[ 3 / biz / cgl / ck / diy / fa / ic / jp / lit / sci / vr / vt ] [ index / top / reports ] [ become a patron ] [ status ]
2023-11: Warosu is now out of extended maintenance.

/lit/ - Literature

View post   
File: 464 KB, 938x729, filthycasuals.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]
19671281 No.19671281 [Reply] [Original]

Happy New Year /lit/!

Do we still post writing here? Share a snippet of whatever you're working on and critique your internet friends :)

>> No.19671292
File: 10 KB, 250x237, fsfgs.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]
19671292

It's a detective story...

Pale, bare Venus lay supine in the middle of the bed, her waist artfully wrapped in pristine white sheets. Two red streaks of blood soak either side of her nude, lifeless body like a pair of roses bursting through stone. Her breasts are motionless, her lips slightly parted, while golden locks of hair decorate the blood-coffin in which she now lays. It is as if it is not her the one who is ‘without life’, but rather the room of the living that is noticeably devoid of her breathing presence. I look up to the ceiling and feel a scream rippling in the arches, too faint to be heard. Is it my scream?

We called her Venus. I suppose that was inevitable given the state of her body. Her arms had been severed just beneath the shoulders and red torrents of fresh blood branched out from either side like two awful red trees. This was in stark contrast with the rest of her which was pale, serene and without blemish. It was as if she had been softly lulled into an eternal sleep and only then carefully cleaned after the work was complete. If one managed to ignore the blood-soaked bed, her body might be mistaken for a figure of white marble stone decorating the hallway of some ancient Roman temple.

We were on the 52nd floor of the Astoria Hotel, the penthouse suite. The balcony windows were open and thick morning fog crept in as if to shield the delicate pedestrian eyes from the horrible scene above. It had rained all last night and one could imagine that the mood wasn’t much different while the crime was being committed; the only difference being the change in air density from late night to early morning.

I lit a cigarette, and the smoke mixed with the fog.

>> No.19671702

>>19671281
>>19671292
Go to the writing general.
>>19670555

>> No.19671715

>>19671281
>flawless Shakespearean pentameter
>DO NOT TOUCH ME YOU FILTHY FUCKING CASUAL
What? Huh? Do you know what pentameter is?