Welcome to r/Writers!

I’ve been wanting to get into writing my stories on a more formal software in case I ever need it one day, but I don’t know where to start. What software do you guys use and most importantly: is it free?

Time stops for no one.

Draft 1. Chapter 1.

“Damien? Damien?” I jump with a start, blinking at the room around me. Across from me sits a bulky, broad-shouldered man—Dr. Greenbern, my therapist. His thin brown hair falls into his tired eyes, and he’s giving me that same disapproving look he always does. “Did you hear what I said, Damien?” “Uh…” I hum vaguely, trying to sound like I was paying attention. He sighs deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I said we’re increasing our sessions. I believe it’s beneficial for you to see me bi-weekly from now on.” He pauses. “Do you understand, Mr. Amberton?” “Yep. Bi-weekly. Got it.” I nod, already distracted by my phone buzzing in my pocket. Dr. Greenbern shuffles through his papers, dismissing me with a wave. Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I step out into the stark white corridor of my crumbling high school. The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, almost drowning out my own thoughts. Eight more months of this hell, I remind myself. Eight more months, and I’m free. Buzz. My phone chimes again. Pop-pop101: yoooo, u done with Greenbern yet? I grin, swiping down on the message. Who else but Poppy would text me fifteen times during a one-hour appointment? DDDamien!: yep. mein führer says we’re going bi-weekly. see u at lunch? A thumbs-up emoji pops up instantly, and I shove my phone back into my pocket, letting it bump against the other crap in my bag as I head for homeroom.

When I walk in, I freeze. Someone’s in my seat. He’s hunched over like he’s trying to disappear into the desk, his scruffy black hair sticking out at wild angles. His hoodie looks two sizes too big, swallowing his skinny frame, and a pair of dark-framed glasses sit low on his nose. Big headphones clamp over his ears, blocking out the world. Great. Just what I need. I drop into the seat next to him with an exaggerated sigh, loud enough to make a point. He flicks a glance at me, all side-eye and irritation, before going back to whatever rhythm he’s tapping out on his knee. “Yo, you new?” I ask, leaning back in my chair like I own the place. No response. I rap my knuckles lightly on his desk. “Hey. Earth to… uh… guy who stole my seat.” He sighs audibly, tugging his headphones down to his neck like it’s the most exhausting thing in the world. “What do you want?” he mutters, his voice rough and low. “A name would be a good start.” He stares at me, his blue eyes sharp behind his glasses. “Malachi,” he says flatly, like he’s giving up a state secret. “Well, Malachi,” I say, grinning. “Mind giving me my seat back?” “Nope.” He leans back in the chair, folding his arms. “Got told to sit here.” I blink, caught off guard by the heat in his tone. But before I can reply, the headphones are back on, shutting me out. The walls are up. Just like that.

The rest of the morning drags, a blur of laughter, taunts, and the constant hum of pubescent chaos. By the time the clock hits 11:30, I’m counting down to lunch. Click. Click. Click. The soft, repetitive sound of a pen catches my attention. I glance over my shoulder and spot Malachi again, his pen tapping against the desk in a rhythmic beat. “Hey, Mala—” “No.” Shot down again. Click. Click. Click. The tapping speeds up, the rhythm more erratic now. Suddenly, the door slams open with a crack that reverberates through the room. Miss Burch strides in, her heels clicking against the floor like gunshots. She’s thin, almost skeletal, with a face that looks like it’s been carved from stone. Her sharp, grey-lipped mouth twists into a scowl as she surveys the room. “QUIET!” she squeaks, her voice surprisingly shrill. I bounce my knee, glancing back at Malachi. He’s staring into the distance, eyes unfocused, like he’s seeing something none of us can.

Burch’s voice chimes back in, shattering the curated silence:
“So as you’re all aware.”

She pauses, scanning the room with her hawk eyes, her piercing stare fixating deeply on me.

“This month is Cultural Appreciation Month.”

A joint groan fills the room like a cacophony of misery. I sink back into my seat, knowing what this means. Group work. Poppy’s my only friend, and since she isn’t in this class, that means I’ll be stuck with someone who lets me do all the work. Yay.

Miss Burch stomps her foot on the hardwood, glaring at us all with resentment in her eyes.
“This year, we’re doing a joint project on what it means to be American. This can be done by a video, PowerPoint, whatever. I don’t care, as long as it’s done. Now, this is 45% of your grade, so it will make the difference between graduating or not this summer for some of you.”

With that, she glares at me again. It’s not like she’s wrong.

