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Seven
May 13th, 2012, 10:43 PM
I know I have problems with my tense... My tense tends to change, as well as my usage of active vs. passive voice in the first person point of view.
I'm also thinking of making a series of short stories based on this... Using the same main character if this gets enough good feedback.
Just don't know how I'm going to do it yet. So I'm looking for critique, comments, and a little help.

It was a cold winter's day, the gray, heavy clouds loomed over the neighborhood. A slight fog made my lungs heavy, and clouded my view of the freshly fallen snow. It was a shame, as the strange mix of fog and snow made a soupy slush upon the ground. With every step, I could hear the snow and mud squishing and sloshing beneath my feet.
“Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow...” I sang, sarcastically of course.. I had finally turned the corner from the intersection of Here and There. I was almost home, but with the building fog and falling snow, it felt like I was going nowhere. Houses and landmarks just seemed to grow more distant, my heavy, fog filled chest just made me all the more tired, and the burden of a backpack more than just an inconvenience.

However, I felt my spine tingle, and tremble as my heart wibbled as I looked around. There was something... someone in the growing fog, and it made my fatigued, heavy heart light enough to jump and thrash at my throat like a captured, wild bird. I had one hand on the strap of my backpack, ready to sling it off and use it as a potential weapon when need be. This bout of paranoia was very strange for me, as this neighborhood was the safest, and most quiet in town. Beautiful houses that were inhabited by retired, well off (but not exactly rich) elderly men and women. Which was always an odd feeling for me, since I was the only 18 year old on the block, and my parents were knocking on the door to their mid to late fifties.

There is absolutely no reason for this sort of feeling. The neighborhood was safe, and certainly not haunted. I begin to walk faster as my heart pumped harder, my muscles tensing as the adrenaline coursed through my veins. My walking turned into jogging, and then transitioned to a full out sprint. I felt silly with my backpack nearly slapping at my behind with every sprinting stride, a small rush of air left me with every bump of books against my back. But that was the last thing I worried about, and is probably the only thing keeping the air from being trapped in my fear-knotted throat.

I jumped up the curb, and onto the walk way of my home, skipping up the stairs and sprinting to the door. I frantically pulled my pockets apart looking for the house key. As soon as I felt the key, I pulled it out of my back pocket and pecked around the keyhole a few times before finally managing to put the key in it's place. I opened the door quickly, stepped into the house and slammed the door. Locking it in place.

I was greeted by my dog, a slowly aging black and brown Dachshund, who had a few tufts of white fur upon her head, white fur scattered across brown paws and muzzle. She looked up at me with a wagging tail, I always imagined her saying to me, “It's nice to see you again. Now feed me.” Or something to that effect. I bent over to pet her with a smile on my face. It's nice that she is there for me when both of my parents are busy with work. The smile faded, however, as I felt that feeling again, that I was being watched or followed. I straightened my stature and turned around to look out of the crystallized, glass pane of the oaken door. There is nobody there, just the fog, the snow, and the silhouette of trees, and the even more eerie silhouette of the brick mailbox. The arch design was enough to make the silhouette look almost human like, and for some reason, that made the hair stand up on the back of my arms.

I went to the kitchen, and got a glass of water. My dog followed close behind as always, looking up at me with those fogging eyes.
“What'chu want, you old thing?” I said with a chuckle, sipping on the water and putting the remains of the cup into the bowl. Then she drank to her heart's content. The small “slish, slish, slish” of her tongue lapping up the water was strangely comforting, and was enough to calm me back down. I went to the computer room and crudely tossed my backpack next to the desk, wondering why in the hell I didn't do that the moment I walked in the house. I straightened my tired shoulders, rolling them around.

I sat into my chair, reaching in my pocket to pull out a hinged box. A simple, green, octagonal box with small golden hinges. Pondering for a moment, I looked at it, rolled it about in my hands. There was no name, no initials, no nothing. Hell, I vaguely remember how I have it in the first place. Did I find it on the road? Was it given to me? Did I steal it? I can't remember for the life of me. I sat it down, just staring, wondering how I came in possession with this box.

