Thanks for reading. I’ll take the tentacle thing into consideration.
Short Story / Devour (Analysis)
The fork plunged into her arm, and as I raised the knife to cut out a piece of flesh, she moaned with desire. With the delicacy of a newborn I slowly lifted the fork to my mouth and began chewing as she watched with a ravenous stare. With each bite her hands slid down her chest until she met her panties and a feverous groping fiesta erupted; masturbation and mastication.
With the skin swallowed I raised my eyes and spoke with in a lustful hush, “your turn.”
Her hand remained on her panties for another minute before she stood, her face harboring a horny smile and she tiptoed over to me and snatched the fork and knife. With gentle caress she ran the fork up and down my face before stopping at my cheek. Her arm darted back and then forward, the fork pierced my cheek and I leaned forward to kiss her. We held lips for a brief moment and she lessened her grip on the fork, lost in the translation of love and lust contorting throughout the room and radiating from our wounds. Our lips separated and her eyes rolled into the back of her head, but she returned and brought the knife to the lonely fork stuck in the side of my face.
The knife danced around the fork as though some bizarre ritual to entice it, and a circle of skin separated as she pulled it from my cheek and to her mouth. The sensation was tantalizing and I shut my eyes and imagined us as skeletons on a hill enjoying the city skyline. The fork escaped from under her lips and emerged bare. Her smile exposed blood tainted teeth and I chuckled, “oh, you devil.”
My arms extended and I tugged her violently onto the couch and we lay side by side facing one another, my gaping cheek staining a crimson circle onto the cushion. The lustful intentions calmed and my eyes pierced hers and vice-versa, fork versus fork, and our noses embraced like Eskimo knives.
“You’re beautiful,” she said.
I answered with a barrage of kisses on her neck and her body shivered. Like a cunning snake my kisses slithered down across her breasts to fill her chest, which I still had yet to taste; I’d hardly known her for a month and only knew the deliciousness of her arms. The time was not a factor to me; my heart told me this was love.
With force beyond her own she grabbed my head and shoved it between her legs. The antique clock across the room struck midnight and sirens echoed from the city streets but the sounds never truly reached our ears. Blood still leaked from my cheek as I came back up her body, bloody kisses marked my route. She blinked when I kissed her between the eyes. Her arms wrapped around me and she whispered into my ear, “Devour me.”
We made love until the final lights of the city faded and as we collapsed beside one another we only heard the symphony of night and felt the electricity jolting between our hands, which were so close yet so far. Our bodies were against each other, our legs conjoined scissors and our eyes returned to utensil uniform. She turned slightly onto her back and I mimicked. We stared at the ebony décor the night had veiled over the ceiling and for a long while we said nothing. Our eyes darted and spoke the words we weren’t speaking, moving frantically as if there were some hidden picture in the darkness above.
I turned my body to face her as her head rolled over and her chin rested on her shoulder, and admired her. I could trace the shadows of her mouth, her thin and defined lips, raised to show off their liveliness with the top split by a perfect v. I followed a bridge of black that connected her nose to her top lip and my eyes darted slowly upward where her eyes should be, but were now nothing but gaping holes of endless midnight wonder.
I smiled a smile she could not see.
---
I awoke first and saw her naked beauty bathed in sunlight, I got up slowly so not to stir her and went to put some coffee on. She woke a few minutes later, rubbing her eyes and walking in small strides, shaking off the last bits of dreariness.
“Good morning sunshine,” I greeted.
“Good morning to you too,” she smiled.
I sat at the kitchen table and sipped coffee I felt drops run down my chin onto the marble top. She sat down across from me, her breasts rising with each small breath and her arms stretched above her head, her knuckles cracked together.
“Care for some coffee?” I asked.
She shook her head no and nodded towards the bathroom. I set the coffee down and walked across the room to turn on the light and while she started the shower, “good thinking.”
With early eyes we climbed into the shower together. The water splashed down over my head and cascaded down her slender body. She danced when she put shampoo in her hair and seductively washed it out, making swift motions that made her breasts jiggle. She watched me while I washed myself, scrubbing the soap over my chest, legs and arms and as I began to wash it off I felt a wondrous bite in my shoulder.
