The moon no longer shines as bright it did before. A husk, a dull fraction of its formal self, i fail to see her initial glow. Sometimes i see figments of that formal glow but once sullied..The night sky stays forbidden for me to appreciate. For the heavens may be beautiful but it is forever changing, It was too late before i realised, my sense of loss was for sth that doesnt exist anymore. For me, the heavens are a singular ever engulfing entity, but for her, im just one of many appreciating her beauty. Grasping into thin air i tried to rearrange the sky.. re vitalise the moon, with tears down my face i begged for its formal self that didn exist anymore. Now i look up at the sky knowing the boundaries i can never cross.

THE SHADOWS OF GOTHAM.

Hoofdstuk 1: De Chaos van Gotham

Gotham City, een stad waar chaos altijd om de hoek loert. De lucht was donker en zwaar, met de schaduwen van de nacht die de straten omhulden. Boven op de Hooge Kerk stond een man met groen haar en een brede, gekke lach. Het was de Joker, en hij was klaar om zijn nieuwste plan tot leven te brengen.

Met een schelle lach keek hij naar beneden naar de mensen die zich haasten over de straat. "Het is tijd voor chaos!" riep hij, zijn handen in de lucht stekend. Plots verscheen Harley Quinn, die een trampoline onder de kerk plaatste. De Joker sprong met een grijns naar beneden, landde op de trampoline en sprong met gemak naar de grond.

Maar voordat de Joker en Harley hun plannen konden voortzetten, weerklonk het geluid van een sirene in de verte. De politie was onderweg. De Joker keek op en zag de iconische schaduw van Batman verschijnen. De man met het masker, het symbool van gerechtigheid in Gotham.

"Wat heb ik verkeerd gedaan?" vroeg de Joker, terwijl hij zich omdraaide naar Batman, zijn handen in de lucht stekend alsof hij onschuldig was. Batman antwoordde kalm: "Je weet heel goed wat je hebt gedaan, Joker."

De Joker lachte. "Oh, Batman, je hebt altijd zo'n serieus gezicht. Kom, laten we wat plezier hebben!"

Maar voordat ze verder konden praten, verscheen er een nieuwe stem: "Dit is niet jullie strijd."

Hoofdstuk 2: Dusk's Betreden

Uit de schaduwen stapte een mysterieuze figuur. Zijn aanwezigheid was angstaanjagend, zijn uitstraling even koud als de nacht. Hij was gehuld in een donkere mantel, zijn gezicht gedeeltelijk verborgen achter een zwart masker. Alleen zijn felblauwe ogen waren zichtbaar, koud en berekenend. Hij stond recht tegenover Batman en Nightwing, zijn stem kalm, maar krachtig: "Ik ben Dusk, en ik ben hier om Gotham te redden van jullie... spelletjes."

Joker, die altijd van chaos hield, keek naar Dusk en zei met een maniakale lach: "Nou, nou, wat hebben we hier? Een nieuwe speler in de stad?"

Dusk stond daar, onbewogen door de dreigingen van de Joker. "Ik ben hier om te leiden. Gotham heeft leiders nodig, geen helden."

De lucht werd kouder, de spanning steeg. Batman en Nightwing stonden klaar voor een gevecht, maar Dusk bewees onmiddellijk dat hij meer was dan een gewone vijand. Zijn zwaarden verschenen uit de holsters aan zijn zij, de bladen glinsterden in het maanlicht.

"Sterf, Nightwing," zei Dusk, zijn stem ijzig. "Vandaag wordt de dag dat de schurken winnen."

Hoofdstuk 3: Het Gevecht van de Nacht

Nightwing draaide zich om en haalde snel zijn stokken uit zijn riem. Hij sprong naar voren om Dusk te confronteren, maar de vijand beweeg snel en met precisie. Dusk zwaaide met zijn zwaarden, de lucht snijdend. Nightwing ontweek, maar Dusk’s zwaarden waren sneller dan hij had verwacht.

"Je bent niet snel genoeg," zei Dusk, zijn stem kalm, terwijl hij zijn zwaarden weer omhoog hief voor de volgende aanval.

Nightwing voelde de druk toenemen, maar hij bleef kalm. Hij kende de kracht van de schaduwen, en in Gotham was snelheid alles. "Dat denk jij, Dusk," zei hij, terwijl hij zich met een scherpe beweging naar voren boog, zijn stokken gericht op Dusk’s zwaarden. Hij wist dat hij een openingskans moest vinden, anders zou hij het gevecht niet winnen.

Tegelijkertijd worstelde Batman met de Joker. De clown met de groene haren had zich opnieuw in een wervelwind van chaos geworpen, maar Batman was geduldig. "Jullie kunnen niet winnen," schreeuwde de Joker, maar Batman was vastberaden. Hij duwde de Joker van zich af en zei: "Dit is niet jouw overwinning, Joker."

Hoofdstuk 4: De Onverwachte Wending

Het gevecht leek op een dodelijke impasse te komen. Batman was bezig de Joker af te leiden, terwijl Nightwing zich verdedigde tegen Dusk. Maar net op het moment dat alles verloren leek, draaide Dusk zich om naar de skyline van Gotham.

