Current Events > Anybody want to critique the start of my short story? (I'm not a good writer).

(+) Yeah! (+)

It's about my stay at the psych ward 3 weeks ago..what I can remember. I started it out at the emergency room..I could go into details how I was involuntary taken or how I had thoughts about wanting to rush the policeman and get his gun, but I'm not ready to write that yet. It ends mid day on the second day of the 72 hour hold. At one point I didn't get any rest for 37 hours because my rooomate had a psychotic break down in the middle of the night, and there was another patient threatening me so I had no where to go and there were no available beds..., but It ends on a positive note. I intended to write an epilogue a couple weeks later, but nothing has progressed really.

Anyways...

51/50 working title.

It's a a Saturday night and I've been sitting in the hospital for 6 hours and all I want to get is some fucking sleep. The emergency room is filled with people who injured themselves over the course of the Holiday Weekend. I'm alone, and I stare at my illuminated phone while I wait for a room. I've accepted my fate, and all I want to do right now is sleep softly into the night. The clamor of the emergency room is ripe with lights, people talking, and the smell of piss and vomit. As I wait I think about what got me here, but as of now I only want to get some rest...It's 1:00AM now. I have been here since 7:00PM. I'm in the middle of the E.R with nothing but a gown that barely fits over my body, on a gurney that Is too minuscule to rest comfortably. I nod off. I awaken and a nurse tells me that they have a room for me and be patient.

I'm in my room now. It's 3:00AM right now or at least it seems to be. The shades are drawn and the only sound heard off in the distance is the faint sound of a locomotive horn. You can only see partially through the blinds and the only sight is the faint glow of the streets being illuminated. I'm trying to rest, but there is no comfort here my thoughts are racing and it seems like I'm going a mile per minute. Time has been passing slow lately, mere minutes seem like hours and as I sit I try to get comfortable in some way or form, but I just can't. I continously stare at the light's they have above my bed. They painted on clouds which I assume is there to be calming to some, but all I can see is shapes. Shapes upon shapes, and with each blotch of white paint I see anything from two mythical beasts fighting an epic battle or something as calming as a ship sailing off to sea. It's almost morning now because I can see the lights have turned on, and patients are slowly rising out of bed.
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I thought it was pretty good. I felt compelled to keep going, if nothing else. Pretty striking opening line which is a good way to draw a reader in. There are a few places where it looks like an actual mistake has been made - I suspect you meant "rife" in "ripe with lights, people talking..." and the two a's at the beginning must be an error, for a couple of examples. The writing does feel a bit awkward elsewhere, and while that may be due to a lack of skill, it sets the tone rather well here. It feels more representative of the kind of strain someone must feel being kept in a psych ward. If it were all beautiful and eloquent everywhere then it'd feel fake.

Just a few thoughts I had.
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I'll read it when I get home cuzo.

It's a a Saturday

CLEAN THAT SHIT UP.

Actually it's pretty good, I enjoyed it.
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glad you okay mayne.

your writing could use some work. but like that other dude said it certainly grabbed hold of me pretty quickly. so you have a knack for that. that is important. keep working the craft, it's the only way to get better. i write sometimes, but i'm terrible at it. but i'm definitely not as terrible as i used to be.
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Dean Koontz is better tbh.

You should always strive to be better than Koontz.