Shatter Glass

[xloudxloud]

Nataly

I went through my apartment one last time, making sure that nothing would need attention in the near future. My dog, Mister Doctor Fluffingtons, had been dropped off earlier that morning with Emmy; the fridge, completely emptied; and most of my possessions, boxed. The grey walls and empty space gave the apartment an unwelcoming appearance. Though I had lived there for three years, it looked as if I recently moved in. All that was missing was the new paint smell.
Glancing down the short hallway, I frowned. Light shone behind the bedroom door; light I could have sworn had not been on since the night before. I gently pushed open the door. The light fixture in the center of the ceiling emitted no florescent glow. Puzzled, I entered the room. At once I found the source of light. I had not realized that the sun was still up. The window allowed the departing sunlight in, lighting the room in an amazing glow. I gazed around the room as though seeing it for the first time. For a moment my eyes deceived me and the room became friendly. Reality set in quickly, though, because the lighting could not overcome the dullness of the room.
I took inventory of my room. My bare mattress lay in a shadowed corner. Beside it sat my plastic set of drawers. That was it. Turning to leave, an oak frame poking out from behind the white plastic caught my eye. I pivoted on my left foot and approached cautiously as though the wood posed a threat to my safety. Running a pale hand over the frame, I wondered what it could be. Upon realizing what the frame belonged to, I tried to escape from the room but my traitorous curiosity ruthlessly dragged me back.
Reluctant fingers pulled the frame out and my reflection immediately confronted me. I gasped. The image shocked and disgusted me. Dark circles encased bloodshot hazel eyes set against a gaunt, pale face. Grey lips attempted smiling but the feature appeared to be so out of place that the only similarity between the smile and the face was the apparent despair. The dark scarlet locks that I once took pride in fell limp and tangled at my shoulders. This ghastly head rested upon thin shoulders. My impressive height of 5'2" appeared diminutive in the glass. A bony figure accompanied this entourage. My ribs protruded just enough to be counted through my shirt. All in all I looked like a sleep deprived, anorexic Barbie doll suffering from anemia and the torment of a malicious toddler.
Self-consciously I pulled an orange hoodie on in hope of improving the picture in the mirror. The effect proved mostly opposite of what I had been hoping. The jacket engulfed me, ending just short of my knobby knees. Sure, now I could no longer see the body that terrified me but now I felt like a child playing dress up in daddy's clothes. I should have been happy enough with that but the knowledge of what hid underneath the jacket drained what satisfaction I should have derived from this accomplishment.
I stood there planted to the spot, staring in disbelief.
This...this...horrible creature was me. The elfish mischievousness that had once been characteristic of me, the liveliness from my eyes, my happiness…it all appeared to have evaporated, leaving only a faint residue of who I used to be. Though no one would have viewed me as significantly pretty, I could now be considered repulsively grotesque. Desperately I tried to wrench my eyes away from the reflective glass only to find myself frozen. My merciful hands acted on their own accord and violently flung the mirror against the wall. Shards of shattered glass showered me but I did not flinch.
In all honesty, I didn't realize what I had just done. Minutes passed before my eyes moved away from where the mirror had stood. Other than a few scratches, I came out physically fine from the encounter. Without looking around at the mess that surrounded me, I walked out of the room. Glass crunched beneath my boots until I reached the end of the hall. Sauntering to the front door, the crunching resumed. I glanced down to see the broken glass of several picture frames and torn pictures. Apathetically I stepped out the door and into the breezeway. Those discarded pieces of paper only served as memoirs of time wasted and could do little good. Both the pictures and the subject had no value.
Getting into my rusting black Camaro proved somewhat difficult; my key just didn't seem to fit as it should. Spotting my image in the side mirror, I realized that I hadn't escaped from myself. I stalked myself and I would do so until I annihilated all available mediums and, ultimately, the source. Panicked and slightly frustrated, I circled my vehicle, systematically smashing the mirrors before sitting down and then lowered all four windows to avoid my haunting reflection. With that finished, I pulled out erratically, nearly ramming into a pickup parked near by, and made my way out of the compound.
Turning onto S.P.I.D., I made my way to the island. The shimmering water of the Laguna Madre managed to capture my interest for short time causing my foot to unconsciously slide off the gas pedal. My Camaro nearly ceased to move. The car behind me didn’t seem to appreciate me parking in the middle of the causeway and urged me to accelerate with a forceful love tab to my back bumper. My body jerked forward and I instinctively floored it to avoid further reprimand. Twisting halfway around in my seat, my eyes frantically sought approaching headlights.
Satisfied that the car had chosen not to pursue me, I relaxed and turned my attention to the road in front of me. Immediately I slammed the brakes to evade collision with a red SUV. The steering wheel thankfully stopped me from flying through the windshield but I couldn’t help but curse the damned thing’s existence as I violently bounced off of it and hit the hard leather of my seat. Dazed and breathless, I sat still a moment before assessing my injuries. Quite a few sore spots, a possible bruise, an oncoming headache; I’d live. I eased my foot down on the gas, unwilling to remain immobile for long in fear that that car would catch up with me again.
After that little stunt I calmed myself. Panic soon began to subside and retreat to the dark corners of my frail mind. Though I held a tight reign on my emotions, chaos controlled my thoughts. In response to the stress, my body put itself on cruise control thereby eliminating the stress associated with driving.
I drove slowly, carefully reviewing the past year's events, justifying my cause. The effects of my actions I barely skimmed because thinking about them made questioning my resolution possible. Doubt naturally followed questioning and all would end in indecision. I would not back down now. I couldn't. Not now.
My mind drifted, now searching desperately for any flaw that might threaten my plans. The obnoxious blaring of passing vehicles fell on deaf ears. I neither noticed nor cared about them. My occupied mind could not process these additional stimuli. Though bodily driving, I could not have been further from the busy causeway. I instead relived the day, concentrating on my conversation with Emmy, examining it thoroughly for clues that could have unveiled my intent.

