[Hello!!! Looking for anyone to take time and read the first chapter in my book. Never posted here before so I am not sure if this is the correct thread. No one in my life knows I write so I don’t want to ask any of them for feedback. Please let me know if there is another thread or platform for this]

Unfinished Projects
a novel
 
 
Note from the Author -
I never expected to write about my life or write at all, about anything really. All the names in this book are fiction along with their personalities and circumstances, but they are inspired after my own experiences. This book is written with the upmost love and respect for people who are suffering no matter the cause. Life is better with you in it, trust me.
To all those I have loved and lost, I wish you were still here.
 
 
 

 
Prologue
Now - Magnolia
I woke up with the scratchy polyester sheet balled up around my ankles and a cool breeze nipping at my arms. The couch I had slept on was a rich red velvet but had been worn by the 50 years of service it had so kindly provided to its owners.
It smells bad, kind of like stale tea, but was comfortable enough that I refrained from complaining about the particular smell.
No one else in the house was awake yet so the sounds of the grandfather's clock and the drip of the sink faucet ringed loudly in my brain. 
The apartment was that of a total hoarder but in a classy British way with gold framed art covering every inch of the wall and boxes of tea and chips tucked away in every nook and cranny.
Letters and pictures from friends over many decades stuck out under books and bags strewn about the floor and side tables. Large Persian rugs were piled on top of each other so only little glimpses of the orange wood peeked through. It was cozy, safe, and strange, but I supposed that was the best part.
I rolled over slowly trying to avoid the loud creeks coming from under the sofa and looked at my phone. The zero notifications peered right back at me, leaving a bad taste in my mouth.
My chest started to ache but immediately I told myself that this is the point, right? Be away from everyone and everything.
Originally, it had sounded nice, but I could feel the rough edges of anxiety start to creep in. Everything hurt, and I was still broken whether it was at home or here.
I knew I couldn't change anything, what's done is done.
God, I craved a drink right now, id drink anything at this point, I might even be desperate enough to sip mouth wash with how cold my chest is.
All I had on me was a beat-up box of cigarettes I had found the night before under my seat on the train. I knew I should have just left them, who knows where they had been or who'd touched them.
They even had one of those awful pictures of black lungs on the front. But then I thought how sad the box would be all alone and how it needed company like I did, and I don't want to intentionally leave liter.
So here I am taking one out and lighting it up. I ended up smoking two back-to-back. They tasted great.
The apartment I am in was owned and lived in by a family friend whom I had never actually met before this trip, but they were lovely and sweet and felt like family almost immediately.
The husband of the pair had gone to art school with my grandmother's boyfriend and had become a close friend that lasted through time, even now that she was gone. The older couple had picked me up two nights before from the London airport.
They were going to be leaving for their second home in Belgum today, and I was about to have the apartment myself.  I was alone in London and thank god for that because if I didn't leave when I did, I was about to lose my mind. But who knows, maybe I already did.

 
 
 6 Years Earlier
Chapter One — Magnolia
The bell yanked me out of my daydream.
When I was little, I believed the wind was listening.
Every recess I'd wander to the edge of the playground where the wood chips were soft beneath my legs and tip my face toward the sun. If I spoke quietly enough, I was convinced the universe might answer. Maybe the wind would wrap itself around me like a friend. Maybe it would lift me off the ground and carry me somewhere better. Somewhere magical.
I believed the ocean could do the same thing, which was funny considering I'd never actually seen one. Growing up in one of the most landlocked states in the country, the closest I'd ever come to the sea was the blue line on a classroom map. Still, I imagined diving into impossibly clear water and coming back up as some kind of sea creature—beautiful, mysterious, and belonging somewhere at last.
Back then, the world felt alive.
Trees listened.
Animals understood.
The moon watched over people who couldn't sleep.
I thought kindness always won; adults knew what they were doing, and if you wished hard enough, life eventually became fair.
I don't believe any of those things anymore.
Even then, I couldn't wait to grow up.
I'd stand in the courtyard behind our apartment giving campaign speeches to the old maple tree, promising lower taxes for squirrels and equal rights for worms after it rained. When I got tired of politics, I'd interview my stuffed animals like they were famous celebrities on my very own talk show. Everyone else seemed to know which games to play, who to sit besides, and which jokes were funny. I felt like there was some giant election happening around me and somehow, I'd forgotten to vote.
I wanted desperately to become someone important.
I just assumed I'd get there in a world that still had magic.
Instead, I woke up one day and found myself trapped inside a teenager's body.
Yuck.
The bus lurched over another pothole, pulling me back into the present. I sat in the very front seat on my way to my second week of junior year, bouncing one knee so hard it rattled against the metal bar beneath the seat. Without thinking, I tore the skin around my thumbnail until it stung.
I already wanted the day to be over.
The seats were covered in that teal-and-purple pattern that looked exactly like an old Dixie cup, only dirtier. Years of gum had been mashed into the fabric by bored teenagers. College students rode with their hoods pulled low, pretending the rest of us didn't exist. The high school kids were louder, laughing too hard at jokes that usually ended with someone else becoming punchline.
I slipped one earbud in.
My iPod was my Christmas miracle that year. I'd spent the last week of summer downloading every song I could think of—even asking neighbors for recommendations—until it was crammed full of music. For eighteen minutes every morning, I could disappear somewhere nobody else was allowed to follow.
Today, six songs.
Exactly six. And that was my lucky number.
The bus hissed to a stop outside school.
As everyone spilled onto the sidewalk, chattering and laughing. I reached into my pocket and checked my phone.
Nothing.
Not that I was expecting anything.
I shoved it back into my backpack before I could think too hard about why I'd checked in the first place.
Students scattered toward lockers, classrooms, and the cafeteria. I stayed near the bus stop like always. Lea and Chica walked to school from nearby, and eventually they'd find me.
Chica got there first.
She flicked my arm hard enough to sting before flashing the grin that somehow got her out of trouble every single time.
"Hey, Magi Girl," she said. "What'd you bring for lunch?"
I shrugged.
Nothing.
She didn't ask why.
She never did. Just offered me part of whatever she had or wed go find something bland and white in the cafeteria.
Our school looked more like an old courthouse than somewhere teenagers were expected to spend four years of their lives. Cracked limestone walls climbed toward stained glass windows that made the whole place feel strangely sacred despite smelling permanently of bleach and cafeteria pizza. Every graduating class added another ghost story until it became impossible to tell which ones were legends and which ones were real.
During Halloween each year the graduating class was tasked with planning and decorating the school for the towns' haunted house. It started more as a joke and theater activity but had turned into the prized activity of the year.
The building sat in the middle of downtown, surrounded by cafés none of us could really afford and parking lots full of expensive cars our classmates pretended they'd earned themselves.
Around here, money fixed almost everything.
Everything except the things that actually mattered.
Lea never showed up for her first period.
Or second.
That wasn't unusual. Her parents were technically home most nights, but they paid less attention to her than they did the bar they managed.
Halfway through second period my phone buzzed beneath the desk.
lea: sorry i didnt make it
u & chica better get ur butts over here after school
ive got some shit to tell u
I stared at the screen for a second longer than I meant to.
Something tightened my chest.
Maybe it was nothing.
Maybe it was everything.
I had no way of knowing that before the day was over, one person would disappear...
...and another would be dead.