I turned to see a thin line of blood dripping from her lower lip, she stood chewing.
“What a beautiful animal you are.”
She backed up against the wall of the shower and slowly slid down, until she was lying down with her legs bent. She uncurled her finger and I too lay with her under the rushing hot waters.
I pressed my face against her left thigh, turned and bit into it. She screamed with passion, her eyes darted wildly and her hands were clenched so tight she could pull the tiles right from the walls. The blood dripped from her thigh and leaked red blots across the shower bottom. I wanted to grab one of the blots out of the water and ask her “what do you see in this picture?”
Maybe her response would be clouds or dolphins. Or maybe just ink on paper.
I finished chewing and we made love with the hot rain on our backs. There were no words to be said, and we often found ourselves locked in silent staring contests. The motion became faster and faster and yet, our eyes never parted gaze. The only sound the cascade of water and even that grew inaudible after some time.
We climaxed, turned off the water and began to dry off. She whipped me with the towel and laughed. I picked her up, she kicked and screamed and I tossed her onto the bed. We got dressed and while she put on her makeup I finished my cup of coffee at the kitchen table. She came over, her eyes lined in a thick black and her hair was pulled up and burst out like a fountain, little tentacles of hair sprouted everywhere. Her lips were a thin pink and she adorned a baby doll dress colored with abstract flowers, Picasso’s garden.
The car was on and I fiddled with the radio while she locked the door. The sun was high in the air, petting the trees and taking the obscurity away from the bird’s songs. She hopped in and off we went.
---
We ended up at a small sidewalk café. A thin fence lined around a cobblestone yard of tables and chairs, the café a mustard canvas that sprouted out of the earth. We sat down at a table as a waitress came over to take our order. I looked around at the people surrounding us, as the couples sipped their tea and stroked one another’s arms.
It was so beautiful to see so much love. Over to my right a young girl laughed and I saw her tongue lash in and out through her open cheeks. The girl reached her arm up, chunks of flesh missing and her elbow bone peeped out, and her man kissed her palm.
“Look at them,” I said, pointing.
“Such young love,” she said, “I hope it works for her.”
The waitress brought our teas and as her arm extended to place them at our table, I noticed her arm was still bare and intact.
“Haven’t found the right one yet?” I asked.
The waitress’ smile slanted to a crooked crack in her face and she shook her head. I thanked her for bringing the tea as she made her way to other tables of wounded lovers.
“Let’s be them,” she said to me, her eyes alerted to the table behind me and I slightly turned.
Two gray haired skeletons sat hunched over cups of tea, and nibbled on a pastry from the café bakery. The sun shone off their bones and illuminated them like the insides of Pandora’s Box. The only flesh remaining was their lips, which they kissed each other upon before I turned my head back to stare at my love.
“What a rare sight that is,” I said, her hands grasped in mine. She smiled.
“The tea is delicious,” she commented, and I nodded in agreement.
Behind me I heard chairs moving and feet moving, the skeleton couple was getting ready to leave, the man placing a tip on the table while his wife’s bony hand waited for his. As they began to pass our table, I stopped them.
“Excuse me,”
The skeleton man turned first, his wife still slightly oblivious as to where the voice had come from. He guided her around to face me, her jaw bone open.
“That’s just so nice,” I said, “the two of you.”
The man nodded, “thank you son.”
“I was just telling her,” I pointed to my love, “how rare it is to see people such as yourselves, so in love.”
The man chucked a skinless laugh, “sixty years strong.”
---
We met purely by accident, or perhaps it was fate. I boarded the city bus simply on my way to a local club to waste the night away. Carnival was in session and the nightlife exploded for two straight nights, the time when many learned life continues to exist under the light of the moon. The bus was crowded and as I walked down the aisle, my head jerked from side to side as my eyes scanned for an empty seat anywhere.
And there she was, the only rider on the bus without a companion.
I shuffled past and sat next to her, she turned her head slightly to examine me, as if I may not be worthy to take the seat next to her. The bus rolled forward and for a long while I said nothing and simply stared at my knees. Outside people screamed and hollered, and the brilliant lights paraded through the bus windows and illuminated the seats and riders. I looked up and people became blue and red, the seats glowed green and yellow and at times a slight rainbow could be seen haunting above all of our heads.