She gives a toothless grin and turns toward the worn, ancient chalkboard, caked in the debris of years of hushed writing and failed equations. She hurriedly writes names on the board—pairs. Great.

The class buzzes with murmurs as people rush to sit with their assigned partners. Finally, she writes my name next to Malachi’s, and I feel a pit grow in my stomach. I can feel his eyes burrow into my neck, the resentment palpable.

Begrudgingly, I shuffle to the empty seat next to him and read the prompt on the desk.

“So?”

He glances at me half-heartedly, as though my existence offends him.

“So what? I don’t do groups,” he mutters, barely loud enough to hear, before turning back to doodle in his notebook.

I sit for a few minutes, watching his quick flicks of the pencil, his concentration, the way his tongue sticks out slightly. Finally, I inhale deeply and slam my fist hard on the desk, making a girl behind us jump.

“I’M NOT FAILING THIS CLASS BECAUSE OF YOUR FUCKING APATHY!”

He looks shocked, maybe even slightly hurt, and resigns in defeat.
“Fine. We’ll do the damn project.”

He grabs my phone, quickly types in a string of numbers, and storms out of the classroom. Confused, I check my phone and see a text message waiting for me.

M:Yo. Hmu when you wanna get to work. Don’t see this as an invite to be ‘friends.’

Smirking, I grab my shit together and leave class heading straight to lunch. I stare at the cold, unchanging familiar ground, in my own world contemplating how to go about talking to Malachi.

Quick as a flash, I feel something hit the back of my head, causing me to whip around and glare at the source. “HAH FAG!” A group of sophomores rushes past, laughing to themselves. Anger rises in me, and white flashes crowd my vision as hands envelop my shoulders. “JUST FUCK OFF.” “Okay, touchy.” That familiar voice makes me open my eyes, and I smile at the stupid ginger grinning at me like a puppy. “Hey, Poppy,” I reply with a sigh of relief. “What’s with the expletives, hmm? What did we talk about?” I shrug as I walk alongside her, her wavy red hair bouncing softly with each delicate step. “Just dumbasses. You know how it goes... the Sinclair High gremlins.” She chuckles, shaking her head as we take a seat at a random bench. “Still, you know what the Fuhrers are like about you swearing,” she replies, giggling as she tucks into some California rolls. The sound of chatter fills the large cafeteria, and the buzz of ceiling fans overhead blankets the noise like a warm cover. I scan the old, worn hall, examining the tables of different cliques. There he is, sitting alone in the far-right corner. “Give me a moment, Popster.” I rush over and pathetically sit next to Malachi, turning to face him. He grumbles and stares into my eyes, almost like he’s examining something deep inside me. “What part of ‘don’t take this as an invitation to be friends’ don’t you get?” Stumbling over my words, I look at the ground, struggling to find the right words. “What made you join this shithole?” Malachi shrugs and mumbles to himself—or maybe to me; I can’t tell. Suddenly, he gets up and walks over to the next table. “We’re. Not. Friends.”

1.) Stale air weighed thick in his lungs, every breath a labor. Anxiety twisted his stomach in knots. The decrepit lightbulb stained his vision a harsh yellow. This was the place that had been calling to him. There was something here to do or take. Once elegant garments littered the undercroft floor, their finery marred by dust. Labyrinths of shattered furniture crept up stone columns to press against windows, depriving the space of daylight and warm. This is where the last remnants of his mother were abandoned, where his father had buried them. The cruel bastard.

2.) Darren stood before the wardrobe. A decrepit lightbulb stained the cellar a harsh yellow, casting odd shadows on stacks of dusty boxes. A moldy musk invaded his nose at every breath. He inhaled slowly, the stale air thick in his lungs. The feeling that had been calling him for weeks intensified. It was like seeing a shadow out of the corner of his eyes or the feeling of someone watching him. A mental thorn chat told him something was just beyond his senses. It led him here, the place where the last remnants of his mother were left to rot.

Hello!

I have only just started to use OneNote to digitally store all of my writing (I still handwrite a lot but as I'm trying to begin cataloguing my writing a bit more I want to be able to search and find/put together pieces faster) and it's very basic, which I like, BUT it's also apparently unreliable in terms of reliably saving your data and syncing correctly.

Does anyone have a recommendation for an online (web/mobile) app or tool that is great for storing your writing? I am not at the novel stage so alot of the apps put there seem way too complex for what I need, which is a simple older and file system with search function.

Thanks for any advice or recommendations!

