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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228,803 Subscribers



10:16 UTC


[18+][group][meta][discord] Roleplay Meets: Reborn. The best and safest way to find partners

Welcome to Roleplay Meets: Reborn, an exclusive 18+ age-gated server dedicated to enhancing your roleplay experience! Our community is vibrant, engaging, and meticulously moderated to ensure a safe and enjoyable environment for all roleplayers, regardless of skill level. Are you sick and tired of Reddit where many partners will just leave you behind after a day or looking for irl sexual contact? We got you covered, by ensuring a level of safety by removing malicious users from our community!

We are a roleplay community by roleplayers for roleplayers, with many diverse search channels and over 5000 members waiting for you to join and become their new partner. We provide a safe space for furries, LGBTQ+, and even those who like holding hands. Just beware of the raccoons; they run rampant!

We also offer a range of services such as our Roleplay Roulette, which is a bot designed to match you with your next partner. Next to that we also have our roleplay advice section where you can get feedback (or give feedback) on roleplaying! We also offer special services to other servers such as our ban watch bot which helps to keep our server safe from those who would harm it.

Services include:

  • Our very own Roleplay Roulette, a sign-up service pairing you with a random partner based on your provided interests. Feel like taking a chance?
  • Dedicated bots created to protect the RMR and its partners.
  • Curated search channels including fandom searches and Furry-search!
  • Robust roleplay discussion so you can talk about roleplaying while you look for a roleplay!
  • Help with making an advert, to increase your chances of finding partners!
  • We have something for everyone; come and find your ideal partner!
  • Age-gated environment! All of our users are 18+ and are asked to verify their identity by asking for age and DOB.
  • Tired of folks DMing you for roleplays you aren't interested in? Our mod team is here to remind roleplayers to read!

Roleplay Meets Discord (1 on 1 Searches): https://discord.gg/roleplaymeetsreborn

Roleplay Meets Network (Group Searches) https://discord.gg/6uYcrAA9cC

07:38 UTC


Always remember that guys.

02:02 UTC


Dude I can relate to this so much...

02:02 UTC


Free feedback for your writing!

Hello! I created a website where middle schoolers-high schoolers can send me their writing, through the form, and I will give you feedback for it. IT IS COMPLETELY FREE.


23:07 UTC


"Letter to Natalie"

Hi, Thank you for taking the time to read my poem, I appreciate it. I started writing poetry about a month ago, this is the first piece I wrote while taking poetry "serious" so it means a lot to me personally. This particular piece is about a breakup I recently went through as well as my struggles with mental health, particularly self-harming. If you feel inclined to give me feedback I am totally open to that and would love to hear your thoughts. Thanks again for taking time to read it, hope you enjoy.


Natalie, you were my drug

When we were together I felt high

But now I can't live

Because you've all but ruined my life


I bet you didn't think

That rolling up my sleeve

Would show you my demons

And make you want to leave


You tore down my walls

Like a hot knife through butter

But now you don't want me

Since you saw I'm a cutter


I wanted to love you

To make you my wife

When you lied through your teeth

I fell in love with the knife


And if you wanted me back

I'd cast aside my doubts

So I could get close enough

Just to rip your heart out


I hope you look back one day

And realize what you did

That you gave me nothing

But broken promises


My hearts been passed around

Like a stripper at a fraternity

So If heartbreak was a drug

I'd be high for all eternity


I just can't stop crying

Or get you out of my head

So I think I'll save my tears

And just drown myself instead


What a beautiful scene

I can hear the waves roar

With you still in my arms

As our bodies wash ashore


I can't wait to see your face

When you realize that you're dead

As we're fucking at our funerals

With matching halos overhead

21:45 UTC


Mobster names

18:34 UTC


Keep Writing

“Keep writing,” is what I’d like to do BUT it is easier to do “other” fun things which apparently are easier preventing me from hitting the keyboard in a productive way. It is so easy for me to become distracted by the pleasurable things in life, which are not alwaysvthe best for this soul. I say this despite writing a chapter and receiving super positive critiques from eight out of nine reviewers!

  • Mr. Procrastination has spoken!
16:31 UTC


Looking for guidance on a book I'm writing. Struggling with motivation to finish, wondering if it's worth the effort?

NSFW for safety sake. Nothing too extreme.

Please help critique this and let me know if you guys think it's worth finishing. The rest of the story consists of 42 total chapters, and this is the first 7. It's fictional with elements of non-fiction slathered in. I've revisited this project over the past two years. (The rest is in the google docs link at the bottom. Reached the character limit here)

It’s October again.

