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My Little Portal
I am gracefully tiptoeing though the long, empty hall. The floor is laid with ageless, dark marble. Quietly moving past the ancient mosaics of untold past, which I can’t even dare to stop to spare as much as a single glance.
My face is covered with a stiff, sever stage mask of a ballerina long dead and gone. My lips painted a bright red and my face beaming with acted joy and delight. Eyes shadowed with silver and metallic.
I am still wearing the body suit in a light pink with bright and bold embroideries and glistering black sequins to decorate my body and highlight the curves and forms.
My gloves are highly effeminate, highlighting the perfectly cared arms, hands, fingers and semi square inch long nails. Strict, ballerina slippers encapturing my legs, leaving nothing but the impression of nude feminine legs in the traditional style and reinforcing the graceful tiptoeing that is defining my very being.
My glistering, jet black hair in a thick, tight braid all the way down my spine. leaving only enough hair left, for the three diminutive braids over my ears and bangs friskily hiding my forehead.
In a severe, strictly forced march, I continue down the hall, never stop, never slowing down. Time is short, I have but the few moments to myself, in the cramped dressing room in which I am given moments to catch the one elusive breath I never seem to really get.
It isn’t in the way life is short, just that there never really is a life at all. I had been born into the role, the one I am playing on the stage for spectators all night, every night. It is the play for which I had been bred and broken into.
I can not haste, but is forced into this measured gait of my role. This is all I am, all I could ever be. So they told me, so they are telling me, so they will be telling me. Again and again. It is all I had been told, all I am told, all I will be told.
Step by step, I move along the hall. Passing door by door and side passage by side passage. The doors are all the same, heavy wooden doors, behind which yet another girl just like me is hidden away from her life and who she is.
Each side passage, leading to places unknown and unknowable. I have no permission to go down any of them, and no time to go there anyway.
Of course, at the end of the hall, there is the one open door. I enter the room, designed for me to enter. I see the door and take the final steps, before I place my hand on the handle and pull it open.
There is a desk to the right, with what is to pass for a comfortable chair. I have no mirror, it was deemed I have no need for it as I am merely playing my part. I had been given the luxury of a bed, mainly due to my need for sleep. This is my room and my home. As much as anything is actually mine, the few items in the room is it.
The desktop is a two foot by five foot one inch thick slide of reinforced and specially hardened glass. The chair had been crafted out of stainless steel, measures to fit the body I had been given. Yet, I have a cushion to sit on and one hanging on my back rest. That is what I had been afforded.
The bed is standing to the left. Strangely enough, it is four feet by eight feet. I have a matching mattress and a quilt to cover my small, delicately designed, effeminate body. A clear rubber bed sheet is covering the bed as I am not in bed. The main pillow covers the top of my bed. I have a pillow to the right and left, aside from the two pillows up against the wall behind the main pillow. I had been told it is luxury beyond measure. They still tell me that tale. I have no means to confirm this, but why do I care? It would make no difference to me. It is simply what I have.
There is a slight hint of a noise behind my back as I sit in my chair. Not that I had all that much to do. I have no books and I could not read one if my life depended upon it since I never learned how it. It was never considered worth my time.
There is a thud and a squeak from something hitting the bedspread on top of my bed. It is all I know. Yet, there was never expected to be anything falling on top of my bed. I own nothing that could fall on my bed as I sit in my chair.
Reading! Who has the time for reading and books? I am on the wrong side of the play, and I am to be seen on the stage. The main stage, that is.
As I look up, I had been expecting it to be the door going up. This time I had been wrong. While I guess that is the expected, but this is not what is on my plate.
Once I had managed to turn around, I see the residue of a dark sanguine glow in a circle behind the bed, and about a foot up. It is as if there had been a two foot, round mirror on the wall.
I stare at the residue of the glow for the better part of a minute. Only once the glow is too weak for my eyes to pick it up, does it lose its grip on me and I drop my gaze. Slipping out of my seat and slowly setting foot on the floor. Soon turning around and once more facing the spot on the wall, or rather where I had imagined it had been.
“Oh!” I gasp in disappointment.
Of course, nothing is there as the glow had dissipated. It had not merely turned darker or changed hue. The wall is back to the original impression of my wall.
Once my gaze had dropped from the wall, my eyes fall upon an item now resting on the clear rubber covering my bed. It is an item I had never seen in my life, an item with no place on my bed and no reason to be in the room in the first place. How did it even end up on my bed in the first place?
Just standing there on the floor on the tips of my toes, staring. Taking a step forwards, then another and another. Tiptoeing over from the desk to the bed.
Looking down at the bed, and the item fallen from grace. What it is, I have no idea. It had no place in my world. I may be a living girl, but my world is purely a fictional universe. I have no life, just a role in a play written for me before I had even been born.
As I pick up the strange looking object, I notice what appears to be ab omega glyph on the right side. My right hand just so happen to fit, as I hold on to the heavy metal object I had just found on my bed.
