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Depression


Peach 00

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Depression

The emptiness overwhelmed me in the dark bedroom. Nothing was like it should be in the world…outside, no moon hung overhead with its silver glow; inside, everything was unclean and dirty, things layering the floor of the room. I didn’t care for anything around me, for nobody cared for me. I could express my love and caring nature to my friends, family – yet they just let it fly over their heads. There was only one that seemed to care, but he was a person that was just a distant human being that I couldn’t get close to. I wanted to, but we were thousands of miles apart.I had known him for a year, and every time I conversed with him, I felt all the depressing things in the world were replaced with color and life, a feeling I only felt when I talked to him. Outside of that almost fantasy-like reality, everything was bleak and grey, without any happiness. I would have felt better invisible to the world, if it were not for him. Without his existence, I would have the immediate ability to leave the world, slip away from reality and fall to a silent, unseen lifestyle.But his being so far away made everything worse, making me grieve for things around me, not to mention myself. Tears of rage and sadness consumed me every night as I fall to sleep, and all that was left in slumber was fantasy dreams and things that could never happen in that cold, bitter reality that I lived in.I sat in the desolate bedroom, every inanimate object seeming more like ghosts or simply colorless and grey objects. To me, the world seemed like a black and white film, but it had no end. I was huddled at the corner of the room, hugging my knees as I cried. As hard as I cried, I felt no pain, as if things had just become numb. I was in old clothes, a pair of simple grey leggings and a grey sweater-like shirt. Just as bleak as the atmosphere I was seeing now.I felt that sense of emptiness that couldn’t be cured until something could fill the void, but nothing could. I knew in my heart nothing could – I was so lonely, desperate for somebody to be there for me, a friend that I could be with. And he…he could be here now. If only he knew what I felt like, to throw away that transparent masquerade of being happy when I talked to him. If he were close by, here now…I would simply embrace him, cry on his shoulder until he could make all the pain and the numbness and the loneliness just leave the world.If only it could be done so simply.But I sat there, knowing nothing could be done so easily as that. And I let the world envelope me into that same bleak grey packaging, and I cried, letting the tears trickle down my cheeks. Nobody could make this depression slip away with such ease, not just as easily as a piece of paper slipping between two fingers – only him.I stood up, unstable and helpless in my almost crippled and sorrowful state. I let my body become limp and fall onto the bed, slipping the soft blanket over me. And I cradled and cried myself to sleep, letting the sickeningly happy fantasies come to life inside my head.Within the windmills of my mindI let the dreams come to playAnd finally when the fantasies endThe depression of the world comes again

~:~

I haven't been writing since my SSC8 contest entry, and for some reason I wanted something a little different. Although this is probably ultra depressing, I decided to try something new, like an exercise to capture the mood and attitude of characters. Still, I wrote it only a few minutes ago - the story was meant to be short and sweet, before somebody mentions length. Comments and critique are welcome.

On the day the wall came down / They threw the locks onto the ground

And with glasses high / We raised a cry / For freedom had arrived

 

On the day the wall came down / The ship of fools had finally run aground

Promises lit up the night / Like paper doves in flight

 

I dreamed you had left my side / No warmth, not even pride remained

And even though you needed me / It was clear that I could not do a thing for you

 

Now life devalues day by day / As friends and neighbors turn away

And there's a change that even with regret / Cannot be undone

 

Now frontiers shift like desert sands / While nations wash their bloodied hands

Of loyalty, of history / In shades of grey

 

I woke to the sound of drums / The music played, the morning sun streamed in

I turned and I looked at you / And all but the bitter residues slipped away

 

slipped away...

 

 

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The story was very interesting. It's a story that feels real, and there aren't too many of those around, what with the fantasy stories and such. As I said for one of your other stories, I like the fact that it's told in the first person perspective. And it definitely helps with the feeling of reality that this gives. I say very good job in writing this, especially when it was written with little notice. =)

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i'll start in a poor light.the length isn't so much a problem as the fact that you didn't say anything was. to paraphrase your story, you're sad, you've been talking to some boy, then you stood up. there's no climax, there's no beginning middle end, it just feels like an incomplete snippet of somebody's life, like you're writing this, based off somebody's story, and they haven't finished it yet. it feels more like a narrative essay than a story, but it doesn't make any sort of impact.having said that, you are a good writer. there's fantastic imagery in the first paragraph, but you kinda left it out later on in the story when you got more important things to talk about. there isn't much in terms of similies or metaphors, unfortunately. it's a very passionate piece, and it demands follow up, be it revision or just a sequel. it feels like you're introducing a story. it's interesting and catches attention, definitely, but it doesn't leave any impact other than a lot of questions.

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(I'm reviewing this now because i have yet to review anything else of yours.)I, contrary to JC, don't believe much follow up is needed.To start, and you've heard this before but I'll say it again, the imagery you use is absolutely beautiful. And yes, i'll say that in a piece like this because you're amazing at using imagery.The Story is short and sweet, as was the intent, and i don't feel like i'm left hanging. Mayhap this comes from being able to sympathize more with the "main character," but regardless the story ties itself up nicely while not leaving unanswered questions. The intent was to be vague and leave the mind open to interpretation, and so it has been.I'm going to skip comments about the character(s) as no identification was given or needed.One thing i have to say, is that the Point of View, first person, enchances the story dramatically. I can't see a similar narrative being carried out with the impact this has, with any other point of view.Anyways i'm not a great reviewer so i'll leave it at that.Reviews aside it's a lovely story and the fact that i can sympathize with the character is kinda cool.

