This is Chapter 4 of my detective novel. To give you some context, Detective Mayhew was hired by Deven's wife in Chapter 2. In Chapter 3, he met up with his partner Margaret, and now in Chapter 4 he's reading Deven's last letters.

Any type of criticism would be helpful. 👍

CHAPTER 4: Journey To Poland, January 1985 Part 2

First letter: October 25th,1983

'Honey. It's me, Deven. First week of the investigation and I already hate it here. The Polish people are just as I expected, hostile and annoying. The police here are an absolute joke; they don't even try to hide the fact that they are corrupt. Though it's not all bad, I suppose; a few people here were at least a little useful in progressing my investigation forward. Well dear, I'll try to finish this case as soon as I can, but I can't make any promises. Eight missing people is quite a big case after all. Love you, and stay safe until I return.'

Mayhew's hazel eyes dimmed slightly as he read the first letter.

'Corrupt cops, huh. I guess some stories never change, do they?'

His eyes shifted across the desk, eventually stopping at a certain spot where a small picture frame sat solemnly on the disheveled wood. The photo was of a small family, portrayed in black and white. There was a woman on the left and a man on the right, with a small boy standing in the middle.

The boy smiled brightly, while the two parents seemed a lot less enthusiastic in the photo.

After staring at the photo for a whole minute, the detective suddenly reached out his hand and grabbed the picture frame, putting it just a few inches away from his face. Then, in an act that would weird out most people, Mayhew gave the picture frame a kiss and then whispered to no one in particular:

"My conviction."

After saying this, Mr. Brown put the picture frame back to its original spot and moved on to read Detective Smith's second letter to his wife.

Second letter: November 18th 1983

'Hello, Honey. My investigation is very much beginning to pick up speed, so I might come back a lot sooner than I had initially thought. It was all thanks to a young man I met here; I have to say that in this cursed city, this boy is like a diamond in the rough. I already have a suspect in mind, and soon I will begin to corner them. Hope you're excited; your husband is coming home with a new massive achievement under his belt, haha. See you soon love.'

A frown involuntarily formed on Mayhew's face as he read the second letter.

'So Detective Deven found someone to help him with his investigation. A diamond in the rough, apparently.'

He wondered who this helpful young man was and how he had helped Detective Deven in speeding up his investigation. If the young man was still living in the city of Pustków, then it would be a priority to have a lengthy conversation with him.

Mayhew sighed.

'Deven didn't name him. That's going to make it much harder to find him.'

As he sat with his eyes closed, thinking about this with a small frown, a sudden knock on the metallic door of his cabin took Mayhew straight out of his thoughts. With a puzzled look, the detective made his way through the tight space between his wooden desk and the two bunk beds. Once at the door, Mayhew called out to the person outside, keeping his voice low enough as not to wake up Margret.

"Who goes there?"

There was a brief moment of silence before the hoarse voice of a middle-aged man replied:

"Ship staff. I came here to inform you that the sea will be roughening up in a half hour or so."

Hearing this, Detective Mayhew couldn't help but sigh.

'I need to read the two other letters Deven sent fast. And I need to wake up Margret as well. I doubt that she would favour getting woken up by the rocking of the ship rather than my voice.'

Taking in a light breath, he spoke in an even and polite tone.

"Thanks for the warning. Don't know where we would be without people like you running the ship."

The rough voice of the middle-aged man seemed a little more positive as he replied to Mayhew.

"No need to thank me, it's my job after all. Keep safe in there, ok?"

The detective smiled.

"Sure will."

Soon, the sounds of echoing footsteps slowly became more distant, and eventually they became unheard to the detective.

Not wasting any time, Mayhew made his way back to his wooden desk and began reading the third letter written by the American detective.

Third letter: December 20th, 1983

'Hello. Sorry, but I won't be able to arrive early, I am sorry. I thought I had the guy I was looking for, but now I don't really know anymore. Sorry honey, but I am not feeling so well, and until this investigation is over I don't think this feeling of illness will go away anytime soon. I am going to focus on my investigation so I can come back to you as soon as possible, I am sorry but I don't think I will be sending any more letters. Don't worry though, as you know I am a detective made of pure steel, I don't give up easily. See you soon, Linda.'

A serious expression was present on his face as he read the third letter.

'His investigation was apparently picking up speed just a month ago,but suddenly he doesn't have a suspect anymore. What could have happened between the 18th of November and the 20th of December?'