While not knowing it, the form is that of a gun and has the same secure position in my hand. There is an aim on the forwards pointing cylinder. Had it been a gun, it should have had a magazine to contain the ammunition to fire. I found no such thing. Neither the trigger nor the magazine. Of course, I did not know how to recognize these items or the details telling me of it.
Facing the wall as I hold the item, my index finger momentarily touch the blue omega glyph. A light is emitted, before the glow appears on the wall before me. This is the same glow as I had seen before. Instead of the dark red, it is now a bright blue. To be exact, this is electric blue, as opposed to the former dark sanguine I had just observed.
There had been no bang, and no shot had gone off. What happened, is that a portal had just been opened. I have no idea, to where it leads, only where it is coming from.
Transfixed, I stare at the blue glow before me. Seeing nothing more than a blue glow that had no place on my wall.
All of a sudden, I see a girl before me, the girl is me. She is utterly nude, wearing exactly nothing. Not as much as a single thread of cloth is adorning her body and not as much as a stain of ink is decorating the skin on her body. She has no tattoo, and no makeup. No lipstick of lip gloss, no mascara or blush. her skin is clean and unblemished, untouched and pure.
I notice the girl staring back at me, with the same exact expression I would have expressed, had my face not been covered and painted over.
She is raising her right hand and extending her index finger as she is pointing at me with horror painted onto her face. Naturally it is how she had to react, on what is before her. How could she not be scared of what is standing before her? Me.
I can see her copper red hair on her head. She is wearing it in a more regular style befitting a girl who is living her life, with no design imposed upon her.
“You! You are me?” she is whispering, accusatory.
She is frowning at what she is seeing. Not me as per see, while I am what is standing before her.
I could see fear and disgust in her eyes. She certainly is not approving of what she is seeing before her.
“You? Am I you?” I finally respond, on her clear accusation.
I had noticed her voice trembling, it isn’t as if I could say anything as I knew my voice was trembling just as badly as hers.
Looking closer, I see a little girl before me. She could be no older than fifteen years of age. How could she react any differently on what she is having before her, as she is looking at me. She is the girl I should have been, had I not been subjected to the twisted design that is all I know. all I had ever known, all I can know, all I will ever know.
She is clearly standing on her feet, her heels resting firmly on the floor. I am still standing on the tips of my toes, just as I had for most if not my entire life.
Her hands had been resting comfortably along the sides of her body, not covered in stiff gloves restraining or shaping her by any means. her nails cut shot and maintained without nail polish or any other artificial means.
I can see the pert little breasts on her chest as she breathed in and out. She has small nipples, grown naturally with no outside intervention. I am envying her for it as much as she I disgusted by what she sees in me. I could not blame her for how she is reacting.
She has a small belly, rounded hips and a narrow wait. Just the way a girl should be. why couldn’t I have been her? it would all have been so easy, so natural.
“When you stare into the Abyss, the Abyss is staring back into you!” I think, feeling the sensation of angry little ants crawling all over my skin, as if it had been exposed.
I turn around, not quite capable of taking the assault on my senses from what I had been subjected to. If it is what I see before me, or what I had been turned into. There is no real difference, I can’t take it.
Yet, I found myself turning back to the girl who could have been me. Just to see what she is looking like and hearing what her voice is sounding like.
“Do I! Do I dare touch her?” I think.
“Dare I touch you?” I then whisper, as I realized she could not hear my thoughts.
“You don’t, but what do you have to lose? You don’t have a life, and you don’t even own your own body!” she promptly tells me.
“Her observation is correct!” I think, slowly, tentatively extending my hand in the vain hopes to feel the innocence of her unblemished skin.
I just stare at her, and my hand slowly moving towards her.
My face is covered with a stiff, sever stage mask of a ballerina long dead and gone. My lips painted a bright red and my face beaming with acted joy and delight. Eyes shadowed with silver and metallic.
I am still wearing the body suit in a light pink with bright and bold embroideries and glistering black sequins to decorate my body and highlight the curves and forms.
My gloves are highly effeminate, highlighting the perfectly cared arms, hands, fingers and semi square inch long nails. Strict, ballerina slippers encapturing my legs, leaving nothing but the impression of nude feminine legs in the traditional style and reinforcing the graceful tiptoeing that is defining my very being.
My glistering, jet black hair in a thick, tight braid all the way down my spine. leaving only enough hair left, for the three diminutive braids over my ears and bangs friskily hiding my forehead.
--- --- ---
In a severe, strictly forced march, I continue down the hall, never stop, never slowing down. Time is short, I have but the few moments to myself, in the cramped dressing room in which I am given moments to catch the one elusive breath I never seem to really get.
It isn’t in the way life is short, just that there never really is a life at all. I had been born into the role, the one I am playing on the stage for spectators all night, every night. It is the play for which I had been bred and broken into.
I can not haste, but is forced into this measured gait of my role. This is all I am, all I could ever be. So they told me, so they are telling me, so they will be telling me. Again and again. It is all I had been told, all I am told, all I will be told.
Step by step, I move along the hall. Passing door by door and side passage by side passage. The doors are all the same, heavy wooden doors, behind which yet another girl just like me is hidden away from her life and who she is.
