Want

little story

She lived. She breathed. She sang. She wore her days like an old sweater. She talked, and listened, and ate, and she worked, and she slept. She saw, and she heard, and she dreamed.
            She had an uncanny ability to sense what someone wanted. Whether it was warm weather, or a person, or laughter, she always seemed to know before any truths were spoken. She knew that her mom wanted a different home. She knew her dad wanted more patience. She knew her brother wanted her to pay more attention to him. She knew her neighbor across the street wanted something that he had lost, and that is why he was always alone.
            She also knew what she wanted. Although she couldn’t quite give this thing a name, she knew the feeling of it. She could tell when she got goose bumps that she needed it. When she got shivers, she really needed it. Most of the time, she just felt an empty want for this thing she couldn’t give a name.
            She lived. She ran. She drew. She carried her days with this want nagging at her, like a hungry dog waiting to be fed, or like a child waiting to be given the go-ahead. As days continued on, she felt it more and more. She got those goose bumps whenever she looked out the window and saw the light on across the street. She got shivers whenever her mother turned out the lamp.
            She felt she was getting closer. Every day was just another spent breathing, and getting closer. Peeling an apple, she was getting closer. Holding the door, she was getting closer. She once dreamed that she was the minute hand on a clock, her head pointing towards the roman numerals. She felt it most when she was with her family (*with* being the key word, for they were always immersed in their individual activities).
            Then she had a very strange day. No matter what she did, it was never enough. The muscles in her hand cramped because she had written too many words, but they weren’t enough. She drank multiple glasses of water, but couldn’t quench her thirst. She stuffed her body full, but was still hungry. This dissatisfaction was foreign to her. She went running outside and ran as far from her house as she could. She thought it might be playing tricks on her.
            Her feet took her exactly where she needed to go. Her hair flying back and her shoes crunching the gravel, they took her in the direction she needed to go, of the want she felt. She didn’t realize this at the time. Her feet carried her and glided her and shifted her and flew her and then she landed, like a bird on ice. She was frozen, still, unmoving.
            The feeling of getting closer was now burning inside her. She felt that every blink was a spark dancing off her eyelids. She was captivated. She opened herself up to this more and more until she was nearing rupture. She had to know what this was. She threw her knees on the ground and jerked her head up towards the sky. “Show me what this is!” she screamed to the empty blue. “I need to know! Show me, please!” The blank sky answered her.
            She felt every nerve impulse jump, every muscle contract, every hair stand, and her blood rush through her. With her face still pointed toward the sky, she let it wash over her. She let it drown her, shred her, and lose her. She was on fire. The silence disappeared into a mass of noise she couldn’t see, a ferocious jumbled mass. She felt a moment of pure satisfaction as every piece of curiosity she had came together and presented itself to her.  She felt every emotion there was to feel. Her head swirled as her heart cried and her soul laughed and her body crumpled to the ground. Her eyes sparked once more, and she was gone.

Author's Note

This is the first polished story I've ever written, i just kinda wrote it. i wanna know what you think!!!
Also, i got the idea for this story while listening to Noah and the Whale's 'First Days of Spring' but this isn't related to the song's lyrics. At the end of the song, when everything explodes, that's kinda what i tried to describe. blah blah. :)

Reviews

[David Lewis Paget]

This is excellent! I don't usually review stories, but I must admit your compelling style and immediacy dragged me kicking and screaming through to the end. If this is an example of what you can do at High School level, I can predict a remarkable writing future for you.
I thought you perhaps lost a little concentration towards the end.

'She felt a moment of pure satisfaction as every piece of curiosity she had come (came) together and present(ed) itself to her.

[Wild Willow Blue]

Powerful. I love this. I could read it all day. I just love it. Very good.

[Sarusai Hiryu]

For a 'first polished story' this is great! Write on, hone your style ... you're pretty good at this, you know.

[Ramsey's Rebellion]

This story has some really well crafted sentences: the kind that ring deep in my head and just sound like music.

This story also has a lot of verbs. I can see that this was maybe a stylistic choice, but it must be remembered that the reader will never be able to read this with the same exact inflection or intonation that you read it as. This truth becomes even more evident when the author takes a strange stylistic turn.

I think that if you could cut out the repetition and add some concrete description, for example in the line "She wore her days like an old sweater," you have a lot of potential to really help the audience picture what you are talking about. Add some details.

I liked the story. It is too short though. Its shorter than "The Story of an Hour" by Chopin, which I recommend for you to read because there are a lot of similarities between both stories. I feel like I don't even know the character and then she dies... it leaves me a little unmoved. I believe this is also tied to all the verbs you use. The style you chose tends to lean more towards "tell" instead of "show."

Don't let my review fool you, I think you have a lot of good stuff going on in this story. :) Like I said, there are moments that make me really stand beside myself. Good job!

[Griffin Hill]

I think there's a better poem here than a story. Edit it down to its strongest image. As a story, I had trouble with all the repetition.

[bill]

Lively writing and, as you say, polished. Nice use of metaphor and simile. Not sure what the character is all about, but then I had never heard of Noah and the Whale or First Days of Spring, so I suppose I was destined to be out of tune with this piece.

[Octob3r Star]

Jumps around a lot, shes here shes there... ha ha. It was cute :)

[Jason Shadows]

Love- simply put into a desire lead by temptations which can reflect what someone has felt before the explosively emotions. Dire to understand and to strive to know are two different things. Find them and then you'll know what's going on inside from a deeper feeling.

I like this very "EXPLOSIVE" write.

[Donald Cole]

She got shivers whenever her mother turned out the lamp. Yet she looked out the window to see this lamp on. her mother is not in the same house? this is getting deeper........

[Donald Cole]

oh wow. Its like you took bits and pieces of me and of my world and you put it into your poem. I feel like the neighbor across the street. And the piece that i had lost......
The wants we all hold inside, Now I try to let God fill them.
This is an amazing piece of writing that took me to a lot of places in my world. Ur so familiar. very impressive writing, i look forward to seeing more of you in your writing. This is where we reveal our soul.
Beautiful....
always,
Don