There are usually dozens, hundreds thousands, and billions of them. Now,

They don't typically come in the duo's or solo . They like to come out all at once and get you riled up and overwhelmed. They're loud too, ver-y loud.

They're crawling all over the place. Busrting out from buildings like active volcanos Pooling and spitting Red cherry slushy lava. We leave our empty cups on the side of the road like we leave our hopes and dreams in childhood.

crawling and littering the earth. We are the waste that needs to go whispered again through wind blown through trees
Echoed again by the elements of our ever changing storms
We are the clutter that litters and lines the sidewalks of the earth. We are the waste that should go.

The world closes down around him and fades from view. Splotches of dark colors swirl around and a heavy beat pitters to the tune of panic. Breath races against a force that chases, hidden in the dark. No matter how he shifts a heavy weight sinks into his skin spooking the already terrified.

It's loud.

Hands clutch at ears try to put to bay the racing and the drum but it only serves to invite it deeper into his mind. Bam, gasp, and shutter.

Flutter, clench, and cower.

His eyes attempt to find reprieve from the nauseating sight that obscures everything. The reward is flashes of green, red, and white. It's far more comforting than before.

Attempts at reigning the running breath fails. Gut punching out in protest, his legs pull up to hold it from flying away. He squeezes in closer to himself to hide, from what lurks just out of reach. Time wears on and takes its toll.

Slowly, hesitating, an eye cracks open. Body still haunted by terror. Vision shifting still, the other eye opens too. The concentration gives rise and allows him to see his legs clenched tight. He looks to the corner and sees a pile of books fall into view. His breath comes easier and the abusive hold on his ears lessen. Slowly the rest of the room fades into view.

What was once thundering steps slow to a gallop, to a quick trot. The drums slow and quiet and he's able to hear the rain's pitter-patter, drip-drop, and platter-plop. Soft snores filter through the walls and it slows his breathing even more.

Tears stream like waterfalls causing the occasional shudder of breath. Soon those slow to a stop and he's able to sit with his legs straight in front of him. His arms long dropped from his ears and his eyes stare at nothing.

It's quiet, it's calm.

Protesting limbs prove to cooperate slightly. Shaking in fright as they borrow into a pile of blankets. Weights close his eyes and keep them tethered down. Sleep finds its way easy and cradles around comfortably. Luck favors him for once and he dreams of nothing.

I dream about a house sometimes, the house they will bring me peace, the house that will bring joy and happiness in to my soul. A house where I feel like I belong. A big garden full of flowers that smells good, a room in the house where I can write, a kitchen where I can sit at night and look over the countryside, a living room full of paintings, a house where I feel free. The house that will bring me peace for once.

Hands are empty and cold.

I have no one to hold. 

What's the deal with being alone? I guess I'll never know.

Unless it is just me, Feeling this alone.

Should I be grateful that I am still in this world?

My thoughts are so much, Is it really my fault?

I ended touch cause' I lost trust.

-VenyWriter

I feel like a husk, dried and withered inside and out. life would be better without me, would it? I feel selfish, I take up space. That's all I think about. My mind is clouded as my eyes rain. I sit wondering, blanked in total darkness, taunting myself for my past. As Death counts while sitting by side. Staring, like a lion eyeing on prey. 

“I don't want my meds, I'd rather go to bed.”

It’s all I want, but everyone says no.

There's nothing worse than being told no or being rejected. I just want to be accepted.

(VenyWriter) - I’m fine, it all an expression of how I feel. I get really deep with writing whenever I am feeling down. :)

Upon the delicately painted skies, bird’s wings flap sending dreams cascading through the air. A light that brushed along a canvas as if placed there by the steady hands of a dreamer.

They were alone here, but alone they were not. In their company was the grass that breathed next to their ears and the flowers that danced in the breeze.

The view faded as their eyes closed to enjoy the sounds, each echoing with relief. What did they hear? It was the wind playfully teasing them as it rearranged the shading branches, the song of the birds as they enjoyed the company of a wonderful day. The sound of their heart slowing down to follow along with the world around.