Each side passage, leading to places unknown and unknowable. I have no permission to go down any of them, and no time to go there anyway.
Of course, at the end of the hall, there is the one open door. I enter the room, designed for me to enter. I see the door and take the final steps, before I place my hand on the handle and pull it open.
There is a desk to the right, with what is to pass for a comfortable chair. I have no mirror, it was deemed I have no need for it as I am merely playing my part. I had been given the luxury of a bed, mainly due to my need for sleep. This is my room and my home. As much as anything is actually mine, the few items in the room is it.
The desktop is a two foot by five foot one inch thick slide of reinforced and specially hardened glass. The chair had been crafted out of stainless steel, measures to fit the body I had been given. Yet, I have a cushion to sit on and one hanging on my back rest. That is what I had been afforded.
The bed is standing to the left. Strangely enough, it is four feet by eight feet. I have a matching mattress and a quilt to cover my small, delicately designed, effeminate body. A clear rubber bed sheet is covering the bed as I am not in bed. The main pillow covers the top of my bed. I have a pillow to the right and left, aside from the two pillows up against the wall behind the main pillow. I had been told it is luxury beyond measure. They still tell me that tale. I have no means to confirm this, but why do I care? It would make no difference to me. It is simply what I have.
--- --- ---
There is a slight hint of a noise behind my back as I sit in my chair. Not that I had all that much to do. I have no books and I could not read one if my life depended upon it since I never learned how it. It was never considered worth my time.
There is a thud and a squeak from something hitting the bedspread on top of my bed. It is all I know. Yet, there was never expected to be anything falling on top of my bed. I own nothing that could fall on my bed as I sit in my chair.
Reading! Who has the time for reading and books? I am on the wrong side of the play, and I am to be seen on the stage. The main stage, that is.
As I look up, I had been expecting it to be the door going up. This time I had been wrong. While I guess that is the expected, but this is not what is on my plate.
Once I had managed to turn around, I see the residue of a dark sanguine glow in a circle behind the bed, and about a foot up. It is as if there had been a two foot, round mirror on the wall.
I stare at the residue of the glow for the better part of a minute. Only once the glow is too weak for my eyes to pick it up, does it lose its grip on me and I drop my gaze. Slipping out of my seat and slowly setting foot on the floor. Soon turning around and once more facing the spot on the wall, or rather where I had imagined it had been.
“Oh!” I gasp in disappointment.
Of course, nothing is there as the glow had dissipated. It had not merely turned darker or changed hue. The wall is back to the original impression of my wall.
--- --- ---
Once my gaze had dropped from the wall, my eyes fall upon an item now resting on the clear rubber covering my bed. It is an item I had never seen in my life, an item with no place on my bed and no reason to be in the room in the first place. How did it even end up on my bed in the first place?
Just standing there on the floor on the tips of my toes, staring. Taking a step forwards, then another and another. Tiptoeing over from the desk to the bed.
Looking down at the bed, and the item fallen from grace. What it is, I have no idea. It had no place in my world. I may be a living girl, but my world is purely a fictional universe. I have no life, just a role in a play written for me before I had even been born.
As I pick up the strange looking object, I notice what appears to be ab omega glyph on the right side. My right hand just so happen to fit, as I hold on to the heavy metal object I had just found on my bed.
While not knowing it, the form is that of a gun and has the same secure position in my hand. There is an aim on the forwards pointing cylinder. Had it been a gun, it should have had a magazine to contain the ammunition to fire. I found no such thing. Neither the trigger nor the magazine. Of course, I did not know how to recognize these items or the details telling me of it.
Facing the wall as I hold the item, my index finger momentarily touch the blue omega glyph. A light is emitted, before the glow appears on the wall before me. This is the same glow as I had seen before. Instead of the dark red, it is now a bright blue. To be exact, this is electric blue, as opposed to the former dark sanguine I had just observed.
There had been no bang, and no shot had gone off. What happened, is that a portal had just been opened. I have no idea, to where it leads, only where it is coming from.
--- --- ---
Transfixed, I stare at the blue glow before me. Seeing nothing more than a blue glow that had no place on my wall.
All of a sudden, I see a girl before me, the girl is me. She is utterly nude, wearing exactly nothing. Not as much as a single thread of cloth is adorning her body and not as much as a stain of ink is decorating the skin on her body. She has no tattoo, and no makeup. No lipstick of lip gloss, no mascara or blush. her skin is clean and unblemished, untouched and pure.
I notice the girl staring back at me, with the same exact expression I would have expressed, had my face not been covered and painted over.
She is raising her right hand and extending her index finger as she is pointing at me with horror painted onto her face. Naturally it is how she had to react, on what is before her. How could she not be scared of what is standing before her? Me.
I can see her copper red hair on her head. She is wearing it in a more regular style befitting a girl who is living her life, with no design imposed upon her.
“You! You are me?” she is whispering, accusatory.
She is frowning at what she is seeing. Not me as per see, while I am what is standing before her.
I could see fear and disgust in her eyes. She certainly is not approving of what she is seeing before her.
