/lit/ - Literature

[Anonymous No.4938320]

Writing thread

Share and critique

[Anonymous No.4938329]

He never expected the end to be so squishy.
Richard climbed into that bouncy house
to have a modicum of drunken fun,
while the kindergarteners were occupied
trying not to let their slices of cake crumble off of paper napkins.
So when rick’s switchblade,
(which he had improperly closed
after scalping a fresh Clementine)
stretched open in his pocket,
he didn’t stop hoping long enough to notice
the plastic walls pucker lips in deflation.
Now he’s buried at the bottom of a plastic tomb,
surrounded by a horde of disappointed
six year olds standing openmouthed in wonder
with their faces stained with cake

[Anonymous No.4938343]

Her cock slid into my mouth like a blood-gorged maggot that had been sifting through salt flats for eons

so, in summation;

it wasn't very kosher

[Anonymous No.4938349]

>>4938329
I'd say ditch the first line and the "with" in the last.

[Anonymous No.4938357]

He couldn’t afford gas, but that was alright — Al preferred to walk. Earlier that day, at the start of his journey, walking had made him feel calm and focused. The dull rhythm of shoe against dirt had beaten his thoughts into simplicity and erased his buzzing anxieties, leaving him flat and serene. But now though, in the hot May twilight, the golden fields on either side of the road were winking in pale shades of red. Night was approaching and his peaceful mood began to creak and crack under the weight of his unconscious mind. A breeze picked up and the field’s blond grasses swayed to the right, brushing against Al’s calves. Their fuzzy heads tickled and he swatted at their stalks in annoyance. He looked west, against the wind, and saw that the setting sun had tinted the sky royal purple and candy pink. Its low red belly had been pierced by the sharp treetops of the forest below, and as it sank, the forest’s wide latticed shadow advanced over the left pasture and towards the road.
— Christ those are some big woods, he thought.
It was true, they were very big, and he should know. All day long, under the sheets of his rambling, aimless Buddha routine, supposedly detached from the hell of his endless private monologue, Al had been watching those long trees poke their heads up the shore of his left peripheral. He didn’t know much about plants but he thought they might have been elms, or maybe ashes. They were thick and dark green and tightly grouped together, and from across the pasture, leaves fluttering in the breeze, branches bleeding into and over one another until they formed a single black and compact mass, the forest looked like of a tall wave of murky creekwater. He uncapped his canteen and took a drink. Staying on the road for this long had definitely not been part of the plan and he was getting worried about walking the rest of the way in the dark. There wasn’t any truth to it, but last night in his parents’ backyard he had overheard a particularly nasty theory about those missing people.

[Anonymous No.4938359]

In addition to critiquing my short story, I need you guys to help me figure out what genre it's in. It's not exactly women's fiction, and it's not exactly literary fiction, either. Is 'slice of life' a recognized genre of writing?

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1PDYQEvqX9_Ppn-CXCM_WfEFRi-zidq_MCcwVC33pXck/edit

[Anonymous No.4938376]

>>4938357
literal shit

[Anonymous No.4938377]

>>4938357
This has a good sense of atmosphere. I like it. Good use of imagery as well.

I take it this is a horror story?

[Anonymous No.4938380]

>>4938357
Simplify your descriptions, you're mixing up too much imagery. The fields were golden, then red, then blond.

The forest branches bleed over one another, which forms a solid mass, which resembles murky creekwater.

[Anonymous No.4938443]

http://pastebin.com/2C6SWPS0

[Anonymous No.4938841]

Echinacea Donahue

Thin but not fit--collagen loosening; as if a sundamaged and slightly too hairy hide had been draped over muscle and bone with a the *occasional* cellulite pouch wiggling to and fro here and there and the whole thing was made a bit too big--apparently recently bathed but certainly not clean, and currently wearing a faded and very thin shirt (two sizes too small) and her common-law husband's Tweety Bird(tm) boxer-shorts, and nothing else; Echinacea Donahue tentatiely extends a be-slippered foot past the threshold of her home through the just-wide-enough gap between trailer door and trailer door frame. "FHUCK et's cowld!". Ain't seen this'ch snow since '86 at least. Corey cn git 'is own dam lettrs, Iain goinou' 'n this; I'd git hyperthermic!

[Anonymous No.4938862]

>>4938443
>not a metaphorical cry

Stopped reading. Go and l2write.

[Anonymous No.4938864]

Echinacea Donahue

Thin but not fit--collagen loosening; as if a sundamaged and slightly too hairy skin had been draped over a muscle and bone template, with the occasional cellulite pouch wiggling to and fro here and there, and the whole thing looking as if it were made a bit too big for its frame--apparently recently bathed but certainly not *clean*, currently wearing a faded and very thin shirt that seems to be two sizes too small, her common-law husband's Tweety Bird(tm) boxer-shorts, and nothing else. Echinacea Donahue tentatively extends a be-slippered foot out and past the threshold of her home through the just-wide-enough gap between trailer door and trailer door frame...

[Anonymous No.4938865]

Are 'strength' and 'courage' too similar to be completely independent ideas in a story?