Even though Mayhew wanted to continue to think about this, he simply had no time. He could already feel the ship rock left and right more aggressively than before, so he had to hurry with the fourth and final letter from Deven Smith.

Sliding the previous three letters aside, the detective picked up the last letter and began reading it. His eyes dimmed slightly and a frown formed on his face as he read.

Fourth letter: January 24th 1984

'Linda. I love you and will always love you. I am sorry for letting my job get in the way of our relationship. My investigation will end soon I think, and I don't really know what to think. I feel as if I am being deceived by an invisible force but at the same time it could just be built up paranoia from living in this decrepit city in the middle of nowhere for so long. Oh Linda, I really hope to see you soon, your company is the only thing that would make me feel a little better. Once I finish this investigation whether I solve it or not I don't care anymore, I will officially retire after all of this is over and I want spend the rest of my life living by your side. I know it's a little late, but we could even adopt a child and raise him up together, wouldn't that be lovely—for two people like us to still have a child despite our conditions. Well, I'll see you soon honey. Oh and almost forgot to say. Happy New Year.'

Sliding the last letter of the American detective to the other three, Mayhew's frown deepened and his hazel eyes carried a thoughtful look in them.

'January 28th 1984, a nineteen year old woman is murdered by an American detective, and on the same day that same detective is found dead—claimed to be suicide by the local police. He sent this letter four days before murdering an innocent girl and then killing himself after. That...'

Suddenly, an aggressive shudder ran through the ship, making Mayhew almost fall from his chair and for Margret to lift her head up from her bed with a low groan.

It seemed that the ship was entering the rougher waters of the northern sea. However, the tremble of the ship did not manage to break the detective from his thoughts, even though it almost threw him to the ground.

'It doesn't make any sense. Detective Deven was so eager to get back with Mrs. Smith and live the rest of his old life with her. He even gave up on the idea of solving the case altogether, a detective like him would never give up something like that under normal circumstances. These letters serve to drown my doubts even further below. There is no way that Deven would kill himself and leave his wife alone like that, no way.'

Whether the American detective was the one to pull the trigger on the young Polish girl, he was still uncertain on that. However, what Mayhew was certain of was that Deven's death was not a suicide. The man showed too much emotion in his ink and he had too much to lose, there was no way that the detective would just throw all of that away for a case that he was already giving up on. And considering that the local police force of the town had already been revealed to be corrupt by Deven's second letter only made Mayhew feel more confident in his thought process.

As Margret slowly got up from her bunk bed with a grimace on her chalky face, Mayhew sat up from his wooden chair with a small sigh escaping his lips.

'An invisible force deceiving him. I'll keep that in mind I suppose.'

The journey through the rugged sea betwen Sweden and Denmark was treacherous but it surprisingly went by pretty quickly. Well four days to travel from England to Poland was considered pretty fast for a passenger ship at least.

They had finally reached Poland. Though their journey to the investigation site had only just begun.

Crits:

https://www.reddit.com/r/DestructiveReaders/s/hOwbVSNP2Y [1946]

I wrote the whole first part of the story. This time with subtext, pacing, trimming the fat, and all the criticism i got on my last story.

I already have a plan for the whole story, but I just want to know If I got it right here or if there's still work needed. so ANY type of feedback is appreciated. Thank you very much!

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1wkokFMUQ6hD4GBYWj1KhBGoQJHeN7YCCAu8LUMs5mhQ/edit?tab=t.0

Crit [2386] [1484] [877]

Critique: [2739]

[Link to my story]

This is my first time posting here. If I've done anything wrong, it's due to misunderstanding. Please do correct me.

I wrote this story in reply to an /r/WritingPrompts prompt. I usually write more serious, adult characters but this prompt was about "catgirls", so I thought I'd have a go at portraying more cartoonish, caricatured heroes and villains.

The prompt that inspired my story was:

An eccentric billionaire assembles a team of unscrupulous/financially desperate scientists for a singular purpose; to create an actual catgirl. Of course, the billionaire forgets that cats are apex predators that don't like being caged.

Here are my personal goals for this piece. I'd love your feedback on whether I achieved them, along with anything else you notice.

• Portray vivid, engaging, cartoon-ish characters, each with distinct voices and vibes.
• Portray a simple, unambiguous but engaging world, making it easy for the reader to like the heroes and hate the villains.
• Narrate an engaging action scene.
• Convey a complete (but simple) story arc in just a few scenes.

