TLBodine's profile

What's the purpose of writing a good review? First and most obviously, Urbis and many other sites like it require you to submit reviews in order to receive feedback on your own work, and the better reviews you write, the more likely you are to receive quality feedback in return. Many writers, myself included, consider the quality of your criticism when reviewing your work, and, though it's a bad habit to fall into, one can be naturally inclined to put less effort into a critique of someone yo...

By the time I hear the sirens she’s already dead. I can tell without looking at her; I can feel the limpness and weight of her body, the emptiness inside her. I remember when I was just a kid, my hamster had died gasping in my hand. It had quivered and wheezed for hours, struggling to hold onto life, before finally going limp, the heat slowly dissipating and leaving me clutching something as cold and lifeless as dirty laundry. I feel that same cold and emptiness now, the flesh unresisting an...

The first thing I notice is the cold. It sinks into my body, freezing my bones, numbing and burning my flesh simultaneously. Every muscle in my body aches. I try to open my eyes but they’re sealed shut with grit, and the effort is exhausting. My head is pounding, like my heart’s abandoned my chest and moved in between my ears. My body threatens to shatter like glass if I move it, so I lay still in the darkness of my thoughts and try to remember. I try to swallow, but my throat is tight, swol...

I’ve brought you flowers, Lily, like I promised; just like yesterday, and the day before, just like every day since you came here. They’re in that purple vase on the shelf by your bed, do you see? I’ve changed the water. It will keep them alive just a little longer, keep them blooming; they’re so beautiful, all of your favorite colors, do you see? Can you smell them, Lily? Something to cover that awful antiseptic smell, something to bring some color to the cold white walls. It’s funny. They’...

I knew there was something wrong the moment I picked up the receiver and heard Rebecca’s voice on the line. It was Sunday morning. They never call me to work on Sunday. She sounded slightly embarrassed, as though asking me for a favor was incredibly difficult—as though she were inconveniencing me. I would have pointed out that it wasn’t an inconvenience since I was being paid and I wasn’t doing anything else anyway, but it wouldn’t have made much difference. It never does. “All right then. I’...