[Anonymous No.4938866]

>>4938320
In our lives we are our own narrators and as unreliable of narrators we make we can still learn from each others stories. A habit of isolationism never helped anyone, not even that faggot Thoreau who thinks his life spent in the fucking wilderness has in any way helped anyone ever. Not a good start, attacking well liked authors who have a more eclectic vocabulary and an infinitely higher IQ. I cant that terrible though, I mean used the word eclectic correctly without even using a thesaurus which already puts me ahead of most people my age. Not really much of a feat, hardly excuses my behavior of standing on the shoulders of giants and spitting down on them. Kind of juvenile actually but it hardly matters, as if anyone is going to read this. Seriously though fuck Thoreau, I just dont see what the big screaming mess is about him. A schizoid with a superiority complex isnt rare and neither is intelligent people feeling the need to write about how smart they are in thousand page love letters to there own reflection. Thats pretty common in philosophers and most writers so at least Im on track in that regard. In fact I feel a little behind when it comes to the self masturbatory writing style that sells so Im going to write a poem about just how smart I am:
Ideas in my head
Tits
Bear Caves
Hardly award worthy, haikus are the only way the untalented can write poems, half of them are bullshit and the other half just arent worth reading. I wonder where the whole bear caves thing came up. Either way this next bit is completely unrelated (except for the part about bear caves I guess), the rest of this book is about bears.

[Anonymous No.4938872]

>>4938866
Is this a copypasta

[Anonymous No.4938875]

>>4938872
No you can literally check anywhere I just made it up. Also fuck you for doubting me

[Anonymous No.4938877]

>>4938875
This board is 18 and over.

[Anonymous No.4938882]

>>4938877
Im 22, Im not old enough to be a good writer but I am old enough to browse this site.

[Anonymous No.4938893]

>>4938882
22 Year old people can sometimes write well and it's really probably close to the mean age of grown-up time /lit/, but...
Man. Uh. If you're really 22, torrent some books on how to write, write using those, and probably most importantly read and analyze a lot more than you are right now.

[Anonymous No.4938895]

>>4938893
You do realize that what I wrote was a joke right?
/lit/ has no sense of humor

[Anonymous No.4938900]

>>4938895
>l-le ebin joke h...Haha!
>U guys r no fun aloed lawl
>I bet ur not even a MENSA baby like me


It was shitty either way mate. Chuckled at you thinking I thought it was a copypasta because it was so good, though.

[Anonymous No.4938903]

>>4938900
Well I guess you didnt like what I wrote, Ill just go curl into a corner and cry myself to sleep. Hell I might even develop an alcohol addiction just to get the whole author vibe going. Ill inflate my ego to the point where I visit this board and all other boards to just shit on everything I view as being pleb. I might even write a book about it, maybe then youll love me and Ill fit in. Godspeed gentleman

[Anonymous No.4938913]

"Done!", yelled the old woman, waking me from a rather unpleasant sleep against a pile of bones.

"Your necklace is done. Each bone contains an important part of yourself that was lost throughout your life. When you leave this place, you will begin the journey to reclaim these old bones." said the old woman.

I held the bone necklace with both hands and stared at them, confused.

"What do I do with this? How do I reclaim what I've lost?"

"When you leave here, you will follow your enchanted map, and when the opportunity presents itself and you succeed, you will reclaim each piece of your best self, one by one."

"Enchanted map? What do you mean?" I asked with frustrating curiosity.

The winds began to gust hard, blanketing the old woman and her fort in dust. _______ winced and tried to escape the thick, swirling, dusty air by backing away. (and then she was going to back into the door that she first came in through, from a hallway, but I don’t want to do a hallway with doors leading to different worlds. Seems overdone)

[Anonymous No.4938945]

>>4938320
"The troubled truth beneath this line
Is that there is not truth to find.
No shelter from this caustic rain
Sidewalk sleepers, gutters lain.
What care we how white the minch is?
That gaping empty gnawing void.
From boy to husk; heart to rhind;
Feel it for what it is--within by all without destroyed--
There is no hidden truth herein to find."

[Anonymous No.4938952]

>>4938913
Genrefiction isn't my thing, but I think this is shoddy outside of that issue. Seems generic.

[Anonymous No.4938956]

>>4938952
with all politeness, why's it generic?

[Anonymous No.4938959]

>>4938866
>Thoreau who thinks his life spent in the fucking wilderness

Walden pond is like a 5 minute walk to town and right next to the road and Thoreau used to go to his mom's house all the time for dinner

[Anonymous No.4938962]

>>4938893
>books on how to write
People actually do that?

[Anonymous No.4938963]

>>4938952
Old woman bone-singer, hero down and out, needs to get back on his feet and can do so through a convenient and linear collection of a series of objects (probably more than 3 but less than 10 of them).

>enchanted map
I mean, come on that's clearly pretty standard fantasy stuff. Doors to different worlds you caught before it got in, but, stuff like that.
Idunno, if you're ok with not saying anything new you've got the bones of a decent fantasy paperback here I suppose. I wish you the best.

[Anonymous No.4938964]

>>4938320
I have yet to get any real criticism on this other than that someone found the main character annoying. Unfortunately for me, this is a rather useless "criticism".

Finished short story, read as much as you'd like. Be prepared for grammar/formatting mistakes, I focus on these things last.

Please, just be specific. You may not like it, but "It is bad" or "it is good" is useless.

Read as much as you'd like. Please, just be specific.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1Hqre2qHqAa_tSJ3Y9CGsPNwGnP5U_OMv7CYanceCmac/edit

Also, I think I might recall a yet-edited part where the main character is doing three things with his hands, of which he only has two. Just a warning.

[Anonymous No.4938965]

>>4938963
fuckme
>>4938956

[Anonymous No.4938970]

>>4938962
Yes and I imagine they can be quite handy.