But then, curiosity sets in. The origin of the box doesn't matter, and now the contents of said box are nipping at my mind.
“Open it!” said the little voice in my mind.
“Come on, just open it!” as I picked up the box again, “What a find!” said the little voice again.
I opened it to reveal a simple Onyx band, with a small, but fiery orange jewel within it. The jewel beamed like the sun, reflecting the light from my lamp. Such a small jewel was so reflective, so fiery in color that it had to have been unnatural; Some would say that it was made by man, others would say it was made by God. Wherever it came from, it had the most beautiful, perfect cut. The radiance was just absolutely breathtaking, the wild orange color seemed to instill some sort of passion in me I haven't felt before. It made my heart swell up with a different sort of awe... How could such a ring, with such a small gem affect me so radically? I fell in love with it the moment I saw it. The feeling is almost alien to me, especially with the origin of these feelings... Since when did I become so materialistic?

I put the ring on my finger. It was a little loose. I almost feel bad falling so hard for this ring, but I feel so good wearing it that I just don't care! I opened my bookbag, smiling at the weirdly satisfying “zzzzip!” of the zippers, the thuds my books made as I stack them upon my desk. And then my dog began to bark at the door. “Ah, be quiet, you! It's just me stacking my books on the desk!” She began to bark more, and more frantically.
“Chance!” I called out “Come on, now! Come here!” I whistled and smooched at her. She continued to bark. I groaned in frustration as I stood up, going to the front door to pick her up and stop her barking.

She's acting so strange, her little legs were bouncing her slightly from one place to the other, as if the strength of her barking was propelling her a few centimeters upwards. Her tail was stiff, the fur on the nape of her neck and back were bristled. I felt that pang of anxiety again, and I picked her up.
“C-Come on now. It's alright. Everything's alright...” I've never felt so nervous, so uncomfortable so many times in a row... And on top of that, the dog was acting as if there were a threat outside. I went to my father's closet, took out the old Luger. It was black, shiny, with a brown butt, and small... A .22 caliber, which was less cumbersome than it's big brother, the .45 caliber Luger.

I locked my dog in my parents room, and there she continued to bark, and bark, and bark. I kept the gun at my side in the computer room, my heart pounding. What in the bloody hell is going on? I went into the living room, pacing, “Should I call the police?” I didn't know. I felt my anxiety overpower me, cloud my thoughts.. and suddenly, I was snapped out of the rush of thoughts by the sound of something falling in the garage. My jaw dropped, I stood there frozen, scared out of my mind... But I had to do something.

I went to the garage door, and put my ear to it... I couldn't hear any movement. I took a deep breath, swallowed it, and opened the door. The first thing I saw in there was a man. A bald man wearing a black, soaked trench coat. His back turned to the door entering the house as if he were about to leave. My heart stopped, my breath caught in my throat.
“S-Stay where you are!” I ordered him.
“Do not move!” I could have sworn the garage door was closed... Apparently it wasn't. What a mistake on my parent's end. Or perhaps mine for not even checking it. “Put your hands up where I can see them.”

The bald man did not react to my orders.
“I said put your hands up where I can see them!” I reached into my pocket for my cell phone to call the police, “Drop what you have and PUT your hands UP!” I began to lose my patience. His silence was unnerving, albeit his mocking defiance. He slowly began to turn around, and I cocked the gun. “I WILL shoot! I have the right to defend my property!” as he turned around, I froze in place again.

