If you write, you're a writer. Join a kind community where you can share your work. Discuss with others about your work. A friendly community for writers. This is for novel, short story, script and poetry writers only.
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I'm an entrepreneur, but don't get me wrong! I'm not one of those 'trade and get rich' people, my work is a bit more realistic, I start teams/companies and create products from scratch.
I hold the Intellectual property of a long-forgotten but truly special project. The world-building, story, sounds/music, art,... It was all collecting dust for years, as I kept it as an 'ace in the sleeve' for a time when I would have enough free to commit to it fully. It only requires optional expansion and adaption. The project is relatively simple and fast to do, so I need partners, not employees, to co-found a project with me and split % of investment/crowdfunding/sales revenue.
[You may ask why I'm posting this here]
Well, this project has a real sentimental value to me, it is one of the most valuable things in my life, and because of that, I don't want to just make cheap ads, as this project requires a passion, which I won't find at freelancing platforms and job sites. I'm looking for a place that consists of skilled, talented and most importantly truly passionate writers, who will put their soul into their work and praise their work as the highest form of art.
So please, recommend me a community that you utterly respect.
Thank you in advance, everyone!
The story I'm writing so far is a romance story between two men and the main cast of main characters is all men there are female characters but they're either supporting characters or extras I started to overthink about this after a comment from my friend so I wanted to know is it okay to have a story with only male main characters?
Flat, back to bed, face to ceiling. Laying there, still, yet her mind raced. Eyes closing and opening. Blinking is the only notable movement. Numbers swirl and wander her mind. Serene from the outside, tethered and tortured from within. Her brown blinking eyes searching for answers. Wondering if this will ever resolve, ever clear and drip away. This empty space inside her heart that wilts and withers wonders if falling in love will ever happen again. She wonders if her sense of self disappeared the same night she ran away from him. His open arms dropping from outstretched to never again open for her. She wonders if she can find her way back home. She seeks and stretches. But nothing seems to capture that spark she felt when closed within his arms. Still, her brown eyes wander. Wild and dark, scenes she wishes she didn’t see play across her vision. Memories swirling. Laughing echoing in her ears. Her own laugh, captured in that room of white walls and many mirrors. He slept by her side. Every night like a faithful puppy. She loved him dearly but she could not stay. The sounds below her perfect home lured her away. Calling her down. She questioned herself. Questioned him. She began to pick and prod. Soon her stunning story began to unravel. Her reality began to blur. The more she questioned the further her chances of returning to the world as she once knew it fell away. Soon she had passed the point of no return. Realizing her mistake, she wailed with anguish and confusion, but it was too late. She had stumbled too far into the pit of sticky sweet lies and deception. No one could save her. She sank, gasping and shaking. Gurgling as the dark liquid poured down her throat. Seeping into her ears, nose and eyes, coating her vision. Too thick to see. Her breaths losing speed as the liquid stole her last drops of energy from her brittle bones. Suddenly she felt full. Fuller than she had ever felt before. Her heart radiating light. A small ball of energy, (perhaps her soul?) spread its warmth across her sternum and down her sinking limbs. Her head fallen forward jerked up. Her mouth gaped. A silent scream. Spiders began to pour out of every orifice. Little baby ones, scattering across the sticky dark surface. Dancing like nothing else mattered but the dance of life. Her tongue twitched, her eyes blinked, rapid. Suddenly the spiders were gone. The liquid she was coated in disappeared. She was dry. Her clothes now a silky white. Prestigious and perfect. Thousands of white daisies surrounding her body. Her head arrest upon a pillow of soft dirt and grass. An evening breeze tickling her baby hairs that frame her face. The sun, an afterthought, fallen down the sky, melting into the horizon. Beautiful blues, oranges, yellows and reds stealing her attention. She remembered nothing of the boy she once loved. She had no recollection of the lies she told, of the sticky sweet liquid sticking thick inside her throat. Or the dancing spider babies pouring from her lips. All she could remember was a sinking feeling deep within her stomach. Like a memory long forgotten. Rotten and bitter, pushed to the edge of consciousness. Perhaps it was all just a bad dream. Yet there was a persistent bad taste in her mouth and a crust of something sticky and dark around her fingernails to remind her of the prior events. Or maybe she was just imagining everything and the sticky dark crust around her nails was just nail polish from the day before. Taken off in a haste. Maybe the sour taste was just, well nothing, or maybe some pollen had fallen into her mouth as she slept. Maybe her home wasn’t far off. Maybe she’d stand up from this field of white daisies and green grasses, the light breeze would catch her nightgown and pull her home. Or maybe she’d just lay there for a while longer, patiently waiting for more dreams to pull her back down into their tendrils of truth and deception. Consciousness and unconsciousness intertwining and colliding. Maybe she’d see him again. And maybe just maybe they’d embrace this time. Arms strong around each other. The room of white walls and many mirrors would fall away, revealing the field of white daisies and green grasses once again. Maybe if she remembered him long enough after waking he’d stay awhile. Pressed bodies against the other. Energy pulsing between the two, strong and sensual, sharing the same soul. Connected. Forever. They both know their connection is too strong for the physical realm. This truth haunts them. Brings them to their knees. Their hearts falling prisoner to the wrath they were chosen to endure. Forbidden love. Love that drives people mad. Love that throws people off buildings and bridges. Whispering words of encouragement when the cool metal of the pistol is pressed cool against their forehead. So close to pulling the trigger. Yet if they did they would lose their ability to meet in the realm of dreams and possibilities. Perhaps this is why they visit in the land between life and death. The place where everyone goes when the body is still and silent. Perhaps this is why there’s a sinking deep within her stomach as she wanders the waking world alone. Wondering if she’ll ever find love again. True love like before. Like with him. The boy that held her close and kept her safe from the world that breaks the hearts of the most beautiful of dreamers. Perhaps he both saved her and broke her within the breath of life and love. Perhaps neither one remembers what it felt to love the other. Perhaps neither one will love again. Perhaps both will die, forgetting the other. Remembering nothing but the darkness and deception as their bodies fall into the cool earth, dancing spiders coating their bodies as death arrives. Wrapping its icy fingers around their sternums, pulling them far down into the darkness of the abyss. Or perhaps they could finally save each other, once becoming nothing they could become everything all at once all together. A bright ball of energy erupting across the field of white daisies and green grasses. Setting the world of living alight
Suffer Katie, Suffer Katie Suffer Suffer Katie. Why the long face shrouded in misery and mystery that tears have turned into blood tasting so bitter like the song you started to sing to ease the pain since childhood. Give into the darkness and hear the voice Suffer Katie for your crooked smile and heart of charcoal black makes you special. The rain that falls down is for you to make you strong and make the people scatter like ashes they thought was yours. for Suffer Katie sweet Suffer Katie roam the halls of their minds and make them gasp for air while looking like the siren you must be and crush their pipes to make them mute. Suffer Katie sweet Suffer Katie for now is the time of winter rest for the snow falls and you are alone by the dark shore feeling like your life is no more but sleep Katie for your death is meaningful for once spring comes to the lands open up your eyes that once had tears but now have joy and waiting for you to sing your songs sirens will envy for centuries to come.
