SHF Comedian '10
Post by Lolli on Dec 12, 2011 0:29:48 GMT
This is my first time uploading a story. I'm a bit nervous about it. I love writing, but I always put myself down. I guess I'll never know if I'm any good unless I try, right?
Anyway, this story is a one shot written simply to test my writing abilities. I'm no good at serious stuff, as I lose interest rather quickly, but I wanted to see if I could pull it off.
So here I go. Please tell me how I could improve the story and my writing skills as a whole. I'd also love to hear what you all thought about it.
P.S. I managed to finish it by midnight, so if it dwindles towards the end, I was probably tired.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Broken Pieces
A broken doll, mangled and disgusting, lay at Heather's feet. Its face charred and tarnished from the impact, its limbs scattered across the floor, that tiny satin dress, crumpled and torn beneath her shoe.
He'd been here. Somehow, he'd been here. In her home. In her room. Caressing her clothes, spraying her perfume, lying on her bed, embracing her pillow, inhaling her scent.
He'd been here.
Left her a note.
She'd found it on her dressing table, sitting in plain view. An obsessive infatuation printed on faded scrap. The handwriting messy, childish.
It made her sick.
Heather watched as fragile shards of paper danced through the air, broken words, torn and empty, fragmented delusions of a man she had never even met, coming apart in her hands.
"Why?" She heaved, fleeing to the bathroom sink. "Why is this still happening!"
With a violent lurch, bile spewed from her mouth, spilling into the basin with an ugly spatter. Coughing, she wiped her mouth free of residue, using one hand for support as she keeled over, breathless.
He'd said it was over. Back at the hospital. She remembered the scribbles he'd written in his diary. Had he lied?
None of this made sense.
Quivering, she scooped the remains into a nearby bin, staring blankly at the broken doll, the shredded letter. He would strike again. She knew it. No matter how often she changed the locks, he still managed to find a way in.
It was a lost cause.
"How many of these dolls has he made?" The springs creaked as she lowered herself onto the bed. It felt different somehow. Tainted. "Enough to torment me for the rest of my life?"
In the past she had merely ignored his affections. Now she had taken to destroying them. Had she pushed him too far?
For the first time since her Father died, Heather felt completely alone. It seemed nobody could save her from a man she wasn't sure ever existed. Reality and fiction were beginning to bleed into one another. Nothing was certain.
Had she gone insane?
Tonight.
That's what he promised.
Tonight, my dearest Heather, I shall come to you. I have a gift, my sweet darling. It is a glass case. A case for your heart, so I can carry it with me wherever I go. My pen will drink from your precious crimson, and on these pages I will write your name. Eternally mine, forever.
Stanley Coleman.
Darkness loomed on the horizon. Heather's watch ticked in time to the heavy throb of her beating heart. Outside, a cat shrieked.
Oblivion consumed her.
Anyway, this story is a one shot written simply to test my writing abilities. I'm no good at serious stuff, as I lose interest rather quickly, but I wanted to see if I could pull it off.
So here I go. Please tell me how I could improve the story and my writing skills as a whole. I'd also love to hear what you all thought about it.
P.S. I managed to finish it by midnight, so if it dwindles towards the end, I was probably tired.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Broken Pieces
A broken doll, mangled and disgusting, lay at Heather's feet. Its face charred and tarnished from the impact, its limbs scattered across the floor, that tiny satin dress, crumpled and torn beneath her shoe.
He'd been here. Somehow, he'd been here. In her home. In her room. Caressing her clothes, spraying her perfume, lying on her bed, embracing her pillow, inhaling her scent.
He'd been here.
Left her a note.
She'd found it on her dressing table, sitting in plain view. An obsessive infatuation printed on faded scrap. The handwriting messy, childish.
It made her sick.
Heather watched as fragile shards of paper danced through the air, broken words, torn and empty, fragmented delusions of a man she had never even met, coming apart in her hands.
"Why?" She heaved, fleeing to the bathroom sink. "Why is this still happening!"
With a violent lurch, bile spewed from her mouth, spilling into the basin with an ugly spatter. Coughing, she wiped her mouth free of residue, using one hand for support as she keeled over, breathless.
He'd said it was over. Back at the hospital. She remembered the scribbles he'd written in his diary. Had he lied?
None of this made sense.
Quivering, she scooped the remains into a nearby bin, staring blankly at the broken doll, the shredded letter. He would strike again. She knew it. No matter how often she changed the locks, he still managed to find a way in.
It was a lost cause.
"How many of these dolls has he made?" The springs creaked as she lowered herself onto the bed. It felt different somehow. Tainted. "Enough to torment me for the rest of my life?"
In the past she had merely ignored his affections. Now she had taken to destroying them. Had she pushed him too far?
For the first time since her Father died, Heather felt completely alone. It seemed nobody could save her from a man she wasn't sure ever existed. Reality and fiction were beginning to bleed into one another. Nothing was certain.
Had she gone insane?
Tonight.
That's what he promised.
Tonight, my dearest Heather, I shall come to you. I have a gift, my sweet darling. It is a glass case. A case for your heart, so I can carry it with me wherever I go. My pen will drink from your precious crimson, and on these pages I will write your name. Eternally mine, forever.
Stanley Coleman.
Darkness loomed on the horizon. Heather's watch ticked in time to the heavy throb of her beating heart. Outside, a cat shrieked.
Oblivion consumed her.
