/lit/ - Literature

>>6090256

The room was cold. It was colder than cold. It was ice cold. Do your own homework kid.

>As rays of light draped the room through the drapes, I awoke suddenly, an icy sweat cascading from my brow.

>>6090272
The room was colder than a thousand blizzards, I died

At the mall, there was a seance; just kids, no parents. Then the sky filled with herons. I saw the devil in a Chrysler Lebaron, and the hell, it wouldn't spare us, but after that, took pills, kissed an heiress and woke up back in Paris.

There is a beautiful woman lying next to me, her head against my shoulder. She has dark brown hair and long, thick eyelashes. Her curves and contours match those of Venus, a sleeping beauty rests on my chest. I stroke her hair behind her ear and kiss her on the temple. She remains asleep.

The next moment, she's gone, but I swore she had been there that morning. I think I can catch the smell, but my mind is uncertain about everything. All I know now is that she's gone, but in that bed is a moment of light that will be there for all time.

>>6090256
Walls were sketched on smeared over with a color I had never seen and the four corners constructed carefully of architecture alien to even eyes of many sights. Dripping drops of damp filth hung from the ceiling like webs hanging to the floor, moist to touch and sour to tongue. Surely nobody sane lived here for even an hour, for only a minute has been torment of the total unknowing of the very walls which are normally familiar. A lack of light was everywhere but a crack in the brick; one spidery crack, length of string, like lace, letting light like liquid through and a breeze carrying the smell of newborn spring and grass to the nose. A disappointment to be a prisoner of a stranger and a shame to be prisoner of an enemy- but how strange to be a prisoner of the house you have been born to!

"lol haha where am I"
"oh well hit this bong"
:) the end

i wake up in an unfamiliar place. alone. just like normal.

>>6090287
>2/10 if not shitposting, use 'her' three times in one sentence
>maximum pleb

>>6090322
Who is the most patrician in this thread?

Cat in the gutter
Eyes hanging, glowing.
Fur is dark and
Skin is covered;
None other than blackness.

I don't know what the fuck is going on. This is a weird ass room. Fuck. Oh, I'm on shrooms.

Is there any talent at all in this thread? It seems to be all
>ironic shitposters hiding their lack of talent through shitposting
and
>pretentious idiots who are even worse at writing than the shit posters

I wake up with my face to a wall, white and veiny with recent, carelessly-applied paint. To disguise the room, I think, with conviction, without any thought to what the room might previously have been. I prop my head up on the worn-out, balled-up bed and take stock of my surroundings. The room is a perfect cube, the square door its only interruption, only imperfection save the frosting on the walls. A large hook hangs from the center of the ceiling. A joke, I suppose, based on their reason for throwing me in here. Not a very good joke, but a joke nonetheless.

I am confused, for I cannot find the words to describe my whereabouts. Should I use the word 'room', one would expect the presence of wall, floor and roof. This place however, has none, and hence I find myself at a loss for words.

I can tell that I am sick, all my muscles taut, stomach in some knots, blankets too heavy to be fought. I can feel her where she's not; she has turned off the heaters; the temperature has dropped. In the right hand corner, nearly buzzing, is the ticking of the meters, and, with the last perk pop, it falters, peters, and, then comes one final rock, and with that, there is no more staccato from the coffee pot, circuits switching off to scarcely stave at tepid warm an already heated litre. Behind my eyes, I know each feature of how she leaves me like I could reach her in these moments when we start, though her nature which made me seek her was she was everything self caused in everything I'm not, and it was her departure, not to keep her, that I sought when she would realise I was naught. The last one made breakfast when I woke up for a start.

>>6090440
gimmicky and immature

>With some effort I carefully rose my head off of the pillow, to a soft glow of sunlight leaking through the curtains. Immediately I realised this was not the bedroom I know, this was a seemingly alien room. With no recollection of any activities prior to my awakening, I was begining to wonder whether or not I was just merely dreaming. As reality set in my heart sank, Sending me into a panic. I lept from the bed and planted my feet on the ice cold hardwood floor.

R8 or h8 m8s

>>6090435
not long enough/10

...with figures, robed and huddled around my now panicked, awake, and voluntarily convulsing body. They spoke in soft phonemes that seemed to echo in my mind separate from the now myriad of alarms.
The room itself looked ancient, however; untouched and with greenery spurting out from cracks born through years of domestic neglect. As the beings around me moved and shuffled, my mind couldn't make out a clear path of entry they used to enter the room, or even to get me bound to the bed. They seemed to leave no trace behind them, no sign of tracks or footsteps that so denoted the presence of a human.

tfw every post in this thread is laughably bad. No surprise though, /lit/ is the home of shitty amateurs who think they're the next F. Scott Fitzgerald. At least the shit that gets written and posted on /b/ is enjoyable, unlike your pseudo-intellectual drivel. Please don't ever attempt to get anything you write published.

NIGGER NIGGER NIGGER NIGGER NIGGER NIGGER NIGGER NIGGER NIGGER NIGGER NIGGER NIGGER NIGGER NIGGER NIGGER NIGGER NIGGER NIGGER NIGGER NIGGER NIGGER NIGGER NIGGER NIGGER NIGGER NIGGER NIGGER NIGGER NIGGER NIGGER NIGGER NIGGER NIGGER NIGGER NIGGER NIGGER NIGGER NIGGER NIGGER NIGGER NIGGER NIGGER NIGGER NIGGER NIGGER NIGGER NIGGER NIGGER NIGGER NIGGER NIGGER NIGGER NIGGER NIGGER NIGGER NIGGER NIGGER NIGGER NIGGER NIGGER NIGGER NIGGER NIGGER NIGGER NIGGER NIGGER NIGGER NIGGER NIGGER NIGGER NIGGER NIGGER NIGGER NIGGER NIGGER

>>6090569
I'm 100% nigger

"Woo-wee!" I had said, bouncing out the window after having toppled out of bed onto the ceiling, to the gentleman on the phone, informing me that I was being investigated for zoning law infringement. Woo-wee indeed!

dude prose lmao

>>6090256
I was having a dream about being bullied by ten year olds, waking up in this filthy room makes me want to go back into my dream.

>>6090595
Best shit in this thread.

Dry eyes, god this is the worst when it happens. i can't see shit, i'll try to yawn. What happened? Is this blood on my face? Is this my room? What time is it? where's my phone at?
"hey is anyone there? turn on the light somebody! i can't fucking see worth a shit, please!"
No windows. My back is so damn sore, "FUCK!" a sharp pain down to my legs, i feel like i was drugged. Cold floor, with marble like tile, and dust all around, empty room, a door down underneath my feet as i'm on the ground. empty fucking room, i can't get up somebody must've hurt me really good or i might've taken one hell of a fall. can't remember anything... subtle white rays of flourescent light exude underneath the closed large metal door, the kind used at public restrooms, ugly, paint looks like a morose faded turquoise. Someone is standing there. i can see his shadow i think, i don't think it was there before, behind the door. i can hear him breathing on it. This is it, i'm fucking dead, paralyzed and weak in some psycho's lair or some shit. The light behind the doorway turns off, now i can't see anything, silence but for something that sounds like an AC from beyond the door, there are no vents in here i don't think. i can here the door knob being twisted and i can't tell if the door has opened. yes it's an AC, and the air is fucking cold. it's all just like the sleep paralysis i used to get working back overnights at that shit hole, defenseless, dazed, and there's the feeling you're not alone, but you don't know who is with you, eyes are on you.

My eyes groggy, crusted together by a thine line of, of whatever it's called. Eye boogers? I feel around for my phone. I find something. Press a couple of buttons. It's my dick. I search around some more. My greasy hands land on something smooth. I trace around the object with my fingers, the index happening pen a slight concave in the figure. 1mm. I press in to the concave.
'Click'.
A flash of light becomes apparent through the transparent thin skins of my eyelids. Like a drowsy clam revealing it's prize, my eyelids separate slowly, with a sort of ethereal splendour reminiscent of Moses separating the seas. I look around me, a blanket I've never seen draped around a mattress I've never slept in. The wallpaper is unfamiliar. I look at my phone. The time reads 4:33.
"Fuck me dead."
The clam becomes reluctant then becomes assured that the one to retrieve it's pearl has yet to appear. I go back to sleep.

>>6090647
>The time reads 4:33
le sophisticated comtemporary classical music references

>>6090660
oh I just picked a random number after 4
but that's cool

So I sat there, waiting. A fan buzzed overhead erratically, like some bee havin' a seizure, and I laughed at the thought. Jean was there too, but he had no idea where we were either. The fuck-head. He was the sort of guy who would pass out during the first five minutes of a movie, then expect you to recite the script when he woke up a hour later. The room was carpeted with that really nice thick stuff you'd dig your toes in, and it was so soft you'd wish it was your bed. Jean looked at me sort of funny, almost like he expected me to tell him where the hell we were. I laughed at him, trying hard not to give away any inkling that I was in fact, an asshole. My cocaine was still packed tightly in my pocket; they hadn't taken that, at least. So if they weren't after our drugs, why were we alone in this shitty, empty room? Instead of worrying about it any longer, I dug my toes into the carpeting, and fell asleep.

>>6090660
I just 'listened' to the piece and christ
All those people clapped too
What gives?

mAAAAANggGG im DA BIG MAN NOW I DA FUCK ALL DAT NGAM NGAC NGUONG OKEH

>>6090720
They were just reassuring each other.

O, ye who read my thoughts, I awake! But, where is it that I have awoken? By my dear god, this room, strange, and unforgiving, reveal yourself to me! Tell, wherefore imprisonest-thou me?

>>6090720
It's artistic masturbation at its very best. John Cage isn't even the first to do 'le silent music.' https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3c5lRRaW4Jw Schulhoff did the same thing back in 1919.

>>6090709

>>6090728
I'd want to do the same if I paid to watch that piece of shit too I guess

>>6090731
Not bad...

>>6090735
Elaborate

There is a room. There is a room, without a door, and I am in the center of it, walking around in an aimless circle, looking for a way out.

I awoke in the room an hour ago, and the room is empty. There is a metal plate in the center of the room, a duct with etched in gills, it hisses. The room's floor is some sort of metal-- aluminum?

Breathing? Breath. Heavy.