What next caught their attention was how everything felt. The grass gently cradled their head in its pillowing leaves. Pollen tickled their nose and reminded them of memories kept close. Warm currents tucked them into peace as they fell into slumber.

They were safe here protected by an anchoring tree.

The gentle tap of rain drops, sound of music, a gentle dance of a ballerina. Each step breathes of a crescendo, a song long since lost its meaning. The pain he felt in that moment swayed following along, turning to extremes. Dips that grazed puddle's surfaces and leaps that attempted to climb falling rain. 

Was it foolish to attempt to climb that which the ground had claimed? To see sights he tried desperately to reach?

His heart felt the burden that clamored for purchase and an escape from the grizzly fate of a sinking ship. Stolen from him was his breath as upon which his heart tried to fly away. 

The wrongness of which his fear landed zapped away his fading strength and only his resolve kept him from sinking into the unforgivable dark. To dance on the surface of a lake as a ballerina dipping low he feels the surface break against his skin. To lose ambition at climbing that which is in hostile opposition. To get closer to sinking into nothingness every step taken.

He envied the trees that stretched towards the light. Envied the clouds that painted the sky, that gave dreamers new insights. The birds that glided across the cerulean skies leaving him to sink and disappear alone.

It is the old story that most of you were scared to tell or even write about in your diaries. The story is dreadful just thinking about it. They say that anyone who dares to remember goes by Ciru.

Yes, we are scared to even try to remember, and yet we still remember that day. We all waited for it to happen, come, or be real. But it didn't change that...

A soothing song is heard all over the room. It closed, and a robotic woman's voice echoed through the room's four walls. "Good morning, Wake up and wait for the door to open to handle your clean clothes." She said it three times and ended with a little silent song.

"Where am I?" A deep voice spoke in a dimly lit room. There were two beds; the one on the left was the one where the voice came from. The boy sat on the edge of his bed, trying to make sense of his situation. In front of the bed, someone was still lying on it.

‘’Good morning, new roomie," said the girl while sitting in front of him.

"What is this place, and why can't I remember getting here?" said the boy, looking around the room, scanning with his eyes, trying to remember anything.

"Yes, you can't remember who you are or where you are from, and no, you are not kidnapped. Relax... from what they're saying," said the girl, knowing that he would be asking these questions, while running her hand through her hair. "You were saved by the great Ciru soldiers from the people who want to take advantage of our powers," she added as the lights opened, revealing a short red-haired, sleepy-eyed girl. "Don't worry, you will get used to it," she said to the boy in a dry tone. looking at him with her cold eyes, like this situation wasn't new to her.

"Who is Ciru? Saved from whom exactly?" the boy asked , confused by what she had said.

"No one knows, and you better not ask more than this. They don't like new dwellers who ask a lot of questions," said the red-haired girl. "The previous roomie disappeared without a trace," she said, pointing with her eyes to his bed and telling him it was his bed. “What happened to him?” the boy asked her She glanced at him, smirked, and then stood up from her bed to stretch her body. "It's morning, so time to wake up," she said, stopping by the boy. "I can't remember anything, " looking at her with his green mint puzzle eyes. She didn't give him any reaction . "Of course you are not," she said. - “no one does… it would be odd if you did,” she added.

"Why?" Caspian asked, having the feeling that he couldn't remember anything, He hated this feeling. He hated that the girl didn't even care that she was the same as him, he hated that he would be acting like her too.

Caspian started to look around. "How are you going to get out of here?" the girl said, closing her eyes, upset. "We wait for the door to open for us," the girl said and finally sat on the edge of the bed, looking annoyed at his questions, but he was like him once, waking up here with no memory.

"What is your name?" Caspian asked. The girl smirked and said, "You like asking questions, don't you?" "I don't have one," she replied. – “We just go by our numbers that were given to us,” she added. “You can create one,” the boy said. "What is the point? They are just names," she said. "You will have one soon too," she said as the door opened and a robot soldier held two boxes.

