Remember

[Gladdy11]

This is a short story I wrote for school. Please post criticism and comments. Thanks!

Remember

The long arms of the rusted clock ticked heavily on the rust-coloured wall. Awards and degrees were glued with pretention around the room, all clad in rusted frames. He sat directly across from me, notebook in hand, looking at me with dissecting eyes.

“Let us begin.”
The leather was cold. The air was chilled. I shivered.

“How are you today, Miss Grey?”
I was numbed with agony. I was shaking with fear. I felt cold.

“I feel fine.”
“Can you tell me what happened that night?”

I gasped for air. As my breathing became shallow, his became deep. With his bestial face next to mine, I could taste the alcohol in his sweat as it slowly dripped into my mouth. I could taste his hunger. I could taste his lust. I squirmed under his tight grasp, trying to escape. But with every attempt, his claws sunk deeper. Sharp nails dug through my skin. They dug through my innocence. I felt cold.

“No. I can’t remember a thing.”
“Can you tell me what he looked like?”

His icy eyes burned my pupils. They were blue, like mine. His gaunt face was twitching and quivering like the face of a rabid animal. It was almost as if he was trying to suppress his diseased hunger. His hair blended seamlessly into the darkness, as if it were one with the black abyss. Yet, despite the shadows, I could still see those frozen eyes glistening in the moonlight. Those cold, cold eyes. The eyes of a man who once knew love, but who now preaches indifference. His bushy mustache was drenched in perspiration. The wrinkled craters of his face were injected with sweat. As his aged body rocked back and forth, I could sense his fear. I could sense his hunger. I could sense his lust. I felt cold.

“No. I can’t remember. I never saw.”
“Did he say anything to you?”

My sweet angel. His lips murmured the same phrase again and again as he tore away at my purity. My sweet angel. My sweet, sweet angel. I felt cold.

“No. I don’t remember. I can’t remember.”
I noticed a man standing at the door. The man looked at me with frozen eyes.

“Hello, Mr. Grey.”
“Hello, Doctor.” He turned to me. “Are you ready to go, my sweet angel?”

I felt cold.
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[skib]

Wonderfully written!

[kevinthediltz]

Chilling. And very sad. But a beautiful story.

[Gladdy11]

Thank you. I'm glad you enjoyed. I'm submitting it for a course shortly. Any critiques?

[kevinthediltz]

I was confused by the man at the end. Is he the abuser the victim speaks of? And if so, what is his relationship to the victim?
That part confused me a little bit.

[Gladdy11]

Well the victim's name is "Ms. Grey", and at the end, the man who enters is "Mr. Grey".

So they are father and daughter (at least that is what i was attempting to convey). Does that make more sense now?

[kevinthediltz]

Yes it does. Maybe you could change the Ms. to Miss.
Ms. can be confusing.
And can you please tell me that this story isnt based on your own experiance?

[Gladdy11]

Haha it is purely fictional!
But thank you for that comment and i will change it. :D

[kevinthediltz]

No problem. Were here to help. :)

[a_little_wisp]

This. Gave me. The chills.

EXCELLENT, GLADDY. Short, but by god, it really hits you hard in the gut! You know what got me? When you wrote: "They were blue, like mine."

DANG. You're good, you're good. Well-written! Bravo!

Edit: I hope you made an A! :D

[Gladdy11]

This. Gave me. The chills.

EXCELLENT, GLADDY. Short, but by god, it really hits you hard in the gut! You know what got me? When you wrote: "They were blue, like mine."

DANG. You're good, you're good. Well-written! Bravo!

Edit: I hope you made an A! :D

Thank you very much!:) I'm actually handing it in tomorrow, and I posted it on the site to hopefully get some constructive criticism (whether it be style or content)...
I appreciate those kind words! (And I'm glad you caught that hint!)

[K.M Roberston]

*low whistle* Amazing...........

[cristina21]

Hi Gladdy11, nice story..
i hope that you can also read my story
entitled

a journey to love...

[Gladdy11]

thanks. any other comments?

[prendrelemick]

I've not much to add, just another "well done". I think you revealed just enough at the end. It was really chilling.

[AuntShecky]

You asked for critiques, so here goes:



Remember

I would try a more expressive title. Who is
supposed to be reminded to "remember" something, the
therapist, the doctor, the reader?