“Where are you headed?”
A soft knife through the carnival chaos struck me; the girl had broken our bond of silence.
“Oh,” I began, “just shooting around, killing some time. You know.”
She nodded. “I love carnival.”
“I’ve never been that excited about it,” I said. The bus came to a stop and as people piled out into the street, more piled back on to party on at some other destination. The bus moved once again, blurring across scenes of smiling midnight clowns and lines of drunk dancing.
“That’s a shame,” she said.
“Why do you say that?” I asked.
“It’s the one time of the year you can be someone else, you can be whoever and whatever you want and there’s no one to call you out on it, because you know what? Everyone else is pretending to be someone else too.”
I thought about it for a moment, the bus screeched to a halt once more. “So who are you pretending to be?”
She laughed and her face turned to a pale yellow against the spotlights outside. “Whatever you want me to be.”
---
We slumped over a table in some smoky bar, a drunken aroma melted into our skin and hysterics flew from our mouths as alcohol glided down our throats. She stuck to her word, she was exactly what I wanted her to be, but I hoped she wasn’t pretending.
Someone across the bar began yelling “Carnival! Carnival!” and everyone raised their glasses in rejoice. I raised mine to the false cause as did she; we clanged our glasses together and downed what was left. We left without paying, as we escaped past the occupied waitresses into the wild night of Carnival.
The streets were crowded, drunk staggers abound and wild screams from crowds illuminated by glowing sticks and trashcan bonfires. As she held her composure, my walk had transformed into a slight limp and my body rocked back and forth trying to keep up with her. We found ourselves in a dark club, lit by purple florescent lights and filled with a miasma of heads and arms, dancing outside of their own bodies.
She grabbed my hand and pulled me through the crowd and faces swirled by me, all delirious and bobbing to the music that flowed throughout the small room. We danced under the flashing lights, her face stared back at me in split second motions, a smile, then blackness, a smile, then nothing. I moved unaware of my actions, just allowing the music to take hold of me while her eyes composed.
We awoke that morning on a park bench. Her head slumped into my shoulder and my arm cradled around her. Her little nose crinkled as she turned slightly and the first rays of sunshine entered her eyes. She looked up and kissed me on the cheek.
“Morning,”
I stroked my hands through her hair. “Morning,”
I looked around and heard the stillness of the air, the slight and soft song of the early birds and the rolling driftwood remnants of Carnival. There was no one in sight, the park completely empty and beyond that I heard not a sound from the city. Carnival’s chaos was over and bleak and mundane shadows had crept back to claim their stake on life.
“We’re all alone,” I said.
“We are all we need,” she said.
---
The lights were out and we were surrounded by candles. She tiptoed towards me with ghostly flight and I was on the couch without my shirt on. She adorned black lingerie that I’d never seen before, her arms sported my inflictions of love and I had the desire to rip her cheeks off.
Her eyes were focused and anyone other than me might mistake her glare for lunacy rather than love. She straddled me, her arms wrapped around my neck and I looked down to see a fork and knife tucked into her panties.
She brought her mouth right next to my ear, her chin against the hole in my cheek. Her tongue tickled my ear lightly and she giggled. “Happy two months,”
“You too baby,” I whispered.
Each time we kissed it was like the first time. Each time I felt like a child again, back in the eighth grade under the bleachers at the school night dance. Her hair was done up, twisted into a tall poof and strands fell onto her cheeks. Our hands quivered inside each other’s and I was stood on the edge of my childhood waiting to leap off. As teachers paroled the gymnasium and other kids frolicked to the music and huddled around the punch table, we sat with our legs crossed under the abyss of the bleachers, while small beams of light cut through the cracks in the seats and gave life to our eyes. Her mouth was a time machine.
Her skin against mine, her kisses paraded down my chest while she removed her lingerie and the silverware clattered to the floor as she stood naked in front of me. The candles cast their flicker across her body and made her skin dance. I stood up and took off my pants and we both took our own ends of the room, staring and bare. The candles licked the black air and slowly, with the ease of a hunting lion, I stepped forward and upon seeing my action, she did the same.