His sockets were empty, he had the most twisted, serrated grin on his face. He slowly began to approach me, and I stood there, trembling, not knowing what to think of the figure in front of me. His skin was the color of a corpse, but he dressed like a modern man. White shirt, black jeans, black trenchcoat... But his face. The black, eyeless sockets that seemed to burn holes in my very soul, the serrated grin that cracked his face from cheek to cheek. I began to hyperventilate, I began to panic... His presence began to become more and more spectral as he came closer. He was absolutely silent.. His mouth began to open.. Wider, and wider until his jaw seemed to be unhinged from his face. I opened my mouth to scream, but choked, punctured, frantic squeals rushed from my tightened throat.

I looked into those eyeless sockets, and the more I stared, the clearly I saw that wild, fiery, radiant orange that were beads within his skull. The fire that once instilled me with such awe, passion, and power to do anything, that inspired me to do everything had now entrapped me with the most petrifying, paralyzing trepidation... Insanity. I turned the gun onto myself, if I could just pull the trigger, I will wake up in my bed.

The world went black. I rocked back and forth in the bed “I was going up the stairs...” I whispered, my mind flashing back to going up the stairs of my walkway to my home.
“I met a man... He wasn't there.” I began to rock more, and more frantically, my nails digging into my crossed arms.
“He wasn't there again today...” I began to tear at my own skin, pulling at it
“I wish... I wish... That he would go away...” At the very end of the hall, there that pallid man stood, with his serrated grin, and his eyeless sockets. I began to scream, “I wish he would go away!” sobbing, my words becoming incomprehensible “I wish he would go away! I wish he would go away!”

The women in their clean white coats slung open the door to the white room, that was stained with red “Go away. I wish he would go away. Go away. I wish he would go away.” repeated over and over again on the walls. In one of the nurses hand was a syringe, in the arms of the other nurse was a straight jacket.
“She's done it again! We need to make sure she doesn't tear at herself anymore!”

I did not fight back, I only pinned myself to the corner as I looked on, my eyes widened, tears streaming down my face. They can't see him... I must be dreaming. I felt the prick of the needle, my body going limp the very moment I felt the fluid flush into my veins. Again, the world went black, and all I can see is his sickly grin, his pallid skin, and I would fall deeper, and deeper into those empty sockets, and closer to the fire.

garza
May 14th, 2012, 12:20 AM
Seven - You will improve your piece a hundredfold by dropping the introduction. When I see an introduction that starts explaining what's wrong with the story I usually stop there.

In the story itself you use too many words, and misuse many words. Take your opening sentence.
'It was a cold winter's day, the gray, heavy clouds loomed over the scenery.'
A high school English teacher (you know the one I mean) would fault this as a run-on sentence. I fault it for using 14 words to say 'It was a cold, cloudy day in Winter'. Otherwise, there is no information. Scenery? What scenery? Clouds, by the way, aren't really heavy. We hear the meteorologist say 'heavy cloud cover' when what he means is 'thick'. Also I fault it, and this is pure personal preference from writing news stories, for starting in the passive voice. There's noting wrong with passive voice, but for an opening sentence active voice has a bit more of a kick.

Instead of , 'Call me Ishmael', consider, 'My name is Ismael'. One draws you in, the other lies there with an air of indifference.

Now suppose you open by saying 'Clouds covered the sun and a biting wind drove the cold into my bones'. Again there are 14 words, but with these 14 the action has already started. You could continue with 'The early snow had turned to slush beneath my feet' or something to that effect, again using a severe reduction in the number of words to get across a simple idea.

These comments may not help at all. The kind of story you tell is a kind I don't know - all my reading tends in another direction. But regardless of whether it's fiction or non-fiction, horror or true-life dog stories, efficiency in word use is important. As it stands your story is over 21 hundred words long. Try this. Rewrite the story using no more than 700 words without leaving anything out.

I suspect you have a thesaurus. Give it to someone you don't like.

Neath Lankly
May 14th, 2012, 12:59 AM
I know I have problems with my tense... My tense tends to change, as well as my usage of active vs. passive voice in the first person point of view.
I'm also thinking of making a series of short stories based on this... Using the same main character if this gets enough good feedback.
Just don't know how I'm going to do it yet. So I'm looking for critique, comments, and a little help.

