Haven't really written a story before. Need advice on writing style before getting too far into it. Pacing? Depth? ect. Thank you in advance.

Yevgeniya 25

I was born in 1989 in Chelyabinsk Russia. My family was not particularly wealthy. My father was a machinist in a metal shop and my mother was an economist. The dissolution of the Soviet Union hit my parents particularly hard. They saw their life savings for retirement disappear overnight. My father began to drink a lot and became an alcoholic.

When I was 9, he passed away from liver cancer. It was then just my mom and I, and she struggled a lot to get by. At least she had my Grandmother Svetlana, who I was named after, to help out. She was a kind sweet woman, and I loved her dearly. When I was in second year of High School she passed away as well. She was 81.

After she died, my mother told me something about my grandmother that I never knew. She told me she was a pilot in the Soviet Air Force and fought in the Great War. Her unit was famous for being all-female and was feared by the Germans, who called them Nacht Hexen or Night Witches. They flew old bi-wing planes made of plywood. The Germans gave them this name because of how their planes made a whooshing sound like a witch’s broom as they dove on their targets. I never knew my sweet old Grandmother was so brave and heroic when she was young!

School was my sanctuary. I loved learning and excelled in math and science. I also was good at sports and was very competitive. I didn’t think too much of what I would do after school. I just wished it would never end. There didn’t seem to be any profession worth doing in Chelyabinsk.

In the last year of High School is the time when everyone is guided towards and chooses a profession which they will progress towards. During summer break, a man came to visit. He was a military recruiter. He told me he had my records from the school and knew I was good at math and science and was competitive which are things they look for. I was surprised, because military service was probably the last thing I thought I would ever consider! He told me don’t answer now. He told me to think it over and he’d be back.

I wished he didn’t say he’d be back! I really didn’t see myself as a soldier. I did think it over quite a bit though. It would be a way out of Chelyabinsk. A way to see other places and do things that just aren’t possible in this dead-end town.

A few months later, halfway through my Senior year, he returned. We sat in the kitchen and talked. He asked me if I knew anything about my grandmother’s service in the Military. I told him I did, that she was a Night Witch. “She was a lieutenant in the 588th Dive Bomber Regiment”, he said. “The unit still exists today...but they no longer fly bi-planes, of course!…Your grandfather and great grandfather also served in the Red Army.”

“We have learned to recruit from families with military tradition”, he says. “They tend to have common traits.” “From your test scores, I can see that it is true. I guess it runs in the family!” “They want you to go to Krasnodar to train to fly….it would be 8-year commitment. Don’t answer now…I’ll call you tomorrow.”

I had never even seen a plane up close and they want me to fly one! 8 years! Such a long time. What if it sucks and I regret it? He called the next day, I told him yes, I will do it. What else could I say?

The Wellness Medical Center was a bustling hub of activity, with doctors, nurses, and patients coming and going throughout the day. A modern and spacious building, its large windows that flooded the interior with natural light characterized it. People always filled the lobby, either waiting to see a doctor or visiting family members. Outside, the sounds of busy traffic and the hustle and bustle of Los Monica provided an ever-present background to the center’s work. Outside, a mass of thick, gray clouds obscured the normally sunny skies, casting a somber mood over downtown. 

Kimberly Anderson strode down the halls of floor eight, keeping herself busy by completing her tasks with military precision. The nurse checked her beeper periodically, making sure it hadn’t gone off without her knowledge. She made her way towards the break room, eager to take a break from the monotony of her day. She grabbed a soda from the fridge and took a seat in one of the very few chairs available. 

“Hey Kim, are you doing okay?” Jenny said, as she walked into the break room, heading for the fridge. 

“I’m fine, just a bit lightheaded.” Kimberly lied. Jenny’s face fell, and she quickly walked over to Kimberly. She put her hand on her shoulder and asked, “Are you sure?” Kimberly nodded, trying to look as convincing as possible.

“I am fine, Wilkison, I just need a moment,” Kimberly said. Jenny’s face softened as she nodded, satisfied with Kimberly’s answer. She gave Kimberly a gentle squeeze on the shoulder before walking back to the fridge and grabbing an energy drink. Its vibrant coloring and bold lettering made it stick out of the rest of the contents. The label on the can read AMPED. The flavor of artificial strawberry and orange juice overwhelmed her taste buds. A unique combination reminded her of her college days. 

Kimberly sighed in relief as Jenny left, grateful for the reprieve. Kimberly sighed to herself as she downed the energy drink, slowly feeling the effects of the caffeine to wake her up. 

“No wonder Noah drinks them like no tomorrow” She headed out of the break room and back down the hallway through the hospital. She passed by the other hospital staff, who nodded at her and smiled briefly. As she walked, she could hear the hum of machinery and the gentle beeping of monitors in the distance. She made her way to the elevators and pressed the button for the fourth floor.

As the doors opened, She was about to be met with what she knew would be a chaotic scene - the ER was always busy, even on a slow day. Kimberly checked her watch. She still had an hour before she met with her husband for lunch. 

Kimberly headed to the bathroom to redo her ponytail, which had started to look tired. She pulled the hair tie out of her auburn-colored hair and held it in her teeth as she brushed her locks back before winding and tying it off. Steel-gray eyes stared back at her as she splashed water on her face. 

“God, I hate doubles.” But before she could dwell on that thought, her beeper went off. As Kimberly hurried down the hallway to the emergency room, she couldn’t help but feel a sense of foreboding. The hospital had been unusually quiet today, and she had a hunch that something big was about to happen. She just hoped she was ready for it. 

With a sense of urgency, Kimberly headed towards the patient’s room, trying to keep a level head and focus on the task at hand. As she arrived, she saw a frantic-looking doctor standing by the patient’s bed, his hands flying over the keyboard as he tried to order some medication. 

Kim looked over the patient’s chart, and her eyes widened with concern. “What’s going on with this patient?” she asked. Her voice was firm but calm. “Oh….”  

All she needed was one look, one look for her to recognize the person in that hospital. There was no denying the impact of her jawline and the way she had ruffled her dirty blond locks. His shirt was torn to shreds and his torso was bloody, his chocolate brown eyes were closed behind his eyelids, locked out from the world as he lay there, motionless, on the operating table. Her heart skipped a beat and her breath caught in her throat. This couldn’t be happening.

Kimberly’s heart raced as she looked over the unconscious figure lying on the operating table. There was no question about it -- it was Noah, the man she loved more than anything in the world. She felt tears well up in her eyes as she stared at the sight of him, bruised and battered. He had broken bones as his arms and legs were bent out at odd angles. 

Suddenly, there was a commotion at the door, and several doctors and nurses rushed into the room. The operating team was clearly on high alert, trying to stabilize Noah and keep him alive. Kimberly watched as they quickly went into action, inserting tubes and wires into Noah’s body. She clumsily left the room and headed in the opposite direction. Her heart pounded in her ears as they started to ring. 

She found herself paralyzed as time slowed down to a crawl. Thunder boomed outside as lightning cracked the sky. Rain started to pelt the windowsill as Kimberly struggled to calm herself down, emotions were quickly taking over her professionalism as she headed outside for some fresh air. 

As Kimberly stepped outside,  she felt the cool rain hit her face, chilling her to the bone.  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart and steady her nerves. She knew she had to get back inside and focus on Noah and the others in the hospital. This was her life now -- she was a nurse, and her duty was to care for her patients, no matter what.

By the time she had gotten back upstairs to the ER, she found herself making a beeline for Noah’s room. Now, in the patient’s room, the last thing she needed was to personalize the patient. She didn’t need to break down, not yet. She had a job to do. 

Unfortunately, she was too late as a plethora of nurses and doctors were swarming the patients as they struggled to keep him alive. She stood there, unsure of what to do. She wanted to walk away, to tend to the other patients, but she couldn’t do that to him. To her husband.  

“You okay?” Jenny said, as she walked up to Kimberly. “You’ve been down and out for the last fifteen minutes.” 

“Jenny,” Kimberly said, taking a deep breath. “That’s Noah…in the operating room…”

“Oh…. I didn’t know… I am so sorry…” Jenny exclaimed. “You might want to sit this one out.” 

“But that’s my husband in there!” Kimberly raised her voice. “I…” Her breath hitched; she was unable to finish her sentence. Kimberly’s heart was racing as she gazed through the glass windows into the operating room. Noah was lying on the operating table, surrounded by a team of doctors and nurses who were all working to save his life. 

There was a sense of urgency in room two twelve, and Kimberly could hear the chatter of the medical staff as they discussed Noah’s condition. Their voices were a blur, but she could make out a few keywords: “severe injuries,” “blood loss,” and “critical condition.”

Then came the silence. It swallowed up every sound, every subtle sound in the whole building as a low beep sound could be heard. Kimberly had trained herself to be exposed to that dreadful sound. It was a signal. The kind that meant one thing, one singular thing; the end. 