The game continued, step and stare, step and stare, my turn, her turn, my turn, and hers, until we met and our noses bent together, her breasts melted into mine and our hands became a piece of each other’s bodies. There was a tangible energy between us that filtered through our veins and absorbing into the nooks of the room.
She knelt gently and retrieved the fork and knife. “Oh, lover!” she cried.
I lay down on my back while she hovered over me with surgeon’s eyes. Up and down, her pervious eyes searched for the tenderest piece of flesh before her gaze stopped.
“I want a piece of your heart,” she said.
“It’s all yours,” I replied with a smile.
Her eyes lit up, her thin lips widened and her cheeks puffed out slightly. My hands reached up to graze her gentle skin as her breathing sped up and her chest pulsed in and out rapidly. The candles watched from all around us, small flares of fiery passion encircling the darkness in the room. She raised the fork above her head and her porcelain grin morphed into an animalistic sneer.
The fork pierced my chest and my heartbeats radiated against the cold metal. She was fierce in her approach and the knife cut voraciously into my skin, such bloody delight. Further and further the thin fork traveled and I stared at the ceiling and my chest became my eyes, her face casting a sinisterly loving mug over me.
She held a piece of my heart in her hand, drenched and dripping, while her other hand groped at her crotch and I could see her legs tingling. I sat up and looked over at her as she held up the piece of me. “This,” she said, “This is our love.”
I grabbed the fork from the floor, “my turn.”
---
We were dressed in our finest for the party of the year. She adorned a silk dress that stopped just above her knees, black and crunchy with a belt to accessorize her waist. I was in a suit far too fancy for my tastes, white shirt and black tie and as I adjusted it around my neck, she stood with her elbow slumped against the doorway and waited.
I could sense her excitement as it radiated from her and washed over my shoulders. Every part of her complained and whined to me as I slipped on my shoes. Her elbows moaned against the doorway, her fingers dangled with tears and when her feet sighed her heels would click against the floor. I stood up, “ready baby?”
She raised her elbow and it smiled like a joyous puppy. Her fingers dried their tears immediately, sat patiently against her sides and her feet jumped for joy while her toes wriggled with delight. Her mouth widened like a crescent moon fallen on its back, bright and gleaming.
I followed her down the stairs as she seemed to hurry from some invisible predator. The car was on before I had made the corner of the driveway and she began to beep hysterically.
“I’m right here!”
Her fingers were ravenous, curling and uncurling, as they tapped against the wheel and groped the drive shaft. I barely had time to slam the door shut as the car sped off. Her feet became bricks tied down onto the gas pedal, and I clung to the door handle with all my might. There was a sense of ruthlessness about her that I had never sensed before, as if Death were sitting in the middle seat caressing and kissing her neck. She drove with one hand, her other flailed excitedly about in the air, an undead hand job.
The scenery outside flew by like shattered glass, fragments passed before my eyes could adjust, blurs in time. Birds were long black lines and trees assembled themselves from a watercolor palette, houses collided into one another and the pedestrians were decapitated by chain link fences and street signs.
“What’s the hurry?” I asked.
“We can’t arrive late,” she said. “This is the party of a lifetime.”
“What’s so special about this goddamn thing anyway?”
“Because,” she said, “we can pretend to be someone else.”
“What is wrong with who we are?”
Her eyes remained straight ahead on the pavement as it thundered under us and the stop signs melted past us in red blaze glory. Her foot was still heavy on the gas, with one hand on the wheel and the other maniacally squeezed her knee. She was madder than she had ever been, more crazed than anytime we had made love and I’d never seen the stare she inhibited now, not even when she gnawed on my flesh in her piranha-like prowess.
The mansion was bustling with life. Vines suffocated the stone pillars that outlined the gardens and picayune fish swam through the endless maze of streams and ponds. Over every corner maidens whisked about in frenzy as though their imaginative dresses would turn to rags at the stroke of midnight, while suitors scurried to find the perfect damsel in distress. There were punch bowls and drunk dancing to music that seemed to sprout from the wind and the moon peered over the roof like the uninvited guest.