The walls of the room are concrete, and cold, and I can see my breath. There is still no door, and I am looking for a door. I walk to the other side of the room; there is no door.

There is always a door. Keep walking, find the door. I keep looking for a door, and smoke comes billowing out from the gilled plate in the center of the room--

breathing? Breathing....none.

>>6090767
>some bee havin' a seizure
not funny but you had to write that you laughed at the thought, like patting yourself, the author, on the back

>fuck-head, he was the type of guy...
I don't personally know that type of guy who expects you to recite a film he passed out to - that's not a relative character description
I can get behind.

>a hour

>soft stuff you'd wish it was your bed
clumsy and unrealistic
forced

>dug toes into carpeting and fell asleep
wat

You wake up in a strange room you've never seen before. A cool grey sky breaks beyond the blinds as your eyes re-adjust to the ethereal intruder. At first, your head ricochets as your eyes dart from space to space. You are naked, and in a bed. A soft linen cloth just barely makes you decent. Your heart calms itself as you realize you're in no immediate danger, you lay back and let the bed devour you, as if astray in a sea. Your eyes become reaquainted with the large window and the ill adjusted blinds. It went on like that for at least half an hour - no, ten minutes? Forty-five? You're not sure, you lost track of time watching the grays of the clouds, the earthen of the trees, and the paleness of your skin...

>>6090767
Also, on a personal note, I've lived in this counter-culture, artsy world that is so trendy in some literature. Basic descriptions of bleak social situations and references to drugs and strange late nite encounters aren't gripping to me on their own. I like Bolano I guess, maybe his shit would sound like this out of context

>>6090812
>>6090830
Fair enough, I'll work on it.

Thanks for the criticisms m8, have a nice day/night

I'm starting to work on a story and I was wondering if I should brainstorm/outline stuff on paper or on my computer.

I feel like everything I've written on a computer I've later deleted in disgust and so I've lost a lot of work. How do you write stories?

>>6090798
You could've emphasized the anxiety of being trapped in a room with no doors, and completely alien to you a little better.

>>6090838
Word. Keep it up, and don't take Anons like me too seriously. These boards are for fun

... Rubbing the sleep from my eyes with rugged fists, I arose -naked- from the nearly textureless, colorless ground I had been laid upon and surveyed my surroundings; Four walls and a ceiling which all mirrored the floor, save for a bright light emanating from above like a holy aura. I'm ashamed to admit it, though I know I must, but I was terribly aroused. Using my saliva as lubricant, I began to masturbate vigorously, rubbing the fear away with rugged fists, the calluses so harsh that the feeble comfort offered was insufficient. I began to bleed. This only fueled my erection and I continued to work at it. More blood. Precum. Dead skin dropped to the ground, mixed in a sanguine concoction with my other fluids. I saw myself reflected in the mixture, a caged beast trying to forget his surroundings. I came -angrily, and the ejaculate sprayed into the puddle, dispersing the accuser there. Fearful that that wicked face would return, I began to lap it up, to destroy it. At that moment a sound began to play: three piercing tones repeating. Suddenly I awoke, I remembered it all, I knew why I had been in that place, I looked up into the shocked face of the hypnotist and began to urinate.

When I opened my eyes I was suddenly aware of two things: I was not where I had fallen asleep, and my penis was harder than it had ever been. The room was dark, and my penis was my only weapon. Confused, aroused, and more than a little frightened I arose from my bed and began feeling my way around the room. I ran my hands along the cold, smooth walls desperate for a light switch. What I found instead was a warm, turgid man sausage poking through a roughly cut hole in the wall. My pork flute jumped, as if it smelled its favorite food. Without hesitating I fell to my knees and began deepthroating the mystery penis with mucho gusto, como se llama, nice to meet you, what is your name?

>you will always write edgy garbage for poetry workshop
I don't write poetry often, but I had to so I could finish out my minor. How bad is it, /lit/?

>>6090992
No rhyme = not worth my time

>>6090999
:(

It isn't a dream, it isn't a dream. My voice echos repetitively, responding to the sound I breathe. It sounds as if someone is next to me, his hot breath filling my neck, condensation and muggy steam mimicking dew on my neck. My hair is grass, my veins are glass, interchanging interwoven expressways carved from the room's subtle darkness. The room is dark, the breath is mine. It's not a dream. I am alone.

>>6090992
It definitely reads like an angsty, self-centered "Intro to Poetry" homework assignment, but your idea is clearly stated. Poetry is basically a big idea distilled into a concise form, so I guess it works. With some work on your flow, and getting that idea to be pleasing or interesting to the reader, I imagine you could come up with some good stuff.

>>6091027
Thanks anon. I was thinking of building a bit more on the narrative structure of the poem but got lazy before submission. I think that might be a good way to make it actually interesting to the reader.

>>6090284
kanye is honestly my shit

>>6091040
One specific criticism regarding flow - I'm not a great poet or an expert, just personal taste - would be to keep it concise. For instance:

>>(you have to pay the bills that is how the real world works you do)

You could drop the "you do" motif, or punctualte it. Or maybe do something like:

the truth reminds you
you are thirty three
you are

This could give it a more staggered rhythm, to let it breathe.

I would cut out the lines of credit cards, digress, mobile phone, internet. I think the idea is already there.

Also if you cut "but there was a metamorphosis" the idea would still be intact and perhaps more powerful.

Just nit-picking, I should probably write my own poem now.

>>6090992
Thanks bb, you inspired me to write a poem.

Cold wet dust fills the air,
Distant door shut with unkempt unclean hair
He settles down to an unlit lamp.
Click!
Pen or knife? The pen mightier than the sword
But the pen will immortalize--
His knife may end his life.
But what of this day, this night, this exercise
A schoolchild's grotesque practice
He writes his twisted letters and numbers for an undiscerning eye
Too young still to know just why.
He repeats this process
From day to day,
A stroke here, a slice there,
While longer grows his unkempt hair.
One slip and it'll all go away.
But his trembling hand stays coolly steady,
When the colder steel touches his heart.
His only open door closed,
Still unable to tear the broken world apart.

I awoke in a strange room that I had never seen before.

Staying very still, I looked left, then right. The walls and ceiling were white plaster, and the floor was dark brown wood. To my left there was a window—covered by a curtain that was so thick that no light could shine through. There was a chair by the foot of the bed—and a black door, beyond it. The right wall was blank. I looked down—at the white coverlet over the white sheets. I had been tucked in very tight. Only by extreme exertion could I, by rocking back and forth, manage to loosen myself enough to pull my arms up from where they had been pressed to my sides. I pulled my blankets off of me and sat up for a while, staying very still, my eyes roaming listlessly around the room.

At last, I stepped off of the bed and on to the floor, rubbing my arms to warm them against the startling cold. Not knowing enough to call out to anybody, I gently grasped the doorknob, and tried to turn it quietly. It moved for a moment, then stopped. I pushed it with two hands, but it was no use—it was locked.

I crept to the window and took hold of the corner of a curtain, preparing to lift it a little and spy the world beneath it.

>>6090300
mystery

>>6090465
>know
knew

It's awkward, too

I woke up in a room with walls and a floor and a ceiling and it was super weird and spooky.

>>6090498
triedsohard/gotsofar

In the end it doesn't even matter. Had to fall, to lose it all. But in the end, it doesn't even matter.

He was awakened by the sun high overhead. He was not astonished to find that his wounds had healed; he closed his pallid eyes and slept, not through weakness of flesh but through determination of will. He knew that this temple was the place required for his invincible intent; he knew that the incessant trees had not succeeded in strangling the ruins of another propitious temple downstream which had once belonged to gods now burned and dead; he knew that his immediate obligation was to dream. Toward midnight he was awakened by the inconsolable shriek of a bird. Tracks of bare feet, some figs and a jug warned him that the men of the region had been spying respectfully on his sleep, soliciting his protection or afraid of his magic. He felt a chill of fear, and sought out a sepulchral niche in the dilapidated wall where he concealed himself among unfamiliar leaves

>>6091143
>pallid
purp
>weakness of flesh
awkward
>determination of will
lel, so this sentence is basically "sleep furiously". Chomsky weeps.
>incessant trees
pls, no
>trees had not succeeded in strangling the ruins of another propitious
>trees
>strangling
>propitious

i'm fucking done anon. i'm not reading more simply out of pure spite, returning the spite you clearly have for me

>>6091143
>He felt a chill of fear, and sought out a sepulchral niche in the dilapidated wall where he concealed himself among unfamiliar leaves

lmfao

>>6091149
>>6091155
kek you plebs

>>6091155
>>6091149
u just got JLB'd bois

>>6091143
>Borges
>>6091149
>>6091155

FUCK lol

I'm an absolute pleb. I genuflect before my patrician masters

I woke up to a florescent light shining in my eyes. Everything was so cold, and I quickly realized I was naked under the thick blankets and impossibly comfortable mattress. The fabrics were directly at odds with the restraints around my wrists and ankles, however.
"Sir? Are you awake" A voice came out of nowhere, and I blinked away from the overhead lighting, trying to see whoever was speaking.
"Oh, you are! We are every so glad, sir."
I didn't respond. They referred to me as sir?
"Oh, oh dear. We worried this might happen."
A balding man, through age and not genetics came into view. The wrinkles around his face accentuated every feature, make his powder blue eyes all the more gentle. His deep dimples made it difficult to not return the kind smile. His glasses were thick and his coat as white as snow.
"Don't worry, we came prepared. Please, read this novel. You might not realize it, but you wrote it! Do enjoy sir."
He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a leather bound book and handed it to me. Turning it over, I read the title: Mein Kampf

I henceforth voluntary retire any shreds of credibility I may have once had wrt rating works on here

>>6091180
>>6091186
lmfao valuable lesson learnt

>>6091143
>>6091149
>>6091155
>>6091162
>>6091173
>>6091175
>>6091180
>>6091186
>>6091191

I woke up in a tastefully decorated room of comfortable proportions occupied by myself, typical bedroom furnishings including a bed, and my loving girlfriend.

Spot the joke.

>>6091149
>>6091143
>translation

>>6091212
your girlfriend is a piece of furniture?

>>6091219
It's a strange room that I've never seen before.