For a moment, she felt as if her world had come crashing down around her. Noah was everything to her, and the thought of losing him was more than she could bear. Tears welled up in her eyes as she tried to hold them back, but they soon spilled over. Her knees felt weak, and she felt like she was going to collapse.

<...>

The rain gently patted against the windowsill of the house. It had once been a home but no longer, no warmth wavered through the halls, with the joy being swallowed up. Like a single match against an unforgiving darkness. Kimberly downed the last of her energy drink. 

Kimberly noticed that the sky outside her window was turning jet black, with the city lights glistening like diamonds. She stood up from her chair, stretching her tired legs and shoulders. She had been staring at the same paragraph for hours. Writing and rewriting it as she tried to figure out how to end her report. 

She still wore those maroon-colored scrubs from her shift at the local hospital, which faintly smelled of rubbing alcohol and sweat. 

“Maybe it’s a good time to take a break…” She thought to herself as she saved her progress on the document. Kimberly headed straight for her dresser and dug out a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt that had Anderson Community College across the front in faded white lettering. It was a modest apartment, with one bedroom, one bathroom, a living room, and a kitchen. “…and give this place a thorough cleaning.” She added as she ran a slim finger across her lamp cover. Sighing to herself, she went to the bathroom and shut the door behind her. 

The sound of the shower head struggling to spill out water filled the silent space. Kimberly let out a sharp yelp as freezing water gushed out of it. She cringed to herself as she stood there, bracing herself against the frigid water, forcing herself to stay as she waited for the warm water to kick in.

After five full minutes of waiting, she finally accepted the underlying fact…she was gonna have to call someone for the water heater. Kimberly quickly washed herself off, then climbed out of the tub, wrapping herself in a towel and sitting on the edge for several minutes before she could feel her toes again. 

Getting dressed, she made a beeline for the kitchen, digging through the leftover containers before indulging herself a bit. She dug through the freezer and found a microwavable lasagna on the bottom of the freezer. 

“Thank god.” She opened the package and placed the food into the microwave. 

Kimberly ate in silence as she sat at the kitchen table, stuffing her face as she realized how hungry she was. 

“Well, not skipping lunch anymore….” She thought to herself as she pushed her auburn bangs out of her face, even going as far as to take a hair tie and tie it into a messy ponytail. 

Once dinner was done, Kimberly sat down on the old brown leather sofa and switched the TV on, flipping through the channels until she found the local news station. 

“And welcome back to! Local time is Seven o’clock with the outside temperature being a brisk sixty-four degrees, better bundle up if you are heading out to the game, the Los Monica Pirates are going to take on the Newberg Cardinals tonight at nine!” The elderly newscaster exclaimed excitedly. 

Kimberly sighed constantly as she watched the news. She took out her phone and started looking through Sol-cal, scrolling through the stories, only stopping at the ones that interested her. And yet nothing felt real. It felt like a dream, one she’d happily wake up from. But despite how many times she’d closed her eyes and wished that Noah would come home, nothing. She got nothing. Nothing except for this numb feeling that was etched into her very being. Minutes felt like hours as she held her phone in her hand.

She knew she’d be the one to deliver the news. After all, she was the first one who knew. Unfortunately, that meant that if she told someone else this bitter information, then it would be true. 

He was gone. 

Her phone had been weightless before, so much so that she’d practically forgotten it a few times before she left the apartment, but now it felt as if it weighed several hundred tons. 

With a quivering hand, she scrolled through her contacts and found the name she was looking for; Leslie Claremont, Noah’s mother. Kimberly took a deep breath and steadied herself as much as she could before making the phone call. 

“Hello?” Kimberly heard the sound of the older woman on the other end of the line. “Who is this?” 

“It… it’s me, Kimberly.” Her breath hitched as she tried to form her words. She was mentally kicking herself for not being prepared as she should’ve been. 

“Oh, Kimmy! It’s been too long. How have you been?” Leslie asked her. “How has Noah been, still working on that comic, isn’t he?” 

“It’s about him…” Kimberly said in a hushed tone, swallowing the bile acclimating in the back of the throat. “He’s…he’s been in an… accident…” 

“What happened? Tell me everything!” Leslie’s voice became frantic in tone. Kimberly couldn’t blame her. 

“He’s…he’s…dead…” Kimberly said in a low voice. “He was at Wellness Medical today…” 

<...>

It was a modest, two-story brick building with a steeple rising to a cross. The entrance was an oak door flanked by marble columns, and inside was a hushed, solemn atmosphere. The rooms were dark; the walls clad in a deep burgundy and rich, velvet upholstery with dark wood accents.

 The carpeting was a deep pile, soft with a rich, warm scent. The lighting was dim, with a few well-placed lamps casting soft, golden pools of golden light. 

Kimberly watched as the family members started to pour into the funeral home. Leslie stood beside her, clutching her hand in hers as Kimberly dried her eyes with a tissue. She couldn’t cry anymore, but that sickly feeling remained. It made her stomach churn as she stood there, dressed all in black. 

Noah’s picture was on a table with a few of his favorite things on it. 

“I am so sorry for your loss…” 

“He was a good man. Shame he had to go out like that.”

Kimberly heard family members on both sides of the family were gracious enough to show up. They gave her their condolences, and she nodded and hugged them, leaning deeply into each pair of arms. The smell of cheap cologne and expensive perfume made her a bit lightheaded, so she stepped outside to get a glass of water. 

As Kimberly filled her empty stomach with water, she heard footsteps approaching her. 

“Are you Kimberly?” 

The voice belonged to a boulder of a man, with a thick gut and thicker torso. He towered over her, and yet his eyes were mournful. He had a parcel in his large, meaty hands. 

Kimberly cleared her throat. “Yes…yes, I am.”

“My name is Johnathan Carter, I…I knew Noah. He was like a brother to me, to all of us.” The large man said in a deep voice. 

“Oh? I don’t think we’ve met before.” Kimberly pointed out as she dried her lips. 

“Noah didn’t know me officially, but we’ve been friends online for the last two years. We’d call on the internet every Thursday, like chat and draw.”

“Oh wait a second, I remember now.” Kimberly’s face lit up as she recognized the man’s voice. “Oh my gosh, it’s Johnathan! I’m so sorry, Noah told me about you. I just didn’t recognize your voice.” Johnathan smiled and nodded. 

“Eh, don’t worry about it, not many people do.” Jonathan shrugged. “It’s nice to meet you in person,” Johnathan said. Kimberly smiled and nodded, and the two shook hands.

“I have something of his,” Jonathan said in a serious tone. “It was a project he was working on.” 

“Oh, what is it?” 

“During the con in Las Vegas last year, there was a contest where you submitted your work and it was chosen to be printed and published; Noah won, and this is the comic he wrote,” Johnathan said as he handed the parcel over to Kimberly.

 In her hands, she undid the paper and saw Noah’s comic. The title read, “Tales of The Yellow Jacket.” A picture of a muscular teenager dressed in bright yellow and black spandex with a billowing cape as he stood on a rooftop flashed a big toothy smile to the media camera.

“I see,” Kimberly said, holding the paperback in her hands. 

“I was gonna call him and tell him that it was delivered to the wrong address,” Jonathan said. 

“Thank you for this, Jonathan.” Kimberly nodded, her eyes still fixed on the book cover. She couldn’t help but feel a chill run down her spine. She realized that this was the last thing he left behind, and it made the comic all the more tragic. She quickly tucked it into her purse and went back to the main room.

<...>

Days after the funeral, Kimberly found herself in her cramped apartment, having downsized by a few hundred square feet. She opened the comic, rereading it once again. As she flipped through the brightly colorful pages, she realized just how much work Noah had put into it, everything from the art to the panel layout felt like something he’d do, the character designs were modest, Kimberly recalled the disapproving look she gave him when he was commissioning more…risqué pieces of his artwork. 

Even how the dialog was written sounds like something he’d say. She felt guilty for judging him and realized that Noah had been working hard on this project. 

“Wait a minute.”  

She stopped on the last page and saw Noah’s signature scrawled in black ink. She smiled, knowing that Noah had put his heart into this project and that she was proud of him. She closed the book and hugged it tightly. 

Despite weighing little more than twelve ounces, this felt like it got heavier and heavier with each page turn.  She knew that Noah had poured his heart into this book. She felt a sense of melancholy wash over her. This was Yellow-Jacket’s first and last adventure, with him soaring through the sky, his destination was an oil rig with a giant squid-like creature attacking it. 

Kimberly yawned and gently placed the comic book on the coffee table before getting ready for bed as thunder boomed above the city skyline. She watched as the lightning flashed, momentarily illuminating the dark apartment before closing her eyes. 

