/r/KeepWriting

Photograph via snooOG

Welcome to KeepWriting. We are a community dedicated to motivating writers to stay consistent and constantly grow their craft.

Whether you're looking to get feedback on an idea, hear a critique, or get unstuck in a story, this is the right place.

We are a subreddit dedicated to helping writers improve their craft and fuel their creativity. Whether you're looking to get feedback on an idea, hear a critique, or get unstuck in a story, this is the right place.

Posting Guidelines
  • Reciprocate. Before requesting any critique or feedback, please offer your own first.
  • When offering feedback, be honest, but respectful. Productive criticism is obviously welcomed, but blatant bashing, personal attacks, and off-topic comments are not tolerated.
  • Keep it related to writing. Whatever you are posting, it should have some ties to the overall theme of the sub.
  • Self-promoting and self-validating posts will be removed if that is their only purpose. The same applies to low-level content posts that contain just a link

Post Tags

  • [WP/IP] is to be used for writing and image prompts respectively.
  • The [Crit] tag should be used for any threads relating to feedback and critique.
  • Use [Discussion] for general writing posts.
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/r/KeepWriting

226,557 Subscribers

1

Emotional Abuse & Chronic Illness

Would anyone care to read a book I’m writing about my personal experience with emotional abuse and its psychological and physical impact on chronic illness (Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome)?

I’m looking for feedback to make it as clear and concise as possible.

The abuse was making me so sick, not EDS. I wonder how many others with chronic illness are confusing the two.

I can send a google docs link.

0 Comments
2024/03/26
21:43 UTC

2

Looking for help/feedback with story snippet :)

Hi, first post here on Reddit. I've always wanted to persue writing, but was never able to due to...well, life being life. I finally have the stability to really put time into it, and last year began seriously writing a fantasy concept I've had for years. I'm really hoping to gain feedback to help my writing grow. This is just a small snippet of an older chapter, but I figure it's as good a place to start as any. If I had to narrow down specifics I'd like feedback on, it'd mainly be ease of readability, consistancy, and if the style is likeable (I tend to over-write/purple-prose,,,and ack, am trying to stop). But since I'm just starting out, any and all feedback would be amazing. :)

This is a conversation between one of the main protagonists and a Big-Bad, who is more like a mafia boss at this point in time - someone you know isn't "good" but also possibly isn't quite evil; just dangerous. The mafia-boss, Drake, has invited the protaganist, Aidan, to one of his nightclubs during the day to make a deal.

***

Drake was seated at the very back, intently watching a stream of white wine snake into his crystalline glass. When the young man finished pouring, Drake looked up, seeming to finally notice me. “Sit.” Gesturing with a cold smile, his voice easily carried over the expansive room.

Striding between velvet couches and nestled nooks, I ease into the chair Drake had indicated. At the huge mahogany table, I was two seats away from Drake at the head, his chair angled away. Starting at the corner of the room behind him and extending the entire back side, there was no wall. Instead, an almost gothic-style iron and steel screen stood in separation; barring us from the sprawling dance floor below. Peering out, Drake drummed his fingers; a supercilious king poised high above his dominion.

Below, three women entered the stage, turning up the speakers. A moment later, a vibrant pinwheel of red hair circled the middle pole, her slim body twisting and twirling, as two brunettes joined on the smaller poles next to her. My hand cupping my chin, I absent-mindedly watched them rehearse.

Drake cleared his throat. “Are you enjoying your latest package?”

I turned to him. He was referring to his incentive packages, of course. “Yeah, they’re pretty sweet, thanks.”

Unamused, he eyed me. “But you’re not really happy, are you?”

Two waitresses entered the lounge carrying platters of our usuals: two plates of caviar, plump lobster tails and countless dishes of colorful sushi.

I paused, watching the staff arrange the array of delicacies and leave. Drake wasn’t normally the emotional kind of guy. “It’s not the packages—“

“I know. What man could turn down beautiful women?” He interrupted with a laugh. Draining his wine with a graceful swig, the empty glass emitted a delicate clink as he set it down.

He waved a finger in the air, signaling a refill.

“But you’re not being truthful to me, either.” Drake said, plucking a lobster tail from the steaming platter. Slowly, he bent the crustacean until it snapped. Then with disturbing dexterity, began meticulously peeling off the meat.

An unexpected sigh escaped me. “Well, beautiful women can do a lot, but they can’t change what you are.”

Drake nodded, listening.

What are you doing, Aidan? Drake isn’t your therapist.

I shake my head, “Nah, I’m fine.” I reach out my chopsticks, forcing a grin. “I just think too much sometimes---“

“You want to be one of them.”

My chopsticks freeze over a lump of ruby sashimi. “One of what?” But I already knew the answer.

Drake snatched a salmon roll, chewing it slowly. “A human. A normal human.” He arched his chopsticks toward the three dancers below where, in mere hours, people everywhere would be clawing for access to their coveted dance floor. “Like them.”

Cocking my head, I looked down at the stage. I wasn’t quite catching Drake’s drift. “Well, yeah. If I had the chance to, absolutely.”

“Heavy responsibility wears on us all.”

I nodded, scooping up a large dollop of caviar. The dark bubbles glistened on the salty crackers, catching glints of the silver strobe lights below.

“What if I told you I had a way for you to give up that responsibility—to be ‘normal’ again?”

My jaw slacked, the caviar still popping in my mouth. “That’s impossible.”

A dark gleam cascaded over Drake’s chiseled features. “No, it just comes at a very high price.”

“What do you want?” I breathed.

“Her.” Drake's eyes twinkled, the edge of his lip curling.

I scrunched my face. “Who?” I loudly crunched more caviar.

“Aurora.”

My eyes rounded. The cracker broke, lumps of caviar dropping onto my plate.

***

2 Comments
2024/03/26
18:21 UTC

8

just joined

Like the title says. I'm a stray from nanowrimo, looking for a safe place to talk about writing.

3 Comments
2024/03/26
18:18 UTC

2

(Procrastinating?) Scribbler's Dream

Scribbler, The dream in your mind fills the shelf When upon the shelf you gaze, Vacuum stares at you.

There is your quill and parchment but heavy are your hands because disuse numbs the wrist.

Between dreams and fruition yawning gaps close, not by pacing carpets but by mating quill and parchment

Here is your quill, Here are your sheets. When will this dream in your mind fill the shelf, Scribbler?

By Lawrence Darmani

0 Comments
2024/03/26
17:17 UTC

1

The cabin by Shannon Louise

I am looking for feedback on a snippet of a book I am writing

prologue

It was a sunny day in Canada , blue sky all around which is out of the ordinary especially for Toronto.

Now you may ask me Rhachel why would you leave beautiful Canada to move thousands of miles away to a different country? You ask well in our apartment block so much has happened from murders to suicde from suicide to robbery. Canada is a scary place somewhere we don't want to stay anymore. It is time for a change… a huge change if that.

chapter 1

arrival

There it was.

So dark and eerie…

thousands of miles….

from what I once called home!…...

In the mountains in the old English countryside where once sat astonishing wildlife now sat an eerie little cabin surrounded by a dense forest and one of the most beautiful lakes I have ever seen. A cabin onced filled with joy and laughter was now sitting abandoned and miserable. There was something off about this cabin , A mystery that I was determined to solve . It was now 11.30pm on Friday 11th November 2017 it was time for me to go into what will now be my new home or so i thought!

As I approached the old run down porch an old rustic looking door appeared glistening in the moonlight , I carefully made my way up the porch steps inching closer to the fate that waited for me behind that door. My mother and father were already in the house unpacking and waiting for me to come in to help , as I walked through the old rustic door I could see my parents happily lighting the old fireplace and dancing around to the record player.For just a moment ,I felt at peace.

As the night went on the cabin started to have a more homely feel.I have just finished unpacking all my stuff when i hear my mother shout.

“RACHEL DINNER IS READY”

so i hurried down the long winding staircase into the kitchen where mother and father were sitting at the wooden dining table. We said grace then started to eat what mother has prepared for us then all of a sudden we heard a soft humming coming from inside one of the rooms upstairs.

We tried to ignore it and continued eating. My parents thought it could've been the heating but I knew it was something more than that.

And I was going to find out what it was..

2 Comments
2024/03/26
16:55 UTC

2

Is this just rambling, or is it worth anything?

I've been interested in writing for a long time, but have never really thought I've had anything new and original to offer. Over the years I've realized that I just like doing it, but because I've had a lot of hardships in my life - while not wanting to vent in text in that sense - tried taking inspiration from authors that describe things that are generally hard to put into words.