[Anonymous No.4938977]

>>4938963
>enchanted map

Well, that term is copyrighted after my favorite tarot deck (the art of each card having its own time and space or "world"). I'm just writing this for fun. But you're right, I just haven't read enough things in my life. I'm aware of the alice in wonderland aspect of all this. Thanks.

[Anonymous No.4938979]

>>4938964
Hopefully /lit/ won't judge my ability to write on my ability to space out and repeat myself.

[Anonymous No.4938982]

>>4938970
By writing according to how someone else thought you should write? Don't think a lot of the authors you read have read a book on how to write

[Anonymous No.4938983]

>>4938964
Keep doing what you're
doing; I'm going to smoke and then come back and read more, but I can't really critique this. You're writing at a level above my own.

[Anonymous No.4938987]

>>4938962
Books on how to write have existed for a long time. In fact, there are several that very popular and critically praised. Even though it isn't about writing, how to read literature like a professor is a very easily digestable insight into writing technique from a not so direct perspective, although some may find it simplistic. Make sure you take it, as anything instructional, with a grain of salt; I hate to see people drawn in to the ideological rigidity traditional academia encourages students to have concerning writing.

[Anonymous No.4938989]

>>4938982
You can't just jump on a motorcycle and start doing jumps without first knowing how to ride the motorcycle in the first place.

[Anonymous No.4938990]

>>4938983
I don't know what your level is, so I fear taking that compliment to heart very much(don't want to think I'm good if I'm not and all that), but I appreciate the compliment greatly, thank you!

[Anonymous No.4938993]

>>4938990
We'll find out; quote any work posted in this thread that, if by me, would cause you to take my comment to heart.

[Anonymous No.4939016]

>>4938864
>>4938357

Perhaps one of these? They demonstrate certain qualities, however tentatively relevant that demonstration may be within such a narrow context, that would make me appreciate the compliment more. It would be little funny, though, given the contrast of the weighty prose to my attempted minimalism (to a degree).

[Anonymous No.4939023]

>>4939016
Appreciate the compliment more, then. And thanks!
I enjoy your style. Is there some place I can follow your work?

[Anonymous No.4939035]

>>4938977
Ah, ok. But see, even there, I know far more about the tarot than the average person, but to me that still looked like a banal plot device. Maybe it's confirmation bias, idunno mang. Either way keep doing what you're doing anyways if it makes you happy.

[Anonymous No.4939056]

>>4939023
Which one was you, if I may ask?
Also unfortunately not. This is my first completed work other than a few poems, two of which were really just exercises in exploring character experiences for what I hope may one day be a novel.

[Anonymous No.4939059]

>>4939056
The first.

Ah; well I enjoyed it. Good luck anon!

[Anonymous No.4939065]

>>4939059
Thank you. And don't take it being the first too heavily. *Completed* work. I have started many things and often dabble. Honestly I was a different writer in pretty much every way possible until just before I wrote this. You could say I had a stylistic epiphany that completely changed everything about how I write. In my opinion, I am far, far above the writer I previously was.

[Anonymous No.4939075]

>>4939065
I assumed you just scrolled from the bottom up.
I'm glad to hear it; I hope it gets things going for you.

[yes No.4939090]

Chopsticks

I sat at my desk, looking out the window to the street below, watching people stumble about in the glare of the sun, wondering. I was expecting the arrival of a smarmy business man any minute and, looking at my watch saw that he was at least ten minutes late. I was beginning to think he had forgotten or just didn't care when my doorbell rang.
Climbing out of my seat, I proceeded downstairs and through to the front door, opening it, while mentally preparing myself for a meeting I didn't really want.
He stood at the doorstep in a grey suit with a slimy grin on his face as if he was about to sell me seven sets of encyclopedias.
“Ah, Mr. Harrison, come in.”
I lead him in to the living room and he sat in my best armchair as if it was his own.
“Would you like something to drink?” I asked him while relishing the idea of poisoning his drink and watching him squirm around on my floor.
“No, not today, I don't have much time. I'm afraid I have bad news.”
He leaned forward, gazing into my eyes and spoke the words I never wanted to hear.
“The adoption was a success, we require your assistance no longer.”
I felt violated and useless. I folded my arms and said “All right, well, give me my pen back and you can leave.”
“Oh no, it's not that simple” he said, squinting. “We still need you to notarize the documents.”
Resting my ankle on my knee, I clasped my hands together and sighed. “Fine, whatever you want, but that is a very expensive pen.”
He pocketed the pen and stood up, handing me his card. “I'll call you when I wish to arrange the next meeting. For now, just try to relax,” and without another word he climbed out the window and left.
I got up, stepped over the table, and yelled out the window, “Mutiny!”
His honesty was astounding and I felt he had really crossed the boundary, insulting my intelligence. I turned and stalked through to the kitchen, reaching for the phone. Dialling the number for Sarah who was my lawyer, I waited, listening to the incessant ringing. The less my wife knew about this, the better.
After the third ring, Sarah answered sounding tired, “Hello, yes, what? I am very busy.”
“Hi. It's Brian. I'm calling about the adoption fiasco. I don't mean to accuse anyone but it seems David has taken off with my nice pen, is there anything I can do about it?”
“Consider yourself lucky I'm not hanging up on you, Brian. The adoption 'fiasco' as you call it will work itself out and as for your pen, you will have to buy another one. Now if you don't mind I have a divorce to organize,” and with that, she hung up on me, leaving me feeling empty and violated. I hung up the phone and plodded to the kitchen to search out a stiff drink. I found half a bottle of bourbon under the sink, poured myself a mixture with some cheap soda and retreated to the sitting room where I slouched into my best armchair, pressing the drink to my forehead.

