What do you think of my short story?
Alice The nurse wheels me in before the frosty window. “There we are, Alice dear. Now you can enjoy the view! Isn’t that nice?†I sigh inwardly. The woman only looks about thirty-five. She’s just a girl. Far too young to be calling me ‘dear’. “That’s delightful!†I grimace, answering in her own sugary tone. She smiles, obviously pleased that her idea had been a success, and wanders off to deal with some of the other old people in the home. As I stare at the pane of glass in front of me, I look but I don’t see the view. Instead, I watch as a tear slips down my wrinkled reflection. I was old. Tired. And so alone. I sit back with a hollow sigh, and let my mind wander back, back to those days of my girlhood. To the people of my childhood… It was the night of the village dance. “Hurry up, Alice!†moaned Joan. Joan was my best friend, a fiery confident girl, always bossing me about, left right and centre. I smiled at the slender, red-headed young woman sprawled over my old eiderdown bedspread. “Patience is a virtue…†I grinned infuriatingly, laughing at her hard glare, as she silently dared me to finish the age old proverb. Turning my back on her, I pushed a pair of scratched gold earrings into my ears, heirlooms from my long dead grandmother. Joan, always inconsistent in her moods, leapt off the bed with a creak of springs, her faded best dress whirling, her blue eyes sparkling. “Are you ready now?†she demanded impatiently. “Of course I am†I replied sweetly. I performed a small pirouette on the spot. “How do I look?†Joan’s face softened. “You look beautiful, as always.†Joan surged out of my bedroom, taking the wooden stairs two at a time. I winced at the crashes. Glancing in the large shard of age stained mirror propped up on my mantle piece, I scanned my familiar face. I suppose I was quite pretty, if a little ordinary looking. I pushed back my glossy, chestnut brown bob, which Joan had recently cut for me to look like the film star Ava Gardner. She said it suited me. I wasn’t so sure. And I wished I could get rid of my freckles. Jimmy used to pretend he was doing a dot-to-dot picture when we were little. Jimmy. I followed Joan’s footsteps, pausing at the top of the unevenly floored landing, in front of a closed door; Jimmy’s door. Jimmy was my kind-hearted, compassionate brother. He’d left to join the front line last year. Just a boy, just nineteen years old. I smiled at the memory of him marching proudly around the house in full uniform, polishing his tin helmet in front of the fire, his warm brown eyes bright, his bright, blonde hair gleaming. As I had fretted about him going out there, Jimmy had just smiled and hugged me close. “Don’t worry about me, Alice. They say this world war’ll not be like the first one. It’ll be over by Christmas – that’s only 3 months away!†A year had passed. We knew he was fine. He had been sent to France, and we received weekly letters from him, telling us all about the recent advancements, the living conditions, the other men. And about Charlie. Charlie and Jimmy had been best friends even before the war, and it was pure chance that they had been issued the same company, being christened Private Charles McConnell and Private James Gordon, names far too sophisticated and manly for the two smiling teenagers I knew so well. I smiled wanly as I recalled the three of us, best friends, comrades, playing in the country lanes and the woods near our village. Charlie had never thought of me as anything but a kid he would hang around with, despite me being only a year younger, but two months before he left for France with Jimmy, something had changed between us. We had shared our first kiss, atop Oak Hill and very soon we had realised that we were falling in love. It broke my heart when they went away. I barely slept those first few weeks, from the terror that something might happen to them. And although I received letters from them both most weeks, for some reason Charlie had never visited. Jimmy had been able to take leave and come home twice since he had left, but even I could see that he had changed so much. He went from a bright, carefree boy, to a muscular, battle-hardened man. But despite his quietness and clear unhappiness, at least he had visited. So, why hadn’t Charlie? I asked Jimmy over and over again why Charlie had refused to come, but he evaded the question, saying that he ‘had promised’. The worst thoughts ran through my head; had he met another girl, prettier, cleverer? She was probably a beautiful bombshell of a waitress he had met when on leave, visiting other people instead of me… Jimmy insisted that this wasn’t the case, but I continued to mope around for months until his next leave, when he revealed Charlie’s secret to me. He wasn’t cheating on me; he was an alcoholic. Jimmy refused to use the term, but I wasn’t a fool. He drank to get rid of his fear, to forget the terrible sights that he saw, things that J
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Random Answers, Critics, Comments, Opinions :
1 :
I've always been a sucker for stories set in the war and this is an amazing story and I'm sure if you continue it, it could do really well. I think to improve it give some insight on how Alice is feeling at the beginning is she happy or sad? Did her feelings change as soon as she saw the view? What triggered them thoughts?
2 :
This is very interesting! I'd love to read more. Are you going to continue the story? :]
3 :
this is absolutely amazing! i loved it! but one question. was this all of it? bc it ends as if its not. you should definitely think about pursuing some sort of job where u write. you are rlly good!
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