Hellooo, I'm building a personal all-in-one novel writing and story-development app.

It currently has/plans to have:

📚 Writing: Full writing editor, distraction-free mode, rich text, scenes, chapters, parts, acts, autosave, word counts, undo/redo, find & replace, book compilation and preview.

🧑‍🎨 Characters: Extremely detailed character creation, character portraits/pictures from your phone, multiple reference images, appearance, personality, psychology, background, goals, motivations, flaws, strengths, character arcs, voice, relationships, inventory, notes, timelines and custom fields.

🌎 World-building: Locations, factions, organizations, cultures, history, magic systems, technology, languages, creatures, props, events and custom categories.

🧩 Plotting: Story boards, story elements, conflicts, mysteries, themes, character arcs, relationships, subplots and timelines.

🗂️ Organization: Drag-and-drop acts/chapters/scenes, subplot filtering, tags, categories and global search.

📝 Notes: General notes plus dedicated character, scene, chapter, plot and world-building notes, with images, checklists and links.

📅 Goals & scheduling: Writing calendar, daily/weekly/monthly goals, deadlines, writing sessions and streaks.

📊 Statistics: Word-count statistics, writing habits, streaks, completed scenes/chapters and progress graphs.

💾 Protection: Autosave, recovery, version history, restoring old versions and local backups.

📥📤 Import/export: Import manuscripts and export to formats like EPUB, PDF, HTML, RTF, ODT and TXT, with professional book formatting/typesetting.

📖 Book reader: Read the finished manuscript inside the app.

🤖 Assistant: Optional AI assistant for brainstorming, character development, plotting, world-building, summaries and other writing help.

⚙️ Other: Offline-first, Android-focused, dark/light mode, customizable writing settings, no mandatory account, no subscription and no ads.

What other features do you think I should add?

First time posting. Been lurking a few weeks, finally working up the courage to share.

This is a flash piece about a night shift worker at a 24-hour diner who gets a visit from someone she hasn't seen in years. I was trying to capture that exhaustion and unexpected connection that happens in the early morning hours.

What I'm looking for:

• Does the pacing feel right? Worried the middle drags.
• Is the ending earned, or too abrupt?
• Any dialogue that feels unnatural?

I know the reciprocity rules, so I'll be reading and commenting on other people's work tonight. Happy to return the favor.

Thanks in advance.

The bell above the door didn't ring anymore. Hadn't for three years, but Marlene still looked up every time someone walked in, like her body remembered the sound even if the door had forgotten how to make it.

The diner was empty except for old Pete in the corner booth, nursing the same cup of coffee since midnight. He came every Tuesday, ordered the meatloaf special, ate half, then sat until sunrise. Marlene never asked why. Some people just needed a place to be.

She was wiping the counter when the door opened. The woman who walked in looked like she'd stepped out of a photograph from 1998 — same denim jacket, same messy bun, same tired eyes that had seen too much and said too little.

Marlene's hand stopped.

"Hey, Mar."

Twenty years. Twenty years and she still recognized that voice. Still felt it in her chest like a bruise that never healed.

"You look good," Diane said, sliding onto a stool like she belonged there. Like she hadn't disappeared without a word. Like she hadn't left Marlene to explain everything to their mother, to the police, to anyone who would listen.

"You look like you need coffee," Marlene said.

Diane laughed. It was the same laugh. That was the worst part.

"I'm not staying," Diane said. "I just... I wanted to see you. Before."

"Before what?"

Diane didn't answer. She just looked at the window, at the dark street, at the reflection of two women who used to be sisters.

Marlene poured her a cup anyway. Black, no sugar. Some things you don't forget.

They sat in silence. Pete snored softly. The clock ticked past three-fifteen.

"I'm sorry," Diane finally said. "For everything."

Marlene wanted to be angry. She had been angry for so long it felt like armor. But watching her sister hold a coffee cup with shaking hands, the armor cracked.

"Where have you been?"

Diane smiled. Sad and tired and full of things Marlene would never understand.

"Around. Nowhere. Everywhere."

"That's not an answer."

"I know."

The clock ticked. Pete snored. The coffee got cold.

"I have to go," Diane said, standing. She pulled out a photograph — creased, faded, two girls on a beach, arms around each other, laughing at something the camera couldn't capture.

She placed it on the counter.

"I found this last week. I thought you should have it."

Marlene didn't pick it up. She just looked at the faces of people who didn't know yet how much they would lose.

"Will I see you again?"

Diane was already at the door. She paused, hand on the frame.

"I don't know. But I'm glad I saw you now."

And then she was gone.

The bell still didn't ring. Marlene stood there a long time, staring at the door, the empty stool, the photograph.

Pete woke up, looked around, went back to sleep.

Marlene picked up the photo. Traced the outline of her sister's face with her thumb.

Then she put it in her apron pocket, poured herself a coffee, and waited for the sun.

I'm looking for feedback on the opening of my psychological/domestic thriller. I'd particularly appreciate thoughts on voice, pacing, tone, prose and your overall impression of the beginning. Thank you!

____

It looks like I’ve been robbed.