The cold wind has been trickling through the windows’ seams next to me, so my toes are frozen.

Wrapped in a thick blanket, I take another sip of coffee that is cooling much too quickly.

The chill-exuding windows serve as portals for me to stare longingly through, with my thoughts often drawn elsewhere in time. Past lives long forgotten await in the furthest reaches of my memory, and this window has been my gateway for months, into those visions that echo back on occasion.

It’s been two weeks since my wife’s birthday, and the subject of children comes up often. We’re excited to start our family, but responsibilities come first. So much to accomplish before we can take that step, we know, which is what actually keeps me warm inside the fur blanket next to this cold window.

Fantasies of our future, happily loving our children, make me eager to be a part of it. I’ve never been so happy.

I didn’t always have this enthusiasm for the future though. It’s a new feeling, this. We’ve been married for a few months, together for a couple of years, and yet even now when I awake, my face turns towards her pillow to make sure she still exists.

Is it a dream within a dream, or the summer of my life? … I’m afraid to know the truth.

Even as winter approaches, the seasonal depression that normally draws near has no power here, for my heart is warm and full, and my only concern is where I’ve packed the thicker socks and winter jackets.

Flirting with the thought, sometimes I can’t help but imagine that I somehow slipped between alternative universes.

Taking stock of the surroundings, bundled up here in this computer chair, I am baffled by how it all came to be, when not so long ago, I had nothing, and no one.

Decades of experience with success after success, nowhere near rich but comfortable, fancy expensive gadgets, a credit score to be proud of, and the humming of a top-of-the-line computer generating multi-colored lights on my desk.

The routine I’ve adopted to contain my sanity amidst the boredom involves rolling out of bed, grabbing breakfast, checking in on my six-figure job, and casually playing video games. I turned thirty-six in April, and now I’m staring down the barrel of forty before long.

“How did I get here?” resounds internally on repeat, yet no real answer responds.

Lady Fortune must have smiled upon me after such a long spell of ire. I was still waiting for the other shoe to drop, for I surely died somewhere along the way and transitioned to heaven unaware. Anything less and I feared it would turn to dust in my hands.

Snapping back to the present, I reach for my coffee again, but the warmth has gone. I take another sip regardless, best not to waste.

A speck of frozen moisture floated down from the sky, then, and stuck to the outside of the window as the lyrics from Free Bird sang into my ear. I watched the speck as it melted against the glass, and another long-lost memory, hidden away in the dark corners of my mind, began to seep forth.

A secret tale from another lifetime formed slowly. One that I tried to pretend didn’t exist, as though it belonged to a galaxy far far away.

I yearned to dismiss it all, to convince myself that it was merely a dark dream. This tragic back story that dragged me repeatedly into profound depths of despair. It was a tale of fleeing confinement, of isolation, in a vast and lonely city. A fable of chance encounters and twists of fate ever spiraling downwards. Mistakes and regrets beset the path of that antagonist’s memory. Betrayals haunted his heart, leading to years of living in agonizing desperation, akin to a derelict ship set adrift, disbelieving of a safe harbors existence.

I am no longer that person, yet the Warden's Shadow and the Ogre’s Den persistently haunts me.

Even as I sit here, transfixed absently on the drop of now-melted snow, cozied into a warm combination of blanket, sweater, and cardigan, a shiver penetrates. Clammy hands and sweaty soles spoilt any comfort I might have had.

Ancient anxiety was growing, and I was still, now, just as powerless to stop it.

It’s funny how things you’d rather forget locate you with expert accuracy when you think you’re safe. It wasn’t the first time that this echo of the past found me floating safely in calm waters though. The morning might have began with a lovely lavender light, and the warmth of the early sun may have temporarily halted the coming cold, but even the sun realized it was powerless to halt the chill today. The light fell behind thick clouds outside my window, and the drop of then-melted snow, froze again.

The song ended, and I awoke in a small black room, and the memory of that dream faded before I could grasp it.

The rest (Character Limit) 


16:06 UTC


How can I get rid of writers block?