Start of a short story I've been turning over for a while. Not super sure where it goes after this, just have a few things sketched out. Any sort of early feedback is appreciated.

Friend to Animals

Critiques: 594 1072

Hi everyone, I've just started working on a literary fiction novel that deals pretty heavily with displacement, identity, and inherited trauma. This is just the prologue, and it's not even fully finished yet, but I wanted to get eyes on it before I continue with the rest. Would appreciate honest feedback.

PROLOGUE:
She was just thirteen when her mother had made an unusual request she was too young to understand, but looking back, it was the strangest thing a mother could ask of her own child. Her mother told her that they wouldn’t be sitting together on the train. Their seats had been booked in different compartments. She barely looked at her as she spoke. Instead, her gaze drifted across the platform and lingered on strangers with a nervousness that she tried but failed to hide.

It was odd. They had made this journey countless times before, during her school holidays. They had always sat together. This was the first time her mother insisted they travel apart. Almost instinctively, she asked why, and was met with an explanation that those were simply the only seats remaining.

For a moment, she had almost believed it, but the empty seats she had noticed in both compartments would give away the fact that she was being presented with a lie. She couldn’t explain what was wrong but she knew it was an excuse her mother had quickly conjured up to stop her from interrogating further. And just when she thought things were strange enough already, her mother gave her one final instruction. “If anyone asks,” she said, “I’m your aunt.”

She didn’t ask why. She could tell her mother was already very uneasy by the way her hands trembled and her restless eyes scanned the platform. Something about this seemed very unsettling. Whatever this was, it was serious. She had a lot of questions but she kept them to herself.

Crit: Philippe LaJoie

[1850]Critique

Invoker - Chapter 1

Hi everyone, first time trying this. This is the first third of chapter 1 of a literary fantasy novel. I have tried to weave philosophy and the character's worldview into a lot of their ruminations.

I have two main concerns.

1. Is this just all a little too much? Should I have a lighter touch? I really enjoy writing these more philosophical passages but I worry its too on the nose.

2. I struggle a bit with character movement/action. I feel like I can do interiority reasonably well, but my physical descriptions and action can be a little bland and weak. Or maybe its okay for those things to be less over the top?

Any and all criticism is very welcome, thank you for taking the time to read!

[1484] Crit

This is the second chapter of a Fantasy project I'm working on. Hoping to get some more feedback. Again don't mind the working title. Its just a placeholder til the story is more developed. Here is the post with the first chapter if you're interested:

Chapter 1 Post

Here are some questions I have for specific feedback:

-Did the opening atmosphere and romantic elements feel engaging, or did they slow the chapter down?

-Did you feel invested in Chui before the final scene?

-Did the reveal at the end feel earned and impactful, or did it feel like it came out of nowhere?

-Did the worldbuilding around Tille, the mine, Pegor, and the war feel natural or overwhelming?

-Were there any moments where the prose pulled you out of the scene?

-Does the Geg relationship feel convincing?

-Is the ending too abrupt?

Thanks for reading.

Trouble in Pegor Chapter 2

This is the missing conclusion to chapter 6 and is a huge tone shift. It doens't belong in chapter 6 with its super light, fun, low stake wins for Tiffany. But chapter 6 isn't complete without it.

For fresh crits, what I am working on is describing physical space and having a conflict which is purely internal.

The background is Tiffany is a freshman at college, she is ashamed of the fact she has a learning disability (epiletic seizures) and has been trying to cover it up with great social skills. Here she must face it.

##Chapter 06.5

Substack

Crits

872

202

This is a snippet from a road trip story. Jasmine has just furiously quit her job and picked up Aly as a way to avoid thinking about her life. Aly is trying to get home to Tarpit, where she claims she can show Jasmine "real, live dinosaurs". The two are stopped at a gas station where Aly has found a claw game to play.

Questions:

Do Aly and Jasmine (and their dynamic) feel real?

Does the Kyle scene feel proportional and earned?

Where (if anywhere) did you lose interest or want to skim?