Finally I can't resist you have breaking and entering my soul and turned my heart cold and mysterious and I like it. The world doesn't understand us people of the dark and goth for many reasons we don't want any part that of there world we knew. For music we listen to make our very being quake with happiness to be odd and unusual that some of there sappy love songs burn our ears like acid. So if want to explore this black world of ours look into eyes not without being scared but look deeper and see that this world is truly beautiful like rain that makes u sleep peaceful at night with no regrets.
After a stressful day of work, I stop by a gift shop that sells aromatherapy products. The owner of the shop sold me a bag of aroma bath bombs. "Drop them in warm bath water and maaaarvelous things will happen." He told me. That night I ran some warm water in the tub.
I look through the bag and pick a random bath bomb to use. I pull out the bomb had the label "Cherry kiss" written on it. The bomb was shaped like a pair of lips noticeably plump ones. The bath was already ready so I stepped in. I relaxed my body laying in the bath having my body submerged in the water. I take the bath bomb and dropped it in the bath water.
As the bomb hit the water it started to dissolve. It fizzes as the bath water starts to slowly turn red. The bath also started to smell like cherries. I don't eat cherries often but it smelled nice. The smell reminded him of a cherry red Tootsie Pop. "Nothing out of the ordinary, this is what bath bombs usually do." I thought. I looked down at the water and a message formed in the water. "With love from Luscious Lip Linda," it said. Then all of a sudden the water started to bubble profusely as something rose out of the water.
Floating in front of me was a pair of red disembodied lips. It flew over and gave me a kiss on the cheek then it pop away like a bubble. Before I had a moment to think more lips rose out of the water. There were ten in total. Each one gave a kiss one at a time, then all together in a barrage of smooches. The smooch and smack sounds invaded my ears as they covered my face. Then they all pop. Just when I thought it was over the bath started bubbling again.
The bubbles became bigger as they formed a silhouette of a woman. The silhouette summoned a bubble that morphed into another pair of lips but this time she made it grow blowing it up like a balloon. Now they were bigger and plumper than before. I was the size of my head. The silhouette did the gesture of blowing a kiss which sent the lips flying toward me. I braced for impact as lips went smack into my face like a punch. Luckily they were soft. All I could see was red as it smooched my face. The kiss was held for at least ten seconds until there was a big loud pop. Just like that, it was gone. I laid in the tub that now smelled like cherries now knowing that these aroma bombs were the real deal.
I have been having trouble sleeping lately to me being too uneasy. It was all the anxiety I let pile up over the past few days. The stress from the daily grind does"t help much either. So I decided to do some cardio exercises. After I was tired and sweaty I stopped. The next thing I did was took a nice warm bath. I drop a bath bomb that was a blend of sandalwood, honeysuckle, vanilla, and rose. It smelled nice. The bath bomb was called "The Scent Of Serenity." After that, I went to bed. As I lay there on my back with my eyes closed I was still awake. Then I hear a muffled chime sound. I opened my eyes. I see the smiling face of a beautiful woman floating just above my face. But I was not startled. Before I could let out a word she kisses my forehead. Heady tranquility surrounds and comforts me. The woman blows gently and my vision started to blur. I fell asleep again. I got a full night's worth of sleep.
Timothy was manning the kissing booth while his friend Chad was gone. Chad was one that was supposed to be one serving the girls kisses since he was the most handsome of the two of them, but he had to use the bathroom leaving Tim alone at the booth. One kiss was 25 cents. He opened a pack of fresh mint gum and started chewing it. If there's a chance that he has his first kiss at a kissing booth he might as well make sure his breath isn't bad. But so far the girls that pass by didn't seem too interested. So he just decided to sit down and read some manga. After a few minutes of reading, he hears someone walking up to the booth. He looks and sees a beautiful woman with a notably voluptuous figure and long black hair. "Are you still open?" she asked. "Yes, but the person who's serving the kisses isn't here at the moment. he said. " You'll do." she said as she puts a dollar in the jar. "Excuse me miss, but you only need 25 cents for one kiss." Tim said thinking she made a mistake. " Then it's your lucky day Mister. She takes out a little mirror and a tube of blue lipstick and begins applying it onto her perfectly proportioned lips. She made a few poppysmic sounds while making sure her makeup was on good. After putting her mirror back in her purse the busty black-haired beauty grabs him by the shirt giving a firm tug, making him stand up on his feet. She pressed her plump pouts onto his face for a couple of seconds. There was dark blue kiss mark on his left cheek. She then parted her lips from him, a smack sound emanating from the release. "One." Then immediately went towards his right cheek and kissed him there as well to leave another mark on him. "Two" She counted. She gave a nice little peck on the forehead. "Three". Then finally she gave him a big wet one on the lips, holding it for a few seconds. His eyes widened as his heart started pounding fasting than usually. As she finally released him he fell back in his chair grasping for air. "Four," she said catching her breath as well. "This was fun, we should do this again sometime." She slips her number into his shirt pocket. He was in a bit of a daze to react. " What was your name again?" He managed to utter. "Mia" she answered giving a little wink before leaving. Tim sits there in awe of what just happened. "Wow," he said. Tim smacks his mouth a little bit. "Did she take my gum!?" he thought to himself realizing he wasn't chewing anymore. Sometime later Chad comes back to his friend with lipstick on his face. After Chad snaps him out of it he asks what happen while he was gone.