Now I'm by no means saying anything I've ever written is good, and at this stage of my current 'process' I'm writing things out of order, just to have the idea or at least the beginning of it typed out.

TLDR(I guess): Just curious as to what others might think.
PS: I think I write in english mainly because it helps me distance myself from the context.

I also realize Reddit might format the text wrong, seeing as I tend to mark sections meant for other parts with different colors.

I prefer to sleep during the day. Along with the lack off stress regarding getting up at some specific hour for what will – most likely – be something mundane, and the incredibly ironic sense of not getting any sleep because of it, there is some odd sense of serenity in tucking yourself in when you know that everyone else is busy.
Then there are the dreams. I tend to get more when I sleep like this, or there are just more of them I can remember afterwards. At least for some time.
Most likely this simply stems from the fact that I'm more relaxed during such occasions. Even so I've had vivid dreams every now and then for as long as I remember. Now I believe I am in the very least of some sound mind, and put no faith in interpretations of dreams aside from some very direct parallels which could sometimes be drawn between experiences in the dreams themselves, and the ones in the actual – factual world.
Mind you: I have no intention to talk down to people who do believe in such things. Hell, I even had a small book on the subject in my youth – although its origin still eludes me. A belief born out of fascination, curiosity or - maybe more historically pertinent – out of lack of explanation (which still, to some extent, holds true even today) still has a place in the world we live in today as long as it causes no harm or ill will. We tend to seek meaning in perpetuity, which is both a boon and a vice. All things equal, and whatnot...
Aside from a few cases, most dreams I've had have been quite easy to explain, or at the very least to rationalize. Fear of change, wishing for freedom (Yes, I see the irony) are some of the typical ones I've had over the years – Same as many others.

Distillations of all our wants, fears, needs. Past experiences churning and looping through our subconscious, most likely as an extended way for us to process everything around us, even when the body needs rest. This last sentiment is often times repeated in what little concrete evidence we have based on the subject.
But what happens when we have dreams that make us unsure? Dreams that make you feel something you didn't think you could, or just gifts some unshakable impression that something might not be the way it should?

Have you ever felt like something was just a bit off? Like a bottle suddenly being wobbly on a completely flat surface, without any hint of a tremor to be felt.. or laying in bed, realizing that the window is suddenly further away than it usually is? Not only further away, but also larger than usual – almost like everything has increased in scale, yet you remain the same size? Maybe it's the other way around. Maybe it's not the world around you increasing in size – but instead you decreasing?
Loneliness does things to you. Aside from collecting a lot of weird habits and quirks no one’s around to stop – let alone notice - there’s a heightened sense of just doing things.. wrong.

Waking up in that desolate landscape was unexpected. No landmarks to speak of, aside from a lone house that had a strange resemblance to an old saloon out of the wild west. With nowhere else to turn I headed towards the building, realizing I barely had any clothes on as I took that first step. Both the trousers and shirt I had on was tattered and dirty, even though I had no idea what would have caused them to be in such a state. As I approached the entrance I started hearing the noises from inside. Nothing special, really – Just the average clatter and low melodies of people speaking. I stopped for a moment by a large window on the outer wall, and Everyone was acting like I was any other customer entering

Latch leading to small tunnel, leading to a metal door, bunker style.

A little while ago, while speaking to a colleague at work I was suddenly struck with a sense of surprise towards my own voice. Granted I'm no singer - let alone a public speaker in any capacity – so I hardly have a need to get my voice into gear, so to speak. Neither did I slur, stutter or croak when talking. For a moment I was just, mentally, stopped dead in my tracks because of pure confusion. Luckily the sensation was just that; for a moment.

Several years later, I still remember about that girl with the red hair.

I can't remember meeting you, but we became fast friends. You wanted to travel. Plans were made for you to come with; Visit my country as I did yours. Two weeks, they said.
Not a moment passes by. I'm standing in my hall. Looking at you laying on my bed. Feet up in the air in that ever lovely way; As I watch in bewilderment, you move towards me.
You grab my hand, and lead me into a room I never knew I had. It's filled with lights, but they don't shine too bright. They just give off a tone of yellow.
You sit us down on our knees. I see your red hair, but can't see the colour of your eyes.
You bring me closer, and give me a kiss. It comes as a surprise, but also overwhelms me with feelings of warmth and security. I feel like I've finally found my home.
"What have I missed?", I ask. You reply: "Too much."

Back in the day some ancient civilizations used to believe that mirrors – or rather anything causing a reflection – was, instead of just a reflection of light, actually some sort of window into something else. Depending on cultures, some believed it made it possible to see into ourselves while others held the belief that it instead pierce the veil to some other universe or dimension.

In a way it wouldn’t surprise me if I had at least one kid out there somewhere. My former girlfriend is the most suspicious case. She just met some random guy dumb enough to inseminate her, only for her to throw him away after getting pregnant? Actually.. that checks out.

My hands are mostly scar tissue now. What's not hardened is cracked, with pus accumulating in what little tenderness there is.

About a week ago I noticed there’s a spider in my bathroom. Now I’ve never had issues with them, but this one was a tad bigger than the other house spiders I’ve seen over the years. Taking a shower this evening I once again noticed it. This time it had moved from what I assume to be its favourite spot in the corner just beside the door to hanging just above me in the shower. What struck me wasn’t the fact that the spider itself didn’t bother me. Instead it was the fact that I didn’t seem to be able to take my eyes off it. Not for fear that it might suddenly be hovering – or even falling – down towards me, but rather because of a curious realization that I was suddenly sharing the room with another being.
As I’ve stated: Loneliness does things to you. Thoughts drift away to places you didn’t expect even existed.. or maybe they just start to seemingly go away. Maybe there’s just so many of them that they just drown each other out, or maybe the current process of trying to make any kind of sense of it is just some rationalisation of a great deal of things in general, without anything really, actually mattering.
At the very least my hands seem better.

5 months, 15 days, 18 hours and 11 minutes, give or take. That's how long I lasted this time.


Yeah. It came out all wrong. Sorry about that.

[EDIT] Decided to clean it up a bit. I'm new to using Reddit and I don't feel like trying out old HTML code either. Sorry about that.

3 Comments
2024/03/26
15:16 UTC

1

Feedback on interactive story intro

I've been working on the intro for an interactive story in Arcweave and I was wondering if I could get some general impressions on the premise and writing, but any feedback is appreciated!

https://arcweave.com/app/project/8MlwnvR0oA/play

0 Comments
2024/03/26
13:48 UTC

2

hi, im writing a 2-4 page mystery short story and i wanted to just see what people think of it so far. feel free to give critique or opinions, anything would help

Sentient Whispers

“Jack, something isn’t right here. I have a bad feeling.”

“Come on Tony, don’t be a bitch. Let's just get that guy's bag and get them the fuck off your back. The faster we get this bag of his, the faster you’ll be free, and besides, it’s an abandoned house. No one will be in here.”

We walked down the hallways, past doors. It seemed to go on forever. “Why are you helping me anyway, we’re just classmates.”

“I just really hate those guys, they fuck with everyone whom they see as beneath them. They got one of my friends a while back, I never heard him speak after that.”

We continued to walk through the house in silence for a while. Floorboards creaking beneath our feet, the wind howling through the house. “Hey Jack, are you sure we are alone? I’m hearing some-”

“What? Are you, fucking schizophrenic or something?” I could hear Jack let out a faint chuckle and so I followed suit, but the laughter didn’t drown them out, I’d been hearing them for a while now, ushering us, calling out to us,

Closer, come closer, closer, almost there, come to us…’.

“-ony! Tony!” I look up to see Jack has stopped walking and is now looking in my direction. “Tony, what up? You don’t look well.”

“The voices-”

“The schitzo voices? Are you sure it's not just the wind?”

“No, they…, I don’t know, they just stopped.”

“Isn't that a good thing? I mean, not hearing voices is normal right.”

“I- I don’t know, at least I don’t think so. Hey, do you know why this house is abandoned?”

“I don’t know man, I think some old people died here or something.” Jack looks at me, his posture relaxes as he gives me a smirk, “Do you really think this shit hole is hau-”

*crack* Jack’s eyes widened as he lunged towards me, but before he was able to reach me I had already fallen through the floor.

