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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.
I don’t write much, especially not “serious” stuff. Don’t have the time and am feeling pretty mentally shattered at the moment. Damn work!
I was going to continue this and I probably will at some point. Gotta be in the right mood I guess.
Very good, write more.
;)
I don't normally read the stories posted on here, but you might have inspired me to write my own.
*waits for groans*
> I think you should go on to take him through his day, ordinary or
> otherwise, and allow a few moments of introspection and history to
> build some character backbone.
This would be good,I think. Going through his day, holding himself together and yet slowly falling apart. Perhaps his drinking during the day makes him have distorted visions and think thoughts that disgust/enchant him. The day would be a slow descend of failed resistence into nightfall when, well... who knows?
Should easily fill 2,500-3,000 words I think.
Can you give any feedback?
I know there is not a lot there, but it may help with my writing of the rest.
Will he end up talking to tramps in the park about interdimensional lizards secretly ruling the world?