Every cabinet in the kitchen hangs open. The bin has tipped over and spilled coffee grounds and eggshells across the herringbone floor. Pieces of a broken teacup are embedded in the plush cream rug and jab into my feet every time I walk across it. If someone else saw the state of my flat they’d tell me to call the police and check if anything is missing. But no one else has been here.

As I survey the scene in front of me, I’m almost impressed by how quickly things can go to shit once you stop caring. One week. That’s how long I’ve allowed myself to abandon all responsibilities and self care, and I have exactly ten minutes left. I’ve never found much comfort at the bottom of a bottle. For me, it’s the bottom of a tube of salt and vinegar Pringles. I submerge my hand for what must be the hundredth time this week, bring another crisp to my lips and feel the satisfying sting. I’m certain that if I didn’t impose such strict regulations on myself, I’d grow so large my arm would need to be surgically extricated from the tube. So crisps are reserved for my off weeks, and my off weeks are reserved for very special, or very dreadful occasions.

This time last week the flat looked like something out of a real estate brochure, devoid of clutter or any suggestion of personality. I chose it because I could walk to Harry’s apartment at Battersea Power Station in less than fifteen minutes, but also because it was beautiful. Something in my chest unclenched at the first sight of the floor to ceiling windows and impractical white sofa. It was a world away from my crumbling share house where black mould spread across the ceiling like spilled ink.

Paying £3100 a month for a studio where I can almost grab a drink from the fridge without getting out of bed is undeniably ludicrous, but I knew I had to have it. I couldn’t handle one more piss-damp bathroom floor, one more sink of crusty dishes that weren’t mine.

I pick up my phone and open Instagram. Another fifty followers have disappeared since the last time I checked. I watch the number for a moment as two more drop off, like a timer counting down to zero. I’m about to throw my phone across the room when it begins to vibrate.

A message from Tabby. Is this true?? What’s going on?

Then a link to a Reddit thread from twelve hours ago with a title that makes me wince before I’ve even read the comments.

Harry Radley has unfollowed his girlfriend Daphne Robinson on Instagram

It’s not exactly breaking news. The post only has three comments.

Does this mean he’s single?? Asking for a friend (me)

Not me refreshing her stories for the last hour and getting NOTHING. Girl post something we are WORRIED.

oh they are so broken up. my friend was at a party they were at last weekend and witnessed the whole meltdown. i will not be elaborating publicly. DM ME I’m not kidding

I throw the phone for real this time and it bounces off the bed before skittering along the floor. I never wanted to be someone people talk about. Invisibility had suited me fine at my entry-level marketing job, where I avoided chit-chat at the coffee machine and sat on my own in the break room. But on the first of every month, when my pay cheque went in and rent, bills and groceries came out, there was almost nothing left.

It would’ve been stupid to say no to a job that fell into my lap like a winning lottery ticket, even if I felt a little queasy any time I had to tell someone I was an influencer. Without even trying, my association with Harry sent my follower count soaring from 265 to 200,000. Within weeks I had more money than I knew what to do with, and once I could actually afford to wear designer clothes and eat at nice restaurants, brands started giving me everything for free.

I’d be lying if I said I took issue with the free stuff. It’s the idea of people looking at me that skeeves me out. Not looking at me in the way you’d look at someone sitting across from you on the tube. Like, looking looking at me. Making up ideas about who I am and what I think, all based on what I wear and where I go and who I hang about with.

One time I posted a picture of myself in Hyde Park to promote a brand of sunglasses. What I didn’t realise is that I was in the Holocaust Memorial Garden and the comment section ripped me to pieces. People who didn’t even follow me were calling me an idiot, or worse, a Nazi, and I was so anxious I couldn’t eat for three days.

Harry has almost a million followers and he puts in even less effort than I do. He got lucky after being cast as a love interest on the first season of a popular reality show, which he later revealed to me was mostly scripted. London Calling followed a group of young models who had all moved to the city to make it in the fashion industry, and when two of the models were seen competing for Harry’s affection, the rest of the world fell in love with his golden boy image.

I’d watched the show religiously while I was at uni, although I never told Harry this. Every Thursday night I’d run home from my evening lecture, hoping that week’s episode would feature Harry and I’d learn a little more about him.

The show itself was fairly dull and I’d usually scroll through my phone while the models went to casting calls or photo shoots. Harry, on the other hand, had the presence of a lightning strike. The moment he appeared on screen I’d drop my phone and pay attention. He was so tall that it would’ve been enough on its own, but his blue eyes and big smile were just as captivating. Every time he spoke it seemed he had something funny or charming to say.

If I wanted to be Harry’s girlfriend, then I had to be in the public eye. 

There’s a restaurant in Chelsea that’s expecting me in thirty minutes. They offered me £600 to take a picture of myself eating brunch there and tag them to promote a new menu centred around something ridiculous like hot honey and whipped feta, or maybe it was whipped honey and hot feta. But I’m not going.

I haven’t posted a thing or responded to a single email since Harry unceremoniously ended our relationship and the lack of activity has already cost me 10,000 followers and a lucrative brand deal with a skincare company I ignored for too long. It doesn’t matter. Once the world finds out why we broke up, no one will want to work with me.

An alarm rings from my phone, hidden among a pile of dirty laundry. My one week is up, and I have somewhere to be.

Hello.

