WA 2, Draft 2
She floated into the room, any unsuspecting, initial glance not drinking in much of her seemingly ordinary outward appearance. But as you watched her walk, you noticed just how dreadfully wrong first impressions can be. She stood out, as did her bones. She looked as though she had been graceful at one time in her life. But now she could only fight her body enough to drag her feet lightly across the floor, in a seemingly exhausted saunter. Pitilessly, your glancing eyes read over her body, looking through every crevice in her face. Her skin was a tallow, sickly color as if it hadn’t seen the sun in ages. She had such sunken eyes, a cold nose, and cracked lips. All of her features seemed somehow out of place on her delicate and bony face. Her eyelids clung over hers pupils, now dulled, as if you could simply take a polish rag and wipe them clean. Looking into them, you wondered if there had once been a bright, sharp glimmer where now only fog remained- or maybe just concealed it. Her jawbone protruded in a painful way. Her mouth stretched over her teeth in a half smile, but you could see there was no valiant effort behind it. As your eyes traced her outline, they dropped to her collarbones, sharp enough to cut, the surrounding skin bruised and pulled. Her chest was flattened, her hips agonizingly jutted out from under her clothes, it was as if her skeleton was shrink-wrapped in skin, it was so close to the bone. Her arms were thin, her veins showed blue under tissue that possessed no energy to have colour. You wanted to hold her, this shadow of what was once a human being, but before you could reach her, she had abandoned herself.
WA 2, Draft 1
She floated into the room, my initial glance not drinking in much of her, what seemed like, ordinary outward appearance. As I watched her walk, I noticed that my original impression had been dreadfully wrong. She stood out, as did her bones. She looked as though she had been graceful at one time in her life. But now she dragged her feet lightly across the floor, in a seemingly exhausted saunter. My eyes read over her body, looking through every crevice in her face. Her skin was a tallow, sickly color as though she had not seen the sun for a long time. I looked over her sunken eyes, cold nose, cracked lips. All of her features seemed out of place on her now delicate and bony face. Her eyelids clung over hers pupils, now dulled, as though they had been covered by a coat of grime. I wondered if there had once been a bright, sharp glimmer in them. Her jawbone protruded in a painful way. Her mouth stretched over her teeth in a half smile, an effort to be perceived as happy. My eyes dropped to her collarbones, sharp as needles, skin bruised and fragile. Her chest was flattened, hips agonizingly jutting out from under her clothes, all signs of womanhood had been drowned. Her arms were thin, her veins showing blue under her pallid tissue. But most striking of all, her heart seemed hollow, lost in a way. It took a long time to realize why; she was only a shadow.
WA 1, Draft 3
Enough iridescence fell upon her eyes to show a glimmer of mischief- the kind of glimmer that every respectable girl keeps in her history. The point wasn’t really to beat an answer out of her, but to gently massage her hands until it seeped out of her finger nails. “Well,” she said, as she turned, ever so fluidly. “When I was little, I very nearly killed every pet that came into my possession.” She laughed. “ Once, I caught this gorgeous butterfly, which I obviously liked much more than all of the goldfish and turtles that I had been accustomed to having. I tried to put it in a jar, and much to my dismay, my dad insisted that it would die if I didn’t let it free. I was quite contrary though, and by the next morning, it was lying in the bottom of the jar, as he predicted, and as any child would have been, I was sad. But, luckily, it was just a butterfly, and it was only a jar holding it back.” She glanced at me. Her words stung, but I imagined the beauty of a flying butterfly, compared to the utter waste of one in the bottom of a jar, and I opened the lid.
WA 1, Draft 2
I dont know how to edit this, i keep reading over, but i can't think of anything i really want to change. I need some suggestions?
Enough iridescence fell upon her eyes to show a glimmer of mischief- the kind of glimmer that every respectable girl keeps in her history. The point wasn’t really to beat an answer out of her, but to gently massage her hands until it seeped out of her finger nails. “Well,” she said, as she turned. “When I was little, I very nearly killed every pet that came into my possession.” She laughed. “ Once, I caught this gorgeous butterfly, which I obviously liked much more than all of the goldfish and turtles that I had been accustomed to having. I tried to put it in a jar, and much to my dismay, my dad insisted that it would die if I didn’t let it free. I was quite contrary though, and by the next morning, it was lying in the bottom of the jar, as he predicted, and as any child would have been, I was sad. But, luckily, it was just a butterfly, and it was only a jar holding it back.” She glanced at me. Her words stung, but I imagined the beauty of a flying butterfly, compared to the utter waste of one in the bottom of a jar, and I opened the lid.
WA 1, Draft 1
Enough iridescence fell upon her eyes to show a glimmer of mischief- the kind of glimmer that every respectable girl keeps in her history. The point wasn’t really to beat an answer out of her, but to gently massage her hands until it seeped out of her finger nails. “Well,” she said, as she turned. “When I was little, I very nearly killed every pet that came into my possession.” She laughed. “ Once, I caught this gorgeous butterfly, which I obviously liked much more than all of the goldfish and turtles that I had been accustomed to having. I tried to put it in a jar, and much to my dismay, my dad insisted that it would die if I didn’t let it free. I was quite contrary though, and by the next morning, it was lying in the bottom of the jar, as he predicted, and as any child would have been, I was sad. But, luckily, it was just a butterfly, and it was only a jar holding it back.” She glanced at me. Her words stung, but I imagined the beauty of a flying butterfly, compared to the utter waste of one in the bottom of a jar, and I opened the lid.