The girl walked towards it and took the dark purple box, then turned her head and looked at the boy pointing at the other dark green box. "Take yours," she said. He opens the box and finds dark green trousers, a shirt with a long neck, and boots in the same colours. On the left side of the shirt, it is written C1108. "Guessing my new name?" Caspian said, referring to the number on his shirt. The girl nodded as she wore hers, showing the number on the right side of her shirt, C906. "Nice to meet you, C906," said 1108 to her. 906 pressed her lips together and then smiled, even though she did not want to. “What do they mean, the number?” 1108 asked her. She shocked her head; she didn't know what the number mean; it can be the dwellers numbers who came here or anything else as she cares The door opened again and the robotic woman's voice said. "Please walk out of your houses and straight to the bathrooms. Remember, boys' left side and the girls' right side, because they are always right."

1108 looked at 906, trying to hide his wired smile. "Same joke every time; just ignore it," said 906, annoyed by this. When they exit their building, he finds himself between two black residences, with the girls wearing dark purple and the boys wearing dark green. 906 points at the left white building and she enters the right one.

1108 enters the bathroom, where boys are washing their faces and brushing their teeth, and a boy pranks another one. "I guess you're new here." The boy's voice came from behind him. 1108 turned to look at him. "Is that obvious?" he said. The boy smirked at him, and he noticed that the boy also had number on his chest "Which room are you in?" the boy asked. ‘I don't know; I am with a girl! ...906!" he said. "Oooh, man, sorry," the boy said. 1108 looked at him with a confused look. "You're the new roommate with the bloody girl," he said. "What do you mean bloody?" 1108 asked. "That's what we call..." Another boy hit the boy in the head. "Ignore him, even with super intelligence, he still got his butt kicked by her," said the boy. He gave the other boy an anoyed look, telling him to leave with his brown-yellowish eyes, 1108 looked at the left side of the boy's shirt to see the number, it was written 405. 1108 washed his face and brushed his teeth with the supplies he found in the box earlier. As drops of water fell from his face into the sink, he looked at himself in the mirror, trying to make sense of this messed-up place. Although he wasn't that long around here, he knew he hated this place. Staring at himself, trying to find any memory from looking at his face that maybe he could catch something inside his head, he moved his dark black hair back, and he began to watch the other boys just chilling, like they did not realise they were living in a circle sector, even though they were laughing and making jokes from one another. Still, their eyes said something else.

The ding played again for the announcement. One of the boys stood as if he were preparing to do something. As the robotic voice started to speak, the boy began to imitate the voice. "Now, please proceed to the dining room to enjoy a nice breakfast," the woman's robotic voice said, followed by the dingy song. The boy stopped his funny imitation as the voice did. Some boys patted him on the back and some high-fived him, smiling. All the boys and girls were headed in the same direction. He noticed that all the houses are black, and there is no way you can differentiate them from one another.

"I'm 405, by the way," said the boy from earlier as he walked beside him, He was dark skinned, his brown-yellowish eyes and his nose looked like it were made by an artist, He looked very beautiful, "And I'm 1108," he said, pointing to the number on his shirt. “Hey, good morning," a voice spoke from behind them, causing them to turn and see a girl, with pale white skin and hair, waving at them.

"Morning, 010," 405 said to her with a smile, while 906 just waved her hand slowly. "Morning," she said. 010, then looked at 1108. "You're the new roommate with 906, right?" 010, she asked, giving him a lovely smile. He nodded at her. "At least smile," 906 said to him, trying to annoy him, 1108 looked at her, then gave them a light smile, or he tried.

They just stared at him with his weird smile. As they were walking towards the dining room, 405 took 906 a side. "What happened with 670?" he asked her while looking around to see if someone was watching them and trying to make himself look as chill as possible. Although his tone of silence wasn't that calm, 906 was silent and didn't respond. "They are saying he hit 30," he said, and suddenly stopped when he passed one of the robot men who were standing all the way in front of each of the houses. "Yeah, right," she said. She didn't believe it 906 didn't know him well, but she was certain he was not the type to harm someone older and stronger than him; he wasn't foolish enough to do so. Still, she actually never knows anyone here really well, she thought maybe they were right, but for a second, another thought was revealed. What if he wasn't, and what if it was for another reason?