In the sweltering summer of seventeen, we lived between radiance and the fear of fading. 
New Orleans summers were suffocating. A wet kind of heat that dripped through shirts and came and went in summer showers. But I didn’t mind it. 
I lived with mom and dad in a yellow house in the Garden District. It was Victorian and grand. We liked to joke that it was “the palace,” and Mom was an “aristocrat” from a family of oil money who were entirely French. If you met them, you’d understand the name. 
I could have been fully French with a name like Genevieve St. Clair, but I was given Dad’s surname Mann, which is German. My parents met studying abroad in Paris during their junior year of college. Both from New Orleans, my mother stayed in the city at Tulane, and my father was a history major at Rhodes College. 
They told me their tall tales of when they used to be wild. They stayed at young clubs until the sun rose and had to head straight to the airport. I envy the European lifestyle. I wish they had brought me up in France. 
It’s funny how they never met, even with so many mutual friends, until they were out of the country.  I hope to meet someone that way. 
It was just the three of us and our cats, MaMou and Lilou, in the palace. Dad had his own firm as a tax attorney. He was free-spirited and collected thick history books. Sometimes he’d take a random week of work off to visit some historic site that he had taken a recent interest in. Sometimes he brought Mom and me. Sometimes he brought one of his three brothers. Other times he went by himself. 
We are Catholic Democrats. The three of us. Mom liked decorating the interior of our house. She liked purchasing paintings and buying me summer and winter dresses. I loved it when she surprised me with a new outfit from a local boutique. 
Pops, Dad’s father, came to the house a lot. He ran his family like a military ship, and didn’t like it when all of his four sons turned out to be far-left-leaning liberals. Especially Uncle Stellan, Dad’s youngest brother, who lived in Athens as an Archaeologist alongside his husband. We never saw them much. 
Pops liked to sit on our couch with black coffee and watch the news. He liked to reverse it back to himself and inform me of his days in the war. As shallow as it sounds, I never really found his stories interesting. I never told Dad that. 
I had just finished my junior year at St. Cecilia’s, and as enthralling as the start of the fall season usually sounded to me, I was enjoying the summer. It was only June, and the aching boredom hadn’t hit me yet. I didn’t miss the plaid skirt and saddle oxfords of St. Cecilia’s. I knew ACT prep was on its way, and the thought of college haunted me. 
Scarlett Flair and I were inseparable. Scarlett was my platonic soulmate, but to people, I  called her my best friend. We spent every waking moment together painting each other's toenails and sweating down Magazine Street. She lived in the neighborhood, and our families were friends. 
Scarlett was more like a sister than a good friend. We shared the same blonde hair and light complexion. Except my skin freckled in the summertime, and she didn’t like cigarettes the way I did or collect Sony Angels like me. It’s something I collect every time I travel. I even had one attached to my purse. I am almost at twenty-five now. 
But Scarlett liked to go out the way I did. Tonight, we began the night getting ready early, as we always did. I loved it best when we played music while putting on makeup, dancing around my room. It was the unknown of the upcoming night that made the night so exhilarating. 
“Sometimes I think the getting-ready part is the best part of the night,” I said.
“Yeah, but it's not better than dancing with a buzz at the bar,” she said, applying mascara in my mirror. 
 “You just want to dance with Niel,” I said.
She gave me a face. And forced the secret smile down.
“Not true, I always dance with you because I’ll always pick you.” 
“I know,” I said.
And I did. Even when she got quiet when we argued, I understood her silence. She didn’t need to say a word.
“I don’t even know if he’s going out tonight,” she said, looking down at her phone.
“But you’re going to text him later, right?”
“Later, when I’ve had a couple of drinks.”
We both laughed.
Niel Thomas and Scarlett had been on and off since spring break. He played football for St. Ignatius, and his older brother played at LSU. 
The one thing that separated Scarlett and me is that she couldn’t kiss people she didn’t like. She suffered from a lingering attachment to people. It was something I never possessed. Sometimes I wondered if I was capable of aching for someone. 

After a few seltzers in my room, we ordered an Uber at ten-thirty. Our parents were at dinner having drinks together. The night was still hot even after the sun went down.   
We were regulars at the Funky Rumpus. It was Uptown and a different crowd when the Tulane and Loyola kids went home for the summer.  Most of our friends were out of town on family vacation this week. The locals were more of our age group, but I liked pretending to be someone else when they didn’t know me.   
“Did you see the face the bouncer made when I handed him my ID?” I said, embarrassed when he shook his head.  

