A first draft of the Young Writer of the Year ‘Silver’ story. Initial comments from teacher. Please add your feedback below to help Harley develop his story further.
Sweat caresses my aching arms as I strive to lift the overwhelming[U1] pressure of my weakening heart. The beads drench the pores along my cheeks attempting to cool my cartoon red face yet fail as I drown in their thickened texture and perplexing stench. [U2] Their failure is only outdone by my own attempts to force this grey-silver bar above my chest into a holster mere inches’ from my finger tips, inches that are miles apart. Most things seem elongated at this point [U3] so it is not unusual my thin physic is more slender than normal. It does not scare me so much disheartens me. No different to the way watching an ex-lover with someone I know well feels. My body feels distant. Hell, even my eyes feel distant as they watch my legs twitch under the blinding white light protruding from the ceiling. If it weren’t for the increasing strain on my back crystallised by pins and needles in each slipping disk, I am sure this is how it would feel to be weightless – floating in obscurity, without pain or pleasure, into vanishing white. Alone.[U4]
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