>>6091213
it doesn't matter, I die tonight

I just pray I will not be resurrected again and again and forced to suffer the infinite whimsies of the eternal argentine

>>6091220
nice 'joke'

my guess was funnier than the truth

>>6091220
fag

iktf

>>6091224
Perhaps with relief, with humiliation, with terror, you will understand that you also were an illusion, that someone else was dreaming you.

>>6091213
good point

>>6091234
>captcha: keklo

the air was crisp and cool and sweet. it washed over my arms, which laid at my sides like oars, heavy and stiff. faint cries of children at play in the orchard came through the window, a siren's song beckoning me to the rocks and shoals of the party below. the turbulence of the night before was over but the rumble of whitewater could be heard 'round the bend.

I awoke several hours later in a daze. To my left, Adolph Hitler and Winston Churchill were playing Yu-Ghi-Oh. To my right, Oprah Winfrey was interviewing Abraham Lincoln's chair. They were being filmed. I was in shot. In that moment I didn't care. I stood up from my coffin and went to the bar, where I ordered a glass of Coca Cola. It was delivered and I drank it greedily. Being asleep for seven centuries had made me thirsty. I knew nothing of this new world, so I asked the barkeep to show me how to use Google Maps on my iPhone. He did so. I said goodbye to Ms Winfrey and stepped outside. The summer was biting cold, a result of global warming I'm told, and I turned on my jacket's heating. New York was a sight to be seen - last time I was here it was little more than a bunch of Mayans playing with sticks and rocks. Take that, anti-colonialists! I decided if I was going to start somewhere it might as well be at the beginning. I picked up a newspaper and found a job, promptly aced the interview, and commenced stacking pallets. It was laborious work. The only real upside was that you could sneak whatever merchandise you were stacking and the management didn't seem to care. Once I came home with five new Subarus. Shoddy Japanese cars, yes, but I managed to trade them in for a PS4 and its entire library of games. I spent that night watching television and posting on a Martian crop circle website.

This board sucks.

>>6091254
8/10 would read again

i read the futurological chronicles today, keks related

>>6091263
Nobody would deny that.

>>6091263
Which board doesn't suck?

>>6091263
i lurk here when im too drunk to read

First person is for commoners, so here I go.


When the streetlamps hanging in the dusk came on, practically in unison, every object in the unlit room shifted slightly under the influence of the outdoor rays, which started by taking a picture of the lace curtain’s design. He had been lying supine (a long-limbed flat-chested youth with a pince-nez glimmering in the semi-obscurity) for an indeterminate time. Drugged by the oppressive, protracted feeling so familiar to him, he lay and looked through his lashes, and every line, every rim, or shadow of a rim, turned into a sea horizon or a strip of distant land. As soon as his eye got used to the mechanics of these metamorphoses, they began to occur of their own accord (thus small stones continue to come alive, quite uselessly, behind the wizard’s back), and now, in this or that place of the room’s cosmos, an illusionary perspective was formed, a remote mirage enchanting in its graphic transparency and isolation: a stretch of water, say, and a black promontory with the minuscule silhouette of an araucaria.

>>6091294
trash

>look at all the relatively unknown words I can use tee hee!

>>6091294
>2015
>pincenez

>>6091310
Agreed.

>>6091294

>>6091318
You caught me, cornfather. They know nothing of mediocre prose.

Just wrote this now on my phone so there might be some typos

One morning, when Gregor Samsa woke from troubled dreams, he found himself transformed in his bed into a horrible vermin. He lay on his armour-like back, and if he lifted his head a little he could see his brown belly, slightly domed and divided by arches into stiff sections. The bedding was hardly able to cover it and seemed ready to slide off any moment. His many legs, pitifully thin compared with the size of the rest of him, waved about helplessly as he looked.

>>6091310
>>6091312
>>6091313
>yfw it's Nabokov

>>6091294
Nabokov is my favorite writer, but this was written when he was still learning the nuances and musical qualities of English. It's just not good at all.

>>6091334
I never really e noted Nabokov for this exact reason, so I suppose it would appear indifferent.

>>6091341
*enjoyed

I woke up to a strange and unfamiliar room. It took my eyes a few seconds to get used to the the frugal lighting. The heavy panting from deep within the shadows still haunts my mind. A hideous formation of a man appeared with a hard dick dancing through the air. His crippled walk would end in my anus.

Poo in the left corner but I remember poo in the right corner. Yellow walls too but I remember purple walls. What a strange room I've woken up in, a strange room in fact that I've never even seen before!

>>6091352
This is so bad I just feel bad about it.

>>6090569
I read these all as "NIIGGER", two "i"s. Is this some kind of optical illusion?

>>6090312
Is this a story about a drifter? Post-apocalyptic maybe? I haven't read it but I'm familiar with it, the Postman?

>>6090256
I opened my eyes and wondered where i was. I was in a rather small bed, cement walls, no furniture, huge window in front of me. Outside, the sky was grey, i heard a couple of crows passing by. Even without standing up, i knew i wasn't in my country.
When this kind of thing happens, and it usually never does in a normal life; you would think you're on a bad trip, or you're dreaming, or you had too many drinks and made bad decisions.
As i stood up and looked at the town i was in, i knew something else had happened and that it wouldn't get better for me.

>>6091389
the whole thing is an hallicination

>>6090256
The young man opened her eyes wondering where they were. In a rather small bed, cement walls around, no other furniture, huge window at it's feet, we lay. Outside the sky was gray. A couple crows passed with fluttering and caws. He knew it wasn't his country.

He knew too that it wasn't a bad trip, or a dream, or the morning after too many drinks and poor decisions, it wasn't that sort of thing. Standing and looking out at the town around he knew it was something else.

>>6091394
You don't really get that across too well.

>>6091399
lol you asshole.

>>6091404
Stop being a shitty writer and it won't be this easy to exploit you.

She needed a glass of water, but confusion was filling the room like the sea through a torpedoed hull. Minutes passed as she fought to awaken, and hours passed as she considered the next move. She didn't regret her choices, but she needed a glass of water. Alone, she examined last night's lover's apartment. It was filthy, but she was content with the notion of not remaining there. She could leave, but she needed a glass of water. Where does this shade keep his glasses? Sitting up on the end of the bed and rubbing her eyelids with her sharp index knuckles, the morning sun through the plate-glass forced her left eye immediately shut. The bony knuckle returned to its work upon the sullen left eye, and again the blue iris appeared. Easing to her feet, a pewter mug gleamed on a shelf across the room, as her vision fixed upon the crystaline formation of soiled dishes in the sink, the glasses shimmering and the ceramics boasting a dull aura of morning light. The water was sufficiently cold; she felt free to go.

>>6091408
garbage

>>6091406
like yours was better? At least try to do better instead of being a pathetic wanker.

>>6091254
Apparently this is the only good post in this thread.

>>6091411
That hurts, jerk.

>>6091399
oof. 8/8 made me respond

>>6091419
Thanks.

Reading this thread must be how poor suburban high school English teachers must feel.

>>6091399
I want to save this for copypasta. Well-informed shitpost - seriously good job, man

>>6090256
I was less startled this time. Of course their was a door, and I checked to see if it was locked. The ornate brass handle held firm. I didn't worry. I didn't even call out, to see if anyone was on the other side. They would be, and they wouldn't respond. I looked over the room. As always, no furnishings, but the walls and floor were novel. Old, black carved stones, smoothed with time, and stacked neatly. The roof was quite high, some 10 meters above, with a small window at 9. The bright light flushing soaked into the black stone. This was definitely the darkest room I had awoken in of the lot, but the sunlight told me is was about midday. Midday of what day I could not say.

>>6091426
Go for it man, you have my permission to monetize it even in whatever way you like. But only you. No one else.

>>6091399
>>6091404
>>6091419
>>6091426
Is there a reference here I'm not getting?

>>6091429
>course their was a door,
Dropped. You're a hack.

>>6091435
have you read the thread? we're writing about op's prompt

I now find myself in something of a precarious situation. Not that I have 'found myself' in such a way, as surely some observable tricks of causation etched this scene into the present moment, but a feeling of concern occurs to me as I pose myself the pertinent questions. Where did I put my phone? Why is my shirt torn? Am I even wearing a shirt? What is this needle in my arm? It became clear that I was laid up in a hospital room, but my body seemed in working order. Might someone explain this to me? The doctor stepped into the doorway and greeted me. He said that I was a very lucky man and that I should, in the future, refrain from such violent sodomy. I tried to stand up, but there was nothing for it. "You were paralyzed during a particularly brash homosexual act last night," spoke the doctor, "and you are lucky to be alive. Do you want more vicodin?" I refused the vicodin, but soon found myself weeping, asking the doctor for all of the white capsules. He handed me two, and I began to contemplate life as an HIV-positive paraplegic.

Nigga wake the fuck up.

What?

Nigga come on!

Ah holy fuck it's Tyrone what? Come on man what? Come on man let's go I sit up and the nignog niggerdingdong is standing there wit neon green kicks and Pyrex shorts come on he says let's go

I Tie on my Kobe 2's very jewishly and sigh oy vey I say Tyrone did you take my shekels? I will sue no he said I didn't take your shekels I shook my bag and counted them perfectly by the shaking because that's a perk for the Jewish race

Let's get that crack Tyrone insisted and it wasn't until then I realized I wasn't home.

>>6091415
Underrated post. Actually really well written, and retardedly funny.

>You wake up in a strange room you've never seen before

My eyes open to see the new day, to see this place where the night before has taken me.
Flavours of yesterdays substances are still having a party in my mouth.
I sit up, and my forehead starts pounding with agony, pounding till i stop moving completely.
Again, had to take it this far, everytime right?
While i'm breathing heavily i take a look at the room. It doesen't take much to figure out that it is a human male, who is laying head in this bedroom.
Alot of menswear is lying around the bed, the big chair in the corner is covered in clothes.
A stack of records, so high it looks rather dangerous, is standing close to the door, next to it on the floor is a pair of shitty stereos.
I start to feel embarressed. Did i do him?
I still have my clothes on, most of it at least.
My forehead allows me to finally move, so i start to gather up my clothes;
Socks, pants, a sweater, yes yes, quickly now, i might not have to meet this person.