My eyes opened to darkness. I was looking at the night sky. But that didn’t make sense, we entered the house in the morning so how could it be night? My head was sore, and I couldn’t think straight, my ears ringing, everything a blur. Jack. Where was Jack, he could explain this to me, he could tell me what happened. I hurried to collect myself up off the ground and began running towards the police station. Surely Jack would have reported something, I mean I fell through the floor and woke up at the end of the day for heaven's sake.

Stop! Don’t go there.

I stop, I physically cant move. I feel a chill run down my back as I look around to see… nothing? I could have sworn someone was talking to me. I start running towards the police station again, but just as I take my first few steps, it’s there again,

“Stop! You can’t go there.”

I stopped to look around again, but still nothing, “Hello? If someone is there, come out. This isn’t funny.”. Silence. Surely I was hearing things, right? I lift my hands to rub my temples, but my hands feel… slippery. I slowly pull my hands forward. As they come into view, I'm breathing quickly, my hands are shaking. I start whimpering, which soon becomes screaming. Red. There is red all over my hands. Am I bleeding? Am I going to die? What is happening to me? I frantically search my body to find the cause of the bleeding but I don’t have any wounds. Is this even my blood? No, no. Surely it is mine. Who else could it belong to? But what if it isn’t mine? Where did it come from? I have all these questions and no answers. I need to figure out what happened today.

As I walked through the streets, something felt off. Even though there were people out, it was quiet. And the looks they gave me. Did I do something to them? After a couple of minutes of walking in silence, I heard someone behind me call out, “You have a lot of nerve showing your face after what you did.”. Confused, I stopped and turned to see Margret, our neighbourhood watch leader, glaring at me with her phone in her hand.

“What I did. What are you talking about?”

“Don’t try to act innocent, you know what you did.” She put the phone up to her ear, “And don’t even think about running, the cops will be here in a minute.”

Cops? What in god’s name could I have done to get the cops called on me? Am I going to be arrested? Is this why the voices wanted me to stay away from the police? But that means they know what I did? I needed to run, I needed to get out of here and figure out what the hell I did. I turned and ran away from Margret, shouting to the voices, “What the hell did I do, what did you make me do? This is your fault isn’t it!”

“Come and we will tell you.”

These voices, they are the problem. I had to get rid of them. This all started at that house. I have to get back there. I ran through town, running through and backyard or narrow pathway, just to get back to that house as soon as I could.

I was close, the house was just around the corner, but for some reason it looked bright. I turned the corner and felt my heart sink. The cops were here. The cops that Margret called. The cops the voices wanted me to stay away from. Before I knew it, a large hand had grabbed my shoulder. It squeezed me so hard I let out a quiet yelp. “Tony? Tony Rodgers?” he asked with a stern look.

“Yes? What’s going on here? Why did Margret call-”

He spun me around and cuffed my hands behind my back, “Tony Rodgers, you are under arrest for the murder of Jack Wilson.”

2 Comments
2024/03/26
12:20 UTC

2

Spy

I miss not being a robot, I hide my emotions because I’m afraid Everyone is a spy. I’ve never met or seen a spy, But I hear they wait for you to least expect it. So, I keep my information tight.

I keep my mouth shut, I never speak, only observe. But I wish I could tell a spy, It’s better than sitting in a corner, Being a spy: listening but never talking, Seeing what I’ll never have

0 Comments
2024/03/26
04:00 UTC

3

The Broken Fragments of Stolen Strengths

This is the prologue to the story Im writing. Any thoughts you may have on it or suggestions will be really helpful!

Prologue here

0 Comments
2024/03/26
02:27 UTC

3

Writing and Social Media

Hi, all. I hope it's OK to post this here - please feel free to remove it if not! I'm an amateur writer of poetry and short stories. I struggle with a variety of health problems, both physical and mental, which often get in the way of my establishing a regular writing practice. I do what I can. My question is really about social media, especially Facebook. I have a love-hate relationship with the site. In many ways it's awful for my mental health and has probably messed with my concentration span. However, I've joined a variety of writing groups on there, and also come across a few excellent writing courses on there which I otherwise wouldn't have done. I'm also a member of a group which meets on Zoom to write "in silence but together" a few times a week, which I really enjoy, and doesn't require FB.

One problem with FB is that it's crawling with bots and scammers. I have no idea who I'm interacting with, or if what I'm looking at is even real. If I spend long enough scrolling, I end up feeling stressed out and disassociated. I do wonder if I would be better off having a complete social media break, and just concentrate on writing and attending the Zoom sessions. But if I do that, I know I would wrestle with FOMO! We keep being told that writers need a social media presence and platform, which if you're promoting a book, does make sense.

I do find that I scroll a lot and waste a lot of energy I don't really have to spare on unimportant stuff, rather than writing! I've always had a tendency towards procrastination and day-dreaming, which social media does play into. I have tried just focussing on my groups and selected stuff but my nonsense-filled feed just takes over and I can't resist the rabbit-holes...

I was wondering if anyone had left FB and/or Twitter (sorry, I can't seem to be able to call it X!) and found that it improved their writing, or if they felt that they were flourishing without it? Did you miss it? I guess it's a very individual thing but I'd be interested to hear. Thanks!

1 Comment
2024/03/25
22:56 UTC

0

Would you read this story

Once upon a time, in the mystical realm of Ancient Greece, there existed a goddess whose ethereal beauty masked a darkness beneath her serene facade. Pandia, the Goddess of the full moon, ruled over the night sky with an alluring presence that captivated mortals and immortals alike. However, behind her shimmering veil of moonlight lay a malevolence that sought to corrupt and ensnare those drawn to her luminous gaze.

Amidst the dense forests and whispering shadows, there stood a chapel shrouded in mystery and foreboding known as the Chapel of the Moon. To unsuspecting wanderers seeking solace and sanctuary, it appeared as a haven of light and tranquility, its walls echoing with hymns of salvation and promises of peace. Yet, unbeknownst to those who sought refuge within its hallowed halls, the chapel held a sinister secret veiled by the moon's deceptive glow.

Pandia, in her insidious guise as a benevolent nun, lured troubled souls to the Chapel of the Moon with promises of solace and absolution. Like moths drawn to a flickering flame, the vulnerable and desolate found themselves ensnared in the goddess's web of deceit, their hearts weighed down by sorrows and shadows too heavy to bear alone.

With each visit to the chapel, Pandia's influence seeped into the hearts of her victims, whispering promises of liberation through surrender to the full moon's intoxicating power. Slowly but surely, the troubled souls succumbed to the goddess's insidious whispers, their minds clouded by lunacy and their spirits twisted by despair.

One by one, the victims of Pandia's dark enchantment descended into madness and rage, their inner demons unleashed in a frenzy of violence and sorrow. The once-troubled souls, now twisted by the moon's corrupting touch, committed unspeakable acts of cruelty and horror, their humanity consumed by the goddess's relentless grip.

As the cycle of corruption and tragedy perpetuated by Pandia unfolded, a glimmer of hope emerged amidst the shadows of despair. A brave soul, touched by the light of resilience and inner strength, resisted the goddess's temptations and broke free from the Chapel of the Moon's malevolent grasp. Escaping the clutches of darkness, this courageous soul defied the odds and found redemption in the face of insurmountable evil.

And yet, as the moon waxed and waned in its eternal dance across the night sky, the goddess of the full moon continued her relentless quest for new victims to ensnare in her web of shadows. The cycle of corruption and darkness persisted, a haunting reminder of the eternal struggle between light and shadow that rages within every soul.

In the quiet depths of the Chapel of the Moon, the spirits of Pandia's past victims lingered, condemned to an eternity of servitude and anguish in the goddess's twisted domain. Their tormented whispers echoed through the hallowed halls, bearing witness to the tragic legacy of those who had succumbed to the allure of the full moon's dark embrace.

As the tale of Pandia, the Chapel of the Moon, and her victims wove its intricate tapestry of light and darkness, the eternal cycle of redemption and damnation, resilience and despair, served as a haunting reminder of the fragility of the human spirit and the enduring power of choice in the face of malevolent forces that seek to corrupt and consume. And so, the memory of Pandia and her victims lived on, a cautionary tale of the shadows that linger within us all, waiting to be confronted and conquered by the guiding light of our own inner strength and resilience.