Rain began to pour down against the windowsill, and the sound of rainfall woke her up hammering on her window. She sat up, listening to the rumbling sounds of thunder. As she was about to drift back off to sleep, a crack of lightning illuminated the room in a magenta-colored glow.

Kimberly sat up with a puzzled expression on her face. 

“Pink?” She thought to herself, “Since when was lighting pink?” She recalled a lecture in which the ancient professor explained how lighting had a different hue depending on the voltage. 

But this was different. There was a stillness to the air that she didn’t notice until she found herself getting off the bed. A chill went down her spine as she began to realize that she wasn’t the only one in the apartment.  She slowly stepped towards the door, feeling her heart pounding in her chest. She took a deep breath and opened the door, ready to see what was on the other side. 

Kimberly slowly opened the door to the darkened apartment. As she slowly opened the door to the darkened apartment, she encountered silence. She inched forward; her fear growing with each step forward. Finally, she reached a point where she could see who was standing in her hallway.

Or, to be more accurate, hovering. A bright yellow cape flowed behind the being dressed in black and yellow tights. A mask covered their face. Kimberly stood in shock as the being floated toward her. She slowly backed up, her eyes wide with fear. 

She blinked a few times, just to make sure she was dreaming. But no matter how many times she squeezed her eyes shut, nothing would change. The being stopped and looked at her. A voice came from the mask, a deep and gravelly voice. “Do not fear, you are safe. I am here to help you.”

“What?” Kimberly’s voice came out a bit too loudly as she spoke. 

“Where am I?” The being asked her, still floating as they looked around the apartment. “This doesn’t look like Empire City…” 

“It’s not,” Kimberly said as she switched on a light. Getting a clear image of the hovering being in front of her. 

“Last thing I remember was fighting Techgore and his army of mutant cyborgs.” The being said as they floated around the apartment. “Then I got a distress signal from Commissioner Ironheart about Animal-Master using an Elderbesast to attack an oil rig off the Atlantic ocean.” 

Kimberly blinked. This sounded too familiar. She noticed the comic book on the floor of the apartment and grabbed it, flipping through the pages and seeing that Yellow-Jacket was missing from every single panel. 

“Oh…” Kimberly said. “You are Yellow-Jacket…” 

“Yes, I am!” Yellow-Jacket said enthusiastically. “I am Earth’s mightiest hero!” 

Wait…” Kimberly said. “This can’t be right, no … your Noah’s creation!” 

“Who?” Yellow-Jacket asked her, hovering close to her. “Who is Noah?” 

“He created you,” Kimberly said as she handed him the comic book. “All those characters were all my husband’s idea..” 

“What? No…this has to be some sort of trick…” Yellow-Jacket said as he flipped through the colorful pages in his gloved hands. “I…no, this can’t be right…this has got to be the work of a supervillain with reality-warping powers!” 

“Right…” Kimberly said as she scratched the side of her head. “Look, I don’t know how you got out.” 

“So, you know God?” Yellow-Jacket asked her with a smile on her face. “Take me to him. Maybe he knows a way for me to get back…” 

Kimberly felt her breath hitch as Yellow-Jacket floated there, bouncing slightly in the air. “I don’t think I can…” 

“Why? What is preventing me from talking to him? I have to get back and save the world!” Yellow-Jacket exclaimed as he hovered closer to her. “And only he can take me back home!”

“Noah’s dead,” Kimberly said as unwanted grief started to bubble in her chest. “He…he died in a car crash.” 

“But…he’s infinite…” Yellow-Jacket said, “He created the universe, all of reality, everything down to the last detail, so…” 

“He’s not a god, he’s just a man, okay? He paid taxes and put his pants on one leg at a time like everyone else,” Kimberly admitted as she tried to keep herself calm. 

“I refused to believe it! He is God, he should be immortal! He should be beyond such a trivial thing like death!” Yellow-Jacket lowered himself to the floor and started to pace around the apartment, fuming with frustration. 

“This shouldn’t be possible…” Yellow-Jacket said as he started flipping through the comic book. “Everything I know…it’s all here…I…” Kimberly watched as he tore off his mask. He was human, with black hair and auburn-colored eyes. 

The sudden realization of the truth was too much for Yellow Jacket. A mix of fear, anger, confusion, sadness, and much more completely overwhelmed Yellow Jacket’s mind and body. The storm of emotions built and built until he finally broke down, his legs giving out from under him. He fell to the ground, his eyes wide open, and fixated on absolutely nothing. He was frozen in place, unable to even think straight.

“Its…I…” Yellow-Jacket fell to his knees as he dropped the book as thunder roared in the distance. Kimberly slowly closed the gap between them, gently wrapping her arms around him as he sat there, realizing that he was only a comic book character. 

He was completely frozen in shock and awe. Yellow Jacket tried to form words, but nothing came out. He couldn’t even move a muscle. All he could do was sit there in silence, eyes wide open, staring blankly at nothing. Kimberly stood there, also frozen in shock. The feeling of reality crumbling around them both made it hard for either one of them to form words. Kimberly tried to break the silence, but even she couldn’t think of anything to say. They stood there for what seemed like an eternity, before finally, Yellow Jacket found his voice. But instead of words, all that came out was a choked-up sob.

“It’ll be okay,” Kimberly said, rubbing his back. “It’ll be okay…” 

“How? Everything I know is fake!” Yellow-Jacket said. “I didn’t fight Techgore or Animal-Master…” 

“Well…think of it like this, it’s another story…” Kimberly started. “You gave meaning to the comic book, you gave the readers hope for a better tomorrow…” 

“I…I did…” Yellow-Jacket said, his eyes wide with realization. 

“Noah made you for a reason, he made you as a symbol of hope, someone to depend on when everything gets rough…someone who would work night and day to help people…like a…” Kimberly realized where he got the inspiration from. “Like a nurse…” 

“I see.” Yellow-Jacket held his mask in his hands as he stared at it. “I was meant to save the day, to protect those who can’t protect themselves…

Yellow Jacket sniffled as he held his mask, a tear streaking down his cheek. He looked up at Kimberly, and she could see the hope in his eyes. Yellow Jacket took a deep breath and stood up, holding out his mask. It was as if his tears washed away the pain and despair, leaving behind only determination and hope. 

The teen hero held his mask high, his voice steady as he spoke. “I don’t care if I’m just a comic book character.” Yellow-Jacket declared as he stood up. “I’ll continue to do everything I can to save those who need it.” 

“Agreed,” Kimberly said. Kimberly and Yellow Jacket exchanged a glance, their determination and resolve clear. They nodded to each other, ready to take on whatever came their way. 

Multicolored lightning flashed in the distance, drawing them to the window. “What’s happening?” Kimberly asked him. “Is this one of your villains? Technodrome or whatever?” 

“No, but it looks like I’m not the only one who came from pages.” Yellow-Jacket pointed out.

Hi everyone!

So I'm writing a fantasy middle grade book (a random idea popped into my mind and I want to see if it will work tbh). I started writing the first chapter and I need some advice and how the writing style is and if it suits the genre.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1fj5LH7KYIPRHn9PLLnXwbmHjAmMqsSnbEdojLJ323Bg/edit?usp=sharing

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Hi everyone,

I am a big reader, and thinker, and trying to be writer. I posted my favourite piece on Medium and thought to share and get some feedback!

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https://medium.com/@S.Suvorova/the-isle-in-the-mist-chapter-1-1fbc8208db

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For as long as I can remember, I've liked to write. It's a passion of sorts, finding myself writing for hours and hours and hours and then...deleting everything. So I get embarrassed about my writing, who doesn't? But this self-destructive form of writing has been a cycle for me for as long as I can remember. Recently however, my fiance went through some of my writing that I saved and she keeps telling me how wonderful it is. Problem is? She's super biased because...well, she's my fiance. What's she gonna tell me? That it's terrible and to give up? So, here's what I've decided to do. I've decided to post two chapters of my writing on the internet and let you guys be the judges. Unfiltered, unbiased, and something I can refer back to if I ever get down on myself. But...what do I put other there? Everything I write is kinda personal to me, even if it's kinda stupid. So, what's something that I want to write that I don't have that much of an emotional attachment to? A fan-fiction? nay, a Death Note fan-fiction! Well, more of my own take on the Death Note Netflix series that is supposed to come on...eventually. Anyway, read it, don't read it, whatever. But if you do? Please, let me know if I actually have some level of talent when it comes to writing or if I really am just some wannabe hack like m brain says I am. Thank you in advance.

Edit: Something I wanted to say in advance but forgot before posting. I always felt Lights progression from “regular kid” to “justice seeking, god complex Kira” is extremely trivialized. So a big focus I had was having him start out somewhere around rock bottom and working his way up. Knowing using the Notebook is “evil,” but also respecting the fact that without it? He never would have gotten his life together.