“You? Am I you?” I finally respond, on her clear accusation.
I had noticed her voice trembling, it isn’t as if I could say anything as I knew my voice was trembling just as badly as hers.
Looking closer, I see a little girl before me. She could be no older than fifteen years of age. How could she react any differently on what she is having before her, as she is looking at me. She is the girl I should have been, had I not been subjected to the twisted design that is all I know. all I had ever known, all I can know, all I will ever know.
She is clearly standing on her feet, her heels resting firmly on the floor. I am still standing on the tips of my toes, just as I had for most if not my entire life.
Her hands had been resting comfortably along the sides of her body, not covered in stiff gloves restraining or shaping her by any means. her nails cut shot and maintained without nail polish or any other artificial means.
I can see the pert little breasts on her chest as she breathed in and out. She has small nipples, grown naturally with no outside intervention. I am envying her for it as much as she I disgusted by what she sees in me. I could not blame her for how she is reacting.
She has a small belly, rounded hips and a narrow wait. Just the way a girl should be. why couldn’t I have been her? it would all have been so easy, so natural.
--- --- ---
“When you stare into the Abyss, the Abyss is staring back into you!” I think, feeling the sensation of angry little ants crawling all over my skin, as if it had been exposed.
I turn around, not quite capable of taking the assault on my senses from what I had been subjected to. If it is what I see before me, or what I had been turned into. There is no real difference, I can’t take it.
Yet, I found myself turning back to the girl who could have been me. Just to see what she is looking like and hearing what her voice is sounding like.
“Do I! Do I dare touch her?” I think.
“Dare I touch you?” I then whisper, as I realized she could not hear my thoughts.
“You don’t, but what do you have to lose? You don’t have a life, and you don’t even own your own body!” she promptly tells me.
“Her observation is correct!” I think, slowly, tentatively extending my hand in the vain hopes to feel the innocence of her unblemished skin.
I just stare at her, and my hand slowly moving towards her.
I feel as though I was invited to go skinny dipping in an existential pool, only for it to be drained as I started to get in.
I like what you have going here, at least what I could gather, but the theme of transhumanism/time travel or whatever other mechanic was involved with the portals never really goes anywhere. It's brought up but ee don't get what is the point.
Now, don't get me wrong, I really like your style but be it a lack of time, or just a creative block that prevented you from taking this story to its fullest, it did prevent me from liking this more than I did.
I like what you have going here, at least what I could gather, but the theme of transhumanism/time travel or whatever other mechanic was involved with the portals never really goes anywhere. It's brought up but ee don't get what is the point.
Now, don't get me wrong, I really like your style but be it a lack of time, or just a creative block that prevented you from taking this story to its fullest, it did prevent me from liking this more than I did.
The style of writing is great, I felt like I was gliding from one sentence to the next. I couldn't explain just what it was that made me feel that way, but I felt very encapsulated in the story's world, and had no difficulty visualising most everything. That the writer has managed to keep a consistent pace, describe the sights and actions so well, and keep me anticipating the next development is a testament to their ability.
Unfortunately, the story is not for me. That isn't to say that it's a bad story at all, which it isn't. It just isn't my genre, and as such I find it a lot easier to judge based upon the merit of the actual writing, of which there is plenty. To be clear, I have no issues with the plot, and I don't see any inconsistencies or issues worthy of note.
This is enjoyable despite it not being what I would usually read, purely because the writer conveys things so well. Would be interested to see what other work they have out there.
AAIQU
Unfortunately, the story is not for me. That isn't to say that it's a bad story at all, which it isn't. It just isn't my genre, and as such I find it a lot easier to judge based upon the merit of the actual writing, of which there is plenty. To be clear, I have no issues with the plot, and I don't see any inconsistencies or issues worthy of note.
This is enjoyable despite it not being what I would usually read, purely because the writer conveys things so well. Would be interested to see what other work they have out there.
AAIQU
I have to admit that my first read through this story felt difficult and confusing. It started in the first sentence, with the protagonist tiptoeing through a long, empty hall — that seemed to set the scene that they were sneaking somewhere, perhaps infiltrating a building or trying to run away from home. The ballerina mask therefore threw me — and then, as the evidence mounted that the protagonist was some sort of stage performer, my confusion grew. Why is she en pointe in the hall outside her dressing room, with literally nobody around to perform for? And then, instead of answering that question, the story proceeded to give me lengthy descriptions of what the protagonist and her surroundings physically looked like. In the abstract, offering description is not a bad idea, but I was already lost and I had to wade through an awful lot of text that didn't orient me; it felt like pushing through brambles.
Again: If she explicitly acknowledges that she's playing a role on stage, why can't she relax backstage? Or if not relax, at least walk normally? I'm sure there's a good answer to that question, but the story needs to give it explicitly. Unless you say otherwise, your readers will assume that your world works like ours does.