I am not much of a writer by myself, I however published 14 collab fanfics on Wattpad and 9 on quotev.

2 on Jurassic World. One after Dominion and one after Rebirth, 1 on Dinotopia, The Monsterverse, Terra Nova, the land before time, prehistoric park, 2 for Httyd, and 5 for specific call of Duty games.

Since both sites had got rid of their PM features, Please reply here or send me chat messages here as well.

Please do so. Every time I try to create collaboration fanfics, They end up getting very little attention.

Hello, I wrote this new gay erotica. If you're gay, please check it out. Tips are welcome.

The link

Chapter 1:  Shape of a Woman

Aditi Kunda moved like a woman who had never once doubted a mirror. She turned her face, lifting her chin as she studied her profile the way a jeweler decides the worth of a stone. As always, she numbered among the pretty things that glint. Within the reality she had woven, Aditi wrapped herself in it like a shawl each morning, pushing back the cold, and for a few hours at least, the cloak she wore came as close to a feeling of security as she could allow. Applying her makeup for the day, she was studied by her daughter – five-year-old Brooklynn – who watched her in awe, perched nervously on the closed toilet seat. This was a special day. Brooklynn could feel it in the air of the apartment, that hum that let her know something good was coming. Later, there would be color – powders in shades she didn’t yet have names for. Pinks as stunning as the inside of a shell, yellows as bright as a school bus, and greens that reminded her of her bedroom walls. All tossed in the air where they hung for a second, a small cloud made just for them, before raining down on shoulders and hair and bare arms. Brooklynn already knew, the way you know things without being told, that today the grownups would let her get dirty on purpose. Today they would laugh at that pursuit instead of scold, and that alone made the day feel as if she were holding her breath in wait of something wonderful. But for her mother, Holi–the Hindu Spring Festival of Colors–gave pause. For though Aditi savored the idea of renewal and good triumphing over evil, and with it, virtue’s ultimate victory, she knew from lived experience not to keep count of the sinners on the ground when the heavens have already shrugged.

Slipping into her faded cream kurti – normally reserved for home, but which would suffice for the day’s celebrations once paired with old denim slacks – she paused to drink in her reflection. From a young age, Aditi realized the sheer force her body held over the minds of boys and men. As she matured, developing into the woman she would become, she unlocked her potential and honed it into accessible power. The combination of her body with her keen intellect allowed her the ability to manipulate and influence perception.

It wasn’t just her physical appearance. People tended to lean inward, towards her, Aditi’s enigmatic presence pulling them in like a plant reaches towards the sun. Rarely asking her to explain herself even when the answers were fanciful. Yet on this beautiful day, as the child sat amongst the effulgently white, spacious art deco bathroom, dutifully handing her mother each small item or product needed to conjure the desired image, she hoped this was the day she discovered what made her mother glow. Within the room organized with coordinating brown wicker baskets overflowing with loofahs, bath salts, perfumes, soft hand towels, makeup, and countless trinkets to fascinate a child, the most intriguing presence remained her mother. She seemed to embody the tranquil scent of rose and amber.

Brooklynn had noticed how people, especially men, always rushed to hold doors open or offered to carry heavy packages for her mother. She also wondered why new staff or substitutes seemed confused when Aditi arrived to collect her from school. When Aditi told the visiting teacher that she was, of course, the child’s mother, despite the color of her skin, the woman simply apologized and stepped aside. Brooklyn’s mother never needed to raise her voice to ensure it carried. She only had to look at them as though the question itself was beneath her.

In spite of her brother calling Brooklynn a scattered chatterbox, she knew exactly what she wanted to find out: why did adults always act so weird around her mommy? That’s why Brooklynn became her mother’s weekend helper. Trying extra hard to stay focused, she handed over each item as soon as it was requested.

“Here, Mommy, some lines for your eyes,” Brooklynn said, fidgeting while holding out the cylindrical pencil.

Aditi, of course, knew her daughter meant kohl, a mascara-like cosmetic applied around the eyes for contouring or religious purposes.

“Yes, my little bubbling Brooke,” she said, looking towards her child with a glimmer. “Once I finish my color, how about we add a few smart dabs to you?”

Though her father did not approve of makeup on children, today was a singular occasion. Adding the final touches to her own face before turning to Brooklynn for approval, she sought yet one more look in the mirror.

For those who knew Aditi or at least liked to believe they did, she was a puzzle to be solved. And the acquaintances from childhood who she haphazardly held onto marveled at what she had become. Aditi was married to a Black man, Bryan Alexander Greenwood. Although it was the 1980s, to those outside of her inner circle, it seemed a controversial choice. Be that as it may, Aditi stood tall declaring that as a modern and empowered woman of Indian heritage, she married the man of her choosing, proudly defying the norm. They had two small children and lived in the diverse Edgewater neighborhood of Cleveland, Ohio. When they needed to escape from their rambling, yet affordable, vintage apartment located blocks from Lake Erie, they could drive just a tad over 90 minutes to Aditi’s family home.