I am writing a fantasy novel where the main character is a teenage girl and the story follows her from 13 to 18. It's YA and very child friendly just like Harry Potter and Percy Jackson (even the title has the main character's name in it). I only feel anxious that this story won't be acknowledged by boys since it has female name on the cover and I am almost sure no teenage boy wants to be seen carrying around a book with girl's name written on it. And I am also half sure that no parent will buy their child (boy) a book with girl's name on the title. It could be just the culture around me but I want to know if this thing actually affects the market or it's in my head only. For the men over here also, would you read a book that has a female name written on it. The ideal thing would be changing the title but any other title won't really suit the story since it does revolve around my main character only and not multiple characters.

Hello, just to share I just created a new Myth&Folklore feed on bluesky bringing together these tags:

#mythology, #mythologymonday, #folklore, #folkloretuesday, #wyrdwednesday, #fairytaletuesday, #legendarywednesday, #folkyfriday

Excludes reposts and covers the last 7 days, currently standing at ~300 results. Fun, fascinating snapshots of weird, enchanting and meaningful tales.

Mindset shapes our reality. Letting go of resistance is the first step toward embracing the change that leads to growth. 🌱

I'm talking from having absolutely nothing to having a complete manuscript that's as polished as you can possibly get it.

I'm currently writing my first (shitty) draft of my first (shitty) novel, and I'm projecting that I can get the draft finished in 5-6 more months. The novel is shaping up to be between 80k and 100k words. I've tried to create a "drafting schedule" of sorts to try and stick to, just so I can have some targets to aim for, but I have no clue what's realisitic and I don't want to set myself up for complete failure.

Here's what I had in mind:

• Draft 1 - finish May 2025 (approx 7 months total), let the story rest for a month following this draft
• Draft 2 - approx 3 months, mostly a self-edit for any glaring structural/plot/character issue
• Draft 3 - approx 3 months, incorporating alpha reader feedback
• Draft 4 - approx 3 months, incorporating beta reader feedback
• Draft 5 - approx 2 months, final re-read and self-edit, send off to copyeditor

That would put me on track to self-publish around June of 2026. I'm fully aware of how easily the writing process can sometimes go off the rails (I'm a content writer by day) so I'm not trying to stick to this exactly. I'm the kind of person that needs to plan ahead a bit or else this project is just going to end up gathering dust somewhere and I really want to complete it.

Just kind of curious for those of you who have finished and published projects before how long things took, how much time you had between drafts, etc.

This is chapter 1 of a book I started writing. Just wondering if it’s worth continuing. Any suggestions or criticisms are welcome !

Chapter One: The Boy Who Belonged Nowhere

The village of Hallowbrook sat quietly beneath the shadow of the Whispering Mountains, a place forgotten by time. Its cobblestone streets were narrow and winding, leading past little stone cottages and through rows of rickety market stalls, where the day’s harvest was sold beneath fluttering, half-worn banners. It looked like any other quiet village—except for the secrets it kept.

Ashlan “Ash” Greystone didn’t care much for the village. Not anymore. He had grown up here, but it had never felt like home. Maybe it was because of his family—well, what was left of it—or maybe it was just the way he never quite fit in. The villagers often regarded him with polite smiles, but their eyes said something different: a curiosity, a pity, as if he were a book whose pages they hadn’t been able to read. After all, Ash was an orphan. His parents had disappeared years ago, leaving him with nothing but unanswered questions and a strange legacy that no one dared to talk about.

The village had been his home for as long as he could remember, but in the back of his mind, he always felt like he was just passing through. It was an uneasy feeling, as if there was something more waiting for him, some purpose, some truth hidden beneath the surface that he couldn’t quite grasp. But today, like any other, Ash was content with being ordinary. Or at least, that’s what he told himself.

He shuffled through the dusty streets toward Greystone’s General Store, which sat at the center of the village square. The bell above the door chimed as he entered, the familiar smell of dried herbs and spices greeting him. His aunt, Marla Greystone, was behind the counter, dusting off a shelf of jars filled with various powders and potions. The Greystone name was well-known in Hallowbrook—though not for the reasons Ash liked to think about.

"Ashlan, you’re late again," Aunt Marla said without looking up, her voice a blend of amusement and weariness.

“I was just walking,” Ash replied, his voice casual, but there was a tension in his shoulders that he couldn’t shake. His aunt had raised him after his parents’ disappearance, but she had always been distant—loving, yes, but in a way that kept her emotions carefully guarded. As though she were afraid to get too close.

Marla set down the duster, her eyes scanning his face with a sharpness that made Ash uneasy. "You’ve been gone a lot lately. Wandering near the forest again, aren't you?"

Ash shifted uncomfortably. “I was just looking for something.”

