Drip, Drip

Submitted into Contest #58 in response to: Write a story about someone feeling powerless.... view prompt

181 comments

Drama Thriller Coming of Age

Trigger warnings: self-harm, suicidal thoughts

 

Aching, afraid, alone. 

The emotions?

They’ve always been there.

The thoughts?

I'm more than used to it.

But the actions?

They’ve only begun.

Drip, drip.

*****

It stands there, so innocent, so peaceful, away from the hands of the immoral. Tall and impressive, unassuming, and naive. I've heard others calling it a beautiful work of art, and I have to agree. Vibrant, lush greens mixed with soft, gentle blues to create a stunning masterpiece. People would never believe it to be a dangerous, evil weapon, guilty of criminal deeds. I once assumed the same, but I now know otherwise. On the outside, it's a remarkable glass mural. Sophisticated and elegant, worthy of the most distinguished aristocrats. 

The one thing people tend to forget is that it's fragile. Delicate and breakable. And when it crumbles, it can turn into the most deadly item. It is up to the one who wields its shards to either corrupt it or restore it to its former glory. 

If someone had asked me a few weeks ago, I would have looked at them crazy. Who in their right mind would destroy a piece of art like such? 

Apparently, I would.

I am about to become one among the many before me who have subjected an unwilling object to its evil fate.

I have no other choice. I know it's horrible and selfish, but it's the only refuge I have. They don't understand, they won't understand. 

Drip, drip.

*****

It wasn't always like this. Before the accident, I used to be the perfect one, the one everyone looked up to. Selfless, outgoing, intelligent. Beautiful, caring, strong. Nobody would ever suspect Alessia Finley to resort to this. Alessia Finley was the resilient one, the one parents would set as an example for their children. Alessia Finley was the one who saved 13-year-old Adrian Carson from taking his own life two months ago. Alessia Finley was the one who had too many friends to count and even more admirers.  

Hah. This whole situation is ironic. I can hardly save myself right now, much less someone else’s. Even my name is a joke in itself. "Defender" and "hero"? Not a chance. 

At least I look the same, as long as you overlook the eye bags marring my face and my skeleton-like frame. I can picture it in my mind. Auburn hair fanned out, circling a still face like a halo. I decide I will look like an angel. Ruby-red blood oozing out, contrasting with pale skin stretched over high cheekbones. A sharp jaw jutting out, matching the angles of my emaciated body. Steel gray eyes empty and cold, oblivious to the woes of this world. 

Oblivious. What an extraordinary feeling. I want to live forever in oblivion. Unfeeling, careless oblivion.

These sound like the ramblings of a maniac.

But if I am not a maniac, then what am I? What have I left to live for? For what reason do I need to hold on to sanity?

No reason. I've lost everything that matters. Now, I’m finally going to release myself from this pain. I will be free at last.

Drip, drip.

*****

“Come on, Lessie-bear, we’ve got to get going!” Dad’s voice echoes throughout the halls of our mansion. Mom was out with her friends as usual. Dad had gotten the ridiculous idea that the best way to spend the time was to bake cookies. 

“Coming, Dad, gimme a minute!” I hollered back. I quickly dressed then slid down the handrailing of the stairs to where Dad was waiting for me.

“Finally! Honestly, you women…” Dad shook his head with an amused smirk. I punched him, laughing, as I put my sneakers on. “Like old times?” I asked, already knowing the answer. “You bet,” he replied with a wink. And we were off.

I managed to get to the car a split second before my father. He scowled, his gray eyes piercing into my own. “You cheated!” he accused. I stuck my tongue out and rolled my eyes. “You wish,” I countered, stepping into the passenger seat. As Dad got in, I turned the radio to my favorite station. Like usual, Dad started singing along. 

“It's been too hard living, but I'm afraid to die

'Cause I don't know what's up there beyond the sky

It's been a long, a long time coming

But I know a change gon' come, oh yes it will”

(A Change is Gonna Come, by Sam Cooke)

I joined him, both of us singing off-key at the top of our lungs. I loved moments like these, where I could let go of everything and have fun. Nobody else understood me the way he did. I had to wear a mask in front of others, but Dad would always see through my act. I knew others thought I was perfect, and maybe I looked like I was, but on the inside, I was only human. 

