Warm **REVISED**

[Xizor]

I went through the story and redid a lot of it. I spent a good hour working on this, so I hope that this meets with more approval than the last version. I am, of course, open to suggestions.

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Warm
By: Nick Dineen

We were surrounded by nature. The sun was shining brightly overhead, and birds were chirping and rustling branches around us. A squirrel ran in front of me between the two of us, not stopping to get a look at us. I heard a dog barking somewhere from a house in the distance.

I felt ridiculous. I had felt ridiculous for almost a week. Everything I said as an angry dramatic outburst. It was as if I’d replaced all my hurt and sadness with anger and frustration. At the drop of a hat, I went from rational to irrational, sane to insane, happy to unhappy, bright to bitter. An indignant sense of self-pity filled me as I shouted, “You don’t understand!”

Kyle looked at me, sadness in his eyes, and I looked away. He sounded hurt as he asked me, “What do you expect?” He looked at me, searching for a glimmer of normalcy, a hint of returning to my senses.

“I expect nothing! That’s it!” I shouted, looking back at him. His look hardened.

“That’s not fair.” He was starting to sound angry. I kept going. I was unable to stop myself.

“Why should I expect anything from you?” It sounded ridiculous even before I was done saying it.

“That’s cold,” he said, sounding a bit skeptical. He must have been able to sense that I was just feeling sorry for myself for no reason.

I kept going with the ridiculous statements. “Cold is how I feel every day.”

“And I want to make you feel warm!” Apparently it was his turn.

“You don’t understand....” I turned away, hoping that he would do something to make me feel better. I was transfixed by this vision that if I just sounded ridiculous enough, he’d just hug me and let me cry.

“God dammit I want to understand!” He shouted, not coming toward me. He sounded frustrated, hurt.

“I already told you that you don’t understand K-” I started, but he cut me off.

“That I don’t understand?” He sounded bitter and angry. I was starting to get scared. My plan wasn’t working. It was not working at all.

“Yes.” I said, and my fear came out in my voice.

“I want to help you, Mark,” he said, his voice sounding kind and soft again. “Just because I haven’t felt everything you’re feeling doesn’t make me incapable of empathy.”

I felt angry for a moment, and I lashed out at him, caustically saying, “How do you think you can empathize with me? All I feel is sympathy, and I don’t want it.” No! I wished I hadn’t said it. It was wrong. I didn’t mean it. I was so sorry for saying it.

Now he sounded hurt. “I’m not offering you my sympathy. Sympathy is empathy with no investment. I am invested, Mark!” I could hear desperation creeping into his voice now.

I bit at him again. “I’m sure you’re invested.” What was wrong with me?

“What does that mean?” His voice was quiet and confused. I knew what I was about to say would hurt him, but I couldn’t stop myself. I just said it.

“It would make you feel better to make me feel better! That’s what you’re invested in! Yourself!” I squeezed my eyes shut as I finished saying it, a couple of tears falling down my face. I was so pathetic.

In defiance, though, he said, “If that were true, I would find some sap who wants to be cheered up. Instead, I’ve fallen in love with someone who doesn’t want to feel better.”

“Well that’s convenient,” I said, trying to keep it up.

“It’s not at all. It’s horrible.”

“Then why don’t you leave?”

“I just said I love you,” and he came around in front of me and put his hands on my shoulders, and just smiled at me. I looked away.

He was searching me. He could see the tears that had fallen, the way I had looked away to hide my pain and shame, and said, “Mark, I hate seeing you this way. The pain of the last six months is etched onto your face....”

I looked back at him, and I wiped the tears from my eyes and pushed his hands off my shoulders. “This has been nothing but back and forth bullshit,” I said, walking passed him.

“Bullshit...” he said, trailing off. After a moment, he said, “I don’t see it that way.”

I paused, and then turned around to face him. “Why not?”