Aunt Marla didn’t say anything at first. She gave him a look—one of those long, unreadable ones that made Ash feel like she could see straight through him. Then, with a sigh, she turned toward the back of the store. "You know better than to wander too close to the Forbidden Forest. No good comes of it."

Ash bit his lip, unwilling to argue. He knew the stories. Everyone in Hallowbrook did. The forest was a place of shadows and secrets, where the land seemed to bend reality itself, and magic—the kind of magic people feared—was said to be locked away. It was a place where no one was ever supposed to go. Ever.

But Ash couldn’t help it. Lately, the pull to explore it, to see what lay beyond the village’s edge, had become impossible to ignore. There were strange dreams that had been haunting him for weeks—dreams of fire and shadows, of vast wings that cut through the sky like flames. Sometimes, when he woke in the middle of the night, the weight of the dreams would linger like a presence, as if the creature in his visions was waiting for him to do something.

“Ash,” Aunt Marla said, breaking his thoughts, “you’re not like other boys your age. I know you’ve always felt different, but…” She paused, and her gaze softened. “There’s a reason your parents wanted you to stay away from certain things. Magic runs deep in the Greystone family, and there are some things that shouldn’t be stirred up.”

Ash’s throat tightened at the mention of his parents. He had been just a child when they disappeared. One day they were there, the next, they were gone. No letter, no explanation. Just an empty house and an even emptier heart.

“They didn’t leave me anything,” he muttered, more to himself than to his aunt.

Marla stiffened at his words, her face growing hard. “They left you everything,” she said quietly. “They left you the most important thing of all.”

Ash didn’t press further. He had learned over the years that his aunt’s words were often cryptic, and the past, especially the truth about his parents, was a subject that was never fully discussed. But there was always that nagging feeling, that unanswered question. Why had his parents disappeared? What was it about their legacy that caused so many people in the village to avoid speaking of them?

He glanced at the counter, where an old book lay open. It was one of his aunt’s personal journals, the leather cover worn and cracked. Curious, Ash reached out and thumbed through a few pages, his eyes catching fragments of words—words that didn’t seem to make sense: Emberstone, Bloodline, Bonded Flame…

Aunt Marla cleared her throat loudly, startling Ash. “That’s enough of that,” she said sharply. “Put it down.”

Ash dropped the book, his pulse quickening. His aunt was acting strange again. She always did when the subject of his parents came up. But he couldn’t let it go. “What are you hiding, Aunt Marla?”

She turned away, wiping her hands on her apron, her voice suddenly cold. “There are things in this world that are better left forgotten. Your parents knew that. You would do well to remember it.”

Ash opened his mouth to argue, but before he could, the bell above the door rang again. A group of villagers walked in, and the moment was lost. But the uneasy feeling in his chest stayed.

As he left the shop, the sun was beginning to dip behind the mountains, casting long shadows over the village. Ash glanced toward the Whispering Woods that bordered Hallowbrook—its dark, twisted trees calling to him in a way he couldn’t explain.

In the distance, the storm clouds were gathering, rolling in thick and fast.

Ash couldn’t shake the feeling that the answers he was searching for lay beyond those trees. That whatever magic his family had been tied to, whatever strange destiny awaited him, was waiting just beyond the village’s edge.

And no matter how much his aunt warned him, Ash knew he couldn’t stay away for much longer.

Anyone who explores what sort of story or fantasy world they would like to write through drawing? It has been working for me and wondered if others relate.

I commission artists for mine. Curious what everyone else does!

I'm looking for a website that is specifically for sharing writing and lets me receive good feedback from other writers.

I've been using Storyforge, and the community is pretty friendly, but the website ui is hard to use and difficult to navigate. I like the website I just think it needs some polishing (it's a fairly new website, it's been out for around a year).

Does anyone have suggestions for website like Storyforge, just a little easier to use?

I just finished my debut novel but have a backlog of ideas… I know some of these are cheesy but any feedback on which of these has the most potential? Be harsh! I’d rather know an idea sucks now than later haha

Child of Light - Tristan grew up in the slums of the Evil domain, content that her life would never change. After a massive magical war breaks out between the gods, Tristan is revealed to be the secret child of two gods. She must learn to control her new and dangerous abilities before the war destroys everything and everyone she cares about.

Dealing with Demons - when Billy was just a boy, he made a deal with a demon for eternal fame and talent, unknowingly paying the price of his father’s soul. Now that he’s all grown up, Billy is on a vengeful rampage to destroy every demon he can. After begrudgingly becoming allies with others tricked into making deals of their own, Billy discovers that the demons are hiding darker secrets. He must uncover the true goal of the demons before he loses what little he has left.