[yes No.4939095]

>>4938357
yes

[Anonymous No.4939158]

You dug your shoulder into mine to see if I was there.

[Anonymous No.4939179]

To go out my way
A car crash, on the highway
It happened so fast
As I looked the moment passed
As I looked I heard the gasp
As I looked I tightened my grasp
And the one sitting next to me?
From the windshield the knife broke free
Free to fly
Into her eye
And as she bled
A piece pierced my head
So we meet each other's gaze
As we lived the last of our days
There was a peace
Learned only by the deceased
Which filled the air
Over the sound of my error
Lives meaning so much
Reduced to a veil as fine as such
This seemed to be eternal justice
A soft violent death of just us.
Her eye filled with a blissful tear
As if happiness was finally near, finally here.
And as our lives ended, softly embraced by the hit
I could only seem to think,
"Oh shit."

[Anonymous No.4939308]

>>4938320
I haven't gotten much critique on this, besides someone telling me to let the story play out more, and that the beginning came off as a bit angsty (I agree with this).
I tried to add on, letting the story play itself out, but haven't edited much because I would like more feedback before I make concrete changes.

http://pastebin.com/1V8Unn4E

[Anonymous No.4939335]

>>4938320
You and me babe
Are meant to be

Like two full blood horses
Forced through gates of steel
Pumped up on steroids, aphrodisiacs and whatnot
Our maker consider us fit for breeding

You and me babe
Will last forever

Like that old fella
Clinging onto life
Pierced with Plastic tubes, sailing on oceans of morphine
Clinging onto life
With all the force he can conjure
Not realizing he is better off without

[Anonymous No.4939380]

>>4939158
Sounds like the opening line for a Porcupine Tree song.

[Anonymous No.4939536]

>>4939308
Be careful with tenses.

Personally, I prefer a writing style with much less summarizing by the author. Your first paragraph is this, too add to that, I'm curious why you chose first person.

[Anonymous No.4939625]

>>4939380
That is good, right? Thanks.

[Anonymous No.4939662]

>>4939625
Before you believe that guy is praising you, consider that Steven Wilson once wrote the lines

"My Xbox is a God to me
My finger on the switch, my mother is a bitch
My father gave up ever trying to talk to me"

[Anonymous No.4939665]

My blog I just made. http://avatofacid.com/

[Anonymous No.4939731]

Feel the pressure coming down on you, one move can end it all. Carefully equip yourself, vigilance is all you need. Don't forget your sickly meek body can bleed, for that is the seed to your survival. Propagate through life as a hallow shadow searching for the abyss of mortality. But don't fall hold strong ever clear of your conviction, for those are the thoughts that will reach out. See that anchor? Grab it stay close, don't let go hold steady.

The chasm is salivating for your demise and waiting to whisk you away in its warm absolute embrace. Pull yourself together and press forward, for you are not alone. The shadows converge upon you and merge themselves into the narrow crevices. feel the strength your dominion holds, draw upon that new found power, but never forgot to disseminate it as well.

The perfect synergy no longer are you meek, but powerful exploding with the energy of those who seek your presence. One more thing respect the source of that power and hold it dear, for one lapse in judgment and your back to the weakly state of fear.

[Anonymous No.4939822]

*scratch*
The pencil moved slowly with a repeating, rhythmic movement. It's edge was leaving soft, long or strong markings on the paper. Every line was darker and darker as the person holding the pencil slowly put more force into his work. Then, after few scribbles, he softened again.
*scratch*
Shading is such busywork, thought the man.
But his hand continued in it's work, as if some odd force guided it. It couldn't stop to leave the drawing unfinished.
The man now lead the hand differently, much stronger than before. He lead it into other part of his sketch, to some type pale circle. Edge of the pencil was placed in the middle of said circle. He then started to fill the hole with darker and darker shades, from inward to the circle's sides.
*scratch scratch*
When the circle was finished, his fingers were lead into the centre of the whole sketch - to an oval with two equally curved lines.
*scratch*
He started to add details onto it. The centre should be most detailed, so it would draw the viewer into it. What was he drawing exactly?
He patiently finished drawing two empty voids, with a small, triangular object in between them.
A strong line under this "nose" showed a gaping mouth with few teeth, most of them already blackened.
*scratch*
*crunch*
His muse twisted a little.
He got up from his chair. He couldn't capture the shapes if they're not where they're supposed to be.
Without a hurry, just like his hand before, he moved into the centre of the room, to another chair which stood in it.

He always liked moths. He loved their wings with different shapes and patterns. Some of them had eyes for such patterns - two gaping black holes full of nothing. But what he found most fascinating was their metamorphosis - how the adult moth climbs from a body of it's larvae state. How that living being becomes a shell for it's new form to come out and fly away.
He moved his hands towards his muse, so he could put her into it's former state.
*crunch*
*bump*
*crunch*
The neck couldn't hold any more forced pressure and fell out of it's place. As the head hit the wooden planks beneath it, released a horrible, crunching noise. Some of it's structure was broken now.
The man bend over and slowly, patiently lifted the head and stared into it's dark, empty eyes.