I should note that working that answer in doesn't have to be a big production. In fact, just a line or two of implication could go a long way — something like "My toes are burning with pain, but I can't drop the pose. Not here, not where they might be watching." Then when I ask the question "Why is she en pointe backstage instead of walking normally?" there's an answer: "She's afraid to." That actually serves double duty, because not only does it clear up confusion, it gives us a lot of information about the character and the setting. But ultimately, the key is anticipating what your readers are likely to assume, and making sure that your text acknowledges those questions.
Getting into the habit of thinking through the implications of what you write is extremely valuable here. That's a tough skill. I think the best way is to do a lot of reading — and when an element in a story you read doesn't make sense, stop and think about where you saw a disconnect and why. The more you train yourself to insist on things you read making sense, the more diligent about it you'll be when it comes time to build logical consistency into your own writing.
Speaking loosely of which:
First-person perspective is tricky. First-person omniscient is … uh, basically not done. Giving us a story from a particular narrator's perspective is a signal that we are viewing the world as they know it, which means that this is breaking the rules as much as it would if you kept switching between past and present tense verbs.
I've seen first-person stories in past tense weasel around this by having the present-day narrator interrupt their own story with an interjection like "I couldn't have known it at the time, but…" The problem here is that you're in present tense and don't have that dodge. The narrator is telling us something that the narrator doesn't know.
(Full disclosure: I did exactly that in the last Original Fiction short-story round, in The Collision of Seasons. However, that was the entire point of my story — to hang the plot arc around that narrative gimmick — and I spent a lot of time building up to that reveal and back-justifying everything. A common addendum to Kurt Vonnegut's rules of writing is that any rule of writing can be broken, except for the first. I would add to that: The bigger the rule you break, the more care you have to take to make the story cohere without it.)
Anyway, get beyond those textual struggles and we've got a story of a woman given an interdimensional gift that lets her catch a glimpse of an alternate self whose life isn't quite so screwed up. There's potential in that. The imagery is certainly vivid. But I don't think that imagery alone is enough to carry this, not with the story ending where it does — she's just made a decision whose consequences we don't get to see. If there's any character growth here, it's in the narrator agreeing with Narrator-Prime that she doesn't have any control over her own life — but that feels like an empty moral, because she did literally nothing to earn it. That sort of free realization is a great line to get your story started — push the protagonist into action, where we can see the growth and consequences that follow from taking that step — but as an ending it's unsatisfying.
The good news is that picking up where you left off could turn this into a compelling Act 1 for a longer story about what happens after their touch. If the Writeoff just didn't give you enough time to continue, it's worth polishing this up and continuing onward.
Tier: Needs Work
I had been born into the role, the one I am playing on the stage for spectators all night, every night.
Again: If she explicitly acknowledges that she's playing a role on stage, why can't she relax backstage? Or if not relax, at least walk normally? I'm sure there's a good answer to that question, but the story needs to give it explicitly. Unless you say otherwise, your readers will assume that your world works like ours does.
I should note that working that answer in doesn't have to be a big production. In fact, just a line or two of implication could go a long way — something like "My toes are burning with pain, but I can't drop the pose. Not here, not where they might be watching." Then when I ask the question "Why is she en pointe backstage instead of walking normally?" there's an answer: "She's afraid to." That actually serves double duty, because not only does it clear up confusion, it gives us a lot of information about the character and the setting. But ultimately, the key is anticipating what your readers are likely to assume, and making sure that your text acknowledges those questions.
Getting into the habit of thinking through the implications of what you write is extremely valuable here. That's a tough skill. I think the best way is to do a lot of reading — and when an element in a story you read doesn't make sense, stop and think about where you saw a disconnect and why. The more you train yourself to insist on things you read making sense, the more diligent about it you'll be when it comes time to build logical consistency into your own writing.
Speaking loosely of which:
While not knowing it, the form is that of a gun and has the same secure position in my hand. There is an aim on the forwards pointing cylinder. Had it been a gun, it should have had a magazine to contain the ammunition to fire. I found no such thing. Neither the trigger nor the magazine. Of course, I did not know how to recognize these items or the details telling me of it.
First-person perspective is tricky. First-person omniscient is … uh, basically not done. Giving us a story from a particular narrator's perspective is a signal that we are viewing the world as they know it, which means that this is breaking the rules as much as it would if you kept switching between past and present tense verbs.
I've seen first-person stories in past tense weasel around this by having the present-day narrator interrupt their own story with an interjection like "I couldn't have known it at the time, but…" The problem here is that you're in present tense and don't have that dodge. The narrator is telling us something that the narrator doesn't know.
(Full disclosure: I did exactly that in the last Original Fiction short-story round, in The Collision of Seasons. However, that was the entire point of my story — to hang the plot arc around that narrative gimmick — and I spent a lot of time building up to that reveal and back-justifying everything. A common addendum to Kurt Vonnegut's rules of writing is that any rule of writing can be broken, except for the first. I would add to that: The bigger the rule you break, the more care you have to take to make the story cohere without it.)