It was a cold winter's day, the gray (grey?), heavy clouds loomed over the scenery (scenery is a very vague word to use here In my opinion. Scenery can mean anything- maybe introduce the reader to your exact scenery first i.e is it rolling hills, steep mountains, thick forest, open plains etc.) A slight flog (fog?) made my lungs heavy (can fog make your lungs heavy though?) , (no need) and clouded my view of the freshly fallen snow. It was a shame, as the strange mix of fog and snow made a soupy, slippery slush upon the ground. With every step, I could hear the snow and mud squishing and sloshing beneath my feet.
“Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow...” I sang, my voice dripping (dripping sounds weird to me. Maybe use filled or something else) with sarcasm as the trees dropped their slush upon the street and grass. I had finally turned the corner from the intersection of Here and There (What is Here and There?). I was almost home, but with the building fog and falling snow, it felt like I was going nowhere. Houses and landmarks just seemed to grow more distant, my heavy, fog filled chest (Again maybe its just me, but can fog really make your chest heavy. I personally have never experienced the feeling but maybe its just me) just made me all the more tired, and the burden of a backpack more than just an inconvenience.

However (I would never start a new paragraph with however- the word is usually used to challenge or build upon previous sentences within the same paragraph.) , I felt my spine tingle, (no need) and tremble as my heart wibbled (Wibbled?) as I looked around. There was something--- (use ...)someone in the growing fog, and it made my fatigued , heavy heart light enough to jump and thrash at my throat like a captured, wild bird (this simile could be improved I think). I had one hand on the strap of my backpack, ready to sling it off and use it as a potential weapon when need be. This bout of paranoia was very strange for me, as this neighborhood was the safest, and most quiet in town. Beautiful houses that were inhabited by retired, well off (but not exactly rich) elderly men and women. Which was always an odd feeling for me, since I was the only 18 year old on the block, and my parents were knocking on the door to their mid to late fifties (I dont understand what you are trying to get across here).

There is absolutely no reason for this sort of feeling. The neighborhood was safe, and certainly not haunted. I begin (use 'started') to walk faster as my (use 'and') heart pumped harder, my muscles tensing as the adrenaline coursed through my veins. My walking turned into jogging, and then transitioned to a full out sprint. I felt silly with my backpack nearly slapping at my behind with every sprinting stride, a small (no need) rush of air left me with every bump of books against my back. But that was the last thing I worried about, and is probably the only thing keeping the air from being trapped by my adrenaline-knotted throat.(this sounds weird. Does adrenaline knot your throat or hinder breathing?


I jumped up the curb, and onto the walk way of my home, skipping up the stairs and sprinting to the door. I frantically pulled my pockets apart looking for the house key. As soon as I felt the key, I pulled it out of my back pocket and pecked around the keyhole a few times before finally managing to put the key in it's place. I opened the door quickly, stepped into the house and slammed the door. Locking it in place.

I was greeted by my dog, a slowly aging (again an odd description.) black and brown Dachshund, who had a few tufts of white fur upon her head, (put and instead of a comma) white fur scattered across (add 'her' here) brown paws and muzzle. She looked up at me with a wagging tail, I always imagined her saying to me, “It's nice to see you again. Now feed me.” Or something to that effect. I bent over to pet her with a smile on my face. It's nice that she is there for me when both of my parents are busy with work. The smile faded, however, as I felt that feeling again, that I was being watched or followed. I straightened my stature and turned around to look out of the crystallized, glass pane of the oaken door. There is nobody there, just the fog, the snow, and the silhouette of trees, and the even more eerie silhouette of the brick mailbox. The arch design was enough to make the silhouette look almost human like, and for some reason, that made the hair stand up on the back of my arms.