I like buttons
buttons are nice
they come in many shapes and sizes
some big some small
most commonly round
They are nice to feel
very smooth and round
They come in many colors
My favorite buttons
are the ones that my friend Mia gives me
Those are the ones that bust off her shirts
I keep them for good luck.
ሀ'ኳ ጢጤኴኲሀኡህ ኑኪጣኪ ቧኪሣሃየኴኪ ሀኲ ሃ ቈየሀኪኲ ኒሀኲኲኒኪ ሣጤጣኡኪጣ ጤሢ ኲኑኪ የየኪቧ. ሀ ሢኪኪኒ ኳጤጣኪ ሃኲኲሃሣኑኪካ ኲጤ ኑኪጣኪ ኲኑሃኡ ኳጤኴኲ ጤሢ ኲኑኪ ጣኪኴኲ ጤሢ ጣኪካካሀኲ. ኲኑኪ ሢጤኒጣኴ ኑኪጣኪ ሃጣኪ ኳጤጣኪ ሀኡኲጣጤኴጢኪሣኲሀየኪ ሃኡካ ኴሃኲሀኴሢሀኪካ የየሀኲኑ ኲኑኪኳኴኪኒየኪኴ. ሃኡካ ሀ ሢሀኡካ ኲኑሃኲ ሃኳሀሃቧኒኪ.
ሀ ካጤኡ'ኲ ኴየሢሢኪጣ ሢጣጤኳ ሃኡሇሀኪኲኚ, ቧየኲ ሀ ሃኳ ሃየየሃጣኪ ጤሢ ሀየኴኲ የየኑሃኲ ሃ ሀጤጣኪ ሀ ሃኳ. ሀ ሃኳ ኡጤኲ ሃ ኴጣሀኒኒኪካ ሀኡካሀየሀካየሃኒ. ሀ ሃኳ ኡጤኲ ሃኲኲጣሃሣኲሀየኪ. ሀ ሃቧኴጤኒየኲኪኒኚ ሣሃኡኡጤኲ ኴጤሣሀሃኒሀሗኪ. ሃኒኒ ኳኚ ኴየሣሣኪኴኴ ሣሃኡ ቧኪ ሣጣኪካሀኲኪካ ኲጤ ጤኡኪ ኒየሣጣኚ ኳየኲሃኲሀጤኡ ሀ ኑሃጢጢኪኡኪካ ኲጤ ኑሃየኪ ጣኪሣኪሀየኪካ ሢጣጤኳ ኳኚ ሢጤጣኪሢሃኲኑኪጣኴ. ሀ ሣሃኡ ኲሃጣኪ ኡጤ ሣጣኪካሀኲ ሢጤጣ ኲኑሀኴ ሃኲኲጣሀቧየኲኪ. ቧኚ ካኪሢሀኡሀኲሀጤኡ, ሀኲ ኳኪሃኡኴ ኲኑሃኲ ኪየኪጣኚኲኑሀኡህ ኲኑሃኲ ሀ ኑሃየኪ, ሀ ሣሃኡኡጤኲ ኪየኪጣ ካኪኴኪጣየኪ. ሀ ካጤ ኡጤኲ የየጤጣጣ ኑሃጣካ. ሀ ሃኳ ኡጤኲ ህኪኡኪጣጤየኴ. ሀ ሃኳ ኲኑኪ ሃኒኒ ካኪየጤየጣሀኡህ ኒጤሣየኴኲ ኲኑኪ ቧሀቧኒኪ የየሃጣኡኪካ ሃቧጤየኲ. ኴኪኒሢሀኴኑ ሃኡካ ሣጤኡኴየኳሀኡህ.
ሀ ኑሃየኪ ሃኡ ኪኚኪ ሢጤጣ ኴኪኪሀኡህ ኒየሣጣ, ቧኚ የየኑሀሣኑ ሀ ኳየኴሣኒኪ ኳኚ የየሃኚ ሀኡኲጤ ኲኑኪ ሣጣጤየየካ ኲጤ ኴኡሃኲሣኑ ሃ ሢኒሃጣኪ ሢጣጤኳ ኲኑኪ ሃሀጣ ቧኚ የሀጣኲየኪ ጤሢ ኳኚ ኴሀኳጢኒኚ ቧኪሀኡህ ኲኑኪጣኪ. ኴኑጤየኒካ ሀ ኑሃየኪ ኡጤኲ, ኲኑሃኲ ሢኒሃጣኪ የየጤየኒካ ኑሃየኪ ሣጤኡኲሀኡየኪካ ካጤየየኡ ኴኲጣኪሃኳ ኲጤ ኴጤኳኪጤኡኪ ኪኒኴኪ. ቧየኲ ኡጤየየ ሀኲ ሀኴ ኳሀኡኪ. ኡጤኲ ቧኪሣሃየኴኪ ሀ ሣጣኪሃኲኪካ ኲኑሀኴ ኒሀኲኲኒኪ ጢሀኪሣኪ ጤሢ ጤጢጢጤጣኲየኡሀኲኚ. ቧየኲ ቧኪሣሃየኴኪ ሀ የየሃኴ ኲኑኪጣኪ ሢሀጣኴኲ.
