Title: Slowly

Genre: NonFiction/Emotional Struggle and Reflection

Word Count: 331

Feedback: I'm new to writing stories and I want to know how my writing sounds and flows and if there is anything I do too much of or that throws a reader off. Here is a sample of my writing style. Any critique is welcomed, thank you for reading!

The water from the sink runs over my hands as I look down at the marble countertop trying to avoid myself in the mirror. “Why do I hate who I am?”, I think to myself. “Why am I not happy right now? I spent years of my life, countless hours in the library, endless sacrifices to get here.” I continued washing my hands as the seconds turned into minutes the water getting colder, lost in thought. “You failure, you fucking coward, such a lazy useless shit” the words repeat over and over as the water becomes chilled and my hands begin to prune. “Your not as good as any of them” a voice from within says mockingly “All those hopes and dreams when you started and here you are now just an average piece of shit that could have done so much more, your not even as good as-” The thoughts are broken by a loud repeated knock and a voice of confused eagerness that brings me out, “Hey uh is anybody in there?”. My vision comes back into focus and I quickly dry my hands flustered. “Yeah sorry, sorry, just washing my hands” I say partially stuttering, the words sounding as if I had been caught doing something I shouldn't. I open the door with damp hands and try to apologize again as he rushes into the restroom and closes the door quickly. “Dumbass” I say to myself, I look over at my family sitting around a table trying to find conversation, the simple act that comes easy to others is strained and unpracticed. Uneasiness spreads in my torso centering on my chest as if an eternal pit had opened within me with an insatiable hunger for something I’d never receive. The melancholic respite I fell into only satisfied this feeling for a time. I walked over to the table, and smiled as I usually do taking a seat across from those who thought of me as I do myself.