Hello everybody,
I've been wanting to start posting an ongoing series for a while now. I finally started posting a couple of weeks ago, with one new chapter coming up once a week.

I've been experimenting with what I hope is a narrative tone that is entertaining for my readers. I would love to hear any feedback at all. English is my 3rd written language so please forgive any mistakes I've not been able to edit away yet.

Thank you so much for any of you who are able to provide me with pointers or suggestions to improve my "craft".

Introduction - Moon Ashes | Royal Road

Motionless. Motionless Ada floated in her deprivation tank, in there time held no meaning as she took deep mindful breaths through the respirator on her face. Floating she bobbed up and down like a Manowar, staring at the ceiling through cybernetic eyes. While her body was listlessly floating in a bath of ice-cold water, cables and wires were hooked to her arms and back via easily accessible ports all over her paled body, her mind was elsewhere. Ada shifted through the various documents, her avatar in the digital space was nothing more than a vague shape of triangles. 

“Nothing.” She cursed as she swam through the endless hallways of cyberspace. How long had it been since she started working through the hard drive? Hours? Days? Time held no meaningful value to her as she continued to work; shifting through files, documents, and even grocery receipts. “How is the search going?” A voice echoed through her mind as she butterflied through the archives. “Anything we can use against him?” 

“No,” Her voice echoed through her mind, the serious tone she used punctuated each word with a depth of importance. “I can't find anything linking him to the Red Horizons.” 

“Shit, you gotta be kidding me.” 

“No, nothing but pornography and recipes for egged noodles, sorry” Ada replied in a soured tone. 

“Tis cool, I’m pulling you out.” the voice was low and gruff, with a hint of authority to it.” Ada braced herself as the walls of the archive began to sequentially disintegrate around her, dissolving until she was left in a nocturnal black void. For a brief moment, she floated there, as synthetic amniotic fluid drained out of the chamber. Her paled feet eventually met the cold metallic floor beneath her. The room spun as her sensors recalibrated themselves, adjusting for the obvious change in pressure. She pulled off the respirator and stood there for a moment as the chamber depressurized itself. 

Ada stood there as the cold air puckered her bare skin, she pushed the chamber door open and stepped out into the chilled office. She immediately wrapped a large bathrobe over herself as her synthetic teeth chattered, waiting for her internalized heating system to kick on, warming her biotech. 

“You lost weight,” a deep feminine voice drew her attention away from the chamber and to a pale-skinned woman with bright red eyes and a synthesized voice modulator over her mouth. “You had stomach surgery right?”

“That I did Trish,” Ada said as she dried herself off. “The new synthetic version is way more efficient, I now never have to worry about intestinal pain or bloat,”  Ada said with a smile. 

Trish started into the neon-drenched cityscape with a disgusted look in her eyes. “What a mess, someone needs to clean it all up…”

Thank the gods for synthetic fat lipids…” she thought to herself as she went to grab a large peanut butter and chocolate donut.  

“Is there any organic material in your body?” Linda asked her as she gave Ada her uniform and undergarments. 

“Only Seventy five percent, I still have my heart and lungs~~.~~,” Ada replied as she dried herself off once more, then started to get dressed. “That’s it?” Lidia asked her, "You need more than just those basic cybernetics if you want to do more in this field of cyber security.” 

“I would like to, but I want to remain as fleshy as possible~~.~~,” Ada explained as her synthetic skin ran a light shade of pink. “My..my boyfriend, he enjoys it…” 

“Twenty and still blushing like a damn school girl…” Linda pointed out with a sarcastic tone. “Remind me, why aren’t you two married again? Fraid you are going to go fully pink?” 

“No, but we are going to tighten that knot soon, so we went ring shopping.” 

“Well congratulations then,” Trish said with a sincere tone that surprised the younger agent. “This might be a bit forward but are you thinking of, you know, biological birth or something like that?” 

“Well…I mean adoption is an option, but I heard that synthetic birth is easier on the woman, less complications from a saliva sample.” Ada countered as she wiped the frosting that had gathered on her lips off.  The mouth guard on Trish’s face was about to glow when she wanted to say something but she stopped as their boss walked into the room, sidestepping as his augmented arms made it difficult otherwise. 

 “We have a lead.” He said in a stern voice. Ada felt her biological heart start to race as she slipped her professional mask back on; as much as she wanted to shoot the breeze with Trish, now was not the time.  

“Splitspitter gave us a name after I…convinced him to help us.” He said. Ada glanced at his bronze-colored name tag, which read Iowa. “The Red Horizons are planning to attack the Tannhauser station tonight, he said it was going to be the last attack, one that would go down in every data disk this side of the coast.” 

 Ada’s squad car touched down in front of the light rail station; she could practically taste the tension in the air as she stepped out, making her way to the group of Neo-Kento’s finest gathered in front of the doors. 