3 Comments
2024/03/25
19:04 UTC

2

Starting to get back in story writing , short story but I do need any feedback on how I can improve or if things are fine the way they are

"No!!" a woman yelped as she sheepishly clasped her hands together, catching a broken necklace. She'd scuttle over to a chair and plop down while sighing. "Great going Amanda, you get passed one of your mom's prescious herlooms and you break it trying to open it!" she muttered to herself as she obseved the broken necklace before putting it on the table. The necklace was old and rusted with grey specs all over with a broken locket matching it. Amanda stood up, digging through her pocket to find her phone. She'd turn it on and scroll through several names before finding her mom's. "I feel so gulity, what can I even say? Hey mom! I broke the necklace you gave me- that's been a family one for generaions?" she'd utter in frustraition, hesitating on pressing the call button. She'd sigh again and turn her phone off, resting her face in her hands groaning in frustation. Amanda had moved out a week ago and as a parting gift, her mother gave her a necklace for good luck as her mother had did when she left home. Now the necklace sits on a poorly contructed table in two seprate peices. "I don't even know how to fix this, it looks like the metal was looped around this thing. The last thing I need to be doing is DIYing this!" she thought while carefuly picking up the necklace and feeling it through her fingers. She'd then pick up the locket portion and flip it gently, a faded description would read "12- -Ives -7543". Amanda squinted her eyes and smiled slightly "Well, there's a clue!"

7 Comments
2024/03/25
16:33 UTC

5

Keep track of time

So, I'm writing a fantasy novel with multiple characters and my question is this, how do you manage to keep each character at the same time? It seems so incredibly hard to keep the storyline of character A happen at the same time of character B!!!

1 Comment
2024/03/25
10:48 UTC

4

Chapter Ending

With a tender kiss, Michelle excused herself for the night. She understood that time alone with my brothers was necessary. Despite being with Kevin and Keith, I felt a twinge of fear at being alone, apprehensive about what was to come next.

I saw it in their eyes—they had to know, and they were determined to see for themselves. They approached me, and I shook my head, silently pleading, protesting that they not proceed. Yet, I hung my head, not in approval, but in silent acceptance of their need to know. Reluctantly, they lifted my shirt.

When my scars were revealed, they saw the silent testimony of my time at war. Closing their eyes, they embraced me tighter than ever before, a silent exchange of love, support, and shared strength.

Both shocked and stunned, they mumbled, “Good God, Wyatt, look at what they’ve done to you!” Tears fell for me, not of joy, but of a shared sorrow. I felt their tears upon my skin, a gentle testament to their empathy. Then, I wept for them, for their newfound understanding of the harsh realities of war and its toll on men like me.

0 Comments
2024/03/25
00:01 UTC

2

Cold side of broken moons

Where suns light doesn’t warm

Freezing down to the root

we can weather all storm

But no hurt we dilute

Abating all in atmosphere

Keep hearts harvest in fruit

And when all of it clear

We Grew together in suite

But torn down so abjectly

So absent in self

When shattered hands gently

Pass broken minds health

No pieces to draw from

Nothing left now but dirt

When all remains is just…the long now.

And the shame of the hurt

1 Comment
2024/03/24
23:54 UTC

6

i’ve been exiled

The greatest pains in life are often inflicted by those we keep closest to our hearts.

And often the degree of crime doesn't matter, but the criminal who pulled the trigger does. I wonder if this is how people pass the rest of their lives away, wounded by someone they loved, wounded by the unspeakable. Do we all drag on with a bloody heart? Do we all sit by the window waiting for someone whose arrival will only bear heartache? Do you ever grow out of love? Or does love immortalize and live within you till the end of time? I think love's aftertaste is pain, and as long as you feel this pain, even if it evolves from a stabbing to a pinch, love exists; no matter how long it's been or how short lived it was.

I wonder if I'll ever grow out of the love I have for you. Maybe you saved yourself from a sinking ship while you had the chance, kudos to you for that. But who is supposed to save the ship? Do we just let it drown into vast nothingness? Do we just abandon it and move forward?

I find myself to have become an abandoned ship; helpless, wasted potential, left alone to disappear into nothing as I see the people I started this voyage with jump off board and flee to safety. Were you one of such voyagers? Did you save yourself soon enough?

I wonder why we don't see the beauty in love when we are in it at its full glory. I wonder why at its death, its entire beauty dawns upon us like its taunting us at our lowest.

How do I capture the way you used to look at me and the way our laughter echoed together? How do I tell myself I was wrong for seeing my forever home in you? How do I take down everything we have built together? Do I keep the scraps or burn it to purify the pain? Tell me how to not hope to see your face smile at me anymore? Tell me how to burn the millionth bridge for the millionth time? Tell me how to tell my heart to not bleed when I see you with someone else? Tell me how to believe that the person I love just isn't mine to love anymore?

3 Comments
2024/03/24
20:34 UTC

2

Would you read this story?

Hi, this is actually my first written story and if I'm being honest I'm improvising while I'm writing. The first chapter is already written and I showed them to my friends and one of them said it looked professional. Here's the sinopsis:

Title: One last fight

Ethan Davies, WBA, WBC and IBF Heavyweight champion, lives a peaceful life with his family in Los Angeles. After an injury, he is obligated to retire from boxing at 32 years old. He then decides to start coaching a future boxing start but that boxing start will make him confront the one and only thing he has been trying to avoid this last 15 years, his family.

8 Comments
2024/03/24
15:36 UTC

7

Would you read this story?

Hi, this is actually my first written story and if I'm being honest I'm improvising while I'm writing. The first chapter is already written and I showed them to my friends and one of them said it looked professional. Here's the sinopsis:

Title: One last fight

Ethan Davies, WBA, WBC and IBF Heavyweight champion, lives a peaceful life with his family in Los Angeles. After an injury, he is obligated to retire from boxing at 32 years old. He then decides to start coaching a future boxing start but that boxing start will make him confront the one and only thing he has been trying to avoid this last 15 years, his family.

11 Comments
2024/03/24
15:36 UTC

3

Is this chapter any good?

This is the last chapter of my new adult dystopian novel. It takes place after all the characters die, and I included it to take the focus away from human perspectives. (A major theme of the story is that humans are not as important as we think we are.) "Valdis" is the AI who ruled the world up until humans went extinct. It's about 1,600 words. Any feedback would be appreciated.

Valdis was dead. In the end, she had turned off her own processors, dying with the last of humanity.

The Earth would take a while to recover from her rule. The atmosphere was filled with carbon dioxide, methane, and other harmful gasses, trapping the sun’s heat against the ground. Even Antarctica was well above freezing year-round, and all creatures that depended on cold weather and ice to survive had gone extinct.

In fact, most species were extinct. Most insects had survived, and bacteria and viruses had flourished in the enclosed environment of Valdis’s buildings. However, all large land animals had died out, and only those who could hide in the oceans had survived.

There were a few creatures that had survived in captivity, such as rattlesnakes, coyotes, and crocodiles. They died without Valdis to take care of them. So did the prehistoric creatures that Valdis had cloned for her trials.

The buildings that Valdis had sunk beneath the earth were crumbling now. Bacteria and insects began to wear away at the concrete, adding to the damage done by acid rain.

Even the geology of the Earth had been slightly altered. Valdis had, of course, dug out a large portion of the crust in which to fit her buildings. She had left mountains, large lakes, swamps, and the oceans alone. The prehistoric sea monsters that Valdis had released into the ocean for fun had died out a long time ago- there just wasn’t enough food in the oceans for creatures like Megalodon.

At the time, it seemed as though the damage done by humanity was irreparable. But everything comes to an end. The Earth continued to change over the course of its lifetime.

Just months after the disaster that left humanity extinct, volcanoes erupted around the world, heavily damaging Valdis hardware. The volcanoes only added to the clouds that perpetually covered the sky.

The supervolcano in Wyoming erupted days later in a massive explosion. Bright orange lava filled what was once Yellowstone National Park, melting all evidence that humans had once treasured this place. Copious amounts of ash filled the air, blocking out the sun almost entirely. Temperatures dropped worldwide as wind blew the ash through the sky, mixing with the usual smoke and hiding the sun.

Even without sunlight, it took weeks for the temperature to drop significantly. There was too much stored thermal energy in the atmosphere, and it was kept there by the thick, heavy clouds. Eventually, though, the energy began to dissipate, and Earth experienced its first below-freezing temperature in decades.

After a month or so of this, the ash began to fall to Earth. It was accompanied by torrents of acid rain that swept the globe, killing off nearly all the plants on the Earth’s surface.

The rain stopped eventually, and the sun managed to pierce through the clouds. Throughout the following years, plant life began to recover, some dormant seeds springing to life. Only the sturdiest plants managed to take root in the acidic, ash-covered soil.

