#1
Wow! Hi there! Honestly I'm surprised I made it this far - normally I give up at step one (bothering to close all of my games and open up my notebook).
My name's Lucy, I like to think I'm an aspiring author, but genuinely I'm just a British kid trying to prove she can do something with her life. My sister has always been the writer - when she was eleven she wrote 43000 words of a Sci-Fi novel. I mean, damn, I was never going to get a chance at writing when there was someone like that. At least, not with my family. So I've decided to start writing in secret at every chance I get - on my phone on the bus into school, in my notebook in bed, whatever I can.
I'm starting something I think. I don't know what it is, but it feels like something I could actually keep going with. But to do something, I need feedback. That's what all the fancy writing blogs say, and since I don't want anyone in real life to read my fails works, I've turned to the internet, If you ever have any feedback, be it critique or positive (not likely), please comment it! I need anyone who reads to help me get better, because if I'm going to have any chance at this, I'll need you guys..
Here's something I'm trying. To give a little bit of context, it's a modern-era story, about an old man. He's dying, and he has given up. Then, he meets a young girl who's determined to teach him how to live again. The only problem? She's dead. This would probably be the last chapter, but I really don't know!
warning: some swearing
❄end❄
She grinned, taking
his pale hand in hers. He sighed, his breath hissing slightly as it passed
between his teeth, then stood, allowing her to pull him from the red armchair
he so often resided in. She led him to the door, opening it with a quick
movement of her fingers. She threw it open. The cold slid across the threshold,
surrounding him. He could almost feel its heavy weight pressing down on him,
so, much like a dog would shake off water, he shivered, pushing away the
bitterness. Oblivious to the cold, she stepped out into the crisp night, her
cheeks flushed with excitement. He followed, pausing only to mentally prepare
himself.
It wasn’t nearly as
bad as he had thought. Yes, it was cold. Being precise, it was fucking
freezing, but there was something alive about
the world that night. Perhaps it was the way the tiny wisps of snow fluttered
down, moving like butterflies, or perhaps the lively crunch of snow beneath his
feet. Maybe it was the hum of the streetlight, or the invitingly lit windows
which were painted in the surrounding darkness. Yet, truly, he knew it was none
of these things. It was, rather ironically, the girl beside him, who stood in
the numbing cold in nothing but a dress and a pair of ballet pumps.
She took his hand, which
he had stuffed in his pocket to conserve warmth, and held it open in the air. A
snowflake slid onto it, and they watched as it paled, thawed and fell apart,
leaving a tiny puddle on his palm.
“It seems I’m not
dead yet,” he said, his voice melting into the night like the snowflake in his
palm. She smiled in reply, and they stood there, her holding a thawing snowflake,
him carrying a thawing heart.
