You certainly jumped into the meat of this story and let us know what we should expect of find.
However, that big block of unformatted text gave me quite a shock. It is almost as if it is a deliberate challenge to read it.
The lack of paragraph breaks makes it difficult to keep one's place and follow the points in an orderly way. We don't even have breaks for the dialogue. I suggest reformatting this piece with dialogue and paragraph breaks. It might be an improvement to add a bit of white space between paragraphs.
Keep writing. You subject points are well covered.
Appearing, as if something on the wing
the thought seems steered to us by vectoring.
Ideas such, have little more to do
than stirring notions foul, or plain taboo.
Somewhere amidst the pointed thoughts astray
the fear of being peeled takes quite a leap.
We watch as all those words carouse and play
amongst beguiling questions that you keep.
We're left with just a husk upon the block,
chasing thoughts from here to there and when.
Unanswered questions pique the cowering flock
then shakes down all those yesterdays again
At last, the wayward notion ran its course
but not the thought left cringing or far worse.
I cannot bear the thought of going on,
not in the world described on evening news.
I turn my mind to thoughts of being gone
to shuffle off this pain and pay my dues.
The pills dissolve so slowly (it's a mess)
Of politics and such he disapproves,
which drives the level of the nation's stress
to places where we pray that it improves.
But prayer won't save us from this fearless grab.
It squeezes out the power of our lives.
The gossips hang on every word we blab.
Don't worry. There is nothing it derives.
Why have we failed to answer our own cry?
Oh, God, I know, it's time to say goodbye.
You've done an excellent job of producing a meaningful, plausible, and clean testimonial. Herbalife should pay you for it. It is not quite up to the quality you would need for ad copy, as there are a few minor grammar issues and at least one typo (tye instead of the). But those issues will tend to make the article more believable as a testimonial.
Those of us who don't play video games have a lot of work to do to figure out what's going on. On the other hand, it doesn't make any more sense on the second read (even after reading about Super Smash Brothers) than it did the first time 'round. But then, video games aren't supposed to make sense. That is a nice job with the dialogue, but it was hard for me to keep track of which character is which, even after the telling setup of the family dynamic.
What a concept to dive into for imaginative lore. No wonder the wolf is mournful. A lone wolf is completely out of character. But is it really a wolf or is it an imaginative author on the prowl for unrelenting conflict? Methinks too much on a subject like that. I await the next segment to show us where the lone wolf will rejoin the pack.
Nice start with lots of questions left on the forest floor to be picked up at the next opportunity.
In comedy, we search both site and soul
for just a snicker hidden 'neath a shrug
But throwing in worse moments fluffs the role,
as Steven jumps into one more hole he’s dug.
A little overblown, but here I find,
a need for further tossing in my mind.
It's no wonder that writing makes you happy. This is a happy story and it ends happily ever after.
Happily ever after, is a natural element of the romance genre, so, if that style makes you happy, it could mean that you are off to a good start for a career as a romance author.
There are opportunities for improvement in punctuation, and capitalization.
It's really hard to make a testimonial into a viable story, so it's not surprising that you dropped it in mid-sentence. What is surprising is that you posted it as if it were complete. Would you please post it again, if you'd like a review as an ad copy or as a testimonial?
The metaphor of 'maintenance journeys'
prompts us to sit, and ponder worn-out cars.
We read the verse again, within the hour,
Attention drifts to our own lifelong scars,
No time remains to squander on lost nerve.
Although such words can prove confusing when
a poet's long-sequestered deep reserve
goes public with a bright, well-guided pen.
And now, we see the end—no words withheld
until we know the rocky thoughts hold true.
We sit and wait. The secret silence swelled,
then shrank beneath the weight of that adieu.
The inspiration soars. Is it alone?
The answer like a droning dial-tone.
You are right. Without having seen the video, this fan story would make no sense. Of course, it makes no sense after having seen the video, either. But then, do comics ever have to make sense? Fanfic about Batman or Little orphan Annie wouldn't make sense either.
You open with a question in the air
then let the cat sneak slowly from the bag.
But on we go, with nothing much to fare;
We see our boring selves. It starts to drag.
Then, from the shadows of the middle lines,
we look inside and find no need to fear.
There is no place for you to cut and run.
No moment’s pause to stop and shed a tear.
Cruelty and blame join forces in a flash
as clouds grab onto every train of thought.
It's then we see the slow and wild crash.
It spreads the feelings for all that is wrought.
Your observation in the final lines,
needs explanations for what it defines.
The nightmare of a vampire's urge exposed.
It leaves the rival children on their own,
to find a proper moment when deposed,
to grab their first encounter, though unshown.
