Here's a passage from a novel I'm writing, please critique honestly.
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ONE. A swing at my right jaw. TWO. An uppercut to my stomach. THREE. Claws grasp upon my neck, holding me against the bathroom wall. There are two problems here. One, I’m being choked. Two, I can’t see what’s choking me. It’s just me, being choked against the wall, by something I can’t see. This invisible monster lifts me upward, and throws me through my door, slamming head first into my bed frame.
“You little S**t! Where the h**l are you?!†I blurt out as I stagger to get up. But when these words leave my mouth, so does my resolve I just acquired a second ago. I am scared. I am terrified. Something wants to kill me. Something I can’t see.
“I love you.â€Â
“Wh-What? Who said that?†Something grabs my head. Something I can’t see. I try to shake off, but to no avail. My executioner slams me face down on my bedroom floor. As I am pulled back up, blood spews out of my mouth, dripping against my chin, droplets of red twilight falling to their demise. I have a feeling my own is about to unfold. Palms crash against my spinal column, spiraling my body towards the Misa Campo poster thumb tacked on the wall. Whatever it is that wants to kill me, I can feel it approaching. I analyze my surroundings. My bed, which I am now on thanks to the smashing effect I dealt the poster. A window lies straight ahead of my room, which to the left of that said window, is my kitchen. Next to me, a window, followed by a drop dead fall of at least 18 feet. The thing is steadily approaching. I glance at the window.
“If I’m gonna die, I should at least die with dignity. I ain’t about to kill myself. I’m taking this ***** down.†I clench my left fist, and with my right, draw out my bat from under the bed. “You wanna do this you phucking pie grinder? Let’s get started.†I hear a growl. I kick off with my right foot, giving me the extra momentum and strength I need to make my infamous powerhouse swing. “You little invisible cocsucker!-†I swing my bat with everything I have.
“I love you babe, oh so much.â€Â
“…What?â€Â
My swing, blocked. My arm, caught. My bones, broken. I look in dismay as my right hand is bent all the way back, touching the tip of my wrist, losing my bat to the depths of the floor below. I attempt to breathe, but I can’t, something won’t let me. With one final push, my assailant shatters my body through the window, onto the dead fall of at least 18 feet I promised myself not to kill myself on. Now, here I am, bending through the air and about to succumb to my own death. I look up. And there it is.
“I can see you!â€Â
Blank.
We are the sightseekers.
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