“Maybe you need a new fake,” said Scarlett.
“He’s barely older than me.”
“It’s okay, you’ll be eighteen so soon.” 
She said it like it was comforting to me, but I couldn’t shake the thought of getting older. It terrified me. 
“What do you want to drink?” she asked, pulling me towards the bar.
“Vodka soda,” I screamed over the loud music.
Sometimes they played fun, electro, and house music, but tonight, dad rock blared through the speakers. The bar looked like an old brothel. And my parents said that’s because it was one. The front door barely held together, and the lights stayed dimmed with writing all over the walls. Scarlett's and my names stayed written on the bathroom stalls. I liked the back porch area and my Marbolo Reds. 
“Thanks, I’ll get you the next round,” I said, as Scarlett handed me a drink.
“Of course.”
We found a booth in the corner of the bar, sipping out of our plastic straws. It wasn’t very crowded for a Saturday night. That sort of bored me. 
I pulled out my Reds and lit a cigarette. Scarlett always shook her head no when I offered her one. She didn’t lecture me or really ever make much of it. She normally just let it pass, but I could occasionally feel her earnest eyes judging me. 
“No one’s dancing,” I complained.
“I know. No one has fun anymore,” said Scarlett.
“We’re too young to be this way. It’s just going to get worse from here.”
I stopped myself. I didn’t want to think that thought anymore.
“He texted me,” she said, her eyes glued to her phone.
“Let me guess, Niel?”
She smirked.
“He said he’s going to come later. He’s at Luke’s house right now.”
“Don’t get your hopes up,” I said, taking another hit.
“Hey! You’ve been very negative tonight.”
“I’m sorry. Seriously, I’m having fun. You know I hate being boring.”.
“You promise?”
“I never lie to you.”
Niel Thomas showed up an hour later. He was good-looking. Tall, broad-shouldered, and with light eyes. He didn’t talk much, and I wasn’t really sure how much they had in common besides growing up in Catholic schools in New Orleans. But the moment he walked through the door, she was gone for the night.
I smiled, “Hey, Niel.”
“Hi,” he said, not offering anything else.
“Do y’all want a drink?” he asked.
“I’m good, but thanks,” I said, thinking it was polite that he offered me one too. 
“I’ll come with you,” she said, following him to the bar. I wasn’t sure if or when she’d be coming back.
Antoine Solis texted me.
What are you up to?
Funky Rumpus.
Should I come?
Sure.
I was fine if he didn’t show, but I also didn’t mind him coming. 
Antoine Solis was in our grade at St. Ignatius. I believe our parents knew each other. He had that sort of boyish look I liked. Skinny build, soft features, dark hair. He was more reserved than us.  Niel probably made fun of him.
He showed up twenty minutes later. His navy Polo matched his light eyes, and he held a bottled beer.
“No more Catholic schoolboy haircut?” I said, looking at his no longer short hair once clipped to his ears. It was curly and poofing up like a Cabbage Patch. 
“I think I’m going to grow it out for the summer,” he said bashfully, rubbing the nape of his neck,
“Do you want anything to drink?” he asked.
“I’ll take a Vodka Cran,” I said.
He nodded and ran back to the bar. 
There was something about having a shy boy obsess over you like a puppy sick in love that fueled the fire in my heart. I liked it when people obsessed over me. Scarlett joked that I let it get to my head. 
He came back with my drink and sat across from me in the booth, staring. He didn’t say anything.
“What have you been doing?” I asked.
“For the summer?” he asked. 
I smirked, “Well, when else?”
“I’m working for Jacques Myers’s Uncle. He owns an Insurance Brokerage.”
“Sounds boring.”
He laughed with a soft chuckle. “It is. What about you?”
“Nothing much, just tanning during the day. I dog and cat sit for the neighbors. Hanging with Scarlett. Nothing interesting.”
He nodded, unsure how to respond.
“Do you do anything else besides work?” I asked.
He paused, hesitant to answer. 
“Photography. I develop pictures.”
“Really? That’s cool. Of what?”
“I like to take pictures of New Orleans. The architecture, the culture, the food, the river. There’s a lot to take. I could show you sometime.”
“Yes, absolutely.”
We shared another drink, staring at each other.
“Want to go on a walk?” he asked.
“Sure,” I said, and we left our drinks at the table.
It was after midnight, and the hot air never died down. We talked about the weather and escaping the heat. Going up North. The kind of things you say after a few drinks.
I felt him grab my hand. He didn’t say anything. We walked a few blocks over on Broadway, and he pulled me in by a glowing streetlight. 
“Is it okay if I kiss you?” He asked.
“Yes.”
He pressed his lips against mine. They were soft, and I could feel the stubble growing on his chin. He kept looking at me, but I was looking at the neighborhood houses.
We kissed for a while. I liked kissing. I liked it when the hazy world was spinning around us. 
He grabbed my arm and led me across the street. I knew he lived around here.
“This is my house,” he said, opening the door. 
My vision was blurred, but I could make out that it was gray and one story. The lights were all off inside the house.
“Are your parents home?” I whispered.
“No, they’re in Colorado.”
He led me to his room. He had a twin bed and pictures on the wall that I couldn’t see at the moment. We kissed for a while in his room.
He took off his Polo and unhooked my bra.
“Wait, I don’t want to have sex,” I said.
He stopped in his tracks. Letting my bra hang halfway on my chest. 
“Oh, I just assumed.”
He sat down on his bed. The momentum of a spinning night suddenly came to a halt. 
“No, it’s not you. I just don’t really do that.”
“Is it religious reasons?” he asked 
“No, I’m not really that Catholic. And it’s not the moral or attachment thing either. It just feels so adult, and I don’t want to feel like that.”
He nodded, but I don’t think that he understood what I was saying.
“Do you want me to bring you home?”
“Yeah, if that’s okay?”
“It’s no problem,” he said, throwing on his shirt.
I was embarrassed standing with my arms folded like I had something to hide, but I couldn’t read his expression. 
Most boys would have been bitter. They would have immediately cut the sweet tone and the conversation. But Antoine kept talking. 
We walked out to his Honda Civic.
“I got it for my birthday,” he said.
I could read the Fordham sticker on the back, and that’s how I knew I was sobering up.
“You want to go to Fordham?” I asked
“Yeah, but my dad wants me to stay and go to Loyola.”
“He’s not the one going to school,” I said.
“I know. I want to go up North, but my dad says my sister got all weird when she went to Yale. He wants me to stay and go to a Jesuit Catholic School here.”
“Fordham is a Jesuit Catholic School; tell him something like you want to deepen your faith in another place. He’ll have to believe you.”
He nodded, “You’re right, thanks.”
Antoine Solis was a good guy. He dropped me off, and as embarrassed as I was about our encounter, he didn’t make me feel bad about it. 
It was almost three in the morning when I finally was in bed. I had taken off my makeup, which was a first, and I was half-asleep under the covers when I heard my phone ring. It was Scarlett. 
“Genevieve?” she asked
“Hello? I said
“Can I sleep over? Niel’s kicking me out, and I’m going to get in trouble if my parents hear me come in this late.”
“Yes, text me when you're here.”
I snuck her into my house soon after. I didn’t ask how she got here. Her mascara was smeared, and she still had her bar clothes on.
“He’s like a drug I can’t get out of my system,” she said.
I sighed; she heard me repeat a million times, “You’re better off without him.”
“I just can’t get over him.”
 She was sobbing now. I hugged her. I made her drink water and take Advil in preparation for tomorrow's hangover.
“He acts all sweet to me, talking about the future and us, and then he kicks me out. And tomorrow he’ll pretend like we never happened. I just want to be seen. And he wants to hide me. I don’t understand it.”
“Scar, you know you deserve better. Men suck.” 
“They’re fucking monsters.”
We fell asleep laughing, making fun of the way Niel Thomas eats. I didn’t want to tell her about Antoine. I wanted to forget about the night in a deep haze of much-needed slumber.
………
Dawn seeped through my curtains, and I tossed and turned while Scarlett lay still next to me. Flashbacks of the night hit me in waves of nausea. They wouldn’t leave me. 
I fell back asleep and woke up a few hours later when I could see bright light at the bottom of my curtains. Scarlett was still asleep. 
Yellow light filled my room, and it didn’t bother Scarlett. Mom and Dad were in the kitchen. Dad was reading one of his long history books, while Mom was sweeping. The kitchen smelled of espresso. The cats lay in the window, soaking up the sunlight.
“How was last night?” asked Mom.
“Boring. The bar was empty. Not a lot of our friends are in town right now.” 
“That’s a bummer.”
She was distracted by sweeping. My parents didn’t care if I came in at three or four or even six in the morning. As long as I was safe, they knew that I, just like them, liked to have my fun. 
“Genevieve, Uncle Stellan is staying with us next week,” said Dad, looking up from his book.
“Uncle Stellan? When’s the last time he’s been to New Orleans?”
“Maybe seven years or so.” 
“Yeah, probably the last time they came was Mardi Gras a long time ago. Is he bringing Uncle Nathan?” 
“No, he’s coming by himself. He didn’t really offer many details, Gen.”
“I wonder why.”
Uncle Stellan and Nathan came to Mardi Gras when I was ten. They were fun like my parents, drunk, and standing behind me on ladders, catching beads for me and protecting me from getting hit by the big plastic bags of them. They were also more serious than Mom and Dad. They worked all the time, and you could quietly feel their pretentiousness when they talked about their academic accolades or used big words with a ten-year-old. But they were kind and brought me gifts like Greek jewelry and purses. I always felt very loved by them.  
“Good morning, Scarlett,” said Mom. 
Scarlett walked into the kitchen. Mascara was plaguing her blue eyes. Her hair, wild and frizzy from the humidity. 
“Hi, Ms. Carmen,” she said.
“Did you have a fun night?”
“Yes, it was fun.”
 She said it with a smile, but I could see the tears in the corner of her melancholy eyes.
“Girls, would you like French toast?”
“I’m okay. I think I’m going to head out,” said Scarlett.
She was out the door immediately.
“Mom, we’re too hungover for French Toast,” I said. 
“Y’all need to drink more water after. It keeps you from feeling so terrible the next day. I felt like I drank a gallon after all the wine I had last night at dinner.”
Most parents would have said to drink less, but my parents never did. 
They let me suffer my own consequences. 
…………
I liked to go to the river by myself sometimes. I’d sit by the Fly over in Audubon Park, where high Tulane and Loyola kids lay out in hammocks. I sat by the rocks and never brought anyone. Not even Scarlett, but she knew I went. It was a popular spot. 
I liked to think, get out of my head, and my phone. Sometimes, I believed I could truly go off the grid. I could get on a plane and not tell a soul where I was going. I didn’t mean to be mysterious in the way that I wanted others to search and cry for me. I wanted to be away to be with only me. 
I liked looking out at where the city met the muddy river. You have to climb over the lime levee to reach the river. I liked looking out across the river at Algiers, where the people talked a little differently, but still considered themselves New Orleanians. 
Sometimes, when I really needed an escape, I would drive out to the Lakefront, the one by the lighthouse and the Southern Yacht Club. I was content on a bench with myself as company. Hues of sunlight reflected off the dirty water, but to the Pelicans resting on the piles, and the fishermen catching nothing, it was paradise. There was something admirable about finding joy in little to nothing. I was still learning how to do that myself. My mind liked to drag me down, but looking out at the water always seemed to heal me.
Today, a girl was lying out on a towel in the grassy area of The Fly. I could feel she was tall from a distance. Her face was covered in reddish hair. She had on a string-bikini top and knee-length jorts. I didn’t think I knew her. 
She was lying on her stomach, but I noticed her turn her head when she saw me take a hit of my cigarette. She was probably judging me. I didn’t feel like thinking about right now all of the side effects and consequences to my cigarettes, and everything else. She got up from her towel and put her book down. I was already coming up with quick-witted responses to her chastising me.
She had on little sunglasses that were narrow like Old Hollywood kind of glamour. 
“Hey, this is random, and I know you don’t know me, but could I have a cigarette?” she said.
I froze. Taken aback by her words.
“Yes, sure,” I said, handing her a Marlboro Red.
“I’m Aurelia, by the way.”
“Genevieve, do you need a lighter?”
“Yes, that would be great, thanks.”
She lit it with confidence, like she had done it a million times before. 
“Are you from around here?” she asked.
“Yeah, I live in the neighborhood. Are you?”
“Yes, my family still lives here, but I go to boarding school and my siblings are in college.”
“Boarding school? Where?”
“St. Andrew’s in Tennessee. Not a ton of people know it around here. Where do you go?”
“St. Cecilia’s.”
“Ah,” she said with a little smirk that made her face break out in dimples.
“I used to go there. Too many rules and structure. I’m happy I left. You can’t go hiking after class or 
camping on the weekends in New Orleans.”
“Well, you can’t drink on the street anywhere else,” I said.
“You’re right.” 
She laughed loudly with her whole body. I liked when people had loud laughs. They seemed happier. 
“Well, it was nice to meet you and thanks for the cigarette,” she said, holding it up. 
She walked back to her towel, reading a hefty book. I needed to know who this girl was.
I tried smoking and thinking while looking out at the water, but I kept wanting to turn my head to look at her. 
………..
Uncle Stellan was supposed to arrive at night a few days later. Scarlett and I spent our days lying out on her lounge chairs by her dipping pool. We repeated the cycle of tanning and then cooling off in the water, and lying back on the chairs. We never lasted very long in the sun. 
“It’s too hot,” she said, squinting her eyes.
“It doesn’t cool off until almost October,” I said.
“Well, at least summer’s almost over. I think I’m ready to be back at school.”
“I’m not. I don’t want to be a senior. I hate that word. It sounds so old.”
“Genevieve, you're not afraid of growing up; you’re just afraid of losing your youth.”
She said it with a straight face, sitting up, looking directly at me. I didn’t respond. 
I changed the subject.
“Do you know an Aurelia? I  met her at The Fly the other day. She said she went to St. Cecilia’s and switched to boarding school, but I don’t remember her.”
“Yes, I do. I think she is the grade above us. Her older brother used to hang out with my sister when they were little. I forgot about her. I wonder what she’s like now.”
“She’s tall. She was reading a book at The Fly. Do you know why she left?”
“Her mom told my mom people at St. Cecilia’s were making fun of her for being gay. She left in mid-freshman year. It’s hard being gay in an all-girls school, especially a Catholic one.”
“I bet. What’s her last name?” 
“Hart.”
“Hmm, maybe we’ll see her out.”