ሀ ሃኳ ሃ የኪጣኚ ኒጤየኪካ ሀኡካሀየሀካየሃኒ. ሃኡካ ሀ ኪኡሀጤኚ ሀኲ, ጣኡጤየየሀኡህ ሢየኒኒ የየኪኒኒ ኲኑሃኲ ሀ'ኳ ሃ ኒኪኪሣኑ, ኲሃጣሀኡህ ኲኑኪሀጣ ኪኡኪጣህኚ, ኲሀኳኪ, ሃኡካ ጣኪኴጤየጣሣኪኴ ሃኡካ የየሀኒኒ ኡጤኲ ቧኪ ሃቧኒኪ ኲጤ ጢሃኚ ሀኲ ቧሃሣጣ. ሀኲ ኳሃጣኪኴ ኳኪ ኴሀሣጣ. ጣኪኪጢኴ ኳኪ የጢ ሃኲ ኡሀህኑኲ. ኲኑኪ ጤኡኒኚ ጣኪሃኴጤኡ ሀ ኑሃየኪ ኡጤኲ ጣሀኒኒኪካ ኳኚኴኪኒሢ ሀኴ ቧኪሣሃየኴኪ ሀ ኒሃሣጣ ኲኑኪ ሣጤኡኴኲሀኲየኲሀጤኡ. ሀ ሢኪሃጣ ካኪሃኲኑ. ሀ'ኳ ሃ ቧሃኒኒኒኪኴኴ ጢየኴኴኚ.
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life is tough. it brings moments of joy and moments of heartache all within what seems like a matter of seconds. it was easy as a kid and all we wanted to do was grow up so we could do all the great and fun things the adults were doing. little did we know how confused we would be when that time came. from trying to keep up a lifestyle we created for ourselves in our own minds to actually having to make the tough decisions for ourselves or the family that we built. scared of making the wrong choice, not being accepted, disliked or mistreated. we make this shell for ourselves and we try our damnedest not to let it be broken. what happens when it breaks. what do we become. how do we feel comfortable again. love. it is all we need to make it through this mine field they call life. it is hard. love is beautiful and terrifying all in the same breath. it breaks you and shapes you more than youll ever know. its a part of life. its one of the things that makes life as hard as it is. no matter how tough you are or how vulnerable you become love is something you always search for. weather it is love from a friend or a significant other. love has the ability to show its face in many ways. listening to a close friend while they tell you about their darkest hour to giving a hug when it isnt really needed. a kiss from your lover or a congrats from your friends for accomplishing something great in your life. dont let life hold you down and choke the light you once had as a child. be creative. express yourself and just reach out into the wild with your heart. never give up and always be open to love one another. life and love go hand in hand and it is something we should never give up on.
what type of man am i. work, sleep. thats what I have become. i am a monetary figure. what did i want to do. what hopes were there for me. what hopes did i destroy. ill tell you the type of man i am. i work, i sleep, i protect, i provide, i love. i wake up every day for you. i never open my eyes for myself. i know who counts on me to go in and push through so we can do this thing called life. what about life though. my life hasnt been hard. it also hasnt been perfect by any means. the life i was going to have was world ending. that life would have been cataclysmic. until i broke it. shattered it and destroyed it. what type of man am i. you think you have felt pain. i look at myself and i am pain. i push and push and push until i dont feel it. until i look at it and i know. i am pain. i work to be on top. when i look at myself i fall to the bottom. what type of man am i. that look you can see in your own eyes after you tear something away from another that meant more to them than life itself. that is destruction. that destruction is me. the feeling in your gut. knowing what is going to come and the remorse you live with every day. regret. i am regret. i look inside of it every day. so what type of man am i. pain, destruction and regret. will this ever seem to pass. is it going to pass. you are the world. the sun and the moon.showing me the light of the path i should take and lighting the night sky when all else falls dark. im falling dark. extinguishing the eternal flame of hope. all because i am pain, destruction, regret.
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I really enjoy writing but recently I hit a major block and a friend suggested to me to ask here. I prefer writing when I have an Idea to follow literally it could be anything from the title Android Posted I Cow On social media to Zone 24 Really anything. Even a characters name I just need something to work with. Please reply if you have any suggestions.
Hey everyone, I have created a story and looking for a writer for this smaller project. I’m good with crafting a story but not that skilled when it comes to actually writing the dialogue and story. I’m looking for a writer any level, perfer to have expirence in horror and creepypastas. They should have a sense of effective writing. This isn’t paid for a fun project to help hone your skills for writing. If interested message me directly.
this is just an idea for a part of a book or book title. I felt like it was necessary to share this idea because it can have many aspects to it, such as fantasy, crime, smvt...
but anyways I hope y'all like the idea.
Hey writers of Reddit!
I'm a student and a developer who's really into making apps. I really love to share dreams or nightmares with my friends so I decided to make an app to record and share dreams with friends! The app is mainly about sharing what you dreamed about but I thought talented writers like you guys would be interested in such app because the prompt that dreamers upload is really interesting! Maybe you can give it a go at recording your dream or just simply check out what others are dreaming about to get motivation for your next fascinating writing!
It took me about 5 weeks to make this app, called : Dreamer - Record your Dream. I would really love to get feedback from the /r/WriteWorld community. Even the most negative feedback will really motivate me because it means Dreamer can become better! Also, you are welcome to ask anything if anything comes into your mind :)
If you read far enough to reach here, let me explain briefly about what you can do on Dreamer. Oh, and before that, I want to mention that you can download it on both iPhone and Android.
I'll paste a link at the end if anyone is interested.
Current features for Dreamer:
Features that I'm working on:
Before moving on, I want to be upfront with privacy.
"This is a lonely path. Your body may survive, but you won't be able to look at anyone the same."
I had always known I was more receptive and open minded. Being a listener brought small lonesomes as others moved on and I stayed to attend. I had felt the chills of isolation as a kid.