I went to the kitchen, and got a glass of water. My dog followed close behind as always, looking up at me with those fogging? eyes.
“What'chu want, you old thing?” I said with a chuckle, sipping on the water and putting the remains of the cup into the bowl. Then she drank to her heart's content. The small “slish, slish, slish” of her tongue lapping up the water was strangely comforting, and was enough to calm me back down. I went to the computer room and crudely tossed my backpack next to the desk, wondering why in the hell I didn't do that the moment I walked in the house. I straightened my tired shoulders, rolling them around.

I sat into my chair, reaching in my pocket to pull out a hinged box. A simple, green, octagonal box with small golden hinges. Pondering for a moment, I looked at it, (and) rolled it about in my hands. There was no name, no initials, no nothing. Hell, I vaguely remember how I have it in the first place (needs rewording- maybe: I vaguely remember how I came by it in the first place). Did I find it on the road? Was it given to me? Did I steal it? I can't remember for the life of me. I sat it down, just staring, wondering how I came in possession with this box.

But then, curiosity sets in. The origin of the box doesn't matter, and now the contents of said box are nipping at my mind.
“Open it!” said the little voice in my mind.
“Come on, just open it!” as I picked up the box again, “What a find!” said the little voice again. (There is nothing wrong with this, but it reminded me of Gollum in Lord of The Rings :)
I opened it to reveal a simple Onyx band, with a small, but fiery orange jewel within it. The jewel beamed like the sun, reflecting the light from my lamp. Such a small jewel was so reflective, so fiery in color that it had to have been unnatural; Some would say that it was made by man, others would say it was made by God. Wherever it came from, it had the most beautiful, perfect cut. The radiance was just absolutely breathtaking, the wild orange color seemed to instill some sort of passion in me I haven't felt before. It made my heart swell up with a different sort of awe... How could such a ring, with such a small gem affect me so radically? I fell in love with it the moment I saw it. The feeling is almost alien to me, especially with the origin of these feelings (i dont understand)... Since when did I become so materialistic?

I put the ring on my finger. It was a little loose. I almost feel bad falling so hard for this ring, but I feel so good wearing it that I just don't care! I opened my bookbag, smiling at the weirdly satisfying “zzzzip!” of the zippers, the thuds my books made as I stack them upon my desk. And then my dog began to bark at the door. “Ah, be quiet, you! It's just me stacking my books on the desk!” She began to bark more, (no need for comma) and more frantically.
“Chance!” I called out “Come on, now! Come here!” I whistled and smooched at her. She continued to bark. I groaned in frustration as I stood up, going to the front door to pick her up and stop her barking.

She's acting so strange, her little legs were bouncing her slightly from one place to the other, as if the strength of her barking was propelling her a few centimeters upwards. Her tail was stiff, the fur (use hairs) on the nape of her neck and back were bristled. I felt that pang of anxiety again, and I picked her up.
“C-Come on now. It's alright. Everything's alright...” I've never felt so nervous, so uncomfortable so many times in a row... And on top of that, the dog was acting as if there were a threat outside. I went to my father's closet, took out the old Luger. It was black, shiny, with a brown butt, and small... A .22 caliber, which was less cumbersome than it's big brother, the .45 caliber Luger. (It does not make sense to me that a character could be so freaked out by a dog barking that they went to get a gun. I know the guy is spooked but still....Maybe its a difference of culture.)

I locked my dog in my parents room, and there she continued to bark, and bark, and bark. I kept the gun at my side in the computer room, my heart pounding. What in the bloody hell is going on? I went into the living room, pacing, “Should I call the police?” I didn't know. I felt my anxiety overpower me, cloud my thoughts.. and suddenly, I was snapped out of the rush of thoughts by the sound of something falling in the garage. My jaw dropped, I stood there frozen, scared out of my mind... But I had to do something. (the lack of any real danger makes me start to believe that this character is delusional or possibly suffering from some illness. Nothing of note has happened to make your character this disturbed)