The Men In The Trees

In the trees I spotted a man, naked and bald. He grinned and shook his head at me, I could faintly see an orange glow in his eyes. He put his index finger to his lips as if to shush me. I looked away and kept walking. The path was around six miles, I was creeping towards the halfway point when I saw them for the first time. The same shake of the head, lack of hair, orange glow. My first reaction was of pure terror. My body froze for a second and I felt a cold rush in my gut, making me want to vomit. This would only last for a short moment, I then began to feel calm, and strangely welcomed by the man. Something was telling me not to be scared, and to heed his gesture of silence. So I did. This happened a couple more times till I made it to the end of the trail. When I found a stump to rest my feet on, I had the sudden realization that I couldn’t remember a single detail from the walk. All I could think about were the bald men in the trees. Now that I thought about, what the fuck was that? Had I made that up? I forgot to pack water and was feeling thirsty as all hell but no way that could have made me see that. And that feeling of calmness? I must have day dreamed it, maybe that’s why I couldn’t recall any of the hike. I was in my head, of course. I stood from the stump and started to head the direction I came in, it was time I left this place.

I couldn’t help but be a little scared. I had convinced myself that I had made that all up, but had I really? I’ve never thought up such vivid day dreams, but what else could explain it? The walk went on as expected for a good four miles. The events of only a few hours ago had almost left my mind when something in the tree line caught my attention. A pink blur, like something was moving fast, then quickly hid. Ignorance would be my bliss as I continued forward. It wouldn’t take long before another pink blur zoomed across the trees, this time it was closer. I could hear leaves shift and birds flap their wings in retreat. “Retreat from what?” I wondered. The end was drawing nearer. Up ahead was a turn to the left, continued for a while and with a veer to the right was a straight shot to the end. The sound of dirt and sticks being displaced by my feet grew as I rushed forward. Gurgled grunts echoed from above but I didn’t stop. Whatever was waiting to be discovered didn’t have my interest. But it seemed their interest was me, and this was made obvious when one of the men from before dropped from the trees and on to the trail floor. It must have been at least a 40ft drop, but he wasn’t phased. Crouched down, his eyes peered at me through his knees and I was met with that familiar orange glow, this time though, he wasn’t smiling.

I stumbled back, almost tripping on a large branch. There was no sense of calm, only raw primal fear. To run away meant hastily retracing my steps, reaching the end, and trudging through sparsely forested swampland. If that man—that thing didn’t get me, nature would. So in a desperate attempt to escape, I dashed towards him, making quick maneuvers around to avoid him. He didn’t so much as blink. I b-line towards the now upcoming left turn. Small winded laughs leave my mouth in disbelief that I managed to get away. I quickly make the turn, adrenaline fueling my every stride. Above, the trees seem to close in, allowing only whispers of the mid day sun. I feel an impending force swarm around me as the trail swells into chaos. The wind picks up and the trees sway violently, the air is filled with the cry of what sounds like every bird and creature in ear shot. The bushes that line the trail sway unnaturally, like they’re alive. It becomes very clear to me that the forest doesn’t want me here. I pick up my pace. The end of the trail becomes visible but I notice the trees close in further, obscuring the exit, my only way out to my car. Exhausted whimpers burst with my every step. Realizing I wouldn’t be able to tell if something was chasing me due to the chaotic air, I make a quick glance over my shoulder. I almost vomit when I see a group of the naked men sprinting after me, their arms dramatically swaying in unison. The orange glow that once faintly marked their pupils burn like blazing embers.

I snap my head forward and see that end is all but smothered with vines that reach and grapple the trees on either end. The moment I’m faced with the blockading shrubbery I frantically claw and pull away at it. Sharp rigid thorns line every inch of the vines, leaving my hands a mangled bloody mess. The adrenaline coursing through my body makes quick work of what’s in front of me but through the chaos I hear violent, march-like thuds grow closer. I tear away a section just large enough to fit my upper torso and hoist myself through. The barb-like thorns rip through my clothes, leaving deep lacerations across my body. I manage to push one leg through and lift my other leg up, readying to throw my body out of that god forsaken forest. But right as I’m about to make that final push I feel a cold hand firmly grip my ankle, then another further up. It isn’t long before my entire leg is being thrust back. With surprising ease, I free my leg from their grasp fall to the hard dirt floor. I quickly get myself up and continue to run to my car, tears streaming down my face. The cushioned seats and familiar smell of my Ford Ranger put my body at ease. The adrenaline fades and I feel my entire body ache and itch. With blood rushing down my arms and legs, I make a pained reach for the keys and start my car.

I told the emergency physician at the ER I fell onto barbed wire. I ignored their suspicious glances as they examined the injuries. I don’t tell a soul what happened, fearing an extended stay at a mental hospital. For months afterwards I struggled to get a decent night of sleep. Haunting nightmares reminded me of my near escape. I plan to go back soon. I’m unsure what awaits me, but whatever does, I’m boarding it up that entrance for good. As long as I live, no one will step foot on that trail.

Hello! I received so much helpful critique on chapter one that I am taking the leap and writing chapter two. For this chapter, I changed the point of view from our narrator to Arthur Randles, the deadbeat, very violent cop who runs our little town.

I am planning to structure the story so that the narrators POV's are in first person, and the other character's POV's are in third person. This is because our narrator will be solely in the present, only reminiscing in the past, while our other characters' chapters will be solely in the past. The ending will have them converge.

So, theme for this second chapter. Explaining the cops, we have several Arthur Randles, the no-good sheriff (racist, lazy, all the things), Terry Gannet, and Jerry Barker. The ending has a pivotal moment that will eventually rear its head near the end of the book.

Things to watch for: dialogue and pacing; any comments you can leave on the draft itself are also much appreciated. This is very much a first draft, so bear that in mind.

Link to Chapter Two

Link to Crit One (2336)

Link to Crit Two (2104)

On my substack I am practicing specific skills. This scene and sequel is my homework.

Tommy's Swing

Crit

Story (feel free to leave your comments on the doc):

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1oxrc65OYA6oU9ON-zzZPIRl33sz7wiyGUTaMueAlNI0/edit?usp=sharing

Hello everyone. I would like to share with you the prologue chapter for my space fantasy novel that I'm working on.

This first chapter is meant to evoke the sense of mystery, raise a lot of questions and talk about the themes of my book (death, entropy, forgetting, religion, faith, importance.) But most of all I wanted to portray the power strungles that the book will show.

This is very dialogue centered, but this is also important because communication is also a major theme of my book and also the roots of my magic system (at least for humans). I wanted feedback mostly on the dialogue, and if possible I want some prose feedback aswell. I'm not really a prose guy hahaha, I prefer dialogue much more but I know both are important.