The Hero - Adam was blessed with superpowers and, after getting his team together, he became the world’s greatest defense against supervillains. As Adam and his team of sidekicks face their archnemesis, Adam is suddenly transported 20 years into the future where his old team has surpassed him and the rest of the world has moved on. Adam grapples with his new reality of being weak in comparison to the world’s newest villains and superheroes and finds the temptation of becoming a villain harder and harder to resist.

Thank you all for sharing your stories, your advice, your experiences… I rarely commented but always found reading your posts helpful and inspiring. Hopefully now I can help others get their books out there too!

Hi everyone.

I've always wanted to write something and earn through my writing, but I lack skills and I am not able to find proper resources to improve them. For now, I ask chatgpt to give me prompts and I expand on them, but that dosent seems enough. I still lack proper flow and transition and english not being my 1st language my vocabulary is really weak.

I want to overcome these challanges that im facing and put my thoughts into word for people to read and immers into my fictional world. Do you guys have any tips or advice for me to improve and achive my goals? I would really like to connect to you all and start start my writting journey

I got absolutely smashed by a car riding my motorcycle a while back and can't see things in my head anymore. So - does this short section make sense and allow you to picture what's happening???

The gravel drive ends in a wide loop, with a collection of big boulders at the center, and a bronze statue of a naked, snake haired woman holding up a man’s head, by the beard. Unlike other versions I've seen, her skin shows the same snakish scaling. 

“Interesting,” David says, “the hair is Greek Meadow Vipers.”

I grin, catching on, “Ey, that's clever!” 

I see Agent Dawe roll his eyes. He parks, and we all climb out. 

Really leaning into the western aesthetic, the home itself is a sprawling ranch-style, with an irregular stone fireplace, wood walls, and a very steeply peaked roof. There are flowers hanging to dry under the eaves. There's even a triangle hanging by the door to ring and let all the imaginary ranch hands know the beans are done.

“How much you wanna bet she's never even seen a cow?”

Hey, guys. So, after years of trying to get over writer's block, the only thing that's ever actually worked for me is linking the last sentence of a chapter with the first sentence of the next one, and somehow linking that to whatever I want to say with that next chapter.

In doing so, it's given my books a sorta flown to them, but I guess I just wanted some opinions on whether or not this flow works or doesn't. I've never had anyone mention it for good or bad reasons, and I imagine it'll annoy some people, but perhaps not. Just want to hear some thoughts on this.

Here are some examples:

Preceding chapter's last sentence: "He was a coward in that sense, and that was fine, for fear was healthy in Cathartia, and Bayard was among the healthiest."

Next chapter's first sentence: "Edward had a rather healthy outlook on life — especially when it came to taking it."

Preceding chapter's last sentence: "Zellandra had no intention to."

Next chapter's first sentence: "Intentions were like pie recipes in that most people had good ones, but they almost never turned out as planned."

Preceding chapter's last sentence: “Yet another certainty, alderman.”

Next chapter's first sentence: "Few things were certain in the realm, but one of them was this: there was always a great deal of killing that needed to be done in Cathartia, and this necessitated an equal and opposite force to ensure that it happened to the right people."

Just a few examples. And these first sentences always lead into a situation, or a character intro, or resuming where we left off. For example, the next sentence after that last example:

"Many men tried to take it upon themselves to assume this role, but none were quite as effective as Lord High Constable Blackwood of the Ridgelands."

So, with all that said, does this style annoy you, amuse you, or neither?

How do you plan events and challenges from beginning to end? Do you know straight away what the role of each character will be in the story or does it come to you as you write?

I find it hard to understand how plotters can plan the plot so far ahead of what they're writing. It must be great to already know what's gonna happen in chapter 10 when you're writing chapter 1.

Hi fellow writers,

I'm currently working on the climax of my speculative fiction novel, which blends action-packed survival with deeper themes of morality and human resilience. The story takes place in a zombie apocalypse caused by supernatural corruption. Everything comes to a head in a high-stakes sequence. And I want to weave in emotional depth and leave readers reflecting on the choices my characters make, especially as the ending sets the stage for a sequel.

How do you approach balancing intense action with meaningful character development and thematic resonance in climactic moments? What techniques or examples from your own writing (or favorite books) have helped you create endings that stick with readers long after they've closed the book?

Looking forward to hearing your thoughts and advice!

