Can anyone please critique my writing?
The pleasure of the wind against my arms contrasted with Pierce’s hands which encircled my wrists, squeezing and releasing, too nervous to move down and take my gloved hands. I couldn’t move, trying not to blink. Trying not to breathe.
7…
8….
9…..
It stopped, and I kept my eyes ahead, over his head and at the little kids on the rusted swing set. Their parents were sitting on a bench, holding hands. Heterosexual.
“Travis?” I could hear the sadness in his voice, but I kept my gaze on the couple.
My arms shook themselves free, and I felt myself retreating. One step, then another. A crack of a sob interrupted the wind, and my head snapped downward to him. His face was a mix of beauty and pain, one eye deep set and olive skin color, the other set just as deep, but surrounded by a dark plum, not natural. I could see the tears coming from them both, his braced teeth biting his red lips that had just been attached to mine.
Dear Jesus.
I could feel my cheeks flush abruptly from realization of what had happened. Oh man, that’s awkward. My mouth opened from habit and before I could stop it the words swam out of my mouth, “New tattoo?”
I cracked a grin, he cracked another sob.
“O -okay, that wasn’t funny, it wasn’t meant to be, but, wait, no -” I stopped, feeling as if my words would make it worse. What did he want me to say?
Pierce had been my closest friend since sophomore year of high school. We met in Greek language class, the school having offered a mix of Spanish, Latin, Greek, and Mandarin language classes due to the diversity of the city. It was a small port town on the coast of California, not very popular to Americans, but very popular for the foreigners looking for a place to buy a vacation home. My family had moved here before cars were invented, and it had became a tradition to never move, and to always keep the same house and just pass it down. But, this tradition didn’t apply to me.
A, the thought of children never appealed to me.
B, I wanted to study abroad, and Greece had water and mountains; not to mention culture that America lacked.
So when I walked into the class and sat down in the seat closet to the door, at first I didn’t even notice Pierce. It was early and the first day of school, and I’d spent the night before shoving a pillow over my head and ears and imagining my parents didn’t have sexual organs. When the bell rang for class to start, a whopping 12 kids scattered around the room(which would later turn to nine), the teacher walked to the front of the classroom and started rambling in a Greek. I remember staring at him in shock, and the whiplash I nearly got when the guy next to me replied to the teacher in Greek, his lips curved into a smirk. My eyes had gone from his lips to his brown eyes, long lashes surrounding them, causing my thoughts to go numb.
The room had gone silent, and when the teacher laughed with joy, I was still staring. And just as it had been all my life, the words that proved I didn’t think half the time came out of my mouth. “Do you take after your mom?”
I found out later that his mom abused him.
After I’d made that comment, he didn’t say as much in class. But when we were assigned a project that involved partners, the teacher paired us together with the motives of “Bringing everyone closer together”. He had come over to my house, and after an hour and a half we were half-naked and making out on my faded blue carpet.
It had been the only time since today that we had done that, and I had told myself over and over it was just an experiment, and that I hadn’t liked it. Because I hadn’t. We were just friends.
Friend mates. Not soul mates.
~~-~~
Any help or comments is welcome :3 if there is grammatical or spelling errors please let me know, because I didn’t proofread haha.
To be blunt: you are a very good writer. you are very descriptive which is great as long as you don’t overdo it. If you over describe things it just won’t flow right.
good luck.
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