She ignored the citizens as they stared at the gathering group of cops outside the building. 

“Okay, I want a squad on every floor, patrolling every inch of that building. No one gets in or out without being scanned, is that understood.” 

“SIR YES SIR,” The officer roared in unison as they started to break into their respective squads. Ada drew her service pistol and headed into the archaic building. Officers swarmed the building like moths to a lit flame, their weapons poised with the barrels hot.  Ada kept her sensors up, scanning everyone and everything she glanced at. Her body coiled with tension as she heard gunfire, she ran with her weapon raised, running straight into a firefight. 

The Red Horizon were dressed in red jackets and had arguments attached to their face and embedded into their skulls. Some had firearms mounted to their forearms, while others had machine pressed blades attached to theirs. Ada dove behind a desk and started shooting, caseless bullets flew from the barrel, dropping the terrorists with pinpoint accuracy. 

Iowa shouldered a massive shotgun as he shot down the Red Horizon members. “CLEAR THE BUILDING! I’VE HAD IT UP TO HERE WITH YOU NUCLEAR  PUNKS!” The large officer bellowed at them. Ada managed to down five of them before they suddenly stopped. She poked her head up from the pillar she found herself by, confused by the sudden turn of events. Iowa blinked as he looked around with a puzzled expression. 

“Ah, if it isn’t the captain of Neo-Kento’s finest!” A voice broke through the eerie silence that fell over the light rail station. “Did you come here for little ol’ me?” 

The voice belonged to a young man with bleach-white skin that contrasted sharply with the large cloak he wore over his skeletal frame, he had a devilish smile that stretched from ear to ear, and bright red glasses that covered his augmented eyes. “Here for the grand finale?! I’m touched….” The leader said with a grin. Ada narrowed her eyes. “Francis Metal,” She thought to herself, remembering his file. 

“What are you talking about,” Iowa said. “What do you mean ‘grand finale'?” 

“I’m talking about bringing it all down, crumbling every last corpo and fat cat in this hellscape of a city,” Francis said. “I’m talking about taking the power back from anyone in a suit with a gun.” 

“You plant bombs or some shit?” Iowa asked him, raising his shotgun. “Bombs?” Francis said. “No, that’s too easy; too loud, it’s the easy way out, no, I want this to linger, linger long after we have all rotted away.” Ada spotted snipers as they scurried along the rooftops, taking their positions. She smiled to herself, all Iowa needed to do was to distract that junkie long enough to ignore them. 

“I chose something different, something that will go down in the millennium,” Francis said as he took off his cloak, revealing a bandolier of canisters crisscrossed on his chest and along his legs. “Tear gas?” Iowa said with a raised eyebrow. 

“No, an apocalypse, one that will tear down the very foundations of Neo-Kento!” Francis said as he smashed one canister on the cement floor. Ada watched it as a black mist-like substance rose from the remains of the canister, Francis laughed as Iowa shot him, sending him crashing to the floor. 

“What the…” Ada thought as Iowa slowly approached the dead leader. Iowa kept his shotgun drawn at the body, waving the black mist from his mouth. Ada crept closer with him, her pistol was drawn. She swallowed as bile rose in her throat. “Something’s off.” Ada thought to herself. “That was almost too easy…” 

Then the body began to twitch; it was subtle at first, barely noticeable by either Ada or Iowa, then it twitched again, more violently this time; Francis’s limbs began to move on their own as thick black vein-like appendages slowly grew on the body, his eyes glowed a bright green now. Iowa shot at the body again and again, but it didn’t even notice the slugs as the body repaired itself. 

“It wasn’t a bomb…it was a sickness… Ada thought as she backed up from the creature. More of the canisters exploded from the body as the creature shuffled around, staring at the others. Black mist surrounded the creature as it bent down before lunging, attacking a poor soul who happened to be too close, the creature bit down on its neck, sending it to the ground as it screamed and stabbed in a desperate attempt to get it off. The creature screams out a loud mechanical animalistic roar. 

Ada stood there, shock and fear kept her feet planted, even though her mind screamed at her to move. But the fear she felt was too great, it rooted her in the ground as more of those creatures were made, biting and scratching at one another, spreading throughout the station like a sickness, a cancer. 

Iowa shot as many as he could; slugs ripped through their bodies but they still persisted; unaffected by the wounds and blood loss. 

“ADA! Are you there!” Trish’s modulated voice came through Ada’s ear. 

“Trish! Are you seeing this?” Ada asked in a panicked tone; she finally had enough agency to move again, she took off running down a hallway. “Yes! The Bio Scanners are giving me strange readings!” Trish exclaimed. “Several bio signatures are flatlining and are coming back online.” 