"Dit is niet het einde," zei hij met een glimlach die zo ijskoud was dat het leek alsof de lucht bevroren. "Vandaag zullen de schurken winnen. Gotham heeft geen hoop meer."

Met die woorden verdween hij in de schaduwen, zijn zwaarden verdwenen in de duisternis. Batman en Nightwing stonden daar, nog steeds gewond maar vastberaden, terwijl de Joker in het niets verdween.

"Dit is nog niet voorbij," zei Batman, zijn blik fel gericht op de horizon. "We zullen hem vinden, Nightwing. We stoppen hem."

En zo eindigde de nacht, maar de strijd was nog maar net begonnen. Gotham had nieuwe vijanden, en de vraag was nu niet of de helden zouden winnen, maar of ze het recht hadden om te winnen tegen zo'n machtige tegenstander.

Einde.

i want to write starting tomorrow, but right now i found out that i dont have the motivation for it. what to do when you dont feel like writing?

The two people who had been seated were that of Wilmer Hamm and Hugo Everst “But the sole reasoning of what you are saying is merely preposterous, how can it be that you truly believe that war is a necessary must in this world!” exclaimed Wilmer Hamm, “The sole foundation of war is that of two people of such high importance can not get along and must instead use all the men and artillery in their possession and use it against each other for an outcome of such uncertain possibilities that it is gambling in a sense with the lives of tens of thousand, such a thing can simply not be trusted. The fact that that is necessary, would simply be outrageous, because if it were truly so then that would mean that the deaths of those at Borodino were a necessary tragedy, that all horrific wars are of importance because of what? The only thing it shows is how horrible it is, yet people still continue on with war as if it were something to be proud of. The Great War, for example, people wrote letters of pride to their families that they had been drafted. Hooray! They said, yet it was only until they arrived back from such a thing did the masses truly understand the severity of the situation, in fact I also served in the war. And the horrors and tragedies that I experienced and heard of, still haunt me to this day. The conditions inside those trenches were so indescribably inhuman, it is hard to comprehend if you weren't there. There were bodies, dead and rotting that filled the trenches. The smell so revolting you threw up at the thought of it, that you could taste the sickness in the air. Not to mention the noise. It was so noisy, a constant ringing so thunderous it seemed you might go deaf at any moment. But the worst art of it all were the guns, firing and not knowing what you hit, the lives those men had back where they lived, it was tragic, it fills my thoughts to the point where darkness seems to consume me and the only thing left is black, just darkness filling everything until there will never again be a light illuminating your way. So pray I'm begging for you to tell me how that is of necessary value to the world and subsequently their leaders!” Wilmer Hamm had said such things filled with such conviction and passion that he might have convinced even Hugo himself. Wilmer was smarter than Hugo when it came to things like this, and in this very discussion it would be most likely that he was right, so for what purpose would Hugo try to engage in a battle of wits against someone he could never win against? Well it is simply the fact that Hugo is a man of such undying ignorance that he believes everything that he thinks to be true and subsequently that he is smarter than everyone he meets. He thinks so arrogantly and pridefully, but everytime he tries to do something akin to this he fails. So why the repeated bashing of his credibility if it does nothing for him and only further worsens his social position? Well Hugo, a man so arrogant and prideful is so deeply rooted in his ignorance that all his actions can be summed up as an example of chess. Where one player sees an opportunity to attack and perhaps put himself in an advantageous position, yet when he does so, it is only then that he realizes that he was so deeply focused on that single area that the piece in which he attacks with is immediately taken and as such he is put in a very bad position for continuance and therefore must resign. Well it is the same for Hugo, for his mind ever so small cannot see the bigger picture, and as such he can only see a little piece. Like trying to put together a puzzle with no pieces. No matter how hard Hugo Everst tries to to see the bigger picture, it is so far from the capabilities that his ignorance bestows upon his mind, that no matter what facilities of deciphering he tries, he will always be fated to never be able to be smarter or more deeply thoughtful than even that of a little boy. His ignorance is his greatest downfall, and it is for this that he can never be better than anyone. Though this ignorance makes him so foolish in matters such as most philosophy, he himself is not stupid, and it is this exact ignorance that allowed him to become so successful. For when he can not see the bigger picture, it works, because the investing of stocks is such a big picture that if you were to try to base your investments off of that, it would only lead to downfall, it is just so that seeing such a little bit allows him to be able to make investments so accurate that he is the only one benefiting. He is a character of many tragedies, a character of a despicable manner, but also a person of many victories, it is why Joseph likes him so much even though he views him in contempt. But what does Hugo have in response to such a powerful argument presented just slightly earlier? Well it is that of magnitudes, because even though he is a man deeply arrogant and ignorant, his favorite topic is war, something he extensively reads about. “I will admit your speech is quite moving, in fact if I had been any other man I would’ve admitted myself wrong, and humbly accepted your opinion and moved on from there. But I am not any other man, and I have no intentions of settling this with my admittance of being wrong, so before the end of this night, I will have put myself into such a position as to where I can show you the superiority of my philosophy and subsequent metaphysics. You say how could such a thing be a necessary evil. Well, it is of necessity due simply to the fact that no matter how hard we try, people will never get