>>6091435
I said "you're an asshole" because two posts up the guy i was commenting, i posted my own paragraph. Then this troll just mocked my style without giving any constructive criticism.

>>6091440
duuummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

>>6091445
duuuuuummmmmm said the troll, who was standing on my forehead. dum dum dum dum dum he sung pachelbel backwards. who are you. a troll. where am i. you are in a dream. wake me up. no. please. okay.

but when i woke up, the troll was still there. huh.

>>6091452
Are you okay?

>>6091455
>talking to 13yo

shiggydidgeridoo

Thrown like a star in my vast sleep, I opened my eyes to take a peek. I found that I was by the sea, gazing with tranquility. It was then when the Hurdy Gurdy Man came, singing songs of love. Yes, it was then when the Hurdy Gurdy Man came singing songs of love.

"Hurdy gurdy, hurdy gurdy, hurdy gurdy gurdy" he sang.

>>6090822

Motherfucker, I read this in Glenn´s voice.

You´re devilish

>>6091431
Ok - I'll use it for copypasta on future creative writing threads - but I will not give anyone else permission to copy or save it

>>6091452
in this usage, troll is a verb, not a noun you retard

>>6091455
Nope

>>6091456
Aw man you're hurting my feels :(

>>6091465
Shut up troll

>>6091469

>>6091379
please respond

After the silence, there was me. What had thrown the drapes, the sheets? the flickering remembrance of another time?

There was me, suddenly imbued with curare, for it took me a while to remember. There was a man thumbing endelssly in a strange nation. His head was too long, his hair disheveled, his eye as a shadow-pannier, just a tiny speck of light. The harvest of a life-time.

The man seemed strange, and then he was me. Thrown in savage sheets, untamed. A blond rummaging through a drawer, maybing trying to discover a cigarrette.

>>6091473
>please take my fortran philipino pedophile portrait forum seriously

>>6091478
2 serious 4 me m8!

but seiously check out this piece i wrote:

>The young man opened her eyes wondering where they were. In a rather small bed, cement walls around, no other furniture, huge window at it's feet, we lay. Outside the sky was gray. A couple crows passed with fluttering and caws. He knew it wasn't his country.

He knew too that it wasn't a bad trip, or a dream, or the morning after too many drinks and poor decisions, it wasn't that sort of thing. Standing and looking out at the town around he knew it was something else.

>>6091485
WOWOWOWOLWOWOWKWOWOWKWKWOWOWOWOWKW THAT WAS GOOD

>>6091489
thanks

>>6091496
Ur welcum >:-P~

>>6091501
ur so randuM

>>6091501
>>6091504
can't tell if argument, samefag, or mating call

>>6091504
Just report and move on, don't become a part of the problem yourself.

>>You wake up in a strange room you've never seen before

The heavenly light of the sweet morning sun gleamed through the curtains, illuminating the dusky room. My eyes fell weak to its photosensivity and I started to awake from an otherwise peaceful slumber. The tranquil and quiet setting of the room was broken abruptly by the cacophonous chime of the alarm-clock. It was 7 a.m, and through the digital screech I am reminded of the monotony of my life.

I have to get up, I have to wake up.

I drag the cover away from my warm body, and let my corporeal heat whither away into the atmosphere. I get out of the bed and make my way into the bathroom. I splash cold water on my calid face, today I have to be fresh.

Once I finished my hygiene routine I head downstairs. My body craves nutrients, I drag myself to the kitchen and I get a bowl. I have to have cereal, especially today.

The morning antics of today seemed to be more laboreous than ever. I am running late, time is ticking on, and I have somewhere to be. I grab that which is only essential and hastily make my way outside. I see the my bustop in the distance, hazed by the bitter morning freeze. Approaching it is my bus. It is Friday, I need to get this bus.

>>6090344
you being ironic yourself

>>6091508
>:-( stop having fun <--- you

>>6091511

>>6091509

As I laid in bed, waiting for slumber to take over, my eyes became fixated on the same beige ceiling I've seen from this same angle for weeks. I thought it was about time to add a new coat of paint. The ceiling was chipping, but it was more due to the fact I hated that ugly shade of brown. Eyes shut tight, I thought of what colors to paint the ceiling. Red, orange, magenta, amaranth. A thought prevented me from getting any rest: what color would work with the walls? I opened my eyes back up to see what colors the walls were even, only to see that the ceiling was not beige anymore, but a dark grey, stone-like, with many cracks and speckles of brown.

>>6091509
absolute shit

>look at me I'm so unhappy with my dull first world existence i'm the next Tao Lin teehee

I awoke with a dick rock hard and it hurt. Some really gay man in Calvin Klein booty shorts was cuddling me. I pulled away and threw off the pink silk sheets. Fuck!

On the beanbag: a bag man with a dildo still in his butt passed out face first. On the floor next to him was a midget black fag with his nose stuck to stink bomb wrappers that he was apparently sniffing. Curled up in a ball with dick-shaped welts was an old gay man wearing nothing but black socks and Birkenstocks. Did I fuck a bunch of dudes? I jiggled my hiney and felt squishiness and pain. Oh well, time to start posting my writings on /lit/ today.

>>6091521
see>>6091519

>>6091516
>le may may posting

XD I really like that haha

>>6091526
>first person
Why do people keep doing this?

>>6091530
cf. >>6090256
>Preferably first person.

>>6091532
I just wanted to see more variety. Most of these would be much better in third person.

>>6091535
Would yu like another gay one in third person?

>>6091540
yes

Oi she were an awful thing the poor piggly wiggly I did with my shiggly diggly but the old maid was still face-down on the mattress when the police found her. Why I harpooned that land whale I will never quite be sure, and I can only hope that I shan't spend my entire waking life contriving of this answer, but I felt some closure necessary. Here I was, reduced to pig-fucker. Pig-fucker! I shouted. A pig-fucker! I began to thrash savagely at the hog on the bed and I resolved in my head to do her in right there. I sprang out of bed and mounted a dresser. Yelling Cannonball! I caught the beast square between the gully and the wuzzy and her pussy was fuzzy even in death.

>>6091541
Anon awoke in a bed of pink silk sheets with a muscular faggot locked to his side. He first glanced left, then right, then sat straight up like a boner, rubbing his eyes free of cum.

The room was littered with a rainbow variety of faggots, from trannies to homo thugs to businessmen to twinks. Some still had sex toys in use. Some were still fucking on the floor. Judging by the blood stains on the sheets and the dull throb in his pancreas, anon considered that he probably took every dick in that house. "Not again," he moaned while hoping no one got infected.

>>6091548

What? I'm awake?

No. Closed-eye visuals, fluttering images, go there. Amalgamations: homes, houses, schools, people are here. I'm home. INTRUDER INTRUDER INTRUDER!

Yes, I'm awake.

Time to masturbate.

Ahh. Remember to breathe, your lungs, they're not well. Stop smoking. Here it comes. THERE SHE IS, YOU'RE INSIDE YOUR EX-GIRLFRIEND. I'm done. Why do I always think of her just as I'm about to have an orgasm?

Clockwork. I've never been in this room before. Cool. Wait, what?

>>6091386
quality post

>>6090300
Doubles confirm best in thread.

"Yankee guizi! What of fuck are you doing to my daughter?!"

I lie naked in somebody else's bedroom, swamped in sweaty sheets. A woman is bashing the door so hard that it flexes; so hard that plaster separates from the ceiling and snows on my face. Unfortunately for her, there's a pair of 19-inch industrial racks collapsed horizontally over the doorway. That's both a bonus and an omen. Plus side is I've got time to dress. It occurs to me to pinch myself.

"Yankee pussy, I will slit your throat and boil you alive! Maybe even call police! Fuck your ancestors!"

Pain. Meatspace. Just my luck.

Whose digs are these? The daft cunt is yelling in Mandarin, so I can't have left the country. The moment I try to stand, my Toshiba HMD catches on the tube-frame headboard and falls off my face. I find it next to a girl.

Chinese girl. Flat-chested. Hair bleached same color as the plaster. Still gloved and goggled, a day-glo optogenetic plugged into the nape of her neck. Her brow wrinkles with every blow of her mother's fist on the door. Is she dreaming? If so, are the dreams lewd? Who am I trying to kid? She's a runner; they're probably unprintable. Tentacles and shit.

"Hey." I wrestle a plastic penis out of the runner's hands and chuck it at her forehead, where it sticks. "Kid, I gotta dart. Police your mother for once."

"Worth iiiiiiiiit," she groans, turning over in the bed without the slightest intent of getting up. I think she can handle herself. Probably.

As I put out the locked window with a piece of towel rack, it dawns on me that I've just siphoned the entire GDP of Samoa and had simstim-enhanced sex with a minor, in no particular order-- maybe even at the same time. There's likely some legal repercussions to this, but first things first: I need a Tsingtao.

China is the best.

You wake up in a strange room you've never seen before.

"Strange."

"You're inside me."

"I've never seen you before."

"That's because you're inside me."

"..."

"Have fun"

>>6091700
"Who is inside?"
"Me."
"Me?"
"Yes, you."
"What the..."

>>6091709

"What?"

"The... scenario"

"It's them?"

"No, us, for now."

"Ok, when..."

Wake up. Unknown ceiling, unknown bed, unknown beadsheets: white here and white there and white everywhere. Where I am I do not known nor how did I get here in the first place. Yell in vain and talk in vain, no one seems to be here where I lie and rest.
Did I try to get up? I did indeed and not one but one and two and vain as before. Dead limbs it may seem since I felt them but no move could I carry.
"Hey hey" I repeat once and again, two seconds wait and a "hey" I yell, one-two "hey" one-two "hey". It's no use, where the hell I really am?
Minutes and hours go by, no clock but tick-tock I heard in my head. Tick-tock tick-tock how long I've been here? Tick-tock tick-tock will some one come for me?
Without rest I can't keep awake no longer, shadows are cast over my eyes and I fall into the slumber (peaceful slumber, thank god!) for who knows how many hours. Little I knew how many times this would repeat.
Several days (or months maybe?) went by, any consciousness of time I once had was lost by my stay in the everwhite white room. Several days passed until I saw the presence of another human being, or a being at least as far as I can tell. There was a shadow in the upper-right corner, she came here some night and every night since then.
Shadow, shade my slumber, please cast light on my mind and make me remember what I have long forgotten and can't remember no more. She did not listen, not the first nor the second and for my grief I had to repeat, repeat again day after day the exact same words once said to my shadow.
Eventually she did answer and awoke some of my memories (not all I'm afraid) and told some things I can't quite grasp until this very day. She told me about the ones of my kind and of my five-thousand years legacy, time we've been together and for how many years we'll hope will be. Told me about the gammadion cross and the ones who wear it, about where some of my kind go and where the somehow relevant stay.
Now I have waited too long, with memories still shattered and knowledge (scarce, but not naught for those who watch) that will remain with me for the time I have left. Not much, I can say now, for my head I can move and my teeth are still sharp.
I may not own my life anymore, but I'll own by death.