The emptiness of the small café was nearly suffocating; all conversations hung stagnant in the air. The cashier leaned lethargically against the counter and the few customers present sat in a sleepy stupor. The clock taunted me with its endless ticking away of time. I sat in a booth near the back, tapping my fingers on the table. My party had not yet arrived, leaving me stranded in this oppressive environment. Impatience elongated every second, giving the ten minutes I had been there the illusion of being an hour. I fidgeted in my seat, resisting the urge to bolt madly out the door.
Just as my will failed me and I stood to leave, Esmeralda- Emmy for short- waltzed gaily into the café. Her curly black hair and vivid green eyes made her look like the gypsy girl that was her namesake. Emmy's very presence seemed to breathe life into the room. A steady murmuring filled the room and the atmosphere lightened, giving space for respiration. For a moment I sat unseen, watching Emmy and the influence she had on her surroundings. In that moment everything felt better. With the tick of the clock the disappeared. I saw a guy enter close behind her, laughing when Emmy mumbled something over her shoulder. They were too far for my weak eyes to discern features, so the man's identity remained hidden from me.
At first I thought him to be another customer who coincidentally had stuck a dialogue with my friend and, in hopes of continuing their conversation, had followed her into the café. These delusions were swiftly swept away as the pair approached. My spirit began to wilt the nearer they got.
“Hey, Emmy,” I said when she stopped in front of me. By habit, I braced myself.
“Nat! Thank God you’re still here," Emmy squealed, throwing her bronze arms around my neck. "Dude, I think I finally managed to kill my car. When I try starting it, it sputters then smokes really bad. Its like worse than being in a room with five guys smoking menthols. Seriously, its gross. Don't laugh. And, on top of that, its leaking unknown liquids.” Emmy began casually as though cars did this on a regular basis.
Behind her the man rolled his eyes and a ghost of a smile graced my lips. Neither the guy’s reaction nor Emmy’s story about her car surprised me. I had known them much too long for something as small as this to surprise me. Some things never change. Unfortunately many things did and with grievous results.
“Anyways I had to call one of my friends to drive me over here. Since he drove me all the way over here, I thought it would be nice if I invited him to eat with us. It’s ok with you, right?” She punctuated her last sentence by hauling the boy forward. “Nataly, meet Aidan and, yeah, visa versa.”
I glanced up, not meeting Aidan's gaze, before allowing my eyes to dart back to my lap. His stare almost burned a hole through my soul. A few awkward seconds passed before I realized that they were waiting for my response.
“Hey... Aidan. How ya been?” I said uncomfortably, eyes fixed to the tabletop.
“Good as always Pixie Girl. It’s been a while.” His southern drawl drew out his words just as it always did, but his deep seemed tinged with pain. I rewarded him with my attention for his emphasis on the word ‘pixie’. A fleeting look towards him revealed nothing; his dark orbs were clouded in thought but the smile lingered.
Emmy slid next to me. The look on her face displayed her confusion and, if I read her correctly, slight disappointment. The disappointment bewildered me but the confusion was understandable. I easily predicted her next question, word for word.
"So yall know each other" Emmy said, stating the obvious. When neither of us replied she sighed. After making sporadic hand gestures intended to initiate answers, she hit her hands against the table, "When, where, and how?" she asked exasperated with our lack of cooperation.
The waiter saved Aidan and I from Emmy's interrogation. He had interpreted frustration and violent gestures as a demand for service. His arrival left her flustered but quiet. After hastily distributing menus and the brief introductory required of him, he disappeared.
I stared at where he had been, eyes large. Everything had happened so quickly that I wasn't quite able to process what had just occurred. It felt as though I had missed something important that would make the waiter's sudden appearance and disappearance make sense. "Huh."
They laughed and I smiled embarrassedly, color rising to my cheeks. Soon, however, the incident was forgotten; their attention being diverted to the meal options given to them. They discussed possible orders while I sat there: excluded. I skimmed through the menu before deciding on chocolate chip pancakes with scrambled eggs and bacon.
