Driven to this...

It was something my batty Creative Writing teacher challenged me with...

 

Lia Mallory stood in a field; her eyes were shades brighter then her lovely emerald due to the tears. Her body was still; even though pain screamed through her frail frame. Dark hair slanted down across a too pale face and shadow-bruised skin. Her hand wrapped weakly around her nonexistent hips that were carelessly covered in a baby blue frock that hung loosely at her shoulders. The wind whipped her curls around and carried away the tears before they could stain her cheeks. 

Life; what an intriguing concept, she thought as the pain drove her to her knees. It was cruel, dispassionate and compassionless to her kind; the broken spirited. She refused to let others see her like this; pain and loneliness etched into her features and became clearer when she tipped her head back to the sky. Rain started to trickle down and splash against her cheeks, the wind died; why blow away tears if the sky wept as well? She closed her eyes briefly and felt another wave of nausea. She was fifteen and hopeless, the ironic that parents are always saying they want their kids to have a better life then they did, when it was parenthood that had driven her to this. Life, it was twisted and deprived… Her hand slipped into the frock’s pocket, a flash of silver sparkled in the dying sun. She was going to be honest; she was hardly saintly so it was not her place to criticize.   

Her tears fell in a mournful pattern, though the mourning was not for her, no, it was for the unborn. The thought of that which planted the seed in her; the source of her nightmares. Her mind flashed back to that night, her body shaking in fear as the man slammed her into a wall. Her hair was longer then, easily wrapped around a fist. Her shirt was torn and a handprint marked her face. She knew it was going to happen, and as awful as it was, she thought she could survive it. Then she found out there was a child.

 She couldn’t take it, the knowledge that the child might have some of him in it! Nothing should have to live with that, she loved the child more then herself, that was clear but she couldn’t stand to have to look at a reminder of that night. She drew the blade up and placed it across her pale throat, she closed her eyes tighter. Life was a concept God could explain…she had her own mystery to solve. And so she did. Death.

She learned it intimately...

 

Reviews

[Larry Dyson]

hmmm a completed suicide ..actually a homicide and a suicide in one blow...one causing yet cleansing the other...I would have liked to hear a description more on her level of the act itself...killing the child of the Man who raped her...I know others who have chosen the other route...always what the individual can cope with...nice write ..but way too short...rewrite it please with more deep emotional descriptions? Sunshine

[Mioki]

This story seems to have been written so very carefully and thoughtfully. The girl is presented to the reader as scared, and in pain, and this immediately rasies concern. The way you described her state seemed poetical, and flowed on the page, as the reader reads. It seems to stop as we learn that she is with child, and then the suspense begins. You keep the reader clinging to some hope that maybe things are not what they seem, and then Lia pulls out the knife.

It is such a heart striking write, which was brilliantly written in a somber manner. I think the only thing I can suggest would be to maybe expand a bit more on the story, but that's just my opinion. In all, this was a great story.

[Euphoric Sin]

Such a sad and delicate story. You can really feel the desperation and pain that the girl is holding onto, the torture she keeps going through, and the finality of the decision she decided to make. I can't help but feel sorry for the child though, because it never had a chance at life.

Written in a very interesting manner. The way you have your paragraphs formed up makes it both easier to read, looks quite good.

I do have to agree with Cappi though, I would call it more of a story.

Good work, fun to read, sad story though, but that's how it's meant to be. Keep it up.

[Ama May Cooper]

A gripping tale.. sadenning painful but a thrilling read. Her emtotions spilt on teh page just like her blood upon the floor. A strange format adn speech pattern for a poem i would of thought more a story but a very good piece all the same