“Yeah” Ada replied as she crept through the hallway, scanning for one of those creatures, “the leader of the Red Horizon’s just flatlined himself, now he’s alive again…he’s infecting everyone now…” 

“How?” Trish asked her. “Disease? Neo Kento hasn’t seen that in centuries.” 

“I’m not sure,” Ada exclaimed as she came to the lobby. “It seemed to affect technology.” Trish was about to say something when Ada fell to her knees as static blared through her eardrums. She opened her eyes and saw the results of Francis's plan; those green-eyed creatures started flooding the hallways. Scrambling to her feet Ada raised her pistol and pointed it at the closest creature, keeping her distance. Behind her were eight-inch thick blast doors made of a nanofiber alloy. 

“Trish? I need you to open the blast doors for me.” 

“I am afraid I can’t do that, Ada.” Trish said in a cold tone “You don’t understand what we are doing here…

“Trish? What are you talking about…” Ada said as she kept backing up.  

“He was right, you know, we need to tear down the old foundation, and start anew,” Trish said. “The Red Horizons knew what had to be done, knew that the only way to rid a dynasty…is to infect the roots…” 

“Trish!” Ada exclaimed. 

But Trish heard from her end nothing but screams....

Who might I see?

My creator hoped to see his image in me.

I was wrapped in paper, unable to perform my duty. At lunch, he brought me home from his shop and hung me on the wall — wanting to surprise his family.

They never returned home that evening — or any day after. They were gathered and sent away. They were kind, secure people. They truly valued all life.

I didn’t sit lonely for long — quickly catalogued and rewarded to the highest bidder, Mrs. J.

Mr. and Mrs. J vainly admired me. Together they marveled in how I was able to show them their good sides — separately, they showed their truths.

I didn’t have the heart to tell them, I only reflect what they show me. Ironically, as inanimate as I may be, the J’s had less heart than I.

As generations passed, my story romanticized, I found a new home with Mr. and Mrs. B, outbidding a devastated Mrs. E —trying to substitute winning for lost happiness.

The B’s were busy — well connected. They were able to sniff out lucrative opportunities before others could catch the scent.

They believed they understood my story, but missed the origin.

D’s mom paid top dollar for me, not realizing the horrendous profit the B’s made. They convinced their close friend I meant more to them — even pretending they didn’t want to part with me, to sweeten the deal.

Surviving this frat house was no easy feat. D and his friends were spoiled little brats — drunkenly flaunting, yet simultaneously squandering, the privilege they denied maintaining. The parents of this lost generation, consider nepotism the silent foundation of their generational power. How embarrassed they’d be if their lineage portrayed a less-than-regal image.

D couldn’t care less about the pretty penny mommy spent — the day he dropped me in a donation bin.

I sit on the floor, leaning against the wall, simply hoping to find a home before I’m broken.

Yesterday, I piqued young and budding Mr. C’s interest. He changed his mind — this cheap fluorescent lighting painted his face, reminding him of his parents. He left the store with shame and rage in his eyes.

I find my home, now with Dorothy’s friend. He was immediately drawn to my elegance.

He has worked hard and is appreciative for all he has. He’s focused on bettering himself, while sharing his experiences and knowledge. He refuses to take the easy path — dimming someone else’s light, so his may shine brighter.

Although the odds seem stacked against him, he is someone that won’t sit idly by. He will use his voice. He is an observer. He will call out what he sees happening.

He allows me to tell the story I was born to tell. After the chain of those that already have, or eventually will turn, my creator can finally see his image —in me.

-----

And now’s the time to play the game and better understand what might happen to U. For Dorothy Thompson’s article, Click Here.

Off the coast of the Northern Continent was a small island, where strange things lie. It wasn’t on any map made by the Continual Government, and existed through word of mouth it was known as the Island of Ib. It was an island full of mystery, where the impossible became possible on its darkened waters.  Upon this island was an even smaller town, made up of a few hundred nautical men and their families. This town was called Fishbone, and nothing exciting or interesting happened there. 

But there were legends. Legends of strange ships drifted through the open seas without any crew to man their sails, tales of ancient sea beasts and war machines long since past.  Having lived there his whole life, Carter would know. 

 But it had been a while since anything had happened on the island, leaving it a local legend to the other landmasses. It was the same thing over and over again, with only a few exceptions.  The sky was gray, matching the water. Carter shuffled home one afternoon, his book bag weighing heavily on his shoulders as he walked down Mulberry Street. It was hot and humid with the smell of salt in the air as burly fishermen chatted and complained about one another, bragging to one another about the haul they brought in. 

 Carter passed a group of young children playing on the docks, laughing and shouting as they splashed in the shallow, salty surf near the rocks. “Doesn’t anyone get tired of the beach? Is it a curse?” He thought as he kept walking home.

