Post by wschneider412 on May 13, 2017 10:12:54 GMT -5
Thanks for the feedback! The MC is a girl, and Evie is her little sister. I know that's tough to tell from just these pages. I made some changes and put them below, if anyone has the chance to take a look. The original first page is below the revised one. Thanks!
Revised:
Woodstock, August 1969
Day One – Late Afternoon
I sit in the darkness and inhale, filling my lungs. The fragrance of weed is so thick in my nostrils, it’s as if I can reach out and touch it. Literally get a contact high. It sits like a blanket of lost inhibitions between our bodies–a glue that binds us. There are so many people here. So many lifelines converging. I imagine them on the backs of my eyelids as thousands of colorful arrows all speeding forward–a mixture of individual loves, family, desires, challenges–until they halt, and circle together around this single moment in time. They pool and become one.
Except for me. I’m in their circle, but not united with the rest of them. A black mark amongst their color, incapable of giving up my problems for these three days.
I can’t let go of Evie. That’s impossible. The thought of her waking up, finding me gone, and not understanding why, curdles my stomach. It pulls me in the direction of home. But no, I can’t go back. Ever.
I have no idea how long it’s been since I’ve opened my eyes. I prefer to keep them shut tight. I sit with my legs stretched long in front of me, resting back on my straightened elbows. My arms ache, but I don’t dare move. Moving risks throwing off the delicate flow of the people around me. One simple change in position might knock us all off balance, careening back into reality–the world we’re all trying so desperately to escape.
Woodstock, August 1969
Day One – Late Afternoon
I inhale, filling my lungs. The fragrance of weed is so thick in my nostrils, it’s as if I can reach out and touch it. Literally get a contact high. It sits like a blanket of lost inhibitions between our bodies–a glue that binds us. There are more people here than we anticipated. So many lifelines converging. I imagine them on the backs of my eyelids as thousands of colorful arrows all speeding forward–a mixture of individual loves, family, desires, challenges–until they halt, and circle together around this single moment in time. They pool and become one.
Except for me. My line continues. I’m in their circle, but not united with the rest of them. A black mark amongst their color, incapable of leaving my problems behind for these three days.
I can’t let go of Evie. That’s unfeasible.
I have no idea how long it’s been since I’ve opened my eyes. I prefer to keep them shut tight. I sit with my legs stretched long in front of me, toes pointed with the occasional wiggle to relieve some of the lingering throb on my soles from walking so far. Resting back on my straightened elbows makes my arms ache, but I don’t dare move. Moving risks throwing off the delicate flow of the people around me. One simple change in position might knock us all off balance, careening back into reality–the world we’re all trying so desperately to escape.
Revised:
Woodstock, August 1969
Day One – Late Afternoon
I sit in the darkness and inhale, filling my lungs. The fragrance of weed is so thick in my nostrils, it’s as if I can reach out and touch it. Literally get a contact high. It sits like a blanket of lost inhibitions between our bodies–a glue that binds us. There are so many people here. So many lifelines converging. I imagine them on the backs of my eyelids as thousands of colorful arrows all speeding forward–a mixture of individual loves, family, desires, challenges–until they halt, and circle together around this single moment in time. They pool and become one.
Except for me. I’m in their circle, but not united with the rest of them. A black mark amongst their color, incapable of giving up my problems for these three days.
I can’t let go of Evie. That’s impossible. The thought of her waking up, finding me gone, and not understanding why, curdles my stomach. It pulls me in the direction of home. But no, I can’t go back. Ever.
I have no idea how long it’s been since I’ve opened my eyes. I prefer to keep them shut tight. I sit with my legs stretched long in front of me, resting back on my straightened elbows. My arms ache, but I don’t dare move. Moving risks throwing off the delicate flow of the people around me. One simple change in position might knock us all off balance, careening back into reality–the world we’re all trying so desperately to escape.
Woodstock, August 1969
Day One – Late Afternoon
I inhale, filling my lungs. The fragrance of weed is so thick in my nostrils, it’s as if I can reach out and touch it. Literally get a contact high. It sits like a blanket of lost inhibitions between our bodies–a glue that binds us. There are more people here than we anticipated. So many lifelines converging. I imagine them on the backs of my eyelids as thousands of colorful arrows all speeding forward–a mixture of individual loves, family, desires, challenges–until they halt, and circle together around this single moment in time. They pool and become one.
Except for me. My line continues. I’m in their circle, but not united with the rest of them. A black mark amongst their color, incapable of leaving my problems behind for these three days.
I can’t let go of Evie. That’s unfeasible.
I have no idea how long it’s been since I’ve opened my eyes. I prefer to keep them shut tight. I sit with my legs stretched long in front of me, toes pointed with the occasional wiggle to relieve some of the lingering throb on my soles from walking so far. Resting back on my straightened elbows makes my arms ache, but I don’t dare move. Moving risks throwing off the delicate flow of the people around me. One simple change in position might knock us all off balance, careening back into reality–the world we’re all trying so desperately to escape.