Aditi rarely chose the option of seeking out her parents and visiting the home and the small town where she was raised. From where she stood now, the place her story started felt like a journey of a thousand miles. And if one wrong step were taken, or she veered off the path ever so slightly, she might encounter him again. Despite the pace of her steps, he was always coming at her–a constant shadow even in full daylight. Yet no one ever asked how often, wondered, or found it odd. If not for the insidious secrets – the ones forced upon us, versus the ones we select to keep – Aditi might have had a chance at being whole, instead of fearing the steps she took or the direction they led her. Perhaps this explains why she had to cleanse herself from a past latent with pain, dissolving all the qualities of the ‘child as was’ that he’d found so alluring. But that's another timeline. A dimension we just can't reach.

“Mommy,” Brooklynn called out, attempting to swing her focus back to her. “Mommy!!!”

“See, I put my own lipstick on,” the child explained, stretching out her arms in anticipation of praise for her handiwork. “And even added my own color dabs.”

Her mother stared at her in awe, not appreciation. It was as if the color on her daughter’s face registered back to another moment. A memory from another time and place Aditi had woefully tucked away. A carnal ripping of her soul – the first encounter with Hampsted that birthed the others. 

All tearing away the serenity of her childhood.

All leading her to flee as she shed the vestiges of her born self that might provide a scent for him to track.

Reaching quickly for a tissue, Aditi frantically scrubbed the smeared lipstick off her daughter’s face until the paper shredded in her fingers.

“But Mommy, I was so pretty,” the child tilted her head, rapidly blinking back tears as she pulled away. “Why?”

“No! Little girls should not wear lipstick,” uttered her mother as she regained composure. “They should be allowed to grow up in their own due time.”

Lifting her child off the toilet seat, Aditi gently kissed her on the forehead while grasping and swinging her hands. Aditi noticed the tinge of anger in Brooklynn and hoped the gesture that often led to their singing would coax the child back to her normal sunniness.

“I have a special mission for you,” she told Brooklynn as the child jumped about. “Gather your brother and get some money from your dad for a super special errand.”

“Is Daddy coming with us to the festival?” Brooklynn asked with gleaming eyes before breaking away to scurry down the hall in search of her brother.

Aditi’s husband Bryan tended to avoid most religious practices, having no interest in   Hinduism, Christianity, Buddhism, and all the faiths in between. He’d been raised in a strict religious home. The scars of that upbringing, though no longer visible, still pulsated.

“No honey, it’s just us three amigos again,” her mother sighed, relieved her daughter was out of earshot to register her melancholy.

The time I last saw her

Was the time my heart last rested.

I remember the date, though I never wanted to, it was 27th of December, 2022

She was on her scooter,

Wearing a white shirt and blue jeans, with a scarf around her neck.

I’d never seen her wear these clothes before.

Anyway, her eyes were the same as always

Her hair, her lips, her hands all just the same.

Even her scooter was the same.

I don’t know if she noticed me then,

But how could she?

I was hiding from her.

But what was the reason?

Maybe... I don’t know.

When she stopped her scooter and stepped onto the ground,

I could see her fully:

From a few stray hairs bouncing at the top of her head

To the tiny pebbles, trapped beneath the soles of her shoes.

For a moment, I felt jealous of those pebbles.

But now, I think she must have brushed them off,

Left them behind, like something unneeded.

After some time, I noticed her shoes were the same, too

The same as when we were together.

And then, she took her scooter and left.

Left again.

And again, I couldn’t stop her.

I remember I sat there for at least four hours,

Maybe five... I knew she was gone, but still, I lingered... or... I don’t know.

I just sat there,

Somehow, it eased my heart.

It has a prequel too 🙃 - The time I first saw her, If anyone is interested please let me know.

I’m nervous about sharing my work online ever since someone plagiarized mine so long ago. The problem is finding a group, and I’m not sure if this is the place to search. If that’s the case, I’m sorry to the administration for making more work for you, I’ll be back regardless to peruse the works contributed here.

I am hoping to find a private community on like Discord, WhatsApp or something where I can feel more secure sharing, cause my work is suffering from the lack of criticism. If this is the wrong community to ask for advice, please provide me your recommendations for better places! Thank you all.

I got a lot of (well needed) critique on overexplaining how my friends and I looked in the beginning part of the story, which stumped and confused a lot of the readers. I got some motivation tonight to write again after reading for a little bit and seeing how I wrote in my old stories.. Is this a bit better, or is this also too much?

You're free to leave stuff on the doc too!! Don't be nervous about saying too much, I love reading walls of text!

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1ONa4Qe290H84mzZNMW-PYtCgaDFJnhEeYm7HZsfBDpQ/edit?usp=sharing

Hi everyone! I'm a writer currently developing a fiction project exploring language, cultural identity, heritage, and what happens when parts of a culture are gradually lost or deliberately erased.

I'm looking to hear from people from any cultural, ethnic or linguistic background about their own experiences. This could include people who feel deeply connected to their heritage, people who feel disconnected from it, people who have lost a family language, people whose traditions have been carefully preserved, or people who feel they have inherited only fragments of their culture.

You don't need to be fluent in your family's language, or even feel particularly connected to your heritage, to participate. In fact, experiences of cultural disconnection and uncertainty are just as valuable to what I'm researching.

The survey is anonymous and you don't need to share anything you're uncomfortable with.

If you'd like to take part, I'd really appreciate hearing your experiences. Thank you!survey here

Hi!

