Torn Cherub Wings - Comments

The fire that was once inside has vanished. And the violet eyes cry.

He indeed is correct. He is lost.

That was a delicate, harsh, and just altogether touching. I loved it. You're just a talented writer.

Chapter Two:

What an amazing scene of being drunk. I'm serious. I especially fond of "...seemingly in awe with all the tiny blood vessels webbing beneath my paper thin ageless skin." You never wait to add greatness. Your work is superb all the way through.

Now we have the next step: heartbreak. And, let's not forget, how it is coped with. In this case, we have a common situation--alcohol. He's stuck in that thing called loneliness that is actually feared.

You use words to paint a picture, though not a pretty one. Not that it should be. Piss-stained concrete. Stench. He's outside of a bar, sinking lower and lower. We weren't sure exactly where his mind was in the first chapter... he was teetering between high and low. It is now clear that he is somewhere none of us would want to be.

I love how you use no names, and how you do not disinguish who is the devil and who is the angel.

You keep the consistency from the first chapter by referring to statues once again. After being sentenced to endure what they have, they must feel ancient like a statue. Plus, I imagine what they have seen is exhausting, turning part of them into stone. Their hearts, perhaps? Except for one, whom he now thinks has crossed the line of being the only exception. Now he's just drowning in the thought the the other must be categorized with everyone else. He feels the need to turn that part of him that isn't hardened to stone, but can he?

Cliffhanger! You bring back the sadness, but this time there's a color mentioned. Violet. What a spiritual, innocent color.

Of course it's a yes, Sara. Stop doubting yourself.

Prologue:

Mmm, I needed my fix from a well written, descriptive story. Of course I turn to youuuuuu.

I lovethe descriptions you use. Not too many, not too little. Not big words thrown in just for the hell of it... like in a lot of stories. You rope everthing together and make it flow. You mix tense words with gentle words and it all beautifully balances out.

You always give a consistent chapter as opposed to so many others I find that are choppy and scattered. You have a real STORY.

"The soft contours of his shadow grazed my torso and I rendered myself motionless, dead and white like the abundance of stone in my midst." The image that forms in my mind... dark and sexy.

Sweet ambrosia scent. I've never seen that used in a story before. Clever. And then you move into the emotion of the story. You veer away from the rebellious fire that resides within them and bring out a purely human emotion.

They are much more brutal and dramatic than humans I know; after all, they're not human. You convey the feeling of an icepick being jammed into a crevice in a heart perfectly, causing that emptiness that they avoid to radiate throughout the body and envelop the mind, preparing it for the next chapter of the story.

I love how you added snowflakes in the lashes at the end. It echos the beginning very nicely, kind of tying them together with a thin thread despite their parting.

I, of course, want more.

Wonderful banner. And the idea is brilliant, not silly. Give yourself credit.

ONTO THE NEXT CHAPTAAAAA!

Wow, you have a great way with words. Fantastic job.