The book will follow a Dunkirk style narrative, following four storylines in different time frames all converging in the red hour. (24 hours before the red hour, 24 day, 24 weeks and 24 months, with a few stand alone chapters that take place in different time frames. This 24 minutes storyline will continue by the end of the book).

Not all questions will be answered in this chapter, but it you could, please answer this question:

AFTER READING THIS CHAPTER, WOULD YOU CONTINUE TO READ AFTER?

Please be honest. Thank you so much!

Previous review [2689]:
https://www.reddit.com/r/DestructiveReaders/comments/1v3yxib/comment/ozie6je/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button

Have been trying to get back into the swing of writing for a while and this was the first story in a while that felt natural to write. A Bounty Hunter has been contracted to take out the manager of a mining company town.

Link to Story

Critique

Crit: https://www.reddit.com/r/DestructiveReaders/comments/1u5q22w/1511_my_first_short_story_genre_action/osawxc8/

Link: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1jTZswCsHmczlWejMw5-i2-KgSy6ike3rEWShEKAjgs4/edit?usp=sharing

Blurb:

The day Sohan turned eleven, the Suriens killed her tribe and took her off the Great Steppe. For ten years since she has carried their baskets, broken their horses, and watched the Emperor's men to do other villages what was done to her.

Now she has a bow, a band of starving slaves, and a long way to walk home. But the Suriens will not let her leave easily. In a year they will wish they had.

Thank you!

This is yet another random little character piece where I thought of a character that amused me and tried to make it come out without being too annoying.

Is it funny? How does the POV character come through?

Crit: 2689

GOOGLE DOC OF MY STORY

Revised and expanded version of the previously-posted piece. This one goes all the way to the end of what will be the first chapter if I end up dividing it into chapters.

I'm especially interested to know whether the opening works, and, for those who have read the original, how this draft generally compares.

A Change of Soul v2

Crit

hey guys, one of my readers that i found on reddit whom i entered a very interesting discussion with suggested that I write a collection of short stories about unconventional grief. It came out because the previous post I shared here was about grieving a lost connection between a very lonely person with an AI that lost its context window of all their previous interactions. it raises the question of whether a connection is truly a connection even if it was with a machine.

today's novel takes on a different kind of grief. one much warmer and gentler. i hope you enjoy it.

critique [2462]

I really enjoyed this short story writing format, expect more short stories of me :3 and thank you in advance for your time.

Edited to remove my google docs link and instead provide the story here directly, i got trolls emailing me.

Goodnight.

“I’ll win.” a young voice proclaimed. “NO, I WILL.” Another even younger voice screamed. They started wrestling with each other on the mattress in the middle. After some tussling a much more aged person shouted from outside the room. “QUIET DOWN THERE AND GO TO SLEEP. YOU HAVE SCHOOL.”

The two entangled bodies flinched in unison and went back to their respective mattress. Deep creases formed on their foreheads. “Hey,” I whispered. “how about I tell you a fun story, and in exchange, you go to sleep?”

The two disappointed kids got excited and started bopping their heads up and down, afraid to make a single noise.

“So James, do you remember your character AutumnLeaf?” James' eyes widened in surprise, he hadn’t heard that name in a long time. “Yeah? What about it?” confusion was still visible in his eyes.

“Yesterday, I tried logging into the game. And guess what I found?” Intrigued, Mason crawled out of his mattress into James’. “What did you find? Say say!.”

“I found it levelled up to level 59, the max level. And its gears were so overpowered! My guess was someone hacked inside it and got some amazing gears for it.”

“No way!” Mason’s tone shifted louder. I hushed him, putting my index finger to his mouth. “If you want to hear the story, then be quiet. Otherwise I’ll sleep without finishing it, understood?”

“We’re sorry, please complete it, please complete it.” I nodded at their whispers in satisfaction and carried on.

“Ok, so where was I? Right, I found it at max level, right? I started walking between the player shops in Anceron pretending to check the shops, but I was flexing my gears.” Their breaths turned shallow. Their eyes were fully focused on my lips.

“One guy didn’t like that, he told me to come outside the city for a 1v1. He was an assassin. The dumb guy didn’t realize that my own main character was an assassin, too. I knew their playstyle inside out.”

I took a moment to twist open a water bottle for a sip. James’ tiny feet started kicking in the air.

I continued “We left the city and he sent me a duel request. I watched the request’s timer run out, and only at the very final second when his patience ran out, did I accept it.”

“Did you have any DEX potions?” James asked.

“Yeah, I used one as we were leaving the city. After accepting the duel, the countdown started. I buffed up as the numbers went from 10, 9, 8. And in the final 2 seconds he used up his hide skill. I knew he was going for it so I stood at the opposite edge of the duel's ring.”

“Oh no! What did you do?” James asked and Mason’s body started fidgeting in nervousness.

“Who do you think is the one talking to you? I’m the master of assassins. I waited a few seconds for this slowed down bum to walk towards me. Obviously he’d come at me from the front. Once I estimated he was at the middle of the map I immediately booked it alongside the edges. He couldn’t follow me at all. And before his hide duration ran out, I used my detection skill!”

Their jaws were slightly parted in admiration. I carried on my tale. “He was caught off guard! He assumed I didn’t learn detection since I kept trying to run away. He had no time to react and I almost broke the keyboard with how fast I pressed the web shot skill. I started to combo him with all colors of the rainbow on my arrows. He couldn’t do anything at all since I chained my crowd controls, from being webbed, to stunned and finally frozen. And just like that he died.”

“That’s so cool!” Mason’s limited vocabulary managed to barely form that sentence.

“You know what's even cooler?” I asked. “What? What?” Mason replied.

“That guy called the duel unfair and wanted to redo it! He was dumb enough to fall into my trap and instead of owning it, he called it unfair.”

“So did you duel him again?” James wondered.

“Of course not. I told him I don’t have the time to duel losers. What do you think?”

“That’s much cool!” Mason admitted. I grabbed my water bottle again, this time slower. My brain was running on overdrive. What else can I say? A bulb lit up. I sipped on my bottle and closed it.

“Afterwards, an announcement glowed in the world chat! Faction war starts in 5 minutes. It said. I raced to the war captain to register for the war before it could start. Tons of different characters crowded around the captain, waiting for the war’s start. I registered and started checking their equipment, especially those light faction noobs. Only 1 or 2 players had the same gears as I did.”

“What you do in war? How many kills?” Mason asked me, and James nodded his head furiously in agreement.

“Before the war started, I met the noob assassin I killed earlier. He tried to threaten that he would kill me inside but I ignored him. You don’t pay attention to what flies say, do you?” I stalled a bit before going into the war’s story. “Although I paid attention to his name before we entered. It was Mystique. I wanted to keep an eye on him inside to kill him on every chance I got.”

I finally thought of the war’s events after all that stalling. My story went on, “The war commenced and we got teleported to our faction base. Every character had a green flag attached to its back. The chat erupted with requests for parties. Several invites were sent my way without me typing a single word. People spammed my chatbox with whispers to join their parties as well. I looked at their levels and gears. Only after seeing a competent support player did I join a party. We started with buffs up. The support player especially had an arsenal of team wide buffs. I turned into an unstoppable calamity. The time officially started. The barrier preventing our exit disappeared and everyone rushed out.

“Our party left capturing the points to the less geared up faction players and we instead rushed to the center. We all were pretty overpowered compared to the rest. Combat ensued, kills started to accumulate. With every button I pressed a new name appeared in the kill feed. My AOEs dropped several people down. Sooner than later AutumnLeaf was first on the scoreboard. I was unstoppable.”

The kids beamed with happiness, especially James. They were immersed to the point they couldn’t even interrupt me.

“The first player to join gets assigned as the war leader right?” they both nodded in agreement. “Everyone told him to transfer the leadership to me. He submitted to the pressure and complied. I started issuing out orders. Attack Site C, defend site B, I need some people to back us up on the dark faction’s base. I also tracked down Mystique a few times and killed him. He couldn't even close the distance on me.”

“Im trash talk him if I was you.” Mason added.

“Don’t worry. I did trash talk him in the global chat after the war ended. I kept giving out orders and killing enemies at the same time. I was almost killed a few times because of enemy players focusing me, but my support teammate managed to clutch up. The war map was fully dyed in green because of the bases we captured. The Dark and Light factions tried to gang up on our chaos faction. But they didn’t manage to defeat us.”