I've had writers block for a while, and to say the least it sucks. I have many ideas, it's just none of them really motivate me to write. Don't get me wrong, I really like these ideas and I think they are wonderful, It's just I have no motivation, and whenever I do have motivation I just end up staring at a blank google docs for hours on end. Then there's school work, as finals are coming up I've been busy with studying, but whenever I'm done with it, It's like I just want to crawl into fetal position and not do anything until the next day. For anyone who had writers block and over came it, how did you do it? Any tips or tricks, or just some hard truths I need to get into my head?

15:57 UTC


Gleaming street

15:00 UTC


The Girl and The Guardian - 1485 words

As the opener to the first 'episode' of the project, I want this to hook the audience as much as possible. Characterization, prose, and dialogue especially are top concerns. Be as critical as you see fit, and please let me know if you find this interesting, or how you'd like it improved if not.


Amber wanted to forget. To leave her broken life behind. So the world gave her a new one. Stuck in a fallen kingdom, abandoned by its goddess and ravaged by a flower that devours memories, the troubled child faces the denizens’ deadly mix of grief and desperation, all centered around the sliver of holy magic now stuck inside her. Begrudgingly guided by Kindle, a loyal but cynical servant of the goddess, she must journey through the shattered valley in search of a way home, all while evading the clutches of theives and knights alike. Can she find the hope she once knew, or will this broken world start to feel like home?

Link to story: https://docs.google.com/document/d/13Qk8qSW4szad7cYH2AuwBfV-j4xNQS43wB7LDpyMe98/edit?usp=sharing

1 Comment
13:32 UTC


Fill your heart with flowers

I can't write this poem quite yet ..

Or just right now...

It's coming.

02:46 UTC



1 Comment
01:43 UTC


Checking for tone

Hello everyone, Unsure if the nsfw tag was really needed but gonna play it safe.This is a very short snippet of something I'm working on and I would like some input about the tone or mood of this scene. Does it flow well? Does the character come through as a feeling thinking being? Does this bit make you curious about what could come next? Thanks to anyone taking the time to respond.

—She never understood their need for rules. They were the absolute rulers of the continent -and rules- she believed, should only be in place for the ruled. Viyanna turned to look at him peacefully sleeping on his stomach, still naked, half of his face nestled in the sand. The soothing sound of waves crashing near the cove had nearly subdued her as well, but the worry of tomorrow and thoughts of her father would not allow it. She stared into the night sky, taking slow, deep breaths in rhythm with the ebb and flow of the sea.This is how far we must go to be together. To the edge of the world. She thought. Away from all the stupid laws and people that would see us apart. Viyanna softly kissed her lover on the shoulder, dug half of her face in the sand, and stared at him until the sound of the waves finally managed to wash her worries away. If only for the night.—

22:17 UTC


The start of my epic sci-fi novel - would appreciate feedback

Before the conception of the universe we now know, there was a single species, alone among the stars, the planets, the moons, isolated in their ways - or so they thought. From nothing, they became something: biological beings built with the construction of a sense for purpose and longing. For millions of years their kind thrived, the only living beings in relative perimeter  with the cognitive function high enough to talk, build technology and abuse that technology, power-mongering creatures born with the gift and curse of consciousness. As they evolved through the ages, their greed also grew as they saw possibilities of what their world could be. After centuries of impressive technological advancement, it all came to a swift end when technology began to construct existence and evolution turned into the anarchy of mind-rotting individualists ready to reach for the universe. They knew no other than what they were and when their inevitable downfall came after many years of near self-destruction, nobody was there to save them.

 The planet they lived on, earth, crumbled in animosity and war after tension grew too high, falling off the pit of existence. The most intelligent of their kind, specially gifted scientists deemed smart enough to continue the human race, were able to escape the planet before its decimation. They were tasked with the voluminous challenge of settling down on the planet TS-19, that had tested successfully for compatibility, a century before. There had previously been many attempts at colonization on other planets, but all had failed due to human greed and corruption. Now there was nobody there to spurt the weakness of the previous failures. The team of fifty scientists managed to settle down on TS-19,  taking five decades longer than they had originally estimated, although not mattering much due to the incubation chambers they had developed on earth before. Settling down on the planet, almost 1.5 billion light years away, the scientists discovered a rich and conditioned atmosphere where civilization would be able to thrive.

 For the first time in ages, a sense of hope was restored as the future looked brighter than it ever had on earth. The scientists discovered not only the inspiring potential for life but a profound new energy source, found in the rich soil of the planet, which had previously gone undetected in their research. The newfound energy source, named soldane, a purple clay like substance, was discovered to dramatically increase cognitive ability, improving the function of the mind by over 300%, allowing for abilities and ideas that were previously unable to be conceptualized and thought to be unattainable. The fumes of the soldane alone were enough to initiate this function partly and explained the purple tint of the planet, which was accompanied by a fluorescent glow beaming from the oceans which covered almost seventy percent of the planet.