Also, you guys realize how many rules the Deathnote had that were never even mentioned? For instance, if you dig deep you can find two very important rules. 1. If a persons name is written incorrectly 3 times, they are now immune to the effects of the Deathnote. 2. Only 7 Death Notes can be active in the human world. If more then 7 Deathnotes are in the human world, only the first 7 will work until one of them is destroyed or returned to the Shinigami realm. HOW DOES THAT NEVER COME UP??? Anyway, figured I’d add this now as last night I was deliriously tired and didn’t want to lose my nerve to post this.

https://www.wattpad.com/story/343289100?utm_source=ios&utm_medium=link&utm_content=share_writing&wp_page=create_story_details&wp_uname=The_Local_Vagabond86&wp_originator=4X4SN8N9Mwf%2B50HWo9qSlcSo%2BzyB2Zp%2BCZoOSKiDltx%2Br4nqcBRF0vqm%2Fk2iaeEYAIMASkZZ8P5wsQVJlgA3sHbxVlp2KVMWOtoHT%2BMRLGzGCV5qdsO0hc9%2FjWLj88xf

Hi everyone!

I'm in the process of writing a middle grade book about a pair of twins who go to the most luxurious boarding school in the world and solve mysteries. It would be amazing if I could have some feedback on chapter 1!

Link:

https://drive.google.com/file/d/1lwv4TG4gQl4drcvjOHzvJnfJRifiXCWB/view?usp=sharing

This isnt a formal thread to say the least.

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Might've missed it by a couple months and might've ignored it for a good solid couple of years but happy 10 year anniversary to AmateurWriting may your pieces be brilliant and your grammar, punctuation, sentence structure, composition, formatting and lexicon be much greater than mine.

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the original idea for this subreddit was to help people grow their writing ability at the end of the day. Our main goal was to create a community where people could share their stories and give help to those who wanted it.

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unfortunately this subreddit was created by 2 teenagers 10 years ago who loved writing, while im still surprised i get requests for admission, id love to see this community become a place of acceptance, tolerance, and appreciation. The only goal we truly had was to help people and while i wont be around enough i would love to see that thrive.

ill do what i can but dont expect much.

​

Yours Truly,

MysteryBlock

What about power?

Isn’t it the most wonderful of concepts? Power.

POWER.

It rolls right off the tongue, doesn’t it?

Power.

It’s never quite enough.

We get a job; it gives us power. We go to school; it gives us power. We get money; it definitely gives us power.

What? You’re going to say that’s not why we go to school or get a job. We do it because we have to. We do it because we need to survive, to live, to strive. Live for what? Strive towards what? Survive what?

Most of us lead miserable lives. We’re just waking up, stretching midst the piles of shit the world is made out of, and what’s our need? To survive?

Survive what?

Power, that’s what.

Other people’s power.

Their need to identify themselves beyond their mere mortal condition. Their need to be beyond want, fear, doubt.

That’s why you go to school and get a job.

Because it’s a race.

No, nobody cares if you don’t need to run alongside them. That’s not the point.

You need to do it; you need to be there; you need to believe you have a choice. That’s what makes it so exciting, the belief you can win, the smell of your own power, the feel of freedom and escape. Just one more day, just one more dollar, just a bit more effort.

And then?

Well… who knows? We can’t really predict the future.

But imagine if we could. Imagine how it would be to understand exactly where the line should be drawn. When enough would be enough. Not only to see that we finish the race, but how we finish it.

To wake up one morning and immediately feel that today would be different. Today would be the day when we would finally understand who we are, feel that all your efforts would finally come to fruition.

But no. Think further than that. You would wake up a century from that day, and you would get to learn that your struggle has paid off and see the ripples across time. Feel your power propagate and shape the world.

Would you be able to notice it right away?

Of course! What am I even asking here? We all know that feeling, that delicate elation when power comes within our grasp. That yearning.

A morning such as that would be no different from any other, with the exception that from the moment we would open our eyes, we would feel complete.

Effervescent. That’s how I would describe this morning. From the first breath of light, I know that today is the day. Today I will finally understand. What do I need to understand, though? This question has always racked by brain, stuck like a burr somewhere in my subconscious, floating just out of reach like a will-o’-the-wisp.

It has guided me, molding me, fueling me, and now I finally feel as if it is no longer beyond my senses. Today. Today will be special.

I get up at 7.00 AM and take a quick shower. I like to feel the splatter of the warm water over my body as the first thing of the day. The sensation keeps me rooted in my self, digging out the feelings of the previous night. This way, all the thoughts, all the dreams that I had borne throughout the night, get a final chance to sink in. Shedding their light and secrets as I bathe.

I wash my teeth and eat something quickly. It’s not like I’m not a fan of breakfast, it’s that, how can I explain this. Food doesn’t do it for me anymore. I’ve tasted so much, so many times, flavor, well, there’s nothing new there or complex enough to get me started. I eat only what’s necessary.

I love coffee, though. It’s hard to say why, but I do. If we go beyond the taste and its properties, I think there’s something beyond that which draws me in every morning. A freshness, an alertness, it’s like a distant friend’s handshake. It fills you up, makes you smile, even though he doesn’t say much. He’s just there.

Today is a good day.

I get dressed, grey slim-fit dress pants with a light blue shirt, also slim fit. A pair of dark blue Oxfords and a navy blue tunic to wrap everything up, and I’m off.

The moment I step out through the front door, the feeling of completeness evaporates, a sort of anxiousness stepping in. I’m not worried. I knew this would happen eventually, feels somewhat romantic that it does the moment I walk away from the safety of my home.

The dull grey of the lobby stares back at me. It’s such a lovely color, limited, silent.

Normally, a driver would come and pick me up in the morning and take me to the office. Today I decide against it, well, I lie. I’ve decided against this last night, when I canceled the appointment. I feel like walking. I want to soak in the city as much as I can. It felt as if it would be one of my last chances to do this. It reminds me of my childhood honestly. Walking.

I used to go to the central park or the central market square and sit somewhere and stare at people. Well, not stare. I would look at them, study them. Try to understand where they came from and where they went. I liked to imagine that I was a famous detective and looked for little clues about their lives. A piece of lint, a crease, a mark, anything. I didn’t notice them as much as I could, but I did get pretty good at reading people. Understanding them.

Could this have been the understanding that I had been seeking all this time? Hmm, I don’t really see how this fits in. Why would everything change today? No. It’s got to be something else. Something that has touched me, but I’m still to touch it back.

The elevator is rather busy in the morning. Today it jumps up at me from the shadows. I never heard it open. I’m glad I took the time to walk to the office today. It feels symbolic somehow.

The apartment complex is in the city’s heart and its heartbeat makes itself known as soon as the elevator doors open. A healthy buzz of life and need, a static that presses and pulls and squeezes and rips. I love that first glimpse of…

‘What the fuck?!’

Where the fuck am I?!

Everywhere I look, grey figures stare back at me as they step quietly on dark passageways. Higher up, what look like hovering cars hum back and forth incessantly.

A man steps up to me and grabs me by the arm, and pulls me to the side. My body feels limp, so I let myself be pulled quietly. He lets go of my arm and walks away.

I’m dumbfounded.

I don’t understand what’s going on, but that’s not the issue. The real issue is, I don’t feel like needing to understand anymore. As if an existence was wiped out of me in the blink of an eye.

The man took me to the left of the building entrance and I don’t feel the need to move from this spot. It feels safe.

Is this why he dropped me here?

Was I in his way? That’s some really strange behavior on his part. Socially conscious, though. The stream of people does not ebb. It has a steady rhythm to it, soothing and soft.

What should I do? Am I dreaming? This hasn’t happened in quite some time.

I’ve always had a sort of love-hate relationship with my subconscious. It never felt as if it were truly mine and yet, the only moments of care and tenderness I have ever experienced were the ones that it imprinted upon me. It felt as if I had a stern father within me. Sleep was something that always brought me closer to it, dreams especially, training me and nurturing me in the man I grew up to become, but I can’t really remember when I last had a lucid dream.

I’m safe, I know I’m safe.

This world that I’m having the privilege to witness mesmerizes me. Its precision, it feels as a finely tuned recorder, its sounds monotonous and dependent.

What should I do?

Normally, I would’ve turned right at the entrance in order to get to the office. I don’t have anything against this, so I find my place within the stream and step lively.

Hmm.

It feels so strange to fit in here like I do. My steps fall briskly on the metal floorboards and their echoes get sucked in. It’s as if I’m walking on linen. Comforting somehow in its unnatural way.

The world sucks me in fully. I feel completely at peace.

Even though the world in itself is strange and new, it’s not different from the one back home. The buildings are pretty much the same, more organized and neat, softer on the eye, but definitely the same. The passageways are easy to follow and there are guidance markers everywhere.

My office is in the Central Square, and the path towards it is clearly marked. I have no issues getting there. The square is as magnificent as ever. The passageways are running along the edges of an empty square made of a black metal material.

