Writing The Death of the Broken Heart [R]

[KarmaOfChaos]

[color=deeppink][size=1]For those of you who visit the art forum, these two pieces are part of the same project as "The Womb". In the Free Choice part of it, we are allowed to do artwork, prose, persuasive pieces, etc - basically whatever we feel most comfortable doing. I like artwork and narrative prose, so that's where I'm focusing my efforts. These two stories are part of my Free Choice. I'm looking for constructive criticism here, so any areas that you can point out as particularily bad or good would be extremely helpful to me. Also, grammar and spelling errors - I went through with spell check, and then did several manual checks, but there's always those one or two mistakes that you don't catch.

I want to improve them so I can get the best grade possible, so once again, comments with thought are greatly appreciated.


[b]The Death of the Broken Heart[/b]

She leveled the gun at the girl in the mirror. There was so much pain in that face, so many bitter memories and dreams that had been warped and twisted into nightmares. A whimper escaped her red, wet lips, and she almost collapsed onto the floor again. Swallowing down the sobs and nearly choking, she stood up once more, wiping her running nose with the edge of an already dirty sleeve.

?Fool?you?re such a fool,? she whispered, her voice laden with shame and guilt, ?How could you fall like that to the same old trap? Boys never have any good intentions. They just want to slip and slide into your pants and then walk away without even glancing back. Or worse yet, keep you hanging, keep you dangling on that fragile thread of hope that you hold so dearly?? her voice died down.

?And you fell for it!? she screamed suddenly, looking up, her face mangled with rage, ?You bought into every single empty promise he ever gave you! Like a desperate whore, you clung to those promises. And look what happened. He cut the thread, with sharp and shining scissors, and the fall now has nearly killed you. Your pathetic little broken heart is nothing but a joke; can you see how sad it looks? That weak, tiny heart, barely beating, as he walks away arm in arm with another girl. It?s disgusting, how pitiful it is!?

Her breathing now came in gasps, and her racing pulse was shallow, hardly there beneath the pale skin. Angry tears streamed down from eyes clenched shut, irritating her red, swollen face even more. The gun shook in her hand, and then fell to her side, and she sank down against the bathroom counter. Lips parted, she emitted a heart-wrenching wail from deep in her throat, then settled into silence. ?Fool,? she murmured again, ?Stupid, naïve, foolish girl.?

This lasted for several moments, as she clicked the gun?s safety on and off in a soothing, repetitive motion. Having recomposed herself, she stumbled up again, and faced the mirror. After meeting the girl?s questioning stare, she looked down and sighed.

?Living hurts sometimes. The pain sinks in, becoming a part of me. All around?the air is saturated with melancholy. I can?t seem to escape it; I can?t seem to remember how to smile. No one is happy anymore. Passing friends and faces but no friendly faces because they?ve all got their own pain inside that they hide with lies and shakes of their heads,? her voice was quiet, and she took a moment to think, then continued, ?Home is no better. Home is full of hate and this house gives off an angry black aura for all the screaming within. Screaming?screaming, screaming all day long, screaming at each other, screaming at the walls; screaming to he heard above the rest and screaming just because?of all the taunting, tearing nightmares that plague your silent nights.?

She sucked in a deep gasp of air, and then bit down on her lip hard, shoving away more emotion and tears. Exhaling softly, she continued, ?Silent screamer like the butterfly. You spread your beautiful silver-dusted wings to fly far from here, but they?re torn and tattered, fraying into a thousand strings of thoughts of things.?

She stood quiet for a moment, tracing designs on the edge of the counter, her mind somewhere else in a dark abyss. Water dripped down from the leaking faucet, and attracted the attention of a calico cat, who strutted into the bathroom unfazed by the girl, and began licking the water up. Invigorated by her new audience, she began again, rushed, as if there was now some great idea upon her, ?Sometimes dreamers in a dreamer?s sleep with naught but nightmares to keep will wake up in a frenzied, maddened passion and demand for something deeper, deeper than the drugs. Not feeling hurts too much now because all you?ve got is that deadened stare with empty eyes and empty sighs and nothing but lies wrapped in white chiffon?? she stopped suddenly, as if the idea had died, now speaking in a quiet voice again, ?No tears will come to those sad, sad eyes. There?s this ache you just can?t place somewhere in the corners of your soul, slowly creeping into the veins and into the brain, and slowly, slowly, driving you insane?Twilight casts a regretful shadow over the nighttime sky and almost whimpers as he pulls closed the curtains on another beautiful wondering. He shutters his eyes, his eyebrows knit tragically, and his frown causes the moon to shed a tear. As his cold, flowing arms enwrap that sweet imperfection, the tear is frozen in the blue-black blood of space and time and becomes another ageless hope, another reason for blind belief in something that never was, and never will be. And so the cycle continues?the death and rebirth of the broken heart.?