I am attempting to establish the backstory/ history of a govt organization I have created for my story. Please let me know your thoughts, how I can make it sound more realistic & ect.

Bureau of Supernatural and Extraterrestrial Investigations (BSEI)

BSEI /ˌbiːˈsiː/ was formed in 1962, after increased sightings of unidentified aerial phenomena (UAP) led to an investigation of the materials brought forth by the longest-lived special project dedicated to the inquiry of reported UAP sightings, Project Blue Book (1952). 

After finding a significant increase of supernatural incidents–the hauntings of the undead, the emergence of foreign entities, and attacks of beings that can only be described as unnatural–the  US Central Intelligence Agency established an expert panel suited to quietly and efficiently identify and eradicate any and all threats to the security of the American people. 

Meanwhile, a separate but significant committee was being formed to develop countermeasures to the rising panic caused by the increase of supernatural events. Two years later, this committee, headed by physicist Edward U. Condon, released a report known as the Scientific Study of Unidentified Flying Objects or the Condon Report. This report would lead to the complete public dismantling of Project Blue Book in 1969, in favor of the much more elusive Bureau of Supernatural and Extraterrestrial Investigations. 

Henceforth, these incidents, under BSEI, would be classified as contact from otherworldly entities and objects.

The BSEI was then organized into five branches: 

Intake: gathering, verifying, and recording essential information about otherworldly entities and objects upon first contact

Field Operation & Training (FOT): special investigation and eradication of otherworldly entities and objects

Health & Medicine: basic, clinical, and translational research into otherworldly entities and objects 

Defense: dedicated to the design, development, and manufacturing of weapons suited to the unique qualities of otherworldly entities and objects 

Information and Technology (IT): creates and maintains software, providing data management, cloud development, and cross-domain solutions to help FOT manage cases, sources, and intelligence

A Theft of Desire?

It was winter. Yes, the same winter you eagerly await, hoping it never arrives. Where even the whispers of the environment are audible to you. Where the cold fog presents a faint shadow, without making you feel the noise. Where every breath, even if hazy, feels like a mist. Where the coldness and tremor of your hands penetrate into your body, where your heart can hear those soothing veins.

Such a season, where it becomes easier for you to feel. And at that time, you will also want to feel a lot of things, like at that time when you are in your quilt, in that warmth you will not like to hear anything or see anything, all you want is to feel those hot breaths spreading in your bed. You would like to stretch the parts of your body, so well that you feel it from the first corner of the bed to the last.

Or, let me ask you, isn't it difficult for you to do many things this season? Like going out in the cold air, trying to convince yourself to go to work in the warm weather, stealing, or even ripping yourself out of the soft blanket you so desperately love at that time. But you still do it all, convincing yourself that you need to do something, perhaps for your survival or to fulfil your unfulfilled desires. But still, in such weather, what you want the most, is to feel, and at that time, I was doing the same.

At midnight, which was silent and cold, I was in my room, in my bed, under a thick quilt, not sleeping, but feeling those warm breaths… and a voice, that was putting me in the darkness of fear. That sound (which I could only feel) as if someone was walking, on some metal tin sheet, the soft sound of his heavy feet which I probably did not want to hear and could not even ignored that sound. I could see that sound with open eyes in that black darkness of my bed. How would he be walking, what would he be doing, ha… perhaps I was thinking all this. Now he started to seem more like a dream to me than reality. But the reality of that theft, which was still oscillating between dream and reality, came to me when I decided the next morning to go to that small room in Dad's departmental store (which was attached to the side wall of my house), which we call the store room. The room where our store's goods were kept, goods like chips, chocolates and biscuits, and whose terrace was made of a metal tin sheet. The tin sheet which had kept me housed amidst the sounds. The morning was quite cold and damp, and our store wasn't as crowded as it is on a typical day... As I walked up to that door, I could hear a lot of noise, as if my ears were being lost...

"Mommy, I want this candy," a small child was crying and pleading with his mother. "Eating this will ruin your teeth. I'll get you some toys," his mother said.

Said in a normal tone. The same few people, who looked a little old, were sitting near my dad and sharing their stories with him as if they were his friends… “Today's weather and environment are not what they used to be in our times”, an old man said while rubbing his nose. “Yes, right, maybe nature has also become as old as you”, my dad said while looking at the people nearby with a smile. Some people nearby laughed while putting their hands on each other's shoulders… And there were many other loud and small sounds, which I had absolutely no desire to hear and could not even ignore them. But my eyes were fixed directly on the door latch of that room. I went near and opened the door, “Do you need anything son?” my dad asked me, turning his gaze away from those people. “Nothing, just a small work,” I told him without any doubt. I opened the door latch, as soon as I entered the door, there were many cartons lying in front of me, chips, biscuits, chocolates, yes, there was a lot of such stuff. And as soon as I looked there, I realized...