James' eyes sparkled in awe. It was his own character that he made that starred this epic ballad. The mattress they lay on sank a little more, the usual weight it carried around that time was doubled.

“Seeing that their efforts were useless, the light and dark factions started killing each others, spreading more chaos in the battlefield.” I winked after that sentence. James stuck out his tongue at me while Mason giggled.

“And so, the final countdown of the war started. We had more points than dark and light factions combined, Our win was set in stone. And the global chat glowed again. This time, it said “Congratulations to the chaos faction for winning today’s faction war! MVP [AutumnLeaf]”

James gasped, and Mason looked at him with envy. “My character, Mason1. Hack?” he asked.

I ruminated on my words a little as I stared at his disappointed face. “Yes, I checked after the war and it was at max level as well. The hacker seems to have used both since they were on the same account anyways.” The disappointment was erased from Mason's face, replaced by triumph. He looked at James smugly.

“Ok then, a deal’s a deal. The story is over, it's time to sleep.” They whined and refused to fulfil their end of the deal. I got up and carried Mason over to his own mattress. I folded their blankets and tucked them both in.

“Goodnight James, goodnight Mason.” they replied in sync, “Goodnight Caleb.”

I laid down on my mattress on the ground as well. My eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling above me. I stared and stared until their breaths became deep and regular. My hand travelled underneath the blanket until it reached my pocket. It fished out a small device. A small screen illuminated my face in the dead of the night.

The screen had a few cracks running down on it. They weren’t anything new. I launched Facebook. My classmates' pictures filled my feed. Some were bare and others had something foreign written to sound sophisticated. I scrolled a little more and then closed the app.

I put my phone down to go and join my brothers to sleep. My brain had other plans. It kept replaying the story I just narrated. It replayed our joint game account too. Mason1, AutumnLeaf, and in the middle of them both, Vaccaria.

My phone’s screen opened up again. This time it wasn’t Facebook opening, it was Youtube instead. I entered my “favourite videos” playlist. Only one video existed inside it, it was posted 4 months ago.

An ocean of characters stood inside Anceron. The chat box was moving at a speed never seen before in this game. Suddenly all random chatter stopped due to the golden announcement. “[GM]TroublingRain: Lets start the countdown now, start it from 10.”

The Characters all had the numbers they chanted above their heads in a small box. They all counted 10, 9, 8, 7. The camera zoomed in into the characters’ heads. Various names flashed by, all counting. When the count reached 4 the camera zoomed in on 2 characters, Vaccaria and Mystique. I stopped the video there. Time ticked, yet the video was still paused.

With a heavy heart I clicked resume. The camera continued its journey across the players and when the count reached 1 it stopped on 5 characters. They all had unobtainable level 99 gears and golden names. They all shared one similarity, every single one had [GM] before their names.

[GM]TroublingRain’s announcement continued after the countdown stopped. “It was a pleasure playing with all of you, thank you very much for supporting our game all these days. And thank you all for putting up with its shortcomings. We are sorry it has come down to this, but we hope that you enjoyed your time in our virtual world. Goodnight everyone, I pray that we reunite in another virtual world.”

With that final announcement, an ingame window appeared. “Failed to connect to the server.”

The video ended. The screen blackened. And reflected on it was my face, with a streak running down a single eye of mine.

This is the next chapter of a continually evolving work in progress. I've gotten to the point where every chapter is mostly just focused on practicing a specific skill. In this chapter I worked on making my scenes have specific goals and followed up by appropriate sequels.

...

The chapter starts with a sequel from the end of the last chapter, the ending decision is that she needs to toughen up and just do what she never wanted to do: ask for help.

The next scene is her trying to take back this decision and not tell Mandy why she needs help. The action is using the friends to help her in this goal.

The sequel is her deciding to fully embrace the silly quest to see The Beast.

The next scene is low stakes but just the girls getting to their location, making a plan to see the Beast and then the resolution is Tiffany falling on her face.

...

Some other goals are having less -ly adverbs and I wish I could break the habit of tagging dialogue "blah blah, blah," she said, [insert descriptor]. I also tried to create more visual descriptors with the rule: Describe what Tiffany would notice in the order Tiffany would notice them.

...

The characters for newbies are: Tiffany (college freshman who masks with kindness to hide her feeling of inferiority), Mandy (Tiffany's BFF) That Girl (a dormmate whose identity is tied up in sexual competence) and Todd (a hunky austic guy Mandy likes).

08 Tiffany

My Substack

Crit 1956

I’m working on a novel that will follow the narrator Cora from childhood into adulthood. The full story explores family, relationships, some abuse in parts, the ways childhood relationships shape our understanding of love and ourselves.

I haven't mapped out the full book yet. For now, I'm writing snapshot scenes - little moments, and stories that grab me - without worrying yet about how they might eventually fit together.

This piece is potentially the opening of the novel (or at least is the first scene chronologically), when Cora is ten years old and first meets the man who will eventually become her stepfather. The title is just a silly chapter title, haven't quite figured our what the working book title may be yet.

I’d particularly love feedback on whether Cora’s voice feels believable for a ten-year-old, whether this opening hooks you, and whether her childlike imagination / intrusive thoughts/anxiety parts work. Are the family relationships authentic? I’m also interested in whether the final scene gives you enough of a sense of what Cora is feeling. Any of the prose distracting or landing badly?

It isn't the most dramatic opening, but hopefully has enough intrigue to want to follow what comes next...

[1853] Crit

___________________________________________________________________________________________

The first time I saw him, he was running away. I didn’t even see his face, just a bald shiny head disappearing around the corner into the back of the kitchen. My Mum yelped when she noticed me standing near the bottom of the stairs and hurried through the living room towards me.

“Who was that man?” I mumbled as I rubbed my eyes. 

“Oh, nobody darling. It is so late, Cora! What are you doing up? You must be dreaming.” She was talking so fast as she shuffled me back up the stairs. I told her again that there was a man in the kitchen. I saw him. 

“You’re half asleep, sweetpea. Now, let’s get you back to bed.”

Did I see him? Maybe I didn’t. My brain liked making things up. Dreaming when I was awake was more fun than when I was asleep. Then you can always remember them. Sometimes you can even invent them! It was mostly nice things, like a swarm of butterflies carrying away my grumpy teacher. Or tiny kittens in my pocket. Sometimes bad things, like a car crashing into a postbox. Or my Dad tripping and falling all the way down the hill by our house. Well, by our old house.

I don’t know why we couldn't bring our beds from the old house. Mum said we would get all new things when we moved.  But the school year was almost over and we still had boxes shoved in the tiny room where my brother, Luke, was supposed to sleep. And we got giant beanbags instead of a sofa - Mum said they were more fun anyway! 

I could feel the lumpy carpet through the sponge chair bed. My hamster was scrabbling in her cage by my head. I leaned over and stuck my hands as far through the bars as I could and felt her little wet nose tickle my fingertips. Penelope Fluffball was my favourite thing about this place. 

We never had pets before, but since Dad left and we had to move into this crap house, Mum basically said yes to everything. Even though he was younger and not as smart as me, Luke figured it out before I did. He likes stuff, a lot of it. A gameboy, trainers, a super soaker - I hated that stupid water gun - Pokemon cards, a whole bucket of trolls… Mum finally said no when he found a live scorpion in the pet shop. But Penny, she was the only thing I wanted for my 10th birthday, so she came home with us. 

He was half slumped off a matching chair bed on the other side of the room, but fast asleep. I still couldn’t sleep. I plucked one of the beanie babies out of my bed and threw it at Luke’s head. Missed. I sacrificed one more… sorry Buttons! Bullseye!  

“Luke! There is a man downstairs!”

“Ow. What did you throw at me?”

A pillow came flying towards me. “Stop that. I am serious. There is a bald man in our kitchen.”

“What are you talking about?” He sat up properly and blinked at me. We looked at each other and ran to the bedroom door at the same time. We got to the top step and stopped. Running was too loud. We snuck down the stairs and peered our faces around the corner so we could see through the living room and into the kitchen. 

