Critiques?

[chaoticfirefly]

This is something I wrote on my writing blog that I will not link here because of personal reasons, but I thought I'd share this and get opinions. This is from a prompt on one of my favorite social networking websites. It's unedited, so excuse any mistakes. Edited out the swearing just in case censors.

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”Wake up.”

The voice is a whisper, feminine and musical, it interrupts his blur of dreams that mix together like many songs being played at once. “Wake up.” The girl repeats the two words, this time sounding a little bit more impatient and finally, he opens his eyes, welcoming consciousness and the possible smell of medical soap and bleach. Light assaults his eyes, the sun too bright for a winter sun. “Sleep well?” Girl asks, with a kind smile.

"If you really think being knocked unconscious from a damn accident is a great sleep, then yeah, sure." He grumbles, as he forces himself to sit up. Wait. Since when was he in grass? Where is the snow?

"Unconscious?" Girl asks, blinking her eyes. He takes a good look at her. She isn’t that hard to look at, with almond shaped brown eyes, sun-kissed complexion, short dark hair that has a bed-head look going on and plump lips. There’s an obvious scar on her left cheek.

"Well, yes. I hit my head." She doesn’t seem to be all that smart, though. Damn.

"Do you hurt?"

"Well, yes. Who are you?"

The girl shrugs, “Mel. I know your name already,” ‘Mel’ answers, sweetly.

"Where the hell are we?" Now panic is setting in. And he swears when he’s getting nervous.

"I dunno." She shrugs, sitting back on her heels, finally getting out of his space. "I think we’re in Heaven."

"Heaven?"

"Or whatever you wanna call it."

He snorts, “As if. We can’t be dead.”

'Mel' just shrugs again, quietly humming to herself as she plucks at the blades of grass and lets them float away in the wind. “Another guess is that we've been kidnapped and we have to go on an adventure to save our loved ones!”

"You are a strange one."

"I think it would be fun!" Mel doesn’t even bother to hide excitement in her voice. "My girlfriend and I always talk about things like that! Ooh, I wonder if we have powers! It could be like in an anime…"

He raises a brow, “Girlfriend?”

"Yeah," Her smile stretches across her face. "She’s this amazing girl, I love her so much. Do you have anyone?"

"No." His girlfriend packed her stuff and left him four months ago for some guy she’d been cheating on him with, his last remaining relative that he actually talked to passed away one month later and he doesn’t have any friends.

"Oh. I’m sorry." Her excitement seemed to die now and she sits down on the ground, legs stretched out before her and her red dress spills onto the ground. "Where are they?"

"My ex girlfriend found someone else. I don’t speak to my biological parents because they gave me up, and my adoptive parents are dead."

"Friends?"

"No."

"Weren’t you friends with any co-workers?"

"As if." He says, huffing. "All of them were dumb."

Mel makes a non-committal noise in the back of her throat and she yawns. “I have a girlfriend, she’s the best thing to ever happen to me. My parents disowned me, however, for being well, me.” As time passes and they share stories, the man finds himself becoming more and more comfortable around her. She’s easy to talk to, and they just seemed to click. His foul mood from earlier dissipates.

Finally, after what felt like hours, Mel stands up and stretches, her red dress waves in the wind and she looks at him with a bright smile.

"What?" The same smile his adoptive mother would give him whenever he would show her a piece of art.

"Are you ready, now?"

"Ready for what?"

"To leave. Adventure calls after all."

"What are you talking about?" He always has the answers, yet today, he’s constantly asking questions and it’s grating on his nerves. The sun seems brighter suddenly, and he lifts his hand to block out the beams. His eyes widen however when the shadow doesn’t cover his face.

Instead, the light shone straight through his hand.

 

[fleamailman]

This is something I wrote on my writing blog that I will not link here because of personal reasons, but I thought I'd share this and get opinions. This is from a prompt on one of my favorite social networking websites. It's unedited, so excuse any mistakes. Edited out the swearing just in case censors.

("...reads well..." went the goblin, adding "...yet it's christian on a christian forum, nothing wrong with that I suppose though it does kind of give the game away, so may I suggest reposting this to a writer's forum...", but even there the goblin would be loathed to critic it, adding "...if I correct you, and if you then follow those corrections I give, then you turn into me by way of that process...", "...think it's called clones of perfectionism goblin..." intervened the slot thinking that the goblin was the very last creature one should heed anyway, before the goblin restarted "...no, I've lost my track now, what was I relating there slot...", "...you were saying goblin that you didn't critic because clones of perfectionism resulted, where the perfect was just so predictable too, where god's greatest gift was probably the individuality of one's faults and failings...", the goblin rubbed his chin with his fingers to that thought then, sighing "...just so, it's not because it's perfect that it pulling it's because it's pulling that it's perfect as it is...")