Do you guys write everyday? I've been doing that for a while now and noticed I get burned out a lot. Prior to this I used to write 4 days a week and get through quite a lot. Nowadays I stare at the screen everyday and manage a paltry 500 words maybe... I have heard it from others that you should write everyday but my previous schedule just worked better. I think I'm losing my mind! 😂😭

I feel like almost everything I read nowadays happens entirely through the POV of a single character. The narrative may switch between different characters, but the reader never gets information that the POV character doesn't get.

PROLOGUE

“Attention, swimmers. The Trussam Pool is closing in 5 minutes, it is time to pack up your gear and go home.” Leary groaned through the microphone groggily, swiping off the alarm from his phone. “Damn, I need to stop sleeping at work.” He mumbled to himself, rubbing his eyes.

Walking out of the office he saw his friend, Ryan sitting on a bench-top, eating a bowl of cereal whilst smoking a joint. “Jeez, you slob. You need to stop eating our food.” Leary confronted him, sitting on the counter aswell. “Yeah, whatever. This place is really creepy after hours.” Ryan shivered, “And cold.”

Leary nodded and hopped down. “If you're gonna eat our food you can help me clean.”

Ryan grumbled and put his bowl to the side, putting his feet on the ground and grabbing a mop from the corner. “Where first?” He asked, holding the mop up. “You do the store-room, I'll do the office. Come to me when you're done.” Leary groaned, grabbing the other mop from the corner.

Leary stared at the closed door, which he had left open after he left. “That's weird, man.” He said, Ryan looked over at him from the entrance to the pools. “What is?”

“I left this door open.” Leary whined.

Ryan tried to hold in his fear, and with a shaky voice he muttered “You still have to clean there, bro..”

Leary manned up and slammed the door, the silence after becoming deafening. “I don't think there's anyone here, I'll put a rock on the speaker so you can hear me if I need help.”

“Bro, for a junkie, you're a genius.” Ryan chuckled, closing the door behind him and walking out to the main area.

The air turned cold as Ryan slammed the door. Leary was alone; or at least he thought he was.

Leary put the knife on the table, then looked around for something to put on the speaker. He saw an empty glass to his right. He took it and filled it with water at the sink. He took a sip then placed it on the speaker.

He soaked the mop in water, then started swishing it against the floor, trying to not miss any stains.

As he started cleaning under the desk he heard metal clanging from the kitchen. “Shit..” he mumbled to himself fearfully.

“Hello!?” He shouted, slowly opening the door and hiding behind it. “I have a knife, and I am allowed to use it if you try to hurt me!” Leary demanded as he slowly peeked out.

When he peeked out he saw a sinister figure with a paper bag mask with cutouts for his eyes, tattered clothes, and unsettling silence, exerting malice with his dark-red, glowing eyes.

“Ryan! Get over here!” Leary cried through the speaker, slamming the door fearfully. “Who the hell are you?!” He wailed, falling against the door to block it.

Leary looked up, and saw an opened window just above the desk. He took a breath and stood up, ready to jump out. He moved a drawer to block the door, then got into a sprint stance but got abruptly knocked over by the door being bashed in.

The man walked in, his eyes gleaming full of rage. Leary looked at his hands; he had a knife. “Shit! Ryan, hurry!” Leary wailed, waving his fists around erratically.

The figure tilted his head, and a faint gurgling came from beneath the mask. A fearful tear came from Leary's eye, and he backed up into the the chair.

“R-r-r.” The creature stuttered, struggling to get a word out. “Ry-ryan.”

“What about him?” Leary cried, standing up and pushing the chair in front of him.

“Ryan.. Dead.”

Leary's eyes widened at the creature's remark, and hopped onto the table, “What the hell are you! Where is Ryan!”

“Me... Slicer..” The Slicer said, closing its eyes and pointed outside the window just behind Leary.

Leary looked down, Ryan lay there, throat slit and drowned in a puddle of his own blood. He didn't believe it. Memories of when he and Ryan were children flushed through his mind. “No!” He wept as he glared at the mutilated figure, which no longer looked like Ryan.

“You fucking animal!” Leary looked back at him, then pounced on him despite the immense size difference. To no avail, threw Leary off of him and kicked him against the wall. “I'm gonna fucking kill you!” Leary roared, picking up a vase and hurling at The Slicer.

He wasn't fazed by the vase, despite the multiple glass shards sticking into his mask and skin. Leary's body surged with adrenaline as The Slicer approached, knowing he was likely to die. “No... I refuse!” He shouted, kicking out The Slicer's legs.

“I won't die without a fight!” Leary screamed, landing an uppercut on Slicer as he was falling. He stumbled back, dropping his knife and crashing into a cabinet. Files fell on him, giving Leary time to move the drawer from in front of the door and run.