Having learned my lesson, I follow the path to one of the corners of the square and step off. Looking at it closer, it feels as if it’s not metal, but velvet; soft and inviting. An urge to touch the material comes over me and I begin to hunch down when a soft sensation prickles my scalp.

I straighten and reach out an inquiring hand. The prickles flow through the tips of my fingers.

Some sort of force field? Weird.

From within the square, a ball of light gently shoots up, leaving behind a feathery trail. Upon reaching its climax, it floats for a second and then begins hovering with a slight delta. The feathery trail intensifies, sparks of light reach out every which way in unison with the hovering central light. The mute image feels soothing and welcoming.

I explore the view from my corner and find my office building a little way off. It’s bigger than I remember it. Two banners hang from the sides of the building, furnishing the party’s colors: a black and white feather on a red background.

Sublime!

I truly think it is. If only I could see this in real life.

I step on the path once more and approach the building. A large gateway bars my path and I step to the side to take it all in. To the left and right of the gateway, there is a security guard. As I stand there and look, several people approach and use an access pad, swiping a key card against it.

A green light flickers, and the air clears within the entrance. The person steps in and then the following person approaches the access pad.

Once the green light doesn’t show up and one of the guards gently escorts the person to a cubicle to the far left.

When there are no more people waiting to enter, I go to one of the guards.

‘Good morning!’

‘Good morning, Sir.’

‘Would you be able to help me with some questions?’

‘Yes, please.’

‘I work here, but I don’t have my key card. Could you please tell me what I need to do?’

‘Please go to the receptacle to your right and request a temporary pass.’

I look around for the place in question and quickly locate it; a small booth off the beaten trail getting here.

‘Thank you!’

I walk back to the main pathway and approach the booth. Several people had already queued up in front of it. I get in line and take the time to look at my colleagues. I don’t recognize any of them. They’re all wearing slim grey uniforms, zipped up just below the chin. I find the uniforms to be quite soothing to the eye, elegant too.

There are only two more people in front of me and I can see the station in front of me. Although I can’t make out all the details, it seems to be some sort of scanning station.

A crystalline voice makes itself heard: ‘I feel contempt.’ The person at the scanning station picks something up from a slot and makes its way back up the line.

A quiet smile floats lavishly across its face.

The person in front of me steps towards the station and inserts a key card. Ten seconds later I hear that voice again: ‘I feel contempt.’ The person picks up its key card and walks past me.

I stare at the station and step towards it.

Besides the slot to the right, there are two buttons leveled with my chest. One is labeled: “Scan” and the other “Temporary”. I press the one marked with temporary and the slot closes up. A couple seconds later, the “Scan” button lights up. I press it gently and feel a slight tingle in the middle of my forehead.

‘I feel empty,’ makes itself heard. The slot shoots out a key card and I pick it up.

What does that mean?

I make my way towards the front gate and scan my key card. The light doesn’t flicker green. The security guard approaches me and asks me to come with them.

He escorts me to the cubicle located at the left of the building, the same cubicle that he had escorted the other individual towards. Inside the cubicle, a thin woman waits for me. She has close cropped hair and an easygoing smile.

‘Hello!’

‘Hello,’ I reply.

‘State your name, please.’

‘Jason Blumm.’

‘Blumm? Are you sure?’

‘Yes, Mám.’

‘Like the father, do you find that odd?’

‘Why would I find it odd? It’s my name.’

‘Hmm. I see here that your empathy scan registered a deficit. We will now go through reprocessing in order to fix that.’

‘Reprocessing?’

‘Yes. There will be a series of questions meant to identify your mental state. Could you please attach these sensors on each side of your head?’

Why did she find it odd when I mentioned my name?

‘Because you share the name of our nation’s father, Mr. Blumm.’

What the… she can read my mind.

‘Impulses are registered through the sensors I’ve given you and the AI translates those impulses into a basic query. For example, it shows that you’re questioning your identity at the moment. I can only assume this is regarding my earlier reaction to your name.’

‘Fascinating.’

‘Indeed, is this why you’ve been feeling empty, Mr. Blumm. Does sharing the name of our father exact a pressure upon your being?’

‘I’m sorry, but what do you mean through: Father.’

‘Jason Blumm, head of state and creator of the wellness doctrine over a century ago. You were heading towards the administration building, weren’t you?’

‘I was.’

‘What were you intending to do there, Mr. Blumm?’

‘I don’t know. I didn’t know where else to go.’

‘I see. And the building’s significance drew you in?’

‘I guess. I work here, if that counts.’

‘What do you do here, Mr. Blumm?’

‘Senior party executive of the Futurist Party.’

‘Hmm. I understand. Mr. Blumm do you know what year this is?’

‘2031?’

‘Aha, that explains it. Reprocessing is complete now, Mr. Blumm.’

‘Is it?’

‘Yes, you’ve got nothing to worry about. You’re most likely suffering from fatigue brought on by the pressure of your name. Like I said, there’s nothing to worry about. You have been reassigned as an archivist in the administrative building, starting tomorrow. Please take these pills and report back to the scanner tomorrow.’

‘But…’

‘Here’s your new access key. Now, Mr. Blumm, the pills, should take effect immediately. Do you need help getting home?’

‘No. Thank you,’ and I hand her the sensors. She tucks them away and dismisses me with a smile.

She is right. The pills kick in as soon as I leave the cubicle. My thoughts get muddied, but they don’t impede my judgment or motor skills. The light show is still playing in the center of the square. Its velvety appearance as soothing as before, yet not as enticing. I wait for the feeling to pass and follow the pathways towards my apartment.

I feel overwhelmed.

I spend the rest of my day caught in a sort of reverie. I feel the presence of this place and the rightness of it. Is this the future that I seek, its understanding, its safety?

Why would I not?!

Outside my window I see the flow of life as it grinds to a halt in the evening, flickers of light shooting up from everywhere around the city shortly after. Life knows a peace and tranquility here hard to understand.

The lack of need, of want. Could this be the future I imagined? Could I be this blessed?

I fall asleep cradling these dear thoughts in my mind, and they nurture my sleep.

Next day, I show up at the receptacle outside the administration building. I insert the access key in its designated slot and press the “Scan” button. The tingle feels familiar now, and a crystalline voice welcomes me into its world.

I am content.

Are you?!

No?

Could’ve fooled me.

Peace.

Hello, my name is Aeralyn and I started writing a novel recently . I want to hear peoples thoughts on a roughly 8700 page short story in regards to one of the characters named Ermine a kitsune with her past. I put it into a google doc for easier reading either way I hope you enjoy reading it

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1PtvaKnyI01VVi3tjvXpIfC04wK0uOZ3oGm9UXSTBjDw

Bittersweet Exchange

Lethargic, dense grey clouds cast their shadows along the freezing ground,

Listlessly traveling through empyrean routes to which they are bound.

The silence of Winter strolled between bare trees, solemnly whispering,

Apathetic frigidity nipping along His heels before its continued whimpering

Cruel corrosion of time withered away Nature’s essence in His wake,

His lonely footfalls on the frozen earth extenuating the prolonged ache.

A familiar delicate glow caught His glacial gaze, a small violet primrose,

A symbol of sanguine promises, nestled safely in snowy meadows

He knelt, gently running His thumb over its delicate petals, along its stem

Sincere admiration of its perseverance against which that would condemn

He gently lifted the flower up, moving to pluck it from the very surface’s embrace,

In lieu of roots, She arose. A picturesque beauty in all of Her flowered grace

Their hearts beat in a synchronized ballet as their bodies gently intertwined,

A lover’s embrace as gentle as the breeze, destined meeting at last aligned

His frigid lips pressed against hers, an amorous display of veneration

The anticipated moment in time frozen with passion and adoration

His knees wobbled and buckled, she lowered him to the beckoning earth

His tired essence flickered as hers gained strength, time’s rebirth

Her warm fingers brushed wisps of hair from His cold, frosty face

He took Her delicate hand and brought it to His lips, a soft embrace

“Until we meet again, my sweet” were the first and last words He breathed

As His soul released, at peace with the mere sight of Her, and She grieved

Destined they were to share this single moment of peace, the Seasons

Barely brushing past each other in their exchange, left again to dreaming

She wiped her tears and began Her journey, Her head with a crown adorned

But where She strode, life flourished, flowers sprouted.. Spring has returned

What am I?

What could be, what is, what was. The things I am and am not. The ships log of a story poorly translated. Ever lost amongst the sea in its storm.

Even talking In dramatic prose is a sign An unstable fool, no truer words come to mind Coerced into walking along the balance line Best and insufficient choices, at all times

Standing still: impossible from the start. Always paddling away from looming dark A million lifeboats but none right for me. Each one fatally cracked, from what I see.

