Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-25678492-20141114163402

Hey everyone. I had another board on here with my first pasta, and while I'm not done asking questions about it, I wrote another one that I would like reviews and tips for. It would be much appreciated to know what I could improve on.

Hello, my name is Emily Jones, and I would like to tell you a story. I don't care whether or not you listen to it, I just want to be able to finally tell somebody about what I've gone through.



It started ten years ago, when I was only 16 years old. I had called Katie, my long-time best friend, on the phone to ask her if she'd like to go shopping and see a movie.



“Sure, I'd love to go out! I'll meet you at the mall at 4:30,” she replied.



Since the mall was fairly close by and I didn't have my license yet, I walked over there. We spent about an hour looking at clothes, jewelry, and even some video games. At one point, some guys even stopped to talk to us. We turned them down because I wasn't interested, and Katie wasn't allowed to date. It's a shame too, she was very pretty red hair and cute freckles.



I'll spare you the rest of the details about our trip, nothing really happened until after we left the mall.



“Katie! Get your ass over here right now !” somebody shouted.



 Katie's eyes widened. Her father had found her and was shouting at her from his car, and it's my fault.



 I should probably give you a bit of backstory. Two years prior to this, when both Katie and I were 14, her mom died in a car accident. Ever since then, her father had resorted to drinking and eventually became verbally and physically abusive towards her. He used to be such a nice man, he was a doctor and worked at the local hospital. Despite what he became, I couldn't help but feel bad for him sometimes. But anyway, I'll get back to the main story.



<p style="margin-bottom:0in"> Katie didn't say anything, she just stood there in fear. I wanted to do something for her, but I couldn't think of anything that I could do to help her.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in">

<p style="margin-bottom:0in">“ I said, get over here right now! ” he shouted again.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in">

<p style="margin-bottom:0in"> Katie slowly walked over to her father. She looked like she was on the verge of tears, but she didn't want to continue to make a scene. Her father knelt down to her.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in">

<p style="margin-bottom:0in">“ Listen sweetie, I'm sorry that I yelled at you. But if you just walk out of the house like that, I get worried,” he said softly.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in">

<p style="margin-bottom:0in">“ I-I asked you if I could go. You said yes,” Katie whimpered.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in">

<p style="margin-bottom:0in"> That surprised me a little. Her father almost never let her out of the house; as abusive as he was, he was also incredibly overprotective.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in">

<p style="margin-bottom:0in">“ And that was wrong of me. I can never let you out of my sight again. Now come with me, I'll take you back home,” he finished.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in">

<p style="margin-bottom:0in"> By that point people were staring, so she complied with him. While they drove off, I just hoped that her father's calm demeanor wouldn't wear off too soon; he would often switch between being angry and being soothing, depending on how much he had been drinking at the time. I said a little prayer for Katie and slowly walked home.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in">

<p style="margin-bottom:0in"> I tried to contact her the next day, but it wasn't much of a conversation.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in">

<p style="margin-bottom:0in">“ Hey, are you alright? I'm sorry about what happened to you yesterday,” I started.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in">

<p style="margin-bottom:0in">“ I-I can't talk right now. He'll be b-back any minute,” she stuttered. She hung up immediately.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in">

<p style="margin-bottom:0in"> I felt really bad for her. I know yesterday was hardly the worst of what she got, but that scene happening in public certainly didn't help.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in">

<p style="margin-bottom:0in"> Throughout the next week, I kept trying to talk to her. I even tried to visit her at her house, but to no avail. There would either be no answer, or her father would open and then close the door. I became very worried for her, usually she would at least talk to me by this point.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in">

<p style="margin-bottom:0in"> One year later, I still hadn't seen her. In fact, nobody had seen any trace of her. There was a large police investigation, but nobody was able to uncover any details. I felt sick to my stomach; I would never see Katie again, and it was all my fault.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in">

<p style="margin-bottom:0in"> One night, I was jogging around the block. I had taken up jogging at night to practice calming down and to ease my nerves; with everything that had happened, I needed to find a hobby to spend energy on.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in">

<p style="margin-bottom:0in"> At one point during the jog, I tripped. I didn't see anything in the way, so I thought I was just being clumsy. As soon as I got up, however, I felt a sharp pinch on my neck, and I blacked out.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in">

<p style="margin-bottom:0in"> I don't know much of what happened within the next few hours. I remember some sharp cuts to my face and hair, but nothing really concrete. Eventually I woke up strapped to a chair and blindfolded, and immediately became afraid for my life.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in">

<p style="margin-bottom:0in">“ Where am I?” I shouted, “why am I here?!”

<p style="margin-bottom:0in">

<p style="margin-bottom:0in"> I paused for a moment. I didn't feel quite right. I'm not talking about the fact that I had been kidnapped and strapped to a chair, I meant that something about me felt different.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in">

<p style="margin-bottom:0in"> I heard footsteps behind me. I feared the worst, he was probably some psycho that abducted young girls for his own purposes. He didn't do anything much though, he removed the blindfold and turned me towards a mirror.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in">

<p style="margin-bottom:0in"> For several long seconds, I was afraid and confused. I was staring at the mirror, but I was not staring back. It was only when the man whispered something in my ear when I began to realize what had happened to me.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in">

<p style="margin-bottom:0in">“ Welcome home, Katie. I've missed you.”

<p style="margin-bottom:0in">

<p style="margin-bottom:0in">(End)

<p style="margin-bottom:0in">

<p style="margin-bottom:0in">

<p style="margin-bottom:0in">If you read it, thanks for reading. I appreciate all forms of feedback and criticism, and I am willing to take any advice you have. <ac_metadata title="Facial Reconstruction - Second story"> </ac_metadata>