We were having so much fun, we didn’t notice the sirens outside. When we did, it was too late. The drunk driver was headed straight toward us at an alarming rate. It was evident that there would be a crash.

“MOVE!” Dad bellowed, reaching over to open the car door and shoving me out. I fell onto the road with a thump. “Lessie, get up! GO!” I had never seen my father like this and it frightened me. I scrambled up and ran toward the side of the road, my dad on my heels.

We weren’t fast enough. The car was only a few feet away, maybe a yard or two? I couldn’t think, I couldn’t breathe. Everything was happening too fast for me to process. Suddenly, my dad pushed me and I stumbled ahead, landing in the arms of a police officer. I turned around, confused, but realized what was happening a moment too late.

“NO!!” I screamed, trying to pry off the officer’s vice-like grip. His strong arms only tightened around my slender frame.

“GET OFF ME, THAT’S MY FATHER!!!” I bellowed. It was no use. He was gone. 

Gone.

And it was all my fault.

The officer let me go eventually and I raced to the lifeless figure on the road. Blood was everywhere but I could care less. I don’t know how long I sat there, clutching onto the cold hand, sobbing. 

For the first time in my entire life, I was completely alone.

It wasn’t a good feeling.

Drip, drip.

*****

I was like a glass doll, molded and shaped into the perfect girl people wanted me to be. The only person who could see me for who I truly was was my father. And now, he was gone, taking with him the only thing keeping me intact. With nowhere to turn to for comfort and protection, the fragile mess I was shattered. I was no longer the Alessia Finley the world knew, nor was I the Alessia Finley my father had died to save. I was a broken girl, destroyed beyond repair. I only had one person to turn to and now he was gone. 

As the days passed, I changed. I wasn’t the same person anymore. Friends and school hardly mattered. Why should it?

I remember the happiness and relief pouring out of Adrian’s parents when I arrived at their door with their eldest son leaning on my arm. I remember seeing the three young children huddled in the corner of the room, stealing glances towards the tired boy their parents were now embracing. I remember TV news reports featuring me, the 16-year-old heroine. I remember strangers thanking me for what I had done. If I could save someone who I had no connection to, why couldn’t I have come to my senses in time to save my only companion in this dark world? 

What was the point of being good at everything if you couldn’t do the one thing that mattered? 

That was the start of my life as the monstrous creature I have now become.

A self-loathing beast in the shell of the girl I once was.

My past is a constant rebuke. A constant reminder of what I once was and how I have changed for the worse. A constant reproach that I am not worthy of my father’s sacrifice.

I suppose this is the only way to have a taste of freedom once again, now that he’s gone.

Drip, drip.

*****

The mural on the wall shows his favorite memory, he used to say. It was the place where he was with Mom when they discovered they were going to have me. He thought it resembled Paradise on Earth and had the wall designed as soon as they returned to the family mansion. Every time I told him so, he would smack his head and say, “Lessie, the reason I had this made was that it was the first place the three of us were together. The place we became a family. Not because it looked like Paradise.” Before Mom became lost to us, she would roll her eyes and quip, “Am I not enough for you?” We would all laugh together and watch the sunset with our arms wrapped around each other. 

Those were the good old days, I think, as I gaze at the glass art. It used to have so much meaning and love embedded within. Now, it’s another constant jibe that our family was broken. Nothing could heal us again. 

I’m overcome by a rush of anger and scream in frustration. What happened to the family we once were? 

In my anger, I grab one of my mother’s thick novels from on top of the dresser and hurl it at the wall. My anger doesn’t stop there. I grab any object I find near me and throw them at the glass with murderous screams, the blazing fire of pent-up rage within me never diminishing. 

A thought passes through my mind. I broke Dad’s glass mural. I broke it.

All of a sudden, I could only focus on was how tantalizing the sharp glass looked like. How I longed to hold one powerful enough to release me from my prison.

I grin devilishly and let out a euphoric cackle. 

The taste of freedom is ever so bittersweet.

Drip, Drip.

*****

The shattered glass litter the elegant rug beneath. Each sparkling glint draws me closer to that line that I know I cannot cross. If I do, there will be no going back. Had it not been for the accident, I would never have resorted to this. I would have looked for the chink in the armor and fought for a way out.

That doesn’t matter now. All rational thought has left me, leaving me with a hunger for freedom that I know only the glass can save me from. 