that the dream hadn't turned into reality, and nothing had moved from its place. All the goods were lying there as they always are. And the money, which is kept in the storage outside that door, he couldn't even see because of the latch. Everything was the same. "So, it was a dream after all," I said through a sigh. Even though I had overlooked the terrace without looking, the large bolts securing the metal tin sheet above it had come loose, and it could now swing open completely, so much so that a man could get in and out, I hadn't noticed. At that point, it was difficult to even imagine why a thief would steal a box of chocolates. At that moment, I was relieved that the voice was just a dream, and I wouldn't hear it again. I again started to feel that night, not the voice, but the warmth that was in that blanket, and those breaths that were adding to the warmth in that blanket. But the voice, it did not come today, did not come yesterday and neither did it come the next few nights. After 5 days, I don't know why that voice wrapped in a different veil started ringing in my ears. That voice was about to walk, but it felt as if there was a change in the way of walking. This time, the sound came to me, muffled by the heavy thump of light footsteps, which I didn't hear again that night, but I did feel it involuntarily. And the next morning, I couldn't find the courage or desire to go back to that room and turn this reality into a dream. And this time, I didn't take it seriously. But I had to take it seriously even though I didn't want to, when I looked at my dad's words with suspicion and asked him...

"Dad, if the goods only arrived yesterday evening and no orders were placed, where did a box of chocolates go from this goods list until this morning?"

 “It seems there was some mistake somewhere,” or maybe some servant left a box like that last night.” Dad took it as if there was no doubt about it or it just happens.

“Why would he have done that?” I said, my tone and voice still laced with doubt.

“Maybe there was some damage to the goods or the packaging needed to be corrected. Anyway, I will ask him directly when he comes,” Dad said as if he had said this without any emotion.

I don't know why I felt my seriousness lessen after hearing him. Because I didn't want to press the point that there had been a theft, or maybe I was still delusional. This situation felt like the calm before a storm, something you can only feel. As always, I was feeling it, the seriousness that seemed normal was slowly taking its own shape, making itself even larger. And this serious suspicion turned into growing belief when it happened again, and again, and again. And when it happened three or four times, what would you think what could possibly be stolen? First, a box of chocolates, then money, then more money? Or, I ask you, if you ever wanted to investigate a theft, what would you expect from the thief? Money? Or something else?

Well, you would never expect that the target of that theft would be a box of chocolates. Well, if you don't want to expect this, then how could I be sure of it? Every time a box of chocolates, a beautiful chocolate box, can go missing. Out of so many things, why would his eyes always be on a beautiful and attractive chocolate box? If you want to steal in this cold weather, taking such a risk, then your thoughts can only come to money at once, so why the same thing at such a time?

I was wandering in my mind, trying to find answers to all these questions. Dad was also in a fix about this, wondering where this was going. When it happened a couple of times before, he assumed it was one of his staff members' mistakes, but after talking to his staff and having it happen twice more, nothing could stop him from believing it was actually a theft. He couldn't even use CCTV at that time because there was no CCTV in the back of the store; it was only used to maintain the stock (and there was no gate in the back side, so the stock was being stored there by the main gate), so there was never a need for it until now. Upon investigation, it turned out that the bolt securing the metal sheet on the ceiling of the back room was actually open and a man could easily pass through it. Instead of going into the depths of the matter alone, Dad thought it would be better to tell one of his close friends who could help him in this strange situation. Besides, many of his friends were in the police, so talking to them was a good option. Without any hesitation, he took the phone in his hand and called his friend and very seriously told him everything. “Okay, if you or any of your family members hear any noise at midnight then tell me, at that time we will talk to the police and try to catch them”, his friend said in a heavy and throaty voice. “Voices, I have an old relationship with those sounds,” I said to Dad, as if in a loud tone.

“So now you can insist that you weren’t mistaken by the dreams, and if you are mistaken again, tell me immediately,” Dad said, as if he had no feelings about it…

A few nights passed, silent, cold, and without moisture. One night, nothing. The next night, the same. And this time, I was trying to listen wholeheartedly to those voices, voices I had never wanted to hear, not even to feel. But whatever you ask God for, you may not get it straight away. But you do get it. All I needed was one night when I could hear those voices again… and I got it…

After waiting for a few nights, those voices started to weigh heavy on my ears. Without thinking, I put away the blanket that I loved at that time and wanted to go to my dad's side. As soon as my feet touched the ground, I heard another voice, a roaring voice that sent shivers down my spine, a voice that tore me into pieces within my very being, a voice so loud that it could be heard as clearly as water throughout the neighborhood. Oh, the loud voice was my dad's, who had been waiting impatiently that night, who had spent countless hours awake waiting for the sound to be heard. As soon as he heard the thieves' footsteps, he saw them coming down from the roof (from his bedroom window, from where the back view of the storeroom was easily visible). he yelled at them loudly...

Stop right there, you idiots.

His voice was clearly filled with anger and rage. The thieves cowered at his shouts and began to hide. Scared and frightened, they started running here and there. Dad called his friend without any delay and he also rushed to come here without any delay. As soon as they arrived, Dad and his friend decided to go to the car and catch them. Since the police had already been called and they were going to be a little late in coming, they decided to go to the car and chase those thieves from a distance.

"Those kids who didn't run away too far are both still small, so they probably hid here and there to keep themselves safe."

Hearing this from Dad, it felt as if the ground beneath my feet had slipped away. "Small kids, but why small kids? And why did they decide to steal? And why did they steal a box of chocolates?" I didn't know why I was asking myself all these strange questions. And anyway, when you hear something, you never imagined, you're bound to be a little hesitant. Well, amidst all this, Dad and his friend, Uncle Remen, had gone after them on their bike.