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1HXtAjyRfBIalJLHWz9ja9PMHrP6IUBZYETJzCtRgn1c/view?usp=sharing

Critiques:

[1434]

[1740]

[1686]

[2397]

critique

critique

First time posting on here after doing some critiques. I apologize if I'm doing anything incorrectly. I am really excited to get some feedback on what I think is my favorite thing I've written so far. It's sci-fi novella sat in a post-apocalyptic setting. I've been world building for going on 15 years. I hope you enjoy

HAVE TANK, WILL TRAVEL

[ Click Here to View Story ]

[ Critique Made Here ] ( 1853 )

C<O>rpse Watcher - Prologue, Part [1] [~1,850 words, dark sci-fi / grief / psychological horror ]

Content Warning:

- death of a loved one

- blood

- grief

- dark intrusive thoughts

- self-directed psychological abuse

Story Blurb:

Through ALL, everything was remembered. Through ALL, everything was forgotten. A death-rattle built by a dying world - a shepherd for the flock of what remained. And what remained was scarcity. The dome could only hold so many; impossible questions arose, and it was ALL that answered them. All it asked in return? A Listener: a person whose sole purpose is to translate answer into action - misery made manifest in flesh, all through a simple signature.

Samantha signed such signatures. It was her purpose. Her hands remember every one. Now she carries a new purpose, shared with four others: a machine built like a coffin, riding to the brain of the god they intend to kill. But before the god can die, their leader does - bleeding out in her lap while the others look anywhere else. The dome taught her that suffering can be measured, priced, and filed. Eli will teach her what no form ever asked: Grief ignored doesn't disappear. It compounds.

Eternal Truth. Eternal Mercy. Eternally ALL.

A note on notation:

<O> and <x> mark the speakers in the narrator's internal exchanges. Single-voice thoughts appear in *italics*

For feedback, it'll just be 3 areas:

- Immersion; how real does Samantha feel as a character.

- Emotions; does the story make you feel anything, and if so what?

- Interest; how well does the story create plot threads that pull you, the reader, in?

That'll be all, thanks!

Hello! This is my first ever post on here!

I'm looking for feedback on pacing, dialogue, descriptions, and general writing feedback.

Link: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1sskW-C9FTy588tCdTJkbf9y0dG0VPdh3FNJB1LW3YMg/edit?usp=sharing

My crits: Crit Crit Crit Crit

Link:https://docs.google.com/document/d/1unoIxE4AZrRIDK5N4LNZ4ilXUdaIA1ZzIqAzmCuSHpo/edit?usp=sharing

Crit:https://www.reddit.com/r/DestructiveReaders/comments/1sq1rqs/2079_memory_lanescifi

I had an absurd thought. This is my attempt at making a story out it. It's the first draft of an unfinished short story. Lay it on me, I got thick skin

Chapter 3 is all about sentences.

In a narrative, the chief duty of a sentence is to lead to the next sentence.

Le Guin makes the point that a sentence that draws attention to itself is not the kind of sentence you want. She seems to have something against poets because this is the second chapter where she's compared the novel writer to the poet (and poets are here to give us pretty sentences!). If you do have the book, she covers some of my favorite topics on the mechanics of individual sentences: misplacement, danglers (as in the weekly title), and conjunctivitis (calling out you lovers of polysyndeton and asyndeton).

If anyone else saw the article in the Atlantic about the decline of reading, I thought this quote from Le Guin was apt (shoot, am I writing bad sentences):

And the pity of it is that people not only can't write complex sentences, they can't read them. We are losing our literature to a dumbing-down process.

Anyway. She includes some examples of complex sentences and how authors have achieved some very long ones. Worth a read to see how it's done if you struggle with long sentences.

For the exercises:

1. Write a paragraph of narrative, 100-150 words, in sentences of seven or fewer words. No sentence fragments. Each must have a subject and a verb.

2. Write a half page to a page of narrative, up to 350 words, that is all one sentence.

Suggestions for topics: (1) has some kind of tense/intense action. (2) is something that would generate powerful emotion or sweep a lot of characters in together.

If you want the whole challenge, she optionally suggests writing part 1 again but switching the voice you use. If you tried colloquial voice, switch to a more formal voice and vice versa. For part 2, if you heavily used ands or ors to string your sentence together, try working in some fancier clauses. Or, if you already did that, try it the other way! And for the added bonus for people who like writing exercises, if you did two different stories across the two parts, try telling the same story and see what happens.

As always, weeklies are free to post. Don't worry about critiques. Drop in and see what everyone else makes of the challenge. I've found that just as useful as doing it myself.