He dashed past Ryan and looked for a place to hide. He saw the bleachers, and ran over. He pushed open the fence that led to under them, and laid down, holding in his breath and hoping to not get caught.

The Slicer jumped out of the window, accidentally tripping over Ryan's body clumsily. Leary teared at the small amount of remorse for his best friend's life. “Please, God.” He thought to himself, trying his hardest not to breathe.

Slicer looked around for Leary, then walked to the store room door; which was right next to the bleachers. He sobbed quietly, silently praying for his life. “Slicer... See.. You!” The Slicer shouted obnoxiously, looking around with a false hope that he would come out.

Slicer sneered, then bashed open the door, the cacophony allowing Leary to take a breath without getting caught. Slicer flicked the light switch then closed the door behind him.

Leary sat up, then found an old CD to his right. “Thank you, God!” he rejoiced, clasping his hands together and picking it up. Leary waited for a noise, then snapped the CD into pieces.

He picked up the largest piece, holding it with such tight grip that his palm got cut. Leary took a breath and stood up, holding the shard of CD that he was planning to kill Slicer with.

Thoughts of Leary's Mother & Father fluttered through his mind, memories of before she was killed by that bastard Simmon Greene. Memories of his Father before he started drinking, memories of when they were happy. If he wanted to pursue their plans for him, he needed to live, he wanted to live, for them.

A dark presence loomed over him with each step, his likely doom awaiting beyond the door just metres in front of him. “Slicer... Who are you?!” Leary crept toward the fence and placed his palm around the knob. “No.. That doesn't matter right now, whoever you are, you will die tonight.”

He thought for a moment, looking at Ryan's body. “Please be with me, Ryan.” he said, wiping the tears from his eyes. Leary took a breath and twisted the knob. “I will avenge you, just help me.”

He flung the door open, and Slicer stood in the middle of the room, surrounded by cleaning supplies and cabinets. The store-room smelt like death, and was dimly lit by an old-fashioned light bulb hanging from the ceiling by a thread.

“You... Dumb... Slicer... Kill!” Slicer laughed as he turned around, his knife even bloodier than before with holes poked into his chest. “What the hell...” Leary gagged, almost dropping his weapon.

Slicer tilted his head, clutching his weapon with such immense force that his hand got bruised. Leary jumped at Slicer, carving multiple slits into his arms before he could process what was happening. Slicer groaned, kicking him off and into the pool room again.

Leary stumbled, falling just before the pool. Slicer stood up, dusting off his arms and grunting violently. He dropped his knife and stamped over to Leary ragefully. “Don't touch me, you brute!” Leary demanded, backing up to the edge of the pool.

“Slicer... Drown!” Slicer bellowed, bending down and picking him up by the throat. “F-fu-!” Leary struggled, choking at the force of his grip. Slicer tensed his muscles and wound up a punch, landing a hook to Leary's gut and sending him flying into the pool.

Slicer jumped in after him, holding both of their heads underwater. Leary gurgled, unable to catch a breath due to slicer's immense power. He knew he wasn't going to be able to get out, so he freed his arms and slid the bag off of Slicer's head.

Under the bag was an extremely familiar and infamous face, it was Simmon Greene. “How the hell?! Sheriff Paige shot you!” He thought to himself, seeing a bullet-shaped hole on Simmon's forehead. As Leary faded in and out of consciousness, he decided to repent in his final moments. “Father, forgive me all of my trespasses, please allow me into your kingdom!” He gurgled, gripping Slicer's arms and dragging him deeper until they both lost their consciousness for one, last time.

1

Darius walked the halls of the school, his mouth almost gaping at Kate Ragen's beautiful face, body and personality all at once. He muttered his own pep-talk to himself, “Don't be fragile. Be tough. Don't be fragile.” And to his delicate surprise, Kate and him locked eyes, he accidentally let out a delighted smile, but she walked right by him.

“Good luck, loser.” A boy pushed him from behind, causing him and his books to fall to the floor. “Fuck off, James!” Darius' sister yelled at the boy as Darius picked his books up from the floor. “You think you're tough, dyke?” James snarled at her, grabbing her shoulders intimidatingly.

“Come on Darius, I'll walk you to class.” His sister, Mel said as she jerked herself away from James' grip. Darius stood up, and looked at Mel frustratedly, then trudged by her. “Come on, Darius!” Mel chased after him and placed her hands on his shoulders lovingly.

“Go away, Mel.” Darius said, his voice cracking.

“Why are you crying, what happened?” Mel brought him closer.

“You embarrassed me, I can take care of myself!” Darius snapped, swivelling around and pushing his sister away.

