/lit/ - Literature

[Anonymous No.1907395]

He remembered - soaking low in a resting chair, emblazoned gold trimming on a red sheer, an old man funneled a light drink; his eyes danced with the liquor spiral, lost in the creation of his own tempest. Perched, angelic yet tormenting tides that rode on from the drink, he would swirl on the maelstrom until imaginary voices (only peasants, like himself) would pray that never-ending twisting in their alcoholic cosmos would end. And he would stop. A considerate man of Heaven's calling, he felt no need to become God; rather, he choose to speak to his maker in such manner. Being as there remained such frailty to the role of one's ultimate hand in the ever-spiralling world, looks of disgust pencilling cross the face of the elderly man, to which he held now one from his inner monologue with his fragile mind serfs, were regular. Religious in nature, the advances towards the elaboration of what God could possibly offer his folk was common; it trembled on his every breath, wheezing, on his every thought.

[Anonymous No.1907396]

>>1907395


Away, day's rain, now found quiet hospice with the falling night, made notice the ice, floating free within his opaque glass and clinking echoing chimes overtly on the downfall of the skies tears - there wasn't any sound to erupt from the windows. Rain so tender, yet the branching tree sketches remained wet in view. His living room was a pivotal area for the entire house, which from it held castle sized entries on the peering perspectives, both left and right, to the usually occupied easy-boy throne flat in the center; the room wholly adorned itself in painting jewellery of likes the feminine colts rushing across the back-end of gracious yet Heaven made mountains, or the more-so notable frame tilted, just slightly queer, over the room's misaligned fireplace and bearing the image of youth which the old man scoffed to hold. The painting was a well kept portrait, told evenly by just the dustless remains that painted evenly the outside casing; ultimate collaboration in such manner for elegance provided well-off memories.

Among the naive artifacts, it was just pure royalty for the scattered grey soot crannied on various others: the phone, disconnected long ago; the other frames which held from the white blanks to the tears of lost faces to smiling girls - young, all of them, and with rosy cheeks towards the old man who stood tall in seemingly each image. Still perched, but now leaning for effort on the issues outside his mind, the old man followed his inner narration. His eyes found themselves looking into the past, and over the mantle it seemed as if the men would swap in a turn of magician show; there was nothing. The ruffles were sanding off sounds from the shifting movement of his loose and senile clothing, which chose well to keep away any notice to the old man himself. Though, sounds were hardly difficult to hide with such a torn focus in such a torn age.

[Anonymous No.1907401]

>Still perched, but now leaning for effort on the issues outside his mind, the old man followed his inner narration. His eyes found themselves looking into the past, and over the mantle it seemed as if the men would swap in a turn of magician show; there was nothing.

That is very, very good.

[Anonymous No.1907403]

good shit

[Anonymous No.1907410]

this is utterly terrible

you should write in your native language

[Anonymous No.1907423]

>>1907410

But my native language is English.

:(

[Anonymous No.1907453]

It's cringe-worthily indulgent.

[Anonymous No.1907473]

Too many unnecessary words. I don't want huge descriptions in words no one ever uses, I'd rather have the ambiance and the space described in other ways than lots of adjectives.
Just my opinion. And remember, writing 'literal thrillers' for the average citizen will earn you more money.

[Anonymous No.1907481]

>>1907473
If OP were after money I'd doubt he'd write as he does.

[Anonymous No.1907500]

>>1907473

> I'd rather have the ambiance and the space described in other ways than lots of adjectives.

Understandable; any suggestions for improvement from anyone? Is there anything salvageable from my writing/am I going anywhere?

[Anonymous No.1907624]

bump

[Anonymous No.1907632]

>>1907500

No. Why don't you write about a guy shitting through his fingers on a bus?

[Anonymous No.1907633]

>>1907632

> implying this story isn't about that already

[Anonymous No.1907634]

Write about a guy who drinks his friend's piss on a bet, and how that changes his reputation.

[Anonymous No.1907636]

>>1907634

> changes his reputation

I'd rather write how it changed his shit; I'm a James Joyce type.

[Anonymous No.1907640]

>>1907500
Use some sort of action to highlight the location.

If I'm allowed to a bit clichée here, your protagonist could watch a little boy play in the environment, and thus describing it.

Show, don't tell, as my fat professor would have put it.

[Anonymous No.1907642]

>>1907636

No you're not.

[Anonymous No.1907644]

>>1907640

Alright thanks, and if you happen to catch your professor in a McDonalds or something, you can mention it.

[Anonymous No.1907645]

>>1907642

Oh...he was farting. Nevermind.

[Anonymous No.1907647]

>>1907644
Since she's in an wheelchair, catching her should not be that big of a problem. -.-