"There are different ways to cope with it. You may become a hermit. Cold and jaded."
Over the next thirty days, I saw things that made me question all I knew. I was displaced. A passenger in my body as it all happened around me faster than I could process. The instances stabbed in my brain, many times in an hour. My sanity shuddered but stood. What was once concrete became like water. Titans brought collapsed as dust to their knees and blew away with the wind. The outlets I had once heeded became a shrieking. A braying of nonsense and madness.
And there were the men capable of the impossible. Gods of creation. Who could forge incredible complexity where none had been before. The world once stripped away, was simpler, more barren, and I was alone.
The howling numerated and varied in their call. Sometimes they would jeer. Other times they would predict the end of all things. They came from every corner where I did not expect. Trusted faces and strangers I had otherwise no reason to distrust. They choked out the light, left me naked and exposed to terrible elements.
People would take the forms of monsters and I would see shaped that lent the mind to madness. Mountains would turn over. The oceans rose. The sky would turn blood red and light would shine as shadows. Time dilated from linear, to lateral, to an omnidirectional blur that is not for anyone to understand. Dreams would go on for days. I craved for deeper sleep.
There was no help for me. I lost the ability to speak. My own words drowned me. I was isolated, distant, and destined to an unrestful solitude in an eternity only found in endless moments.
Am I healing. There were some dark times. Dark nights.
But I am getting better. I am getting stronger. I have strange capacities I'm not sure I want to use. I can create incredibly complexity where none has been. I can read some veins of future.
I have rejoined my peers, though where they have moved on I still feel I'm in the same place. I cannot look into their eyes as once I did. I see pain. I feel humbled. I feel small. Often I feel sad. But I feel hope too. I feel hope like a geyser pressing against the topsoil.
I will adjust. I will find balance. I will find love. I will rejoin you.
The catwalk reeks of piss and steel. And your fragile body wants to jump, Puke up your insides and let the void devour you. The Player will eventually skin your emotions off your perfect form, Revealing nothing but disgusting hate towards all life. For life seeks to destroy itself, Mutilate its last hope, For humanity is a speck, Approaching nowhere. And the the only way you can deal with the void before you is to jump, A leap of faith in nothing. The tubes are hot with desire, Striking The Player, His bleeding feeding the garden below, The hungry limbs of the the flowering beanstalks reaching up to hell. The beanstalks are pistols, Peppermints. You hear something approaching you. It doesn't kill you. You are a child. It rebels. The player screams, as you are absorbed by it. Happy peppermint.
The mansion is a raindrop upon the skin of earth, Slanted upon the hills, Blurred. You can feel the earth breathing... Hyperventilating. The entrance is the naval, Of the corpse, Burnt in time. She stands at the desk, Hyperventilating, Bloody fingers tapping on the laminate wood. You can tell her tongue reaches down into her stomach, Larvae resting on the pores of her bladder. Peppermints, Eyeballs glued together, Devour them, And let them see heaven. The key, A sharp knife, stabbed into the door, Revealing naked fire, Limbs seducing you to death. She rests a hand on your shoulder, and screams, Imprisoned by The Player. Your dead, A peppermint carcass. Sigh...
Of all of the fantasies
Along with the memories
That I had gained
Nothing rips out my heart
Like the memories
Of what never was.
The bedtime stories,
Singing to them,
Holding them close,
Kissing their heads,
Watching them growing
And teaching them
How to be happy with life.
It doesn’t just hurt
Cause I’m not your wife.
I lost your kids
I lost that life
I lost holding them close
And braiding their hair
Holding their hands through life
When I lost you.
It just isn’t fair
I’m hurting like this
Missing our nights,
Missing your kiss,
Missing the peace that I felt
As I slept next to you at night.
You made the choice
You put up the wall
You felt it, too,
Turned your back on it all.
Remember you told me
How easy it’d be to just
Let yourself fall?
You lost all the love
I had stored in my heart
She couldn’t be faithful
Right from the start
You couldn’t let go
Cause you wanted her
To change her mind and come back.
I wasn’t your half
A part of my soul
I’ll never get back
And now I still
Feel your presence at night
Every now and again.
Looking for a serious group. Monthly assignment or something? I have never been on one so I don’t know what to expect.
Thank you. DMs open.
"Kyle?... Kyle! Did you hear what I said?"
Eyes still glued to the screen, his response was monotone. "Yeah, dad, I heard you."
I watched him for a moment. "You don't believe me. That's fair, I can prove it. Look!"
I sent an orb of blue lighting flashing past his face, close enough that he jerked his head back and dropped the console to the floor. He sighed and turned around, gazing at me over the back of the couch with raised eyebrows and a mildly bored expression.
I stared at him.
"How long have you known?"
He rolled his eyes and sighed again, turning to pick up the console.
"I've had a feeling since that day at the skate park, when I almost-"
"I remember," I interrupted as I sat down on the couch next to him and set my glasses on the coffee table.
"Yeah, but I only knew for sure a few years ago, during my second semester," he continued.
"Ah, so that's why you were so adamant about your mythology majo-"
"No, dad, jeez..." he rubbed his face with both hands. Suddenly I became aware of how much older my son looked; how worn and tired. Did he always look this way? He seemed a lot more chipper the last time he visited home.
"It wasn't about you, dad," he continued, voice muffled through his fingers. "I mean, I knew it might help me put some things together about you, but I have other reasons for doing it." He slumped against the backrest and closed his eyes.
"What are they?" I asked.
"I can't tell you yet," he replied, unmoving.
He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling for a few moments before lifting his head and piercing me with his gaze.
"When you left, I was devastated," he started. My throat constricted, but I couldn't pull my eyes from his. "I didn't know how to handle mom, and I didn't know how we were going to survive. Do you remember what you told me?"