along, something will always stand in the way of true peace. Before I continue you must remember this fact, if not everything I say you will think is utterly preposterous. But do you agree with me Wilmer?” Wilmer nodded in agreement. “Now that I have your full understanding I will begin. The subsequent reasoning of war is due to the fact that men can get along only to a certain degree before conflict arises, there we all agree on. But what to do when said conflict arrives, and the two leaders cower in fear? War, a contest between two countries’ strength to assert dominance over one or the other. Now may the scale of the war be toned down, such as the best hundred soldiers fighting the other hundred, maybe, but then it would be fair wouldn’t it, and war is not fair, war is that of treachery and tricks and stratagem, not just men fighting against one another. So despite war being that of a horrible mess filled with the deaths of thousands, what else is there to do? You say that you feel a darkness, a guilt of such that fills you, that consumes you. But for what do you have to feel sorry for, you did an honor defending our nation, a nation of freedom and pride, and by engaging in such warfare and even killing those scum, you served an honor to this nation and don’t you ever forget that! You think that in war you should feel guilty but no! War is that of defending what you love, think if you hadn’t done so, if the millions who didn’t do so because they thought they would be consumed by guilt hadn’t defended this nation with all they had, we would no longer be living this America we know today, we would be in control by people who go against what we so valiantly stand for! So don’t you ever say you feel guilty by killing those men, they put themselves out there, not you, they are paying for their mistakes, there is no guilt there. And If I hear you crying like that again, I will beat you so ferociously, you won't remember what happened, and that is not only a threat, but a promise I will make sure is carried out by my own two hands! Now where are we? Ah yes, we were discussing how war is necessary. Yes, it is and everything I have said so far we know to be true, so what else is there for why it is necessary, that is my next point. War is necessary, not only politically, but also because the instinctual nature inside of us so consumes us with violence, that outbursts occur. They may happen in any way, but with very important people, leaders, war happens, tensions rise, and war begins. So we men who have such pent up aggression must find a way to relieve ourselves, similarly like how we do sexually. We fornicate with those we love, or maybe with those we don’t even, to release that pent up aggression, this time only in the form of passion, heat, and love. But sometimes so may it be, that we can’t do so, we can’t let our aggression free, so it builds, until war breaks out, and we fight and kill each other. Yes, you may be thinking, ‘but there is no way this could be true’. But think, really think very quite hard and try to remember if what I’m saying is true,” Hugo got up from his chair, his gesticulations becoming more and more erratic, his pace increasing, and his voice growing. “‘Yes, you are right, I do remember such a thing happening’. You may be thinking this to yourselves but are too ashamed to admit it, I’m not, but all of you here know I’m right. You know what I say is with truth. It is now in the hands of Wilmer to try and counteract my claims, but who knows, perhaps this could be my first philosophical victory since I became an adult man.” he concluded his statement by grabbing a glass of whiskey and sipping it in one go. Thrice more he did this, and only until then did he finally sit back in his chair right across from Wilmer, a fifth glass held steadily in his hands. His eyes gleaming like an apex predator hunting down a small prey, a glint of insanity filled those green damnable eyes. A slight smirk covering his pale cheeks, something that made people want to wish him pain, and a very good tactic for making those he despised filled with anger without ever knowing why. That face looked at Wilmer, his face sweating, his hair matted against his wet face. Thoughts filled his mind, but it seemed that only one thought stood clear within such a jumbled mess, the only way I win this is through aggression.
“How can you say such things and feel nothing,” Wilmer said, a deep sadness filling his voice, “When someone like I has gone through what I’ve gone through, is it not to be stated that when you say something so horrendous, it seems to me no dissimilar then you spitting in my face-” “Oh stop it with the emotions! You will convince no one here if you try to use your emotions to gain moral support. We all know what you said to be lies! You never participated in the Great War, I did, and what I experienced was glorious!” “How dare you accuse me of such a thing as lying about that! How could you possibly ever think such a despicable thing as truth?” “Because when you said that, your brother over there had an expression of such confusion, it seemed you were saying you were Jesus Christ, and the only that could ever have elicited such a response was if it were that of being fake and untruthful. You villainous wretch, how dare you lie about something as historic as that! If you lie about one thing again bad things will happen, misfortune at every step in this gala we have here, and maybe if you're lucky, I’ll have been hauled away to jail before anything too bad happens. So tell one more lie, I beg of you.” Rayners face sunk down, and remained there for a few moments, but soon it glowed once more, although he knew there was an inevitable fate that he didn’t like, he still had to try. “I will admit what I previously stated about my trauma in the war was fabricated, but for a reason I will explain now. Is it not so that people develop trauma from war, so then why couldn’t I perhaps bend the rules just a bit in order to get my point across? Is that really so wrong of me? No, it isn’t, and you know why, because everyone here has at least once fabricated stories for their personal benefit, so could the same courtesy not be granted to me? Some will say no, but really what matters is, did it convey what I needed it to? And to that, yes it did, and although some may judge me for it, nobody in this world, and especially at this gala, is perfect. When it comes to arguments, does