I went to the garage door, and put my ear to it... I couldn't hear any movement. I took a deep breath, swallowed it, and opened the door. The first thing I saw in there was a man. A bald man wearing a black, soaked trench coat. His back turned to the door entering the house as if he were about to leave. My heart stopped, my breath caught in my throat.
“S-Stay where you are!” I ordered him.
“Do not move!” I could have sworn the garage door was closed... Apparently it wasn't. What a mistake on my parent's end. Or perhaps mine for not even checking it. “Put your hands up where I can see them.” (this is more like it, a strange circumstance that the character reacts appropriately to. This is a great, descriptive paragraph that is easy to read, exciting and does not have complex adverbs))

The bald man did not react to my orders. (delete 'to my orders' to create even more initial suspense)
“I said put your hands up where I can see them!” I reached into my pocket for my cell phone to call the police, “Drop what you have and PUT your hands UP!” I began to lose my patience. His silence was unnerving, albeit his mocking defiance. He slowly began to turn around, and I cocked the gun. “I WILL shoot! I have the right to defend my property!” as he turned around, I froze in place again. (Again this is great. I can tell that you enjoy writing these paragraphs as they read smoothly, and as before, do not contain complex descriptions. I believe you need to relax more when writing. Write from your heart- like in these paragraphs, forget about having to describe things in a myriad of different ways that makes it hard for the reader to read)

His sockets were empty, he had the most twisted, serrated grin on his face. He slowly began to approach me, and I stood there, trembling, not knowing what to think of the figure in front of me. His skin was the color of a corpse, but he (add 'was') dressed like a modern man. White shirt, black jeans, black trenchcoat... But his face. The black, eyeless sockets that seemed to burn holes in my very soul, the serrated grin that cracked his face from cheek to cheek. I began to hyperventilate, I began to panic... His presence began to become more and more spectral as he came closer. He was absolutely silent.. His mouth began to open.. Wider, and wider until his jaw seemed to be unhinged from his face. I opened my mouth to scream, but choked, punctured, frantic squeals rushed from my tightened throat. (Brilliant, I can tell that you are right at home here)

I looked into those eyeless sockets, and the more I stared, the clearly ('clearer' or 'more clearly') I saw that (add 'the') wild, fiery, radiant orange that ( delete) were beads within his skull. The fire that once instilled me with such awe, passion, and power to do anything, that inspired me to do everything had now entrapped me with the most petrifying, paralyzing trepidation... Insanity. (can insanity be trepidation- probably, but the description is odd to use here?) I turned the gun onto myself, if I could just pull the trigger, I will wake up in my bed. (An odd response from the character. why turn the gun on yourself, when most people would try to shoot him- unless your character is under some class of spell or hallucination- which you need to make clear)

The world went black. I rocked back and forth in the bed “I was going up the stairs...” I whispered, my mind flashing back to going up the stairs of my walkway to my home.
“I met a man... He wasn't there.” I began to rock more, and more frantically, my nails digging into my crossed arms.
“He wasn't there again today...” I began to tear at my own skin, pulling at it
“I wish... I wish... That he would go away...” At the very end of the hall, there that pallid man stood, with his serrated grin, and his eyeless sockets. I began to scream, “I wish he would go away!” sobbing, my words becoming incomprehensible “I wish he would go away! I wish he would go away!”

The women in their clean white coats slung open the door to the white room, that was stained with red “Go away. I wish he would go away. Go away. I wish he would go away.” repeated over and over again on the walls. In one of the nurses hand was a syringe, in the arms of the other nurse was a straight jacket.
“She's done it again! We need to make sure she doesn't tear at herself anymore!”

I did not fight back, I only pinned myself to the corner as I looked on, my eyes widened, tears streaming down my face. They can't see him... I must be dreaming. I felt the prick of the needle, my body going limp the very moment I felt the fluid flush into my veins. Again, the world went black, and all I can see is his sickly grin, his pallid skin, and I would fall deeper, and deeper into those empty sockets, and closer to the fire.