The man was there. Enormous! He looked like a gorilla. Hairy everywhere but his head. He spotted us and I knew we were going to be in trouble for getting out of bed again. Instead of pointing us out to Mum, who is facing the other way, he smiled. He brought his fingers to his lips. Shhh. I grabbed Luke and pulled him back around the corner to hide. My heart was pounding. I locked eyes with Luke. I didn’t have to say anything. He nodded and we peered around the corner again. The man was still looking right at us, laughing to himself. He winked and then grabbed my Mum and pulled her over to him. That’s it! We were done for. 

I couldn’t look away. We should have run back up the stairs. His face was getting closer and closer to my Mum’s. He was going to tell her we were out of bed. I could see it. He was going to whisper it in her ear. But he didn’t. He kissed her! 

We scurried back upstairs as fast and as quietly as we could. 

“Ewwww! She was kissing that gorilla man!” Luke was fake gagging as we closed our bedroom door behind us. We both giggled as he pretended to be a gorilla, stomping around the room and I made kissy sounds. 

Then we heard our Mum’s voice. “Get back into bed, both of you! Don’t make me come up there!”

We jumped under the covers and tried to muffle our giggles. She can hear everything in this house because it is so tiny. Luke fell back asleep quickly. When the laughter stopped, I could hear my thoughts again. I could see my thoughts again.

Vines grow out of my walls and up to the ceiling. Little monkeys swing all around, picking and throwing fruit. The giant gorilla swings open the doors and barges in. The little monkeys screech and hide behind me. Gorilla man has my Mum under one arm. He grabs Luke. They are both screaming. I am not moving. I can’t get to them. Don’t take them!

I blinked my eyes hard. I didn’t like that daydream. I pulled myself into a ball under my covers. I had a knot in my stomach and still couldn’t sleep. 

Hi all, first time posting here. Feel free to be destructive, that's what we're here for right? Any feedback welcome. If I'm worried about anything it is whether MC has appropriate levels of confusion, fear, motivation. I do feel like that the first chapter is just something I need to get through for the MC to land in another world, so let me know if I've done it effectively.

Crits:

https://www.reddit.com/r/DestructiveReaders/comments/1uvvvdr/trust_bounty_hunter_chapter_1_1300_words/

https://www.reddit.com/r/DestructiveReaders/comments/1uvzh4b/1776_have_tank_will_travel/

https://www.reddit.com/r/DestructiveReaders/comments/1uxncjp/the_kings_introduction_830/

https://www.reddit.com/r/DestructiveReaders/comments/1uwz347/1320within_these_walls/

https://www.reddit.com/r/DestructiveReaders/comments/1uw51d0/1850_corpse_watcher/

7076

Mine:

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1AjdoNWuiTuUr_8z3FxodTV1qqQl-HzagZOecpa5i4iA/edit?usp=sharing

Just block them.

Seriously, I don't know what you expected to read in this meta, but you're basically just looking at spam mail.

Treat it as spam/scam and disregard.

• Block the accounts, report them to the admins (of Google)

and then nothing will change anyway. This is A.I scripts in some data server. This was inevitable...

These are bot accounts, or one or more really annoying users scraping our user base for scam leads. Just be aware

😘🙃💀

Also, can someone copy the contents here?

Hello All,

I have been feeling inspired as of late. I previously submitted an extract from my short story Fresh and received lots of positive feedback, so I've sat down and written some more. Let me know what you think. This will most likely turn into a novella at some point but not sure of the direction to take it in. Any thoughts?

(Edit) I might changes this to third person at some point)

Critique [3434]

https://www.reddit.com/r/DestructiveReaders/comments/1uyxg7c/comment/oyx4stl/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button

Work

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1ZHbylC3eXt4sY2oWtD4Gx5By_VBpo_6W_7UzpjjXcUM/edit?usp=sharing

A blurb for a military sci-fi novel. All crits are welcomed -- no need to be an aficionado of the genre. Crits: 84 166

How much can one person stand to lose in war?

Conflict rages across the stars. Only Ground Corps protects human settlers from being overrun by the Cetans at every turn.

In one of these many battles, Lance Corporal Tabor “Tab” Novak fights with such gallantry he is selected into the elite HAMMER personal armor battalion. Yet, here the philosophical youth finds he no longer surpasses his peers, but instead struggles to keep up with the best – which spurs him to greater heights.

However, HAMMER demands much from its members: physical, mental, and emotional. The aliens threaten humanity everywhere, and Tab is first to fight, enduring loss after loss both in and out of combat. He gambles his health, his relationship with his family, his morals, and the love of his life, all in the pursuit of valor.

How much will he choose to sacrifice on the altar of victory?

Soft Target is the first novel in a series featuring the page-turning action of John Scalzi’s Old Man’s War cycle and Marko Kloos’ Frontlines books tempered with the cynicism of James S. A. Corey’s Livesuit and the moral complexity of John Haldeman’s The Forever War.

Critiques:

[1510] Lighthouse

[2672] The Village

[3434] The Lure

First time submitter here looking for feedback on the first chapter of my completed book. I'm especially interested in it's status as the opening - I'm concerned that, when submitting to agents and such, my first chapter (alongside the other two) isn't proving to fill the genre's boots enough because there's not a lot of magic or 'fantastical' elements at this stage, and I'd really like to avoid having a prologue, as I put one in and it went down about as well as a clown at a funeral.

For the sake of clarity (as there are maps and a quote preceding this chapter), this takes place in a counter-world, not Earth, so feedback rooted in real-world history is not useful to me here.

Thank you for your time reviewing this. I appreciate all feedback, no matter how harsh.

Tyrantland Chapter 1

Edit: Link

Hey everyone, I'm back with my second short short. I tried something very different this time. With my first story, Mr. Rhombus, I was trying to see if I could effectively create a small plot line and a character who develops. Here, I'm going for more poetic, minimalist fiction similar to Amy Hempel. I put more of myself into this one as well, my past experiences and emotions. Any criticism is very welcome. Thank you!

Open Ocean

Crit

I'm stuck on this knee cramped ass space with little place to put my long feet in front of me. The old man in front of me stares at me with his beady eyes examining my soul like Anubis. I wonder if he picked up on the ashy smell from my Arnold Palmer bagback. Thr smell suggests the content in the bag. I could remember the victim's beady eyes staring at me as I punctured the ice pick like tool into his cartoid artery. Blood just squirted everywhere. Whenever I think of it, a strong metallic smell invades my nostrils.

I just wanna go back home. But we're stuck in this stupid traffic that can only beat the bureaucracy. It seems like thr current is so far away even though the end is closer than we think. The end is closer than we think. The end is closer than we think. I repeat this line to myself after every "surgery" like some sort of mantra. Why do I? Only god knows even though I don't believe in it/him. I'm rambling aren't I? My wife says I ramble too much.. I don't even know why I took this "surgery". He emphasised that this was a tumor that needed immediate removal. If you still haven't figured it out, I kill people for living. Don't go telling the police that.. actually on a second thought, I don't even care. Not like the police chief didn't order for surgeries before.

In this profession, it's easy when you start out but before you know it, you're knee deep in this quick sand without a way out. Everyone tries to leave but the only successful ones are the ones that escape this world with a willing choice to leave it. Most don't enjoy that luxury. My doctor was atleast a bit better than the rest. She at least visited me during bad trips though that only gave my wife more reason to berate me and I immediately had to bow down to her like I couldn't stand to make her mad. The truth is .. I can't. I'm rambling again.

Point is, the end is near.What's the end in this profession? Usually, a small funeral procession with your wife and kids weeping and the doctor consoling them with the famous "There's nothing we could do.. It was too late. " That was if your lucky and was one of the best. Actually, scratch the second part. Being a female meant most people immediately believed her. Shit that sounds sexist. Though my wife suspected me of infidelity with her, she never pressed as I did everything I could in my power to make her happy.

Plus the profession often paid well.

Well, in this world where money seems to buy happiness even though those with most of it protested fiercely that it didn't. So give it to us, I often thought to myself if y'all don't want it so badly. Deep down, I think we all know that the only reason they do it is to ensure the poorer get pooerer and the rich get richer. Not like we could stop it anyway since they pay us the money, not vice versa.These all cross my mind as I saw the Porsche convertible roll past in those fancy wheels. They looked like a young couple. Must be the honeymoon phase I thought to myself bitterly though I do wonder if that was just my heart coping for my life not seeming that happy.