She led me to him, holding my hand as though I wore the plague. He stood there so smug, in a divine stance and he kissed her hand when she extended it in greeting. He reached out to shake my hand and shed a smile of egotistical pearls.
“I’m Walter, welcome to my party.”
I went to get some punch while she remained next to Walter as he offered her drinks and as her voice carried in the wind I often heard her respond to him “oh darling, that is simply marvelous!”. The falseness fell from her flesh and she blushed red lies. I watched her from under the solitude of a large willow tree as she removed the person from my own body and replaced it within Walter’s; I became a part of the tree shade.
Finally she left him and walked over towards me, peering in through the opening in the weeping foliage. Her face wasn’t her own, but a variation of someone I once knew, continually stacking layers upon her as the night wore on like a matryoshka doll.
“Darling,” she said, “why aren’t you my fabulous Romeo?”
I grabbed her and pulled her close, the stench of intoxication heavy on her lips. I stroked her arms and tried to pull off the cloaks she had placed over herself, endless shades of woman. Outside the tree the party raged on, the spotlights moved across the lawn and lifted the gardens into a phosphorescent fire, while screams and shouts seemed to echo around us and we were the lonely couple under the tree.
I kissed her cheek, lightly at first and then clenched my teeth down hard. She pushed me back as I ripped a small piece of flesh away and she stared at me wide eyed while thin lines of blood raced down my chin and splattered onto my suit.
“What are you doing?”
I looked at her hard and hoped I had succeeded in ripping away one of her artificial layers. She reached up to cover the hole in her cheek and rubbed it, only smearing blood instead of repairing the wound.
“I want your heart,” I said.
“I’m not hungry right now,” she replied.
As she stepped back she tripped over a rock and landed flat on her back, the shadows consumed her body and I pulled her in closer to me.
“What did you say?”
Her eyes were not hers, her lips were not hers and even her dress had seemed to change color. My hands were tight around her waist and I got drunk from her breath, but the closer I looked into her new eyes I saw someone else inside of them. There inside the blue spheres Walter pranced around in his over the top glory, showering her with champagne and skimpy lingerie and she danced for him while he sat and admired. Walter saw me staring into his utopia and swung a set of keys around his finger, “looking for these?”
I dug my teeth into her shoulder in a storm of rage, and ripped the skin all the way down to her knuckle. A small chuckle filtered from her eyes as my head swayed from side to side, tearing and tearing.
“I’m not hungry anymore!” she screamed.
And still that bastard mocked me and I moved past her skinless arm and began chewing on her eyeball. She continued to scream but was lost somewhere between the hugging arms of the tree and the ruckus of the night outside. Every muscle within me tightened and I snapped with every ounce of love I had until her eye hung down from a string of sinews against her mouth, and I saw Walter escape out the other door in the rush of tears.
“I’m just not hungry anymore.”
I stood up and she ran from the tree, her arms waved and colored the evening in a blotchy burgundy as her eye swung like a pendulum trying to hypnotize the party guests. I laughed as she ran and so many people stared at the gaping holes in her body, the skin hanging and her falling eye and remarked, “Now if that’s not love I don’t know what is!”
---
When I trace my fingers around the scabbed formations all over my skin, she is there lying on top of them. She is running down my leg every time I bleed and she darts in and out of me every time I breathe. She is in my refrigerator every morning and she still sleeps in my bed at night, tossing her eye up into the air and trying to put it back in its socket.
One night I’m walking outside and there are no sounds to be heard. The city is dead and the last lights fade in honor of the stars in the sky. She might be in the house, or maybe she is out for a drive, but I’m alone on the sidewalk.
There is a stir and in the distance I see a homogenous blackness running towards me. Under a smiling moon the blob takes shape and the infinite pack of coyotes run past me. Snarling, their keen eyes never move anywhere except forward and their noses twitch with a killing instinct.
I watch them run past me but their bodies don’t seem to have an end. And wherever she is, she will never see my face again. Whether she is tucked under my sheets or at a stop sign, she will come home to an empty house. I want to see nothing but scars on my arms and legs; I don’t to see her tongue in the hole of my cheek.