one really care if someone makes up their personal stories, only meant to further their argument and conviction? No so why isn’t the truth malleable when it just is meant to be there simply to get my point across. I know I may be redundant in what I have just said, but is what I say not true? Yes it is, and nobody here can say otherwise! ” “Wilmer, when is it that war has served benefits for countries? Do you know? Do you seriously think that war could not be beneficial to a nation? They are often waged as I have stated before, for prestige or dominance, but also most often for economical reasons. Countless wars have been fought since prehistory with the purpose to subjugate and force other people and nations into submission and to exploit their wealth and resources. One only has to look into the Opium Wars of China, where after the war of one year, Britain managed to secure a favorable position, an extreme sum of money, land, and extraterritoriality making the British exempt from Chinese law. Other colonial era wars with the losing nation being exploited for the winners’ benefits. In some cases of speciality, like the Dutch East India Company. Despite being a private company founded to engage in trade, it had the right to wage wars if this was thought to be necessary to protect its interests. The Dutch, the British and many other nations have benefited quite lavishly from the inequality of nations and the wars they had fought to uphold this political situation. Your speech filled with such emotions, even though you never experienced them, is of such idiocracy, it is almost incomprehensible. War may sometimes be that of a nightmare, but you are missing one piece, war is tragic, but it is necessary. You talk about the horrors of Borodino, that men in the trenches come back home, like they had seen death itself, but you, so unable to recognize that this only furthers what I have been saying. The world, ever so vicious and brutal, is built on conflict, and no amount of idealism shall ever change such a fact. Nations rise and fall, all because of war, the only constant happening in history has been conflict, it is not a flaw in the system, but rather the system itself. Remember history’s greatest empires, the Romans, the British, the Mongols. All were built through war, conquest, and bloodshed. And what did they bring? Civilization, order, trade, stability. The world we live in today was shaped by war. You say war is gambling with lives, but every great advance in human history has been a gamble. The soldiers at Borodino, the men in the trenches, they weren’t wasted lives, they were the price paid for progress!” his eyes flared, seemingly covered in the fires of hell. “War is the crucible that forges nations, refines cultures, and separates the strong from the weak. Without it, there would be no balance, no deterrent to tyranny, no mechanism to defend freedom. You lament the pain of soldiers and the darkness that haunts them, but let me ask you this, what is worse, the temporary suffering of a generation, or the enslavement of an entire people? I fought in that war, and you made up your experience, but we both know the truth. If men hadn’t laid down their lives for their country, we’d be speaking German right now, honoring dictators who would crush every ounce of freedom you claim to hold dear in this beloved nation we hold dear. And don’t even get me started on your so-called emotional plea about guilt! Do you think guilt changes the outcome of war? Guilt is the luxury of those who survive, those who benefit from the sacrifice of others. But guilt doesn’t feed nations, doesn’t protect borders, doesn’t secure the future! The sooner you can realize this fact, the sooner you can understand how you are wrong.” “How can you say such things as that? Maybe you are right in the case that war causes progression, but the costs of that progression is of too much value to be justifiable. That the cost of progression is that of men's souls, their minds twisted and fatefully doomed. No! That is not justifiable, and nor will it ever be!” “Oh stop it with the sympathy you lousy bastard! Nobody cares about your precious little feelings, when war is occuring, do you think people want to think of how sad they are? No, they kill and kill, and they will do so until the war is concluded. Nobody here feels pity for such statements you say, all your emotions being that of fabrications, perhaps you don’t feel anything, and it is just one big lie, akin to when you falsified information to try and be more convincing. Do you remember that? Maybe you don’t even care about war, and just want to not lose our little discussion.” “How dare you!” “How dare I? You really ask that of me, I’m not saying anything false, you are but not me.” “Oh you sick bastard.” Wilmer Hamm, a man of composed ideologies, is also a man of such vulnerable sensitivity, akin to a child with an adult's philosophical mind. As such, Wilmer, no longer being able to handle the stress and pressure from such a debate, not being able to handle the gazes of all those watching, quickly fled to the bar and grabbed multiple glasses of vodka, specially imported from Russia for such an occasion. He quickly poured three glasses down, and slumped into a chair, far away from everyone else, a corner of such little illuminance, that it seemed he was basking in darkness itself. Hugo was quick to smile, knowing that he had essentially demoralized, and won in a battle of wits against a well versed philosopher, it soon came to that people started clapping, including Joseph, slightly impressed at the way that Hugo had so effectively crushed a man like Wilmer. Soon after, conversations on what had unfolded before them filled the party, all that anyone would talk about was how amazing what they had just witnessed was. It seemed everyone at that moment could only think and talk about one thought, Hugo Everst, and his domination over Wilmer Hamm in such a display of superiority. Hugo could make out each distinct voice uttering his name, and he was enjoying every moment of it, bathing in his glory, not dissimilar from Wilmer, bathing in the darkness, trembling covering his body. It was not more than two minutes later when the guests would not let up about Hugo did Wilmer finally reach the limits of his emotional fortitude, and promptly rushed out the grand oak doors, akin to those seemingly in hurry to deliver a horrible revelation.

