CI-Merritt

 **Book Series:** Mediator Series; Sisters Grimm; Twilight Saga; Harry Potter; Percy Jackson and the Olympians  **Bands:** Evanescence; Simple Plan; Within Temptation; Linkin Park; **Songs:** Missing; Bring Me to Life; You’re Love is a Lie; Welcome to My Life; Solemn Hour; Stand My Ground; What Have You Done; Papercut; Leave Out All The Rest; Valentine's Day; (I like Linkin Park... a lot) 
 * My Name: ** Merritt Polomsky
 * My Age: ** 13
 * My Hometown: ** Pueblo, CO
 * My Hobbies: ** reading, writing, playing the violin
 * My Favorites: **

 <span style="font-family: 'Century Gothic','sans-serif';">I have been a diabetic since I was 11 months old. <span style="font-family: 'Century Gothic','sans-serif'; mso-tab-count: 1; msotabcount: 1;"> <span style="font-family: 'Century Gothic','sans-serif';">I have been playing the violin for 7 years. <span style="font-family: 'Century Gothic','sans-serif'; mso-tab-count: 1; msotabcount: 1;"> <span style="font-family: 'Century Gothic','sans-serif';">I write or read something every day.
 * <span style="font-family: 'Century Gothic','sans-serif';">Other things you should know about me: **<span style="font-family: 'Century Gothic','sans-serif';">

Please be kind to me, I don't usually let people read my stories. I appreciate suggestions, and constructive criticism, but nothing too harsh. Enjoy! ___

Blind

“You’ll come back, Bobby. ” I assure him, “You’re going to come back to me.” He nods and gives me his cocky smile that I love so much. We are standing outside Fort Collins Army Base in Colorado. I am trying not to cry. “Of course I’ll come back, Alice. ” He says, “I always come back.” And that was he left for the War, with that line “I always come back,” Little did I know, he wouldn’t.

…

He wrote me every week, his letters filled with vivid descriptions of what it was like where he was. He painted a gory picture in my head that to my horror I often found myself dreaming about. They were those dreams were you could never move fast enough. I always saw him hurt or dead, and I couldn’t get to him fast enough. But his letters were also filled laughter about the pranks that he and his friends pulled on each other to lighten the tense atmosphere that was always there, always crawling beneath their skin. It made me smile to think that he had friends there. It made me feel better. But slowly, his letters came later and later. Every week turned into every two weeks, which turned into every month, which turned into every two months. How can you be so blind to such things? How can you be so blind to things that are staring you so blatantly in the face that everyone else notices but you? What blinds you too it? What make you not see it? I should have seen after 4 months, but I didn’t.

…

Everyone tried to console me, as my worry escalated into panic, which escalated into complete terror. My mother and father, my brother and sisters, aunts and uncles, friends, and co-workers, even his family tried to console me. They all told me that Bobby was a fighter that he was going to come to me. I should have seen the look in their eyes that would have told me that they were lying to me. But I was still blind. Agonizingly blind to the false reassurance, and lying smiles. I was truly blind to the world …

I remember the day the letter came. It was 11:43 a.m. and I was eating lunch, a turkey sandwich with Lay’s and a Pepsi. I was wearing a green Hollister shirt, and dark, skinny, Levi jeans. On my feet were matching green Converses. It was Saturday, and I had the day off from my job as the Coldwell Bank in Denver. It had been 8 months since his last letter, and was I pouring over it, my lunch forgotten. I was looking at while I was talking to my mother. She was ranting about how my brother had chosen to take a job at Microsoft that didn’t pay enough. I was quietly ignoring her. The doorbell rang, loud and clear through my house. I hung up with my mother, and walked to the door. I spied through the peep hole in my front door. Outside was a uniformed officer all in Blues. I began to tremble, opened the door and stared uncertainly at him. He silently handed me the letter. I opened it with trembling fingers. I saw my name at the top, Alice, followed by his name, Bobby, somewhere in the letter. I wasn’t reading it; I was looking for that sentence, the sentence that I was blind too. I saw it, his name, followed by the word “dead in combat.” Everything became dark.

…

His funeral was magnificent, as much as I hate to admit. It was. Everyone dressed in black, under umbrellas. The rain fell almost gracefully onto the ground. He was buried at Arlington National Cemetery, in Virginia. The entirety of his family was there, so was mine. My brother, and sisters, my parents. They came for me. He had died saving the friends that he had told me so much about. They were there too. They told me that they were sorry that he had died trying to save them. I told them that I forgave them, and I meant it.