Wake up. Unknown ceiling, unknown bed, unknown beadsheets: white here and white there and white everywhere. Where am I I do not known nor how did I get here in the first place. Yell in vain and talk in vain, no one seems to be here where I lie and rest.
Did I try to get up? I did indeed and not one but one and two and vain as before. Dead limbs it may seem since I felt them but no move could I carry.
"Hey hey" I repeat once and again, two seconds wait and a "hey" I yell, one-two "hey" one-two "hey". It's no use, where the hell I really am?
Minutes and hours go by, no clock but tick-tock I heard in my head. Tick-tock tick-tock how long I've been here? Tick-tock tick-tock will some one come for me?
Without rest I can't keep awake no longer, shadows are cast over my eyes and I fall into the slumber (peaceful slumber, thank god!) for who knows how many hours. Little I knew how many times this would repeat.
Several days (or months maybe?) went by, any consciousness of time I once had was lost by my stay in the everwhite white room. Several days passed until I saw the presence of another human being, or a being at least as far as I can tell. There was a shadow in the upper-right corner, she came here some night and every night since then.
Shadow, shade my slumber, please cast light on my mind and make me remember what I have long forgotten and can't remember no more. She did not listen, not the first nor the second and for my grief I had to repeat, repeat again day after day the exact same words once said to my shadow.
Eventually she did answer and awoke some of my memories (not all I'm afraid) and told some things I can't quite grasp until this very day. She told me about the ones of my kind and of my five-thousand years legacy, time we've been together and for how many years we'll hope will be. Told me about the gammadion cross and the ones who wear it, about where some of my kind go and where the somehow relevant stay.
Now I have waited too long, with memories still shattered and knowledge (scarce, but not naught for those who watch) that will remain with me for the time I have left. Not much, I can say now, for my head I can move and my teeth are still sharp.
I may not own my life anymore, but I will own by death.

She was huge, maybe three fat men past what a fat woman should be, draped in a blanket whose edges were disappeared and gables of emptied chocolate boxes, and she asked me to enter her again, if I was horny or bored, fanning herself with the tiny wax-paper wrappers, and she called me son. Boy oh boy, wonder what this means, my psi-dreams sure are cinema fantastic. Woke up then because I can't stay asleep when I know I'm asleep, like trying to finish when I know it's so near then having to apologize, I really thought I was close. There are bunk-beds and a toilet and I've been here many times before but now the walls in comparison to my large mother seem narrower than usual and the toilet, looking into it now, a different turd than usual only it's not a turd under the frosted over surface like a winter lake only it's not a frost, either, it's a piece of toilet paper still flat half-hiding a large bug floating at a midpoint in the water, with one of those noses like a spiral and the one wing I can see spectral and torn. I look over my shoulder at the bunk-bed where my father sleeps above and he looks thinner than usual, his thirty or forty hairs in a truss. If my mother was in this room she would expand the walls and my father back in brightness again would finally start flushing the toilet, would finally stop shitting weird things.

I wake with a dead arm and a faint emptiness. I'm still dizzy from everything I drank last night, but I remember the name of the girl strewn on my chest and enough snippets of conversation to know I won't be eating breakfast here.

I rub my eyes and let out a cough to get things moving along. Another pair of self-made jean shorts on the floor and another Joy Division vinyl on the wall: this year has been groundhog day for Hipster sluts. A patchwork tapestry of fairy lights, swallow tattoos and drunken discussions about Proust based entirely off the one time I read about the cunt on Wikipedia.

The frizzy mess stirs, and her eyes open slowly. A sleepy smile makes its way onto the small face and she lets out one of those quiet closed-mouth laughs where the last syllable stretches into a humming moan. I move my palm up from the small of her back to her shoulderblades; maybe it was just the way the light leaked itself through the curtains, but it drew her better than I expected.

She slides in for a peck and I let her have it. She goes for another but this time we linger for a moment and she slips her tongue between my teeth... I bite it and tell her I licked her ass last night.
I didn't really, but seeing her eyes go wide as she tries to pull her tongue out of my mouth actually makes me laugh. She zips to the other side of the bed with a hand clasped on her mouth and yanks the fleece up with the other, a nipple remains righteously exposed.

A few seconds of silence pass and I get ready to tell her I was kidding so I can decide whether to press for morning sex, but just before I open my mouth she lowers her hand cocks her head.

"Did I like it?"
"Well..."
It takes me a moment to retort
"obviously not enough if you don't remember."

She looks to the window and the morning washes onto her face
"I don't know... I still remember the grade school philosophy lecture you tried to give me outside chipotle."

"I still remember your fart smelling distinctly like beans." I quip childishly

She turns her had back and punches my eyes with a stare.
"Well I hope I did it when you had your tongue in my ass."

We sneer at each other for a little while.
Maybe I could stay for an omelette if she doesn't try to hold my hand.

>>6091683
Dude is there anywhere you post your writing online?

I would actually read lots of this.

>>6091310
apart from "araucaria" which words are "relatively unknown" ?

With wild, panicked strength, I kick and thrash against the vicious current. My arms, weak and trembling, battle with every burning fiber to keep my head above the black, crashing expanse. I suck another crazed gasp from the night air before I am defeated and consumed. yanked violently downward, my heart pounding loudly in my ears, I feel the crushing weight of my captor on my aching chest and watch the flickering outline of the moon fly away into the night. A few tiny bubbles scurry up my prickled legs and rejoin the surface. I stare down in to the freezing, infinite blackness as the terror drains from my limbs.

My nose is filled with violent citric fumes. I open my eyes and look instinctively to my right where stands a rusted, metal cart. Placed on top are two thin paper cups, one filled with water. By some unknown force, I am drawn to them.

I was in a strange room. My father dead by my side, because of me. I kill him.
Oh shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit this is not copy paste shit shit shit shit shit shit
I escape. Get a wife. Son is born, his name: "Chekem".
And I lived happily ever after.
TEH END

>>6090632
>nobody comments mine

So it was okay then?

Not as bad as half these people jerking off?

>>6092360
it's shit

Huh? Good morning, unknown locale; I'd worry about you but my morning wood and about-to-explode bladder prompt me otherwise. Now where's the urine hole in this place I wonder?

I woke up in a room I have never seen before.

I wake in robes that are not my own. My head heavy, leaden, drooping on its side. A fireplace stooped on the far wall. In drowsy wonder I watch shadows stretched lank and fingerlike along the walls. I groan a short moment and turn to rise but crumple now clutching my chest, strapped with gauze and stained with blood. My eyes grow heavy. The firelight dances like tribals in the dark -- and though I try to watch, rest beckons, and so I follow.

>>6090859
I relate to this...piece. Is it a poem?
Is it misspelled on purpose? It gives the idea of being too tired to spell out everything. I've done that before. I feel tired after reading it.

>>6093174
is art that people "can relate to" good art or bad art? axin earnestly, since like art maybe should capture some universal human element, on the other hand if "stuff you can relate to" is good then you just slide to sentimental bullshit

>>6090256
So I awoke, in a room not my own. In the distance I could hear the din of traffic. Where was I? On the top of a skyscraper, judging by the silent sound. The tart taste of coffee grounds lingered on my lips, and my nose throbbed, achingly.

You wake up in a strange room you've never seen before. The room is spacious with high ceilings and large windows. There is no furniture. You observe that no one is there except yourself. Almost frozen with panic, you stand and walk, looking for a way out. You know your name but not how you got here. You reach a set of double doors and push them open, pulse rising as you see a hallway. A framed painting of a calm sea greets you.

>>6090256
I don't write in first person, but I'll try to emulate the style in which my novels are written.

"Gods damn" muttered [name] under his breath, as he progressively regained consciousness. Wind and cold pierced right through his bones and soon it was revealed from where does it hail; the hole in the stone wall revealed the outside. It appeared to be dawn, or perhaps dusk for mountains could easily be seen into the far distance.
Glancing back and forth, he suddenly came to the realization that he might be imprisoned in what seemed to be a featureless room carved straight into rock, with no apparent entrance nor exit.

Captcha: hahan

>>6091548

>>6093182
Each person has a different idea of what good or bad art is. When it comes to what people would most agree on about what is good art, like you said, it's probably because there is a universal human element. In any story or poetry, there is usually something the reader can relate to, like language or sensation.

How much value there is in writing that is familiar or writing that is really new, I don't know. What do you think?

Sentiment can play a part in art, but sometimes it does go over the top for some readers.

What good or bad art is depends on what you think good or bad means.

Corrugated iron walls, high raised roofbeams, dull windows resisting the little daylight seeping through. A dead chicken rests upon my feet.

>I have found myself living in a shotgun shack!

I step outside, and place an Apocalypse Now Vietnam era hat upon my head, and look out upon the brown and green countryside. Characters look out to me from the roof, but I cannot read them, hostile or friendly - who can know when I do not know what they say.

>I have found myself in another part of the world!

The engine starts into life, and I follow the yellow-sick road, the only one anywhere in sight. I turn back to the characters and lift my hat in goodbye, cowboy, western, sitting on an atom bomb, strangelove sort of adieu. Resigned and triumphant in it. Yes, I missed the point of that film, I fell asleep.

>I have found myself behind the wheel of a large automobile!

The mansion approaches me, towering over the land. Pale white walls and pink roof, matching the skin and lips of the goddess welcoming me to her temple with a kiss.

>I have found myself in a beautiful house, with a beautiful wife!