Anyway, get beyond those textual struggles and we've got a story of a woman given an interdimensional gift that lets her catch a glimpse of an alternate self whose life isn't quite so screwed up. There's potential in that. The imagery is certainly vivid. But I don't think that imagery alone is enough to carry this, not with the story ending where it does — she's just made a decision whose consequences we don't get to see. If there's any character growth here, it's in the narrator agreeing with Narrator-Prime that she doesn't have any control over her own life — but that feels like an empty moral, because she did literally nothing to earn it. That sort of free realization is a great line to get your story started — push the protagonist into action, where we can see the growth and consequences that follow from taking that step — but as an ending it's unsatisfying.
The good news is that picking up where you left off could turn this into a compelling Act 1 for a longer story about what happens after their touch. If the Writeoff just didn't give you enough time to continue, it's worth polishing this up and continuing onward.
Tier: Needs Work
Hmmm, there is a lot of thing to say about this one but let's start by if I liked it or not.
I did, it was really enjoyable and as AAIQU said, the writting is very consistent (aside from a few typos). I also felt encapsulated by the story so good job.
Now, there's a few things that raise questions.
First the title. I thought it was somehow connected to My Little Pony in a way at first and because it's supposed to be Original Story, I was surprised by it but the story proved to have zero connection with the show. The question still remains, why did you choose this title?
Second, the portal. As I quickly understood that it would not be about ponies, I thought it would be about Portal the game. And the color of the portal reinforced this idea. However, aside from the color, I didn't find anything else related to the game. And here goes the same question, why this color? If there is a meaning behind this particular choice, I didn't get it.
Three, the beginning. The narrator, if I got it right, is an actor. You start describing how she feels towards her job. And that's it, there's only a beginning, I think you could have dig deeper, searching for a deeper meaning of being an actor. It's probably from where I come, being a literature student and having studied plays for 2 years. it may be enough for the 'casual' but it wasn't for me.
Four, the little girl. I understand that she is the past reflection of the narrator and she is supposed to symbolise her regrets towards the life she didn't have. But what is the ending supposed to tell us? That you should make up with your inner child and make peace with your past? Or does she have a chance to go back and start again? From what I could gather, the Abyss she's starring at his her regrets. But what do you have to say about this? This is a topic that hit home but on the other hand, you didn't give much.
So to summarize, it was very good but it raised too many questions to shine brighter.
I did, it was really enjoyable and as AAIQU said, the writting is very consistent (aside from a few typos). I also felt encapsulated by the story so good job.
Now, there's a few things that raise questions.
First the title. I thought it was somehow connected to My Little Pony in a way at first and because it's supposed to be Original Story, I was surprised by it but the story proved to have zero connection with the show. The question still remains, why did you choose this title?
Second, the portal. As I quickly understood that it would not be about ponies, I thought it would be about Portal the game. And the color of the portal reinforced this idea. However, aside from the color, I didn't find anything else related to the game. And here goes the same question, why this color? If there is a meaning behind this particular choice, I didn't get it.
Three, the beginning. The narrator, if I got it right, is an actor. You start describing how she feels towards her job. And that's it, there's only a beginning, I think you could have dig deeper, searching for a deeper meaning of being an actor. It's probably from where I come, being a literature student and having studied plays for 2 years. it may be enough for the 'casual' but it wasn't for me.
Four, the little girl. I understand that she is the past reflection of the narrator and she is supposed to symbolise her regrets towards the life she didn't have. But what is the ending supposed to tell us? That you should make up with your inner child and make peace with your past? Or does she have a chance to go back and start again? From what I could gather, the Abyss she's starring at his her regrets. But what do you have to say about this? This is a topic that hit home but on the other hand, you didn't give much.
So to summarize, it was very good but it raised too many questions to shine brighter.
I'm just gonna agree with what Horizon said. The narration is too self aware -- that is, it describes things that the narrator, this unknown girl, couldn't possibly know herself. The slip the 'gun' is the most obvious, but there are other points where she seems preternaturally aware of just how unusual her life is. How? If she's lived in some kind of forced seclusion, what would lead her to think her life is anything but ordinary?
Unlike some other reviewers, I did not enjoy the style of writing here. For me, many phrases felt unnecessarily clunky and obtuse, and some turns of phrase went so far as to feel entirely unnatural. And while I can understand how this might further reinforce the sense the narrator has that she is, in fact, unnatural, I’m afraid it simply didn’t work for me.
What did work well for me was the pacing. This story had a wonderfully slow, deliberate progression to it, which comes with a sense of moving towards the inevitable that, for me, really helped to maintain engagement. And while I’m not sure that the conclusion felt as if it were worthy of the build-up (all in all, the ending was a little bit of an anticlimax), I appreciated this story’s ability to keep me invested, especially given the issues >>horizon has noted with the story’s opening.
(While I’m on that, horizon made some pretty fantastic points in that post. I second every single one of them. Thanks for taking the time to write all that out!)
I wanted to take a moment, though, to talk about scene breaks. You’ve used a number of hard scene breaks in this story, author, and I’m not entirely certain why any of them are here. A hard scene break should signal to the readers a large break in either location, time, theme, perspective, or a combination of those factors. While I’m sure there are other reasons to use a hard scene break, those are by far the most common, and the reason for that is simple: a hard scene break completely interrupts the flow of a narrative. (In a way, it’s like the high-level equivalent of a full stop. In a paragraph, a full stop briefly stops the flow of the sentence, and gives the reader a buffer between complete ideas; in a story, a hard scene break offers the same kind of pause and, likewise, should be between complete and independent scenes.)