I rip off my shirt, shredding it as easily as her skin and I run into the pack. There I am running with the coyotes into the concrete jungle of night. I feel their instinctual gaze accept me and the moon and stars applaud. We run past darkened homes and abandoned buildings and I am one with the beasts.
By the time she comes home I’ll be a million miles away.
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Reviews
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CiannaSkye reviewed Version 1 -
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This 48 word review has not been unlocked.
Soren_Moonshire reviewed Version 1 -
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I’m not sure how to critique the content of this short story. Certain issues I have with it is the obscurity of some of the imagery in the reader’s mind. Is the couple actually feeding off on another’s flesh? At first I thought perhaps they were vampires. However, there isn’t any indication or explanation that fully supports the vampire theory. When I reached the end I thought maybe it was a metaphoric reference. I’m in favor of the vague quality, but also would like to understand what’s going on. Perhaps you could enlighten me.
Overall, I enjoyed the style, the given content, and most of all the imagery. I didn’t notice any grammatical errors or spelling mistakes.
Soren*Moonshire
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blackrosemage reviewed Version 1 -
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Overall, this short story holds amazing imagery and great symbols reside througout story. I have never thought of love being described in these ways. It makes sense yet it doesn’t.
Suggestions:
>”tentacles of hair sprouted”—>tentacles here sounds awkward and messes with your flow in my opinion
9,9,9
JIOden reviewed Version 1 -
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I found this piece hard to grasp. I understood that you were speaking of love in a metaphoric way, but sadly, all the fork and knife, cutting and tearing scenes kind of threw me as I do not personally see pain infliction of this kind as truly being loving by action. As erotica, it may have a following in certain circles, but will probably require the aide of an agent to get it published since the click that most likely reads this form of masochism based romantic erotica will probably be a fairly small grouping with only a few particular places it will be sold at. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen this format of romantic erotica in a Barnes and Nobles, or at least I was never in the correct section to see it. It is a very well written macabre piece over all, and might even go well within a horror story context. I noticed a few incomplete sentences and some minor grammatical errors in this piece and would suggest reading aloud to yourself as you go over this and correct those minor stumbling blocks. Good luck and I hope you find the success you are looking for in your career choices.
JIOden
andersda reviewed Version 1 -
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Though I like it as metaphors for people in relationships consuming each other’s individuality, and consuming each other through jellousy, but it got clumsy making the transition from one thematic element to the other and goes on a bit long. The other serious problem is that there are symbolic referencews throughout that may not mean anything to anyone other than the reader. They sound cool, but are ambiguous or completely meaningless. Examples follow;
Can’t have a lonely fork stuck in the side of your face. Forks don;t get lonely.
“eyes returned to utensil uniform” meaining not clear.
“I turned my body” that wholoe bit is awkwardly worded.
“With early eyes we climbed” you should state exactly how early eyes look or feel?
“she adorned a baby doll dress” not likely. It adorned her.
I would think that the inside of Pandorah’s box might be rather dark.
“a drunken aroma melted into our skin and hysterics flew from our mouths” This is not evokative prose, and it should be. As it’s written, the reader neither smells, feels, nor hears.
“The streets were crowded, drunk staggers abound and wild screams from crowds illuminated by glowing sticks and trashcan bonfires” Huh? Your meaning is not clear.
“while her eyes composed” How do eyes compose?
Adorned is misused.
“As teachers paroled the gymnasium” patrolled?
“her pervious eyes” Meaning unclear.
“she stood with her elbow slumped against the doorway and waited.” vs. she slumped against the doorway and waited.
“elbows moaned” elbows don’t moan feet don’t sigh. Elbows don’t smile. Fingers don’t cry.
“tapped against the wheel and groped the drive shaft” This is not possible unless she’s under the car.
“though I wore the plague” plague isn’t worn.
This whole Walter bit is not introduced properly. Who is this guy? Why are they going there? Who is he to her. Does he represent all others who might be in competition with him for her love?
katirra reviewed Version 1 -
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The is certainly interesting and engaging. With the very first sentence, “The fork plunged into her arm, and as I raised the knife to cut out a piece of flesh…” it grabbed my attention. It made me wonder what exactly was about to happen. Were they zombies? Was this a bad dream? Even though I was slightly grossed out I felt compelled to keep reading.