 The scientists, in awe of the world they had discovered that was seven times larger than earth, which we now know today as concord, examined the soldane closely, discovering when consuming it, that it gave a new perception of reality than what they had known it before, changing the way they thought, the speed at which they thought at, as their neurotransmitters rapidly sped up, connections and impulses within the mind moving close to light speed. With this also came the ability to live for hundreds of thousands of years without even showing a wrinkle and instead of abusing this and trying to prevent another possible collapse in existence, the scientists decided to give life another chance, genetically modifying preserved embryos they had taken from earth and injecting them with small amounts of liquified soldane to start their breeding program. Although risky, the results were successful in creating Generation 0, the first generation of concordions. This new species, genetically enhanced and smarter than humans in every way, thrived as their advanced intelligence grew to heights above the scientists who had enabled their life. Their skin, a shade of light purple and their eyes, entirely black, were the future of all endless possibilities and everything that could come after.

 The scientists who had come a long way from their original plan, raised the new species as pets to experiment on. Not learning the consequences of containment and violation from earth, the scientists met a miserable fate when after only a few months of development, the oppressed beings lashed out from their cages, ripping the scientists to shreds with their bare hands. And so forth, the new species was born, concordians, they called themselves, idealistic in their nature and relentless in their will to build a new world.  From the ashes of civilization, ruins that bore no sign of reformation, the entire planet was built up slowly, soldane being utilized to create the perfect paradise, as the concordians matured into experienced and extremely sophisticated individuals, fascinated by the idea of life. 

20:33 UTC


The Wren

19:02 UTC


Kind or Naive?

16:05 UTC


Need help with informal writing (particularly emails)

Hey there, I'm an IGCSE student and I chose an ESL subject (English as a Second Language) and one of the exam questions is: write to a friend about (something).

This writing should be as informal as possible. Therefore, I need help with it.
How can I do informal writing?
What words should I learn and use?
How do structure my sentence?

If you can help me I will appreciate that. thanks for reading, I wish you a nice day :)

13:27 UTC


Secret - Story

She deserved better than these clandestine caducous meetings with all the salacious gossip crippling the office corridors. ‘Where have you been?!’ she said, drawing him into her arms. ‘I don’t think we should be doing this here’ he said as he attempted to pull away from her, but her arm tightened around him. ‘Come closer’ she said, pressing him close to the warmth of her voluptuous breasts.

1 Comment
10:23 UTC


The Black Parade - Short Story

Please be aware that this story contains themes of suicide.

Eliza lay in the bathtub, her long black hair creating patterns on the still surface. She knew he would come as soon as her blood began to mix with the hot water like syrup. However, she only noticed him between the doors when she was already lying in the dark red liquid.

"So, you've decided," a voice sounded from where the figure stood.

"I made that decision many years ago when we first met," Eliza whispered in response.

"I just wanted to know if you kept your promise," she added almost inaudibly.

The figure approached, closing the doors behind him.

His face looked youthful, making it impossible to estimate his age. He wore a black coat resembling a hussar uniform, adorned with silver-threaded straps.

With his left hand, he removed his hat and placed it on the sink. Then, he unbuttoned the silver buttons on the sleeves of his uniform and folded them just below the elbow.

Eliza smirked playfully and said, "Finally, you don't look like a homeless person."

Genuine laughter echoed.

"I think life was simpler when people were afraid of me," he remarked with a sincere smile on his face.

"You've grown," he added after a long pause.

"Don't be sentimental; it's not fitting for Death! It's been 10 years, and I still have to remind you?" Eliza scolded sternly, closing her eyes.

Death put his hand into the red-colored water and intertwined his fingers with hers.

"It's time. They are already waiting for you," Death said softly.

Eliza stood up from her motionless body, completely soaked, and stepped out of the bathtub.

"I can already hear them marching," she said.

Death removed his coat, handed it to Eliza, took the hat, and placed it on her head.

"You have a long journey ahead. I don't want you to catch a cold," Death teased, avoiding her gaze.

Genuine laughter echoed once more.

"What did I say about sentimentality? Do I have to repeat everything?" Eliza said more sternly than before, holding back tears.

