Breif intro: Hi, I'm an aspiring novelist, this is an exert from my current project and I'd like critique and comments, please. Be harsh because I want to get better, but not dream-crushingly-harsh. Thank you.


I sat with my forehead pressed against the cool window, a shiver running through every fiber of my being, as I stared at the constant rain coming down upon the street. It was all grey and wet and death-like beyond this glass barrier, and it had been like this since I had found out Erin’s secret: rain and more rain. It almost seemed like God and the angels were crying for me since I was unable to.
I closed my eyes, the sight of rain angered me more now than ever in my life. I use to love it; I’d dance in it, get soaked, get sick and love it, but since Erin…
I didn’t want to think about her - about that - and about what had happened. It was all too much. Too much for me…
“Isabelle?” my mother’s voice questioned my odd posture from my doorway.
I didn’t answer her, my voice had been lost in the last week along with my appetite and every other human desire and I was afraid how it would sound if I tried to speak now.
“Erin…she’s on the phone,” she whispered.
I glanced at her silhouette in the glass, her perfect reflection was dismembered; her arms were folded across her chest with the phone in hand, her face looked like a sunken skull, her eyes boring into me with worry and her beautiful long hair in rats. I had no control over my body as I turned to face her, and I knew my face was a mirror of hers as she gasped softly . Her eyes gained sorrow then as she tried, but failed, to compose herself as she held out the phone.
“Erin’s on the phone,” she repeated softly as if she was afraid her voice would give everything away. I had no choice but to test my voice now, I prayed that it wouldn’t be completely dead, “Okay,” I whispered, my voice was a perfect match to my mother’s. “Thanks, but I’m busy.”
I turned back to the window as my mother turned and uttered an apology to the girl on the phone and placed my head against the glass: the spot was slightly warmer than the rest of it because of the constant contact we shared. I tapped my finger against the cool surface rhythmically. Rain poured harder now in the driveway and road and streamed across the window, pooling on the sill and leaking onto my wall. I wanted to stay like this with my eyes following the cars and raindrops, my finger keeping time with the glass and the cool surface comforting and calming me.
Why? My mind asked me. Why are you so mad at her? What did she do wrong?
Shut up. I thought back poisonously.
Answer me and I will. My subconscious, and rather annoying-self, retorted. What did she do wrong?!
Nothing! So just…just shut up! I hissed. I tightened my closed eyes as my figured scraped across the glass, making a loud skidding screech.
Well, if she did nothing wrong, my internal mind began softly before turning acidy, why are you so damn mad at her?!
I’m not!
Then talk to her for God’s sake!
No!
Why?!
I said no!
Why not!?
“Shut up!” I growled. I threw myself back from the window in agitation and landed on my shag rug with a loud thud.
My whole body was shuddering, not in the violent way but in the way that you definitely didn’t appreciate. Both my head and throat were tightly, suffocating so, and I was not happy about it. I gasped before swallowing what felt like a baseball and then my neck felt like knives every time I breathed. I did not like this one bit; this constricting and sharp feeling that was closing in on every essence of me, it was foreign and unbearable to a point.
Why won’t you just talk to her? My subconscious asked in a much lower and gentle voice.
“Shut up,” I ordered harshly.
Just talk to-
“Just leave me alone,” I whispered, begging more now than demanding, but all the poison was there still. I heard a soft sigh inside of me and the voice faded into the dark confines of my mind.
I didn’t move from the ground, even though it was probably most uncomfortable place in my bedroom and the house and felt like rocks were going to be permanently apart of my backside. I blinked in the dim light of the ceiling fan as I watched the blades circle round and round, reminding me of a carousel. I heard the water start pouring from the showerhead in the bathroom, my guess was that my brother was getting ready for work.
I sighed, my neck and shoulders felt like boas killing theirs prey, my spirit, and I closed my eyes. I needed to find peace in myself, but my “in myself” was being a pain in the a** and scolding me for being pissed, and being pissed is my birth right. What was I going to do? Just lay here for eternity with rocks forming into my back, knives plunging deeper into my being and a tight suffocation closing in…
“Isabelle?” My mom whispered from the door again.
“What?” I groaned as I cracked open my eyes and titled back my head to look at her. “Can’t I get ten minutes alone!”
“It’s…been an hour, honey,” my mom whispered.
My eyes darted to the digital clock above me and it was true. It had been an hour since my mother had talked to me.