"Sweetcheeks, this is the second time I'm telling you to stay in your mommy." he spoke to his daughter. "This is a really important drawing for daddy and it must be perfect."
He carefully put the head with it's neck back into the hollow, emptied out back of his wife.
He altered the spine, so no other damage could be caused.
He then returned to his stand, took a pencil in hand. Just few strokes and the work is finished. He couldn't leave it like this.
"It's going to be perfect. Perfect metamorphosis."


*scratch*

[Anonymous No.4940195]

i hate everything
thats not true

i see my godfathers daughter and it makes me wanna have a child too
she is really sweet
i get really emotional at times
sometimes i cry watching a sitcom, for no real reason

i cry a lot
im not happy
at all

i should be though
i got food
and stuff

everyone but me is a fucking nazi asshole nigger assfucker
i hate everyone

this is a poem
i have said this before
this is a poem

yes it sounds weird
fuck you

i love well educated children
i will be a good father

i will be a good father

i will be the best father
ever.

[Anonymous No.4940207]

>>4939035
it's an original deck, not your standard rider-waite characters. check it out, the art is crazy beautiful.

>keep doing what you're doing anyways if it makes you happy

i will. of all the things recycled to death in media these days, i wish adventure/fantasy was at the forefront instead of comic book classics.

[Anonymous No.4940243]

>>4939822
Are the sounds in *s necessary?

[Anonymous No.4940436]

>>4938866
The whole idea that most philosophers are narcissists is juvenile and frankly absurd. You obviously know nothing of anything and I hope no one else has to read anything else you ever write pleb. Also just because your too stupid to understand the genius of Thoreau doesnt mean one paragraph of his work isn't more important then anything youll do in your life ever.

[Anonymous No.4940446]

>>4940195
I really hope that what you write was a joke.

[Anonymous No.4940455]

>>4940436
Most philosophers are pretty full of themselves, that being said what he wrote was awful though. Its not a good introduction if the rest of the book is going to be about something entirely different.

[Anonymous No.4940464]

>>4940446
what if not

[Anonymous No.4940525]

>>4939158
This brought tears to my eyes anon. Thank you.

[Anonymous No.4940722]

Paranoia settles in when all is fine, when your guard is low, that’s probably why it comes in the first place. Doesn’t the law of thermodynamics say that order tends to disorder? So nothing good can last. Does it ever go? Or does it just leave behind a fragile husk? Maybe, it forces a divide between what is known and what is felt, isolating those thoughts of “What if?”. As time passes the divide grows exponentially, until it’s too great to reduce. That empty space left is perhaps what causes uncomfortable moments between friends.

[Anonymous No.4940789]

>>4938866
That was one of the worst things Ive ever seen written, it doesnt even make sense if the rest of the book is about bears.

[Anonymous No.4941048]

We always dreamed of Socotra. The air would fall like a lead blanket upon the scorching sands out that way, but we didn't mind. Yeah, we slept each night away with full bellies here, smiled with the fullest smiles, gazed deep into each others vivacious eyes - but it wasn't Socotra. Like roses rooted to our graves; two kids anchored to the boring old soil, always stretching out to a sun that would someday burn them up.

Back when age was just a number and hadn't yet grown into a weapon, we'd lie on my hardwood floor in the kitchen and just talk about Socotra. Summertime would be floating in every door and window. They all swung wide. A house wasn't sacred, that was how I saw it. I entrenched on this land, built my house on it, it was the land's house. The halls were the land's halls, the food the land's food. Soon as you prioritised security, your house stopped being a home and started being a prison, that was how I saw it.

But that was where we'd lay. She'd lie with her head resting on the crook of her arm, blue eyes peeking out beneath a few stray strands of black hair, always on the lookout for the little fragments of truth that had to be felt and never deduced.

[Anonymous No.4941264]

>>4938357
This is one of the better pieces of writing ITT, but you should probably consider what >>4938380 said

[Anonymous No.4941290]

>>4940525
I think you are trolling, but it is the opening line to a short story I am working on.

[Anonymous No.4941449]

Darren's senses were of little service despite needing them more than ever. He could hardly see a foot in front of himself in this darkness, and tasted nothing but the familiar and metallic taste of his own blood. His ears were ringing from the sirens behind and his nose leaked a mixture of fluids as he gasped for air. He had never felt this feeble in his life and yet he continued to press forward, even further into the darkness. It was only a matter of time before one of his aching feet would be met with the explosion of a land-mine or worse yet, to collapse in exhaustion. Each painful step brought him that much closer to his freedom as well his own death . There was little difference between the two in his eyes. Anything was better than what he had escaped from. There was no turning back now.

At least a single drone flew overhead scanning the fields that surrounded the prison. It would have been invisible to Darren had it not been firing shells that were a sure sign that he wasn't the only one to escape. If nothing else, the others offered a distraction which raised his chances of survival significantly.

