Age Spots On Face
Question by Hayl X: Can you tell me what you honestly think ? fixed and re-posted?
My story is called Dear Sherry (might change the title so if you have any ideas feel free to shout them out) im no where close to being done i just want some feedback to make it better..this has been posted before so don’t be surprised if u have read it before.. point them out if u see them please.. any input is helpful just be honest please.. don’t hold back ..i want people to tell me what they think i should change or keep.. words i should replace.. things like that.. and please tell me if you can guess my age by my writing.. Because that’s something that i don’t want the reader to focus on
As I woke up, I shielded my eyes from the sun that poured through the oak window. My body laid in crisp white sheets as flashbacks rushed through my mind.
“‘…Do you want to?’”
“‘…I don’t know, I don’t have a condom.’”
“‘…We’ll be fine, don’t you trust me?’”
I pushed myself up against the bed’s headboard and rubbed my temples, I felt nauseous and sore. I climbed out of my warm bed, wrapped a bed sheet around my body, and twisted it into a knot above my breast.
Items seemed in disorder as I walked through my loft bedroom. While glancing over the loft, I spotted a folded piece of paper leaning against the vase on the dinner table. I unfolded the paper and began to read the note.
Thanks for a great night. We should do it again sometime.
Ps. Welcome to the world of HIV. -Your Infector ”
Thump thump, thump thump.
I felt numb, there was something in my throat that I just couldn’t swallow. The note dropped to the table, knocking something to the floor. My eyes never wandered to the floor, i barely realized something had fallen.
“‘No, I don’t want to. Maybe you should go home now.’”
“‘You know you want it, stop playing hard to get.”
The words, “Your Infector.” echoed in my mind. “Tommy? Tom? Thomas? Timmy? Troy?” I repeated to myself trying to remember his name, for the alcohol fogged my memory.
“‘…Hi, I’m Tristan.’”
“‘…Hey, Nice to meet you. I’m Sherry.’”
I paced around the loft as tears moistened my cheeks. The bed sheet fell to the floor as I walked to the bathroom and started the shower. Immediately, steam filled the tiny plain room and fogged the mirror.
I closed my eyes as the water poured from the shower-head onto my face. “I can wash it away, everything will be alright.” I kept repeating these words, trying to fool myself into believing them, even though I knew it wasn’t true. When I was in the shower I felt pure. Turning the knob all the way to the right was the hardest thing to do, my moment of purity was over and I was insecure about everything.
I stepped out of the shower; right foot, then left, wrapped myself in a towel and wiped the mirror clear of fog. While checking my reflection, in the smudged mirror, an unclear figure crept behind me and passed through the door. Puddles of water formed under my feet as I followed the figure through the open door-frame.
“Who’s there?” I received no answer.
Thump thump, thump thump.
My heart raced. I peeked around the wall that separated the bathroom from the living room, and held my breathe. The floor creaked under my feet as I approached the dark figure that stood before me. My hand shook as I reached for the overcoat that covered a body with a man’s silhouette .
One, two, three. Swoosh, the overcoat fell to the ground.
Beep, beep, beep. “Good morning New York City , you’re listening to W.T.B.A and it’s 7:00 AM. It’s starting to feel a lot like winter with a temperature of 34° F, time to take those winter jackets out of the clos-”
The alarm clock fell to the floor, as I slapped my hand on the off button. My body jerked up and I scratched my neck gasping for air. Confused and unsure of myself I got out of bed and inspected my loft.
“It was all a dream Sherry. It was just a dream” I said to myself.
I inhaled deeply with relief, sat down in front of my laptop and began to write my desperate email to Dr. Mills.
“Dear Dr. Mills,
It happened again. He is still haunting me in my dreams. It feels like I‘ve relived that night, every night, for the past two years. Dreams are funny things. I know, you’ve told me before, “Sherry, you never know why they happen, what you are supposed to learn from them, or what they even mean.” So tell me, do YOU know what am I supposed to learn? The night has already happened, I can‘t stop it now, so what do these dreams want from me?”
I couldn’t bare to sit there, waiting impatiently to hear the words “you‘ve got mail.”
Answer by zoritoma
I thought it was pretty good.
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