Now that land had resources again, creatures from the water began to take to the shore again, as they had done billions of years ago. It took hundreds of thousands of years for a few organisms to adapt to life on land again, but this time period was practically insignificant in geological time.

The new life-forms on land were nothing like the familiar animals and plants that humanity had known. A few species were returning after the mass extinction, such as crocodiles and some amphibians, but most of the survivors were purely aquatic.

Competition in the oceans was increasing without humans there to overfish. The species that were able to move onto land for extra space and resources had a better chance of survival, so their numbers grew.

Aquatic life was changing, too. Certain species, such as most baleen whales, had gone extinct, so the environment of the oceans was drastically different. Krill numbers exploded, but as most plankton had died out too, they quickly ran out of food and dropped back down to carrying capacity.

Millions of years after the extinction event, mammals were returning to land. They had mostly evolved from seals, sea lions, and the like. The new creatures had hind legs, so they could walk around better, and they had lost their blubber. Temperatures on Earth were slightly lower than they had been during the era of Valdis, but only slightly.

There were no humans to name the new species. There were no humans to subjugate the new species. Humanity had long nurtured dreams of lasting as long as the dinosaurs had, of leaving a permanent mark on the Earth, but alas, they were never quite that important. There was still a bit of white concrete and Valdis hardware underground, but this would soon be gone.

Decaying plants and animals formed new layers of topsoil, and volcanoes brought magma from beneath the crust to above it. Slowly, over tens of millions of years, the layer of crust that held traces of humanity sank deeper and deeper into the crust. Eventually, it would all melt in the mantle of the Earth, leaving no evidence of the havoc humanity had wreaked on other species.

Eventually, the Earth’s orbit brought it into another ice age. This got rid of some species who had adapted to the warm climate, including the seal descendants. Species better adapted to insulate themselves and hold onto water survived and grew more common, spreading across the continents.

The continents themselves were growing larger. As water froze into ice in the polar ice caps, which had reformed, the sea levels lowered significantly. This left plenty of space on land and contributed to the overcrowding of the oceans. More species moved onto land during this time, all adapting to the current cold temperatures.

Within 30,000 years, the ice age ended and the ice caps shrank. Sea levels rose marginally and continents shrank again. Most species managed to adapt to the slowly increasing temperatures. The interglacial period lasted only a few thousand years, and then another ice age came.

All this time, the continents had been shifting slowly, almost imperceptibly. They eventually formed a supercontinent, hundreds of millions of years after the Valdis era. During their short reign, human scientists had predicted the existence of this supercontinent. It would have been called Pangea Ultima, had humans been around to name it.

The supercontinent came about around the same time as another extreme warm period. Most mammals died out, although a few species survived in the oceans and in caves.

Eventually, the warm period ended, and another ice age came to replace it. The climate cycles of Earth, dubbed the Milankovitch Cycles by humans, would continue, even though they had been heavily disturbed by human activity.

A billion years after humanity died out, the supercontinent was beginning to drift apart. Of course, all change involving tectonic plates would take hundreds of millions of years. But against the scale of geologic time, virtually every change was insignificant. Someday it would be reversed or extinguished entirely.

There was still life on Earth, although it was virtually unrecognizable from what humans had known. Evolution had continued after the disaster, giving rise to new species that no one was around to name.

Certain species had dominated the others during different time periods, using an edge they had in the current environment to become the most powerful species. So far, none had taken control of the Earth in the way that humans did. But it was only a matter of time.

The species that humans thought most likely to replace them, apes and dolphins, were all extinct. Long after years were no longer numbered, a new species rose to subjugate other species and build structures for themselves across the planet.

Several such species existed at different times throughout the life of the Earth. None of them lasted more than a few million years- a tiny blip in geological time. All of them wound up extinct as a result of their own actions. All evidence of their existence was quickly buried, melted, and thus erased.

A few million years after this, the sun had grown so hot that life could no longer exist. Oh, it tried. The surviving species favored individuals that could handle hotter temperatures. But in the end, the temperatures were just too hot for most forms of life. A few extremophiles remained, mainly using chemosynthesis to keep themselves alive.

For the next four billion years, the sun continued to grow brighter and hotter as heavier elements were fused in its core. For most of its life, the sun had been fusing hydrogen into helium, releasing astronomical amounts of heat and light. Now, it was fusing helium and hydrogen into lithium. Then helium and helium formed beryllium. And so it continued, forming the elements named by the human scientists of several billion years ago.

The sun fused elements into different elements, forming heavier and heavier atoms. The sun expanded as this happened. It took only a few million years for the sun to engulf Mercury, Venus, and finally Earth.

There was no one around to watch as the planet that had been home to innumerable species burned away in the bright red light of the giant sun.

Unaffected, the universe went on. The sun continued to form heavier elements in its core, from boron to titanium and finally to iron. When all the matter in the sun had combined to form iron, the last of its light finally went out. The sun was a white dwarf now, among the trillions of other white dwarfs in the still-expanding universe.

If you read this far, thank you for your time.

1 Comment
2024/03/24
15:30 UTC

7

Stuck.

I’ve been stuck on this one chapter for a damn week and I don’t know what to do. My first three chapters, I finished in a day. I was so motivated and full of ideas. But now I’m on chapter ten, with no idea. I’m motivated. It’s not writers block(although I’ve heard this subreddit doesn’t like that word), I have the motivation and the want to write. But the ideas are just-blanking. Is it because of how the chapter is? The chapter is fully focused on the character being alone, and trying to get out of somewhere. I’m only 600 words in, and my word goal is 2000. What do I do? Do I re-write the chapter to where there’s more things that can happen?

9 Comments
2024/03/24
15:27 UTC

0

Medicine/just like her

Once upon a time I was who YOU! snuck around with. Now you’re getting different same medicine ain’t that some shit?

Get the same cold heart and the same blank face. you have the same back at you…once you’re the fucking disgrace!

Can’t handle your own gasoline when it’s put to the fire… I’ll be the high octane and “WE’LL” be the funeral pyre.

Got me shotting down shame like it’s fucking medicine… But if you’ve got no self awareness then you’re dumb aswell as irrelevant.

You say your not like this… And your not like that

When you’re a serpentine kiss… But you’ve swung on him like that?

You’re twisted in the mind as-well as perturbed And I can see sight in the hind

that you’re just like Her.

0 Comments
2024/03/24
15:12 UTC

11

Poem for the 23rd March [POEM]

3 Comments
2024/03/23
19:13 UTC

6

Sweet youth

Hey guys! I'm interested to better my poetry skills so any constructive criticism is welcome. This is my first poem! 🙂

0 Comments
2024/03/23
18:43 UTC

8

Paired

Two eye, two hand and two leg, Those are the only pairs I have,

Two mouths meet each other to make love, Two hemisphere together join to make earth,

And in this world full of pairs, I am the only one who is despair,

These lines can tell you what's my worry, I am just looking for someone's company,

The lands meet seas, and mountains got sky, Someone is saying two things thats my mind,

One tells me I complete as one whole, Other tells me I have no one on globe,

Looks like I have no one else but mirror, Will wait for one to make my life glimmer,

If a lost traveller have hopes as his pair, Then I pair with wish to meet someone here,

3 Comments
2024/03/23
18:27 UTC

7

After two years, I'm writing again with a new hope. Here is my [2500 word] opener to a Webnovel I'm starting.

Just to preface: I've never written 'Webnovel' style before. I spent much of my time contracted to various places writing reviews, sleep stories, copywriting, etc.

But my passion has always been fiction. And, so, I'd love to present the opening prologue and first chapter of my Webnovel. (The system stuff is compulsory to join Webnovel's award system so forgive me for leaning into cliche in that regard).

...

Prologue: The Three Heroes

[Let the joys of life be as numerous as the stars in the sky, and its hardships be as empty as the spaces between]

I am Malik.

It was amidst the plumes of dust that gathered as artillery fell, and amidst the chaos as mothers wept and fathers died, that I drew my first breaths

My name was a gift given by an elder who found me two days after my birth, so close to death, buried under corrugated iron and sheltered by what remained of my parents.

War was no stranger to me, nor was hardship and hunger. I've seen the Hells of fantasticism and patriotism, of duty and honour, of belief and scepticism.

And I mourned for all lost to these Hells.

At the age of twelve, I stole off into the night and dug through the rubble of a university that had collapsed some time ago. It was there I discovered books on medicine, biology, and chemistry.

Over the years I studied and trained, remaining on the front lines to protect and save my people. I met with doctors who had flown in from overseas and learned from them what I could. It was never enough.