On the bridge connecting one part of the peninsula, Carter watched waves crash against the stone walls. At first, he feared the sea; its vast expanse scared him in his younger years. He often wondered what lurked beneath the waves. What monstrosities called the dark depths of their home? But as he grew up, his perspective changed. Then one day he didn’t fear the ocean; , and it was the happiest day of his young life; every year the island had a festival celebrating each of the four continents and their accomplishments, since Ib and a handful of other islands were considered neutral ground by the government. He was in awe as the different ships rolled into the harbor, their distinct shapes and vibrant colors would always lift his mood, even just for a week. It was in that week when he realized that he wasn’t alone on the island, nor was it the only place of land on the entire planet. And for a short while, things became interesting again. 

 The old brass bell above his head chimed as he entered the restaurant, which was called the Four Penny Parlor.

“Took you long enough,” his “uncle” Jacob Nort, a portly beast of a man said as he glared down at his nephew. “Get back there, we need you to scrub.” A thick finger, fattened with age and beef wellington, pointed Carter to the very back of the restaurant, where he had spent most of his days in the dish pit. 

Carter opened his mouth to protest, as he always had; there was no denying his hatred for that pit. He walked away, grumbling under his breath, and made his way to the back of the restaurant. He grabbed his brush and got to work, scrubbing away at the grime and dirt that coated the dishes. What was gross about it was he could tell how long those dishes had been there, piling up, he could tell from the bits of bacon and gits, from the glasses awash with pulp from orange juice and dried whites of eggs that they had been there a while.   His stomach turned as he worked, and he couldn’t wait to be done.

Lucky me. Carter thought. Carter grimaced as he scrubbed the dishes once more.  

The light coming from the window slowly passed across the room as afternoon gave way to nighttime throughout a grueling shift. Carter put the last of the dishes away and breathed a sigh of relief. He was done doing the dishes. He basked in his futile accomplishment as he knew the same pile of dishes would await him the next day. 

And the next.

And the day after that.

But for now, he didn’t think much of it. He quickly headed upstairs to his room for a brief moment of peace before he was called down for dinner.  He climbed the rickety stairs and headed down the hallway to a broom closet at the end. 

An old door without a hinge had a sheet of notebook paper scrawled with his name on the front, which had been tapped to the front of it. As Carter closed the door and sat down on the lumpy old mattress, he dug out a box from a hole in the wall. 

Inside the box was his refuge from the perpetually monotonous life. Bright color-filled comic books were stacked on top of one another. Every so often a patreon would come into the restaurant and accidently leave one.

He read them voraciously late into the hours of the night, savoring the vividness of the colors and words that build the worlds he read. He often envisioned going on one of them, writing it down afterward.

His eyes widened as he read the first paragraph;  As I gazed upon the vengeful ship, I noticed that it had no crew; no one manning the mangled sails, no one was at the helm, algae and barnacles stuck to it like a five-o-clock shadow…

Before he could read more; a voice broke his contraction. “Get down here boy!” Jacob shouted at him from downstairs. Carter sighed. He knew that was the end of what little leisure time he had. He sighed and left his hoard, heading back downstairs to a dinky kitchen. 

“Finally, it took you long enough.” Jacob snarled at him, ripping a piece of his fat-laden pork chops off a roasted pig.

“You better be doing homework up there,” Jacob’s wife, Gurtude, admonished him as he sat at the table. “Word around town is that you aren’t paying attention in school, and I spend all that money to get you in!” 

“But….it’s a public school,” Carter argued. 

Barely having enough time to duck out of the way, Carter was met with a sharp hand to the back of his head.  “Don’t you sass me boy, or did you forget your debt to the restaurant,” Gurtude said in a hotty tone.  “You belong to us.” 

“Yes,” Jacob agreed between bites of food. “Don’t you forget you owe us?”  Carter wanted to argue, he tried to fight back but knew it was better to keep quiet, they had a point no one would have taken him in. Begrudgingly, they were right. But then again, he had nothing to lose…for now, Carter sat down and started quietly eating. The days droned on as Carter continued to work at the Four Penny Parlor.  He still collected stories as he’d come across them during the rare occasions when he’d clean the tables, reading them cover to cover as he slowly began to realize that he could go on a journey. A grand journey. 

He stared at the ceiling of the broom closet as the waves crashed on the shore, echoing in his mind as he read one short by candlelight. Leaving seemed easy to him. Carter found himself drifting to sleep as he imagined himself on a massive ship. 

All he could think of was leaving the idea enticed him, suddenly it was all he could think about was leaving the Four Penny. No. The whole island. To leave it all behind and set sail. He’d never done that before.  Carter blinked his brown-colored eyes as a realization came to him. He’d never actually left the island for the Northern Continent. Or stepped foot on any other continent for that matter.

