etherealights (etherealights) wrote in writingcritic,

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blurred to indigo. crit: moderate

I'm slightly inexperienced with writing; I'm still young, but I've pieced a few chapters together and I'd really like your opinions.
Constructive criticism is fine--welcomed, actually. Some of you have amazing writing and I'd love to hear your thoughts.
I'm just posting the first tidbit so far until I feel happy enough with it to post more.

Title: Blurred to Indigo
Genre: Psychological Thriller
Chapter One: The Pen of Night Writes with a Heavy Hand

copyright Danica Y. {etherealights} 

Reality is relative to each person, simply depending on what one allows himself to believe is true.
She glows. In the pitch dark, her skin glows, mesmerizing him. She glows white and silver, abruptly interrupted by indigo black. She is ghostly; he’d turn on the light, but he prefers ethereal whiteness to sickly yellow. When the lights are out, she glows with innocent pallor and beautiful curves like Indian ink, images marking his minds like calligraphy. When the lights burn bright—too bright—her skin seems lucent and jaundiced, glowing with a different endearment. She looks like liquid gold in the ways she moves and sickly timid with the stains of ink on her yellowed pallor.

He’s losing her, he realizes. His hand grips desperately to hers, but she just shoos it away and shares another puff from the joint, the smoke lifting her mind from mortal worries and towards intangible bliss.
He stares intently into her eyes, absorbed by her green orbs, and eventually they’re the only thing he can see against a backdrop of white. The image of her cascading locks disappears, her high cheekbones gone along with the curve of her hip. Intense green stands against dark blue, and he’s taken back; he’s scared; he feels insane. And suddenly, with a sharp intake of breath, the sweet smell of weed ignites his body and pulls him back to reality—or is it reality? He can’t be sure.
He starts to see features seeping into place around the eyes, but there’s something different. The hair isn’t of the same silky quality; its course waves start to frame a newly oval face. The same eyes still penetrate his gaze, but his mind is sent into a frenzy as he realizes she is not the same girl he was just gazing upon.
There is no such thing as reality. 
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