A well of tears sprung forth as her voice faded, and she could barely speak between the salty, crystalline manifestations of pain. Leaning against the wall, she met the girl?s face in the mirror, which still stood with a question in fatal need of an answer. ?But the saddest, most pathetic thing is?I?m still clinging to the open end of that severed string, still believing in hope. Still believing that he meant those things he promised, that there was honesty beneath his words. Still believing that it?s the distance that kills us. Is that foolish??

The girl didn?t have an answer.




[b]The Death of the Broken Heart ? Part II[/b]

The gun looked wrong, metallic and deadly in her small, childlike hand. The sight alone made you do a double-take; it was a disruption in vision, something like déjà vu except stranger. The gun and the hand each belonged to a world very different from the other, worlds which should have never met. Yet here they were, entwined, as if they never could have been separate.

?Not everything has a reason,? she murmured. ?Sometimes, most times, it?s all just circumstance and accident and life just seems like somebody?s mistake on the drawing board. The sad things in this world, the horrible, heart-breaking, nightmared things, we?d like to believe they had a purpose. We?d like to believe that God had a reason. But not everything has a reason, the same way that not crying hurts worse. Most times?life isn?t all Shakespeare, with picturesque tragedy that taught us a lesson. Where everyone fell to their knees and wept,? she stared at the gun, then lifted it to touch the mirror?s reflective surface.

?No. Life isn?t always like that,? her breath fogged the glass as she nearly pressed her lips against the gun, ?There?s screaming. Screaming, and hysteria, and that awful, awful silence where everyone?s looking at everybody else but no one meets each other?s eyes??

She shoved her whole body away from the mirror, gun scraping loudly as it grazed by, and her back hit the wall in a loud thump. She hacked up air, her lungs pleading for oxygen. She lifted her eyes in angry defiance, barely visible between her bangs.

?Well here I am!? she screamed, ?Look at me! I dare you to look at me! Look at me in all my bitter anger and resentment and rage and rebellion, stare at me and see my pain. Where?s your answer?! Where?s the answer for all the hurt you?ve caused?!? Her eyes were wild now, and madness crept closer as a sick smile mutated her face, ?Do you hate me? Do you hate me for all the things I remind of you of? Is that why you always look away? Because to meet my gaze would mean facing all your guilt and shame and responsibility! You can?t take that. To you, I am nothing but a blur of memories which you would rather forget. And do you know how that hurts??

Her anger died into depression and self-pity, and she stared at the floor. ?Mommy, why do you push me away, why do you cut at me as if I am some infectious disease?? Brushing hair out of her face and letting it stick to the backs of her ears with sweat, she looked up, asking the ceiling for guidance. The expression in her eyes was a silent outcry asking anyone for help.

?I find rejection thrust in my face no matter where I turn. I find it even in the dark corners of long-forgotten alleyways, where the air is so cold I wonder if I might catch my breath crystallized in the atmosphere. Even the welcoming and friendly hands are only friends in the fairest weather, abandoning me when the rains come, pushing me out from under their shelter,? she lifted the gun and shot once into the ceiling, making the cat sprint out through the door and into the hallway. White plaster dust floated down, christening her eyelashes and hair, settling like a powder on her cheeks and nose.

?The rejection leaves holes all upon my soul; it rips me apart and whispers me worthless in a blissfully spiteful tone. And upon hearing the jeering, smirking whispering screams, you begin to believe them. You believe all the demeaning, degrading shouts, the insults they created to make themselves bigger. I believe them when they tell me I?m dirty, when they tell me I look like a whore. The crowd gathers, poking fun at my shamed stance, at my broken and torn ego,?

Silently staring at the ceiling, she turned her head to face the girl in the mirror one more time, ?There?s still that question in your eyes, the question that kills me every time. Why??

The shot echoed into the night sky, and as the mirror shattered into a thousand pieces, the blood dripped down from her forehead. She closed her eyes and smiled, and one last breath slipped out of her lungs as she collapsed onto the cold bathroom tile.

?Why??

[b]End.[/b]

Okay guys. Thoughts? (Keep in mind that I am not necessarily the speaker here - the girl is a seperate character, a person all her own, with her own motivations.)

-Karma[/size][/color]

[lea]

I think it is well written. Just the rythm and flow it had at times. Very beautiful in a dark way.


[ Exhaling softly, she continued, ?Silent screamer like the butterfly. You spread your beautiful silver-dusted wings to fly far from here, but they?re torn and tattered, fraying into a thousand strings of thoughts of things.?]


