Kylveris
Stray
<p>
It was getting cold again. As Winter swept the Autumn leaves aside, the ice that had chilled my bones ever since September threatened to freeze my entire being. I turned the car heating up as far as it went, and shivered. Eyes on the road, moron. Don’t waste your life, now. Some eccentric radio presenter promised premature Christmas songs, somehow believing that time wasn’t moving fast enough - or maybe they believed time was moving too quickly - I didn’t care. But I <em>did</em> care about their music taste. I didn’t recognise the song at first. Then the lyrics slowly filtered into my consciousness, and my entire chest ached in response. <em>“‘…gave you my heart, the very next day-'“</em> I punched the off-button on the car stereo, my heavy breathing filling the sudden silence. It was too cold. And I was thinking about Her again. Leaving one hand to guide the steering wheel, I laid my hand over my chest, heartbeat thudding under my palm. It stuttered, and fear gripped my stomach. No… I was being an idiot again. The doctors said I was fine; recovering great. ...Maybe I should have accepted the counselling. Still, two months had passed, and if I’d been eligible for any kind of discount, I doubt it still applied now. Reluctantly returning my hand to steering-wheel, my eyes wandered to the trees rushing by. Dead, lifeless; their naked branches clawed at the sky, as if trying to scrape something back. My gaze lifted to the sky, and for one pathetic moment, I felt like joining them. I wanted her <strong>back</strong>; this wasn’t fair. Pain lanced under my ribs, and my breathing caught. I forced my gaze back to the road; I exhaled as slowly as I could. The pain faded. Two months. I didn’t know if they felt long or short. Just that Winter was cold, and life was colder without her. A sudden buzz made me jump, car surging forward as my foot tapped the accelerator. Shit. Recovering my speed, I glanced at my phone, only for my stomach to flip. Katie. I eyed the road critically; it was practically deserted. Flicking my gaze up to the rearview-mirror confirmed it. I switched on the indicators anyway regardless, pulling over into the lay-by. Putting the handbrake on, I left the car running, holding my hands over the heat vent to warm them before picking up my phone. Scanning the text, I felt my stomach sink. <span style="font-family:'Courier New';">‘Just leaving now - can’t wait to see you! </span><img alt="
" data-emoticon="" height="20" src="<fileStore.core_Emoticons>/emoticons/wink.png" srcset="<fileStore.core_Emoticons>/emoticons/wink@2x.png 2x" title=" " width="20" /><span style="font-family:'Courier New';"> - K x’</span> Letting my head fall back against the headrest, I left my phone to slide out my grasp. I felt sick. I didn’t want this. The only girl I wanted was six feet under- I breathed shallowly, nausea creeping up my throat. Wrapping one arm round my stomach, I pressed a fist to my chest. I should be over this. She’d want me to keep living, be happy. But… A date was too soon. Pushing myself back up, I retrieved my phone from where it had fallen, quickly tapping out a text before hitting send. I felt guilty, cancelling so suddenly, but I just… I couldn’t do it. Every inch of me seemed to rebel against it. I was only just coming to terms with it, to be perfectly honest. It took me a long time to even accept that I was alive, let alone that she was… dead. It still feels like a dream, waking up in the hospital bed, some week of my life irreversibly gone forever. I’d trade years for just one more day with her. The first thing I did after the operation was ask for her, and my father, standing at my bedside, sadly shook his head. My mother looked like she’d been crying. They wouldn’t tell me, they refused to say anything. Instead they took out an unmarked disc, and slotted it into the CD player in my hospital room, switching the tv on. I remember feeling nervous - more nervous than I had in my entire life. More nervous than I had when I was preparing to ask out her out, and more nervous than I had felt when I was waiting for my medical results to come back. My every muscle was tensed. Then the recording played, and there she was. Her chestnut hair glittered with honey-strands, bright blue eyes as gorgeous as ever, soft lips stretched into a smile. “Hey Jack!” Her voice made my chest ache, sharply. “I hope you’re feeling well.” Her cheerful expression faltered slightly, and suddenly her eyes were avoiding the camera. “I’m sorry I can’t be with you. This…” She trailed off, a hurt expression crossing her face. She lifted her gaze again, and I completely forgot it was a video. She was looking at me, eyes filling with tears. “This is goodbye.” She said weakly. “I… Your heart…” Her voice trailed off, and she struggled to speak. "They couldn’t find you a donor,” she explained haltingly, and confusion filled my mind. I quickly pressed a hand to my chest, feeling my heartbeat. If they couldn’t find me a donor, then how was I…? Her next words had the bottom dropping out of my stomach. “So I donated mine." <span style="font-family:'Architects Daughter';">AUTHOR NOTES: I understand that this situation isn't very realistic, what with finding tissue matches, and taking a vital organ from a live donor. I don't even know what illness Jack would've had, I did hours of research, and ended up using none of it, whoops Areas to critique in particular: - Paragraphing; mainly, is it too much? - Pacing; are you drawn in/compelled to keep reading? Was the reveal well timed or too soon/slow? - Characters; are they believable? Do you connect with them? - Emotions; how well were they conveyed? Did they seem too dramatic/cliché? Thank you so much for reading! I hope this hit you right in the feels :')</span>
</p>