So on my own, I swim on. Never fully trusting, due to proof too strong. Building a plan to stay afloat While data corrupts and my worries grow.

There is no more, this is what I feel as me. I have no answers, just a desperate plea: I wish to be rescued, but can’t say how or why. If you know, convince me, and please don’t lie…

Hi, I am an amateur writer who has been writing many books over the years, though never completed any or had any published, mainly due to family life taking over. I am currently writing a collection of short stories however I would love to get some feedback on a couple of them. Would there be anyone who here who would be happy to give me some feedback?

CALLING ALL CREATIVE WRITERS...

ShtoryTime's 2nd annual "Frosty Fables” Short-Story Writing Contest is now underway, with only 2 days left to register before we stuff your stockings (emails) with this year's writing prompts on Thursday, Dec 23rd.

Contestants are given one week to create a 1,000-word (or fewer) short story, based on a unique set of seasonally-inspired prompts. The top 3 winning “shtories” (short stories) will be announced, published, and compensated on New Year's Day!

Entrance fee for registration prior to 6 PM on Dec 23rd is $10 (with $7.50 of each entry going toward prize money, and $2.50 toward contest maintenance). Shtories must be submitted before 6 PM on Dec 30th. Writers retain all rights to their submissions.

❄️ Visit www.shtorytime.com to learn more and register.

🏆 Visit www.shtorytime.com/frostyfables2020 to read last year’s winning shtories

🗣 Spread the word among creative writers—the more contestants, the bigger the cash prizes! 💰

Eyes, hair, the features, that smile, gAh I get lost in it all.

What really gets me is your voice, it envelopes me. Like walking past a bath and body works, or um like a body of water- an Ocean! Yeah, that’s more poetic I think.

There’s so much of, well, You. Personally, life, school, work, passions, drive, almost like I’m drowning in the melodic but assertive song. My senses over flowed. I feel like my lungs are filling with you.

I inhale, just trying to simply breath and immediately choke. I try to walk away- I mean swim away but those soft hands drag me back down. Back to those automatic electric doors.

I fight and kick and scream, just to get you out.

I want to go in, I promise. I’m simply just afraid of how deep this goes. I’ve never gone without air for very long.

It’s all to much to soon, I just need to leave. But I don’t. I can’t. You’ve got me now, This I’m sure of.

I willingly dive head first, into a sea of pumpkin spice and ever forest green. I don’t dare hold my breath, cause I know you’d just take it anyway.

After all, you are my candle siren.

Hey, I'm a young writer and I started writing my first book. So far I've written 6 chapters and most of them get to 2000 words. Should I be trying to reach a higher number of words for a chapter or should is this a fine number for now?

I'm starting a Discord server for amateur writers to come together and talk about writing and support each other and all that stuff. If you wanna join tell add me on discord, soggydeadwolf#5326. There's 2 other people interested other than me.

So for a nerdy sorta silly role play thing imagine its like 17th century Britain and you want to talk about writing and such and so you go meet your other writer friends at the coffee shop across the street from campus. That's the general goal of a discord server I made, Bad At Naming Things. Its named that because despite my dreams of writing books as a profession I am awful at naming or labeling basically everything. (as evident by the title of this) So I'm just here because I do not know how discord works and the only other place I know to find people interested in niche topics is Reddit. And I'm also bad at getting to the point. I don't know how discord servers work even because I started "using it" 2 weeks ago and I put using it in quotes because the only server I am in is inactive. So yeah if you feel like you would want to be a part of a discord server where we all rant and rave about writing and such feel free to let me know and if it more than one person then I'll figure out how to add people to servers. And also if you are the one person that is interested just talk to me about writing please my friends are sick of me writing paragraphs about my writing process and how I feel about Monster by Michael Grant.

Yours in sincerity, soggydeadwolf.

If you like love and heartbreak Spanish poems, Un año sin ti is the perfect book. This collection of poems touches the heart of everyone who reads it. It recounts the stages that one experiences after a failed love. I recommend it to everyone.

CALLING ALL CREATIVE WRITERS...

ShtoryTime's second annual "TurkeyTime” Short-Story Writing Contest is now underway, with only 3 days left to register before we start (Thanks)giving out the writing prompts on Tuesday, Nov 16th.

Participating writers are given up to one week to create a 1,000-word (or fewer) short story, based on a unique set of seasonally-inspired prompts. The top 3 winning “shtories” will be announced, published, and compensated (via Venmo, Zelle, PayPal, or CashApp) on Thanksgiving Day!

🦃 Visit www.shtorytime.com to learn more and register.

🏆 Visit www.shtorytime.com/turkeytime2020 to read last year’s “prize turkeys” (winning shtories)

🗣 Spread the word among creative writers—the more contestants, the bigger the cash prizes! 💰

The year is 1872. Outside of the arid desert town of Thunders Peak, Foursquaria, a tall, lithe figure staggers drunkenly through the empty dunes with no real sense of direction. He is a wanderer, the Eternal Wayfarer who in a past life was known as Abraham Lincoln, President of the United States. After dying in one of the most infamous assassinations in American history, he found himself being given a second chance as his true ascended self: the king of the Norse pantheon of gods, Odin. Unfortunately, the cost of a fresh start was beginning to circle around him like the vultures that had been following since he found his was into the hot sandy climate.

“She called me a demon, a cruel hoax by the devil himself.

She ran from me in that moment, my very heart expelled.

Who am I now?

A mystery of the ages

A man left living aimlessly ageless like a figure lost to the pages of a storybook…”

Although his speech was slurred, he still effortlessly and so eloquently flowed through the pain-filled poems that clouded his mind.

“The light of my life snatched by the cold hook of the cruelest crook;

Fate.

The chance I took to keep the state of a love that couldn’t bare to gaze–”  

A steely cold “clik” followed by a cold metal ring pressed into the base of his skull broke his stream of consciousness and caused the weary godling to stop in his tracks. 

“You’d better reach fer th’ sky if’n ya don’t wanna be meetin’ yer maker today, ya roostered saddle bum! Who are ya and why’re ya trespassin’ in Thirteen Pistols’ territory?” The thick, wet smack of a wet glob of tobacco-flavored spit splattering into the hot sand punctuated the interrogation quite succinctly. The gruff voice barking at him didn’t phase the inebriated ex-president in the slightest, but the overwhelming mixed stench of the spit and the unwashed man behind him made him cringe just a little. He didn’t know if he’d ever get used to his new enhanced senses, but he did know he wasn’t about to start taking guff from any coward who attacks a man from behind. 

“Son, I’ve stared into the eyes of Death herself. Lost it all and even traveled to the gates of Hel,” In an instant, Odin’s left eye flared with a fiery passion and his knuckles went white with how hard he was clenching his fists. He made a lightspeed about face, turning to face his assailant faster than the naked eye could track as a visible aura of red pure rage engulfed his frame. 

What he didn’t expect to see staring back at him were the barrels of 26 pistols, all aimed directly for his head except for a pair that were aimed at his legs.

“He’s not going to ask again. Who are you and what are you doing wandering through our territory?” A tall, darker-skinned woman strolled closer to Odin so she could start circling him, scoping him out to assess his threat level. 

“I… Know not how to answer that query. A president or a god most weary?” Odin wasn’t lying, he had been walking for a few weeks with no rest, making his way from the east coast deep into the western half of the country he one led looking and smelling like a walking distillery rather than a president or a god. With the merciless sun beating down on him and the last bit of his considerable godly power dwindling towards its bare minimum, he collapsed onto the blazing red desert sands..

“Ah hell, I guess the sun beat ‘im down. Either that or–”

“Or he got so scared he fainted!”

“Either way, doesn’t matter. Doc, get him into a tent to cool off and rest up. Oh, and don’t forget to run his pockets for anything dangerous or interestin’ to report. Everyone else, let’s get back to preppin’ for the supply run.”

In his unconscious state, Odin’s mind drifted to approximately seven years ago in a courtroom somewhere beyond the realm of the physical and severed from time itself. Rubbing the back of his head and still very disoriented from the effects of taking a bullet to the dome, he tries to cope with his newfound godhood and the scene before him. 

“You all may be seated in the presence of the honorable Judge Kal-Mondu. Mister… Lincoln. Ah, I see you have quite an impressive little resume here. Even pre-transcendence, you’ve staked quite a mighty claim to fame for yourself! They informed you of why you’re in this specific courtroom today, correct?” The powerful, booming voice wasn’t echoing through the nearly empty golden courtroom. Instead it was beaming directly into the minds of the present parties from a sight unlike anything he had seen in his 56 years under the name of Abraham Lincoln.

Pacing around a large floating circular platform where the judges bench would normally be was a miniature version of a fully grown moose wearing a powdered wig and a black judge’s robe draped across the first half of its body. Other than the fact that he stood only about one-third of a meter tall with antlers radiating a faintly glowing, crackling golden energy that almost seemed to be faintly singing a song unlike anything Earth was capable of producing, the moose seemed completely like an ordinary moose. 