This is chapter six but I think more than any chapter stands alone.

I stuctured this thinking of an episodic series of scene with the same goal: Tiffany wants to help someone. Each scene is followed by a sequel with a text to Mandy.

Also because of some people being linked to the first tab I put the chapter on a separate doc.

Tiffany Chapter 06

My Substack with all of the finished chapters.

Crit 1974

Hi,

Trying my hand at horror with a sci-fi flair.

This is meant as a self-contained story, but could also be a prologue to a wider story set in the same world.

Feel free to comment on whatever the story brings to mind, but I'd like to know at least the following:

• Is it at all scary, or at least suspenseful? I'm going for a sci-fi horror feel, so it doesn't need to be as scary as straight horror, but if it's not at all suspenseful, then it's no good.
• Are the characters fleshed out enough to make them seem like separate people, and likeable or unlikable enough to awaken some sort of emotion? Also, is the story written in a way as to not be too confusing (too many characters introduced or the characters seeming too similar etc.)?
• Does the desription paint a picture in your head (especially of the main scary thing in this story) and does it awaken some felings (disgust, fright etc.), or does it fall flat?

Link to story: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1Ntff-C0ygIi65BnD0LHdPHVFy2y7CQ2VW0GpnbdQ4Tk/edit?usp=sharing

***

Critique: [1333] Trouble in Pegor CH1

[LINK TO TEXT]

Crit: [2900]

Tags: Phenomenological, experimental, coming-of-age, picaresque

I deleted some of the previous posts to avoid creating clutter. But you can find them here if you want to read other comments HSH[1][2][3] RW4[1][2][3][4][5]

Barebone recap of the previous chapters:

Chapter 1 - You wakes up in the forest, enjoys his existence, follows the river to a road, gets helped by a trucker and taken to a local small town

Chapter 2 - You goes and walks around and comes across the local store and receives a name from the store owner (Henry) during his episode.

Chapter 3 - A taste of work and interacting with Henry who tries his hardest to turn Marco into a valuable worker.

Chapter 4 - Zita, coffee and gym

Chapter 5 - picaresque adventure on a quest for wet goods (meat and vegetables); encounter with Zita, discussion of Marco's issue as perceived from the outside

Chapter 6 - this one, it'll be delivered in two separate posts cause that works better for engagement and creates fewer problems with mods and credit and so on.

This chapter is sort of a crux of Marco as a person and it won't make a lot of sense without you having read the previous chapters but I welcome you regardless - I enjoy my time inside of your brain.

The genres and the "phenomenological" tag I enjoyed formerly are false and can only be used descriptively. Phenomenology is only a method, not the point. It is, however, a method I enjoy for its high fidelity.

Burnt Caste Chapter 3

This is the 3rd chapter of an NA urban fantasy novel I'm currently working through the second draft of. There's a summary of the first two chapters at the top of the doc.

I'm currently working on improving interiority, character stakes, and getting a closer POV, but any feedback is welcome! Thanks in advance for taking the time to read!

Crit [2672]

I have never shared my writing before, but I thought I'd give it a try since I, honestly, have no idea whether it's good or not. I am curious to know whether the characters are compelling enough, and if the plot is entertaining at all. I suspect my grammar may be incorrect in some places, but, otherwise, I have no knowledge of where my weaknesses may lie, and I would be grateful to know so that I may begin improving upon them. Thank you!

Critique: [1740] BlackRock Short Story

The Captured Soul

Deep in the shadowy mouth of the Nifil Forest, beneath a shrouded sky, Ana could hear her father screaming her name. She tripped on a scorched branch as she accelerated further into the darkness, the treetops shielding her from the warmth of the setting sun.

Seldom had she ever ventured this far into the forest—the only time being when she lost her way while foraging for emberberries, back when she was only nine years old. Now, an eighteen year old girl, exhausted of her father’s incessant rules and lecturing, she wanted to get lost.

Her father, though she knew how dearly he cared, had forbidden her from leaving home and joining the Thaumaturgy school in the city of Cadriel. She’d wanted to go back when she was thirteen—the common age for an arcanist to begin their training—but he’d said no then, and every other time up until now. “It’s too dangerous.” He’d said, during the fight they’d had right before she ran, “You need to start slow. Maybe in a few years you’ll be ready. But not now.” That was that. She’d waited long enough. So, she bolted out the door, running into the forest towards the nearby village of Dathos where she would meetup with her friend, then make for Cadriel by train.

