A Fiction

I am going to college and there is an eccentric girl.
Every morning we proceed with academic physical exercise addressed to every single member in this institution, held on a square terrain outside our building 20 by 100.
And she is never participating.
Our school holds about a thousand student spread all over the massive dusty platform and I never see her, no matter where I try to find her.

Every two weeks on Friday afternoon, debates are presentated by various classes in our official amphitheatre, where we often discuss subjects concerning brutal murder methods and suicide ways. Each time I sit in the second row of the fifth column where we’re advantaged with the best sight accompanied by an adequate distance to one of the fifty hanging loudspeakers.
And she is always down in the first row, between each time different people who are not talking to each other because voices don’t travel well over the circulation lanes. Her hair is always damp black and light won’t bounce back.

After those afternoon presentations I would always leave the stadiums first to avoid taking part in the room evacuating process. I know a shortcut which consists in pulling the seats out of their stabilisations one by one to create a passage way where I am the only one to squeeze by. It is always funny to hear the human-like painful cry every time I slowly drag the seats up. I always put back to their place all the seats I have taken out one by one, so that nobody would learn the trick.
After avoiding the participation in our ordinary evacuating method, I have some free time to contemplate upon the rest of the students leaving in a slowed down and silent stampede. I try to spot as many stumbled students as I can, whose bodies then get carried away by passing-by janitors. My highest score was 6.

When I leave school for the weekend I like leaving my bike at the front door’s gate and walk to the butchery down the street. It is the best butchrery where they sell fresh meat with the nicest fragrance in this city. Sometimes at home I like to slice open my wrist to smell it again, or even to taste it a little. I even received a new pocket knife from my aunt for that.
I stand at the traffic light pole a few feet from the counter to have the best angle. I spend hours watching the butcher chop steaks and sell them half price to the most frequent customers. And if I am lucky I get a free sale.
Sometimes when I pass by close to the counter, I could swear to see her standing in the back kitchen among those legs and arms.


Today I dropped a few mangas that I borrowed at the front door. My usual cloth bag tore apart under too many years of usage, so I went through a little struggle to gather up the fallen books.
And that’s when I saw a skinny hand handling me over a book. I rose my head up to thank that person, and I saw no face but dangling long black hair covering up everything.
And I was really happy.


I followed her without her seeing me, until she stopped at a shadowy lane and stood there staring at it. I couldn’t move if she didn’t, when she finally disappeared while I was not paying attention.
I was shocked and wanted absolutely to thank her for finally being able to face me right there at the front door so I rushed inside the lane kicking off garbage cans.
It was narrow. There we’re barely any light but the open sky displayed over the multiple story buildings. It became too creepy and I wanted to get out. She was not there.
When I ran out of the lane, I was aghast. I desperatedly needed water and wanted to rest. So I stuck out my right arm to support me when I let myself faint down on the light pole, but I still fell.
And I looked down. I was missing my right arm.

Lots of hot blood were running down my shoulder where the body part must have been tore off. My white shirt was beautifully stained in a huge pond of red.
I glared at it for a long time, until I felt like someone staring at me. I thought I would have seen the girl again, in that bliss of second. A flash of light ran across my eyes and I was shook to life again, seeing nothing but an empty street under this flickering light.

I stood up in a tremendous effort, tried to walk, fell face first onto the concrete after a step; I blinked once, time seemed to have gone into slow motion; I blinked twice, and her silhouette drew clearly , and after the last blink of eyes she was gone again.
And I woke up in a wide blank room.

My head hurt. I turned my head to see my right shoulder wrapped up. The entire compartment started turning around like I was loosing blood in my brain.
And suddenly.
I felt a grip on my left shoulder.

She was dressed in white and her skin was not human color anymore.
“Is this yours?… ”
She was holding half an arm. And she started pulling her hair back up.
“Look me in the eyes…”

She had only a mouth.

  • Fiver

    The story doesn`t really make sense. You put in these half done details that are utterly pointless. These details simply work to distract or confuse your reader. The actual plot and character development are lost somewhere among the useless stuff. This isn`t even that long making the pointless details all the more damaging to your story. There is little to nothing actually there.
    The grammar is not the best either. You throw in commas and semicolons like they are candy even if they don`t fit or just starting another sentence would prove more beneficial. You use several words wrong like aghast (or you give absolutely no reason for such a motion to be expressed). The writing makes what is being said murky at best.
    Maybe try slowing down when your write. Read it aloud or to someone else so that you can make sure your reader understands what you understand because as the author you instantly know more. Proof read as well. Again, read aloud when you proof read to make sure that sentences sound right and aren`t too cluttered to understand.

    • Konner

      I wish I had someone I felt comfortable about to share my storied irl but all my friends are idiots. XD I don’t fit in with society… That was appropriate!

      • Fiver

        I proof read my own writing simply to avoid asking too much of my only friend willing to proof read my work. I proof read as I go then skim over a few times once I finish. I only read sections I am unsure about aloud.

        • Konner

          That makes sense.

  • thirteenlilsykos

    I don’t even know what I just read. Aside from some of the worst grammar I’ve see in awhile (mixed up tenses, spelling, out right using the wrong words, etc), the story itself made little to no sense. I mean they just had their arm ripped off! I’d think anyone would notice that, if not from the pain then at least from the fact that they would be falling over dead from the blood loss!
    Just like what was suggested already… Proof reading is your friend! I’ve been writing for a while now and I still read stuff out loud before letting someone read it. Also, let a trusted friend read it. A fresh pair of eyes can make a world of difference.

    • Konner

      It’s your friend? Welcome to Sesame Street!

  • zac

    Yeah, I don’t want to sound inconsiderate but when I read the sentences I cant help but think they are just structures incorrectly, like a poor translation. I agree with the other comments that the story wasn’t great but perhaps the author isn’t a native speaker.
    Once again, if I missed my guess, I mean no offense.

  • BludNife

    Dis don got meh confused. Hes a fukin wierdy for likin to smel his red water an he wonder why he’s in a room. Did make no senses