I intended the captials becuase the father and mother are so meaningful in the start of the story.
mainly cause there not really parents when you look at it.
throughout the rest or the story (with more parts to come) it will also capitalise the parents too.
due to them having so much meaning to the story.
Short Story / The Day The Rest Of Me Died. Part 1 (Analysis)
I can’t really pin point it.
I really, honestly can’t pin point the day that my life came crashing down around me.
I mean, it could have been when I was 7.
Father brought me to some strange ladies house where there was some little boy that would follow him around and call him “Daddy”.
Or it could have been a night six months later when I heard my Mother screaming through her sobs at the man she loved. Asking him why he smelt like cheap perfume is he was ‘just at the office’.
It could have been ten minutes later when I heard her strangled screams of pain, as the sound of leather whipping skin came to my ears, or seconds after when I turned to see my little brother staring wide eyed at out bedroom door.
No, I don’t think that was it. Maybe it was when I was twelve and my Father beat me for the very first time in front of Ryan as he watched in horror from the doorway, his nine year old baby blue eyes swarming with tears.
My father beat me for a good hour just because I couldn’t finish my homework.
But I didn’t care if he beat me, I continued to be the usual ‘out of the box’ different girl I was. Call me a rebel, I called it living. School distracted me from all the troubles I faced at home. So that asshole beating me wasn’t the reason for my demise either…
It might have been the nights I spent with my Mother waiting for my Father to come home; only to wake up the next morning with my head still in my Mother’s lap as I lay sprawled out on the couch. She would look with a hollow expression at the wall muttering that my Father never came home that night. That was when I was fourteen.
But no, that’s still not right…
I think I might have died the Sunday morning I witnessed my Father sneaking out the back door with my brother Ryan and two suitcases full of their things. He looked at me and grinned, placing a finger to his thin pink lips to hush me as he walked out of my little messed up life.
Nope, you know what?
I know exactly when my life ended.
Tate showed me all the bruises, told me he didn’t know where they were coming from and mentioned to me that he was having horrible headaches. I was fifteen and he was seventeen, but we both knew something was terribly wrong. I got his health card from a white envelope his Mother carelessly had posted on the fridge of his kitchen. I took him in to the walk in clinic and I had him examined. It was the day the doctor told me that my boyfriend Tate had a brain tumor.
But only half of me died that day.
I stopped attending school. I stopped seeing my friends.
Each day I spent at the bedside of my sick comatose Boyfriend in the Mercy Hospital of Adamson, staring at his young pale face, his fading to light brown hair plastered onto his sweaty forehead.
I would sometimes look around the room shared with three other patients all the same age.
There was one boy who intrigued me. He was diagnosed with leukemia. He’d been fighting for his life for two years and had only entered remission once, before it came back eight months later.
I cried for my boyfriend and every other person in that ward, asking why God would do such a thing to nice people.
The boy would try and comfort me when he caught me crying.
‘It’s meant to be this way for a reason. Everything happens for a reason Vi.’
‘No Dale, there is no good fucking reason for any of this bullshit! You don’t deserve this and neither does Tate!’ I would cry uncontrollably.
Whenever I looked up, I could see the pain in Dale’s blue eyes knowing he could do nothing to help me. Sometimes he would try and shuffle out of his bed to hold and comfort me, but he was always too weak. He felt helpless and I could see it in his eyes as he sat there on his bed.
But that still wasn’t the day the rest of me died.
On Sunday July 9th, 2006; 12:37AM, Tate was pronounced dead. His heart had given up.
I cried so much that I had thought my throat had been ripped out.
His Father did not attend his Son’s funeral.
Neither did his Mother, she was too busy throwing up all the alcohol she had consumed before the service, into the church’s bushes.
I stood there and was approached by all those who bothered to show up. They all told me how sorry they were but that did not matter to me.
My Tate was gone, the only thing that mattered to me. I was the first to say goodbye as they lowered his casket into the ground and I could have sworn through my hysteria I saw Dale standing at the back of the crowd looking at me.
But then again, through my hysterics I also saw and angel beside him, so you can’t exactly trust what I saw.
From that day on I was dead.
I barley did anything.
I got to school and sat in all my classes not talking to anyone or blocking out anyone who tried talking to me.
I counted down the seconds until I could leave and once the bell rang, I took my time to collect my things so, the halls would be less crowded when I left.
I’d would walk home as slowly as I possibly could and once home, walk to my room.
Everyday I would write how ashamed I was that I could do nothing to help my now dead Boyfriend.
I had failed him.
If I wasn’t writing I was crying, and if neither of those two things were taking place; I was planning the perfect suicide.