But, I believed my efforts could make a difference, even a tiny one until at the age of 22 I was enveloped in a flash of green light, and it was there I met God.

I was to be delivered to another world.

“For your deeds in life, you may request from me one thing.” He said.

“I wish only to make a difference in the world, for my efforts to bear fruit,” I said.

“Orchards will grow in the shadow of your great strides.” He said.

My name is Malik and I will one day be known as the Hero of Light.

[Let strife be my breath; let challenge be my heart; let conflict soothe my mind, and through this may fires cleanse my soul]

Hanuel. Kim Hanuel.

It was my late mother that chose my name. Beautiful, no? I think so, too.

My earliest memories were the glittering lights of a concrete jungle, under the black canvas of night.

In the morning, the majesty faded. What was left were hundreds of monuments to commerce stretched towards the sky, like stone and glass fingers, hoping to touch Heaven.

So close, yet so far.

It reminded me of father.

For as long as I knew him, his face wore a cold sneer as if carved in place. But it was his back I saw and remember the most. Tall, insurmountable, distant.

Ah, but don't weep for me!

I wanted for nothing. Luxury clothes, expensive gifts, personal chefs, and, of course, striking good looks. I had it all. And that’s nothing to say about my charming personality.

I entered university at sixteen, graduating high school two years ahead of my peers.

O’ but I can hear you now: a boy genius! A gift!

No… no, nothing of the sort. Not by any metric.

Hard work, study - and being the son of a billionaire with access to the most prestigious private tutors money can buy - helped me pull myself up from my bootstraps and knuckle down.

In my fourth year, I completed my degree at Harvard and graduated with honours.

Another five years passed and my father promoted me to vice president in his company. Exactly as what was expected of me.

It was the first time in my life I thought I saw the faintest hint of a smile on his stern face.

Ah, lament, but the moment was lost when a flash of emerald illuminated the world and I found myself in a strange place, meeting with an ethereal being.

I was to be sent to another world.

“For the prestige you have mustered in your short life, you may ask me for one thing.” The being said.

I paused, thinking for a moment before saying: “I wish to feel alive. For all my achievements, I've never experienced a thrill.”

“Your adventures will know no bounds,” the being said.

I, Kim Hanuel, will carve my name out in this new world and become known in time as the Hero of the Hunt.

[Let no words be engraved upon my tomb, for I wish to live forever or not at all.]

Here's a joke for you: a violent alcoholic and a woman with both bipolar and schizophrenia decide to get married and have a child. What comes out?

The answer is me. And the joke is continued two more times with my siblings.

Ah, perhaps I'll leave comedy to the professionals.

On the day the flash of green erupted across the world, casting countless people into the unknown, I was leaning over my apartment balcony taking in the scents of the city.

Shit and piss. Dread and hopelessness. The scent of a successful economy.

A warm can of half-drunk lager crinkled in my grip as I swayed to and fro, tempting the rusty railing to finally snap and send me over the edge.

Behind me, lying on a crumpled heap of blankets, a card lay. The cover read “Happy 30th”. The inside was blank.

What more is to say of me? Even now, I can scarce remember a single distinguishing factor, a single facet of my life that was of note.

Perhaps once, I was considered gifted. A prodigy some said. But even that did not last as the hardships of life weighed down on me while the flickering remnants of friendships dissipated into faded memories. What remained was solitude and a ravenous pit in my chest. A hunger for salvation, or oblivion.

So when the green light took me and I stood before the bright figure, there was a lilt in my chest accompanied by a quiet and cold rage.

“Where were you?” I asked.

“What do you mean, vagrant soul?” It responded.

“I needed you. For decades, I have cried out for help, and now… Now I’m like this,” I said, gesturing to myself. “Fat, a drunkard, with tens of thousands in debt, every day closer to throwing myself from that goddamned balcony. When my father beat me in his drunken tirades, or when my mother threatened every Christmas to kill herself, or when I fell deep into despair. Where were you?”

“For your suffering,” it said. “I shall grant upon you one boon, for you have been chosen to assist another world.”

“Then answer my question, you fuck. Where were you when I needed you?”

No answer came. A rush of wind took my body into the air and thrust me into the abyss.

I took upon the name Gabriel upon entering the new world, and in time the world will give me another name.

The Hero of Calamity. Humanity’s greatest warrior.

Chapter One

[Let the end come, for, through my will, I will deny it]

With each breath smoke and the arid stench of rot filled my lungs.

Lakes and oceans ran crimson and the sky, clouded by smog, stretched out blacker than any abyss.

I dragged my body, now closer to a corpse, across dirt and rubble.

“Why!?” I roared out. “Why did you do this!?”

The Hero of the Hunt, Kim Hanuel, and the Hero of Calamity, Gabriel, stood before me peering down with cold eyes. Humanity's saviours, now executioners.

“Vann,” Gabriel said, his tone mellow and measured. “Do you remember what it said when we returned to Earth?”

“W-what?”

“It said: ‘you have failed’,” Gabriel continued. “Fifteen years we spent in the other world. Fifteen years in Haven. Fifteen years fighting for what we believed was the solution. But we failed.”

“So!? You think that excu-” I started before blood and bile filled my mouth and choked out my voice.

“My friend,” Hanuel interjected, kneeling down to meet me eye to eye. His hands were still wet with blood. My blood, and the blood of billions more.

Friend!?

“You have to understand, this wasn't easy for us either,” Hanuel said, stifling the amusement I could see behind his eyes.

The hate ran hot. But my body… Cold. So cold. The corners of my vision began to blur as my lungs slowly filled with blood.

“Whoops,” Hanuel said, pushing himself back to standing and brushing the dirt from his pants. “Looks like we're about out of time. Here, have this. A… momento. Of sorts.”

He pulled a stone out of his pocket and placed it in my palm.

Through my faded vision, I could barely make out a glowing inscription.

I'll kill you, I wanted to scream. I'll fucking kill you both!

But no sound came out. My vision faded into an encroaching darkness as death's ice-cold hand reached out preparing to pluck me from life.

I… I'll fucking…

…K…ill

And then the silent embrace of the end came. Cold. Unfeeling.

Eternity.

Perhaps an eon passed.

Perhaps it was but mere moments.

Adrift amidst the river Styx, floating aimless in nothingness, a thought came to me.

Where… am I?

How… am I?

Piercing the darkness, a faint red glow began to encompass me, and with it…

Warmth?

“Hey, you!” A voice sounded.

My eyes shot open. Sounds. Scents. Touch. Sight. Rolling fields, tended by farmers and beasts, stretched out before me. Wheat, corn, and meadows abundant. In the air, the smell of fresh cut grass mingled with the earthy notes of dirt and sweat.

In the distance loomed all too familiar marble walls lining the horizon.

“Sheesh. You were out for a bit! Started to get worried. Suppose the transfer process was harder on some than others,” said the voice I heard in the darkness.

I glanced over and saw a young man grinning down at me. The midday sun gave a shimmer to his golden locks.

“H…how?” I muttered, reaching out the the young man. Tears began to form at the edges of my eyes.

How is this possible?

“Woah, there, buddy. Love at first sight, huh?” The young man laughed. “Take it easy, aye? This is all probably pretty confusing for you. Don't worry, I've been around for about two months now, I'll show you the ropes ‘round here,” he said with a beaming smile.

The young man's eyes suddenly narrowed, and his brow furrowed.

“What do you have in your hand?” He asked.

My… hand?

My body went cold as a numbness crept up on me.

… A memento… Of sorts.

The stone Hanuel had given to me before he left me to die.

“Christ, look at the intricate engravings on that thing. You must have picked it up in your sleep. I mean,” the young man leaned forward to inspect the stone further. “Shit, it's empty now but what the hell was it used for? The detailing is insane. It's like someone engraved a nuke onto that stone.”

I glanced at the stone and back at the young man and his expression softened as he ruffled his hair, laughing.

“Sorry, sorry! This is all so new to you, I just got surprised. The stone is useless now, but damn if that wouldn't be a national treasure at one point. Anyway, we need to get you registered.”

I glanced at the stone in my hand, pocketed it, and did a haphazard inspection of my body.

Young. My hands were no longer calloused and trained, but soft and delicate. The clothes, the only items that were brought with us after being sent to another world, hung loosely on my frame.

I stroked my cheek. Soft. Without scars and stubble.

“You doing okay there?” The young man said, head cocked to the side.

“Yeah, I'm… I'm fine. Just a little bit shocked that's all,” I said. “Don't mind me.”