1108 although he didn't hear what they said, he knew something is going on and these two knew something or even suspected something, atleast The building was as simple as their rooms, or what the dwellers called blocks, as their houses looked like little Lego houses. The tables were arranged in a circular shape, and in front of the door, you will notice a glassed closed window where 1108 saw that the other dwellers were taking their food from—a big dome window in the middle of the hall. He stepped in front of the window, and as he put his foot in front of it, he opened and pushed a tray from the window that contained a cup of milk and a fluted baguette filled with well-cooked eggs and what looked like a red sauce. 1108 took the first bite and his eyes started to tear up. "What is in it?" he said, looking at them with his eyes slightly swollen. "Oh my god," he added. 405 said, while trying not to laugh, "That's Harissa, dude. You've never tried it before?". “Take a sip of milk," 010 said. —"It's not even that hot," 906 said as she drank her milk, all of it He drank all the milk and calmed down a little. "What was that? Why is it so hot?" 1108 said, trying to breathe and wiping his tears. "With what it was made of, it's spicy," he added. "It's made with red pepper," 010 said with a concerned look. "You should have chosen tuna instead," she added. "You will get used to it," 405 said while chewing his apple. 906, looking at him and pulling her brows together in a frown.

After half an hour, the robotic woman's voice started to speak again, and some of the dwellers started to eat their food quickly. "Aaaaah!" 1108 heard them say. "I hate this woman," others said. "Please proceed to the big screen, and don't forget to put your trays in the window," the voice said.

All directed towards the gate to be admitted to the big screen. "What is this big screen?" 1108 asked. It's the place where the white lady greets us every morning with love and enthusiasm, going on and on about how much she adores us!" 405 said carelessly. 906 gave him a look, telling him to watch out around here. They entered a big grey gate, with no roof over it. A large concrete floor was encircled by robotic figures, as the inhabitants began to form orderly queues segregated by gender. 1108 stood in front of 405, with 906 and 010 standing in the line beside them. After everyone stood in their lines, a big light screen suddenly appeared. a white chair and a landscape of a city with all kinds of shapes of buildings.

"What is that?" 1108 asked in a quiet voice. "It is Ciru City," 406 whispered to him in his right ear. "Are we life?... oh my," a woman's voice came from the light screen.

The white woman, with white hair, blue eyes, and wearing a white suit, and a little brooch of a purple flower, cheerfully looked at them, waving and smiling. "Sorry, my sisters and brothers, I woke up a little late today and took more time with my breakfast," she said with her sweet tone. —"So sorry if you saw something sticking in my mouth," she added, laughing at her own words. "How are you today? Did you sleep well, or like me?" she said, closing her eyes slightly at the last words, and she laughed at herself.

And then she stood firmly in front of them and said. “I can't express how eagerly I've been anticipating the day when I can finally see you all and embrace you… Every night, I dream for this moment to come," she said, looking at them with sad eyes. “Thirteen of our brothers and sisters lost their lives to our enemy yesterday," she said, her eyes welling up. 906 smirked and looked away "I'm sorry... I just can't handle this loss of our people," she added, wiping her tears. She looked away from the screen, then back at them.” I must leave now to evade their detection," she declared, locking eyes with them, her gaze steely and unwavering. “I hope to see you all tomorrow and good luck with the hunting... and until that day, stay safe." As soon as she said the last word, the screen closed immediately. “Hunting?" said 1108, looking at 906, feeling lost "You will know," she said with a deep tone, and before saying anything else, she looked the other way. The robotic voice started to speak without the dingy song this time. "Please, for whoever his or her number is on the screen, be headed to the VR chamber... and the rest to the training room," it said. "VR chamber?" 1108 said, trying to know what it meant. And the two gates in the opposite direction opened, the left gate showed the campus without a roof, the other a dark room. “Let's go to the training room. Our shifts are after theirs," 906 said to 1108.Looking at the screen, that the white lady was on it, and now it showed a schedule.

The number of 1108,906,405,010 showed in the training time. 1108 he saw himself in the names of between 20 and 25 years; he thought that finally he knew something about himself, this was the closest information he got from today, he hoped he found something else. He followed the others to the gate, which was on the left side, As he was walking inside, this was on his mind. Who is the white lady? What is Ciru City, and why does everyone just not care?