I turn to her and ask 'How have you been?'. She giggles, she does not understand. I turn to myself and ask myself
>Well, How did I get here?

She looks at me in her oversize suit, and large autistic eyes, and I am paralyzed. In what was to be a rare moment of magnanimity, the goddess imparts her wisdom upon me.

>"Sayy Mas Eetev Er wass"

>"Same As It Ever Was"

>>6090256
Walls were sketched on smeared over with a color I had never seen and the four corners constructed carefully of architecture alien to even eyes of many sights. Dripping drops of damp filth hung from the ceiling like webs hanging to the floor, moist to touch and sour to tongue. Surely nobody sane lived here for even an hour, for only a minute has been torment of the total unknowing of the very walls which are normally familiar. A lack of light was everywhere but a crack in the brick; one spidery crack, length of string, like lace, letting light like liquid through and a breeze carrying the smell of newborn spring and grass to the nose. A disappointment to be a prisoner of a stranger and a shame to be prisoner of an enemy- but how strange to be a prisoner of the house you have been born to!

Critique please

>>6093182
I think you have a good point. I read a lot of things because they're familiar, but I could be reading things that are better that aren't things I relate to.

>>6091683

This was a genuinely enjoyable read. I actually chuckled at "Fuck your ancestors!"
good job anon.
Felt like you just read neuromancer and infinite jest; a weird mix of semi reliable narration and first person.

K. woke up in a room like any other morning. This one was blank. The four walls were bare, the dull color of parchment. Lying beneath K. a carpet was patched with moisture stains. It seemed to K. that this room was not his. He hoped to leave soon to get to his dentist appointment on time.

Consciousness washes over me like a painter's brush. No hangover, huh. I realise I'm naked -- a sensual delight -- and the reason for being here, wherever I am, is elucidated with the clatter of keyboard typing across the room. I get up, the loose bedsheet clinging to my lower half, the contours of my half hard cock just visible. There he is, the writer, sitting at his computer, critiquing this week's episode of whatever, maybe "shitposting" on his forums. There's a term I'm glad to have learned.
"Morning," I say brusquely, giving him a perfunctory kiss on the cheek. He says something complimentary about my body. What a faggot.
"What are you doing?"
"Just shitposting," he says, with his obnoxious smile. I look around the room. Christ. Anime figures.
"First time I've seen your room, I guess. Soberly, anyway."
He snaps his fingers and points at me, then goes back to typing. I lean over to see what it is I inspired:

let's examine /lit/'s prose, write a short paragraph describing the following scene. Preferably in first person.
Here's the scenario
>You wake up in a strange room you've never seen before
Have fun

I wake up and pull out my katana.

>>6090256

I am laying in a room, trying to figure out where I am. As I lay down facing the ceiling; my posture is consciously congruent to the cold cement floor. This is a cold room in some sort of government building, brick-walled, unfenestrated.

I am in here.

I've been in big rooms and small rooms and large rooms and upside down rooms. I've been in rooms coloured yellow and blue and green and black. Rooms with 4 walls, a floor, and a roof. A room without a hat and a room without a door. I've been in a room smaller than I, a room of the mind, a room of the heart.

But never never never have I been in a STRANGE room! A room with a vault and a room with a child. A room with no walls and a room with aisles.

BUT A STRANGE ROOM? Never never never said I said I; for why oh why oh why would I ever visit a STRANGE room. It's up and down and left and right; it's black in the middle and white without light. It's see through and been new and old and grey, it's been here tomorrow as of yesterday. A STRANGE ROOM A STRANGE ROOM, I never I never a STRANGE room.

>>6091683
>>6093388
Fuck your ancestors was a highlight for me also

I've never so much woken up as I have come kicking and screaming out of sleep. When my eyes sprang open and I took my first, panicked gasp of breath, I was instantaneous conscious. No cloudiness or sluggishness lingered.

I was lying in a bed that might have been comfortable if not for the cold sweat, but it wasn't like I was unused to that. I threw off the blankets immediately and reached for my phone. Five missed calls, and I'd only been out for a few hours. I placed it back on the nightstand next to my copy of 1984 and the dog-eared hotel copy of the Manifesto, which all good hotels provide and all good Soviets read. Comrade-Senior Padri had already warned me about my books, but I spent almost three quarters a year in the United States, every year, so it wasn't as though they could stop me.

The hotel room was Soviet standard, which naturally meant it didn't adhere to any of the standards that the Party had laid out and was instead cobbled together out of whatever happened to be in the house of the latest person to be disappeared. Incidentally, that was Gorbo Yeronovich, the Baker, for possessing contraband. I knew that because some of his correspondence was still in my bathroom vanity, which must at some point have been a writing desk. I pocketed the letters and made a note to inform the concierge, if there was one. I'd stumbled into this place jet-lagged and exhausted and fell instantly into my bed, where I had lain awake for some time with my eyes closed before finally being dragged under.

I carefully folded away my American suit and put on my Soviet one and stepped out the door to my room, out the door to the hotel lobby, out the main door of the hotel, and into the car that had patiently been waiting for me since six o'clock, when I was supposed to meet it.

Leaning back in the leather seat I closed my eyes and tried not to sleep.

>>6091683
This was the most enjoyable to read.

I've never had anyone assess my writing so I automatically assume it's bad. It'd be nice to get some perspective from /lit/ as to what's wrong with it though

~

He awoke violently, coiled and tense, every second that pervasive and alien horror gripping him. The kind of silent terror that empties your bowels with just the slightest, subtle hint of the unknown and the unknowable. This was not the bed he was accustomed to, this tomb of granite, with it's bone-chilling air.

Vainly he tried to stand, manacles biting into his ankles and wrists, tugging excruciatingly at his skin and pulling him back down to his knees. As the throbbing subsided, he attempted to take stock of his whereabouts.

The all-encompassing darkness consumed him, swallowing all light a few centimeters past his face. He waited for his eyes to become accustomed to the crushing, brutal blackness his new environment was swathed in. And waited. And waited.
Time ebbed and flowed in its incomprehensible manner, the seconds shortening and elongating on a whim. There was no way of knowing what time it was or how long he'd been there.

Matted strands of greasy hair lay lank on his forehead, brow covered with a thick sheen of sweat. He wondered how he could be sweating when the cold permeated every pore, making him shiver violently aggressively. Cold or fear. Both seemed interchangeable at this moment.

A drop of water hits my eyelid and I feel like I'm crying, but I'm not. My eyes are just closed. Another droplet hits my cheek and my eyes dart open.

I don't have a leaky roof and it should not be raining outside. In fact, it hasn't rained outside in months. This is what they call a "drought", I guess.

My room looks very different. I feel like I woke up on the wrong side of my bed. You know when your face is where your feet usually are and you feel really disoriented? Yeah. That's how I feel.

I reach for my glasses and put them on and what I see is so shocking...

I wake up to the sound of yawning voices all telling me to be better. Make sure you- if only you'd- I wish that- it's fucking shit. You're fucking shit. Sometimes I feel like the universe is waiting for me to figure it out already and when I do... slow clap. About fucking time. We've all been waiting... What took you so long? We're not angry but we are dissapointed... I don't know. When do we stop looking for prompts? I ask seriously. When do we cast our own thoughts? I've been a mirror so long I don't even know if I have thought.. and I so want to help, dear crazy I do... I'm a mind in lieu of personality and I'm forever stuck in this room. Anyway thanks for the suggestion because I love just about anything at this point. Sorry for the hand me down words it's something I'm working on. It's pretty good but it's not you.

I was awoken by a dank meme. A meme that I had never seen before. I sat up in bed. "CHICKEN TENDIES MUMMI!" was written all over the walls. This is pretty dank, I though to myself

>>6093491
First two sentences had me rolling eyes at the word-wank, but that turned out to be a really amusing piece.

>>6091683
Also, we need to find this man. I would pay up to 5 dollars to know where his blog is.

arse full of farts

>>6091683
eh chummer

On the center of the far wall, which was powder blue and otherwise completely bare, there was a square mirror with the fanciest faux leather frame I had ever seen. The mirror reflected a slab of wall above my head just as blue and unremarkable as the wall around it. Only after I tried turning over onto my stomach to look behind me did I register that I was on the floor. I became aware of the fleecy texture of the carpet. This was a tremendous shock, and I bolted upright. Adrenaline seared through my chest. For some reason, what I saw of the room's dimensions had given me the notion that I was in a bedroom, or perhaps a motel I had checked into for the night. As I looked around, it immediately became obvious that this room had no furniture whatsoever, not even a chair. Some words were scrawled on the carpet in large red lettering that blended into the fibers. I bent over, squinted, and read: Congratulations Dude You Did It.

I wasted time actually writing this for no reason. Congratulations me. I began to applaud like a true American.

>>6095324
The word-wank added to the homoeroticism

>>6090300
>A lack of light was everywhere but a crack in the brick; one spidery crack, length of string, like lace, letting light like liquid through

10/10

1/2

I looked at the wall opposite my bed, a perfectly square window lay on it, open to the warm blue sky outside. Through the perfectly square window I could see a remote countryside landscape yellowed by the summer sun, olive and laurel trees here and there, a village on top of a hill and a churchtower, the deep blue sea contrasted the warm blue sky like wide paint strokes on a square canvas. I looked outside of the window and the rounded cliffs were floating on the sea bed like mountain peaks on a cloudy plain. The light from the window was incredibly intense but the room was dark, I almost couldn't see anything inside, only the objects that I could see through the window remained perceivable to me. I attempted to reach for the bedside lamp which I assumed would be there, for this seemed to be an ordinary room, but my hand instead found a book on the bedside table. I felt terribly heavy and unable to move, I thought I might as well make the best of my time while in this room and I attempted to read the book's titled by tilting the cover towards the remote light coming from the bright window. The book was Lucretius' On the nature of things. I opened it on a random page and managed to make out the words 'Thrown throught the void, they move uselessly in space, like dust motes lit up by rays of light in a dark room. Some of them manage to cling together; they form the most solid bodies. Some, more mobile..." and further down the page 'What beauty there is on Earth!...'. This sentence was too much and I put the book back on the bedsite table. With nothing else to do, as I still felt heavy and unable to get off the bed, I turned my eyes back on the canvas (I was about to say window, but I wrote canvas, as that is what it was). My eyes couldn't immediately adjust after reading the tiny letters on the book in the poor light of the room and I was temporarily blinded. I was angry at myself for failing to predict that such a thing would happen, as they indeed do, for when you're staring too long in the dark you eyes become sensitive to the smallest variations of light. It was no joking matter as I could have easily been blinded, but fortunately my sight came back after a while. I looked out of the window and the first thing I saw was a one eyed dragon. The sky looked much grayer now, the clouds were forming omnious spirals, hinting at a coming tempest. The dragon was fighting a knight in full armor (most preposterous I thought, for who still wears a full set of armor nowadays, and anyway I was biased by my incredible heaviness), but he seemed light, light as a dust mote, seamlessly moving from one fighting position to the other on his hansome white horse, dodging every single one of the dragon's attacks. In the back I could make out a huge dark cavern, probably the dragon's lair, and a maiden patiently waiting for her knight to finish off the beast, so she could praise and kiss him and bestow on him all the honors that come with being a dragon slayer.