Hi everyone.

Writing is important, and a sub that is dedicated to one of the three Rs shouldn't be left for dead.

It was recently one of the many subs that may find itself in the hands of reddit admins, usually when mods abandon a sub, or get suspended, or go completely inactive in moderation - and they search for users willing to step up and help. I was the only legitimate user that offered to help.

This sub is 16 years old. It has had a fair share of people pass through, from mods to regular users. I don't want to mess up what users find is working, and I want to help fix what isn't - but I need users on here to let me know what that is.

I'll sticky this for some open feedback.

Une absence, une ombre
Une soirée pour se laisser porter
Un instant quand se cacher
Mais le moment d’après, c’est pour tout abandonner
La tête droite, menton relevé, mais surtout l’esprit noué.
Je n’dirais pas que je veux y passer,
Et si mon corps ne voulait que s’envoler ?
Après tout, pourquoi ne pas jouer les lâches ?
Ça n’en sera qu’une de plus, où t’évitera les coups de hache.
Alors oui, on se sent vite en sécurité, vite aimé
Ne crois pas que ça va durer
Au premier moment où tu ne verras plus la lucidité
Les ombres s’empareront de ton absence
Qui deviendront une évidence.
Je cherche le meilleur moyen d’aller nager,
À éviter qu’on ne me voie me noyer à chaque cm².
S’il vous plaît, je ne cherche pas de réponses ou un moyen d’exister.
J’aimerais juste pouvoir passer, peut-être même briller, sans jamais vriller.
Une fois pour toutes, j’aimerais être vidé et sans pitié,
Pouvoir enfin passer une belle journée.
La couleur morose de mes nuitées
Ne fait que s’additionner à mes écrits mortifiés.

SingletD

Le ciel reflète mes yeux
Un jour aride et sec,
Un autre gris et pluvieux.
Mon souffle s’éteint, j’m’étouffe avec.
Mon Dieu, que c’est beau.
Ta rencontre a fait de moi un nouveau.

Comment te remercier ?
Un nombre perdu de fessées,
Ne plus savoir me concentrer,
J’aimerais me recentrer.
Mais putain, qu’est-ce que c’est beau !
Vivre enflammé,
Attentif au moindre détail,
Prêt à vriller.

C’est une déclaration,
Une décla d’admiration.
Je vis en touchant le fond,
Tout en frôlant le ciel.

Reste à côté,
Je saurai apprécier.
Pars loin,
Et je serai enclin au chagrin.

Lorsque la perfection s’invite à votre porte,
Rempli d’ambition, vos rêves vous emportent.
L’océan en un regard,
Me donne envie d’écarts,
Si j’aperçois cette jungle blonde.

SingletD

Hello everyone. I am a young writer who has been writing for a wee 4 years. In that small time period I managed to get one of my short stories published in an anthology and even became the youngest editor of a now defunct company's internal magazine.

However, like everyone, I have faced many challenges big or small. From unfair manuscript swapping to lack of good feedback to not making it despite having good content or simply a lack of a good platform where publishers and writers can meet, I believe the world of writing is riddled with many unsolved problems. Problems that no one cares about. Instead of solving it, they all beat the old system of leaving to chance.

But I wish to change that and my aim is to develop a solution that can solve at least one problem that the world of writing faces. I am researching issues that need attending to and I was wondering if you all could help me by telling me your personal experience.

Consider this the top of a mountain. Scream your heart out about the problems you have faced.

You may write your concerns here or fill this form https://forms.gle/WsLnqfHcRLi6qrhA7

There will be no violation of privacy principles.

Thorax en feu
Poids sur les os
J'suis déjà vieux
Je vis un chaos

Entouré de pessimistes
L'étant devenue à mon tour
Je n'sais pas me contrôler
Toujours prêt à critiquer
Le premier qui me fera criser

SingletD

In my book I have two different endings in mind, with one single change defies which will happen, in your opinion which one would you prefer:

• Happy Ending; the protagonist gets trapped in alternate dimension forever after going their to self-destruct so the immense energy doesn't destroy the world but himself, only the spirit residing within him let's itself be destroyed instead of the protagonist's soul. However he's effectively trapped in that world with no way of returning and can't die, so after centuries pass he's shock to find the one person he loved in the world has trapped herself with him as to not abandon him to eternity.

• Tragic Ending; the protagonist gets trapped in alternate dimension forever after going their to self-destruct so the immense energy doesn't destroy the world but himself, however because of that one change the protagonist's soul is destroyed and he's effectively erased from existence, everything he's done and his sacrifice forgotten by everyone who knew him because of a single change in the story.

This is a story about a fantasy restaurant. It is part of an unusual project for me where I'm writing many short stories set in the same world, rather than one-offs or longer novellas.

https://www.reddit.com/r/ZachGraderWrites/comments/1ffh4or/customers/

I recently thought of improving my writing. I haven't written anything since 2020. So why not write a random post on my thoughts on reddit?

I just smoked a cigarette and am currently taking a dump. Minors are from tomorrow and I am not stressed at all. It worries me a little sometimes. I desperately want to improve my grade this semester.