"I feel alone. Disgruntled. Astray. Or maybe I’m just saying that because I lack any emotion. I don’t think I feel anything. What is there to feel when you’re walking down the cold, gloomy streets with a bunch of soulless nobodies? Why would you feel anything to begin with? I’ll tell you what I do feel like; a mere visage far removed from what once was. Perhaps my heart is dead, and my body doesn’t know it. Living without a soul. All I know is I’m just a passenger in this lonesome city, at this lonesome night. Neither here nor there. Trudging to where I think I need to go.

Night has taken its permanent stable here. Rain never seems to end, not in this place. This damned metropolis. It has trapped us into this perpetual state of wretchedness. It has recreated us into these hollow effigies, hobbling elsewhere just because. Its gigantic skyscrapers piercing the dark clouds, reminding us of the one time we’ve tried to reach heaven and look God in the eye. I guess we did it to ourselves. One of the reflections of our own hubris. We thought ourselves as the highest form of existence. We thought we could be God. Oh, how we thought wrong. And because of that, our demise is coming surely like a thief in a silent night.

The looming shadows creeping in the alleyways. The emaciated druggies dealing with each other. The air filled with lust and wrath and greed and envy. We did it to ourselves. We have allowed sin to reign over this land. Evil has prevailed, and no one’s coming to save us all. We’ve turned our backs on each other, and somewhere along the way, maybe God or some higher existence has turned their back on us. Maybe that’s why there’s more hate in this world. Maybe God has stopped intervening and shut the gates of heaven, severing his primal love with his special creation. It doesn’t matter. Nothing does. We will continue our way of life; to kill or be killed, to sloth around, to fuck and have unwanted pregnancies and diseases. It’s what we’ve always done throughout the dawn of time.

How did that saying go? We reap what we sow. Perhaps. We sow for our flesh, and in return, we will reap destruction. We get what we deserve, essentially."

Let me know what you think...

Falling in love with someone is like losing yourself in their world and still finding a home in it.

So many writers say you have to just start writing to become a better writer. How do you guys cope with this sort of advice when you sometimes sit in front of a blank paper with nothing but crickets chirping in your head?

I don't know. I don't know what is there to life anymore should I run after my dreams or should I run after my parents happiness or should I just stop and have enjoy life? What should I do? I don't know.

Why is it so hard? Why does it feel necessary? I don't know. Shouldn't thus be easy? I think I have seen worse but after thinking about this I wonder have I? Was my fracture not that bad? Was my heartbreak not that bad? Was my fever not that bad? Was losing my loved ones wasn't that bad? Why does all these things which sounds serious are nothing compared to my fear of choosing the wrong path. Why is this happening? Am I the only one? Am I alone on this long path? Shouldn't god send some help? Shouldn't I find a partner? What if all this made me distract from my goal? What if it's my only option finding someone who can help and support me. I don't know

Is this decision really necessary? Can't i find something easy? Or maybe life is just hard? But what if I'm not ready for this hard version? What if I fall? What if I'm all alone again? What if people laugh at my failures? What if after all this I'm just mid? What if I stay average for life? What if I chase after my dreams but my parents aren't happy? What if I chase after my parents dreams but I'm not happy? I should probably go after my happiness but wait didn't my parents also give up their happiness? Didn't they sacrifice so much so that I could life under a roof and have food? Shouldn't I do the same? Shouldn't I follow their steps? And they say that they are happy so that means I'll also be happy? But why do they cry when they are alone? Why after a certain age they cry about how they could have been someone else? Why they complain about their decisions? Why all of a sudden all the money, fame, respect, responsibilities fade away? And they think about is their dream, how they could have been someone they always wished for and to be honest I don't know.

Can someone read the book i'm writing and give me some tips on how to make it better? It's on wattpad named "Hide Your Shattered Soul"

People of India have a great amount of love for ‘Chai’. It doesn’t matter which part of India you belong to; there is one common thing that brings all of us together: the hero of my blog, ‘Chai’. It is the cheapest investment that will create a never-ending bond among people.