In this piece, the hard scene breaks don’t really seem to separate complete scenes, with the exception of the second (which makes sense as a temporal shift). To me, this means that they could be removed and no real meaning would be lost. And this begs the question: why are they there? Scene breaks have the unfortunate property of standing out quite a lot in a story, and if they’re unnecessary then they’ll stick out like a sore thumb. (It’s also worth noting that the writeoff has a style guide for scene breaks, which is the use of the bbcode horizontal line. The style guide exists to help preserve anonymity, and I would thoroughly recommend following it where possible.)
Still, this piece explored some very interesting ideas, and though some of them didn’t get explored as much as I like, I have to give it some credit for introducing them in an interesting way. I was particularly impressed by the way the main character’s potentially synthetic past was hinted at and introduced, and I would have liked to see this built upon and further explained. And though I may not have found the ending particularly satisfactory, I have to agree with horizon’s conclusion that this could be expanded into something rather wonderful.
HHHOOOOOOORRSSSSSEEE
Tier: Needs Work
(Edited to correct a bbcode link to the style guide. Sorry I missed that!)
What did work well for me was the pacing. This story had a wonderfully slow, deliberate progression to it, which comes with a sense of moving towards the inevitable that, for me, really helped to maintain engagement. And while I’m not sure that the conclusion felt as if it were worthy of the build-up (all in all, the ending was a little bit of an anticlimax), I appreciated this story’s ability to keep me invested, especially given the issues >>horizon has noted with the story’s opening.
(While I’m on that, horizon made some pretty fantastic points in that post. I second every single one of them. Thanks for taking the time to write all that out!)
I wanted to take a moment, though, to talk about scene breaks. You’ve used a number of hard scene breaks in this story, author, and I’m not entirely certain why any of them are here. A hard scene break should signal to the readers a large break in either location, time, theme, perspective, or a combination of those factors. While I’m sure there are other reasons to use a hard scene break, those are by far the most common, and the reason for that is simple: a hard scene break completely interrupts the flow of a narrative. (In a way, it’s like the high-level equivalent of a full stop. In a paragraph, a full stop briefly stops the flow of the sentence, and gives the reader a buffer between complete ideas; in a story, a hard scene break offers the same kind of pause and, likewise, should be between complete and independent scenes.)
In this piece, the hard scene breaks don’t really seem to separate complete scenes, with the exception of the second (which makes sense as a temporal shift). To me, this means that they could be removed and no real meaning would be lost. And this begs the question: why are they there? Scene breaks have the unfortunate property of standing out quite a lot in a story, and if they’re unnecessary then they’ll stick out like a sore thumb. (It’s also worth noting that the writeoff has a style guide for scene breaks, which is the use of the bbcode horizontal line. The style guide exists to help preserve anonymity, and I would thoroughly recommend following it where possible.)
Still, this piece explored some very interesting ideas, and though some of them didn’t get explored as much as I like, I have to give it some credit for introducing them in an interesting way. I was particularly impressed by the way the main character’s potentially synthetic past was hinted at and introduced, and I would have liked to see this built upon and further explained. And though I may not have found the ending particularly satisfactory, I have to agree with horizon’s conclusion that this could be expanded into something rather wonderful.
HHHOOOOOOORRSSSSSEEE
Tier: Needs Work
(Edited to correct a bbcode link to the style guide. Sorry I missed that!)
I don't feel like I can add much to what's already been said here. There's a lot of weirdness in this story, which... could be good?
Some word choices seemed either strange or maybe wrong; possibly auto-correct errors like 'sever' where it seems like 'severe' would fit better, or 'glistering', which is just an odd word no matter what you do with it, or 'is' instead of 'am', or sentences missing words. A good proofreader ought to be able to help with this sort of thing; I know the time limits on the Writeoff can be murder.
I wondered for a bit if this was actually a Portal crossover of some sort, but it doesn't seem to actually have much in common with the game except possibly the portal gun (but even that doesn't seem right; the portals are orange and blue, not blue and dark red.) In the end, it's a story, and it's definitely intriguing, but it doesn't seem to offer much in the way of explanation for all the weirdness it raises, and that's a bit problematic for me. Perhaps I'm simply not in your audience.
Some word choices seemed either strange or maybe wrong; possibly auto-correct errors like 'sever' where it seems like 'severe' would fit better, or 'glistering', which is just an odd word no matter what you do with it, or 'is' instead of 'am', or sentences missing words. A good proofreader ought to be able to help with this sort of thing; I know the time limits on the Writeoff can be murder.
I wondered for a bit if this was actually a Portal crossover of some sort, but it doesn't seem to actually have much in common with the game except possibly the portal gun (but even that doesn't seem right; the portals are orange and blue, not blue and dark red.) In the end, it's a story, and it's definitely intriguing, but it doesn't seem to offer much in the way of explanation for all the weirdness it raises, and that's a bit problematic for me. Perhaps I'm simply not in your audience.