(I wrote this as an introduction to a story that I improvised to post ITT. I would have continued, but it's time for dinner. Let me know what you think)

[Anonymous No.4941476]

I lit my cigarette and pulled it up to my mouth. The first drag is always shitty, but my lungs were soon enough filled with that same warm burning sensation I was used to. As I stood on the balcony I took in the beautiful scenery littered with architectural wonder and the most fascinating landscaping. I had always loved the collide between man's brilliant design clashing with God's natural work in a mesmerizing tangle.
The sliding glass door behind me opened and I heard her footsteps followed towards me. Ashley wrapped her arms around my waist and rested her head on my shoulder. She was still wearing just my worn out, grey t-shirt. "Hey there," I said softly before taking in another relaxing drag. "Morning," she grumbled, obviously still tired from the events of last night. I turned my head to the left and rested on hers. After a few seconds she lifted up and met me with a short but passionate kiss. I reached my hand down to the back of her thigh to pull her closer to me. As we kissed again she slid a small envelope into my pocket.
"Give this to Marco when you meet him today."
"Where can I find him?"
She handed me a small business card that had a scandalously clad girl that read the words "playhouse" across her breasts. "It's a club next to the hotel you used to stay at. You can't miss it." I remembered the place well. Every night I couldn't go out without seeing drunk idiots throwing bottles of booze or breaking out into fights over nothing. Still, it made for some pretty entertaining moments. "Yeah, sure thing," I said as I flicked my cigarette bud off the balcony, "But first, do we have any food? I'm fucking starving."
"Well if it's food you need," she said while giving me a sly grin. "Come on, I mean actual food. Here let's go to the diner down the street. I'm paying."

[Anonymous No.4941553]

is this worth anything at all to you, I like it but I have no idea how it would appear to others

Pictures keep falling off the wall
Maybe its because my neighbor likes to knock his bedposts around
or maybe I didn't get those picture hooks in properly
but pictures keep falling off my wall
I come into the room after a few days on the other end of the island to find shards of marble and plastic all of the wooden slats
The scene of the crime isn't fresh, but I know who the culprit is
The man who lives next door didn't have any artful criticism of my painting of Rafael
the teenage mutant ninja turtle, not the artist
a gift from my brother
but I could see some measure of scorn in his eyes as he caressed the lacquered finish above his half shell
I could see the plot thickening in his eyes
and I knew that this day would come
so I take to my bedposts with matched vigor
and I start off with a steady rhythm but sort of degrade into something of a frenzy
he knows not to hang his paintings on the south wall
he saw that in my eyes and he was prepared
I received one sealed envelope addressed ℅ Master Splinter, the sewers of Manhattan
and orders of half-cold pepperoni pizzas arrive at my door
and I know that his cross hairs are turning on me with a mechanical patience
the kind of patience that only reptiles can really get a handle on
and in that envelope is one ripped half sheet of legal pad
and scrawled in leaky red pen
"cowabunga"

[Anonymous No.4941950]

>>4938320

I literally wrote this piece of shit in five minutes, stream of consciousness style.

Cindy had stepped foot into the charred halls of Tartarus. Opalescent glass mirrored the halls and the floors were studded with black diamonds. Cindy wondered what had led her to this place, but her memory felt unreliable, as if someone had covered it with a bucket of varnish. Nevertheless, Cindy continued making her way down the infernal halls in hope that she would uncover whatever had led her down this path in the first place. The entire time all Cindy could think about in the insufferable silence was whether this was all just a clever ruse.
Stepping forth past the black diamond floor and opalescent glass walls, Cindy began to feel a sort of ominous presence exuding from her inner torso. She turned her head downwards and saw that her breast began glowing a magnificent emerald color, reminding her of her days of her life in the pastoral fields of her youth. “That's it”, she remarked, as more memories began to slip on through beyond the crevices of the wall that she had built, brick by brick, for many years.
Further images began to pour fourth through in an amniotic fashion, she began to see all sorts of images of childhood. The times that she had suffered through her countless attempts at making friends ending up in rejection, times of happiness, times of longing. All these scenarios hit her all at once, she felt overwhelmed by the weight of it all. Nonetheless, she continued to peer into the emerald crack in her breast and began to uncover invaluable secrets. She had, at once, inhabited the body of a boy named Jeremy a long time ago. Unfortunately for Jeremy and Cindy, they were forced into a cruel world too soon without any sort of protection. Both Cindy and Jeremy suffered unimaginable atrocities and were at once stricken away from living any sort of peaceful existence.
Coming to this realization, Cindy wondered where in the world could this mysterious Jeremy be? A wave of panic came crushing down on her all at once, and she immediately began running through the halls looking for this boy. All around the ebony halls she ran, far and wide, until she came across a dead end. Confused and flustered, she sprawled her tired body forth onto those infernal floors. She closed her eyes and feel into a deep sleep, eventually waking up to a splashing sound reminiscent of the tar popping. As she clasped her hands onto the floor in hopes of pushing her body upwards, she began to feel an uncomfortable pulling below her body. She looked down in amazement, the obsidian floors had devolved into a befuddled mess. When there was once black diamonds, now there laid only alabaster tainted tar. She had begun at once to fight back, but it was too much, she had become swallowed whole. The end?????

[Anonymous No.4941966]

>>4938866
This is literally one of the dumbest things I've ever read.

I bet you thought you were being real clever by trashing famous philosophers :D

[Anonymous No.4942009]

>>4938959
And Emerson's

[Anonymous No.4942018]

They walk there among them, among
the dead, and the dying, and those
stinking of sweet flesh, licking their
lips with each glance they steal.

This is the way
they come and go,
going gone and...This is
their coming and going
and becoming gone.

Aqui, ahora!
Otra vez mas!
Pero ponte la vista--
a sus ojos!

Trickling down the cracks
they crawl, looking up
to meet my eyes and sing
their yawns and dance along.

I am leaving and I am leaving and
I am leaving and I am leaving and--

This is beyond me; This is behind me.

Pero ponte de
pie y mira debajo
de tus mismos ojos!