[she began again, rushed, as if there was now some great idea upon her, ?Sometimes dreamers in a dreamer?s sleep with naught but nightmares to keep will wake up in a frenzied, maddened passion and demand for something deeper, deeper than the drugs. Not feeling hurts too much now because all you?ve got is that deadened stare with empty eyes and empty sighs and nothing but lies wrapped in white chiffon?? she stopped suddenly, as if the idea had died, now speaking in a quiet voice again, ?No tears will come to those sad, sad eyes. There?s this ache you just can?t place somewhere in the corners of your soul, slowly creeping into the veins and into the brain, and slowly, slowly, driving you insane?Twilight casts a regretful shadow over the nighttime sky and almost whimpers as he pulls closed the curtains on another beautiful wondering. He shutters his eyes, his eyebrows knit tragically, and his frown causes the moon to shed a tear. As his cold, flowing arms enwrap that sweet imperfection, the tear is frozen in the blue-black blood of space and time and becomes another ageless hope, another reason for blind belief in something that never was, and never will be. And so the cycle continues?.?]




I personally find the imagery in those parts compelling. Methinks you will get a good grade. *nods* =)

[Mimmsicle]

[FONT=Verdana][SIZE=1][COLOR=Sienna]*blubbers* So gorgeously, morbidly, beautiful. You jump really well between the many emotions that the scene encapsulates.

The imagery, as always, is innovative and brings such depth. It makes the story much more dimensionall and alive.

I simply cannot praise this story enough _^_[/COLOR][/SIZE][/FONT]

[Mitch]

[quote]?Well here I am!? she screamed, ?Look at me! I dare you to look at me! Look at me in all my bitter anger and resentment and rage and rebellion, stare at me and see my pain. Where?s your answer?! Where?s the answer for all the hurt you?ve caused?!? Her eyes were wild now, and madness crept closer as a sick smile mutated her face, ?Do you hate me? [b]Do you hate me for all the things I remind of you of[/b]? Is that why you always look away? Because to meet my gaze would mean facing all your guilt and shame and responsibility! You can?t take that. To you, I am nothing but a blur of memories which you would rather forget. And do you know how that hurts??[/quote]

What I bolded is the only error I found in the story.

The story was very poetic, and morbid. I enjoyed it, although it was hard to get a full grasp of it with how quickly I had to read it. There is not much else I have time to say. It's a very good job, though.

[Shinmaru]

I need to start reading and giving critique more regularly...

I liked the story. As has been said by others, the imagery is very morbid and beautiful, at the same time. I can appreciate it, even though I do not delve into this type of imagery very often when I write short stories. Perhaps someday, though. Reading the story, you get a very good sense of this girl's madness as she stands on the very edge of life. Truly sad that she chose to make the final leap, but I wasn't expecting some sort of bubbly, happy ending with birds and flowers and all that crap, either.

Very good stuff. I always enjoy reading your short stories, Karmi.

[Lady Asphyxia]

[quote name='Shinmaru']I need to start reading and giving critique more regularly...[/quote][font=Verdana][size=1]*seconds that motion* [/size][/font]

[font=Verdana][size=1]Lovely pieces, Karmi! I thought they were fantastic, and so intense! Like others before me; morbid and beautiful. Just so exquisite and [i]so lovely[/i].[/size][/font]

[font=Verdana][size=1]I'm sure I could rave like a lunatic for quite a while -- and I'm sure you'd like that, lol! -- but I'll see what I can find to illustrate my favourite parts. :p [/size][/font]

[font=Verdana][size=1][color=#ff1493][QUOTE][font=Verdana][size=1][color=#ff1493]Silent screamer like the butterfly. You spread your beautiful silver-dusted wings to fly far from here, but they?re torn and tattered, fraying into a thousand strings of thoughts of things.?[/color]
[/size][/font][/QUOTE] [/color][/size][/font]

[font=Verdana][size=1][color=black]The imagery there was si beautiful, it's just amasing. I think that's my favourite part of the entire pieces, just there.[/color][/size][/font]

[font=Verdana][size=1]Well done Karmi! I'm sure you'll get a great mark![/size][/font]
[font=Verdana][size=1][/size][/font]
[font=Verdana][size=1]EDIT: Karmi, Karmi, Karmi. [i]Karmi[/i] is my goddess, lol. [Erm, not that you aren't, Mimmi...^-^"][/size][/font]

[KarmaOfChaos]

[QUOTE=Lady Asphyxia]
[font=Verdana][size=1]Well done Mimmi! I'm sure you'll get a great mark![/size][/font][/QUOTE]

[color=deeppink][size=1]I'm Karmi, dear. * pats her sympathetically and holds up fingers for her to count *

Lol, aside from that, I did make an EXCELLENT grade. Ninety-eight you guys! Thanks one and a million for critiques, special graci to Mitch for pointing out the grammar error.

Y'all's reviews mean a lot to me, and I'm glad you enjoyed it. I'm thinking of fleshing it out more, giving her more of a background, etc etc whatnot. If it happens, I'll post the new version in this thread, so if you're interested, check back every once and awhile. Once again, thank you!

-Karma[/size][/color]