Before long, the waiter returned. Aidan placed a lengthy order, just enough to feed a city in a third world country. Emmy's was simple and fat free since a new diet fad dictated what she could eat. He listened intently to them and recorded half of what they said. While giving my order, the waiter turned to walk away. He would have left and I wouldn't have stopped him but Aidan did.
"Hey", Aidan nearly shouted to get the waiter's attention. It worked and he spun around. "My friend here will have a stack of flap jacks with chocolate bits in 'em and scrambled eggs with bacon. I know you done wrote it down and all but I just wanted to make sure you got it right since she talks so damned soft. Its easy to misunderstand her and I really didn't want ya to have to fix it later 'cause you be busy enough as it is." Aidan said as amicably as he could. His eyes belied his friendliness though, a glint of anger hid in them. The now red waiter hurriedly scribbled down my order and mumbled quick apologies before fleeing out of sight.
Emmy promptly burst out laughing. Other customers eyed her curiously, but, finding nothing of interest, resumed their previous actions. Aidan sat across from us. His eyes were still on me, I knew this even without looking. They seemed to be questioning me, but on what, I did not know. To distract myself from him I concentrated on Emmy, making odd comments that only renewed her laughter. When Emmy calmed enough to speak, her and Aidan aimlessly chattered, occasionally drawing me into their twistedly friendly conversation, while we waited for our food.
“Your dog misses you Nataly. Its been whining since you dropped it off this morning. I feel so bad, its so pathetic. Fluffy refuses to even play with me, he just mopes around my house. It creeps me out,” Emmy complained.
“What are you doing to my poor baby? Mister Doctor Fluffingtons loves people, especially you, and acts like a crack addict when anyone plays with him,” I said suspiciously.
Aidan winced. “Poor mutt. What did the damned thing do to deserve a name like that? I would never have given him to you if I knew you would pick on him. Look, you even turned it emo.”
The waiter returned and we abandoned the discussion about my Fluffy. As soon as the orders touched the table, Aidan began inhaling his food. I watched half amazed as he demolished his food. Emmy didn't seem to notice and she went on talking between bites of colorless, and likely tasteless, mush. I listened while tearing up my pancakes and often gave commentary that they either ignored or unheard. Aidan had apparently finished off his plates and was currently attempting to beg food off Emmy, claiming starvation.
Swatting his hand away, Emmy pointed at me and cried "Ask Nataly for Christ's sake. She's hardly eaten a thing. You are not getting my food. I'm hungry!" Emmy emphasized her last statement by shoveling a large spoonful of the questionable substance into her mouth. By this point, however, Aidan‘s focus had been redirected. I looked at him with owl eyes, suddenly the center of attention.
"You haven't eaten," he said slowly, staring at my plate.
"I, umm… I have", I stumbled defensively. "I'm not really hungry though. You can have it if you want. "
I pushed the plate toward him. He took it without another word. He looked as though he had something to say but instead he mindlessly played with his newly acquired food. Emmy continued a conversation with herself, not noticing her audience's lack of response. Soon I decided it was about time for me to leave. But before I could I had to get the information I had originally came for.
"Sweetie, you know your parents house. Do they still only use it in the summer?" I asked offhandedly. Emmy nodded. "So no one would be there this time of year, right?" Again she nodded, this time looking curious. I didn't look to see Aidan's reaction.
"Um yeah, why?" Emmy asked. I shrugged my reply and she immediately wrote it off as an irrelevant, random question. The conversation turned to movie critiques and my little question was forgotten. After a few minutes I grabbed my purse to make my departure.
"Sorry guys but I gotta go," I said as I stood to leave. Emmy pouted and half-heartedly hugged me goodbye. Aidan did nothing. Pulling a twenty out of my wallet for my food and dropping it on the table, I left.
I came back to reality to see that I had already passed the street. Cursing profusely, I did an illegal U-ie, which called for the screeching of brakes and the pounding of horns from other drivers. I ignored them and backtracked my way several streets until I could pull onto Whitecap. From here I had to watch the street signs carefully, not quite remembering how far down the street was. Finally I turned onto Gunwale and into the driveway of the second house from the left. Emmy's summer house looked gorgeous despite its obvious months of neglect. Newspapers and dead leaves littered the ground.
