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Posted by melagee on December 8, 2005

I found this story that I wrote in my third year of University. I was taking a creative writing course, and I wrote this for my portfolio. The person who graded it completely tore it apart with the most ridiculous comments I have ever seen. What do you guys think? I’m not claiming it’s a great work, but I found the comments this person made to be completely incompetent. I want to see if any of you have the same critisisms this person had.


Lights flashed and spun on the walls in larger and larger circles. Colourful streams of red and blue playing on the white of the living room. She closed her eyes and let her head fall slightly, relaxing her mind in preparation of what was to come.

Bing Crosby played on the radio, promising happiness and homecoming for Christmas. The men stood outside her door, tapping softly, unsure of the situation inside. The screaming had stopped, and the crying had lessened. But in the wake of all of that, the music seemed somehow ominous. The neighbors would be standing at their windows clutching their robes tightly shut to keep out the imagined cold.

All eyes would be on her house, but her own eyes remained tightly shut, letting the music fill her. Peace could be found in the voice on the radio; in a song that had always inspired a deep, indefinable feeling in her. She lifted her head up to face the music, and felt her legs pulling out from underneath her to support her body, as they’d been taught to do years ago.

Her legs shook slightly, having grown attached to the absence of circulating blood. She stretched her toes, filling out her red-splattered socks. She rocked her legs back and forth slightly, getting them used to the movements of life, and taking herself deeper into the safety of her own mind.

She swayed her body and let her head circle limply around her neck. Her arms lifted and weaved around her. Two feet shuffled in small paces around the floor. With eyes glued shut, she danced like air.

Moving one step too close to Him, she felt her toe brush against his sweater. A cold chill went through her, and goose bumps became clear on her skin. Quickly, she moved away from him, knowing, even in her current state, that He was where she didn’t want to be.

Her arms floated upward, pressing too hard against her temple and causing her to wince in pain. She moved her arms elsewhere, trying not to listen to the banging of the men at her door. They called out their named through solid wood, announcing their credentials with an air of learned authority. She ignored them, and pulled back from her brush with reality too slowly to prevent a tear from escaping her closed eyes. It rolled over her cheek, mingling with the blood at the corner of her mouth, and sliding off her chin to crash on the ground below.

She didn’t mind the blood on her lips. It was her own blood; it was familiar, like an old friend. She was used to the cool solidity of it as it seemed out of one cut or another. She wondered if she would miss it now that it wouldn’t be the constant companion it once was. It was his blood that frightened her. The wildness of it seeming through the cloth of her socks an din between the cracks of her toes. It stuck to her like the memory of a spider crawling on her arm, and surrounded her, bringing an unhealthy atmosphere of reality to what she had done.

Her brow wrinkled in distress, and a small moan slipped out from between her lips. The music moved in a steady rhythm towards it’s end, and she eagerly flew to the darker corners of her mind where He had never been. She could be safe there. She moved her body faster, trying achingly to keep up with the tempo of the music, unable to force her physical form to do what her mental one could. The stillness of her mind and the whirring of her body latched together to create a kind of calmness she had never been able to find in all her years with Him. Or maybe it was just the knowledge of her final release from a man whose touch she’d come to know too well, that had set her mind at ease.

She almost couldn’t hear the men throwing themselves at the door of her house with increasing urgency. Almost was wonderful, but not quite enough. The lock snapped out of place as the sound of feet thumping into the room reached her. Muttering voices too soft to make out, even if she had wanted to, and feet sweeping over the carpet. She flew around the room faster, fantasizing that she was a silhouette on the wall.

There was the soft swish of polyester rubbing against itself as one of the intruders knelt over her husband and murmured something final, and a click across the room as the music ceased abruptly. She allowed her body to continue its movement for another full moment before she realized her music had left her. Solace would not be found that night, but she refused to let the physical world retake her so completely. She stopped moving. Keeping her eyes hidden, she let her arms dangle silently by her sides.

Callused hands gripped her arms lightly, avoiding the bruises present there. A voice softer than a baby’s hair came at her from the darkness.

“I think you’d better open your eyes, now.”

Her eyelids rose slowly, and a stranger’s grass-green eyes enveloped her, taking the last part of her from the only happiness she’d ever known.


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