“Darius! I did it because I love you, not just because you're my brother. You know what happened to Kate's sister because of bullying?!” Mel gave him a hug, on the verge of tears purely because of her worry.

“Yes, but I can take care of it myself, Melanie.” Darius returned the hug, “I know you're good friends with Kate, but I promise I won't commit suicide like Alexa did.”

After a brief minute of hugging, Mel loosened her grip around his shoulders and walked away, catching up swiftly to Kate, who was only a few metres ahead.

MELANIE & KATE

After talking to Darius, Kate & Mel struck up a conversation together, “Do you have Maths third period?” Kate asked Mel, giving her the roster. “It looks like we have English, Science and Math together.” She told Kate, giving back her timetable and zoning out as she walked the halls.

“Hey, Mel?” Kate interrupted the silence after the interaction.

“Yes?” Mel questioned, snapping back to reality. “Thanks for taking care of Darius, I should've done the same for Alexa.” Kate told her, tilting her head down at the depressing nostalgia of her sister, thinking about how happy she looked.

“Don't blame yourself, it was James' brother's fault.” Mel reassured her, holding her back and bringing her in tight.

“Have you wrote the letter to Claudia yet?” Kate inquired under her tears.

“Not yet.” Mel hung her head but still focused on Kate's sadness.

They walked the halls until Mel found her locker, with two girls kissing in front of it. She coughed but they didn't head, so she slammed the locker beside them. They both jumped and ran away awkwardly, their tight dresses restricting their movement.

Mel put away her backpack, stuffing it above the many pictures of her and her ex-girlfriend, Mary. Boys murmured as they watched the two run away, “So many dykes in this school.” whispers lingered among the stampede, and Mel could feel hordes of eyes glaring at her from behind.

“Don't mind them, it's fine to be lesbian.” Kate walked up to Mel and wrapped her arm around her shoulders. “Follow me, me and Chris have some pills that will make you happy.” Kate ushered Mel into the ladies' restroom, where 4 mirrors were graffitied with some sort of symbol.

“What's this?” Mel asked, and a stall burst open. Chris jumped out and scared Mel & Kate, “Jesus, Christopher!” Mel whined, and Chris' smile faded away to disappointment, “Don't call me Christopher, I hate that name!”

Mel and Kate shared a chuckle, but Chris stood there goofily in anger. Chris stepped out of the door and thought for a second, “Hey, you guys hear about Leary and Ryan? Apparently they went missing.” He asked, going over to a mirror and fixing his hair. “Yeah, I personally think they were killed.” Kate interjected, walking into a stall with a screwdriver and taking the toilet off of the wall.

“That's bullshit, they clearly ran off.” Chris complained as he stopped fixing his hair and looked at them creepily. “Why are you even in here anyway?” Mel asked him, “This is the girl's bathroom.”

“Because of that graffiti, and Kate is the one with the drugs.” Chris told her, pointing at the symbols on the mirrors.

“What about them?” Mel asked again, “They're the mark of the demon, he's back.” Chris told her, his tone condescending and spooky.

“You have to be high, what demon?”

“Patalur, he possessed whoever killed Leary and Ryan.” Ryan answered

“Don't tell me you're obsessed with that fairy tale like Darius is, you junkie.” She groaned, rolling her eyes and walking over to Kate. “Where are the drugs?” Mel asked her, bending down to her level.

Kate pulled out a box and rummaged through it, pushing bottles filled with tablets and plants to the side. She picked up a bottle, and inspected it. “Here, its MDMA, it should make you happy & confident.” Kate handed her the bottle. “How do I take it, chew or swallow?” “Swallow.” Kate told her.

Mel immediately felt fuzzy and warm, as if she could do anything she wanted. “Hand me some paper and a pen, I'm writing the letter to Claudia.” Mel demanded, jumping up and down energetically.

“Wait, what letter?” Chris interrupted, looking at Kate and Mel, who were now visibly annoyed.

“A love letter, dingus. She likes Claudia. Kate grunted, her eyes softened angrily.

Chris handed her a notebook and a pen, then she started thinking.

If anyone would like to give me feedback its greatly appreciated, its a historical fiction grim-dark take on the Black Plague. called Decay on the Wind anyways I was very nervous to write this because I often just write and write and just let it sit in a document somewhere without anyone reading it lol.

Do they have good intentions, but execute them in the worst way possible?

Are they driven by revenge, because the hero or someone close to the hero did them wrong?

Is it a desire for power?

Or maybe something else?

Hey so i wanted to write a fantasy story and i already have the world how can i learn creative writing?