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    dots Submission Name: In the veignsdots

    Author: poppi
    Elite Ratio:    7.47 - 72/55/37
    Words: 502
    Class/Type: Story/Misc
    Total Views: 1056
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 2825

       so i'm gonna try and write a story this is the beging please tell me what i could do to improve it before i proceed on any more of it.

    Make the font bigger!! Double Spacing Back to recent posts.

    dotsIn the veignsdots

    I sat in history class, Mr. Tweeny rambling on about Lewis and Clark. The teacher really didn't
    fit his name, rather large and slightly grotesqe. Sweat stains already under his arms. Sun filtered
    through the shadless windows, illuminating the dank room. Tan walls, the never ceasing tick
    from a clock that must have been older then me, and a few posters on the walls. But the walls
    ever so familiar, the same colour in every room. I hate them, everyday the same thing. You'd
    think though June second the walls would be fine keeping some of the unusually hot New York
    humidity from seeping into the school. But they really are no comfort even with the end of school
    so tangible I could already taste the night's of being hold up in my room till 3:30 am just instant
    messaging people on Yahoo.
    Sitting in the Middle of my classroom, in my mindless self rambling a little voice lightly begins
    taunting me. Even more familiar then the wall was that voice. The anti-self, such a horrible little
    thing. How it tears at me. So true were the lines 'I'm my own worst enemie.', and then the panic
    finally sets in. It feels like my whole body is shaking...I can't handle this. Not again. I sit on my
    hands hoping no one will notice, my feet jitter, I want to run a away so bad. But I can't, I wont let
    myself. Thoughts are racing through my mind. Things wont stop and I almost forget to breathe,
    in the chaos. 'Just SHUT UP!' I scream to myself in my head. It's here in my own black oblivian I truely
    understand the concept of suicide. It's not that I want to kill myself but death seems like the only
    way to stop the voice.
    The bell rings, I almost jump from my crummy seat. The rusted metal screws holdin the frame
    and puke green plastic seat and table together. I scrammble to pick up my binders covered in
    different band insignea's. A few people look at me like what I interprit to be as "your a loony"
    look. I pull the hood from my sweater up over my head. Staring at the floor counting the steps out
    of the room and down the hallway. My binders pressed against my chest. The fever of panic rising.
    I don't even think Edgar allan Poe could capture my unexplainible fear right now. 206 steps later i make
    it to the girls bathroom. I pushed the door open with my finger tips careful not to make any noise.
    I looked around and made sure no one was thier. I ran into the closest stall and locked the door behind
    me. Finger scrunching up my hair back pressed against the wall I slouched down. 'How could this be happening
    to me?'

    Submitted on 2007-06-21 23:11:03     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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    1: >_<
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    3: meh!
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    ||| Comments |||
      your talent for description is quite admirable, and as a fellow writer.

    Props yo!. .
    | Posted on 2008-01-20 00:00:00 | by SonOfDamascus | [ Reply to This ]
      Tis very cliff hangerlike hun. A story many can relate whether it be just that inner voice gnawing at you or a real disillusion. Over all i was amazed at your perception and your use of selective detail to promote the imagery of the class room scene. I wish you had kept that strength of selection when having your character move to the lil girl's room, it would have made the piece stronger and more concise. plus that powerful punch at the end would have held thirty times more power. please spell check this hun. typos are very where. you're on to something that can help a lot of people relate.

    I myself am not a cutter of dream of suicide of i havent in years atleast. I do dream of exhaustion. I eat little and run as much as possible. I like to exhaust my anger through self deprevation. yes i am somewhat twisted under the guise of a health nut. w/e. anyways your short story spoke to me and i could relate.

    that small voice in my head is my anger towards myself, my mother, a betraying friend.

    thank you syd.
    | Posted on 2007-06-25 00:00:00 | by SincerWritinAsh | [ Reply to This ]

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