As I look for the sharpest piece, I realize that the room looks as though it’s made of crystals as it hits the light. I smirk to myself. It seems fitting that I will leave this cage of a world a valley of diamonds, considering what people thought of me my entire life. 

I run the tip of the glass along my wrist, relishing the sharp tingle it sends up my arm. I know I am being selfish, but now, I would like to do something for myself. It has always been about them, about what they would think, but now, they no longer matter.

For once in my life, I am sure of what I am doing. I know there is no going back, and I don’t want to go back. I know this is what I need.

I turn the blade, hitting my pale skin at an angle. I will let the flowing scarlet ink drown my pain, my sorrows, my anger. I will bask in my newfound freedom until I no longer can’t. I’m finally going to loosen up and let down my walls. I will be myself, if only for a moment. The world is not ready to deal with someone like me for longer than that, and I don’t mind. I will be long gone before they even realize what happened, much less learn how to respond.

I push the glass deeper. I hope I will be reunited with Dad. But does killing yourself permit you to go to heaven? The thought of being alone once again relaxes my grip, but I clutch it right away. 

If I couldn’t be with Dad, no matter. I’ve never been religious anyway. At least I would be free from this world. 

I press the edge into my skin. A thin stream of blood flows out. A flame ignites within me and I know that now that I have begun, there will hardly be anything strong enough to pry me from the corrupted glass I now hold. Yes, the glass will never be innocent again. It’s days as a pretty mural are gone.

The mural represented us, a close-knit and loving family of three. When Mom chose her friends over her family, the purpose the art stood for was lost. I suppose it lost its naivety a long time ago, way back then.

I shiver and take a quick breath as the cold glass comes into closer contact with my untainted skin. Despite my irregular breathing and racing heart, my mind is calm. I have accepted this fate and I will not cower in its wake. I will be strong, if only for the last time, and will approach my end with as much dignity as I can. People will shudder in disgust when they hear about what I did — and I hardly care — but at least I will not leave a coward.

I push the glass harder into my skin. The small trickle intensifies into a running flow of dark sticky fluid and I sigh in satisfaction. There is slight pain but I’ve dealt with worse in the past. Granted, it was emotional and mental pain before, but it doesn’t matter. The promise of freedom is stronger than any pain.

My first mistake is glancing toward the chest of drawers on the opposite end of the hall. There are three photos there: one for each member of my family. My second mistake was finding my father’s. 

The hand holding the glass falls limp by my side as I am faced with a sudden rush of memories. My father’s proud smile as I told him how I stopped Adrian from jumping over the bridge. His playful banter to cheer me up. The serious look in his eyes when he told me that he’d always be there for me. The ridiculous ideas he had and his horrible off-key singing. His fingers stroking my hair, telling me stories. The fierce determination in his eyes and urgent in his voice as he told me to run. The sure way he pushed me to safety and took the full blow of the car himself.

I fall to my knees. Sobs rack my body and it’s suddenly hard to breathe. I feel hot fluid moving down my arm and tear my shirt to wrap around the gash. Had my father been here, he would have been disgusted with me. He would have hated the woman I have become, full of self-loathing and anger. He would have been horrified at the idea that he sacrificed his life for a monster like me.

I freeze as the thought occurs to me. He had chosen to die to protect me. He chose me over himself.

It wasn’t my fault.

I couldn’t have saved him even if I tried. 

He would still die. He wanted to die for me. Me. 

And this is how I repaid him.

What had I done? 

Drip, drip.

*****

It feels like hours before I stand up, now a different person. I can sense the change in myself. I radiate confidence and determination. I am not the naive Alessia Finley, oblivious to the horrors of the world, nor am I the Alessia Finley who cracked under pressure. I will make the most of my father’s sacrifice. I will be a girl my father would be proud of.

I walk over to the chest of drawers. This time, I am careful of the glass surrounding me. I thought them to be beautiful only a while ago. Now, they represent all the hurdles I had to face. I am determined to not let them get to me.

I set the shard I used to cut myself next to my father’s frame. I will not throw it away. It will always be there, under my father’s watchful eye, as a reminder to myself to not let the darkness overcome me.

I am about to turn away from the dresser but freeze. I could almost swear my father’s smile grew and his head tilted slightly forward in approval. I blink and it’s gone, but that moment was enough. I know my father is watching me from wherever he is and he’s proud of me. I am determined to keep it that way.