>>6096100
2/2

The knight made quick work of the dragon and drove his burning golden spear through its eye. The beast was dead at once, it didn't moan or make any sound at all, I could only faintly hear the crackling of the fire burning the dragon's eye. The maiden quickly rushed to the knight, they kissed, he pulled her up on his horse and they trotted away. The dark cave was still there, after this ambiguous scene my eyes were tired so they were naturally drawn to the deep cave entrance. The further I zoomed the darker it seemed, until I could only see black. Some tourists were passing by the cave, taking pictures of it. 'But they all must be just black squares, what's the point of taking a picture of something so black!' and I let my head fall back in dismay.

Time was passing inexorably and there still was no way for me to move out of the bed. I was starting to feel impossibly tired, I decided the best thing to do was to try and preserve as much energy as I could. With my head laying on the pillow I turned to my right trying to see if I could make out the bedside table. My eyes were starting to adjust to the poor light in the room. Lucretius' book was still there but I thought I would not bother with that unscientific drivel until there was absolutely nothing else left to do. I turned to my left: I could make out a door! If only I could reach it I thought, but alas, I could hardly move a finger. Unquantifiable unities of time passed and concentrating on the door, it finally opened. A man came inside, I couldn't make out his semblance. I wanted to scream 'Help me stand up!' but only a faint whisper came out. The man was carrying something luminous in his hands, he moved closer to the window and I could see it was a prism. I tried shouting again, but this time my lips didn't move. The last thing I wanted was a science lesson right now, but he started: "Do you know what this is? This is a prism, it refracts light." He held the prism to the window and on the opposite side of the room a spectrum of colors lit up on the wall. He continued "The light is refracted by the prism in all these colours. The light beam enters in the prism and through it one single light beam is separated into multiple ones, the ones of our color spectrum, which are the ones that our eyes can see.". I was furious at this moment, I wanted to shout to the old man to go away and leave me alone, but I realized he was speaking Portuguese and even if I could have opened my mouth he probably wouldn't have understood me. Pointing with his index finger to the colors on the wall he said: "Are these the only colors we can see, you might ask?" ("That was the last thing on my mind, you old tart!" I grinned to myself) "I will surely tell you my dear child, but you'll have to wait until you're older as you possibly couldn't understand now, you simply don't have enough scientific knowledge", he made for the door, exited, and with much regret I saw him shut it behind him.

1/2

He tried to retain the dream, for a while at least, before the lazy inevitable lapse into waking forced him to forget a strange recollection a song and a familiar face from his earliest Internet days.
It was now for a while that he laid there with a old, green, velvet blanket covering what seemed to be most of his naked body.
Surely this was not by my own doing he muttered under his breath, but such was the situation and he accepted it out of commodity.
The room had the air of cheap decor and the scent of a replacive nostalgia he wouldn't be able to have experienced.
Was it turn of the century or did that cupboard in the corner reveal a cheaper 70's jugendstil knock-off.
Surely that was cherry-wood, he decided it was worthless.
Still not making any attempt to get out of bed, he checked the window for the type of light and it revealed nothing...not evening, not morning, just the familiar limbo light of being on a narcotic binge for multiple days and the sore aftermath which he felt in still and cramped jaws.
Snow seemed to block out the light and the room turned darker.
The remnants of his clothes were cluttered in a corner where an unfamiliar power socket seemed to be occupied by the cord of a copper colored lamp with tassels on top of a chair.
The chair did seem turn of the century, but unfortunately littered with tiny specks and holes of a distant infestation of woodworm.
He moved his vision to the opposite side of the bed and saw a bolted down glass tube television with a coin slot and a thick layer of dust infested grime.
A hotel room, a terribly outdated hotel room somewhere on a higher floor.
This is as far as he wanted to acknowledge his surroundings, with maybe a vague curiosity if the hallway held any type of shower or toilet or if it was truly as cheap and dreadful as he suspected and it would be a shared commodity somewhere down the hallway of this room.
Uncomfortable coughs rose from his chest and he felt the rusty taste of sores in his mouth, he'd probably be tonguing it for days...a prospect not particularly exciting.

(it's actually a 3 parter)

2/3
Right, time to make any type movement towards some kind of forced enthusiasm to wake and fuck off from this bed.
Was this even truly a blanket?...It looked like it was a curtain, a velvet blanket seemed moronic and uncomfortable.
The looked at the railing above the windows and saw the bent metal rod.
Christ, I am truly an idiot and a savage and I don't deserver any type of mercy from the desk clerk when I'll inform them of my vandalism.
Insurance probably'll cover it, but the hassle...the hassle...the waiting and the time it takes to deal with this.
He made the effort and sat up in bed...already quite aware of the odeur of a filthy man mixed with the sent of at least a decade of dust mixed with nicotine.
This is unacceptable, but he wasn't even going to make the effort of making the ritual statement of never again.
Better to just fuck off as soon as possible and get myself to the standard of being considered acceptable as a human so the ride to where ever filled with stares in whatever public transportation was available.
He was quite aware that his pockets would be quite empty and the idea of trying to find money anywhere near to where this was seemed unappealing.
unappealing, but surely mandatory.
He truly made the effort and got almost on to his feet before succumbing to the various aches he body seemed to be riddled in.
Internal muscle ache, probably around the organs, was that even possible?
He tried to visualize the throbbing, agitated muscle, probably ruby red like the fatty part of that overpriced tuna.
This will not go away for at least a year, you're an animal, truly a moronic animal and your limitations cease to exist the moment you drop all of your carefully constructed guarding towards social interaction and not stop until you're on the floor of some bathroom.
...Or a slightly dodgy hotel room...apparently.
This time he truly made the effort, but again seemed to collapse due to some force pulling him back to bed.
This time it worried him, he shifted his eyes and started to become quite aware that the ache he felt was more than just fatigue...he tried picturing it and the more he focused on the internal pressure, the more he felt a foreign object pressing internally towards his spine.
Panic engaged and he started pressing down on various part of his abdomen and clearly felt the outlines of a square, quite obviously underneath the majority of his organs and intestine.
It felt at least as hard as an ore...the weight also became noticeable and it's free floating position among his internals.
The pull suddenly became stronger and crawled back into the position in which he initially woke up to.
The block pushed him flat on the bed and there seemed to stabilize itself to the least amount of pressure.
The pressure was still there but the prospect of not being able to get away from the bed without most likely fatal consequences dominated his thoughts.

3/3

He laid there for what seemed hours to the point where time seemed to blur.
He hadn't felt hungry one bit and also thirst or any form of needing to go to the bathroom seemed necessary.

The thought came to him that he lay here forever and slowly his thoughts came to the to his waking dream.
Faintly he began the sing out the words in a course whisper: "You...chase solo...we drink Ritalin..."

The Warden opened the grayed-out monolith plate and drifted into my hazy vision like a ghostly hospital orderly preparing to clean the scent of death. He stood erect, eyes quizzing with perplexity at my wormy carcass, writhing in unease. The corners of the cell wept and trilled with decay, while the silence that pervaded the halls seemed to stutter into haunted affliction. I tried to stare with intent as to what the Warden was whispering but the lines in his lips were canyons deep and timeworn. An acerbic chill descended down my arm and into the skeletal claws that followed as I finally heard him proper. He smiled.
"...I hope you enjoy Angola."

Chilly breaths of solitude caressed my skin as my consciousness returned. Slowly, I opened my eyelids, and the space around me poured into me, like the torrent loosed upon the sinners, and drowned my every hope of victory.
">tfw still alive," I said to myself, and shook hands with unwillingness.

>>6090344
Here.

A penny a page, am I overly cynical or am I actually doomed?
A writing writer, What a cliche...
letters, words, sentences, stack up, coalesce
Yes, post modernism is now in vogue but nonetheless
romanticism has long been passe

gah, yes, the OP is a faggot, I was turned into kitsch
just quit looking at me, im not meant for your gaze
honest, thats what I secretly wish
I'm just a humble impression(a morning mind's haze)
dont be fooled by technique or superior style
My nature is something something, in short, very mundane
(but, actually, i am very refined)

stuck in this pose, Leonid... I swear he was a cunt
(oh, wait is that a taboo?)
shit, well, henceforth blasphme pormise I shan't
Although, Im obviously torturned already, so might as well curse.
down my knees in this bile, is this what happens to frauds?
This is comedy and its truly devine, now where do i go? Id say to the eigth though
malbolge is a hard word to rhyme..

anyway, yes, I'm a photo, a painting, some colors and strokes
I gotta be honest all those contraptions and rational minds
they just make you look for a nuance, your soul(given the smallest excuse)
desperately begging to "fly"
Do you think me as thouhgtful, melancholic, maybe, in total despair?
portraying the strains of creation that poetic endevours entail?
no, it's been buzzing around me all morning, thats what it is
an annoying black dot and it gives me no peace

>>6096224
Not sure what to think of this, I don't really get it.