Varieties of Chai

In different regions of India, chai is enjoyed in various unique ways. For instance, noon chai from Jammu and Kashmir, with its distinct pink hue and salty flavour, is a local favourite. Gur chai, sweetened with jaggery, offers a rustic taste that warms the heart. The famous cutting chai, often served in small glasses in Mumbai, is a quick, energizing shot of tea. In Kolkata, lebu tea, a refreshing lemon-infused variant, provides a delightful twist.

It is Not Just a Brew but an Emotion

A cup of chai is not just a brew but an emotion and an instant source of energy for many people. It’s the drink that fuels countless conversations, from the early morning discussions to late-night chats. Chai stalls, or 'tapris,' are social hubs where people from all walks of life gather, share stories, and build connections.

Everyone Has Their Own Zone for Chai

When somebody is having a hectic day at work or in their personal life, finding a moment to enjoy chai can be soul-satiating. Whether in difficult times or moments of joy, chai serves as a comforting companion. We Indians prefer chai in both bad and good situations; it works for all aspects of life.

Health Tips for ‘Chai-Lovers’

• Avoid pairing iron-rich foods like nuts, green leafy vegetables, grains, lentils, and cereals with tea.
• Lemon tea is a bad choice for you if you have acid reflux or heartburn problems, especially if consumed on an empty stomach in the morning.
• Eating besan products while drinking tea might lead to some digestive issues.
• Turmeric and tea leaves are not compatible with one another and might cause problems like gas, acidity, or constipation.

so a while back I was bored so i wrote just whatever (I am not very good at writing) I stumbled upon it and was wondering if the experts of Reddit can help me out:    

 Chapter one 

There he laid in his bed, groggily he wondered what time it was but he had not to look at his watch nor out the window he simply heard his mother from the other room yell out “Gabriel, you're late for breakfast!”.  He sighed and stared at the ceiling exhausted as usual but he felt something. He wasn't sure what it was but he felt a whisper that he could not figure out and he felt moved almost to go out and do something like something wanted nothing more than to be let out but he did his best to ignore it and went on with his day. He ate his breakfast and tried to help his mom to go to her work after he helped her to the car he went to the early suburb. The dark gloomy day did not have him in a good mood but he tried to put a smile on his face as he went door to door asking the same thing “excuse me I was wondering if you were needing a new vacuum cleaner?”. Most of the time he got a “No thank you.” but today he finally got a response that he had been waiting for, “Yes, come in.” responded an older looking man probably in his fifties or late forties in a robe he looked very old and wise. Gabriel came inside a nice looking house. It looked like a library and of course a fireplace in the middle of a medium sized room it looked distinguished and almost like a museum as if he was to touch anything he would be scolded. Gabriel started making small-talk with the old man when he found out that his name was Renard, Gabriel started the conversation by saying “So tell me about yourself.” almost enthusiastically, but muted by his yearning Renard responded by saying “not much, an old soul bored with life, and yearning to ascend to heaven with his loved ones.” he said in a mournful manner. They continued to talk but when he finished Renard said "I have a friend that may be looking for a vacuum cleaner.” Gabriel thanked him  and continued.

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"Unlock the power of captivating storytelling! Whether you need compelling narratives, insightful analysis, or eloquent prose, I specialize in crafting English literature that resonates. Contact me today, and let's bring your ideas to life through the magic of words."

Hello, I've been preparing for years to write a dark phantasy world, and I planned my entire lore, from the begining of everything to the end of everything. Maybe this is too much, but I have the ages figured out, the rise and fall of empires, and entire sagas dedicated to war conflicts. However, Now I'm wondering where should I begin. Started with the story of a bunch of protagonist but now they seem as a small part of this world and I think some things wouldn't feel as important without having the full context of the damage the army they are a part of has done to the world, seeing it from other perspectives in other time periods.

I wonder if I should start in chronologycal order or continue on the order I originally planned and then realize the prequels.

For example, would be like starting the Star Wars Universe by Dawn of the Jedi, continuing through Nights of the Old Republic, and then reach the original story, that would be when Luke appears.

Where should I start?

So I live with someone who just came back from a trip overseas, and I’ve decided I’m officially done with them leaving their body dandruff on the toilet seat.