I've been searchin' for the daughter of the Devil Himself,

​I've been searchin' for an Angel in White,

​I've been lookin for a woman who's a little of both,

​and I can sense her but she's nowhere in sight,
Cause I can't find a banner ;_;

 

 

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The story was very interesting. It's a story that feels real, and there aren't too many of those around, what with the fantasy stories and such. As I said for one of your other stories, I like the fact that it's told in the first person perspective. And it definitely helps with the feeling of reality that this gives. I say very good job in writing this, especially when it was written with little notice. =)

I love writing in the first person perspective, because it's a more personal view of a character. You understand what their feeling more than what they'd be feeling in first person - it adds a lot of character to a story, to be honest. Thanks for the comment. ^^

i'll start in a poor light.the length isn't so much a problem as the fact that you didn't say anything was. to paraphrase your story, you're sad, you've been talking to some boy, then you stood up. there's no climax, there's no beginning middle end, it just feels like an incomplete snippet of somebody's life, like you're writing this, based off somebody's story, and they haven't finished it yet. it feels more like a narrative essay than a story, but it doesn't make any sort of impact.having said that, you are a good writer. there's fantastic imagery in the first paragraph, but you kinda left it out later on in the story when you got more important things to talk about. there isn't much in terms of similies or metaphors, unfortunately.it's a very passionate piece, and it demands follow up, be it revision or just a sequel. it feels like you're introducing a story. it's interesting and catches attention, definitely, but it doesn't leave any impact other than a lot of questions.

Well, technically what I was aiming for was a short and sweet piece - that's basically all you need to know. There isn't much I can do to make the character interact with the objects around her. All that is really expressed in the story is the purity of the emotions, and because I told a more simplistic view of the story and not going into full in-depth detail, I simplified it. Still, thanks for taking notice of that and for the comment, I really appreciate it. =)

(I'm reviewing this now because i have yet to review anything else of yours.)I, contrary to JC, don't believe much follow up is needed.To start, and you've heard this before but I'll say it again, the imagery you use is absolutely beautiful. And yes, i'll say that in a piece like this because you're amazing at using imagery.The Story is short and sweet, as was the intent, and i don't feel like i'm left hanging. Mayhap this comes from being able to sympathize more with the "main character," but regardless the story ties itself up nicely while not leaving unanswered questions. The intent was to be vague and leave the mind open to interpretation, and so it has been.I'm going to skip comments about the character(s) as no identification was given or needed.One thing i have to say, is that the Point of View, first person, enchances the story dramatically. I can't see a similar narrative being carried out with the impact this has, with any other point of view.Anyways i'm not a great reviewer so i'll leave it at that.Reviews aside it's a lovely story and the fact that i can sympathize with the character is kinda cool.

Thanks - and about the first person viewpoint, that's why I love to use it. It really does change things, because it reveals things a simple third-person or narrative view of a story couldn't show. Still, totally thanks for the comment, Kini. :)(BTW, thanks for linking/advertising Danger Close in your sig! Really appreciate you doing that. =D)

On the day the wall came down / They threw the locks onto the ground

And with glasses high / We raised a cry / For freedom had arrived

 

On the day the wall came down / The ship of fools had finally run aground

Promises lit up the night / Like paper doves in flight

 

I dreamed you had left my side / No warmth, not even pride remained

And even though you needed me / It was clear that I could not do a thing for you

 

Now life devalues day by day / As friends and neighbors turn away

And there's a change that even with regret / Cannot be undone

 

Now frontiers shift like desert sands / While nations wash their bloodied hands

Of loyalty, of history / In shades of grey

 

I woke to the sound of drums / The music played, the morning sun streamed in

I turned and I looked at you / And all but the bitter residues slipped away

 

slipped away...

 

 

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  • 9 months later...

Words are failing me. I can't find just the right way to express how I feel about this story; it's difficult to find the right way to praise it. Beautiful, poetic, emotional, heartrending; all this and more. Your descriptions are vivid in their monochromaticity. I can clearly see this poor girl alone in her room, so far from the only warmth in her heart. I can feel her pain, I can almost cry with her. I want to take her in my arms and offer her all my sympathy, to do anything I can for her--but what can I do? What can anyone do? Only he can help her; but what can he do? He is there, a lifetime away, in a different world; and she is here in hers, alone. She knows this guy, I presume, over the internet. You never stated it explicity yet you made it abundantly clear. It's a tragedy, really, that we have become so absorbed in our technology, so enslaved by it that we can care this much for a person we have never met. It can cause us, even, to ignore the real world. It is a haven to which we can retreat in peace and serenity, and yet it is a prison, bars and all. It is both relief and anguish. But I suppose it has always been that people will seek an imaginary world to escape to. A timeless example is reading, and even more so, writing. But writing is different in that, while technology carries us away into the clouds beyond the real world, tied to it still only by the hearts behind the lines of text on the computer screen; while literature takes us into the secluded depths of the world, where reality is at its fullest yet we are most alone. I hope you'll forgive the digression. But it's your fault for writing such a great story with such a profundity as could suck one into its depths, which it did to me. To go on with my analysis, I applaud your choice of narration. First person has always been my favorite for its engaging style. Only it can so easily be imbued with personality and character and sapidity. And it makes it far easier in a case like this, when you want to leave your characters anonymous. That, too, I commend. We have "me," who would have been dull in third person; and we have "him," who would have been cheapened by a name. Names for either of them would have been superfluities that would have lent a vulgar and tasteless quality to your story. That said, there's not much more to say. It was short, but not too much so; you gave all the necessary details, but you didn't overwhelm your readers with information. Your plot was beauitful and touching, and I commend you for a job very well done.

Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith

:smilemirunu:

When I know I can't live without a pen and paper, when I know writing is as necessary to me as breathing . . .



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I know I am ready to start my voyage.



A Musing Author . . . Want to read my books?

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