There’s an awkwardly lengthy silence as Abe, normally a gifted orator finds himself at a loss for words. It didn’t happen often, but all he could seem to do was stare blankly at the tiny moose that was telepathically administering the proceedings in this most odd courtroom. 

“Mister Lincoln? Did Death and your appointed Purgattorney inform you of the responsibility you’re about to undertake? You’ve been recognized as worthy of reclaiming your godly title as Odin, the All-father of the Norse pantheon of gods.”

Ta’thes, the sharp-dressed being appointed to represent Abe elbowed him in the ribs with just enough force to break him out of his stupor.

“I’m sorry, your… Honor. Yes, however I’m still not certain on many of the details,” he said as he rubbed his sore ribs, “So apparently I was Odin, ruler of the gods… In a past life? And I’ve lived a couple of lives since then? And how did Odin die? I’m not very caught up on my mythologies of the ancient peoples of my world.”

“It has always been you, Mister Lincoln. There was an… Incident to say the least, which is almost more than I’m at liberty to say by decree of the Cosmic Elders but you have lived approximately lived through 16 lifetimes after your death as Odin including your current Lincoln persona.”

Sixteen times he had been brought back from the grave, but as an entirely different person? Or had he always been his current self just with a different name? He had to know, and a courtroom of the damned seemed like the best place to get his answers.

“I’m sorry, sixteen times? Is there, perhaps, a way I could… See into my past selves? I honestly just need to see it for myself, your honor. Not that I doubt you’re telling me the truth, but…”

“That’s actually part of the process for reclaiming your divinity, Mister Lincoln. All we need is the documents which give your consent. Ta’thes?”

“Of course, your honor! And might I say, that wig is really bringing out the shine in your antlers!” Ta’thes teleported up to the bench with the documents Abe had hastily signed with a quick glance over of the details. The judge skimmed through the pages without lifting a finger, nodding and muttering contentedly.

“Good, everything seems to be in order! I am however going to need you to sign this additional clause that just states that if anything… Unsavory should happen, you will forfeit your godly power and resign yourself to the fate that would normally be assigned to Abraham Lincoln,” Kal-Mondu’s antlers glowed bright with golden energy as he presented one last document in front of Abe out of thin air. “To be fair, that’s not a bad fate in the slightest. I’m pretty sure you’d go to-“

A loud static crackling cut off the judge’s telepathic statement, which jarred Abe, but brought a smile to Ta’thes’ face.

“I-I’m sorry, what? I couldn’t hear you, it cut out with a… Well I don’t know what that was, frankly.”

“Ah, I forgot about the Feedback. It’s been a loooong time since we’ve done one of these proceedings. Don’t worry about it, young mortal,” Kal-Mondu had a little chuckle as Abe tried to read the page in front of him, but was clearly struggling. “You’ll also find that the specifics of what can cost you your holy essence are also blurred out. It’s entirely for your safety and the safety of the known universe.”

“Trust me, you’d have to royally screw up on a massive scale to get knocked back down to mortal status. Have a little faith, I wouldn’t have you sign anything detrimental to your soul. I’m your personal Purgattorney, after all. I’ll be here to help you out on your journey, think of me as more of a… Spiritual advisor!” Ta’thes whispered into Abe’s ear before offering his hand to shake. Abe had always fancied himself a good judge of character and the look of supreme confidence and the bright, warm energy he felt from Ta’thes as he extended his hand sealed the deal for Abe. He was ready to get started.

“Let us proceed!” The handshake was as strong as the stroke of the flaming feathered pen Abe used to sign his name as boldly as John Hancock on the final document standing between him and all the information he never knew he needed until now.

“Great, everything’s in order! Now, Mister Lincoln… Close your eyes. Take a few deep breaths. This is going to be an intense experience.”

Within seconds, Abe felt his very soul being tugged backwards, through the chair he was sitting in, down through the floor, and through the void of space. He was accelerating faster and faster, but the ride was so smooth, he barely felt like he was moving at all. At first, all was silent, but then he awoke to the sounds of his younger brothers Vili and Ve fighting the roaring, snarling father of the Frost giants, Ymir in the endless void of space. As soon as he joins in the battle, he’s flung forward, finding himself and his brothers finishing up the creation of the mortal world with the giant’s remains and creating the first humans. It’s a proud moment for Odin… Or was it Abe?

In his infinite pursuit for knowledge for all, he went through the agonizing process of stabbing himself with his spear and hanging himself from Yggdrasil, the World Tree for nine days to gain the deep knowledge of runes, magic, and other secrets of the universe. Abe had never felt too stubborn to ask for help before, but as he clung in the balance between life and death, he refused all attempts to aid him. He had to prove his worth and do it himself. Once it was over, he could feel the wisdom coursing through his very being, but it was never enough. To this end, he gave his eye to the ancient entity Mimir to drink of the very same well that had shown him the meaning and form of the runes. Many may have thought him reckless, but nobody could ever say Odin wasn’t one of the wisest beings in all of creation.

Then he found himself sitting in a throne as he proudly looked over a land of gold and untold beauty that was both foreign and oddly comforting. It was Asgard, home of the gods. His home. He saw the births of all five of his sons: Thor, Baldr, Hodr, Vidar and Vali. His friends and family in this heavenly city were his true pride and joy. Their adventures, their trials, their failures. But suddenly, a most unpleasant thought crept into his mostly joyous revisiting of his past.

Thor had just received his trusty hammer, Mjolnir and was giving it a few test throws. Frigg, his wife, smiled down at Odin, trying to comfort him as his least favored immortal handed him a golden spear of the finest craftsmanship know to man or god alike. It was Loki who was doling out the gifts, no doubt trying to win over the favor of the gods once more after some horrible prank gone wrong. The very thought of Loki brought forth a searing, blinding, all-encompassing rage that Abe had never felt before. Odin, on the other hand, was all too familiar with it.

“What have you done this time, Loki?” Odin asked as he inspected the perfect spear inscribed with the name “Gungnir” in runes. Odin could feel it’s power just by holding it. He had deciphered that it would never miss its intended target and that it could pierce the very heavens if that was his wish. The trickster was obviously trying to cover up for something seriously wicked this time.

“Ah, well… It’s nothing too terrible, most beneficent All-Father… I may have tried to create life in the same way that you create. A humble homage to your most skilled use of magic, really.”

“What. Did. You. DO???” Abe could feel something strange in the air. Something was seriously wrong.

Before Loki could answer for himself, the entire front wall of the throne room was blown apart with enough force for all but the strongest of the beings in attendance to be blown back. Standing before the royal court were three massive beings. Odin knew these uninvited guests very well. The first was a wolf with a bloodlust in its eyes unmatched by anything he’d ever seen before on any of the thousands of battlefields he’d been on or overseen. The second was a serpent longer than the naked eye could measure with fangs that dripped an acidic venom that could eat through the very foundation of Asgard. And lastly was a goddess of immense beauty… Partially at least. Half of her face was bloated and blue, almost like a corpse found at sea. Although she seemed almost bored with this little invasion, she was still nonetheless, a threat.

“You fool,” Odin spat in Loki’s direction before starting to bark orders to the other gods as only a true leader could, “Thor, Baldr, Heimdall! Take care of the wolf. Bind him if you must and keep away from his maw! Tyr, help me get rid of the serpent! Frigg, Idun, make sure nobody gets touched by that goddess. Don’t touch her yourself, she’ll be the death of us all if she gets past you two!”

Everyone jumped into action almost immediately. Thor launched his hammer into the wolf, called Fenrir, with enough force to knock him back out of the royal hall. As he and the other gods ran past, trying to avoid the snapping fangs of the serpent, called Jormungandr, Odin was already in the action. He had teleported to the end of the monstrous reptile so that he could stab his spear through the tip of its tail with a piercing strike charged with all of the paralyzing magic he could summon. The snake started flailing and writhing wildly enough to cause powerful earthquakes, making it hard for Tyr to get a clear shot at its head with his sword. Just as he was about to connect, however, Fenrir came out of nowhere. Though he had golden ropes around him, they hadn’t had a chance to tie him properly before he leapt over them to bite Tyr’s sword-wielding hand clean from his wrist.

“NOOOO!!!” Odin screamed as he used every ounce of his godly might to cast the serpent down to Midgard. His mind raced as fast as his instant movement back to his fallen friend. He had seen this before and tried to do everything in his power to stop it, but the universe has a way of getting what it wants.

With Tyr’s hand gone, Hel, the quiet goddess broke her silence as Odin approached, “You know what this means, All-Father. Events have been set in motion that cannot be undone. If you don’t want everyone here to die an early death, I suggest you give me what I am owed.” She had both arms raised, and in her hands she held the wrists of both Idun and Frigg. She was slowly draining their life energies from them. Odin knew she was the goddess of death, she would eventually be the end of all of them.