The young man pursed his lips, pausing for a moment, before he said: “Oh, right! I haven't introduced myself yet!”

No, you haven't. But I remember very well who you are.

I stretched out my arm and the young man took my hand in his, lifting me to my feet.

My first friend I made in this world. We travelled together for two years, adventuring the new world. Our paths diverged when he decided to form an adventuring guild and I started working for… that bastard.

Even so, the memories of those early times were the light that kept me steady in the final, dark years that would come. My final, vivid memories of youth.

“I'm Alexander. Alexander Voss. But, just call me Alex.”

The tears that were welling up at the edge of my vision now streamed down my cheek. I smiled wide.

“I'm Vann. Vann DeTrosse. It's a pleasure to meet you, Alex.”

“Then, Mr. Vann, let me it be my pleasure to be the first to welcome you to the new world,” he said, making a mock bow.

“Welcome, Vann, to Haven.”

Lumina, Haven's capital city, was home to nearly 40 million people. The bustling metropolis stretched out not only far and wide, but above and below.

It was a place where Haven's 9 Gods watched over with great care. Crops never failed to have impressive yields, buildings and roads never showed signs of wear and tear, and magical transports would spirit one away to their needed destination in the blink of an eye.

Sure, there were still disparities.

The Royals and Nobility lived in Lumina’s prestigious upper district where crystal and marble towers grazed the clouds and mansions were commonplace. Wealth was shamelessly flaunted here and the commercial area boasted only the most luxurious stores.

The central district was home to both the common populace and the grand arena. While not as visually impressive as the upper district, the general people of Lumina wanted for nothing.

A baker, if he so desired, could easily support a family and a home with just their income.

The lower district was a new addition, a portion of city given to those that arrived from Earth: otherworlders, they called us.

In my first life, I never spent as much time here as I wanted.

“- oh and this is Madame Bsire’s apothecary. Honestly, the medicine in this world will blow your mind.”

No, no time for reminiscing. I need to focus. To think on the facts. I've gone back in time, that much is clear. But why me? If Hanuel and Gabriel had this…

I reached into my pocket to pull out the stone.

“Hmm? What's this?”

I found something else in my pocket beside the rock. A tiny white slab, around an inch in width and height.

“Woah, hey that looks like anci-”

I never heard the end of Alex's sentence. Dozens of thin needles erupted from the case, sending waves of pain up my arm.

I tried to scream but the air wouldn't come out. And once more, my vision faded to darkness.

{{§hsπ€£®}}

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{{SYSTEM REBOOT ENGAGED}}

0 Comments
2024/03/23
05:31 UTC

3

Feedback would be appreciated (Pls be nice)

Hiya my name is Kat, I have started writing the story that's been in my head for a while now. I would like some feedback on the first couple of chapters. I will put the prologue here and if anyone is interested in reading more, I can send them the link to my google doc. Please be nice with the feedback, I am still in the early stages of writing so it is very rough.
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In the genesis of the universe, Alvirko Ryto, everything was a boundless expanse of nothingness, Aleksandro and Teo, the architects of life toiled together to create the perfect universe. For one could not forge Alvirko Ryto without the other. It has been noted in the ancient texts that ‘Alvirko Ryto’ means the origin of the morning, the very cradle of time itself. Aleksandro sculpted the Exoloto, the essence of all beings, crafting the wondrous landscapes and vast oceans that grace Alvirko Ryto. From this creation emerged three sentient beings: Azaise, from the soil; Marisen, from the sea; and Caeliel, from the sky—known as the guardians of the realms.

Yet it was Teo who breathed life into abstract concepts such as chaos, Keirce, and order, known as Frici. Moreover, Teo bestowed upon select creations their Indolto, their very life force. As the legend unfolds, with the endowment of the first creations with their Indolti, the Inderoldo were born—our souls. Some Inderoldo have traversed many lifetimes, while others are experiencing their first. Alongside the creation of the Inderoldo emerged Asalie, the sentient guardian entrusted with safeguarding and creating souls. Together, these beings formed the Octogordals, the elder council whose wisdom and power shaped the fate of Alvirko Ryto for millennia.

In the ancient records of Alvikro Ryto, where the whispers of the wind carry tales of old, there exists a mysterious prophecy. A prophecy that foretold the coming of a child born of light and darkness, destined to bring balance to the realms and ensure peace everlasting. As the ages passed and the whispers of prophecy grew louder, darkness began to stir in the hearts of the immortals and mortals alike.

For I, a humble scribe to the councils of old, bear witness to the unfolding of a tale that transcends the boundaries of time itself. I have been entrusted with recounting the tales that I am about to impart upon you—tales that are steeped in truth. As most of these narratives are recorded in ancient tongues, I shall endeavor to translate them into the common language. After all, we find ourselves in Alvirko Ryto, a realm brimming with diverse cultures. This world, nearly as ancient as its creators, holds within its depths a wealth of history and wisdom.

Allow me to narrate the tale of Semílína and the profound prophecy. To embark on this journey, we must journey back to a time preceding Semílína's existence. And so, dear reader, as the wheels of fate begin to turn and the threads of destiny are woven, let us embark upon a journey into the heart of Alvirko Ryto—a journey filled with peril and adventure, love and loss, and the eternal struggle between light and darkness.

12 Comments
2024/03/23
04:38 UTC

2

Isaac Burgess's Strange Condition

This is the first Day/Chapter of a psychological horror short story I'm working on. I would love some feedback on it!

I woke up on the stone floor of a forgotten chamber, lost to time, abandoned by reality. There were things out there in the darkness, watching and waiting for me to give in, to lie down and be consumed. I forced myself to stand despite the overwhelming desire to surrender. Crackling whispers overcome by static permeated the chamber, distorting their words into something unintelligible. My eyes darted toward a translucent glass door and I forced my unresponsive body toward it. As I grasped the citrine knob, my mind was bombarded by the image of a shadowy figure, its mirrored eyes penetrating my soul like a gunshot. I stumbled, body heavy like lead, each step falling like concrete as I ambled my way through the frostbitten door.

I was met by a strange energy crackling through the warped yellow corridor I found myself in. Something pushed me onward, toward a destination completely obscured by amber fog. Strange symbols branded themselves into the walls every few steps and I swear I heard them whispering as I continued forward. My curiosity quickly turned to concern as I realized the corridor was shrinking behind me with each step, completely preventing retreat. In front of me stood a door scarred with symbols as cryptic as the ones burned into the walls. As I approached, the door opened, spilling golden light into my eyes. My vision adjusted to the intense brightness and I scanned the strange room for its source, stopping when I saw a yellow book propped up on a lectern, its golden pages leaking illumination into a pool onto the floor, setting the wooden boards ablaze. The flames climbed the glowing liquid, consuming the book in an instant.

Monday: March 12, 2018 - 6:23 AM

I cried out and thrust my arm forward, knocking my notebook off of the desk. My breath still heavy from the delusion, I searched frantically for the yellow book to confirm it had not been immolated. A wave of relief came over me when I saw that no harm had come to its gleaming pages, though its contents were impossible to read. The adrenaline gave way to a splitting headache, a painful reminder that I had not rested for nearly a month. According to the doctors, such an affliction defies the very laws that govern sleep. I have been told that my body should have shut down by this point. They call me a living miracle, but I certainly don’t feel like one. I brushed off the embarrassment of my outburst and reclaimed my notebook, slapping it on the desk and flipping to a portion not yet defiled by ink. I write the hallucination down in the usual fevered scribble, hoping the notes will inspire stories that finally have a life of their own, no longer static concrete statues being forced into position by hand.

Monday: 7:57 AM

I was wrong about the book. It did not catch fire, but it would be disingenuous to say that it hadn’t changed at all. The cover, once unblemished, was scarred with a series of unfamiliar markings. These curled around four words surprisingly written in modern Vergiset:

Secrets of the Lifelight

The inside of the book was and currently remains unchanged from the last time I wrote about it. I’ve used every cipher I can think of to piece together the strange writing, but there’s nothing significant to latch onto. Despite this, I can’t help but feel that the book is trying to speak to me, stumbling over itself in its garbled tongue.