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BambiPurrs reviewed Version 1 -
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Librina reviewed Version 1 -
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paranoidandroid reviewed Version 1 -
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Well, for starters that was very well written. At first I thought you were only going to list one reason but they only got worse and worse. If this is true I’m sorry you went through such things. It was very moving, if you put your mind to it I think you could write a book.
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TnD reviewed Version 1 -
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Ok. There are a few grammatical errors and a few spelling errors (Ex. : ladies = lady’s). At the beginning, it’s like you were trying to get the reader to get angry with your father for what he did to you, then the item that made you ‘die’ had nothing to do with family. When I found out what happened, it seemed like the beginning was just a filler. It’s like you were trying to get something out that you’ve had bottled up inside, but didn’t know what the right medium was. But, in the telling of your boyfriend’s death is not the place. I’d suggest going on about the relationship. Show how important he was to you, rather than telling me that he was. Show me that you loved him, don’t just say that you did.
I realize it must’ve been hard to put all of this out there, but, I sincerely believe that it needs to be done. One idea would be to describe everything that happened to you in a story, but change the ending to what you want it to be. Give yourself the happy ending.
Thanks for sharing, I enjoyed it. Good luck!
campb26593 reviewed Version 1 -
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This is your work of art, but here are my humble comments.
The theme is very strong. The dialog is ok.
“…strange ladies house…” should be “…Strange lady’s house…”
“…is he was…” should be “…if he was…”
Good: “…eyes swarming with tears.”
Good: “…I had thought my throat had been ripped out.”
Try to recall more detail about the characters. What were they wearing? Was someone’s sweater inside out? Was their hair cow licked? What were some smells?
There are also some places where simile/metaphor would work nicely. For example, “I would cry uncontrollably” might be rewritten “I would cry with the release of a million tons of emotion through the crumbling cracks in my heart’s broken levee.”
I hope some part of that helps.
lluuiiissaa reviewed Version 1 -
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although this could make for a really sad story it needs work. the characters need some building upon so that the diagnosis of a brain tumor and his death will really effect the audience emotionally. the suicide line opens up a whole nother story but before that story could begin the story of tate needs to be better told. there was so much detail about her abusive dad history so i thought thats what the story would be about. but when it came to tate there wasnt much detail. if you went a little lighter on the abusive history and really detailed about the love between tate and the character then this stor would be even more depressing
FrakKevin reviewed Version 1 -
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Even though I enjoyed the part about her and the boyfriend. I was really getting into the part about her father.The part about him taking her to the house that had a little kid following him around calling him daddy really grabbed me in…I was like WHAT?!? Plus we her brother and father went away I wanted to know why the brother left. Overall this was good and it’ll be cool if you go back and write a second part about her and her father’s relationship.
mel_d reviewed Version 1 -
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Oh, wow.
I had to slow down and read this over again to absorb every word.
There are a few spelling and grammatical problems which sometimes got in the way of the story’s flow – you should be watchful of that…although, with such a gut-wrenching story it must be difficult to look objectively at what you’re actually typing.
If this story is truly based on your own experiences, I’m sorry that this kind of thing could happen to anyone. wipes tears off keyboard I’m such a wuss.
One line in particular caught my attention –
“His Father did not attend his Son’s funeral.”
The capitalisation of ‘father’ and ‘son’ reminded me of the Bible, and the story of Jesus’ death, and how cruel it would be for God to allow such things to happen to his only Son. We are told God did it for a reason, so that our sins may be forgiven and we could go to Heaven, but was that really necessary? It seems round-about-face that someone would need to die in order to make everything better.
I was only wondering if you intended the capitalisation…
wordwan reviewed Version 1 -
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Oh god. You’re too close to this and it shows. Work on your spelling a tad, too, okay? I’m not getting ‘hooked’ by the start. The start is where one starts and that is where I need to be hooked.
If this is based on something real, catch me with it, at the start. K? grin
I know how real tastes. I just watched ‘Rocky Balboa’ and the writer managed to grab me, which, given the age of the subject matter, amazed me.
Oh, by the by, the writer was Sly Stallone.
Have fun.
Heather
lisa24n7 reviewed Version 1 -
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I so loved this! You wrote as if you were here sitting with me and thinking aloud.
I was impressed that you didn’t ‘break’ all at once in one scenario…liked the idea of partially broken to fully broken. Though I am sure these circumstances have been a lot to deal with, I would hope you pursue this into publication and a birth of a new life and not the ultimate end of this life by your own doing. Keep writing- you have talent! God bless.
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