Death opened the door behind him. The rhythmic drums sounded louder.

Eliza, wearing a coat, walked through the doors. She began to march in place and with a smile on her face, shouted at Death, "Cut the kindness, so I don't have to come back!"

She then turned on her heel and joined the black parade.

The doors closed, leaving only Death and silence in the room.

He turned one last time to Eliza's motionless body.

"Have a passion for living. She will teach me that but does not believe it herself."

"Meanie," he thought and disappeared into the shadows.

10:21 UTC


The 9th of may - please let me know what you think

Did you know that memories aren’t real? No? Not really, you can misremember or change a memory without ever knowing you have. It’s a sinisterly important fact for me, some would be worried but I find it freeing, I can share this memory without fear or shame. I most likely haven’t remembered what happened as it happened, and considering what happened on the 9th of May all those years ago, I’d say it’s likely I don’t remember. It’s a relief really that memories aren’t real; I have always hated talking about my memories, about myself in general. In my experience, people are not interested in what I have to say, unless it relates to them or it makes me look less than them. Maybe it’s all in my head, everything is really. I’m not the most people friendly these days, I think you could call me a cynic, I call myself a cynic, but I’ll try and keep true to this memory, without the influence of hindsight and my cynicism.

It’s about that puddle and the 9th of May. Why the specifically the 9th of May? Well I don’t actually know why that day, it could have easily been the 8th, the difference is hours. I do wish I could change the setting; it’s almost poetic, I could always be misremembering, it was a long time ago, and I have been told many times since that I have a flair for the dramatic. A dark and rainy night, with the wind howling, well that’s a backdrop I can enjoy.

I’m sorry. Let me start at the beginning for the sake of clarity, otherwise I’ll never finish what I start to say, and I’ll never say what I need to say.

Once upon a time I went to a party. I enjoyed drinking back then, a healthy amount for most people, but for me, a dangerous amount, I had a tendency to get inside my head when I drink.

No again I’m sorry, that’s not the memory I want to share, I want to tell the 9th of May, I think this memory will be harder to tell than I first thought.

It was a birthday party for a friend, well a friend of a friend, I knew two people there, I was speaking my wisdom at the party, normally people would just nod and slide away from that kind of wisdom, but this was during the university days, everyone is intelligent, insightful and understanding at university. We few were the self-proclaimed leaders of the future, and so understood all, my green wisdom spewed with no start or finish was always well received. I remember some of what I said, you can walk into any pub or club and listen to the drunkest person in the room, they would have spewed the same wisdom, wisdom that I thought at the time was original and wise, but really was just old sentiment repeated with new words. Despite what I wanted at the time, wisdom comes with age, not self-assurance.

But this time was my spring years, that sweet age just before I faced reality, the real harsh reality of life, I had just begun to explore the world inside my bubble, and my exploration lead me onto the well-trodden path of clubbing and drinking, the respectable rebellion. I began as I always did, by talking, talking of going to some event, a lecture, a monument, an underground pub, of all the things I could do that evening, the places I could go, I and the other future leaders of the world, the potential was ours to squander. This ended as it always would, in that night club, the very same one I would always go to, my slice of reality. Apologies my dear reader, I have a cynical mind, it’s hard to keep at bay, I’ll admit that I haven’t really tried to keep it from being an influence here, I can’t seem to help myself, but this next part of the memory is less clear, but I can relay it with a real, shame filled joy. This part of the memory feels more like a dream now, I don’t have the energy to do what I did that night, I don’t have the energy for much these days, I think that makes the memory more fond to me, drinking, dancing, worry free. Maybe fond was the wrong word to use here, jealous is more fitting, jealous of the innocence and time I wasted. The power of a drink back then was incredible; I miss the feeling, that burn in the mouth, the after taste, the saliva, the heat in your chest, and that feeling of being unstoppable. Of course drink has more than one effect, and while I’d like to believe my cloudy memory is caused by false and misremembered facts, or by the merging of a hundred single nights into one endless night, that’s too poetic. No, the memory is clouded by the amount I drunk that night, and many years after as I tried to forget this very memory.

