/lit/ - Literature

> tfw no qt doggo to play fetch with

> Yukio Mishima's The Sound of Waves
> it's a love story between two teenagers, no SPLAAAAASH

Is there anything more to life than playing Cardi B on repeat and rapping along to the lyrics but the feeling of accidentally saying nigga ends up causing such concern, especially if somebody is listening, so then the rest of the century is spent shaking hands with people and passive-aggressively being polite to everybody you meet just so they don't unveil the dirt on you that once upon a time you sung along to Cardi B and actually accidentally said you would "cut a nigga off." I've only listened to it five times in my life but I've spent thousands of years shaking hands with people. Please understand.

> reading Stephen King on the train
> sitting at the table
> table enough to sit four people
> two other people sitting at the same table
> don't know them
> one of them pulls out a large wooden checkerboard from his bag, looks heavy
> he's setting up a game
> can't help but look
> it's checkers
> say under my breath " child's play" and go back to rubbing my chin hmm
> 12 minutes later
> getting to an exciting moment in The Dark Tower
> the guy who's playing black with checkers reaches the opposite side of the board
> he smiles from ear to ear a shit-eating grin
> "Stephen King me...!"
> everyone on the train looks at me
> they point and laugh
> the guy "kings" the checkers game by building a large tower out of black checkers pieces

>>9990564
>It's another "quantity over quality because we have to prove how not racist we are" episode

>>9483293
>Hear about Stefan from his JRE appearance
>Watch a few of his "Truth About" videos
>"Hey, this guy's pretty interesting, I'll tell all my friends about him."
>He goes full right wing like a week later

Post the last 500 words you have written for your book/story, even if it doesn't make sense. I'll start:

Kibban. I was adorned with the headdress. Before giving him the pot, I turned to the pews. Lifting up it up as I said the ancient phrase with the loudest voice I could well up.
“ASHA VWOHU”
Screams of “ASHA VWOHU” crashed through the air from the crowd. My throat felt itchy after welled-up air left my mouth. Looking back to Kibban I tried to hold back a cough, but felt myself overcome by the sensation. Almost falling forward from its intensity, my wheezing rung throughout the hall.
Once my fit had ceased, I finally passed my pot of incense to my trainee. Rising up I straightened my cap, and with but a single glance at Kibban’s nervous eyes I left for the podium. My eyes were reserved for the princess and her cadaver, cocooned and hanging from the crucifix as still as the state of her life. The juxtaposition unsettled once again, there was no smell of death on her, not like I had had to work with in normal cases of death. Only Incense and the naturalistic scent of pitch permeated the air here. I questioned whether we were going to burn a princess, or a queen without her crown.
The podium was prepared for me with the Simulacra of our Queen, opened to its final pages with a small stone equalizing the weight of the pages on the other side. I leaned my hands onto the podium and scanned the page for Lesson 49; the funerary lesson of the Emperor Pkardi.
“Let us give thanks to the celestial knight Pkardi, maiden of the Sun and Stars.” Their heads bowed as they fell to the floor in kneeling. Their clothes fluttered in unision.
“In sorrow and servitude, Asha vwohu. In comfort and control, Asha vwohu. In drifting winds and still breeze, Asha vwohu. In life, and in death, Asha vwohu.”
In a melodic chant, the choir boys and girls sang from a high to a low note. “Aaaah ha aaaahsha voo wo hu. Kashta, wey Apokza, key graa maaa ley!”
“The shades of the deserters flock oh Aresha, in our worship we banish them. The sands surround the green temple of the people, in our worship we sweep them away. The doubters and scoundrels seek emancipation, in our worship we kiss the face of the knight. The message is sent, in our worship we cheer your patron on.”
“Kashta, ah fah hmm Kashta, Ah re shah saay’ehm keeeey, see-nyng wah ahy Za-hay, ah Ray-kooo, laaa Kaaa-whooooo-puh!”
“GRAMALEY! HEK-EYRENE! These lands are as yours as the Heavens are, oh Aresha! And as is your commandment to the great Pkardi, and in the spirit of the Emperess Kashta, we prepare one of your children in their return. Make our Kashta, of the blessed and immortal house of Apokza, a star! Let her dance in the sky with her brothers and sisters! Guide her far from the Factory of Knowledge, and chase away the dogs that would bring only the wicked!”