It is below me I say.
I am not one of them.
Yo no soy uno con ustedes.

But, but, but--
Oh how they see your shelves!

But I am leaving...but I am leaving...
But I am leaving...

[Anonymous No.4943659]

>>4938895

>no follow up grizzly bear picture

3':

[Anonymous No.4944822]

>>4938866
Please consider giving up writing

[Anonymous No.4944890]

Staring at posts
of untalented blokes
I wonder what kind of thoughts
they think their crap provokes

[Anonymous No.4945328]

Submitting to a contest tommorow, if anyone's interested I can pastbin the whole story, I'd really appreciate some last minute criticism cause I only finished this one two days ago.

It was winter but it wasn't cold. It had been cold the day before that day but on that day it was seventy degrees. It didn't smell like flowers or rain. It smelled like the cold, but it wasn't cold. It was warm and the trees were bare and the birds were silent and the grass was yellow and the small patches of snow melted quickly. They were all puddles by noon.

The men and women on their way to work appreciated the mild temperatures and didn't think much about it besides the necessary considerations when getting dressed for the day. But August was worried by the weather and refused to wear clothes inappropriate for the season. August was an eleven year old boy with his hands stubbornly balled in his coat pockets. Sweat shined on his forehead and he panted through a grimace. He watched the traffic pass by as he sat on the edge of a food mart parking lot. The empty air left him exposed to car horns and sirens so he made sure to keep his hat pulled over his ears. All August wanted was for the day to end. He hated the winter, especially when it acted up like this. Hopefully it would rain and fill the city with something other than unseasonable warmth, but rain wasn't likely. The few clouds above were stretched thin against pale blue. The sky should never be pale blue when it's so warm out.

[Anonymous No.4945404]

>>4938866

[Anonymous No.4945484]

>>4941476
>"Morning," she grumbled, obviously still tired from the events of last night.

;) this is really bad

[Anonymous No.4945786]

God died in the 1990's. Not a very exciting death, nor a glamorous one, just an old man chocking on a hotdog in a video rental store. Not that the store still exists, most of the footage from a camera mounted in the corner was destroyed, and the building lifted off the map. The hotdog vendor left too, seemingly vanishing into smoke. Took three months to track him down, working as a rubber tree chopper in the amazon. Fat lot of good asking him did anyway, just started screaming, spewed blue stuff everywhere, and turned inside out.

From what could be pieced together from the grainy film, God seemed to be renting "Raiders of the Lost Ark" and purchasing a Snickers Candy Bar. I wonder if God really likes Snickers or just saw it and bought it on a whim, but I suppose at this point it doesn't really matter. Rearranging his notes, Marcus leaned back in his chair, shutting his eyes to the world. Across his desk, littered with cigarette butts and coffee rings, a man with a halo cleaned his finger nails. Sighing, Marcus spoke.

"So, Mr.Micheal, was it? We need to discuss my walking fee."

[Anonymous No.4945828]

Few things are as prevalent in human nature as the fear of the dark. A deep and primal instinct to avoid the shadows is very much imprinted in our psyche, specially in our early years.

It's very common for this particular fear to be one, if not the first of the fears we learn to overcome. As we grow, we no longer run to a light when we turn another one off, we slowly, but almost surely stop needing a lamp to be on to sleep, and the fear fades away into nothingness as we reach maturity

That is the way it is supposed to be, isn’t it?

Not quite.

The fear never fades, it lingers, it wanes, it can even be suppressed, but it always remains there.

Once the lights are off, there is a split second of uncertainty where the mind needs to remind itself that being scared of the dark is "silly" and "immature", that the shadows dancing on the curtains are just from the trees outside, that the swirling forms in the darkest part of the room are just optical illusions as we acclimate to the shadows, that it is safe

But it doesn't feel safe

The light is gone, there is nothing to be seen, an aura of dread permeates the room, of something lurking just beyond reach. Tendrils flicker in the darkness, and the senses become uncannily acute. The faint sound of the air moving, and the floor being scratched by the lightest of steps. The tingling sensation on the skin, the inexplicable grazes and the breath that really isn’t there.

And everything fades once the light shines again.

And the mind kids itself into ignoring its instinctual reaction.

But the question remains, whether the shadows we see in the dark, these "figments of imagination" are kept there by disbelief.

But disbelief isn't absolute, so we see these images, these shapes, their insidious attempts for us to doubt, and in so becoming ever closer. To undermine the only barrier standing between us.

Many shadows walk in the image of the mind, and the question becomes, will they stay there?

[Anonymous No.4945833]

H-Hi anons, I don't normally post here but i'm interested in writing. I entered a competition years ago and I only got second place. I dunno if anyone has any tips for aspiring writers or anything.

... p-pls don't be mad!

[Anonymous No.4945834]

>>4945828
>Few things are as prevalent in human nature as the fear of the dark. A deep and primal instinct to avoid the shadows is very much imprinted in our psyche, specially in our early years.

Fuck off. Friendly advice: don't talk platitudinal nonsense in an attempt to manufacture some insight into human nature.

[Anonymous No.4945841]

>>4945833

Sure looks strange when I try to incorporate emotion into the prose style.

[Anonymous No.4945845]

>>4945834

>attempt to manufacture some insight into human nature.

there isn't any.

at least read the post before commenting

[Anonymous No.4945850]

>>4945845
I did
>Few things are as prevalent in human nature as the fear of the dark
Is simply wrong

Or maybe I'm an angry drunk

[Anonymous No.4945865]

>>4945850

don't drink&post anon, you could cause an accident.