There was no agrression, no hurt, no accusation in his voice. He was just recounting the memories. My heart felt like it had dropped into my gut. I'd have taken a dramatic emotional outburst over this calm, any day. I had really messed up, and I couldn't answer him.
"You told me to trust you. You couldn't tell me anything, but everything would be fine, as long as I trusted you," he said. I swallowed painfully. The human form exacerbated everything.
Kyle leaned forward and regarded me closely.
"I was scared, but I did it. I trusted you, and I waited for years. Now I need you to trust me. I know you might already have some idea of what's going on, otherwise you probably wouldn't have decided to reveal yourself to me today, and I know you could find out more if you wanted," he paused. He glanced at my shoulder, exactly where my mark was, and then back to my face. Did he know?
"I need you to not find out," he said. "I need you to trust me. That way everything will be fine. Can you do that?"
I'm super new to writing fiction, but I've fanatsized about writing a great story and getting it published. :) Doing this for fun. Thoughts and feedback welcome!
All your words come with
The aftertaste of deceit
Like the cigarette on your lips
That I kept tasting
Long after we kissed.
“Are you guys done eating?” Sam ran a hand over her sweat-slicked hair, mussing the shock she had chopped it into a month ago.
The sixty-something tennis player turned from his friend to give her a nod. “We’d like the check now- and your number, señorita,” he said in a nasally, lurching twang.
They erupted into a roar of hacking laughter. An urge seized her to bare an armpit at them. She hadn’t shaved since she had driven away from Pescadero, but Mother wasn’t in San Francisco to screech at her if she didn’t.
It wasn’t worth it, though. Sam did it to the last man who had bothered her a week ago, and when she clocked in the next afternoon Mrs. Lopez had shoved a package of razors into her hand.
“I let Laura have you to please the Lord,” she had told her, “and I can throw you out as easily as I took you.”
Sam dropped silverware and crushed Bud Light cans- the two of them had drained eight in total- onto their plates and sped off to the kitchen. One more hour.
She dumped the blackened fries they hadn’t deigned themselves to eat into the garbage can. Laurie had set a timer on her Samsung and scribbled a reminder on her palm, but it died before it rang and sweat smeared the note into a blue smear.
Laurie had smothered a nest of orange-yellow flames that reached for the kitchen ceiling half an hour later. The extinguisher had clattered out of her hands once she finished.
She slammed back onto a wall and sobbed so hard she had to hold her arms out to keep from collapsing onto the floor. Sam had sworn to her that nothing would go awry to coax her into leaving.
She wouldn’t break that promise today if a demon rose from hell and tried to devour her.
One more hour, and I’ll go to Laurie’s. Her apartment was on the floor above Sam’s- seventh, left wing, 1203. Its number aligned with her birthday.
Sam flung the cans one by one into the garbage, dropped the dishes into the sink, and scrubbed her hands clean.
Outside, a briny wind sliced through the honey-thick air. The black rolling sea had swallowed half of the sun. Mosquitos glided by with whirs as sharp as a violin’s strings snapping, and flies flitted around burgers where customers had.
Plates needed to be picked up on one of the little steel tables that stood next to the handrail. She tucked a couple chairs back as she wound her way to it. She plucked one up with a half-eaten patty-melt on it and set a Coke on top.
The only plate without charred fries piled on it was the littlest- a kid’s order of sliders and orange juice.
“I have no idea why she likes burnt food,” one of the toddler’s mothers had admitted to Sam. “I’m gonna ask her when she learns how to talk.”
Ripples folded the sea against its tide. Sam paused for a moment to watch, squinting. White froth hissed as if it were alive.
An amber limb speared the water. Icy droplets burnt her eyes and she knocked a plate off the table rearing back. It skittered off, scattering fries and sending the patty-melt tumbling away.
The splintering deck slammed into her rump with a groan. Coke oozed into the scarred cypress like bubbling black blood. Wet slaps sounded below as if the sea slinging a corpse at a pier.
She looked up to stare at what resembled a golden octopus perched on the handrail. Its head was an almond-shaped mass mounted on tentacles like one- except for the rows of eyes that gaped in its flesh.
Each was ink-black and round on red vein-marbled corneas as though the sea stung its eyes too. Each bored into hers.
“Hello?” she croaked out. No matter how much her mind screamed to move, she was frozen there.
It hit the deck with a squish and squirmed toward her. Its tentacles moved like human arms flailing for purchase, twitching and thudding with every motion.
Food. She snatched up a fistful of fries that snapped in her hand like twigs. It might want food. She thrust in front of its head and it flopped onto its back.
A mouth sucked in hoarse gasps of air where its limbs joined its head. Inside it, a snarl of flat broad teeth jutted this way and that. It looked as if a horse’s had been ripped out and gored into its cheeks and the roof of its mouth.
Its limbs thrashed, scrabbling to lift itself back up right. After a couple moments, it stilled. The hive of eyes that was its head bent toward her hand. It plucked a fry from her fist and crunched.
Once it had swallowed that one, it took another.
“Good,” Sam cooed as if she was talking to a toddler. “Good whatever-you-are.”
I know the opening paragraphs are rambling and the last don't make too much sense, but here it is.
Wind cut through the alleyway, whipping up Rick's cloak and biting through the layers of unwashed wool and leather he was swaddled in.
Beneath the sinking sun flew a raven, its fanning glossy wings gliding on the gust. Aelius was flying his chariot of brilliant flame into the earth to consult Saerion. Its light dyed Asta's cream-and-rose skirts blazing oranges and golds.
Let them talk forever, Rick thought as he creaked the heavy roughhewn pine door open. Ceto was Mother's mistress.
Night, the black hours of sorceresses and monsters, had been his refuge since before he could remember. When he had lived as Valerian, he had poured over massive cracking tomes documenting the Aelwyr's heathen ways until dawn's rosy fingers pried into his library.
It unnerved Father- of course, all his little oddities had.
“Aelius alive-” Asta blurted when the stable’s musty stink hit her. Her hand flung over her mouth and she doubled over, slamming into the door.