Yet despite this, even now, the fragments still makes me smile, whether it’s because I enjoy the memories of the innocence I held then, or I’m jealous of them I cannot say, I’m a self-proclaimed cynic, not a philosopher or a psychologist, I’ll leave the analysis to better men than me. Instead I’ll try to give you an idea of what happened in the club without my opinions bleeding through. This night in the club was no different from all the others, they all start the same. Moving around the club in a daze, my head feeling big and unsteady, but also incredibly light and empty, my fingertips warm, my feet numb, I remember dancing to songs, dancing on tables, screaming out lyrics, smoking outside, stealing a bottle of champagne, fixing my hair in a mirror, buying a round of drinks, the lights flashing, the bass thumping, fog spewing, standing on my own staring at the old chandelier, crawling on the floor looking for money, I remember walking out the club and how quiet everything seemed in comparison while I tried to keep standing in the night air, looking at my hands, how bright the lights were, how blurry the world seemed and how beautiful the moon was that night. Here, here the memory starts to come back into focus, the bright street lights and night air always helped me to sober up at night, plus I’ve always enjoyed being outside in the dark night or under the moonlight, I find it comforting to stand under the moon, it’s as if I’m suddenly alive.

As I came to my senses my memory sharpened, but that’s all, my drunkenness remained. I was with a couple of friends, some who I had been at the party with and some who I met in the club, we got food, and we spent such a long time talking, our conversations were mixed, some happy, some sad, all just more green wisdom. Much later on, me and my friend, maybe the one I went to the party with (it might have been someone else, who’s to say?), walked back towards our homes not because we wanted to walk as we said over and over to our screeching friends, but because the taxi was expensive and we couldn’t afford it, we lived in different places but close enough that we could walk together. Its funny to think of this moment, back then I had the money for a taxi, but I wouldn’t spend it on a taxi, now that I’m a poor man, I’ll spend money I don’t have on taxis I don’t need, apparently the youthful idiot I was, was wiser than I am now in some regards after all.

I don’t remember walking with my friend, or rather, I know where we went, how long it took and what we probably talked about, I had walked this walk so many times before this night, and so many after, they are all the same memory to me now, I enjoyed the walking in the night, the exhilaration of that has stayed with me more than the company on those walks. I always used to break it down into three segments, and so that’s how it comes back to me now. Leaving the club, past the library, past the race track, over the river across the bridge, up the steep hill, past the first university gates (which were actually the back gates), round the campus on the public roads, to the second gates (which are the main gates), a long walk with company, a painfully short one with alone. He was still living on the Campus my friend, I lived about ten minutes away from the campus, I said goodbye and goodnight, we agreed to speak in the morning if we survived. He went through the back gates and headed towards the halls, I continued on my way, onto the second segment of the walk past the gates.

I was on my own for the rest of the walk; this happened a lot, both during my university days and many years after. I lived on the opposite side of the campus to most of my friends so this part of the walk was always mine alone, even when I started the night with the people I lived with. I didn’t mind, it was nice to enjoy the feeling of being drunk without having to show I was drunk, a few assured moments of peace under the moon light. I never deviated from my path, round the outside of the campus, opposite some housing estates, till I got next to a little shop that sold cheap, bottles of spirit. I would always stop for a moment to wish that shop was open.

Then it was down that straight road, the final part of my walk, big houses on either side, well-lit but not busy. It looked like it was a five minute walk but once you started it felt like it was never ending, and at the end of the night, in the night air, it was never ending. Sometimes I would run, sprint to see if I could make it to the end of that road without stopping, something to break the monotony of walking, other times to tire myself out so I could fall straight to sleep, and sometimes just because I wanted to run. Nearly every day for two years I walked down that road to go clubbing shopping or studying, to go for a meal, see a film, meet a friend, it was a constant part of my life, an unwanted companion and witness. Walking down that road, reader I don’t think I’m able to describe how I hated that road, but I always walked down that road, there were other ways I could walk, quicker ways, but I always took that road.

This particular night, actually at this point I suppose it was the morning. I was walking down that road in the rain and dark between the streetlights, bitterly cold staring straight into a street light walking on the right hand side. I’d always walk on the right hand side, I’m not sure why, whenever I walked on the left I had a bad day. Except for on the 9th, the 9th is the one exception.

I have no clue where the car came from; I didn’t see it until after the jump, just a blurred headlight, a door, a wing mirror. The driver, the make, the model, even the color is a mystery. It appeared and left like a phantom.
There was no thought, I moved forward, but I don’t recognize that I was the one who leapt forward.

I remember the fall. I fell backwards. As if my strings had been cut and I fell limp into the puddle, there was no splash as I landed in that puddle.

The feeling I felt in that puddle, it was something I had never felt before or since, an overwhelming pull I was powerless against, I pray to never to feel it again.