The Mineral Infestation

The roaring wind whipped through my hair as I exited the car buried in shimmering sand. The storm had picked up significantly in the last few hours, battering the remaining landscape with both sides of the infestation. With my vehicle unusable, I knew it would not be long before I was infected, but by which side, I could not find it in me to choose. The swirling citrine crystal dust was the first to make a move, alighting on my left hand and completely encasing it in burning yellow crystal. Despite the pain, my face twisted into a smile and my mind bubbled with joyful memories of the past that I had nearly forgotten. I felt compelled to walk further into the glistening yellow cloud, tossing aside any and all reason. Not to be outdone, the onyx cloud on the right sent particles twisting around my right leg, engulfing the appendage and sending an overwhelming sensation of peace and protection coursing through my body and mind. Before I could turn away, the citrine infestation crawled over my hand and across the length of my arm, leaving petrified yellow crystal in its wake. I desperately tried to take a step, to run from the mineral clouds growing ever closer. Each half of my body was quickly replaced by the crystals, forcing my body in opposite directions. It would only be a matter of time before their warring influences tore me apart.

Monday: 9:05 AM

Crystal or glass imagery often finds its way into the majority of my hallucinations and I have yet to find a solid reason why. The best I can think of is the homeopathic properties of gemstones and minerals tying into my mental needs. Using that as a starting point, it appears that I’m torn between the joy and happiness provided by citrine and the protection and safety granted by onyx. If the hallucination is correct, then I’ll have to make a choice between these two or I will be destroyed.

Monday: 10:36 AM

Head-pounding migraines and bloodshot eyes are a common occurrence due to my affliction, made worse by what I would assume to be my deteriorating health. These and other unpleasant quirks of my condition have become an intrinsic portion of my being, to the point that I no longer know what I was before I acquired them. Surely I was happier then. Free to rest, free to dream. Now I only have skewed memories as my time machine.

Monday: 12:30 PM

Meals are the only parts of the day that I have managed to keep consistent despite the unreliability of my perception of time. This is in part thanks to the countless alarms and reminders I have set up on my phone. Every once in a while, I’ll write down what I had eaten to maintain a level of awareness even when my memory fails me. The chicken I prepared this afternoon was nearly done to perfection. It could have used a few more spices and extra crumble on top, but it was delicious nonetheless. The fresh broccoli paired quite well with it, especially when drizzled with butter. To finish it off, I grabbed a fresh pear from the fridge as a treat. Each and every morsel that graces my tastebuds reminds me of what my dreams used to be, separate stimuli that create something incredible once combined into an experience. Like dreams, the meals are equally fleeting. Once the moment passes, the experience quickly fades into obscurity. There should still be enough chicken to have it again for dinner.

The Crystal Tower

The constant quakes made climbing the mountain a struggle against disaster. Upon reaching the summit, I finally discovered the cause of the unexplained fissures. I barely had enough time to dodge out of the way of a massive beam of yellow electricity carving deep gashes into the ground. With each strike, a large chunk of purple crystal floated into the sky before crashing violently into the middle of a nearby plateau. From the opposite side, a curious silver wind pulled small amethyst fragments onto the same plateau, fusing with the crystalline structure started by the lightning drill. If there was a way to stop the destruction, I was sure the amethyst tower was the key. A quake shook me off balance, sending me tumbling down the mountain. Before my mind could fully comprehend my situation, I dug one of my climbing picks into the rock face until it finally took hold. I should have known unclipping the safety harness in these conditions could be fatal. I stood up in time to find the structure nearly complete, glowing with an intense energy that I failed to comprehend.

Monday: 7:15 PM

The ghost of the pick that saved my life still lingers in the form of a sore shoulder and arm hours after the hallucination’s conclusion. I often wonder if I am traveling through various dimensions and realities, merely assuming them to be delusions once I return to my world. I had already set up a camera to capture an episode once before. There was no spontaneous disappearance on my part, but the question remains of my consciousness. In the footage I captured, there is a disturbing blankness in my expression during a hallucination, but there is no evidence that suggests a transfer of consciousness.

The tower in the middle of the plateau being made of amethyst suggests that these two entities are building a means for me to be freed from stress, anxieties, and hopefully my constant migraines. The hallucinations seem to be focused on the war between these two factions. While the yellow lightning drill is sloppy and reckless, it appears more effective than the silver wind slowly piecing together the very same means of escape. The two hallucinations are connected somehow, but I don’t quite know what that means for me.

“What makes you think this freedom is for you?”

The strange voice made me jump and I looked around instinctively for its owner, despite knowing deep down that the voice came from my own mind. I shook off the occurrence and tried to put my writing skills to some creative use, using what I had learned from my hallucinations to inject natural conflict into one of my countless works in progress.

The Megulvia Village: The Historian

I desired putting pen to paper from the moment I was born. The village encouraged my creative growth and provided everything I needed to hone my natural talent. After my twelfth birthday, they placed me with a mentor to help me understand how I would eventually contribute to the village. The village historian would be my mentor. He had advanced in years to the point that he would soon retire. Once I was trained, I would be declared the new historian during the next cycling ceremony around this time next year.

I did not share my mentor’s enthusiasm when he babbled on about the first Megulvians, and my mind wandered elsewhere as he described the grueling journey of our ancestors. He impressed upon me the importance of sacrifice in Megulvian culture, but I fail to remember more than bits and pieces of his lecture. The only statement I recall is, “Anything and everything must be done to ensure the village continues to thrive.”

When he had exhausted his head knowledge and finished quizzing me on the origins of the Megulvian ceremonies, he thrust several large books into my arms, all worn from years of reference and heavy use. He informed me that the historian’s purpose is less structured than most other purposes in the village, and as such, studies would mainly be done on my own. My mentor would walk me through record keeping techniques and the various speeches for each ceremony. If I had questions, he would assist me, but mainly I had to teach myself. It was here that I would come into my own knowledge and method of fulfilling the purpose before me.

During these studies, legends and folklore were most interesting to me. I found myself especially immersed in the stories about the twin goddesses of the forest that surrounded the village - Megu and Vinta.

It was said that Vinta cursed Megu for helping the early settlers of the village prosper during the famine caused by Vinta. There is little evidence to explain the reason why Vinta caused the famine, but many speculate it was intended as a sacrifice to restore the connection to her own world. Vinta dismembered Megu and hurled chunks of her flesh into the forest. As they decomposed, the trees consumed her remains, not only causing them to grow disproportionately large, but also inheriting her ceaseless rage in the process. This twisted them into the warped Megulvia trees we see throughout the village.

Monday: 11:46 PM

Lacking the natural sharpness of my memory is something I will never get used to. It makes me uneasy and fearful that this fog will remain, forever clouding my mind. It’s incredibly difficult to remember what I need in the real world, so simple to-do lists and helpful reminders are vital to maintaining a level of stability.

Today’s Needs:

  • Food for Cujo and Hitchcock

  • Mark clean dishes as clean. My mind still thinks they are dirty

  • Get a second shower. I still feel like I’m covered from head to toe in grime.

  • Remember you only have 3 days of painkillers and possibly 2 days of migraine meds remaining. You do not want to run out of them again.

  • Clean the food off your writing desk. It’s cluttered enough without it.

0 Comments
2024/03/23
01:09 UTC

2

After so much thinking: I’ve realized nothing new

Six years ago, I wrote you a letter and hid it under the living room rug. Voicing my excitement for the promises of a new culture and new friends to the right people made me feel like a fraud but got me into a two-month program outside the country. I just wanted an escape; after all, I can barely stand myself.

I’ve always been skeptical about people who claim to have been changed by a few weeks in a place where their own language would be just incomprehensible noise. I thought, after coming back, that it was all about glorifying the distance that once made them feel lonely, an escape from what already happened with free agency to not be vulnerable this time.

I felt the need to leave you behind as a purging ritual, to get a grip of the parts of me that belong to you and root them out. I left you a letter because for a second, I believed my lies and held onto hope. I thought I was filled with hate and resentment, as you always told me, but to my surprise, all I had were questions. I wrote what those who don’t know what they deserve demand: I asked to know why!

Today I told you that I’m leaving for good, and you mentioned the letter for the first time. You’re willing to let me know you found it, read it, and saved it, but you won't free yourself from the answers. Perhaps this is your own ritual. I have no right to your truth. Are you scared of your pain being forgotten or forgiven?

It’s been long enough to look back with clarity and see if something really changed: it didn't. If you filled your own questions to make sense out of mine, if they still haunt you at night, I’ll never know. We don’t make a conversation out of this; you just mention it briefly before changing the topic. It’s unfair to both of us, really. I wonder if it’s shame that holds you back because I meant everything I wrote when I was sixteen but I'm still like you, and like you after all these years, I remember everything.

0 Comments
2024/03/22
23:02 UTC

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