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    • CommentTimeSep 1st 2007
    The warmth of her skin traveled the few inches to his body, sending shockwaves of pleasure throughout my being. He refused to understand the scientific thought behind the transfer of heat and sat there, simply enjoying it. The air was chilled, the feeling of negative energy mixed with the summer night air brought the chill to the edge of shivering- yet not enough to trigger the body’s heating system of shaking and convulsing. A slight shudder traveled through her body, sliding her head closer to mine. A small sigh, companied with another shudder brought her head into his lap.
    A quiet squeal signaled his departure.
    The young girl of 17 was laid out and sprawling like the night sky above her on the beach, where the coarse and rough sand separated the deep, dense forest beyond. The police lights easily pierced the dark. The spotlights found the body easy enough, the blood still running from her side. The knife remained in her side.
    A quiet squeal signaled her departure.
    The young boy of 17 undressed slowly, gathering his clothes together in the street outside his home, piling the clothing into the trash bin. He still felt her heat, and the heat of her blood, piercing through his thick skin. Laying down in the street, he instantly shook and shivered at the unusual cold of the asphalt. The explosion was light, compared to the affect it had on those around the neighborhood. The house splintered and shuddered, trying to remain upright. It still fell, just as he did. He fell and fell, and sensing the ground coming nearer, he said his last prayer. The dead weight of a boy who had no care hitting the ground was louder than the explosion itself. The body lay splintered and broken, struggling to stand up. The white bones snapping, much to the surprise of the boy. He fell again. The phones around the street rang, signaling the end to his night of terror.
    A quiet squeal signaled his departure.
    The police did not solve the mystery of the boy who murdered, destroyed, and burned down those around him. Frankly, they filed the manila folder away, and it was never touched again.
    A technical criticism is that in the first paragraph, your point of view seems to be inconclusive. Sometimes it's 'his,' sometimes it's 'mine.'

    It is an interesting piece, although the symbolism is hard to understand. Again, the first paragraph is harder to read than the rest of it -- almost as though you didn't have your idea ironed out at first. You could probably re-write it to be a little clearer and fit better.

    Otherwise, it is an interesting experiment in a very five-senses-oriented way. I don't think you have much trouble using words to portray feelings and settings, it's just the cohesiveness and story line that can be difficult to find.