the baby tucked tight against my body. I could feel her heart beating against me, her heavy breath on my body. Nothing more mattered now to me. I ran still, over roads and through towns, never stopping. Nothing more mattered but me and Amelia. I decided there and then to leave my old life behind. To set of on a new adventure. Just me and Amelia.

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~ HεαтнεяLøυιѕε

fjf1329

Hi Heatherlouise,

I just read your story and I think I can help you do better.

1. After you write review and remove any and all words that do not contribute to the story. i.e.
Do you know( what,) I hate babies. (Ok,) that (was) is a bit of an exaggeration, I don’t hate them.

2.Forever to be an auntie and never a mother.
This is not a sentence. Check for incomplete sentences.
3. Get into the habit of correct capitalization and punctuation in your introduction as well as your story.

If you do these things your writing will be more readable. I am sure others will be able to point out additional areas of concern however if you begin with these you will see an immediate improvement.

nineteen

it was ok. quite an interseting character peice, but the narrator was quite didstant in a sense. this could have been longer and given you more change to explain more of her back story. perhaps. but as it is i was impressd. but i admit i did see the end coming a mile away.

the first papragraph is crudely written and doesn't make much sense, needs revised as the contrast you use doesn't really work.

few descriptions (which is ok for this type of thing i guess), undeveloped charachter.



i know some-one called heather louise.

__________________
(Please don't take my advice too seriously)

Oh Vanity, thy number is 19.

heatherlouise

thank you for your time with reading it, and i will take your suggestion about cutting out some words. however, i didn't want it to be a full sentetce. i wanted it as if i were talking to you, and people don't always talk in full sentences.

a tip for you btw, when quoting someones work use the quote systme, it makes it much more easier for people to read.

and thanks nineteen, i thought you had gone, lol. thanks for reading. i might make it longer actually, go into more depth with it. i'll have a look.
does the begining sound better without the opening papragraph and just jumping straight in?
thanks for reading,
Heather

__________________



~ HεαтнεяLøυιѕε

heatherlouise

ok, i ahve done a complete re write. i hope it works
Heather

__________________



~ HεαтнεяLøυιѕε

nineteen

no i have returned (unlucky for some) i dind't know i was known by some many peple round here.

ahhh i think i felt my ego inflate a bit.

__________________
(Please don't take my advice too seriously)

Oh Vanity, thy number is 19.

heatherlouise

haha, glad to see you back! once again thanks for reaidn
Heather

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~ HεαтнεяLøυιѕε