Now he felt like he needed to leave. A few days later, while the restaurant was closed, Carter enacted his plan, spending time in the town’s library,  jotting everything he could into a small notebook. Through these pages, he learned how to read a map and how a compass works.  But it wasn’t enough. 

The town had a limited amount of books, and even fewer of them had been kept in well enough condition to be read.  But still, he fought on, scribbling down what he could find. Next, he studied atlases. Anything he could on the other continents.  He was determined to learn as much as he could. He studied the world, trying to understand it better. He read and re-read the same books over and over, trying to absorb all the information he could. “Ah, you again.” a young woman said as Carter approached the front desk she had short curly brown hair, emerald green eyes, and soft pale skin. “What will it be this time? Animals? Cruise?” She joked.  “Parts of a boat,” Carter said as he handed her his Jacob’s card. 

“Parts of a boat huh…” The woman repeated as she counted the stack of books Carter brought to her, she opened an ancient-looking binder and began to finger through the pages as she eyed the spines of the books he had set on the desk. 

“You know, I didn’t care what you brought to me, but you are looking up quite a lot for a kid your age, what are you? Some sorta egghead or something?” the woman asked as she took the first book off the pile and stamped the back of it, before repeating this process. 

“No, not really.” Carter replied. The Norts weren’t too keen on any sort of celebration, unless of course it was held at the Four Penny.  “Uh huh…so, let me ask you this, why are you looking up all this stuff, this can’t all be for a book report.” The woman asked him, still stamping away at his pile. 

“I want to leave,” Carter said.  “And where?” The woman asked him. “East  is closest, South is furthest away with the Northern and Western continents being equally far.”

“Anywhere but here,” Carter replied. 

“That’s not an answer, you can’t just leave without having a destination in mind.” The woman explained. “Or you’d be wandering around, wasting your time.” 

“Fine, wherever the wind takes me,” Carter said again with a hint of agitation in his voice. “Is that a better answer?”  

“I don’t think I like your tone, you need to calm down.” The woman said with an authoritative tone, glaring at him. “And I am just warning you, you know, plus if you want to go to the other continents, then you are going to need a passport to do so,” 

Carter blinked at that statement. “What’s a passport?” 

“You don’t know what a passport is?” The woman asked him. “Yet you just want to sail away anywhere? That doesn’t make too much sense to me.” She said, “What did you think of this, grand idea what? Yesterday?” She smiled as she finished stamping the newly borrowed books. 

“It was a few months ago.” Carter corrected her. 

“Right, good luck with that.” The woman said. “I’ll still be here when you decide on studying something else, have a blessed day!” 

Carter left with a stack of books in his hands as he headed for the Four Penny Parlor, muttering to himself as he walked down the cobblestone streets. It wasn’t until he walked through the door that he stopped at the threshold of the restaurant. It was quiet. Too quiet for his liking. 

A glance around the cramped inside of the building told him that no one was eating, which was odd, it was Saturday, and everyone stopped by for a bite to eat. 

“What do you have there boy?” Jacob asked him as he walked through the swinging double doors that separated the front of the house and the back of the house. “Got some reading material there?”

“Yes, I do,” Carter replied, thinking quickly. “It’s for a book report on uh…world history?” 

“World History?” Jacob repeated. “You expect me to believe that?” 

“What do you mean? I am telling you the truth.” Carter said as he shifted his books from one arm to the other. 

“Ah see, and therein lies the issue, my beloved was looking for a broom, so she searched all around the second floor,” Jacob said. “She also came across these.” The portly man dropped a familiar-looking box onto the counter, its contents spilling out due to how overfilled it was. “You’ve been keeping secrets from us, boy?” 

It only took one glance to know that they found his stash of comics. “Hey! Those are mine!” 

“Are they now?” Jacob asked as he put a grease-laden hand onto one of them. “I don’t see your name on any of them.” 

“They were in my room,” Carter replied.  “In my house.” Jacob corrected. “Need I remind you of your debt to us?” 

“No…” Carter said. “You don’t need to remind me.” 

“Or do I have to remind you that you had nothing, you were just a baby on our doorstep. We took you in and gave you a purpose. We could’ve left you out there in the pouring rain.” Jacob said as he smacked the box, sending the comics flying across the floor as the box dropped with a loud thunk. “Now, you better give up on this idea, or you are out of here. Got it?” 

“...got it…” Carter muttered. 

“What was that?!” Jacob asked him

“Got it!”  Time had passed since that fateful encounter with his boss, and Carter returned to his duties as a dishwasher, losing all of his comics with most of his books returned to the library, where he was met with a smug smile from the woman behind the counter. 

