Rating: PG13
Word Count: 420
Feedback: I'd like an opinion on the story as a whole, as well as citing over any of the specific grammatical errors that might be in there.
Author's Comments: This is one of the first short-stories that I ever wrote, however, I liked it for some reason. I think it's more to say that I really liked the punch-line. At the time, I was going through a lot of anger and bitterness, I suppose that this was one of my ways of letting it out. I wrote this story about the same time that I wrote my first novel, in so, the story was written somewhere around two or three years ago. I decided to post it up because I am starting a website soon that will feature a lot of my short-stories, and I wanted to clean them up before posting them.
I was there, but she never knew. I was there, that much is true.
Of course, she didn't know that I was watching. It put a strain on our relationship because I knew more about her then even she knew about herself, but she had never batted as much as an eye in my direction. I saw her. I saw her the way that everyone else saw her. She was beautiful, but she never chose to see it that way when she looked in the mirror.
She saw the ugly that wasn't there. She somehow saw filfth inside her hair.
She was beautiful. Her face could have lit up an entire city with ease. Her body, not curved like a baseball thrown in the big-leagues, was perfect to me. She didn't see it that way and often times, she'd stop dead in her tracks to gaze at the abomenation looking back at her in the mirror. She didn't see the kindless of her smile because she was never smiling, not when she looked into that damn mirror!
She saw the sparkle in her eyes only when at the brink of tears. When she looked in the mirror, she saw the vomit hitting the ground and missing the toilet bowl, and all her past rejections. She looked in the mirror and she saw everything that she hadn't gotten in life, and she wondered why. She wondered why nobody asked her to prom, and she wondered why everybody told her and told her that she was skinny.
Their comfort fell upon deaf-ears. In that mirror was all her fears.
In that mirror, she put all of her pain, and what came out was something that wasn't there. She saw something that everybody else was entirely oblivious to; she saw something so ugly and flawed.
I wish I could have told her other-wise, and put ease to her conscious and vapid cries.
The images projecting themselves in-front of her weren't really there. I didn't, I couldn't, so instead, I stared.
I watched as she broke the mirror, and then a shard met her wrist.
There was nothing that could scathe her more than this monstrous shell, her decrepit exterior. All that she seemed to care about was making it all fade away, and she did it.
I wished I could have been given the opportunity to save her, but to her, on the top of this tree branch, I had merely the mind of a squirrel.
Word Count: 420
Feedback: I'd like an opinion on the story as a whole, as well as citing over any of the specific grammatical errors that might be in there.
Author's Comments: This is one of the first short-stories that I ever wrote, however, I liked it for some reason. I think it's more to say that I really liked the punch-line. At the time, I was going through a lot of anger and bitterness, I suppose that this was one of my ways of letting it out. I wrote this story about the same time that I wrote my first novel, in so, the story was written somewhere around two or three years ago. I decided to post it up because I am starting a website soon that will feature a lot of my short-stories, and I wanted to clean them up before posting them.
---
I was there, but she never knew. I was there, that much is true.
Of course, she didn't know that I was watching. It put a strain on our relationship because I knew more about her then even she knew about herself, but she had never batted as much as an eye in my direction. I saw her. I saw her the way that everyone else saw her. She was beautiful, but she never chose to see it that way when she looked in the mirror.
She saw the ugly that wasn't there. She somehow saw filfth inside her hair.
She was beautiful. Her face could have lit up an entire city with ease. Her body, not curved like a baseball thrown in the big-leagues, was perfect to me. She didn't see it that way and often times, she'd stop dead in her tracks to gaze at the abomenation looking back at her in the mirror. She didn't see the kindless of her smile because she was never smiling, not when she looked into that damn mirror!
She saw the sparkle in her eyes only when at the brink of tears. When she looked in the mirror, she saw the vomit hitting the ground and missing the toilet bowl, and all her past rejections. She looked in the mirror and she saw everything that she hadn't gotten in life, and she wondered why. She wondered why nobody asked her to prom, and she wondered why everybody told her and told her that she was skinny.
Their comfort fell upon deaf-ears. In that mirror was all her fears.
In that mirror, she put all of her pain, and what came out was something that wasn't there. She saw something that everybody else was entirely oblivious to; she saw something so ugly and flawed.
I wish I could have told her other-wise, and put ease to her conscious and vapid cries.
The images projecting themselves in-front of her weren't really there. I didn't, I couldn't, so instead, I stared.
I watched as she broke the mirror, and then a shard met her wrist.
There was nothing that could scathe her more than this monstrous shell, her decrepit exterior. All that she seemed to care about was making it all fade away, and she did it.
I wished I could have been given the opportunity to save her, but to her, on the top of this tree branch, I had merely the mind of a squirrel.