This semester has been a lot lively compared to the previous 4. Had been drunk with a professor, caught smoking by a gaurd, almost caught cheating during a quiz, opened a bottle of whiskey in front of the camera and made a small flamethrower which later resulted in me writing an apology letter.

Even after all this, I am still not underany action by the institution which makes me feel how far can I go without being noticed. But for a few days it's the minor fever so let's focus on it.

So I was bored one day so I wrote a mini script here it is.:

EXT. CLOSET-DIMLY LIT

ETHAN

I should really clean this closet more often**.**

(The present from a shelf falls suddenly)

ETHAN 

(surprised)  

What was that?

(Ethan picks up the present and reads the tag)

ETHAN

(slowly reading the card)

To Ethan From grandpa 

(The lighting becomes warmer as the scene continues)

Ethan takes off the wrapping paper carefully. It opens to reveal a small box with a tiny toy car made with wood, a card lying next to it.

ETHAN

   (voice weakening)

Hope you like it papa

Ethan places the car next to a picture of an older man the camera zooms in on his face scene fades to black 

THE END  

I'm brainstorming titles for a new book, and I'd like the title to fit the book's genre. So what genre(s) come to mind for the title Murder in Retrograde?

"What consists on those finger frames you make all the time? " Things that seems art not LIKE art but actual art.

"But what really are art and not LIKE art? " See the lady there with her child in her back.

"But what is it so special about her carrying a child? " No not special it is but truly love that you deprive of.

"Love about a lady carrying a child?" You will never see a love from a mother's eyes for her children.

"Mother's eyes. Are they different? " Every eyes sees the same thing but its the love that make us blind.

"Ummm but what is so interesting about that lady carrying the child in back?" Do you remember the warmth you feel when you were in your mother's lap? There are something you cannot describe in words. Those weren't meant to be describe in words, so there were never any word to describe it. So sorry my friend I failed to answer what consists on those finger frames I make all the time.

"Did you really think that was the question, my dear friend?"

It took me a whole entire day to learn to ride a bike which I barely ride now.
It took me a whole entire week to learn to play a song which I get stuck forever in one chorus.
It took me one whole entire month to read The Alchemist which barely has 200 pages.
It took me one whole entire year to finish a journal which barely had any truth in it.

It took me two entire days to learn to type in Nepali which I have never used since.
It took me two entire weeks to write about how people live upto 100 for a school magazine  which I never submitted.
It took me two entire months to finish a painting which was so mediocre that I tore it apart.
It took me two entire years to create my minecraft hardcore world which I ended up dying to a fall damage.

It took me three entire days to make a memory box which is still half emptied.
It took me three entire weeks to make a doll which I lost during a journey.
It took me three entire months to realize friendship isn't for me as I could never be a good friend to anyone.
It took me three entire years to realize life is something that I took for granted.

It took me four entire days to make something for every mother's and father's day which was probably appreciated by my parents.
It took me four entire weeks or a whole month to read The Alchemist which barely has 200 pages.

It was afterall a patience test put forward to me waiting for me to complete it but sadly I didn't have any patience and though I was the captain of the ship, I was the first one to run towards the lifeboat and escape through the cries and pain and agony and haunted thoughts.

Elena breathed a small sigh of relief as the plane jolted onto the runway. 

The bumpy landing didn’t matter to her as long as they were finally solidly on the ground. She hadn’t quite been able to believe this was happening until she’d gotten on the plane, and even now that the flight was over she still couldn’t entirely process that she had made it. People around her were already starting to stand, anxious to get off the metal tube they’d been trapped in for the past nine hours, and Elena followed them listlessly, her brain still a bit foggy from disbelief. 

She didn’t have a lot with her considering she would be spending the next few months in Rome helping restore an old property, but the whole thing had happened fairly fast. Things between her and Jake had been bad for a while — and, well, if you asked her best friend Phoebe, they might never have been all that good in the first place — but they’d recently reached a point of no return. 

Elena couldn’t quite pinpoint the moment she knew her marriage was finished, but if she had to wager it would be somewhere between the fifteenth and twentieth conversation (read: argument) about her career, or rather, the lack of it. She’d wanted to start working, to use her architecture degree and break into the field while she was still young, but he’d found it unnecessary. Technically he did make enough money to support them both, but that hadn’t really been the point. She’d thought she’d be able to get through to Jake eventually, but it had recently become clear that that wasn’t going to happen. 

So, she’d finally taken Phoebe’s advice. Served Jake with divorce papers, picked up the first job she could find (okay, well, the first job Phoebe could find for her — the fact that it was an ocean away from Jake was not lost on Elena but she couldn’t exactly say she was ungrateful for it), waited for Jake to go on his three month deployment, and packed up and left. And now she was pulling a bag out of the overhead compartment after a nine hour plane ride and wondering what exactly she’d gotten herself into. 

Elena took a deep breath, trying to swallow back her fear and doubt. This was a good thing. It was going to be a good thing. People would kill for this type of job, getting to spend the rest of the year in the city, restoring a gorgeous older property. It was going to look amazing on her portfolio — which, at the moment, was tragically slim. And sure, maybe it didn’t pay the best, but the fact that they’d been willing to take her on with only her senior projects from college a few years ago was a miracle in and of itself. 