A bloodbath, large and red would win the show,
but it must keep its truth behind the fence.
The thirsty, red-eyed kids can never know
of whims and notions wild and so intense.
That damage from the past, we often say,
can never quite be shoved beneath the rug.
That broken squash will never win the day.
The smashing hand's just one more hole he’s dug.
But just to think of the sweet and juicy neck,
so satisfying. Keeps the urge in check.
Angelic Imp returns with what is real
for each of us to struggle on our own.
We find those learning moments where we feel,
there is more to discover than a groan.
Now, should a bolt of insight steal the show,
hold to the upside seen along that track.
grab all the strength you can from regret's glow.
The loss of which we never can take back.
The damage from the past, the echos say,
cannot be quiet, even 'neath the rug.
Those long lost dreams rise up and ruin the day,
just as we think we've filled the holes we’ve dug.
But think of that support which you have found
To write and share can turn it full around.
YOu've done a good job of presenting your characters. Many parents will see the brother and sister as they have their own children, especially those who have twins. In this case, they are well shown.
Why not start the story with the action? The single word of profanity only shown one small bit of Chloe''was' takes us into a telling style, where the scene gives an opportunity to show what's happening.
This could be a great start if it is the first draft and will be edited to show the action. Perhaps holding the tale to Chloe's POV will give a smoother flow.
I'm looking forward to seeing the final edit.
Keep working on this. You have an excellent basis for a story.
Word Weaver gives a glimpse of what's to come,
My scrambled thoughts allow me not a word.
I ponder floods of Noah. (At least some.)
And shudder at the forty days I've heard.
On second read, I see what's white and black.
I shake my head. Is it still on my shoulder?
I posit sunny days creating slack,
as I have done since youth when I was bolder.
The vision swings, with rooftops out of sight.
I try to think of one to do it better.
Up steps the weaver's courage for the day.
It gives me some relief to simply let her.
Without a thought intact, I trudge the mud,
my brain aspin with rain and all the flood.
You've certainly caught my imagination with this story. But, of course, it's not a story. It's a stream of consciousness plotting of a much longer story; perhaps a full-length novel. It's the sort of outlining many of us do when we're jumping into the beginning of a long and important tale of the kind you are building.
Since these sorts of beginnings must always be rewritten, they cannot be reviewed as a completed story. I see it as an outline and as such, it's a darn good start. You've given us one character, with plenty of problems to provide conflict. We see a love interest in Ada and a choice of potential antagonists.
This story could go almost anywhere from here.
Keep writing and let us see the next steps as they unfold.
You open with the radiation's smells
then let the tale sneak slowly from the bag.
But on we go, surprised at what it tells;
we see the sorry place and start to drag.
Then, from the shadows of the middle lines,
we find the body count is getting weird.
There is no place for us to cut and run.
No moment’s pause to let our eyes get teared.
Then, demons take the stage as if by flash.
The battle flares and grabs our trains of thought.
It's then we end the sudden, wild crash
which spreads before we garner what is wrought.
It's homeward in the last and final line,
Which needs no further magic to define.
The metaphors 'like water' and 'desire'
Require that I must read the verse again
and give attention to this smoke and fire
while pondering the vortex, all aspin.
Goodbye…No time to squander on depression.
Although such words can prove confusing when
a poet's long-sequestered love obsession
Goes public with a bright, well-guided pen.
And now, we see spilt milk—no words withheld,
until we see the embers glowing, too.
While sitting, all that silence simply swelled,
then shrank beneath the tone of the adieu.
The dross of watered chocolate down the drain
leaves naught of the desire, but just the pain.
I wonder at the Red Roof's trip through time
and marvel when I see the Wormhole Space.
A Sci-Fi yarn delivered through a rhyme
unlikely deeds marched right before my face.
But then, the ancient Doctor takes a hand
and leaves the poor Ms. Clifford in a lurch
while I sit by, no need to understand,
just watch the show from my unsettled perch.
But when the Doc takes notes, that's when I know
that Wormhole Time has got a link back home.
There must be reasons he would want to show,
a journal of the spacetime where they roam.
The Red Roof portal gives them just a start
inspiring the tired horse behind the cart.
You've grabbed us by imagination's core.
And show us sights that we've not seen before
The ghost of one who's gone, and that's all right.
We know that we're not there, to our delight.
Eternity grabs on. We feel the cold,
and then, another redirected way.
There moves the blurry promise in the hold,
wrapped up all those games the schoolmates play
In true form of denouement at the end,
Tomorrow starts without me, as was said.
The ghostly figure slips around the bend
and though she’s not alive, she is not dead
Our minds breathe out a sigh of sweet relief.
The loss of innocence will not be brief.
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