Should I describe it? How to describe it? I have to describe it. I can describe the fear it inspired, but not yet, it’s easier to describe fear, but this isn’t meant to be easy, this memory never is. No the actual feeling, that’s harder, It wasn’t a happy emotion, not a powerful emotion, not a sad emotion. Hopelessness? Yes it was hopelessness. Nothing more, nothing less. No hope for the future, no point to anything, I think it is possibly the only time I felt hopelessness. You can’t live without hope.

I couldn’t stand could I? No, I wouldn’t have laid there if I could, to begin with I didn’t want to, didn’t care to, my legs wouldn’t move, arms were like stone, every muscle in my body cramped, I could feel everything. My eyes were open, rain hitting them, rain dripped from my lips to my chin, it tickled. The fingertips were warm, hair moved, stand by stand off my face. Puddle water lapped against my cheek, socks soaking up water, shirt getting tighter and heavier, jacket sleeves filling up with water, keys and wallet resting on my leg. I just lay there staring at nothing, seeing nothing.

I think to begin with I was gone; that everything I held myself up to and was trying to achieve, had suddenly left me, except my memories, memories that weren’t real. For the longest time that’s how I was, empty, even down to my emotions there was nothing I laid there empty. I could feel my body, but I couldn’t move it, I wasn’t welcome, I felt awkward, out of place.

I’m not sure how long I lay there, dead (I had to be dead because I had no hope), it could have been a minute; it could have been hours, days or years.

The light was wrong. It was dark, only the light seemed to come from a streetlight, the sky was empty, the moon had left me.

Some portion of my mind came back, I started crying, I had failed, failed at even this simple task, I lay for a long time waiting, waiting for something else to come, I should have gotten up, but I just lay there waiting, I was muttering my secret . If that had been my mind for the rest of my days, I would have spent those days in that puddle unmoving; declared brain dead on the spot. The moment raises such disgust in me, I grieved my most important failure, hated my greatest success.

I’d like to lie here, to say anything other than the truth, to save myself the pain and the shame, but I said I would try to tell this memory as it was, not as I wish it, so while I’d like to say I had a vison, a burst of strength, that hope returned to me, I can’t, because in reality it was two words that saved me.

Two words. The Two words that cut through it all. I’m still not sure if I just heard them from somewhere else, said it myself or imagined it afterwards. “Get up” it was angry, disgusted, the words were almost spat out, “Get up”. Those words have burned themselves into my mind, and affected me every day since. The fear and inspiration it awoke in my mind, throat pricked and butterflies in my stomach, anxiety. Next to the hopelessness it seemed like life had spoken, with a voice that wielded fear.

I took control of my body then……

No dear reader I didn’t…. I am almost finished, I have to be true to the memory, I can’t spare myself now, it’s too late for me to take it back. I didn’t take control, I wasn’t there yet, it took me such a long time to regain control again, but it gave my eyes back to me for I had seen nothing long before the fall. I watched as fear drove me, took the strings of my life and moved them, dragging my shell in the dust, screaming.

I cursed everyone and everything, hated myself for what had happened, Oh and the fear, fear of the voice, fear of dying, the fear that someone would see me at this moment, see me and misunderstand me, I didn’t want to die,(I don’t want to die now) I was terrified that I had tried to die, terrified I didn’t know where that urge came from, that moment of energy and intention that was actioned without the consent of my mind, that I was powerless against.

Fear drove me, commanded me out of that puddle. I’d gone insane, truly, completely, utterly mad, I was dragging myself to the curb, screaming, crying, laughing, I ripped my finger nails out, shredded my palms and hands into bloody messes my knees into bruised pulp, my head and face cut by being dragged along.

I heaved up that curb fucking curb, shaking. I started to stand and scramble forward, to escape that spot, that puddle on that road. I stood up hunched and bent, buffet by the wind, laughing, crying, waving my hands in all directions spitting, shouting, wiping blood on my jeans, I was staggering side to side shaking, soaked to the bone, I was mad, insane, disgraced and humiliated.

Why say more? I won’t go further, there is so much more but to understand it…. This was not the place for such memories. That moment all those years ago, was not the eureka moment, the next day I turned this into a joke, a story to tell.

To this day, I cannot tell you what really happened that night all those years ago, as I sit here writing and rewriting the words over and over. I don’t think I’ll ever understand it. I wonder what would happened if I could relive that night again, doing everything again now.

