The wet, streamlined rubber thudded hypnotically as the black 86’ Cadillac convertible jetted down the main drag of the 826 e-way. Or, as it was more popularly known to the Miami locals, the Palmetto-a weaving, flat-out, high-speed burn that collided, sometimes quite violently, with US-1. Thursday blasted on the car stereo at 225-plus decibels. The
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Comments 5
in the 5th paragraph, like the 10th line, the sentence "Sara kept sliding back over to the desk before we got in complaining that her hand hadn’t been stamped.". the whole time ur talking about ethan, from a third person point of view. so im pretty sure "we" should be changed to "they".
good job bro, cant wait to hear another one.
xo
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really.
a few notes from the editor to clarify though:
1. this story has no real plot, it was more of an emotion i was trying to convey, like a radiohead song: when you interpret it literally it doesnt make sense but you get a feeling. thats the point.
2. he killed himself because he was sick of getting girls drunk and taking their virginity. his conscience had convinced him it was such a lowly thing to do but he supressed the feeling and kept at it untill the pressure was too much and he shot himself.
3. he was relieved because he finally found an answer, an end, a way out to the shit thats been eating away at his soul (see above) albeit a useless and disillusioned one.
i should have clarified those points a bit more. but hey, its a fucking start.
thanks for all the comments everyone.
more soon.
-NJH
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miss u
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