/lit/ - Literature

>>12466649

>>9696626
>The forest had begun transforming itself in a labyrinth with twists and turns on the trails they had taken. Her eyes wandered left and right, and what she saw was bushes, trees, and vines. A scenery which Ava, an huntswoman no younger than thirteen, had known all of her life, found herself foreboding. Nonetheless, Ava put those foreboding thoughts aside, and walked forward, she was born into a tribe that for a time in the past once sacked towns to their heart's content so the Storyteller would say.

sounds like uh, fanfiction bro

Hopefully there's still someone in this thread to critique it, so here goes:

Mrs. Ayanami enters the room with a clipboard, looking characteristically serious. Though this time her eyes soften when she addresses me.
"We've discovered a mass in your cerebrum, and it's possibly malignant. You need to schedule a biopsy so we can determine what it actually is. It needs to happen this week."

A mass? She means: a tumor?

Ayanami continues talking, but I feel as if I've been flash-frozen. I'm a space alien observing the minutiae of organic life billions of light years away. A vestibule in my reptilian brain sends a distress signal to the mothership "01110011 01101111 01110011", this vessel is failing, please beam me home.

"Let's not jump to conclusions," she comforts me. "this is my job, and I've seen how patients initially react to this news. I want to assure you that each prognosis is different. In fact, since you're young, you have a great chance of recovery."

Then I realize this message would never reach the mothership in my lifetime. I've crash landed and these primitive humans will never develop faster-than-light technology. I would cry out in bitterness if I weren't aware that this was a depersonalization episode and I couldn't leave my body if I tried. However, the reality is much worse. My personhood and disintegrating brain are inseparable. When one starts to die, the other goes with it.

An assistant walks me to the receptionist and tells me I'd be lucky to get an appointment.

"Sorry to say, we don't receive enough funding," She pushes a metal cart full of assorted office supplies. Clearly someone here buys gourmet coffee.

At the desk, the receptionist has difficulty scheduling me. She finally assigns me a spot a little over a month from now.

"I might not exist in two weeks," I plead. This doesn't help.

The minder sits silently by, so I guilt her into brewing me Colombian coffee. The satisfaction of, for once, getting want I want, almost outweighs all the disappointments in my life leading up to this moment. Yet there's still one thing I need to do in order to die happy. One thing I've been dreading for years.

I need to impress my parents.