This was the time that my bubble began to burst and the real world hit me like a wave. Perhaps it was just a moment of growing pains. I’ve said it before, I’m only a cynic, all I have left is the memory of the 9th of May, a memory I visit daily.

1 Comment
09:32 UTC


His Nobody

Nobody listens;
Nobody cares;
Nobody supports
His hopes and fears.

Nobody stands
Right by his side;
Nobody hears
His little lies.

Nobody wants him;
Nobody clings;
Nobody wears
His wedding ring. 

Nobody waits;
Nobody cries;
Nobody’s heart
Breaks deep inside. 

Nobody found
His message to you;
Nobody wishes
He loved her too. 
05:40 UTC


New Poem "The Book" Available Now on the Official Cryptic Paw Website!

17:45 UTC


why i think the world sucks --- pls tell me what u think

A family of 4 could struggle to buy a house, whilst a man with Greay hair owns 50 and steals their cheese like a mouse. Or another man, who sells the lands treasure from congo into to Ameria, eats more, than all the exploited that helped him before, yet a grain of rice falls only to their table. And that same man eating for the many, sips tea in an airconditioned room, whilst the poor are feeling the heat of his prosperous child, doom. What about those who lost themselves, a long time ago, can't talk to no one or afford to, so its time to go. It seems our hate for others is buried in disguised, there's no more love. But when does the mask come off? When do we feel? Idk, I usually see it in the presence of a dove.

16:54 UTC


Seeking Feedback for my first attempt at writing a story

“Thank you! Save journey.”

It is the nicest thing I received this week. So nice that I tried to scan my travel card again, but this time the digital scanner morphed into every being I've encountered this past month, cold and accusatory; “this card has already been scanned”. I could not help but read “! Stupid!” At the end.

The tram arrived and I hesitated to get on. I couldn't shake the feeling that the conductor had been informed of my desperate dependence on the cold, uncaring approval of the ticket validator.

I chose the least populated cart on the tram and took the seat exactly next to the sliding doors - hovering my posterior on the edge of the cushioned seat, undeserving of the space. Minutes later ticket inspectors invaded the cabin. My body instinctively coiled, and it sprung up into soldier position, thankfully I had just enough command to prevent a salute. A part of me wanted to run out. The internal climate changed from cloudy to thunderstorms pouring sweat down my back.

The gendarmes completed their marching orders and left. The tram refused to shut its doors. My heavy, negative energy drained that of the tram. It refused to move. Though I had nowhere to be, the tram's stubborn stillness further compounded the shame imitated by these inanimate objects.

Normally the city has always been my sanctuary. It used to sing calming melodies. Each signpost and self-assisted machinery would reaffirm my independence and boost my happiness.

I used to be surrounded by a world of caring inanimate objects, all in service of my self-care and well-being.

They finally turned on me! They’ve switched allegiance, they are all collaborating with my eternal enemy.

The tram finally gave up the torment, it decided I was not worthy of any more of its time, the doors had finally trapped me in and it angrily started moving. Banging and clanking its metal against the tracks wishing it would fly off. I sense it would snap out of its contact wire if I were the sole passenger aboard.

My phone screamed out of my pocket. I could have sworn I had it on silent. It’s been months since I kept it hidden away so that neither its luminosity nor its sound would alert the world of my existence.

An unknown number.

Even my eyes and thumb refused to listen to my commands. There was no way to force them to answer the call.

The unknown number disappeared.

The tram had calmed itself. It had given up on me - for now. It seemed to have allocated the job of tormenting me to my phone.

“What was that unknown number? Could it be them?”

The tram had gone into a dark tunnel. It had slowed down and refused to illuminate my cabin. My reflection appeared on the window. It took me a few seconds to recognise it. He looked ghostly, starved, powerless.

The phone rang again. The reflection looked relieved and hopeful.

“Mr. Smith?”

"Yes!" The reflection mouthed in response. "Mr. Smith, I'm calling to inform you that the test results have come back all clear. The previous diagnosis was faulty. I'm delighted to inform you that you do not, in fact, have cancer. And we are extremely sorry for worrying you the past few months."

I couldn’t speak. I thanked the caller and hung up.

The tram decided to wash out my joyful cries by announcing “This is a service to Manchester Airport. The next stop will be Manchester Airport, where this service terminates.”

Two love birds stared at me and smiled whilst I exhaled “Thank you!”

1 Comment
14:14 UTC

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