It was a fresh start. That’s what Phoebe had called it, and what Elena had repeated to herself every time the anxiety threatened to swallow her whole and make her beg the airline to take back her nonrefundable ticket. 

She wished Phoebe were with her now, but between the two of them they’d only just managed to scrape together enough money for a last minute plane ticket. It was the middle of summer and thus peak tourist season which meant it had cost an arm and a leg, and then another arm. Elena had had to pawn off her wedding rings (which were worth a lot less than she’d anticipated) and Phoebe had donated a lot more cash than Elena was comfortable thinking about, but together they’d managed. Phoebe was planning to come later, when tickets were less expensive and the house they would be restoring was (hopefully) mostly finished. 

Her last minute ticket meant she was in the back of the plane, so it was another 30 or so minutes before the aisle began to clear in front of her, and another ten before she was actually off the plane. The airport was buzzing with people, but she followed the crowd to baggage claim, grabbing her bigger suitcase that held the bulk of the material items she still owned. She’d figured Jake would throw out anything she left at the house, so whatever couldn’t fit in Phoebe’s spare room or her suitcase had been sold or given away. Fresh start and all.

Customs was a little trickier, since she had an actual work visa instead of just a vacation planned. Her contact for the job, some obscure Italian contracting company, had assured her they could get her one in time, though she had no idea how they’d done it considering how last minute everything had been. Still, the customs agent seemed to find it legitimate enough to let her through, and suddenly  was standing on the street outside the airport, blinking from the bright sunlight, still trying to convince herself everything was real. 

It was about midday, though to ’s jetlagged brain it should be about six in the morning. That wouldn’t have been so bad, except that she’d been way too wired to sleep on the plane and consequently had been awake for a little over 24 hours. 

Thankfully, the city made it hard to be tired. This was the only day she had to herself before she reported to the job site tomorrow morning, and she wanted to make the most of it. Hopefully she’d have time to explore the city on her days off too, but it wasn’t unusual for these types of rush jobs to make days off a rarity. 

The photos she’d seen of the house hadn’t exactly been comprehensive, but it was big enough that any sort of renovation was sure to be time consuming, and old enough that they’d probably run into a lot of unexpected issues as they went. The crew had also been described as “small” which was something of a red flag, but  had been desperate enough for the job that she’d ignored it. 

She might regret that decision later, but looking out the taxi window as she was ferried to the hotel to drop off her bags, all she felt was excitement. The architecture alone could’ve kept her entertained for hours, and they weren’t even driving by anything special, just shops and apartment buildings. The few glimpses she caught of landmarks nearly sent her heartbeat into a tailspin.

The bed in her hotel room was admittedly tempting, but  managed to just drop her least necessary bags off and leave without so much as sitting down. Walking felt good after spending so long on the plane, so that’s what she did— all around the city. She managed to see the Colosseum, the Vittoriano, the Pantheon and the Trevi Fountain before the sun started to set, the first three being her biggest priorities. Just walking around the city provided more than enough glimpses at ancient Roman ruins, though she could have stared at those all day too.

Every time she managed to find WiFi, she sent Phoebe a myriad of photos (including, begrudgingly, some selfies Phoebe had insisted on), all of which were met with heart emojis and earnest enthusiasm.  once again found herself wishing Phoebe were here with her — exploring the city was fun, but it would be a lot more fun if she wasn’t alone. 

 started to realize her jetlag was catching up with her when she sat down in the much less crowded Piazza Navona and realized she was practically nodding off into her scoop of strawberry gelato. The day had been wonderful — the best she’d had in a long time — but if she wanted to be ready for work the next morning, she was going to need to catch up on her sleep. 

Thankfully, the plaza’s relative proximity to the Pantheon meant taxis were circling around, and  had no trouble flagging one down after only walking a block or two. Just as it was pulling up to the curb,  saw something move out of the corner of her eye. Before she could walk up to the taxi door, the movement shifted to her periphery, and then right in front of her face. A very tall man was walking in front of her, cutting her off on the sidewalk. 

 barely had time to get a glance at shockingly green eyes, a smattering of light freckles on tan skin, and a mop of dark curly hair before the man was pulling open the taxi door, swinging himself inside.

“Hey!”  cried, indignation jolting her out of her surprised stupor, but it was too late. The taxi door closed, and  was left alone on the street.

“Sorry,” the man said, in English with only a slight accent, leaning out of the taxi window as it pulled away. He was smirking, an infuriatingly smug smirk on his unfairly attractive Italian face, and then he disappeared back into the cab, out of sight but certainly not out of mind.

“Asshole!”  yelled at the back end of the taxi. She could’ve sworn she saw his hand peek out the window in a slight wave before the taxi turned the corner and disappeared from view.

It didn’t take very long to find a new cab, but ’s mood was permanently soured. It had only taken one poor interaction to wipe away the magic and adrenaline of the day that had kept her from feeling the worst of her jet lag and overall exhaustion, but the ride back to the hotel in evening traffic was torture. By the end of it  felt ready to bite the head off of anyone who so much as glanced in her direction. 

