Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-30048956-20160925184233/@comment-28266772-20160929150119

I’ve always had an issue with eyes. My discomfort doesn’t come from normal eyes, more so disproportionate or eyes that don’t seem quite right [awkwardly worded sentence]. I remember being younger and not being able to look people in the eyes [third sentence, fourth use of the word ‘eyes’; repetition]. I still haven’t quite gotten over that [it]. I couldn’t tell you what it is exactly, but I can tell you about a time that made me avoid even looking at my eyes. '[You don’t really elaborate on anything here – is it socially off putting, or grotesque? I can tell you quite easily that I don’t like looking at bleeding arseholes because they’re grotesque, but I don’t like maintaining eye contact because it’s socially off putting]'

I was about thirteen years old. I’d just been sent on a bus to my paternal parent’s residence. The trip was made by bus [redundant] and took about six hours. It was dark and raining the night that I arrived. I was tired and I’d never been quite fond of the paternal side of my family. I won’t say that I was in the best mood when I arrived, maybe that had something to do with it [with what exactly?]. I offered a weak smile when family commented on how much taller I’d gotten, or how much longer my hair was. The comments on my vivid green eyes and how that was the one good thing I got from my mother drove me absolutely insane [bit of a shithead thing to say to a kid if you ask me…]. I was able to maintain the respectful demeanor and continued to smile and nod slightly when appropriate.

After a few hours I began to force yawns until I was escorted to a small bedroom towards the back of the house. In the hallway I counted seven mirrors. I don’t know why I counted them, I just have a thing with counting things. [it’s called autism; combined with the aversion to eye contact this sounds, 100%, like autism] I settled into the room pretty quickly. The lights were dim and there weren’t any blinds on the one window in the room. I didn’t mind, I liked looking out through the window into the pitch black sky '[people use the term ‘pitch black’ a lot but I’m not sure they know what it means; it means no fucking light whatsoever. The nightsky is not pitch black. I mention it here because it just feels like a generic and bland description. Try to find something more interesting to say]'. Here and there the lightning would dance around, highlighting the thick clouds. I sat on the bed and held onto my knees, enthralled with the light show taking place in the sky. After a while I started to feel uncomfortable. I wasn’t able to pinpoint the source of my discomfort, so I adjusted the collar on my shirt. I kicked off my shoes and socks and moved around on the bed to see if that would help. It did for a few moments, but then the nagging sensation started up the back of my neck. I ran my fingers through my hair and shook my head. I looked back out the window and continued on with the mildly entertaining display.

My head started to hurt and I realized that I had started to lean towards the side.and [<- that needs to be fixed]I was squinting. I straightened up and looked around the room. I don’t know why but I still felt uncomfortable. I decided it was just because I was somewhere I didn’t want to be. Though, I had a small argument with myself. I felt as though I was being watched, but I knew that that wasn’t a real thing that happened. [there’s a lot of generic imagery here that feels long and awkward; I just feel like I’m reading a lot of words to get very little basic info]I’d seen the green eyes in the window, but I knew it was my reflection. That got me to wonder about just how green my eyes were. [this doesn’t feel super logical] I made my way into the hallway to look into one of the mirrors. I leaned it [in?], the hallway was dim, and I stared into my own eyes.

I’d never really taken the time to study my own eyes, after all, eyes were something I avoided as much as possible. I stood there for what seemed like a few seconds when I heard someone calling my name, causing me to jump. I turned to see my father standing there with a concerned look. His eyes… The way he looked at me, it made me uncomfortable. I didn’t like the way his eyes looked into mine. I voiced my discomfort and soon he was joined in the small hallway by the other occupants of the house. They all looked at me with their intrusive [see now ‘intrusive’ is a good word to use – you need more distinct language like this e.g. penetrative] eyes.

I don’t know how long I stood there, but I ended up going back to my room and laying down. I though [thought] about how my eyes looked, how their eyes looked. They all looked judgmental. It was like they could see inside the deepest recesses of my mind. I didn’t like that. Even when I looked at myself, I could see everything that I though [thought] was wrong with me. No, I don’t mean my physical appearance. The things that I’m able to keep others from seeing. The thoughts and intentions that I’m able to hold inside, to keep to myself. After a few hours I was able to shake off that uncomfortable feeling. I fell asleep at some point after I’d listened to the storm die down.

I woke in the morning with a text from my mother saying that I should come home. She’d already bought a ticket and I could get it from the bus station when I got there. I walked through the house, not seeing anyone. I shrugged it off and gathered my things and waited for a taxi cab to pick me up and take me to the bus station. I slept most of the ride home and was glad to see my mother waiting to pick me up.

The next few weeks went on as usual. I never really asked my mom why she wanted me to come home earlier. I didn’t really think about it. My studies kept me occupied and I had a lot of extra classes. It was better to stay busy than to have idle time.

I arrived at home, after some after school studying, to find my mother and her husband standing in front of the television. I stopped for a few moments to see what they were watching. A family had been found, dead and mutilated, in their home. Their disappearances had been reported and officers were sent to the home to investigate. The news went on to give gory details but the thing that stood out to me was that their eyes had been sewn shut and the perpetrator had used a green marker to color over their eye lids. A green marker had been found in a hallway but the authorities weren’t sure if that was the marker that had been used. [this feels like a lot of detail to give out on an open murder case]

The story went on, but I went on [repetition of ‘on’] to my room to begin my homework. I had an art project that was due in the morning and I only needed to put the finishing touches on it. It took me a while to find my bag of markers, I hadn’t really unpacked my bags and that was where it was. After a few moments of looking for a specific color. I mentally chastised myself when I remembered I’d left it at my father’s house [period/full stop]

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Mechanical issues – please don’t indent on the wikia. It’s a good habit to avoid now. Indenting is for printed work, not something you’d read on a computer and you should avoid it especially here because it can result in formatting problems. Other than that this suffered from some awkward wording and quite a few misspelled/missing words. Use a spellcheck next time.

Style issues – Biggest problem here is that the writing is bland. Needs some spicing up. A lot of the wording is quite basic and flavourless. Try to expand that vocabulary.

Plot issues – I actually kind of liked it except for the way the kid just randomly leaves the house. Leaving a family’s house without saying goodbye is fucking weird no matter how irritating they are. Similarly why does the mother just ring him up and ask him to leave? These holes need to be plugged.