Looks like I'm too late to add much. There's a good bit of editing to be done, so that the deliberate flightiness of the narrator's voice isn't obscured by unintentional redundancy and editing mistakes. Beyond that, there really needs to be some sort of stakes here; what's the significance of reaching out to touch her mirror-self? Whether there's a physical consequence or "just" an emotional one (e.g. by reaching out she metaphorically rejects her own life, and upon the closing of the portal, finds her identity irrevocably compromised in a way it wouldn't have been had she refused to recognize the alternate her and stretch out her hand to her), that should be explored in some way. As-is, I'm finding that the ending lacks punch.
Others have already commented on the issues this story has. I can't really add much more, so I will instead throw out what I think you tried to achieve with the self-aware narration you used. I may be completely wrong, obviously, but I think it's worth a tentative discussion.
The narration you used and the remarks about the things the character didn't know made me think that we are seeing this from the perspective of the essence of the characters, for which both the "ballerina" and the "normal girl" are incomplete manifestations. This is an interesting PoV, but if it is the case it would be probably better to hint at it more explicitly.
I'm a bit on the fence about the use of the portal gun as a narrative device. If we are seeing different aspects of a real person and this is some kind of metaphorical representation of it then it could make sense as a psychological manifestation of the need to bridge the various parts of the personality, even more so if the whole person is a gamer. On the other hand, if this is a straight representation of physically different versions living in different universes, then the addition seems a bit random.
I have still appreciated the story and it had been pleasant food for thought. Thank you for it.
The narration you used and the remarks about the things the character didn't know made me think that we are seeing this from the perspective of the essence of the characters, for which both the "ballerina" and the "normal girl" are incomplete manifestations. This is an interesting PoV, but if it is the case it would be probably better to hint at it more explicitly.
I'm a bit on the fence about the use of the portal gun as a narrative device. If we are seeing different aspects of a real person and this is some kind of metaphorical representation of it then it could make sense as a psychological manifestation of the need to bridge the various parts of the personality, even more so if the whole person is a gamer. On the other hand, if this is a straight representation of physically different versions living in different universes, then the addition seems a bit random.
I have still appreciated the story and it had been pleasant food for thought. Thank you for it.
>>horizon
>>QuillScratch
I'm going to be a bit lazy here and just back these two posts. Very hard to read, but there are some good concepts here! I love the whole idea of Doll Girl from Mirror World finding a way across to her fleshy counterpart and engaging in mutual angst, existential despair, and *cough* well that last section's a thing that exists. It's the classical Doppleganger plot, and yet far too rare to see in writing!
The execution needs work, though. Keep on trucking, read horizon and Quill's advice and work on your technical skills, author. You've got the cool ideas and interest hook, now you need to work on bringing it to a higher technical level that people can easily read.
>>QuillScratch
I'm going to be a bit lazy here and just back these two posts. Very hard to read, but there are some good concepts here! I love the whole idea of Doll Girl from Mirror World finding a way across to her fleshy counterpart and engaging in mutual angst, existential despair, and *cough* well that last section's a thing that exists. It's the classical Doppleganger plot, and yet far too rare to see in writing!
The execution needs work, though. Keep on trucking, read horizon and Quill's advice and work on your technical skills, author. You've got the cool ideas and interest hook, now you need to work on bringing it to a higher technical level that people can easily read.
>>Zaid Val'Roa
>>All_Art_Is_Quite_Useless
>>horizon
>>Fenton
>>Cold in Gardez
>>QuillScratch
>>Not_A_Hat
>>Chris
>>Orbiting_kettle
>>Ranmilia
First of all, thanks for taking the time to read my entry and putting in the effort of responding.
Secondly, I am making the doc open at; My Little Portal
>>All_Art_Is_Quite_Useless
>>horizon
>>Fenton
>>Cold in Gardez
>>QuillScratch
>>Not_A_Hat
>>Chris
>>Orbiting_kettle
>>Ranmilia
First of all, thanks for taking the time to read my entry and putting in the effort of responding.
Secondly, I am making the doc open at; My Little Portal
>>Zaid Val'Roa
Existential pool, that is the Abyss. I could make use of explanations and suggestions.
I guess Transhumanism was entered into the story.
Time restraint is a cleare issue.
Existential pool, that is the Abyss. I could make use of explanations and suggestions.
I guess Transhumanism was entered into the story.
Time restraint is a cleare issue.
>>All_Art_Is_Quite_Useless
How do I react on this? I guess you enjoy how the style came out.
I should ask why it isn't your type of story.
There are hoards of stories to my name, while guess the previous entries received less than warm welcomings.
I hope there are better representations of my story telling at my FiM page. (Ponyess)
How do I react on this? I guess you enjoy how the style came out.
I should ask why it isn't your type of story.
There are hoards of stories to my name, while guess the previous entries received less than warm welcomings.
I hope there are better representations of my story telling at my FiM page. (Ponyess)