“Don’t,” He grabbed her shoulders to steady her. Hasn’t she been around a stable before? Well, the stronghold’s were better kept. “We’ll be safe here.” He murmured.
Staring down at the bare ground, she gave him a nod. Her almond eyes scrunched at him in a way that let him know he had made a promise. He bit his lip, though he knew the odds were with them here.
On the streets, they were one pair of keen eyes from execution. Guards watched the long twisting roads and looked into the shadowy alleys for Valerian Natare and his accomplice, Biarea.
That evening at a tavern, a man had slammed his tankard down and vowed to kill those craven bastards for poisoning good Lord August. Asta had grabbed his hand, but Rick shook it off.
“The misdeeds of a lord’s children don’t concern us,” He ripped apart the loaf of rye they had spent their last coin on, and caught her eyes as he laid the longer half on her plate. “They’ve already been caught, most like.”
A chestnut mare with a white blaze snorted at them as they passed. The gelding next to her craned his head out, perhaps expecting an apple. Asta scratched his supple neck.
His white coat was dappled in a way that made him look as if he had rolled in cinders.
No horse stood in the last stall. Rick unlocked the half-door and swung it open. No dung was strewn about the rushes and no urine darkened it. Asta scattered straw when she rushed inside, cream-and-rose wool billowing behind her.
He sighed with his lips curled into a smile. He plopped down in the darkest corner and wrapped his heavy russet cloak around himself. His legs, weary from roaming the shadows of Mirhithe, thanked him.
“Come here,” Rick opened his arms and she nestled into them. Her breath fell steady and slow on his neck the moment she closed her eyes. “Sweet dreams.” He told her, running a hand through her greasy silver hair. If only I fell asleep that easily.
Footsteps clicked down the hall. Rick’s breath caught in his throat. Dumbass! He ripped his knife out of the scabbard on his hip. Asta grunted when he shoved her to his chest and her fingers locked around his shoulders.
“What’s going on?” She tried to twist in Rick’s arms so she could see the stranger come.
The steps paused, uncertain, and continued quicker.
“Don’t.” He pointed the long crooked blade at the window above the half-door, heart hammering.
A long-limbed stablekeeper walked in front of the stall. In one hand was a pitchfork with straw still stuck to its curving prongs. In the other swung a heavy reeking bucket.
“We haven’t touched anything outside of here. We’ll leave at once,” Rick let Asta free and rose.
She leapt to her feet, staring at the man with wide eyes beneath a furrowed brow. Weaponless, he remembered. The man’s slender brown eyes flicked from Rick to her and fixed back onto the ground.
“We thirst,” His murmur was as soft and deep as a tide rolling onto shore, “and Gywnre pours.”
A finger of sweat ran down Rick’s spine. Asta fell into a wide stance and hunched. The man tucked a ginger curl behind his ear, turned, and strode away. The door opened and shut.
Her shoulders fell. He unlocked the stall’s half-door and walked out. She stood there, staring at the rushes. He opened his mouth.
“No.” She whispered, little hands clenched into fists at her sides.
Wrinkly bags as black as fresh bruises shadowed her eyes. How long had it been since she’d slept a full night? He clenched his jaw. It shamed him to see her taking on his look.
“I’m not leaving you here.”
Asta didn’t move.
“It’s not safe anymore,” He tried to reason with her. “That stablekeeper’s going to tell his boss about us, and we’re gonna be chased out- or worse.” Come on, they’re gonna take us if we don’t leave now.
"Who said he will?" She raised her head and locked eyes with him. "He might let us stay to honor Gywnre, since it's nearing her feast."
"Who said he won't?"
"Where else can we sleep?" Her face rumpled."We'll freeze if we wander around long in that cold. Maybe we could at least wait a little and see what happens. We'll run if it does."
"We won't be able to if so. They'll tell the Sunswords and we'll be found. It's better not to risk it."
A sigh whistled sharp out of her mouth. Perhaps it was because he had won the game of what-ifs- or she realized she'd never be able to convince him to stay.
Straw crunched and snapped beneath her scuffed boots as she trudged out of the stall. Rick took her hand, pudgy yet hard and rough with callus, so she couldn't stray.
It didn't stop her from throwing a glance over her shoulder when the icy air hit them. Snowflakes drifted through like a hiawne's feathers and nipped their faces.
Rick unsheathed his knife and led her out, listening for the click of footsteps or-
He almost leapt when a door swung open and slammed into the stable.
"You're gonna freeze out there!" cried a woman's low lilting voice.
He spun around, swinging Asta as if he planned to throw her, and they bolted down the alley.
The woman let out a noise between a scoff and a sigh. Her steps rang heavy behind them like knells.
His pants blew out in white puffs before his cold-whipped face. Twisting columns of stores and taverns and homes blurred beside him.
"Stop!" The woman kept howling. "I can hel-"
A crack caught his boot. He wrenched Asta's arm and let go of her as he slammed into the frost-glazed grey stones.
"Run!" He got onto raw hands. On his right, his glove had ripped through his palm. A gash gaped through the bare flesh.
His knife scratched the stones with a hiss. He looked down to find its tip jutting through his thigh. Trickles of wine-dark blood ran down and welled at the point, hitting the road in black drops.
Asta stood, shoulders hunched and hands raised but still. At the other end of the street, he spotted a Suncloak sauntering by and his heart stopped. Yet when the guard saw what was going down, he turned with a whish of his golden silk and went from whence he came.
"I can help!" The woman's cry came closer and closer.
He clamped his eyes shut. They popped open when Asta fell to her knees beside him and took hold of the hilt, twisting it as she tried to wrench it free.
The woman sent Asta tumbling with a shove of her muscular arms. Snowflakes dappled her glossy, iron-chased hair. Sweat gleamed on her face and she swept wet strands from her round cheekbones.
