Preface: Oh, fiction. I simply adore fiction whether it's indulging in my favorite genres of mystery and romance or coming up with ideas of my own. For this particular piece, I really had trouble focusing on a particular character and highlighting their attributes. In the original piece I had submitted I had a few structural errors, and the tendency to repeat words such as "almost" over and over throughout the course of the story. However, after spending some time editing, I think this story flows well and leaves the reader guessing, eager to find out more. This is good, as the goal of a fiction story should be to keep the readers continuously engaged and interested in the story. Previously, there were various grammar mistakes, along with repetition and structural errors as aforementioned. I think in the future I should spend more time really reading the story out loud, and taking time to pause from my work and come back to it with a fresh mind, instead of doing it all in one go - as it really helps to bring a new perspective and pick out what needs to be improved. Overall, I'm proud and happy of my polished piece, and as a result of this unit, I am eager to proceed into writing more works of fiction!
Credit// Deviant Art
Innocence lost
“Hi.”
Abruptly, Max raised his forehead from the table at the sound of my voice. He left an oily imprint, but Max, being Max, didn’t bother to wipe it away.
I scanned him briefly. A black leather jacket I’d never seen before hugged his shoulders. His nails were bitten down to a nub.
“I forgot you worked here.” I cocked my eyebrow. He hunched over like he had something to hide. I noticed the left side of jacket was torn.
“Did you get in a fight again?”
“I’m fine.” He announced, as if a plea to convince himself. But I knew something was up.
He started to crack his knuckles.
“What’s wrong?”
“What do you mean?” He grinned devilishly. “I’m fine. Peachy.”
“You only do that when you’re upset.” I pointed out his blinding white knuckles. He clenched his hands into fists.
“You’re upset.” He rolled his eyes.
“Is this about Lucy?”
Something in Max’s eyes flashed, His usually sparkling blue eyes, bloodshot and stormy.
“Stay out of this Sam.”
I sighed, “Haven’t you thought about laying low for a while?”
Max’s fingers drummed on the table. His right leg jiggled up and down rhythmically.
“Max-“
“SHUT UP Sam! It’s different when the whole town wants you locked in the loony bin because they think you killed your girlfriend!” Max rose in anger. His chest heaved heavily, sweat pouring down the sides of his face.
“Max, sit. down. People are staring.” I hissed through clenched teeth.
Max took a long look at me. The light washed out his already pale skin.
“Of course. The only thing you care about is appearances,” he snarled.
My heart slowly collapsed to the pit of my stomach, as he sat himself down. Avoiding my glare he summoned up two fingers.
“Another vodka on the rocks” Max swayed dizzily back and forth in his seat.
“You’re drunk?”
“So what?”
“What is wrong with you?” Anger rose in my voice. A look of guilt washed over his face.
For a second, there sat the same innocent boy who cried when he fell off of his bike in the sixth grade. The same boy who spent a month planting a vegetable garden, simply because his mother adored home cooked meals. The same boy who rejected an offer from the football team, stating he’d rather write than get tackled on the field.
That same boy who was my best friend.
But as quickly as it came, it left. Max’s features turned dark, as he slammed his fist on the table.
“You know I’m sick of all your questions. I’m out of here.”
And with that, he left all traces of his innocence behind.
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