Months passed as Carter slowly grew, his thirst for adventure was killed off as the last of his comics were used for kindling for the old stove above the restaurant.  He accepted his fate, resigning himself to a life of monotony and drudgery. He soon found a sense of grim solace in the mundane tasks of his job, and he slowly began to forget the dream of becoming an adventurer. Or getting off the island.  He watched as his dreams and hopes slowly faded away. He realized he would never get the chance to leave the island.  That was until one day when he escaped the confines of the dish pit and wandered through town both Jacob and Gertrude had left to go protest at town hall, leaving the boy alone to do as he pleased. 

Carter wandered down to the coast as a thick fog started to roll in. He kept an eye open for sea glasses as small crabs scuttled out of his path. He barely took note of them, humming to himself as he gently placed the sea glass into a small burlap sack he had taken from the kitchen. He had a fair bit of multicolored glass already. Just as he bent down to pick up an odd-shaped piece he heard the sound of ships, there was no second-guessing that familiar sound of groaning wood. 

The boy paused as he got up, peering into the fog, perhaps it was just another captain who saw the fog and got scared. At least, that’s what he thought, but it sounded close. Too close. Carter quickly backed away from the shoreline as he heard it again, the groaning got louder. He kept an eye out and saw a massive shape as it grew through the fog. A low guttural groan sent shivers down his spine. Running was out of the question as fear took over his senses, clouding his better judgment as he watched the shape get closer.

The boy noticed more details on the large creature, its hulking size dwarfed him as he saw its large jaw of teeth, reminding him of a shark’s mouth. The beast groaned again, as it dragged itself on shore, Carter noticed its legs were stubby and webbed. On top of the beast looked like…sails. Carter blinked and rubbed the eyes, assuming that sea salt was clouding his vision, and yet…no. Those were sails, alright. 

Carter was sure he was dreaming, but he knew he wasn’t. He had just seen the strangest creature he had ever seen, like some kind of mix between a crabbing vessel and an actual beast.  The boy was so stunned that he forgot to be afraid. 

The beast groaned once more, it was a long pained groan, its jet-black eyes sat above the bow, right at the capstan, they resembled windows. 

Unexpectedly, Carter got closer to the beast. It let out a small defeated roar at him as he edged closer to it. He held up his hands, dropping his bag of sea glass onto the sand. “It’s fine,” He said in a shaking voice. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

The beast grumbled as its wooden exterior groaned. Carter noticed the scratches on its hull, how it leaked droplets of a mysterious black goo from its wounds, spilling onto the sand. The beast roared weakly this time as it tried to get up but its crab-like legs quickly folded underneath itself once more. That was when Carter noticed the large pill-shaped eggs underneath it. 

“Oh.” He said as some of the fear lessened, he slowly started putting the pieces together. “You’re a mom…” 

“Hey, you!” Carter spun around and noticed a man walking towards him and the beast, he had a lever-action shotgun with him. “Get away from that thing!” 

A loud bang rattled Carter’s head as he fell to his knees. The man cocked his gun again as the beast scurried around, protecting its clutch from the man. “The hell’s the matter with you kid, that’s a Seagoth!” 

A loud grumble came from the beast as it dug its massive claws into the sand and carefully carried its clutch of eggs away from the man and Carter. The man fired again, this time the slugs made contact with its hull, scraping its exterior. “Back you beast!” 

Carter watched as it scuttled off into the ocean, its long spindly legs folding underneath it as it transformed into a boat. “What was that?” Carter shouted as he watched it disappear. 

“What do you mean? That was A Seagoth!” The man exclaimed as he set the shotgun aside and checked the teen for injuries. “You are saying it like I know what you are talking about, what was that thing?” Carter said as he pushed the man off him. “Fine, that was an ancient creature, one designed to resemble our boats. They are extremely dangerous, legends tell of them attacking ships, some say they are as bad as sirens.” 

“Sirens? From the East?” Carter asked him. “Those are real? And who are you?” 

“My name is Arthur, Arthur Willmont. And..wait a minute…” The man said as he eyed a large lump in the sand. Carter noticed it too. “That beast left one of her eggs…” The egg was massive, it was four feet long and looked like it weighed just as much. “Come, help me get it to my lighthouse,” Arthur said as he walked over and attempted to lift it. 

Carter stood hesitantly there, watching the older man attempt to lift such an egg. He had a few dozen questions circling his head. 

“Come on, are you going to help me or not?” Arthur asked him. Carter took a deep breath and recognized what this meant. He grabbed the other side of the egg and lifted it with his legs. 

Arthur led him to a lighthouse on the far end of Fishbone. Carter’s back ached and his palms started to sweat, but the two of them managed to carry the Seagoth egg from the beach to the end of the town, it was a towering spire that cut through the fog with its single polar light. 

“Astrid !” Arthur exclaimed, "Open the door!” Carter watched as the old door creaked open. A girl stood before the two of them as she stepped outside the lighthouse, she had platinum gray hair and sharp green eyes. 