It was getting cold again. As Winter swept the Autumn leaves aside, the ice that had chilled my bones ever since September threatened to freeze my entire being. I turned the car heating up as far as it went, and shivered. Eyes on the road, moron. Don’t waste your life, now. Some eccentric radio presenter promised premature Christmas songs, somehow believing that time wasn’t moving fast enough - or maybe they believed time was moving too quickly - I didn’t care. But I <em>did</em> care about their music taste. I didn’t recognise the song at first. Then the lyrics slowly filtered into my consciousness, and my entire chest ached in response. <em>“‘…gave you my heart, the very next day-'“</em> I punched the off-button on the car stereo, my heavy breathing filling the sudden silence. It was too cold. And I was thinking about Her again. Leaving one hand to guide the steering wheel, I laid my hand over my chest, heartbeat thudding under my palm. It stuttered, and fear gripped my stomach. No… I was being an idiot again. The doctors said I was fine; recovering great. ...Maybe I should have accepted the counselling. Still, two months had passed, and if I’d been eligible for any kind of discount, I doubt it still applied now. Reluctantly returning my hand to steering-wheel, my eyes wandered to the trees rushing by. Dead, lifeless; their naked branches clawed at the sky, as if trying to scrape something back. My gaze lifted to the sky, and for one pathetic moment, I felt like joining them. I wanted her <strong>back</strong>; this wasn’t fair. Pain lanced under my ribs, and my breathing caught. I forced my gaze back to the road; I exhaled as slowly as I could. The pain faded. Two months. I didn’t know if they felt long or short. Just that Winter was cold, and life was colder without her. A sudden buzz made me jump, car surging forward as my foot tapped the accelerator. Shit. Recovering my speed, I glanced at my phone, only for my stomach to flip. Katie. I eyed the road critically; it was practically deserted. Flicking my gaze up to the rearview-mirror confirmed it. I switched on the indicators anyway regardless, pulling over into the lay-by. Putting the handbrake on, I left the car running, holding my hands over the heat vent to warm them before picking up my phone. Scanning the text, I felt my stomach sink. <span style="font-family:'Courier New';">‘Just leaving now - can’t wait to see you! </span><img alt="
" data-emoticon="" height="20" src="<fileStore.core_Emoticons>/emoticons/wink.png" srcset="<fileStore.core_Emoticons>/emoticons/wink@2x.png 2x" title=" " width="20" /><span style="font-family:'Courier New';"> - K x’</span> Letting my head fall back against the headrest, I left my phone to slide out my grasp. I felt sick. I didn’t want this. The only girl I wanted was six feet under- I breathed shallowly, nausea creeping up my throat. Wrapping one arm round my stomach, I pressed a fist to my chest. I should be over this. She’d want me to keep living, be happy. But… A date was too soon. Pushing myself back up, I retrieved my phone from where it had fallen, quickly tapping out a text before hitting send. I felt guilty, cancelling so suddenly, but I just… I couldn’t do it. Every inch of me seemed to rebel against it. I was only just coming to terms with it, to be perfectly honest. It took me a long time to even accept that I was alive, let alone that she was… dead. It still feels like a dream, waking up in the hospital bed, some week of my life irreversibly gone forever. I’d trade years for just one more day with her. The first thing I did after the operation was ask for her, and my father, standing at my bedside, sadly shook his head. My mother looked like she’d been crying. They wouldn’t tell me, they refused to say anything. Instead they took out an unmarked disc, and slotted it into the CD player in my hospital room, switching the tv on. I remember feeling nervous - more nervous than I had in my entire life. More nervous than I had when I was preparing to ask out her out, and more nervous than I had felt when I was waiting for my medical results to come back. My every muscle was tensed. Then the recording played, and there she was. Her chestnut hair glittered with honey-strands, bright blue eyes as gorgeous as ever, soft lips stretched into a smile. “Hey Jack!” Her voice made my chest ache, sharply. “I hope you’re feeling well.” Her cheerful expression faltered slightly, and suddenly her eyes were avoiding the camera. “I’m sorry I can’t be with you. This…” She trailed off, a hurt expression crossing her face. She lifted her gaze again, and I completely forgot it was a video. She was looking at me, eyes filling with tears. “This is goodbye.” She said weakly. “I… Your heart…” Her voice trailed off, and she struggled to speak. "They couldn’t find you a donor,” she explained haltingly, and confusion filled my mind. I quickly pressed a hand to my chest, feeling my heartbeat. If they couldn’t find me a donor, then how was I…? Her next words had the bottom dropping out of my stomach. “So I donated mine." <span style="font-family:'Architects Daughter';">AUTHOR NOTES: I understand that this situation isn't very realistic, what with finding tissue matches, and taking a vital organ from a live donor. I don't even know what illness Jack would've had, I did hours of research, and ended up using none of it, whoops Areas to critique in particular: - Paragraphing; mainly, is it too much? - Pacing; are you drawn in/compelled to keep reading? Was the reveal well timed or too soon/slow? - Characters; are they believable? Do you connect with them? - Emotions; how well were they conveyed? Did they seem too dramatic/cliché? Thank you so much for reading! I hope this hit you right in the feels :')</span></p>
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