He turned and looked at me, and with a weak shrug he said, “It’s the longest you’ve ever talked to me about your dad....” He just looked at me, his big blue eyes not wavering for even a second, trying to read into me, but blocked as if by an iron curtain in front of my heart.

How I wished I could keep my emotions contained. My voice was starting to tremble audibly. “Well, maybe now it’s me who’s feeling sorry for you,” I said, trying not to lose my composure completely.

He just laughed at me. I knew he thought I was being ridiculous. My face soured, and through a chuckle he said, “I don’t mean to laugh.”

I tried to joke, “I don’t mean to puke,” but it just came out sounding like puke itself.

He smiled, though. “That’s like the old Mark.”

“He died the same day as my father,” I said. It sounded so childish to me, but he didn’t seem phased. He put up with all my melodramatic garbage. For so long, he had been there to support me.

He had been my friend, and then after my dad died I decided to come out to Grayson, who was so supportive. He encouraged me to tell Travis and Kyle, who were both equally accepting. About a week later, Kyle had come up to me at school and asked to talk in private after we got out that afternoon. I wasn’t sure what to expect, and when we met up, he asked me to walk with him to the local donut shop. Along the way, we talked about school, about video games, and other random things. Somewhere along the way, I mentioned girls. I had asked him who he liked.

He had stopped walking. I turned back to him and looked at him quizzically, wondering why he had stopped. He looked at me, and his eyes were wet and I suddenly realized what I had never been smart enough to notice before. He looked at me, and said, “You.”

At first, I didn’t know what to think. It seemed so odd. I had definitely liked him. He was one of the most perfect boys I knew. I had always had a crush on him, but just assumed he was a lady’s man. I was glad to be wrong.

“I don’t think so. I just think he went into hiding, and this new Mark is just here to protect him until he’s ready to come out,” he said, and he walked forward to hug me.

“I’m sorry....” I said, finally losing myself. I started crying. Regrets of not telling my dad I’m gay and this dramatic argument, along with my missing him all overwhelmed me, and I just lost it. I couldn’t hold it in anymore, and I just cried.

“Don’t cry. Come here,” he said, hugging me tightly. I buried my face in his chest.

We stayed like that for a long time. The sun had gotten lower, but it was still shining brightly. I could smell pine on the breeze, though it was getting harder to breathe through my nose from all my crying. I just stayed in his arms for something like ten minutes and let it all out. I hadn’t sobbed this hard since I had dreamed my dad was in my room.

After some time, I finally spoke, no longer sobbing, “The only time I feel ok is when I’m in your arms like this.”

“Then we can stay here as long as you want,” he whispered, his deep voice serenading me into a deeper sense of calm.

“I love you,” I said. It was the only thing I could think of to say.

“I love you, too,” he said.

I chuckled once, and said, “I don’t know how you can put up with me.”

He laughed too, and hugged me tighter as he said, “I don’t either, to be perfectly honest. It’s how I know I love you.”

We both stayed there, not letting go. The air was so peaceful.

“Do you enjoy the silence we spend together?” I asked.

As if in response, he said nothing. We finally separated, and just looked at each other. After a moment, he sat down in the dirt and motioned for me to join him. I did, and we turned and faced out off the edge of the hill overlooking the cityscape beneath us. It was so beautiful in the light of the setting sun. It reminded me of the days when everything was easier to understand, and I was happy more often than I wasn’t. I knew this bliss wouldn’t last, yet I enjoyed every second of it.

The way the wind rustled my hair reminded me of my dad, the way he tousled my hair all the time. It made me remember everything I had ever loved about him, and for the first time since he died, I didn’t start crying. I just smiled.

Finally, he spoke up. “We should go home, it’s starting to get dark, and we’ll have to walk all the way back. It’ll take at least an hour.”

“You’re right. Let’s go,” I said, standing up. He took a moment, and stood up too, and brushed off his pants. After a moment, we were both ready to go.

“Want to hold hands?” he sounded so meek, it was adorable.

