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Writing A little story of mine


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This is my most recent piece of writing (written about a month back) and I just wanted some critique on it, so I'm posting it here. Please tell me what you think, not only of the story but of my writing skills, and how you think I can improve. I really appreciate it! :D (Please forgive me if the layout is messed up, I copy and pasted from Microsoft Word and it didn't cope exactly as I'd hoped) :D


Darkness. An all-encompassing darkness, with the exception of a single light shining dimly on the sole performer. Seated by the piano, he deftly stared at the keys, preparing his mind for the performance.
But were was the audience? The auditorium was empty, save for her. Her. Yes, she was the audience. The pianist began his performance. His hands skillfully touching the keys, a dark tone rising with each press. The Moonlight Sonata. The Morbid Melody, as she called it.
She looked at the musician, attempting to study him. He was not dressed like a pianist. Dark blue jeans, white shirt, and a black jacket, not leather but something similar. The Morbid Melody continued to play, though she barely gave notice to it. Her eyes moved up, past his torso, and onto his finely crafted face. Her eyes moved further upwards, towards his, and she found herself staring at darkness. His eyes were covered under the veil of shadow. Her body tensed slightly at the sight of this, and he hinted a smile.
?Who is he? Who am I?? She asked. She was the spectator. Only there to witness the events unfolding before her very eyes.
Suddenly the pianist struck a high chord, gaining her attention again. She was now fixated on him. His fingers delicately stroking the keys, his never failing posture, and his shrouded eyes.
The music became a bit louder. Two slits opened on his back, glowing slightly. From them branched out further darkness. They came, slowly, extending from either side of him. The chords were struck higher, louder. He wore a devilish grin as the Morbid Melody continued to play.
She felt the cold steel of a knife penetrate her skin. She clutched her gut, the pain quickly growing, yet she found no wound. The knife twisted and pulled away, the pain was unbearable. Hot tears swelled in her eyes, cold blood covered her hands, yet she found no wound. And the Morbid Melody continued to play.
She screamed in pain, but no sound came. Again she screamed. Again and again. She felt the scream rise up through her neck, from the very depths of her soul, and dying once it reached her perfect lips.
She collapsed to the floor, clutching her gut. The tears came gushing out, and suddenly she was unable to breath. Gasping for air, she somehow managed to lift herself from the aisle and look up at the pianist.
His wings had now encompassed half the room. His devilish grin, his masked eyes, it was all driving her insane!
Suddenly his sleeves ripped apart, and directly below his shoulders two new openings appeared. From them a black substance seeped out over his arms. It poured like a thick blood. The pace of the music quickened.
The room was spinning, and she fell to the floor once more. She was choking; something was clogging her throat. The salty taste of blood touched her tongue as she coughed it out.
Laying in the aisle, she felt the icy cold grip of death overcoming her. But why?
Exhausted, she stopped struggling and gave in. Her head rolled to the side, her eyes on the pianist once again.
His fingers were no longer on the keys; rather, he was motionless, facing her, mocking her with his grin. Yet, even motionless, he still played. The Morbid Melody went on.
He raised his head, revealing his eyes to the light. His wings had now taking the room, as the dread blood had taken his body.
Surrounded by darkness, using all the strength she could muster, she looked into his eyes for the first time. When she saw what awaited her the deep pools of his iris?s, she screamed. She screamed as loud as one could possibly scream, all the fear and darkness inside her let loose. She screamed until she could scream no more.
She opened her eyes and bolted upright in her bed, clutching at her heart. Breathing heavily and covered with sweat, she saw the dawn outside her window.
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wow. that was good. suspense, fundamental contradiction, supernatural unrest. i find all of these things intriguing. then having her last breath being screamed out in a futile bid for salvation just to have it all be a dream. the ending could use a little work. perhaps the dream could be a premonition or a memory(hers or someone else's) that could be continued on later.
grammatically speaking, you need some work on your spacing of paragraphs. other than that, i see nothing too terribly wrong. (im no english professor, though) your descriptive prowess is something to be envied and i hope to see the rest of your story. that is, if you finish it. it would be a shame if you didn't.

maybe you should check out my story entitled Trigun: a new world. and give me a little constructive criticism.
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