/lit/ - Literature

First part of my novella
http://pastebin.com/siz8qb6F

Hey, friends.
You're going to hate me for this, but I have to ask.
Anyone know where I can download
"The Norton Anthology of World Literature, Shorter Edition, Volume 2, 2nd Ed."?
I need it for class, the bookstore wants $30 and I don't have time to order a used copy.

Sorry for shitposting, I'm just kind of desperate and you guys are the only people I know :'(

I posted some writing here about six months ago and the feedback I got pretty much told me to "keep practicing". Well, I did, and since I have a really hard time judging my own progress, would anyone mind reading this short flash fiction story I just wrote and giving feedback?
I wrote it in under an hour just to see where I'm at.


The Monument:
High on the vapor crested hill sits the monument. Its molding, craggled stones spear jagged edges into the sky; six towers jutting forth from moss bleeding wounds in the earth. The stones lean at odd angles encircling the head of the mounded knoll. On a clear day one could observe from a safe distance the high, dead hill and its ghoulish rocky crown and wonder in horror what demon saw fit to place the unnatural structure in the mist of such an otherwise flat country, one all but devoid of stone.
It is said of the men who first set foot in this country in times long forgotten that a great warrior rose up from among them to claim the rocky knoll as his burial right. He wished to be lain amongst the stones that speared forth from the ground, to have them serve as a monument to his inhuman strength.
His tribe saw the honor fitting, and when the great warrior died his young death amid the battlefield his brothers lifted his body high upon the hill, and buried it deep within the deathly circle of stones.
That same night, as the tired warriors celebrated victory around the tribal fire, a great storm arose over the hill. Lightening fell freely from the sky like rain, and hail like frozen stones ripped open the fragile huts, tearing at the men’s bruised skin like angry hornets. The rivers swelled and roared with violence and the terrified men abandoned their camp, fleeing up the hill from the rising flood.

cont..

>>3250766
>>3250767
Exactly what I was looking for. Thanks, friends.

>>3225585
Thanks for the bump then, bro

>>3106160
Tell me how fucking horrible this one is /lit/, and tell me how I can make it better

What if death is to sleep
As sleep is to waking
Why then do we fear
For sleep does it's taking
Achievements mean little
While dreaming we lay
Is more that much taken
When dreaming we stay
Oh how we fear darkness
In light of the day
We tremble and weep
At passings away
And with eyes swollen red
Seek natural reprieve
From that which we shudder
At having to leave
No, death is to sleep
As sleep is to waking
And never a soul
Should enter it shaking
So when we depart
However it seem
In sleeping we sleep
Of nothing we dream

>>3099825
OP
I sit snuggly anchored in the brown corduroy of my recliner reading the words of Hemmingway from the yellow, time worn pages of my late father's collection. I listen to the sharp patter of rain reflected off the tin roof of my neighbors shed and gaze through the window, between short naps and sips of earl grey, to watch the soft, harmless breath of Irene's extremities blow through the dancing branches of the cypress trees and over the low, black surface of the pond. My beautiful wife, who lay napping through the open bedroom door, dreams of happy times with a soft smile creasing the tender, round edges of her cheeks. Within an hour she will awaken to the smell of warm tomato soup that sits simmering on the stovetop. We will eat together and talk warmly of old friends and the happy days ahead before retiring once again to the white velvet sheets where our marriage was consummates so many nights ago. It is for days like this that life is worth living. It is the memories of days like this that will propel me through the inevitable hardships to come.