I couldn’t help but smile as I said, “I can’t think of anything I’d rather do the whole way back.”

We walked for at least five minutes in happy silence before he spoke again. He squeezed my hand tightly as he said, “Your hands are always so soft.”

I squeezed back, and said, “Yours are always so strong. It makes me feel safe. That’s why I love holding them.”

We were quiet again. I could see him looking around as we walked through the wilderness, enjoying the setting around him, absorbing the natural order of things. “We should come there more often,” he said as he continued to look around.

We walked for a long time without saying anything. Our hands had started to get sweaty, but it just made me hold on even tighter. I felt so comfortable. It made me feel as if there was finally something to live for outside of my own misery.

For so long, I had drowned myself in the pain of losing my father. I looked over at Kyle, and looked at his face, and his body, and the way he walked, watched him looking at nature and thinking, and realized that he’s just another person. We’re all just people. We all just live and breath and walk, and nothing really separates us except for the way we feel about each other. If we all just felt the same things, we’d all be the same collective thing. It was the fact that he cared so much about me that made me love him as much as it was his charming personality and his breathtaking beauty.

Suddenly, I realized where we were, and said, “We’re almost back.”

Almost as if in response, though I could tell he had hardly heard me, he exclaimed, “Look at the sky!” He pointed toward the sunset, which was orange and beautiful.

“The colors...I’ve never seen such a magnificent sunset,” I lied. I remembered such a sunset. It had kept me warm on my coldest, darkest day.

“Let’s just stay here and watch it,” he said, and he stopped walking.

“I can feel my dad,” I said, the day he died becoming more vivid in my head, and then fading as if with the setting of the sun.

“Do you finally feel warm?” he asked, squeezing my hand a little.

I just watched the sunset for a moment before I sighed, “Yeah.”

[Kristoffer]

I don't like it.

The original was better. This feels over explained and clunky. Also, I liked how "Kyle" was not revealed to have a penis until, like, 3/4 within the story. Now you just put his name in the 3rd paragraph, and I sadfaced.

[Cucco's Revenge]

Okay. Well. Better than last time, but still a way off your top quality I'm afraid.

The dialogue has been un-twee'd a bit by the prose, but at the start you've gone too far the other way. The description of the characters' emotions are unecessary, and not only slow the story down but make it tedious and insincere to the reader. I would go through and strike out every other emotional description, which would free the text up to the characters and their dialogue bit more. Which is still, in places, overworked and unrealistic.

I turned away, hoping that he would do something to make me feel better. I was transfixed by this vision that if I just sounded ridiculous enough, he’d just hug me and let me cry.

That was another one of those "I know this exact feeling" moments. Didn't burst into tears this time, thank goodness, but it made me sure that you still knew what you were doing and made sure I stayed until the end.

“I love you,” I said. It was the only thing I could think of to say.

After this point, it's clear that you've really hit your stride, and I'm glad of it because the sincerity of the characters starts to shine through. It's only after this line that they stop being two names and start being real, because everything stops being clunky. Took your time about it, but you did make me enjoy reading it in the end.

Anyway. The problem with your writing now is that I know you can write to the standard where I break down and cry because the pure emotion has messed me up. (I can't make it past the first paragraph of Orange again btw.) If you're going to write an emotional short story, you have to seize my heartstrings and wrench them every time, or play a merry tune upon them and make me dance. Or whatever it is you want me to feel. But write something like this, which mostly doesn't, and I'll feel disappointed.

I know you can do it. You've done it before.


Feh, after re-reading that it seems as though I don't like it at all. That's not right - I do like it. But I could like it more, is what I was trying to say.

[Xizor]

I'm sure I could go through it again and make it even better, but I'm gonna leave it for now until I get a few more critiques. This is pretty unprecedented; usually when I get negative reactions, I just move on and leave it alone. I dunno, I'm considering actually making a book out of these stories.