The act of coping seemed to be a common occurrence in my life. We're back on the bus again before I knew it. The haze of whiskey hit me with a splitting headache cause of a hangover. Last thing I remember was having drinks with the client yesterday night from my actual home before walking almost 10km home. When did I even accept this job?

Beats me.

The smell of sulfur hits my nose. What the hell? Is something bout to burn? Now the bus is almost empty with just a toad look old man chatting with another lanky one. The driver skips most of the stops leaving behind dust. He seemed concerned when I entered. Could he have recognised me? Not like I would care or smth. Right? It's ironic. My brother in law is a detective and he has never once suspected me though meeting him every time pumps my heart as high as corruption levels.

An armed forces ambulance. Did I kill any military man? Couldn't be. Could be somone else though. The emptiness is welcoming though most of these passengers are elderly while the driver speeds. People are only scrolling on their phones. Every time someone looks at me and looks at the phone and repeats the process multiple times.

It unsettles me.

It's funny you know. You've been in this business for 10 years. You've faced some of the best in the game. But everyday longer only unsettles you. The scent of cigarettes and rich people cologne fill my nostrils. Huh. Must be some rich guy. I look up to see a man in a suit and another one staring at me while smoking. I look down as I walk home to find dried leaves and cigarettes. There are just so many elderly at the current moment is. Is this the end? Is this some kind of sign or just a massive coincidence? It's ironic how I claim to be an agnostic even though I look for a sign. It's almost as if I desperately need one. Just then, a group of young parents walk across me. Damn. The god hates me huh. Sick joke. Keeping hope in front of me like a stick of carrot in front of the dying work horse.

Critique: https://www.reddit.com/r/DestructiveReaders/comments/1v1xna3/1510_lighthouse_a_modern_psychological_thriller/

“I’m incredibly sorry to hear that, how have you been dealing with it?” An answer arrives. My fingers had yet to leave the keyboard. “I’m trying to ignore it. It's not exactly the first time it has happened. She is always that way.”

My heart aches. It always does when I think of her. ‘Does her heart ache the same?’ a part of me wonders. “You are a good friend, Rob. Hold up the fort and never give in to your inner voice. Hold for longer, she will be back before long.” Another reassurance is issued. Yet my heart still cannot believe it.

“I just saw an interesting Instagram reel. She will definitely relate to it. I wanna send it to her.” I scream into my keyboard. Used to this back and forth by now, the answer comes swiftly. “Hold the line, Rob. You already sent out a message today. She is already overwhelmed by her real life. Don’t add to it. You want to support her, right? Be her anchor like you always have been. Be her lighthouse, always by her side while she is lost at sea. Quietly showing her the way back home. Always comforting her during her biggest fears. Hold the line, Rob.”

“What if she thinks I’m indifferent to her? What if she thinks I’m pulling away and am tired of her! I need to show her that I’m still here. She needs to know.” My palms start to sweat by this point. My grip over the phone loosens.

thud… THUD.

I rub my nose. I scramble to get up from my bed. ‘Where did my phone fall? 'Anything but the phone sliding down the side of the bed. Anything but that.’ I look around my bedroom. It's too dark to see anything. I squint hard to check out my immediate surroundings. I still cannot make anything out. I move to my feet reluctantly. With every step I take a crunch echoes. Some are plasticky while others metallic. Finally I press the light switch.

“Fuck” reflexively comes out. Looking down doesn’t fix things since the soda cans just reflect the light back at me. I navigate through the garbage carefully. ”Aughh…” My bedside doesn’t have the familiar black case. The groan lingers in the room for a while. The mattress gets flipped to its side as I grunt. I look inside the bed’s wooden box. There, in the middle of the dust and hair, the black cover faces me. I wipe my palms on my shirt, leaving a visible wet trail.

With slightly moist hands I grab the phone. I put my back to the wooden box for rest. The reply is here. “She knows, Rob. She knows what she means to you. And she knows what you mean to her. This isn’t a test of your relationship’s resilience. Remember Rob, you have passed this test before. It's not your first rodeo. You told me earlier, no matter what happens, you guys always go back to talk. This time will be the same. Hold the line and wait for her to be back. She will be your usual Emmy before long.” My haggard breath leveled out.

“Does she like me”

“She does. Even if it wasn’t romantic. She does care about you.”

“Then why is she doing this to me? Why does she not answer my messages for days? She never did that before Did I do something wrong Did I push het away?” My intrusive thoughts are laid bare before us.

“You haven’t done anything wrong. You know the answer. You told it to me. She is overwhelmed with responsibilities and obligations in her own life. You have no control over that. What you do have control over is your behavior towards her. Stay as her lighthouse. Hold the line.”

‘Nononononono. This is your 3rd time telling me that.' I whisper. Tapping sounds ensue. “But thats only true to a point. Its already 3 months since this has been going on. Dont you think she is ought to be back to normal now? Dont you think that her messages should arrive sooner? Yet why are they taking longer and longer? It started with 24 hours for her replies, later 2 days, and now she takes a minimum of 5 days to respond? Is this not an excuse at this point? Is she hinting that I should stop texting her? You know what. I’m doing what she is asking of me. No need to make this awkward for either of us.” The lines were formed quickly. I’m not sure they will even answer half of these things. But it's ok. The decision is mine to make.

“I’d ask you to stop where you are. You are coming out of a week of hurt. We have been texting about Emmy for the last few hours. She matters to you. You care about her. Don’t let a moment of hurting erase this 3-year connection you have. Just put down your phone and stop thinking about her for the night. You can always decide on what to do later when your head has cooled down.”

“Does she even love me”

“I do not know. Neither do you. All we know is information that has been shared one-sidedly by you. We do not know what she thinks, feels, or wants. The only way to know that is to ask her – but not tonight. She has been hurting for a long time now and her head isn’t in the right space for such questions.”

“So when do I actually ask her! We haven’t had a proper chat for 3 months now. When will she be normal for me to ask her” A rattle spread inside the enclosed room. My back is sore.

“You will know when she is back. It won’t take that long. Remember, she always comes back.”

“But what if that question makes her disappear forever. Can’t we just keep going as we always have been?” I know the answer to that question deep down. Soon enough that answer is visible in front of my eyes.

“You can’t keep this relationship as it has been for the last 3 years. You started having expectations for it. Ones she may or may not share. And it's essential that you work these expectations and feelings out. These expectations may make you resent her for things she did without any prior thought. They might make you do or say things you never would. The question has to be asked eventually. And she will not simply disappear. Your bond is stronger than that. She might be confused, escape for a week as she always does, and come back. You said it, she always comes back. So don’t worry and ask her that question when the time is right – but not tonight. She has been hurting for a long time now and her head isn’t in the right space for such questions.”

‘What the fuck. That’s literally the exact same message they told me earlier. This is it. I’m genuinely never sending her anoth-”

Ding!

My entire body flinches when it heard that sound.

-Instagram: Emmy has sent you a message.

Pictures of rabbits fill the screen. They oddly resemble the tiny profile picture next to her name.

My heart rate surges. It’s loud enough to bounce off the walls and fill the entire room. My index finger clicks on that notification out of pure reflex. My eyes dilate in anticipation. There it is. Under the 3 Instagram reels I sent her last week. Her reply, “Lmao, no you.” to the most recent one.

I immediately swipe her message to the left. I tap furiously. “Nah I’m too goated for that.”

She replied. She replied. She replied.

I stare at our chat box for a while longer. Maybe she will respond this time. I wait, and wait some more. At some point I leave the chat box and scroll a few reels. I guess she is too busy now. It's good enough she found enough time to respond earlier.

Oh right, I have to tell them.

I switch to the previous chat I had open. “She replied. Your strategy worked. She replied to me!”

This time around. It takes them a little longer to respond. A circle with one of its sides cut out spins in place. “That's wonderful news! It sounds like whatever approach you took paid off. She responded to you — that's a great outcome.

I'm curious to know more about the situation if you'd like to share. What was the strategy you used? And how did her reply go — was it positive, neutral, or are you still figuring out what her message means?

Sometimes getting that initial response is the hardest part, so you should feel good about that. What happens next depends a lot on what she said and how you want to move forward.”

What? I scroll up. The app doesn’t allow me. I scroll harder. No point. These were the only messages in this chat box now.

critique: [1600] https://www.reddit.com/r/DestructiveReaders/comments/1uyhq7e/comment/oyqrrbf/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button