Your writing is very descriptive, in expressing emotion and mood. For example the lines, “Her fingers were ravenous, curling and uncurling, as they tapped against the wheel and groped the drive shaft. I barely had time to slam the door shut as the car sped off. Her feet became bricks tied down onto the gas pedal, and I clung to the door handle with all my might.”
You conveyed, very well, how she was annoyed and seemed impatient. Also, this clued the reader that for her, the dynamics of their relationship must have changed somehow.
Overall, I liked this piece. I felt you have a good imagination and it reminded me of Poe and King with its slight them of horror.
LexiLane reviewed Version 1 -
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You are obviously a very good writer. You do descriptive writing very well, but sometimes the descriptions seemed to override the story and made it difficult to tell exactly what was going on, or how things were progressing. There were a few times when I was confused how the story got from point A to point B, but overall I thought it was very well written and if you expanded a bit in some places the story would make a bit more sense.
danisterror reviewed Version 1 -
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This is a really powerful piece. For real, it was very well written and had an idea that I’ve never seen before in a story. If I’m right, I’m seeing that showing your love means you take bites from your lover. The less skin the more love. If so, that’s an amazing concept. Great job thinking up that. I think the thing that you did best was the description you used. It was spot on and really made everything easy to picture. Your word choices were very good and made things seem less repetitive and more fresh.
I want to say you should change something but in my mind, I don’t see a flaw in this. It’s really solid. Congrats on this piece, you really have something here.
la_la_landian reviewed Version 1 -
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Dear Lord. That beginning was not only jarring, but intense. You have a way with words, ‘ll use the example of the phrase “Eskimo knife.” While I’m not entirely sure what that’s supposed to mean, I feel like you get away with it in the sheer poeticism of your prose. Your transition from the introduction to the ‘morning after’ is good, you change style ever so slightly and it really impacts the reader’s frame of mind. It’s just more solid and coherent, like the daylight :). That isn’t to say your writing suffers any at all. I love how you compared her dress to Picasso’s garden. The second scene ends rather abruptly, but I’m not sure if that was your intention. Perhaps a little bit more explanation of events or motivation would be appropriate. Sweet Jesus, when I read the third scene I thought I was going to die. The beginning lead me to believe this a Palahniuk-esque metaphoric fetish piece. I seriously almost spit out my coffee. FABULOUS misdirection, it came as a fabulously disgusting surprise. I felt as if the Carnival was more than a carnival, but again, I’m not sure of your intention. If it is supposed to be something weird, as I suspect, I would probably elaborate. Or elaborate if it’s supposed to be a normal carnival, I’m not quite sure what’s going on. ”I stood on the edge of my childhood waiting to leap off.” Fantastic. Her madness in the car scene is a little confusing. I’d love to see some more extended characterization at that moment. ”The moon peered over the roof like the uninvited guest,” “She blushed red lies.” Dear God, your imagery astounds me. At the party, when he’s talking about the layers she’s added to herself, I’m not sure what he’s talking about, what the phenomena is, why, etc. I loved loved loved loved loved the ending, where it’s talking about how they’re still together but she’ll never see him, etc, but I question the plausibility of him running away with the coyotes. I’m crazy about this story, and I’m fascinated by the world it takes place in. If there’s any main criticism I could give, it’s that you need to elaborate on the story-world more, give the reader a more concrete idea of the setting and societal norms. But your writing gives me chills dear. Seriously, fantastic.
Sup reviewed Version 1 -
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i thinked you kind of rushed the story after the encounter at the park. you took your time building the story, the love, (and you did such an amazing job with that. I love the way you describe each scene, setting the tone of romance and erotica.) that I feel a little unfulfilled at the end. I thought the turning point was when the character saw the two gray haired skeletons and he thought he never seen anything like that; and that would be reason he wasn’t hungry anymore, and that the audience would know that, just as we know the connection between the characters. the story was amazing though, and you never lost my attention.
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