I parked my car on the gravel, leaving my key in the ignition, before heading around to open my trunk. This proved to be difficult without keys so I went back to my open door, muttering my frustrations. Successfully swinging up the hood of my trunk, I attempted to lift up my cargo only to find that the box probably weighed as much as I did. Luckily I only had to somehow get it to the ground; the thing had wheels. Grabbing the handle, I threw my weight against the wind and was rewarded with the loud clang of the box hitting concrete. Rolling it on the smooth concrete driveway was easy, the fun part would be getting it up the steps leading to the backyard. Somehow managing this feat should be considered a miracle.
Emmy's pool was large and beautiful. Her mother had taken pride in the landscape of her backyard. It had been well maintained, few scattered leaves lay on the ground and none in the water that I could see. The water attracted me just as a bug zapper drew unsuspecting insects to their untimely demise. I practically floated towards the pool, the box trailing behind me. I stopped near the edge, the wind making it hard.
I unpacked my old gymnastic weights, strapping them on as I did. They were from my high school years... happier times. Now they served to cement my resolution, to prevent me from backing down. The time for that had long passed. Each weighed between two to three pounds, except for the larger abdominal one, coming in at five. Both arms had three, all six in different states of neglect. By the time I finished my upper limbs, I could hardly move them. Regardless of that fact I stubbornly continued to secure the sand weights to my body. My task completed, I felt as though the gravity surrounding me had increased tenfold. The harsh wind forced me completely to the ground. Wheezing became laborious so I leaned against the box, gathering my strength.
After a moment, my hand searched the box wearily for more. Finding none, it began to withdraw only to brush against something cool and smooth. I tried grasping the thing but it slipped and fell back to the bottom. Determined, I repeated the attempt. Finally cold fingers dragged the object up against the side of the box until it went over the edge and clattered to the ground just out of my reach.
Breathing heavily, I forced myself to my knees to inspect it. Shock overtook me as I realized it was a picture frame. They had all been disposed of. In a daze, I stumbled to my feet, taking the picture with me but not looking at it. What felt like a hundred pounds threw me off balance and I struggled to stay up. Unsure of what to do with it, I just stood there.
Curiosity bitterly nagged from the far regions of my feeble mind. An odd feeling overwhelmed me; desperately dreading seeing it yet having the insatiable need to. I caved and brought the picture frame as close as my sand laden arms would allow. The back faced me and some time passed before I could sufficiently brace myself. Quivering digits slowly flipped the picture over. My blood froze solid in my veins.
The picture revealed a radiant young redhead hanging off a man's broad, tan shoulders. The couple looked unsteady and ready to topple over. A weather-worn pier rail behind them didn’t look adequate to prevent them from falling through. A stranger took it at Cole Park the summer before last. It predated Aidan drifting away, the medications, and just everything turning against me. The image represented everything I had once been. I hardly remembered this girl. It had been so long since she existed, so long since I had really existed. My chance at life resided in the girl in the photo and I wanted that chance.
The picture slipped from my hands and shattered at my boots. Tears sprung to my eyes and heavy arms fell to my sides. I backed away a step, sobbing. I can’t completely recollect everything, it happened so quickly and unexpectedly. Before I could retreat from the edge of the pool, a desperate shout from the back gate caused me to spin around, surprised. My boot slipped on the shards of glass and I plunged into the freezing depths of the water. I hadn't even enough the time to scream. The weights dragged me down. My struggles did little to save me. I broke the surface once and grabbed wildly at air before all strength left me. Darkness crept around the ridges of my sight as I sunk again. My last coherent thought pertained to the irony of my situation and I would have laughed if possible. I inhaled water, the chlorine burning my throat. Soon everything faded to black.