As I walk away, I hear the blood trickling from the shard onto the piles of glass on the ground. I am tempted to turn around but decide otherwise. Let it drip for all eternity. I am not that broken girl anymore. No, I am stronger than her. I will not let her defeat me with any temptations, not even this. 

I am ready to move on. Whatever happened in this room, stays in this room. I won’t ever come back, except to occasionally remind myself of what could happen if I am not strong. 

With that in mind, I set my shoulders back, raise my chin, and leave the shards behind, my blood still staining the carpet.

Drip, drip.

*****

 

September 12, 2020 01:40

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181 comments

Cynthia Mackay
12:43 Sep 18, 2020

Have to say, love this. It is a beautiful visualization of the mind. How we process and deal with grief. She was strong enough to realize the sacrifice and will now fight to prove it wasn't for nothing. Great job! Keep it up! :-)

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☆ Ariadne ☆
17:20 Sep 18, 2020

Oh, thank you! I'm glad you enjoyed it! ❤

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Mary Jo Fortes
02:45 Sep 18, 2020

Wow, Adrienne! You had me mesmerized with this story, especially your skilled use of character, descriptiveness, and suspense (drip, drip). You opened with the glass mural and brought it full circle, making the mural a character in its own right. I was not prepared for the plot twist with Alessia's dad and you brought tears to my eyes with this segment, as well as elsewhere. It is a real talent for a writer to evoke such emotion! So well written, touching, and hopeful in the end! Bravo!! I am definitely following you as I am looking ...

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☆ Ariadne ☆
04:32 Sep 18, 2020

Oh my, Mary, this is too much! I'm crying - your comment seriously touched my heart. I am so so so happy you enjoyed my writing - I was quite hesitant to submit it as it is my first story here. Thank you so much! I can't even express how much your feedback means to me. Thanks again! You made my day! :)

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Mary Jo Fortes
04:20 Oct 17, 2020

{Sorry for the delayed response--we were communicating on my feed, and then I was on hiatus} Well, Adrienne, you chose one hell of a first entry, let me tell you!! And, I just call 'em as I see 'em (or read 'em and feel 'em). I enjoy, even get inspired by, a ton of stories, but it truly is something when I am moved so deeply as I was by yours. To me, it's the true goal of any creative artist--to make others FEEL something!! You are such a talented writer, storyteller, and emotion-evoker! On to your other stories now--I'm excited!!...

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☆ Ariadne ☆
04:30 Oct 17, 2020

Not a problem! I'm glad you're back! Oh, you are too kind. I am so glad this touched you in such a way. It was a scary thing to hit that submit button - it was a lot of "firsts" for me. My first time telling the public about that darkness I constantly struggle with, my first time posting anything as an author really! Thank you for the compliments! My other stories are definitely not as dark as this one, nor is it as deep. I still hope you enjoy them!

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Mary Jo Fortes
06:33 Oct 17, 2020

Well, congratulations on ALL of those impressive firsts!! Still incredulous to me that Drip, Drip, Drip was your first time posting anything as an author--you really come onto a scene with a BANG, huh?! And I envy your teachers--what a dream it must be to read your papers (hope they appreciate them for the gems that they must be!) That is HUGE to tell your story publicly for the first time. Just recently, I was inspired by my close friend's daughter to share my truth--I created a FB post like she did. Now I've posted my own story about ...

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☆ Ariadne ☆
18:36 Oct 19, 2020

Thank you! No, I usually only write boring essays for my classes. We hardly ever write narratives, but when we do, they do send me nice emails. :) Very much so. Writing is such a therapeutic way to release all that pent-up anger, pain, and regret. I felt infinitely times lighter after hitting that submit button - but my anxiety still lies beneath the surface. I have faced negative comments to my face about my illness in the past, and while I have moved past those days, I still am quite sensitive when it comes to that. Thankfully, Reedsy h...

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Bojana Bojkovic
14:53 Sep 17, 2020

An exceptionally written and powerful story! Looking forward to reading more of your works!

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☆ Ariadne ☆
18:52 Sep 17, 2020

Thanks so much! I can't wait to read more of your stories too! :)

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Amber Hartung
02:31 Sep 15, 2020

i really like it's very thought intensive. it feels as if you have lost some dear to and this write touches every dark and light aspect of it. its a very beautiful story.