[Anonymous No.4945884]

>>4945833

Here again.

I guess what i'm saying is that I lack the confidence to take on another project. How do you guys do it?

Is there some trick that i'm not seeing that gives you guys the discipline to do what you do?

[Anonymous No.4945889]

>>4938945
that was a pleasure to read

[Anonymous No.4945897]

>>4938945
jumbled meter

[Anonymous No.4945905]

Verily did I toot and fro around the board visited by fools and wordsmiths, asking this way and that wither to fore the way to truth lay.

The question of perspective, of narrative and first and third personal viewpoints is forefront on my concern - Does it seem better to the mind's eye to read from the first rather than the third, or should it not be the third over the first?

[Anonymous No.4945911]

>>4938913
>I asked with frustrating curiosity.
For the last time, don't do this.

[Anonymous No.4945918]

>>4945905

And without a moment's concern did I persist in my desire for that most precious elixir - knowledge.

Shameless bump.

[Anonymous No.4945924]

Nothing much at all, but writing at midnight is relaxing and allows for me to get something on paper.


An angel came and took my palm,
Its eyes slit, lips fringed with intrigue.
Your flesh is tender and without lesion, It said,
Where are your wounds, your memories?
I turned Its hand and ran my fingers along the
Wrist through the palm and replied,
I could ask the same of you.
And in response It stared and thought,
A blank gaze building to something along the lines of,
Perhaps it is you who comes for me tonight,
And I shall follow you into the void though
My orders came without distortion.
It's a thin line, I said, Eventually it all
Becomes a collective noise.
I suppose that's true, It said, so
Where do we go from here?
I shrugged and answered,
I heard West fairs well.
This is embarrassing, the Angel said, My
First day on the job.
Don't worry, I called back, mine too.
No pressure, It said.

[Anonymous No.4945926]

Tip-toe. Tick-tock. The pitter patter of children's feet giggle as they think they've eluded the ears of parents too near. A crawl around the bend down the hall and a slide into the kitchen, time to eat more cake than a horse could take. Gallop the tiny tongues do, scrumptiously scarfing down chocolate, oozy sponge. Alvin and Alexa almost finish the dessert when poof! A wild mother appears in the doorway. Crossed arms and a piercing glance pummel the kids into submission, encouraging them to scuttle back from which they came. Momma kept corralling the chitlins till tucked away they were, then went to her own cozy bed to accompany a burly bundle of a man named Barry, who was very bear-y. And so, another day awaited the Trundles, hopefully this time without another meteor.

[Anonymous No.4945937]

I'm not very good at this.

[Anonymous No.4945954]

Jumbled matter pilfers from a textile factory,
slyly sneaking by lenses and likenesses,
intent laid in the foundation of sporty thievery,
not of anything worth talking about, just rugs.

Alarms, sirens, lights, and smoke bombs.
Batman's creators leap into a van
minus the bats, the mobile moves on the street,
killing microbes on the waxy way.
Witless, listless, Pope-less, and now cokeless,
deviated deviants delve deep down
into an underbelly not usually seen
by people from the bus, or even church,
yet felt in more ways than one,
in search for a friendly kick to the spine,
or luckily the vein.

[Anonymous No.4945964]

>>4945926

fuck, tenses are all wrong

[Anonymous No.4945976]

(Beginning)
I don't know what else to say,
but that I love you.
(Middle)
My shoulder is your pillow,
my back your canvas.
(End)
It'll all be okay,
if I keep lying.

[Anonymous No.4945984]

>>4945924

I like the idea-ish. The execution could use to some work. Perhaps a bit cheesy, but still nice.

[Anonymous No.4945988]

>>4944890
best in the thread

[Anonymous No.4945993]

>>4938945

Liked the majority, very much so the idea, however, yes, jumbled meter. SHould fix.

[Anonymous No.4946132]

The white walls had definitely seen better days, spots and stains peppered across their surface. It was a very functional room, compact even. Most of the space was used by the furniture in it; two beds clad in faded sheets, a bureau covered in dust, an IKEA closet filled with unsorted garments, and an ancient wooden desk, with countless blotches from humidity and other accidents. The floor was in dire need of a sweeping, with a various assortment of crumbs, paper clippings, coins, dirt, and other unidentified bits laying in quantities that were probably beyond what is normally acceptable.

[Anonymous No.4946137]

In the depths of rallying guns and flaring drums, the need to escape, to live, comes at an end: unmourned and forgotten. A sea rises from beneath the shadows, and its waves crest not with foam, but despair, crashing with fury on a deserted shore. The gelid winds howl, hitting the sails of a ship long lost from this world, its bow rocking to a different pace than the ocean beneath it.

[Anonymous No.4946154]

An old man strode, cane in hand
down a path, seldom walked.
Dirt and stone, grass and mud
resolute, the cane struck.

A fire burned, fierce and bright
it was a flame, within his eyes.
Brisk was his pace, no stop nor rest
He marched with purpose, a task was set.

The trees gave way, the streams unfurled
mountains would shift, would sink and would jump.
By nature itself, his path was made
and only by him, it would be surveyed.

He questioned the stars, and he steered the winds.
He set the tides, and the sun he hinged.
For that was his task, to watch, to fix
the world's caretaker, he was indeed.

[Anonymous No.4946202]

>>4938913

i like the idea mate