“Take your dominion, foul witch. Just leave my family and I to grieve and recover.” Odin waved a hand and opened a portal to a plane of existence he had access to, but rarely ever visited: The realm of the dead. As she stepped inside, Hel let out a wicked, hollow cackle that chilled Odin to his very core.

Thor had finally secured the savage beast with a mess of the finest Dwarven forged chains. Fenrir was locked up in the deepest, darkest cave they could find, hidden far away from the other realms to hopefully never bother the gods again. Odin knew that was a hope that he couldn’t hold out for. He had seen Ragnarok and the gears had already been put into motion.

All of a sudden, he was back in the courtroom of Kal-Mondu, hyperventilating from the strenuous nature of living thorough a multiple thousands of years in a matter of seconds. And he hadn’t even finished the story as far as he could tell.

“Wow, you never get used to how fast the physical changes take place when you gods start getting your memories back. The rest will start slowly spilling into your memory as you keep cultivating your divine energy with meditation and practicing using your gifts and skills. There are only a few rules that have to be followed. No starting a religion based around yourself. No killing mortals without reason. There are certain exceptions, of course, but Ta’thes will be in charge of making sure you know before you do anything that could get you in trouble,” Abe was still trying to get his bearings when a portal opened up in front of him that he instinctively knew would take him back to Earth. He could “see” information about everything in front of him with his newfound godly sight and senses. It was almost too much for him, but he eventually found himself breathing rhythmically, albeit against his will at first. “It’s going to be okay, Odin. Just remember to breathe and it’ll all work itself out. Now if you would be so kind, please step through this portal. You’ll find yourself back on Earth seven years after your death, in the year 1872. It sounds arbitrary, but there’s a reason to it. Oh, and don’t forget your personal effects!”

In a flash of golden light, Abe was now holding a bag containing a golden-hued wooden rod of about (12 inches) which he knew to be Gungnir in its dormant state, a flask full of the Mead of Poetry, an eyepatch, a rune-covered pipe made of pure silver, and a bag full of a set of runestones he had obtained from the Norns themselves that could help him predict the future with unwavering certainty.

“And remember, if you have any questions about anything at all, call out to Ta’thes and he’ll assist you with anything he’s LEGALLY allowed to. Now get going, you’ve got a new life to live!” With that final note, he was pushed by an invisible force into back into the world he had been dead to just a few short hours, rather years, ago.

Odin bolted upright, panting and sweating profusely in an itchy cot. The temperature had decreased dramatically from when he was last awake, and upon taking stock of his surroundings, he found himself being watched from a desk by a man in a white ten-gallon hat with a red

Caduceus embossed on the front of it.

“Ahh, yer up! I was beginning to think you might’ve died on us. Not a pulse to be found as far as I could see. But your breathing was there, so I just figgered you needed to sleep it off. The boss is expecting you, so just make your way out towards the campfire out on your left.”

“Much thanks, doctor. I assume he awaits with my effects?”

“Indeed he does. He’s taken quite the interest in you. Don’t keep him waiting, now. I’d escort you, but I’ve got to finish pennin’ this here letter to my dear ol’ maw.”

“Odin got a strange flash of an image as the man spoke of his mother. She was sick, on her deathbed and reading his letters brought a genuine smile to her face right as she passed on.”

“You alright there, pardner? You look like ye just saw a ghost er somethin’.”

“What is your name, good sir?”

“Well everyone calls me Doc Thurgood, but why does that–“

“Jeremiah Thurgood, I don’t know how to tell you this, but your mother is in a rough condition. She hasn’t much time left, but your letters are one of her only sources of joy. I know not where you hail from, but… You should go back to see her at once. Post your notice of arrival and head out with the utmost haste.”

All of the color had faded from the doctor’s face at hearing this. He’d known his mother was constantly fighting for her health, it was part of the reason he had set out for California in the first place all those months ago, but to hear from this lanky stranger they’d picked up in the desert heat that she was about to pass… He didn’t know what to make of it. The dead serious look painting Odin’s face told him he wasn’t joking, and he felt trusting of him almost instinctually.

“T-thank ya stranger, I will make the arrangements right away.”

Without another word, Odin nodded and headed out of the tent into the chilly desert night. A sharp wind cut him to his bones, causing a shiver in his godly form that he couldn’t recall ever feeling in his past life, even in combat atop the snowy peaks of Jotunheim. He clearly wasn’t at full strength, and getting those apples would be the only way he’d ever truly feel like himself.

He had no troubles finding his way to the campfire where he saw a dozen silhouettes eating and relaxing in the light of the roaring fire. He could see the genuine camaraderie between this group of wildly different characters, and a tear rolled down his cheek as the memories of those cheerful banquets in Asgard’s golden halls began to flood back to him.

“You’re lookin’ more than a little famished, son of Borr. Perhaps I could interest you in a bite?” a familiar voice caused the blood pumping through Odin’s veins to run as cold as the nights in Jotunheim.

“Loki. You shall not escape my wrath this time!” Odin turned expecting to see his oldest foe and as such, had readied himself to attack, pivoting with every intention to smite with all of his remaining godly might. However, the statuesque woman from earlier chomping into a golden apple brought his swing to a screeching halt.

“You can go ahead and kill me, but there are 12 highly skilled marksmen that would follow you to the ends of the Earth, and you are quickly losing steam. I can help. I can lead you to the apples and you can continue living your immortal, righteous little life. But I have demands, ‘All-Father’.”

Odin’s brow furrowed as he took a long pause to contemplate if he was falling for another trick. His eye darted back and forth, trying to find the truth in Loki’s unwavering stare. His search turned up neither truth nor deception, which worried him far more than he was expecting.

“Better alive and betrayed than dead for good, I guess. Name your price…”

• In an instant, it all disappears. The warmth decays, as the colors they Gray. Isolation sets in, pain and horror begin.
• With ice spreading quickly the end nears swiftly. As senses fade, in vain I strain, to get your attention, to end this affliction. A burning addiction, to yearning and missing.
• It’s said that Absence makes the heart grow fonder, but no longer do I wonder. Your absence leaves a hollow chest, expanding with labored breathe. A ceasing pulse preceding a ride in a hearse.The curtains they close and so ends the show. All that remains, a lone ghost that loved you till his death

I have my protag stuck in two contradictory webs of lies from two battling masterminds.

They're a civilian, who flirted with a wrong person. The person get shot and left him with an only access to a macguffin both of the masterminds want. Also, they're in an apocalypse, and both of masterminds say that they're trying to prevent it, and to do that they need the macguffin, and if the main character gives it to the other one, it will make the apocalypse worse. Protag's task is to decipher what happened between them and the person he flirted with, and decide who's lying.

The apocalypse is that everybody becomes their fursona. There's also deadly virus and the world's government's involved.

(And no, it's not shitpost. Not entirely, at least)

CALLING ALL CREATIVE WRITERS...

ShtoryTime's second annual "EEEEK! Quick & Creepy Writing Contest" is now underway, with only 2 days left to register before the shpoOoOoky writing prompts are sent out on Oct. 21st...

Writers are given up to one week to create a 1,000-word (or fewer) short story, based on a unique set of prompts. The top 3 winning shtories will be announced, published, and compensated (by CashApp, PayPal, or Venmo) on HalloweEeEen!

🎃 Visit www.shtorytime.com to learn more and register.

👻 Visit www.shtorytime.com/eeek2020 to read last year’s "EEEEK!" winners.

💰 And by all means: SPREAD THE WORD! (The more contestants, the bigger the cash prizes!)

Good luck!

Heyo! Nothing big. She has soul-manipulation powers and can see the dead. By soul-manipulation, she can take someone's soul and put it into another object

I'm tossing up using Reaper, but I want something less murder-y

there's only two criteria

1. Has to relate to her soul manipulation in some way
2. Has to be a noun

I am a twenty one year old introvert Californian. I have dabbled in writing ever since the fourth grade, but it wasn't until recently that I decided to make a career out of it. I just finished my first short story, and was wondering what are ways to build a following as a writer?

I have recently started to write and these are the things that concern me about descriptions, a potential to which I lack.

How to practise descriptive writing?

Where to start?

What are some of the ways you use to improve your descriptive writing?

For writers looking to get published! F(r)iction’s Fall 2021 contest is open for submissions until October 29th! Categories include short stories (1,000-7,500 words), flash fiction (up to 1,000 words), and poetry (up to 3 pages per poem). We're seeking writing that pushes boundaries and features complex characters and strong narratives.

Our guest judges for this contest season are Patrick Rothfuss, K-Ming Chang, and Laura Da’. Submit your work to F(r)iction for the opportunity to win up to $1,600 in prizes!

For more information, visit https://frictionlit.org/contests/