Don't understand this:
The long arms of the rusted clock ticked heavily on the rust-coloured wall.

Or This:
Awards and degrees were glued with pretention

around the room, all clad in rusted frames.

you've got a misplaced modifier: the room is all clad in rusted frames?

Same with "hand" and "looking at me"
He sat directly across from me, notebook in hand, looking at me with dissecting eyes.
This image I believe is unintended. Too gruesome "by half."

A cliché:
I gasped for air.


I would try to vary your sentence structure, so in order to break up the tedium of the rhythm in this paragraph:

His icy eyes burned my pupils. They were blue, like mine. His gaunt face was twitching and quivering like the face of a rabid animal. It was almost as if he was trying to suppress his diseased hunger. His hair blended seamlessly into the darkness, as if it were one with the black abyss. Yet, despite the shadows, I could still see those frozen eyes glistening in the moonlight. Those cold, cold eyes. The eyes of a man who once knew love, but who now preaches indifference. His bushy mustache was drenched in perspiration. The wrinkled craters of his face were injected with sweat. As his aged body rocked back and forth, I could sense his fear. I could sense his hunger. I could sense his lust. I felt cold.


I do understand that you are attempting an extended metaphor with the "coldness" but to this reader it is simply put out there:

I felt cold.

Maybe she should have asked the psychiatrist to raise the thermostat?

Now, there is some confusion. Is the narrator the victim of two tormenters -- the person whose abuse brought her to therapy in the first place plus the therapist?
I'm all for subtlety in short stories, but this one seems to have left out some crucial details to give the reader a better clue as to what is going on.

How does this piece of fiction differ from the testimonies given by various victims on syndicated daytime tv shows?
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[chaplin]

The story's sole purpose, its raison d'etre, seems to be only for its surprise ending--a worn literary implement, that, even if used uniquely, can overshadow, if not entirely obscure, everything in the text besides itself. A surprise ending is not a literary sin in itself (though it often heralds transgression), but it is sinful, I believe, when all substantive detail--in the characters, images, action--is sacrificed for that little moment of "Ohhh" in the last sentence.

I would also advise, as Aunt Shecky did, improving all metaphorical cliches ("like the face of a rabid animal") and descriptive cliches ("blended seamlessly", "black abyss"). The section that holds these phrases could instantly be improved by simply trimming its verbiage (e.g. "It was almost as if", "as if it were"). The words are useless filler, they don't "tell" (in Strunk's phrase); this produces an unintended sense of distance from the action, a particularly unwanted result considering what is happening.

[nathanf]

The story's sole purpose, its raison d'etre, seems to be only for its surprise ending--a worn literary implement, that, even if used uniquely, can overshadow, if not entirely obscure, everything in the text besides itself. A surprise ending is not a literary sin in itself (though it often heralds transgression), but it is sinful, I believe, when all substantive detail--in the characters, images, action--is sacrificed for that little moment of "Ohhh" in the last sentence.

I would also advise, as Aunt Shecky did, improving all metaphorical cliches ("like the face of a rabid animal") and descriptive cliches ("blended seamlessly", "black abyss"). The section that holds these phrases could instantly be improved by simply trimming its verbiage (e.g. "It was almost as if", "as if it were"). The words are useless filler, they don't "tell" (in Strunk's phrase); this produces an unintended sense of distance from the action, a particularly unwanted result considering what is happening.


however this " useless filler " of which you speak does not truely find a reader distanced from this particular short story, however the advice you give would be something of high relevance to the author of a novel where the reader may find themselves slightly bored and irritated by the pages which seem to have nothing of any form of substance.

but yes its true, you don't want wasted words which is something I must agree with, however in this situation there were very few unnecessary words and something I didn't see in this story was filler or wasted sentences or words.

repetition is something I saw alot, yet that just solidifies the point you are trying to make about the womans feelings.

it was used quite alot though " the leather was cold ", " I felt cold " x4, " those cold, cold eyes "

overall its quite a gripping short story, I didn't completely understand all parts of the story that you were trying to portray untill you explained them in later posts, but most of the story was self-explanatory

I have to admit I am tired from a busy week so I have only read the story once and don't have time to give an in-depth anaylsis :crash:

overall its very creepy, and very gripping :D

well done