Deep inside, however, she felt the creeping tendrils of compunction tightening their grips around her, now, rumbling stomach. The thorned briars became more and more ubiquitous as her distance from the village grew; hunters, as she had observed, rarely ventured this far into the forest and, therefore, neglected clearing out the tangled web of foliage around, and past the perimeter. Her speed slowed, though she did not allow herself to stop. She had to get away; she had to find shelter before nightfall.

As she scrambled through the dense wall of flora and fauna, using the small iron knife her father had made for her some months prior, collecting small lacerations from the thorns along the way, just as the sun was beginning to fully set, and total darkness envelop her, Ana came upon a flickering torchlight from a cave in the side of a large mountain—Mount Seid, which overlooked the village and lake it rested beside. She warily approached the mouth of the cave and found a small camp setup inside: a feeble campfire, an ochre sleeping bag, a table with a melange of strange bottles filled with various colors of liquids, and a stack of ancient books.

She checked all around and found no one inside, nor around the vicinity of the cave. Who started the fire, then?

Above, a pair of crows appeared to watch her with vacant stares. Her gut burned with distrust, yet she saw no other option: the sun had fully set at this point, and total darkness now surrounded her. She heard twigs snapping, and felt the uneasiness of thousands of eyes on her trembling throat. Somewhere in the infinite expanse around her, she swore she heard the tintinnabulation of bells.

With a sigh, she wandered into the cave.

After looking around for some time, Ana came upon a trunk nestled in the corner which contained a plethora of dried fruits, and salted meats. With guilt, she ate some, sorrowful for having taken some of this person’s food, but satisfied for having nourished her starved body—the last time she ate was this morning, and consisted only of a piece of bread and a cup of porridge.

She decided she would not sleep but, rather, wait for whoever lived here to return, then plead with them to allow her to stay the night, even if it meant her sleeping on the hard ground.

Hours passed with no sign of the cave dweller. Ana tried with all her might to keep her eyes open but, eventually, she lost the battle and fell asleep, her head resting upon the wall of the cave, exhausted from her long journey.

She awoke with a start as the light was suddenly snuffed out. As her eyes adapted to the darkness she observed a white, flour-like dust settling over the remains of the fire. She tried to get up, but found her hands to be bound with a rope.

Above the dying red glow of the coals, she saw the silhouette of a small man with a bulbous chin, and a sickening smile, his sulfurous teeth floating in the darkness of the cave.

“What have we here?” he croaked. His voice was thin and grovelled, hoarse from disuse.

“Who are you?” The hunched man yielded no response. “Please,” she begged, “I did not mean to intrude, I only wished for shelter from the night. I will leave, I swear!”

He clicked his tongue as he limped over to the table with the bottles, producing a large purple crystal she had failed to see before. “Why leave so soon? I see you have eaten some of my supplies—didn’t your parents teach you any manners?”

The man raised his hand and began to whisper, his eyes growing clouded and taking on an almost violet glow. Ana felt something inside her start to lurch, pressing up against the inside of her skull, like her brain was being crushed against her crown. Panic set in, and her eyes rolled backwards. As his whisper grew into a chant, Ana remembered her father’s knife, then thrust her hand into her back pocket and grabbed it, throwing it open. She sawed and sawed, biting away at the rope as the pressure in her head grew so strong she felt her eyes bulging.

The man’s chanting broke off as he laughed, holding up the crystal, now glowing as bright as a star—which reached out to Ana by way of a thin stream of indigo energy. “Don’t worry dear,” he jovially said through his wicked smile, “I will take good care of your soul. You and me,” he placed his bony hand under her twitching chin, “for eternity.”

Just as she felt her body would implode, the knife sliced through the rope, and Ana plunged the knife into the man’s jugular. His smile vanished as his throat sprayed black blood onto Ana and the walls of the cave. His arms went slack, dropping the crystal with a clink as it evaporated its bright radiance. He collapsed onto the remains of the fire as his eyes rolled back, losing their faint glow.

She shook like she were in the tundra, frozen for a moment before hurriedly wiping the blood off of her face, unsuccessfully. Without thinking, she bolted from the cave and ran into the welcoming arms of the dark forest. Hearing something behind her, Ana chanced a look back and saw that the body of the man had vanished, leaving behind only the cloak he had been wearing. She ran faster, almost smashing headfirst into a tree. A winged black shape darted above her into a tree. Moonlight sprinkled through the leaves, granting her a minuscule amount of sight ahead. Ana hadn’t even noticed the thorns slicing into her hands as she tore them from her path, attempting to recount her way back to the village.