“Oh…” She said as she eyed the egg. “Is…is that what I think it is?” 

“It is,” Authur said. “A Seagoth left her egg behind.” Carter wanted to point out how Authur shot at the creature to make it run away, but he was distracted by the girl's clothing; it was a spitting image of his school uniform, even had the logo emblazoned on the right side above the pocket. 

Carter racked his brain in hopes of recalling where he had seen her but to no avail. “Hey, have we met before?” The girl narrowed her sharp eyes at him as if she was seeing all the sins he committed over all fourteen years of his life. 

“No.”  She said in a flat tone.

“Oh! Uh…well, nice to meet you?” Carter stammered.  “If you think that, then sure,” Astrid said with a sarcastic hum as she looked him up and down. “Is that a real Seagoth egg:?” 

“Yes!” Arthur exclaimed enthusiastically as he and Carter set it down gently on the floor of the lighthouse. “It was a massive crustation type that had these massive claws and was shaped like a sailboat, just like in the book Dad wrote about.” 

“So,” Astrid started, bending down to closely examine the Seagoth egg. “They’re back?” 

“Well, we don’t know for certain, the one me and…what was your name again? I seem to have forgotten it.” 

“Carter.” He replied. “Ah yes, Carter and I saw that it was quite injured, I don’t think it’ll last the fortnight, sadly.” Carter nodded glumly, feeling like he should at least react, not unsure about mentioning that Authur had shot the beast a few times before it dropped its egg.  “Uh…” Carter started. “Well…” 

“What?” Autur said.

“You kind of shot at it….” Carter muttered out. “You shot at it a few times.” 

“Boy, a few slugs ain't gonna put a Seagoth down,” Autur explained. “Besides, don’t you know not to approach one staring at you, it would have then you as a threat and torn you in twain.” 

“Are you sure about that? I think you might have done the thing in,” Carter said. 

“I know what I’m doing. My father studied these creatures his entire life,” Autur said. “What did your father do?” 

“I don’t know my father, or mother for that matter,” Carter stated. “Well, that’s a shame.” 

Days passed by as the egg grew larger, Carter started to show up regularly at the lighthouse, bringing blankets and hand warmers to keep the egg warm.  “Oh, it's you,” Astrid said in an annoyed tone as Carter showed up one day. “Uh…yeah, is Authur home? I bought the extra blankets he asked me to,” 

“No, my dad’s out,” Astrid said in a cold tone, in a swift movement she took the blankets from his arms before he had the chance to say anything else. “I see, oh wait!” Carter said as he took off his backpack and dug through it. “I have something for you.” 

“Look I am not interested in whatever breakfast food you brought over his time,” Astrid said as she attempted to close the door on him, he stopped it with his foot and walked inside. 

“It’s not that,” Carter replied, “Since we have the same classes together I took the liberty of bringing you tonight’s homework,” he set a binder on the kitchen table. “You haven’t been in school for a while,” 

“I was busy taking care of the egg,” Astrid replied, “School could wait.” 

“Uh yeah, so is it my turn yet or…” Astrid grabbed the blankets and added them to the makeshift nest they made for the Seagoth egg, it was surrounded by blankets with hand warmers attached to its exterior, sitting in front of a driftwood-fueled fire as it burned a bright amalgam of oranges with a faint hint of blue. 

“It's grown,” Carter pointed out. “When do you think it'll hatch?” 

“My guess, within the week,” Astrid said with her back turned to him, ignoring him the best she could manage. 

“So…will it look like a sailboat or…like a canoe?” Carter struggled. 

“You can leave,” Astrid said in a harsh tone. “My father sees you as more of a gofer, I don’t see you at all.” 

“Okay, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed,” Carter pointed out. “Are you mad that I brought you the homework? Because if it's not me then it will be someone else doing it.” 

“No, I am angry with how you just lolly over here and help out, don’t you have anything better to do?” Astrid argued as she catered to the Seagoth egg, gently scrubbing it with a brush.  “Honestly, this is the most excitement I have had in a long time,” Carter admitted sheepishly. “But, I do have a question.”

“What?” Astrid asked him in an annoyed tone. 

“What are we going to do when it hatches? Shouldn't its mom come looking for it?” Carter asked as he took a seat at the table. 

“I don’t know,” Astrid admitted. “We are kind of just doing what we can, we can’t return it to the sea without its mother, and we can’t keep it on the island, people will notice a giant sailboat with no crew.”

“It’s a fish right?” Carter asked her. “So technically…”

“No, we can’t eat it,” Astrid told him. “Its body is mostly made up of wood and metal,” 

“Right….” Carter said as he eyed one of the many journals on the table. “Well, there goes that idea, what about a zoo?” 

