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"short story"

Ok, those of you who know me will know that I have tried to write a few “serious” thingies of late, (two to be precise). I have just started this and would luurvee some feedback.

Criticism of the constructive variety I can handle.

Childish insults and hair pulling will make me cry.

So, here are the first few paragraphs. It’s about an alcoholic by the way.

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I knew what I was. I had seen myself becoming it. Watched myself mutate, slowly over time into what now stared back at me every time that I looked in the mirror. Why had I become it? Who or what was to blame for it? I could pass the buck, but that would be cowardice, and anyway, what would be the point? Who am I trying to impress? Sure as hell not myself. Every morning I wake up, and before I’ve even brushed my teeth I’m filled with the same self-loathing and inevitable disappointment of what I’ll do that day.

Well, I say morning, but I would be lying if I said that it was for sure. Not that it makes any difference to me anyway. If I could, I would spend an eternity asleep, dreaming, living my life in a place where I could never let anyone down and where anything is possible. Throughout the day I find myself constantly closing my eyes in an attempt to get some sleep, knowing that this is the only time that I can experience the pure bliss that other more “normal” people experience every day with their families.

I remember when I was younger, living at home, being woken each morning for school by my mother yelling up the stairs about how I was going to be late. Opening my eyes and having to squint because the light of the new day would seem so apparent. Well now, when I wake up and open my eyes, no longer am I blinded by the sunshine, but rather swamped by thicker darkness then before. I’ll look around my apartment and still be amazed every time as to how such a cluttered room can appear so empty, so devoid of any signs of life.

In my dreams, I surround myself with people. I know that they’re not real, that they’re just figments of my imagination, but I draw comfort from them, and that makes them real enough to me, real enough to keep me going.

Lol, you're welcome EB! :P

No, that's it, I'm put off forever now. :D

Cheers Lindgren.

It was well written but it lacked a concrete image in the opening line, which is always a good thing. So many qusetions in it was a little off-putting I must admit, maybe one or two questions and maybe an insight into the character struggling to find an answer would work better.

Practice makes perfect though EB, keep it up!

yes, a bit sad.

I don’t write much serious stuff as I said at the top, (that was the second piece I’ve written). I usually write comedy/weird musings. Maybe I will post one of my old ones later.

I actually have an idea for what I’m going to write next, but I think I need to wait until later this evening to start on it – wait till I’m good and drunk.

Well written, but a bit dull and depressing.

Which indicates you conveyed the intended feeling strongly. Nice one. I'd like to read something of yours that's a little less heavy, though.

I don't believe you - prove it!

Nice to know I can affect people.

Fun, hmm…my cat can fart “God Save The Queen”.

Um. I read that and felt depressed.
All the diodes down the side of my neck hurt.

How about something light and fun?

Once I begin writing something I feel I have to write it all then as Ifind it harder to pick it up later.