…

I moved to Washington DC after that, and I visited his grave every weekend. Nothing was the same after that. I was an empty shell, nothing like the person I was before. I guess I should have moved on, but I didn’t. I kept brooding about him, because I saw him everywhere. Finally, there was nothing left of me. I knew that I should get help for myself, but I didn’t. I should have. I was blind again, unable to see that I needed help from someone. The voice was there in the back of my mind telling that I couldn’t see what I needed, but I was blind again, so I didn’t know until I was almost too late.

…

I sat on the damp sidewalk, staring idly at the strangers passing by. They gave me odd glances, and I gave them odd glances back. Finally, someone walked up to me. She asked me why I was sitting there. I told her that I had lost my job, which was true. I was fired for being late too many times. She said that it was too bad, then asked if I was hungry I said I hadn’t been hungry for a while. She asked again why I was sitting there on the street. I said that I didn’t want to talk about it. She said that I should, and sat down. She told me that she would tell me her story is I told her mine. I agreed, and I’m glad I did.

…

Her name was Claire, and she had lost someone important her in the War too. She in lived Arlington, Virginia, a town outside of Washington DC. She has been like me once, Claire told me, but she had had kids to keep her somewhat sane. She said that that was my problem, I had no one to keep me sane. I told her about Bobby in return. She said that she was sorry, but that she thought that Bobby wouldn’t want me to stay like this, with no home and job. I told that I didn’t know what to do. She said that I was coming with her back to her house where she would help me get back on my feet, and as I walked away with her, I felt a slight breeze, even though there wasn’t one, circle around one last time, then disappear on the wind. I knew then that I was no longer blind.

<span style="color: rgb(255,0,0);">I think the story is very good and you should continue writing. 2. Think about problems that the characters face. Are there complications that add enough suspense, tension, or interest? Is there a climax that satisfies you? Is the resolution satisfying? What could be added or changed? <span style="color: rgb(237,5,2);">I like how the wife knew her husband was going to die and didn't no when it was going to happen. 3. Think of characterization—are the characters life-like? Are characters likable and enjoyable? Do we get a good sense of character from many of these: description, dialogue, narrator's opinion, discussion from other characters, the character’s own actions? <span style="color: rgb(255,0,0);">The characters are life- like and it sounds like a real story. 4. Think of imagery and details. Do they help you //see// and //hear// and //experience// the story? What details would you like to see in the next revision of the story?<span style="color: rgb(255,0,0);"> In the story, i can picture everything in my head as the story goes on. 5. What areas of the story need the most improvement? What suggestions do you have for the author? <span style="color: rgb(255,0,0);">I think you only need to fix the spelling errors otherwise it was great.
 * 1. Think of plot—is it original? (If an adaptation, is it creative or interesting to you?) What suggestions do you have for the author(s)?

1. Think of plot—is it original? (If an adaptation, is it creative or interesting to you?) What suggestions do you have for the author(s)?

2. Think about problems that the characters face. Are there complications that add enough suspense, tension, or interest? Is there a climax that satisfies you? Is the resolution satisfying? What could be added or changed?

3. Think of characterization—are the characters life-like? Are characters likable and enjoyable? Do we get a good sense of character from many of these: description, dialogue, narrator's opinion, discussion from other characters, the character’s own actions?

4. Think of imagery and details. Do they help you //see// and //hear// and //experience// the story? What details would you like to see in the next revision of the story?

5. What areas of the story need the most improvement? What suggestions do you have for the author?

1. Think of plot—is it original? (If an adaptation, is it creative or interesting to you?) What suggestions do you have for the author(s)?

2. Think about problems that the characters face. Are there complications that add enough suspense, tension, or interest? Is there a climax that satisfies you? Is the resolution satisfying? What could be added or changed?

3. Think of characterization—are the characters life-like? Are characters likable and enjoyable? Do we get a good sense of character from many of these: description, dialogue, narrator's opinion, discussion from other characters, the character’s own actions?

4. Think of imagery and details. Do they help you //see// and //hear// and //experience// the story? What details would you like to see in the next revision of the story?

5. What areas of the story need the most improvement? What suggestions do you have for the author?Type in the content of your new page here. ||