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☆ Ariadne ☆
03:37 Oct 26, 2020

Thank you!

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Julie Emma
13:21 Sep 14, 2020

Oh wow. This is the first time I've seen suicide depicted in this way. Chilling. You managed to convey so much emotion in such a beautiful way, and yet you somehow also succeeded in making it realistic, just like the ramblings of a teenage girl. I can't wait to see what else you write next.

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☆ Ariadne ☆
18:07 Sep 14, 2020

Oh, thank you! You are too kind.

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Marissa Tuazon
00:30 Sep 14, 2020

You are an awesome writer Adrienne. I am speechless! 👏👏👏👏👏

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☆ Ariadne ☆
01:31 Sep 14, 2020

Thanks! I try my best. 😉

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Cameron Wright
22:20 Sep 13, 2020

This story was a crazy rollercoaster of emotions. You described her pain very nicely and her change based on her father's picture was incredible. I like how you included a memory of her with her father, I think it really added to the story. I was thinking that the "Drip, drip" indicated her falling apart after her dad's death but I liked the way you put it also. Good job!

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Rielle Lopez
22:21 Sep 13, 2020

Hey, that's a really cool way of looking at the dripping idea. I never thought of it.

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☆ Ariadne ☆
22:23 Sep 13, 2020

I agree! My mom said something similar and I think it's a neat way of looking at it. Thank you for your comments!

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Lori Colt
22:14 Sep 13, 2020

This is an incredibly powerful story Adrienne. Scary as hell that someone could do this to themselves, and how the character was so aware and in step with the actions she was taking. I like how you moved forward and back in time, her actions now, and her remembering the times with her mom and dad. I'm glad in the end she resolved to accept her dad's gift of life and celebrate that. Keep writing!!!

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☆ Ariadne ☆
22:16 Sep 13, 2020

Thank you for your feedback! I appreciate it! :)

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Lori Colt
22:17 Sep 13, 2020

Anytime.

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Charles Stucker
02:13 Sep 13, 2020

"The only person who could see me for who I truly was was my father." The double was is a jarring construction. You could avoid it with, "My father was the only person who could see me for who I truly was." Same words, different order. Some meaning, different rhythm. "The shattered glass litter the elegant rug beneath." Beginning with "The" (a singular article) means glass acts as a singular object for your verb- use litters. Or, you could say "Glass shards litter..." "I will bask in my newfound freedom until I no longer can’t." i thi...

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☆ Ariadne ☆
03:41 Sep 13, 2020

Oh, thank you so much for your insightful feedback! Yes, I see my mistakes. Haha, I tend to do these little errors all the time. I have your points noted and hope to incorporate your feedback into future stories. I also wish you could have seen this earlier -- hopefully next time! I do appreciate you taking the time to help me out like this. It means a lot!

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Charles Stucker
04:37 Sep 13, 2020

Tag me if you want me to look at something-preferably before Thursday night so I can get it back in time for you to change things.

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☆ Ariadne ☆
00:04 Sep 15, 2020

Is there a way to tag people in your submission? I can't seem to figure out how. Do I share the story with you via social media or...? Thanks.

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Charles Stucker
00:43 Sep 15, 2020

Just send a reply to any story I have up. Say, "Charlie, can you check out my latest story?" A lot of people do this, so I check my notifications regularly.

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☆ Ariadne ☆
00:48 Sep 15, 2020

Got it, thank you! I will be sure to keep you updated. :)

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Aqsa Malik
17:21 Sep 23, 2020

Hey, sorry it took me a while longer to get to reading this, I was a bit busy. All that comes to my mind when I think about this story is WOW. I love how the first half of the story is so ominous and littered with perfect descriptions, especially that of the glass mural. It really set an intriguing tone, and definitely did not disappoint. Your use of alliteration right at the beginning was brilliant since it was relevant and not just placed there for the sake of using literary devices. I also loved your use of repetition, not only i...

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☆ Ariadne ☆
18:54 Sep 23, 2020

Thank you for your in-depth critique! I don't mind the wait - this feedback is worth it! Oh no! Did I really do that? I'll be sure to check on the tenses. Maybe it was to show her thought incoherence? I'm not entirely sure at the moment, but I will take a look!