It was only about eight at night, but  was wiped. She barely managed to set an alarm on her phone and change into clean clothes before she collapsed onto the hotel bed, passing out almost instantly.

The next morning  was very glad she’d had the foresight to set the alarm, because when it blared twelve hours later she felt like she’d barely put  her head down on the pillow.  groaned, rolling over to hit snooze in case she accidentally fell asleep again. 

Bright light was streaming in through the window, the city already awake on the street below. The contracting company she’d been communicating with had given her an address where she would meet up with one of the other people working on the house, and they would take her the rest of the way. She was meant to meet them there at 10, but she wanted to be early, and she wasn’t exactly sure how far away it was. 

Her map had gotten confused when she’d put the address in yesterday, but she’d decided not to worry too much about it — her phone had been on the fritz ever since she’d landed. She hadn’t exactly had the money to splurge on an international phone plan and she’d meant to pick up a new SIM card the day before, but between sightseeing and the taxi thief ending her night so poorly she’d forgotten.

There was no time for it now, so that would be a task she would leave for her first free day in the city. Elena was glad she’d barely had time to unpack so much as a toothbrush the day before, because it made packing up to leave much faster. She picked up a croissant from the hotel buffet for breakfast and made her way outside.

Thankfully, taxis were abundant outside the hotel, and nobody attempted to steal the one that pulled up to the curb as she approached. She’d written the address out carefully on a slip of hotel paper, checking and rechecking the address, which she handed to the taxi driver. To her dismay, he stared at it for a long time, frowning, before turning back to her.

“I cannot take you here,” he said, in very heavily accented English. 

“What do you mean?”  asked, trying not to let her panic show in her voice. Maybe it was just on the edge of the city, maybe he didn’t want to waste his time going all the way out and then coming back. Maybe he just needed to know she had the money for it? “I can tip you, I have cash—” 

The taxi driver grimaced, waving his hand. 

“No, no, you misunderstand,” he said, then paused, like he was searching for the correct words. “It is not close. But there is a train station. They can help you.”

“A train station?”  asked, confused. The house was in Rome, or just outside it anyway, that was what the job listing had promised. Maybe he meant a metro station? But Rome didn’t have one of those, there were too many ruins under the ground to build subway tunnels. 

“Yes,” the taxi driver said, nodding emphatically. “They will help you.”

“I don’t understand, why do I need a train? Isn’t that in Rome?”  asked, gesturing to the piece of paper. The taxi driver sighed, muttering something under his breath in Italian. She was starting to wish she’d been more diligent about keeping up with her Duolingo. 

“No,” he said plainly, “very far. You must take the train. I will take you to the station.”

With that, he pulled out of the line of cabs in front of the hotel and began to weave down the streets of Rome.  almost protested, but the driver seemed to have his mind made up. She sighed, leaning back against the vinyl seat of the cab. Surely the driver was just confused. It couldn’t be that far, could it? The listing had said Rome so clearly. She would just find another cab driver at the station, one who actually knew where to go. 

As it turned out, this was easier said than done. It was thankfully a short ride from the hotel to the train station — which was massive, and thus, had lots of taxis — but every driver she showed the address to either looked at her like she was crazy or waved her inside the station, or both. Finally, she admitted defeat, and dragged herself and her enormous suitcase into the train station. 

A very nice attendant took pity on , and upon seeing the address showed her which ticket to buy, and which platform to wait for the train. At least if this was all a huge misunderstanding she’d only wasted ten euros on the ticket. 

About twenty minutes later, a train pulled into the platform. It was smaller than the ones she’d seen at the entrance of the station, and the people that exited it looked more like businesspeople and commuters rather than tourists. More than one person stared at  dragging her suitcase onto the train behind her. 

The attendant had told her which stop to get off on, but she hadn’t mentioned just how many stops there were in between. Every fifteen minutes or so the train would roll to a halt, and people would get on and off. After one stop the buildings became more scattered, and after two all signs of civilization seemed to cease entirely. By the third, there were only two other people on the train car with her, and the view from the windows was nothing but fields and mountains.

 could not fight back the dread and anxiety filling her gut now. She could practically hear Jake’s voice mocking her in her head, calling her naive and stupid for trusting some random job listing she found online. Unfortunately, she didn’t really have a lot of evidence to combat it. Either they had lied, or every single person she’d spoken to had pointed her in the complete wrong direction. 

When the train finally pulled into Elena’s stop, about an hour after it had left the station in Rome, she was about 30 minutes late and 30 seconds away from puking from nerves. What if nobody was even there? What if the job listing was just some weird elaborate prank, or human trafficking scheme? What if she’d come all this way for nothing? 

Well, she figured, there was only one way to find out. Elena stood up as the doors to the train opened, dragging her heavy suitcase out with her. 

For one horrible second, it seemed as if the train platform was empty, and all her fears were confirmed. Then she turned around, and found herself face to face with the last person she had expected to see. For a second she thought she was hallucinating, that all the stress and jetlag had finally broken her brain for good. 

But a few blinks and a few seconds later, the man who had stolen her taxi was still standing in front of her.