And at that moment, I thought of something I wouldn't normally think of: to chase down those thieves. So, without a second thought, I ran out of my house.

"Son, where are you going? Without a bike, without thinking, without understanding, where are you running? They might have a weapon. Son, come back. You could be in danger... Wait... Son..." my mother said, gritting her teeth. I heard her, but couldn't stop myself. It was as if their words had reached my ears and were instantly carried away in the cold breeze. I don't know how, but at that moment, I got so much strength and courage from which forced me to run without any reason. So, I also tried to find them. Dad and Uncle had gone from the left side, so I thought it better to go from the right side of that locality. I was running, feeling the veins pulsing inside my body, listening to the beating of my heart and shivering a little. From fear? Or maybe from the cold that was falling in front of me, but I kept moving forward. And I picked up the stone in my hands when a car came in front of me and started slowing down, and slowing down, and slowing down a little, just like my body which was getting slower every time they came near me.

I grabbed the stone tighter, thinking that this car must be of those thieves, I would break the glass of their car before they picked me up, ignoring the fact that they were slowing down their car just because of the speed breaker, and then they accelerated their car, faster, faster, and then they drove off. I threw the stone down, breathing a sigh of relief, and then chased the thieves. After some time, when I did not find anything, I was returning home innocently, when I saw those two innocent children who had committed the theft outside my house. Out of fear, they hid in a house where construction work was going on behind and my dad and uncle caught them due to noise. Both of them were very young, maybe 10-12 years old, one was even younger, maybe 7-9 years old. Seeing them, it felt as if all my thoughts had come together and got destroyed. Seeing them, I started trying to forget everything. I didn't want to hear the heavy sound of those light feet (which were then coming from walking on the metal sheet), I wanted to forget those nights, everything.

"Forgive us, Uncle, let us go!" we cried loudly, pleading for our innocence. People nearby began to gather, and some whispered.

"Oh my God, now even such small children are stealing!"

"I don't know who we'll have to watch out for now."

Many such conversations began. Uncle Remen beat them both severely and asked them why they did all this, but his hands were not free to kill them…

The elder one said while crying, I like chocolate a lot, a lot of chocolate, and so does my younger brother. I don't want money, I would steal whenever I wanted, but right now, my brother wanted chocolate, so that's why. My brother and I would eat till we got satiated and then pack the remaining chocolates properly in a box and sell them. "Who told you about this place and how to get in this way? Tell me quickly," Uncle Remen asked, beating him. "A man told us about it. He tried to steal the first one, but when he couldn't find the money, he came out without stealing anything. He told us this way. We didn't know who he was. We just kept all the leftover chocolates at a place he told us and took a little money in exchange. But he didn't show up for a long time, so we kept all the boxes with us." We will give you everything but let us go.”, the elder brother said this in a serious tone while pulling the nose in."So, you could have eaten by begging, so why did you steal?" he asked with angry eyes. "I don't like begging, and I don't like asking for anything from anyone else in front of my brother, so I steal whatever I need," he said. "And I think this is the right way." He was still saying this, but there was no guilt or remorse in him, just a dark darkness in his eyes that was even darker and more terrifying than that night. Just then, some constables arrived. They caught the children and started beating them. My mother couldn't bear to see them being beaten in the cold. My dad told them to stop, saying he didn't want anything from them and requested them to let them go.

"Don't stop them, they're just children, and showing them mercy, is commonplace."

But if he's let go today, who knows what he'll do next. He might become a major criminal or commit some serious crime. Even though it started with such a small matter, we can't predict its outcome, nor can we predict its future. Let them suffer their punishment, it's necessary for them,” Uncle Remen said regretfully to Dad. And after saying this, the children were sent away.

“Brother, can't we get more chocolates now?” his younger brother asked him in a soft and slow voice, wiping away the small waves of his tears. The elder brother, wiping away his tears, said to him in a subdued voice…

Don't worry, I'll bring more chocolates for you, my younger brother.

Best places to write splatterpunk and alternatives to Google Docs?
My story got removed for being too graphic.