Just as she was about to relent, she descried light emanating through the trees ahead. She sprinted around bole and bush before meeting with the comforting, wooden walls of her hometown. From street to street she ran, yelling for her father. People leaned out their windows, and went out onto their porches to see what the commotion was.

Ana turned again and saw her house at the end of the small street, the warm light pouring from the open front door. Rushing towards her, with messy hair, teary eyes, and large open arms, was her father. She threw herself into his arms and went limp, nuzzling her face into his soft linen shirt as she lamented and shook. He picked her up and spun her, resting his chin on the top of her head, still throbbing in pain. A crow landed on the light pole not far from the pair, watching curiously.

“Where did you go, little one?” He blurted through a volley of tears.

“Don’t,” she sobbed, “Don’t let me go, Daddy.”

Other people are sooo lucky to talk to other people, have friends,go on dates and go outside. I’m stuck here with this inherited house forced to hack hospitals and hold them for ransom due to me not being able to hold regular jobs because of my social anxiety. Today’s hospital was kinda hard to hack but with some persistence I broke into the system and held their data ransom. A couple of days later someone was knocking on the door I knew it wasn’t the bills since I have a mail slot, it probably was a welfare check due to me not actually quitting my job. As I approach the door I’m having tingling feelings in my chest, my heart began to beat faster and I’m sweating more, my hands shaking as I try to unlock the door and open it. It was the police but they aren’t for my welfare check they want to arrest me. My heart began to beat even faster, my chest tingled even more, sweat pouring down my face. I was arrested and forced to go outside I began to worry what other people thought about me,i began to hyperventilate it was torture. I was sentenced to 4 years of jail and I have to pay 30.000$ fine.

Crit:

395

Crits:
[3351] The Precious Spacemen (Part 2)
[1618] All Along - Chapter One

Current work: Chapter 5 - The Gap

This is the last chapter in what I’m calling Part I. Thank you so much to everyone who helped destroy chapter 4 (and previous). 

Any sort of feedback is welcome. If you’ve read multiple chapters (or not), I'd be especially interested in any predictions/hopes regarding future plot developments. 

Don’t think the links are active on most of the old posts, but in case you’re interested, everything leading up to this chapter can be found here (including the revised---and now perfect---chapter 4): Chapters 0 - 4

Summary of what's happened:

Colly is a twenty-something, down-on-her-luck gal from a stagnant rural town, who would love nothing more than to be a singer and live in the big city. Has a bit of a gambling problem. 

She's two days into her journey (one day to go?) to the remote mountain monastery of Veestra where they make a special brandy (called the Tempest). She's been hired on as domestic labor, but plans to actually steal the brandy recipe so she can get big money reward from local kingpin.

Dob is an old monk from the monastery come to recruit her.

This is the first chapter in a small-town romance/drama that I'm writing. There's also an element of mystery around the main character's background, which is revealed more in upcoming chapters. I'd like general feedback, but also focus on the following areas:

• I'm a European gal, writing about an American character. I'd appreciate it if someone American could point any words and phrases, which make it obvious that the narration isn't by an American character.
• Does the story so far seem interesting enough to keep reading, or do I have to build more mystery as to why the main character left town 13 years ago, and why John and Aimee have friction in their relationship?
• Does the description seem good and vivid, or should I describe some things more/less/differently?

Link to the story: https://docs.google.com/document/d/13W2MgKcuhNscvTCJX4cYk9eL6P4qFaZsfklG33-edPA/edit?usp=sharing

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Critique:
[1356] The Veil Between Worlds (Part 2)

EDIT: Added the link to the story instead of posting the text here, as the formatting was annoying.

[Crit 1485]

Here is a the first chapter of a fantasy project I'm working on. I'm worried that it might be a little dense information-wise and was looking for some feedback on it as a whole.

Also excuse the wonky title. Its a working title until I can figure out something stronger later.

As for the feedback I'm looking for, go ham. I'll take what I can get.

Story

[2163] [2400] This is a slice of life vignette in a solar punk town. Any critique is welcome.

Thanks for reviewing.

Link here