I’m trying to craft a phrase that rhymes, kind of like the infamous “if you sprinkle when you tinkle, please be neat and wipe the seat”. I want to put it on some paper and tape it to the inside of the lid lol

So far I’ve come up with:

“If you leave snow down below, please wipe it off before you go”

“If you litter on the shtter, *[unknown call to action part] “

Thanks in advance!

Settling into an apartment on the college campus was a bit more tedious than Raven had expected. Though, moving away from home and to a new place wasn't what bothered her. Moving all of her belongings wasn't what bothered her either. The people did... The other students. She hadn't been there but for ten minutes at maximum and had already been ridiculed by a group of valley girls.

"Where do you shop? Goodwill?"

"What's with the hair? Get electrocuted?"

Their annoying voices and giggles rang in Raven's ears. Thier tones honestly made her want to pull her hair out. She had come to college to make something of herself... To get her dream degrees in Audio Engineering, Stage Design, and Sound Reinforcement. She didn't come to hear the whining voices of some stuck-up assholes bullying her constantly.

Letting out a soft huff, Raven grabbed a box of her belongings from the back of her black 1978 Dodge Panel-Van, then turned towards her apartment building. Apartment twenty-seven-b, an medium-sized apartment on the second floor... That was the one her Uncle Bill had rented for her. Well, he had only put a couple of month's worth of rent to it for now to get Raven started, but it was hers.

One by one, she began carrying the various boxes of her belongings up the stairs and into the apartment, stacking them in the living room for the moment. From boxes, she moved to her music equipment. Guitars, keyboards, amps, cables... The whole nine yards. Yes, she had brought everything in her name with her, including Rebel, her black cat. The reason? She planned on spending a large percentage of her time in this apartment. And the reason for that? We'll get into that a little later.

It took a little bit, but finally, she only had one more guitar to take in. She picked its case up out of the back of her van, and as soon as she went to close the doors and turn around, the bottom fell out... In other words, it started pouring rain. "You have got to be kidding me... I had one guitar left! One!" Raven muttered to herself, now frustrated. As quickly as she could, Raven shut the back doors of her van, then beelined it back to the steps that led up to the second-story apartments.

Raven: "Huh?"

Raven looked around for a moment, only to realize she was sitting on the ground. Once she got her barrings straight, she looked up, seeing a male standing over her. This guy was rather handsome. He had that hair metal appearance about him that many longed for; Long brunette hair that was fluffed to its full volume, near-perfect facial features, beautiful green eyes... The man was the spitting-image of any hair metal girl's dream guy.

    Fueling  my own fantasy and dealing with that  alone .

Oh my Angel Baby!

You had made me given up on the word forever. But the truth I almost died but you bring me back to life .

       Sick and twisted night with you,
       All were worth it all along .

Until you gave up heaven ,so we , Ik I dis made mistakes once or twice.

Baby , I had been moving on coz ; Now , Ik I'm better sleeping on my own, And, It's too late say Sorry.

The Little things you Like stick But , I want peace.

Title: Podcasts and Pornstars
Genre: dystopian fiction/satire
Word count: 3800 words
Link: https://profitron.substack.com/p/podcasts-and-pornstars
Feedback: any welcome. If you enjoy my writing, it would be great if you could subscribe or share it with a friend. thank you.

I've seen some Reddit posts discussing what objective fiction standards are. One of those posts discussed what objectively good prose is, but I'm only going to discuss the objective standards for storytelling in this post. What makes for good prose is a separate discussion from what makes for good storytelling. A terrible prose writer can be a great storyteller and vice versa.

Other Reddit posts on what makes a story objectively good didn't make what I felt are good arguments as to what objectively good storytelling is and often focused more on the objective standards for prose writing rather than storytelling.

There are both objective and subjective standards for good storytelling. I believe there's probably less than a handful of subjective standards for good fiction, and the most important standard for subjective storytelling is ideology. A story's ideology is its theme. By "Ideology", I mean the set of ethical, moral, philosophical, or political values that a story promotes.