“No, We can’t have a Seagoth as some sort of sideshow attraction.”

“Hey, Astrid!” Arthur exclaimed as he threw the door open. “I am gonna need your help, we have a problem. Oh hey Carter, I didn’t see you there.” Carter waved at the older man as he got up from the table. 

“Dad?” Astrid said as she got off the floor. “What is it?” 

“It's the adult Seagoth,” Arthur explained, “I was looking for it, and well…I found it.” 

“Where?” 

Arthur led the two of them down to the coast near the very edge of the island. Carter had the journal he was reading with him as they made their way down, tucked away in his leather-bound book bag. 

“I was out looking for that Seagoth, thought maybe it’d hang around the coast,” Authur explained as he pulled out a pair of binoculars from his pouch, handing them to Astrid. “And well, I found her, she’s westward.” Carter looked in the direction and squinted. Astrid gasped as she gazed upon the ruined ship as it floated around the coast. There was a sickening stench that came from the boat as it floated haplessly. 

“What…” Carter said as he looked at the dead Seagoth. “Did it die?” 

“Yes,” Authur explained. 

“But…how?” Carter asked him. “What could kill a Seagoth?” 

“I would say that killed it,” Authur said. Astrid spun around and saw what looked like a massive metallic sail dive beneath the waves. “We need to get off the island!”  The three of them ran for shore as the metallic sail cut through the water. In one fell swoop it tore apart the dead Seagoth with its sail, ripping it in two while not slowing down for a second. 

Carter turned around as the beast made landfall; it was a massive torpedo-shaped Seagoth, and two powerful mechanically laded limbs dragged themselves onto the shore. The beast transformed, splitting longways as its mechanical body segmented itself. Its nose split open, revealing a massive maw of sharpened teeth. The sound it made seemed to shake the very island itself as it started to crawl ashore. 

“What does it want?! What is that thing!” Astrid said as she made her way back to the lighthouse. 

“The egg!” Arthur explained. “It wants the egg, we have to get it off the island!” 

“Do you have a boat?!” Carter asked him.

“I do! We gotta get to the docks!” 

Once inside the lighthouse, the three of them started gathering whatever they could carry. Astrid immediately began to raid the pantry, filling a backpack with whatever canned goods she could carry.

“Carter!” Authur exclaimed, “I need you to wear this pack!” 

“What?! Why?!” Carter said, allowing him to strap the pack to his waist and back. “You have a stronger back than I do, I need you to carry the egg to the dock!” Authur quickly explained.  “Got it!” Carter exclaimed The three of them left the lighthouse as sirens blared through Fishbone, the Seagoth tore through the town as the police shot at it, its bullets bouncing off its metallic skin. 

“What does it want!?” Astrid exclaimed as she followed her father as he led the three of them to the coast once more. 

“It’s after the egg!” Authur exclaimed. 

“All this for a snack? Seems a bit like overkill!” Carter said as he lagged. The sound of cannon fire exploded all around the trio as they made their way to the docks. 

“Over here!” Authur exclaimed as Astrid and Carter climbed into the boat. Just as he began to untie it from the dock a massive roar broke his concatenation. The Seagoth roared as the citizens of Fishport ran from the beast. 

“I have an idea,” Authur said as he finished untying the boat with a hardened look in his eye. “That’s a Submarine Class Seagoth, its sight is entirely dependent on sound. I'm going to lead it out of the town, you two will have to go to the Eastern Continent. It’s the closest landmass to the island.” Authur explained, “don’t give me that look, Astrid, I’ll join you two when it’s safe.” 

“But dad…”

“Honey, It’s my job to keep you safe, I intend to see it to the end,” Authur said as he gave his daughter one last hug before kicking the boat. Astrid watched as Authur rand to another ship, making as much noise as humanly possible, while Carter took off the bag and began to paddle as quietly as possible. The boat gently rocked as the two of them lay in it, the island of Ib long gone with Carter having chosen a direction at random. He was staring at the gray sky as Astrid held onto the Seagoth egg, gently rocking with it. 

“So, East huh?” Carter said after a long silence. 

“Yep,” Astrid muttered. “Cool, always wanted to see the other countries.” 

“Well you got your wish,” Astrid said. Carter was about to respond when the egg cracked. Astrid instantly lets go of the egg as a  small Seagoth climbs out of its shell, it is a pale color and closely resembles a crab. “Wow…” Carter said. “I expected it to be bigger.” 

“Yeah, I must've been born prematurely,” Astrid said. “All that stuff on the island must have caused it. 

“Uh…Astrid…I dont think we're alone.” Carter said in a hesitant voice. Astrid looked out and saw several massive sails slowly circling them. 

“No,” she said. “I don’t think we are…” 

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

​

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!

​

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

​

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.

​

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.

​

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.

​

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!