She knelt on sturdy legs, unfastened her cloak, and knotted the cobalt wool tight around the flesh below his hip. Asta got onto her hands, panting.
Blood ran down her round face from a gash that split her brow and curved around her eye. She snarled at the ground, but when she raised her head the woman gave her a glower that killed the last of her courage.
Steps clicked on the stones behind them. The stablekeeper loped up and his eyes caught the woman's- round, creaseless, and dark as pools of ink.
"Help me," She called. One hand slid between Rick's shoulder blades and another into the small of his back.
He gritted his teeth when the man's strong slender fingers locked around his calves. They hoisted him up, grunting. Asta followed them without a word, walking between the two.
Warmth tingled around the knife lodged in his thigh. He took Asta's hand with his left, her lambskin glove fluffy against his leather. We are kin, he told himself as he squeezed, in Father's blood and Mother's nerve.
And with that, the last of his strength slipped away.
"ALIVE! ALIVE!" roared voices young and wizened, shrill and rumbling through the thick stony walls.
What? Rick's eyes snapped open and he threw the coarse crisp linen over himself. He bit back a scream when he tried to fold his knees to his chest. Trickles of pain as scorching as molten iron streamed down his thigh.
"THE LORDLINGS LIVE!" Shouts and bellows of laughter blared. Tankards clattered together.
No. He gritted his teeth. Please, no. His chin quivered as if it was about to snap off. _I didn't fail Mother that much. _Tears blurred his vision and dribbled down his face hot as blood.
Father's death meant nothing now. The sons he had shoved in her and ripped out lived. Rick wrapped his arms around himself, trying to focus on taking slow steady breaths. _I wish Idisen was here. _
Just the sight of him- the gentle smile his lips curled into when he saw him, his hair, fine and soft and pale as moonlight- would've helped Rick to stop making so much noise.
He laid under the sheet once his eyes had dried, listening to the babble of a dozen conversations. The pain in his thigh settled to a steady stinging ache. Fingers plucked strings, and over the tide of murmurs rolled a smooth rich voice.
_Let Ceto send black rushing tides
Let foreigners cling to their silken pride
Our longships will never sink
On his watch, Nere never blinks
Only fools in silver and gold
who think loyalty can be brought and sold
hope to drown the Sons of the Sea!
The stablekeeper, Rick peeked his head from under the linen. Such a handsome voice was squandered on that specter of a man.
Below rows of pine shelves crowded with squat black pots and tall jars, barrels stood like lines of beer-bellied soldiers. The sharp stench of brine filled the air.
The only opening in the walls pressing narrow around him was a crack running through the ceiling. Snowmelt dripped through and splashed into a bucket set under it.
Not one of his belongings were in the store save for his loincloth. I hope they got good coin for that, He bit his lip, though he knew he could rip clothes cleaner than his had been off a potboy.
All he could do for now was lie there and think. Perhaps weave loose threads of a plan together. He sat up in the cot with a mender's grueling precision, focusing on keeping his bad leg still.
He tossed the linen onto the cot's edge, hunched over, and took hold of his thigh to take check the wound.
Glistening stitches crisscrossed down where the knife had lodged into it. Blood had crusted over the cut that remained, and the flesh encircling it was flushed and swollen but not sour.
It was neat, intricate work leagues more elegant than his attempts at simple stutures. His last had been days before he fled with Asta.
It might've been the stubby candles flickering around him that made him nick his fingers so much… Or his nerves. It was ridiculous how his heart hammered in his throat each time he tried his hand at it.
He had defied Father from the cradle. Why did it matter now? Well, no- he wasn't only the person Rick was with that. He was flying in the face of Cerenway itself. The structure its people and gods, whether true or false or somewhere in between, stood upon.
A society so flimsy that boys with wool and needles could unravel it. Nothing to fear.
Stitches snapped open and air slammed into the exposed flesh. He let go of his thigh with a hiss whistling through his gritted teeth. His fingers had dug gouges already darkening into bruises on his copper skin.
Thick interlaced cords of muscle glistened in the torchlight and lurched with stab of pain as he tensed him. Stitches sewed them together as if they had never been split.
Black trickles of blood rolled down his thigh and spilled onto the wool mattress. One tugged at the thin translucent catgut that dangled free from his wound, leaving it dark and clinging to him like a starving leech.
The coppery reek mingled with the brine heavy in the air. His chest heaved as his breath rushed in and out of him. How will I survive this? screamed the animal that lurked in the depths of his mind.
It was as if he was dashing down the street again except Asta wasn't beside him, digging her fingers into his hand.
Do I deserve to? murmured a creature above. It dwelt a realm that fingers of light brushed and cast shadows blacker than the gloom below. Is life worthwhile burdened with this folly of mine?
_This knowledge that I ripped Biarea out of her home in vain? _Its voice rose to a raw thin wail. _From the hands of a servant who was nurturing her when Father didn't care to and _that wretched concubine was too young to?
And now I'm dragging her into a grave beside mine?
Tears stung his aching eyes. He grabbed hold of his thigh and the skin tore asunder as easily as cheap fabric. Each pulse that ran through the gash was like a blacksmith's hammer slamming down into him.
I deserve this. Steps clicked in the hallway outside the storeroom.
He glanced at the tall iron-reinforced door, flopped over onto the blood-sodden mattress, and waited for them to find his corpse.
Darkness like a cloud of thick smoke rose at the corner of his eye. Swirling and twisting, it gathered into the shape of a woman as tall and slim as a spear.
His head seemed a boulder set on his neck when he turned it to look.
Boots stood in the puddles of blood pooling at the cot's side, the black leather worn and homey. The hard bronze of Mother's slender eyes glowed in the flickering torchlight. Tears trickled down her long sharp face.
“Not yet.” She murmured, crisp and curt.
“I’m sorry,” Rick choked out.
The door creaked open. A bowl hit the ground and thick brown stew splattered. Mother melted into the blood. I’ll try again. He promised her.