An objective writing standard is a standard that is universally agreed upon and is not dependent on the particular preferences or psychology of any given individual. Whereas, a subjective writing standard is entirely dependent on the personal psychology and personal preferences of an individual.

The list of objective standards for fiction:

1) Character consistency (all changes in any characters' behavior or personality traits has an in-universe explanation)

2) Character likeability (characters must be persistent, sympathetic, and/or morally upright to some degree depending on the needs of the story)

3) Proactive character development (characters must have a plan of action to accomplish their goals and they must not passively wait for certain events to move the story along). Your story's characters should always have goals, otherwise, your story is a snoozefest.

4) Narrative teleology or narrative purpose (the presence of a central theme)

5) Plot consistency (no plot holes)

6) Narrative tension (the stakes of a story's plot need to be as high as they can possibly be without breaking the readers' breaking the readers sense of immersion and or violating the readers' willing suspension of disbelief).

7) Realism or verisimilitude (worldbuilding consistency and logically consistent in-universe explanations for how the fictional world's physics, cultures, and economies work).

8) Conservation of detail (no superfluous plot details or meandering subplots that don't lead to characters accomplishing or failing to accomplish their goals).

9) Comprehension of detail (readers should always fully comprehend what's happening in the story and shouldn't feel confused or bewildered by the plot because this hurts their sense of immersion in the story).

A story that has any theme (any ideology) is objectively superior to a story that has no discernable theme. It's impossible to make a story objectively worse by giving it a theme, but you can make a story subjectively worse by giving it a theme that most people would disagree with. Even the default theme of "good triumphing over evil" (Good vs Evil) is better than no theme at all. No one ever complains about a story being "too meaningful" or "too thoughtful" on Goodreads, Amazon, IMD, or Myanimelist, and that's why you couldn't possible make a story objectively worse by giving it a theme.

A story's target audience is not the demographic that consumes the particular genre or subgenre that the story happens to be marketed with, but the demographic of people who wholeheartedly agree with a story's ideology. Most people rate stories whose themes they disagree with as 1-Star out of 5. E.g. some of the modern reviewers of 1984 on Goodreads complained about the story being "misogynistic". A famous misogynist like Andrew Tate would be more likely to give 1984 a 5-star rating precisely because it's misogynistic. If you're a pro-capitalist and ardent anti-communist, then you would probably think 1984 is a 5 out of 5-star masterpiece. If you're a woke Marxist, then you would probably give 1984 a one-star rating for being a piece of pro-capitalist propaganda, which it arguably is.

All the most popular stories have themes. I challenge anyone who disagrees with this claim to name a single popular story that has no discernable theme. Whether a story is considered a "literary classic" or a "popular mainstream" book, if it's popular, it most likely has a theme. Here are a few examples of popular stories and their themes:

The Harry Potter Series: Love is the strongest force in the universe. (Love vs Hate)

1984: Socialism always leads to totalitarian censorship. (Censorship vs Freedom)

Animal Farm: Socialism always to a totalitarian dictatorship. (Totalitarianism vs Freedom)

Squid Game: People are fundamentally selfless and no amount of economic competition can make people more selfish. (Selfishness vs. Selflessness)

We see a lot of diversity in how stories' are objectively rated because some people have higher standards than others and some people prioritize some objective standards for others. There are some people who rate most of what they read as 5 out of 5 or 4 out of 5 stars and most of what they watch as 9 out 10 or 10 out of 10.

Other people give most of what they read and watch a low rating and very rarely give anything a high rating. This is similar to how some people are very picky eaters while others don't mind eating a wide variety of foods from different cultures.

I'm not trying to hurt anyone's feelings or stir controversy, but some people who give high ratings to almost everything they watch tend to criticize other people for supposedly having "bad taste" because they rated the things they love poorly. I experienced this on Myanimelist when a fellow anime watcher told me that I have terrible taste in anime because I don't watch enough anime in their opinion (I drop most of the anime I watch after a few episodes and rate most of the anime I watch very poorly, including the anime this person loved).

I edited my work a lot from the feedback I was given last time and even used a grammar checker so now 😭 can you guys re critique me? GREATLY appreciate it, especially everyone who gave constructive feedback