995 words
I remember she had pink hair and smelled like pink roses, but maybe that's my imagination filling in the gaps of an unreliable memory. Still, I can get away with saying that. It sounds poetic and helps keep her alive in my head, long after she disappeared.
I'm not too sure why I'm clinging to a specter, to something that no longer exists. The brief stormy period after she blew into my life is characterized by a maze of confusion and doubt. That's probably why I still think about it: it was exciting, it was important, it had meaning. Sometimes I idolize the wrong things, I know that now. There's a lot I don't know, but I am learning. I mistake agony for ecstasy. If I can touch anguish at will I must be living a life that means something. I didn't cheat. I didn't take the easy way out. I can struggle and grind for no good reason other than to prove I am, in fact, human.
Okay sooo this is hard to get into. It goes on a little too long and we're exhausted by the end. How do we find our way in? It lacks a sense of place and consistent tone, has no consideration for the reader and meanders into a thicket of bullshit. Do you want people to read this, or feel it? Rewrite this from the beginning. Start over. DO IT AGAIN.
Her laugh sounded like the clinking bells of a forest sprite in the evening, some shy fairy unsure of her wings, too delicate to disturb anything but too beautiful to ignore. I liked making her laugh. I never knew why she found me so funny but maybe she just liked being around me.
When she talked about the things she loved and things she hated -- books, music, memories -- I stared transfixed into her eyes as they shone with some white fire. I wanted to feel that fire. I wanted to feel what she felt. Take me with you. I wanted to burn and die and be reborn in the ashes of an obsession that was over before it began.
Barf. You can do better. Or can you? Nope. This is a diary entry and belongs in a diary. You're putting words down but you're not writing. Anyone can do this. Show don't tell. Show don't tell show don't tell show don't tell show don't tell. Basic shit. We suggest you sober up before trying again but DO ITTT AGAAINNANNNEIINNIN.
The first time I saw her was at a Christmas party. I didn't know anyone. Within minutes of meeting her, I knew three things: she was an artist, addicted to marijuana, and subtly unhappy. Her pink hair fell behind her like a waterfall from a psychedelic adven
ALL SUBMISSIONS CONTAINING REFERENCES TO ANY ILLEGAL SUBSTANCES WILL BE AUTOMATICALLY DISQUALIFIED. DOOOOO ITTT GAIGIAGNAANNNNNNNNNNNNN AND KEEP IT CLEAN AND DOOTTTITITITI AGAINGANANN AGAAGIN AGAIN DO IT IT AGAIN REDO DO OVER DO TI AGAIN.
When she looked at me, I felt like she saw me. I existed. I remember hovering over her in the darkness as her trembling limbs clutched my back in desperation. Her chewed frayed nails gouged deep red lines below my shoulder blades. The pain and pleasure opened up new dimensions of what I perceived was possible to share with a wom
Uhhhhhhhhhh INAPPROPRIATE SUBJECT MATTER. Too many words. Cut these sentences down. Use simpler language. What the fuck are DIMENSIONS and PERCEIVING WHAT IS POSSIBLE??? Write from your FUCKING HEART YOU PIECE OF FUCK DOOO ITTT AGAIIIINENNENNENNNNNN N NNN NNNNNNNNNNNN AGIN AGAIN agaIN AGAINAGAIN AGAIN AGAIN DO IT AGAIINNNNNNNNNNNN AGAGAINNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN DOOOOOOO IT MORE. TRY AGAIN YOU FUCKINGAAGAIN DO IT AGAIN AGAIN AGIAN GAINGNAGNNGNGBGN
How do you know if you're holding dry ice or a burning coal? Sometimes you can't tell the difference. That's how I felt when I looked at her. As I we lay together in her small hard bed as the moon's cold light spied on us through the window, her two sharp eyes peering into mine, I couldn't tell if I was feeling love or lust.
NOPE DOOO IT AGAAAIN AGAIN DO IT TAGAINGANGAINANIN.NNN and DODODODO TITITITITIT IT AGAAINAINAN
Even though it's been a few years since she left, I like to think I can remember every moment we shared. She liked jasmine. Or was it lavender? What was her favorite song? I don't know anymore. Her phone number is gone. Even the street she lived on looks different now, like I was never there at all. All I can remember is her pink hair.
Thank you for your submission. Unfortunately, you were not chosen as a finalist. Due to the overwhelming amount of excellent pieces submitted we cannot select all of them. Please keep in mind that deciding what pieces to include as finalists is a very subjective process and your exclusion from the next round may not be reflective of the quality of your submission but we didn't choose yours because we just didn't and didn't want to because it's not one we selected so please reconsider the fact that we chose other submissions over yours as an objective awareness that ummm we just couldn't select all of them and yours was one of the ones that wasn't that soo ummmm soooo you should just do it tAGAIN DOD IT AGAIN DO AGAIN ATAGAIN DO IT AGAIN AGAIN AGAIN SDOOOOOOOOO IT AGAIN AGAIGNA DO IT AGAINGA GAGAIN DO IT AGAIN JUST GO AND DO IT AGAIN PLEASE REWRITE FROM A NEW BEGINNING WHICH INVOLVESSSSSSSSS DOOOOOOO IT TAAAAAAAAAAGAGAGAIGNAIGNAGANGAINGAING DO IT AGAIN AGAIN DO IT AGAIN. START OVER AND DO IT AGAIN DO IT AGIANG ANEHRG