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--RosieOnTheRun (from reality)--

United Kingdom

i wouldn't call myself a writer
im just a kid who writes

Message to Readers

*****Whats your favourite and why?*****

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR TAKING THE TIME TO READ THESE!

If you review or comment on one of my entries (Wouldn't expect you to do them all!) I will review (/comment on) one of yours- I know how important reviews are! i;d rather you commented or reviewed rather than just liking!

Possible entries- PLEASE REVIEW/COMMENT

August 16, 2019

1 My traitor heart

I ran today, against doctor's orders.

When I got home my mother, flustered, busy, coping, did the basic checks (my heart rate, breathing etc.) and hugged me hard.

My father, silent, stressed, cracking, told me off then turned away with a sob.

My brother, 14, moody, normal, put down his phone with shaking hands.

He must have seen something in my eyes, because he said; `There's still time sis, you’re on the waiting list for a heart’

‘Waiting? I can’t wait- I’m out of time’

I walk out and try to ignore the beating of my broken, traitor heart.

2 Rain

I have a friend who stood for an hour in the rain. I was not there but my other friends, bemused, told me of how she stood outside on the tarmac playing field, no coat, no nothing, not walking, just standing; the rain dancing around her feet.

I asked her why and she told me she just liked it.

Maybe she liked how the rain hid her tears.
Maybe she liked being alone.
Maybe she liked the melody blocking out her thoughts.
Maybe she was letting the rain wash away the dirt.

Maybe it was a baptism of sorts.

3 Hair

Slice. Rasp. Shudder. My hands shake. Don’t stop till the floor is littered with hair. My reflection recoils. My new fringe cuts across my forehead like a scar, and beneath it my eyes are visible; too visible. They have seen too much. Scissors fall and clang against the floor like a plague bell, calling ‘bring out your dead’. But there is no coffin yet designed for a heart, nor soul.

Later I trim my fringe till it’s presentable. That’s all that matters. Nobody else will meet my eyes, those eyes, looking at me beseechingly from beneath my brunette scar.


4 Mirror Mirror 

My knuckles bleed, red roads crisscrossing my fingers. The mirror is shattered. I peer at my reflection, and she stares back. My face fractures, a nightmare mosaic, seven years of pain. Only her bodiless blue eyes seem undamaged. Those eyes. I take the mirror off the wall with shaking hands. The red writing on the back is warped but still illegable. ‘Congratulations son!’. My mother wrote it but beneath it my father had sketched a small caricature of a blue eyed woman in white and a man in a suit. I take my bloodied finger and paint her dress red. 
 
@ajamwal, @weirdo, @CriwSF, @aryelee, @Maryam Q, Thank you for your feedback!

@Maryam Q  and @aryelee, your comments were particularly helpful and helped me improve these pieces!

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5 Comments
  • DaBolo

    I kind of like the 4 better. However I would go for 1 as it works better as a flash fiction.


    about 22 hours ago
  • Wicked!

    you're welcome :)
    I've posted a similar piece, it'd be lovely if you could help with that.


    1 day ago
  • --RosieOnTheRun (from reality)--

    @Wicked, @K.Marie Christen thank you for your feedback!


    1 day ago
  • Wicked!

    I think that the first and the second are the best. The first because, like @K. Marie Christen said, the character is very vivid; the second one because it's written very beautifully and it just made me think, you know? It's the kind of story that stays with you after you've read it. I dunno if this makes sense, though.


    1 day ago
  • K. Marie Christen

    I think my favorite is the first, simply because it called to me more. I felt the character in that one better than I did in any other. Great job!


    2 days ago