[xloudxloud]

I know its similar to everyother anguishy teen writing but this is my take on it.Criticism is welcomed. This is a pet of mine and I would very much like to improve it. So make it bleed...

[NewClassic]

Originally Posted by xloudxloud

I know its similar to everyother anguishy teen writing but this is my take on it.Criticism is welcomed. This is a pet of mine and I would very much like to improve it. So make it bleed...

Normally, I'd jump up and gladly write a full review and critique for anyone asking for it. It's been busy for NewClassic, so I've been a little slow getting my butt off the ground and into a writing mode. But here it is, at length. Remember kiddies, if you're easily offended, avoid my reviews like the plague.

• Adjectives - They're the delicious little parts of speech that describe an object or verb with more detail or clarity. The little car, the green elf (needs food badly), the superfluous explanation of basic parts of speech. The problem with adjectives is they're stackable, like LEGOs. Except you can't make too many adjectives stacked up look good, no matter how hard you try. Oversaturation of detail is the first thing to literally destroy any rhythm or flow a written piece can ever hope to have. That being said, you've oversaturated this piece. I got to the second paragraph on my first sitting before closing the window, vowing to go back. It took another six sittings to get into the meat of the story, and that didn't get me very far. I simply could not just read it, I had to work to read it. This is not a good thing. You've written the Eye of Argon (Wiki if you don't understand the comparison.) of the Teen Angst world. This is your biggest, and only major flaw.
• It's a Big One - Seriously, if I had seen anyone else comment, I wouldn't've taken the time to read it. It's a flaw that cripples the story beyond all reasonable doubt.
• Details > Story? - If you sink this piece down to the barest of bones, removing all of the details, settings, and everything, what little progression occurs does so as a disjointed pace, and serves to further prance about, distracting the reader several times before ultimately coming to a dead stop against a spike-laden wall. Because the story is so unappealing, even after taking days to get through it, I felt like I'd been robbed of some prize I justifably deserved after forcing my way through the piece. There's so much that this piece could be, but it hardly scratches the paint.
• Arbitrary Progression - You very thoroughly walk us through the character's actions, and what she's thinking and doing, but you slam the door on us, drawing the blinds, whenever we start inching up on the why. "Why?" is an important question in a story because it really tells us everything about the character. After the whole piece, I feel like she was doing things, and I was watching it from across the yard. I didn't see any reason for her to be doing the things she did, except that she was just doing them. As I probed closer, I found more things she had done, but hardly why. Maybe the teen angst adrift thing was characterized well because of it, but I felt like it was so far withdraw from the now by thinking about the then, that when I tried to figure out her current actions motives (because you covered her history and it's reasoning very clearly), I found nothing but a woman pinned to the bottom of a pool, bleeding bubbles.
• Film Noir Narrative - Something about this piece to me just screamed Sin City style narratives. Maybe it was the main character's voice, the way she composed her thoughts and inner monologues. This would be fine, except it fits about as well in this piece as a bright-clown in a funeral. The fact that she monologues is the problem. If she thought instead of spoke in her head, it probably wouldn't set off any of my alarms. It just made me blink a few times, further serving to make freakin' sure I stay the hell away from a good reading rhythm.
• Sinking Interest - As I've said before, the longer I waded, the less I felt like reading. By my fifth sitting, I felt like not reading anymore. I honestly can't stress this enough. A reading rhythm is akin to immersion in a video game. If I can't sit down and suspend disbelief, then you've lost me. It's why I always prattle on about sentence structure, word choice, flow, and all of those other uppity comments I make on every story. You need, need to establish a flow.

So, now that I've beat it into a ground, saturation and flow. Ease up on the details. A par story with weak flow and oversaturation of detail just isn't something that's easy to sit down and read. If anything, it would feel more like a chore. If you aren't seeing it, and don't understand, then sit down with any contract or Terms of Service Agreement and pour through the material. They have to qualify and quantify so much information, you get dropped off feeling like you've missed so much by processing every little thing.

I'm not sure what to equate it to. Editting, style, teaching. I don't know, but it's not working for you. Lemme try and prune down your first paragraph, without changing any of the words, just removing those I don't feel to be nessecary.

I went through my apartment one last time. My dog had been dropped off earlier that morning with Emmy and most of my possessions boxed. The grey walls and empty space gave the apartment an unwelcoming appearance, as if I recently moved in. All that was missing was the new paint smell.

Even with those deletions, it still seems jumpy, almost like it wants my eyes to dart randomly with each new sentence. Lemme try and re-write this time, see what I can do...

I made a final check through my apartment. The dog was dropped off, my fridge was empy, and the pictures from the wall were sorted into boxes. The walls were barren and grey, as if I had just moved in. All that was missing was the new paint smell.

Hopefully I illustrated my point, or at the very least, gave you some ideas for how you could fix it, should you disagree with me. In total, I wish I could say more than, "refine the idea, consider the plot, and re-write the whole thing," but that's really all I can think to say.

Assuming you wanna follow my advice, here's some homework. I want you to outline every timeline-based-event in the piece, write their progression (this includes flashbacks), and without the flashback, rewrite it. Keep it under 1,000 words and as bare-bones as you can make it. It should read like "This, then this, then this."

Hope I helped, good luck.