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Kris 🖤
05:34 Sep 23, 2020

I really enjoyed this, especially the decision to not tell it in sequential order, especially with the broken mural being shown at the beginning long before we know why it's broken or how the pieces are going to be used. I found the repetition of "drip drip" especially impactful, because I inferred its meaning from the first time it was used, but it takes well into the story before we actually see it come to fruition, so the tension just builds & builds with each repetition. Great first submission!

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☆ Ariadne ☆
18:47 Sep 23, 2020

Thank you so much for your feedback! I'm so glad you liked it!

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Rease Hunter
04:21 Sep 17, 2020

I really like this story. I love how its all intense. Very nice job! Keep it up! P.S. I would be nice if you checked out my story! Maybe give me some points and I'll give you some in return. :)

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☆ Ariadne ☆
04:27 Sep 17, 2020

I'm glad you enjoyed it!

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Willow Bird
00:31 Sep 17, 2020

This was absolutely incredible. Everything from the title to the power in Alessia's words. If there were any grammatical errors, I certainly didn't see them. Amazing job!!

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☆ Ariadne ☆
02:59 Sep 17, 2020

Thank you for your kind words! It means a lot to me. I'm sure there are some errors here and there - but I'm glad you liked it! :)

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Willow Bird
12:04 Sep 17, 2020

:)

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Moon Lion
23:38 Sep 16, 2020

I thought the story was very complex, mirroring Alessia's struggle with a lot of things. I felt that her mention of her name was an interesting character aspect and that the guilt she felt was very raw. The writing was quite well done, I just felt that some of the parts had a beautiful flow, while others felt a little blocky, if that makes any sense. Great concept, and a competent execution!

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☆ Ariadne ☆
23:46 Sep 16, 2020

Thanks! I realize that some parts seemed a bit "blocky" but it was in an attempt to portray the turmoil of thoughts in a suicidal teenager's mind realistically. I appreciate your feedback! :)

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Jason Parker
21:51 Sep 16, 2020

Great piece, Adrienne. You had me right from the outset, then the flashback was the gut punch at your narrative's core. And that insidious 'drip, drip'--much like sand through the hourglass--leading the reader to the highly anticipated conclusion. Brilliant. : )

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☆ Ariadne ☆
22:22 Sep 16, 2020

That's a great comparison! I didn't even think of that. Thank you for your feedback - it means a lot to me! :)

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Molly Leasure
20:01 Sep 16, 2020

You brought amazing power into a very sad situation. I like the way you structured the piece. You threw us in, then delved into her mind, and then threw us into the situation, but from an earlier moment. Starting at the end (well, not quite, but close to) was a great way to set-up the situation. It helped us to feel the strongest emotions, and then learn about why she was having them as we read.

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☆ Ariadne ☆
20:07 Sep 16, 2020

Thank you for your feedback!

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Nina Zhang
18:39 Sep 16, 2020

your way of writing is so captivating and perfect, and in more ways than one it could go wrong if written differently. Some stories I find are a tad bit boring, but you spin a spectacular tale from this one :D

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☆ Ariadne ☆
18:41 Sep 16, 2020

Thank you for your positive feedback! :)

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Tanja Cilia
16:25 Sep 16, 2020

I like the flow of the stream of consciousness. However, I have a niggling suspicion that Alessia could have committed suicide, in a parallel world; "... Steel gray eyes empty and cold, oblivious to the woes of this world. Oblivious. What an extraordinary feeling. I want to live forever in oblivion. Unfeeling, careless oblivion..."

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☆ Ariadne ☆
17:42 Sep 16, 2020

Thanks for your feedback!

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Inked Disaster
15:50 Sep 16, 2020

Powerful story, Adrienne. The beginning really pulled me in and held me spellbound until the very last 'drip'. Awaiting more of your works.❤️

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☆ Ariadne ☆
17:43 Sep 16, 2020

Thank you! Your comment made my day! :)

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Mariam Mansuryan
11:20 Sep 16, 2020

Interesting piece of writing... The descriptions and diction are colorful and engaging. I didn't believe that only by seeing a picture the girl would so dramatically change her mind. That part did not strike me as something realistic. Besides, I would suggest putting a trigger warning before a story like this :) Keep it up, waiting to see what you'll write next. M

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☆ Ariadne ☆
18:16 Sep 16, 2020

I appreciate your comment. I was going to put up a trigger warning but I was scared it would go over the word count (the story is quite long). It's up there now. Thanks! :)

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