Sam woke around 3:30 p.m. and saw no emails from Sheila. He made a smoothie. He lay on his bed and stared at his computer screen. He showered and put on clothes and opened the Microsoft Word file of his poetry. He looked at his email. About an hour later it was dark outside. Sam ate cereal with soymilk. He put things on eBay then tried to guess the password to Sheila’s email account, not thinking he would be successful, and not being successful. He did fifty jumping jacks. “God, I felt fucked lying on the bed,” he said to Luis a few hours later on Gmail chat. “I wanted to fall asleep immediately but that is impossible. I need to fall asleep. Any second now. Just fall down asleep.”
“I played video games,” said Luis. “Perfect Dark. I killed people for two hours then I got bored. I know what you mean by impossible.”
“This is fucked,” said Sam.
“You know those people that get up every day, and do things,” said Luis.”
“I’m going to eat cereal even though I’m not hungry,” said Sam.
“And are real proactive,” said Luis. “And like are getting things done, and never quit their jobs. Those people suck.”
“We get shit done too,” said Sam. “Look at our books.”

>>6096224
Oh, woops. When writing this, for some reason, I thought the topic of the assignment was the photo...

Is this the thread where everyone posts what they write but nobody reads anything anyone else wrote?

>>6096758
tl;dr

>>6096758
are you new here? a big part of the community only lurks and rarely ever posts.

>>6096949
Well, I just see a lot of posts and no replies to them.
Wasn't the point of the thread to write something yourself and then critique and examine what other people wrote?

>>6096959
how about you critize something instead of critizing the lack of critique?

also, good posts got replies, boring shit gets ignored.

an unfamiliar room welcomes me from slumber. i quickly review the events of yesterday, but nothing explains how i got into this comfortable bed.

>>6090280
naw, man. nobody sweats that much

>>6090632
sonic fanfic tier
>>6090647
it's called sleep, not eye boogers

>>6090709
trying to verisimilitude, but rings wooden

>>6090284
Roomy was blasting this song as I was reading this. Laughing.

>>6090953
vulgarity isn't super-real

>>6096224
Who is Leonid?

>>6097154
The painting the OP posted was painted by Leonid Pasternak, a pretty famous Russian painter who is also the Father of Pasternak, the noble laureate writer.

>>6096982
Implying /lit/ can recognize someone who has talent.
Someone talented would post something that will look unusual, which in turn will be laughed at and criticized to shit by people who read and subscribe to outdated crap.

>>6096224
Is this copypasted?

I was asleep. Now I am not. I look around me and see a room that I don't recognize. I am lost. You lost me.

>>6097300
you might wanna work on your confidence issues.

>>6095804
Is this ironic?

Light woke me. If I had opened my eyes I shut them because I went back to sleep. I didn't get into REM, so I was easily woken again when when I heard someone running tap. I lay on my back and examined the ceiling with my eyes and the compliance of the mattress with my buttocks. I sat and found my glasses at the foot of the bed and my watch next to it. The time read: 10:25. I slid from the end of the bed, aiming for the door handle. The door opened into a hallway, I scouted for the tap that had been running.

Morning. I put you up in my room after last night, I hope it wasn't too weird waking up in someone else's bed?

Alright? Nah it was okay, thanks

Pick the three best from this thread and the three worst

>>6098080
>I didn't get into REM
Who actuallly thinks this way?

>>6098083
Sheldon Cooper. I was writing it as a big bang theory fanfic, well done for figuring it out. Bazinga.

>>6098082
they are all the worst

>>6098709
but mine is great >>6090300

I woke up in an unfamiliar room.

>>6098082
do it

>>6098082
These two are the only ones I liked.
>>6090731
>>6091254

There's a man, sitting at a desk; working on something. There are books and sheets of papers spread over the table. The man has a pen in one hand and is touching his forehand with his other hand. The lightning is very bad. The man seems to have a headache. There is a door behind the man, and it is wide open.

The man is dressed in a suit. He seems to be at his workplace. His headache is the only well-lit thing in the room. The only illuminated things in the vague darkness that suggests, to me, quiet, are the man's head and headache. The man seems to be struggling. He is turning his head away from his other hand, which is holding the pencil: his writing hand; and appears to be hiding it, with the hand risen to his face, from the sight of the work he is doing.

It seems to me by posing in such a manner the man wants to convey the idea of hardship in the process of turning chaos (which he symbolises with the chaotic pile of books to his right) into order (which he symbolises with the books to his left, stacked in an orderly fashion). I feel sympathetic towards the man and his cause.

The door is not my door, nor is the wall my wall, and likewise that window up in the corner is a window which is not my own. The color is all off- I swear it is, even though it's the same color as the room I know. Likewise though the doors and walls and windows are all as they were when I last fell asleep, I know them different in a way I cannot comprehend. It is as though I've traveled through a mirror, passing through reflections into something that is like my room, but not. And so my color is not this color, my window is not this window, and my door- not this one.

can i awnser in french? Using english as a second language, my writing sucks.

Le froid. Le noir. Cet immense vide qui jaillit du plus profond de mon âme pour corrompre jusqu'au dernier atome de mon corps. Mon sang, aussi sombre que la mort jaillit de ma poitrine pour recouvrir tout le murs de la pièce.

J'ouvre les yeux, haletant, la bouche sèche et la gorge aussi râpeuse que du papier sablé. J'ai cet insupportable arrière goût de vomit qui me remonte jusqu'aux narines. Un rayon de lumière, aussi minuscule soit-il, sortant d'une orifice entre les volets de la fenêtre pénètre mon iris pour aussitôt pourfendre mon lobe frontal. Une douleur à vous scinder l'âme...

Je me lève. Je titube. Je tombe et me relève. Je fini mon périple face à un miroir, les bras tremblants, peinant à soutenir ma carcasse appuyée contre un lavabo. Je lève les yeux.

Le visage que j’aperçois à travers l'épaisse coucher de crasse sur le glace me rappelle vaguement quelque chose. Mon front est ensanglanté et les points de sutures faits en vitesse n'ont pas tenus le coup. Une plaie d'environ 12 cm de long part de mon arcane sourcilière droite jusqu'à ma tempe. Mon uniforme est taché de sang et de boue. J'ouvre le robinet. Je doit attendre quelques secondes avant de voir l'eau qui commence à jaillir du robinet comme de l'or noir. Je lave mon visage, prend quelques gorgées et fait volte-face.

C'est le première fois que je vois cette chambre. C'est une vieille demeure de style victorien où toutes les moulures et les meubles sont faits de bois massif. La tapisserie centenaire commence à se détacher du mur et est couverte de moisissures par endroits. Le tout est tellement poussiéreux que l'on peut facilement distinguer les quelques faisceaux de lumière qui pénètrent la pénombre de la chambre. Le lit d'où je vient de sortir est taché de sang; je ne sais pas combien j'ai pu en perdre.

I first felt and then I saw. I opened my eyes in an unfamiliar room, awoken by sensations below. I looked down to see my sister vigorously rubbing my crotch.
"Now we're finally alone," she said.
Chloroform and a rag were in the corner next to a crumpled body bag, what she'd used to drag me here to what appeared to be a side room to an old warehouse.
"What are you doing?"
"I bought new lingerie for you, waxed my pussy, why won't he wake up?" she said, poking my flaccid cock.
She leaned further still, her amply breasts bursting forth from her top.
"Would it help if I put it in my mouth?"
"Why are you doing this?"
"I need it. I can't have you screaming and waking our parents."
"But we're related."
"Don't be a fucking pussy," she said. "I use birth control. Don't worry. Just get hard and let me bounce around on it for a while. I'll pay you."
She, agitated, started slapping my cock.
"Why won't he wake up?"
"He won't wake up that way," I said.
She slanted her head, intrigued.
"Tell me what to do and I'll do it, big brother."
"Rub your hair on it."
"But I just washed my hair."
"It's the only way."
She took her hair from her ponytail and it came down to her breasts. She shook it out and draped it over my cock. She took a whole fistful of it and started to rub my cock.
It woke, rapidly.
"There he goes," she said.
"You have gorgeous hair," I said. "The best I've ever had."

>>6100747
>Cet immense vide qui jaillit du plus profond de mon âme pour corrompre jusqu'au dernier atome de mon corps.
Jeebus, French literature, not even fucking once.

>>6090256
>>6090256
Everything comes into focus. The walls turn from a blurry grey to a fine stone. My droll collected over the floor and dried my tongue out, so here I am trying to pick myself back up again. Flourescent lighting makes everything a bit off; even the skin of the people sitting down waiting looks off. I walk over to the receptionist. The people whisper speculate as I walk by. Why I'm here? Why I was sleeping? Fuck you. The receptionist greets me. Her name tag reads: "HI MY NAME IS:" and in black sharpie: "SARAH". She's cute and young, way too young to be working in a place like this. I complain to her about the awful service, but she's too busy filing her nails. Her wrists show little black voids, her eyes hover over sagging bags. Her skin a plum-blue. "You're going to have to wait your turn." I sit back in my seat while everyone around me snickers. Fuck them. I close my eyes and go to sleep to the "girl from Ipanema" playing on the speaker.

>>6090256
Usually when I open my eyes, I see familiar settings. I'm not really a person who can shack up and sleep in too many different places, I always had this sense of constancy with regards to my sleeping arrangements. And yet, this was one of the few (very few, in fact) times when I woke up, and didn't know where I was. Even worse, I had no idea to whom this other body lying next to me belonged to. Most everything in that room was new to me, from the strange (yet delicate) light fixtures, to the bizarre pattern on the sheets (some sort of flower, perhaps?)

Granted I may have been panicking a bit. Maybe those things weren't so strange back then, and maybe, just maybe, there might have been a good reason for me to be there. But I am not a particularly smart or level-headed person, and the break in routine got to me. I just hope to emphasize that enough, as a way to underscore and maybe even justify what I did next.

Please don't judge me.

>>6090256
As I start to rise from my sleep, I notice a glimmer of hope in the left of my vision. I stare back at it with the look of desperation ridden over my face. It blinked as I approached it. He said, with a somber tone, "Hello". I reply with "Hello" as well. I start to walk over to the mini fridge to grab a whiskey to enjoy with this new found person.

I woke up next to our old Prom Queen. I hadn't seen her in a few years, but she stilled lived like life was a movie. Life isn’t a movie, though, and eventually she fucked the wrong guy, someone fertile enough to beat the morning after pill. Pregnancy was the word, and Elizabeth Wesby found herself barred from her own graduation ceremony.

>>6101025
Stilled.
Sorry.
You know I meant *still*