_______
The ending is great, and the feedback I gave throughout the main body of the story was made before I reached the end. But unfortunately the 'twist' in your story didn't really surprise me, as you can see, i already viewed your character as disturbed i.e reacting in an unrealistic way to certain events- like getting a gun from the sound of a broom dropping. Your story would be much better if your reader could relate to your character i.e get your character to react more appropriately to events and then spring the surprise at the end that the character was insane.
It will leave the reader questioning his or her own actions and how could they have ever related to this insane individual at the start.

There is a lot of spelling and grammar errors. Do you use MS word? I copied and pasted it into mine- and dozens of red and green lines appeared, showing me errors.

I feel that you are trying too hard to describe things, and you are not completely at home while you are doing this. i.e voice dripping, heart wibbled, fogging eyes. It makes for difficult reading, I often had to read over the sentences a few times.

A few loose ends were left- unless you intend to continue your story, i.e what was the deal with the box that the main character could not remember finding.

Overall it was a good story, but 'fractured' with hard to read sentences and overpowering similes and adverbs. You were correct in saying that your tenses are a bit mixed up.

If you don't do it already, try reading your story out loud. If you have to stop and say the sentence again, then most likely there is something not flowing properly and it needs to be written again.

Hope my feedback helped.

Neath Lankly
May 14th, 2012, 01:02 AM
sorry- Garza got in just as I was in the middle of my reply :) but yes I totally agree with him. though I would often argue that a thesaurus can be quite helpful :)

Seven
May 14th, 2012, 01:34 AM
_______
The ending is great, and the feedback I gave throughout the main body of the story was made before I reached the end. But unfortunately the 'twist' in your story didn't really surprise me, as you can see, i already viewed your character as disturbed i.e reacting in an unrealistic way to certain events- like getting a gun from the sound of a broom dropping. Your story would be much better if your reader could relate to your character i.e get your character to react more appropriately to events and then spring the surprise at the end that the character was insane.
It will leave the reader questioning his or her own actions and how could they have ever related to this insane individual at the start.

There is a lot of spelling and grammar errors. Do you use MS word? I copied and pasted it into mine- and dozens of red and green lines appeared, showing me errors.

I feel that you are trying too hard to describe things, and you are not completely at home while you are doing this. i.e voice dripping, heart wibbled, fogging eyes. It makes for difficult reading, I often had to read over the sentences a few times.

A few loose ends were left- unless you intend to continue your story, i.e what was the deal with the box that the main character could not remember finding.

Overall it was a good story, but 'fractured' with hard to read sentences and overpowering similes and adverbs. You were correct in saying that your tenses are a bit mixed up.

If you don't do it already, try reading your story out loud. If you have to stop and say the sentence again, then most likely there is something not flowing properly and it needs to be written again.

Hope my feedback helped.
Thank you very much for the feedback, it did help, a lot. :)
I use Openoffice.org, since my Microsoft Word trial ran out not long ago, and I really, really don't want to buy it.
I was trying to convey that the person is going through a delusion, or even a dream. I was trying as hard as I possibly could to convey that the protagonist was obviously feeling like she was followed, and that what was following her was a threat. Which is why the "bout of paranoia is strange" to her.

The way I wrote it, I hoped to convey that it was a dream.
I tried to make it more emotional, the heavy fog, the tired breathing because of it...

tshuki
May 14th, 2012, 01:55 AM
It almost seemed as if you wrote about a dream, where things are somehow fuzzy - I like that. That gives this story a stone cold, a bit eerie feeling. <3
As garza said, you tend to use too much words when it is not really necessary, and the beginning was kind of 'heavy' in a sense I couldn't get into the story until the 4th paragraph or so, but it got better with every paragraph after that and the ending was good. ^u^
I think you could improve a lot, if you worked on the flow of words, like re-read the sentence many times and try to make it simpler, lighter, leaving only the most necessary expressions. :3