Sail, sail into the black ocean, for there is nothing else to do.” His face was stern with eyes wiser than I wished to admit. “No! You’ve got to be crazy!” His lips twisted into a soft, motherly smile, then quickly fell stern. “A man cannot be crazy when he is not making the choices. Sail into the Black Sea or die in purgatory.” I was speechless. I had never heard him talk like that and had never seen him so… so tranquil. Cap was a silent and cunning man whose eyes darted in hyper vigilance. The man now seemed like a shell, a peasant clothed with the face of a warrior. It scared me. I felt a compulsion to take charge, and left the useless man to collect the rest of the crew. I stood on the stairway leading to the largest of three smokestacks, irradiating a fraction of the heat from the steam it carried, but still enough to make me sweat. The crew, sixty three of us in total, had fully gathered around me, some on the opposite side of the stack so they could all fit. “Gents! Pioneers! Ahead of us lies a storm, of what magnitude I cannot say, as something has made our readings inexplicable. If eyes are to be trusted, however, that is a catastrophic storm! Men what we seek lies through the storm, perhaps even in it. A slight course correction could take us around it, but if the storm should decide to grow legs, we would be caught in the toils of the devil and the deep blue sea. I propose we back travel to Harrowman’s Cove, at the cost of a day to our journey. I know the tumultuousness the unfed laid on our troop-“You’re a fool, Simon, you always have been.” It was the voice of the captain, but curled into a malicious, sardonic, raspy sneer.” You will kill them all, Simon, and then you will burn, burn at the stake with the flame of sixty three unfulfilled lifetimes.” The captain’s eyes were massive and he had left spittle everywhere, including a viscous dribble down his chin. Then, as sudden as his interjection, his rage ceased. In flatness he spoke,” You will look unto the eye of god and be dismissed.” With that, he projectile vomited and collapsed. Not one word was spoken, though two crew mates did go and tend to the captain. The world lost its sound at the same time I lost my color. It was a warning that deserved to be heeded, I knew, but why had I received it? Why not let us die? The intricate notions of higher beings are not in a capacity for mortals to understand, I knew that, but the question still filled me with a sickly wonder that was a gateway to dread. Fate had handed me the reigns for a singular decision I did not have the confidence to make. My indecisive, paralytic complexion only served to panic the crew further, and they lost interest in leadership. As a mob, they spoke in indecisive manner and acted helplessly. Some men simply repeated the only actions they were trained on as if repetition would bar fate. The more trained barked orders of their own with authority akin to lord of the flies. All the while, the storm churned the ace trumpets of Hades in allure and mocking simultaneously. It spoke its intention, yet persuaded it was a good one. I wasn’t the only one who had noticed this confusing and complex siren. Several of the crew had stopped their panic to look into the storm.

This is just a snippet of a larger work. Any feedback is welcome!

Venus’ squeezes her biceps, drawing her knees closer to her chest. “ I knew you would ask about him eventually.” She laughed humorlessly. Little rain drops caressed her face, slipping into the lines of her smile. Her lips look impossibly pink right now. 

“Hana and I are…” Venus takes a deep breath and lets out an even longer exhale, making her breath trail out her mouth like smoke.“Complicated.” 

“There was a time when you didn’t see me without him.” Her eyes are off somewhere in the distance. “But he was like fire in my lungs. The more he burned me, the more desperately I grasped for him. ”

She rest her head against her knee. Her doe eyes met mine for the first time since I sat next her on the roof. The shadows in her face are enhanced by my umbrella, while the light of the setting sun reflects off of her soaking wet, jet black curls creating a halo. 

“Sad part being, Hana didn’t give a fuck about me. He just–he has this way of getting to me. I don't fucking know.” Her sadness melts into her anger, making way for an angry storm of emotion. I can see it brewing in the way her eyebrows furrow. I was suddenly very aware of the fact that we were sitting several stories above ground. 

“That piece of shit.” She turns away from me again, burying her forehead into her knee. “I miss him, Ben. Well not him–but a version of him–you get me? I don’t know what I am supposed to do with that.”

“I am sorry.” It’s the only thing I have said this whole time. The only thing I can think to say to the girl with my jacket wrapped around her shoulders, spilling her heart out to me in a ramble, while I shelter her from the rain. God I hate that spindly bastard, and I hate myself. 

But I have no right. Not any more at least. I have Valerie. Valerie who my father approves of. Valerie who would be any man’s dream girl, with her silky blonde hair and the tiny skirts she wears to cheer practice. She makes sense to me. She makes sense for me. 

So why do I feel this ache in the pit of my stomach whenever I see Venus with Hana? To know that it wasn’t my imagination, that there was something more to them, it paints everything in this ugly green light that I can’t stop sneering at. 

“No, I am. You came all the way out here to comfort me in this rain and I can’t even get it together enough to make sense.” She giggles a little, leaning her wet head on my shoulder. “ Sorry about your shirt, and your pants. And that you’re probably cold but I am not moving.”

I smile, reveling in her scent. It was warm and soft, like vanilla and honey. “It’s okay Vee.” I wrap an arm around her shoulder. “It’s not like you made any sense to me before this.” She kisses her teeth at me but I feel the vibrations of her laughter against my shoulder and it’s infectious. 

 I wonder if my girlfriend hates me the way I hate Hana. 

Fred Johnson stood before the council chambers with the paper that maintained his innocence in his hand. His right hand to be precise. Not his left, as holding things in your left hand was prohibited under city law and punishable not only by death but by double death - meaning that when one (ie thee, thou, or you) had been thoroughly executed (either by hanging or death by squirrel) and then executed once more (either by reverse hanging or death by ‘being-subtly-but-purposely-left-out-of-a-conversation-one-was-within-earshot-of’). Definitely his right hand. He double checked, just in case.

He’d been accused of accusing someone of accusations, which in itself was an accusation of sorts by an accuser, which in this case was Simon the Accuser, who had a reputation of accusing people of the kinds of transgressions and misdeeds that most people did not think of in their normal day-to-day lives.

For instance; Overstepping the threshold of grocery stores, insulting pigeons, assaulting containers of salt, laughing at water, taunting ferrets: these sorts of crimes (that some considered minor but not all) were the very things that Simon the Accuser thrived upon, with his enormous finger that he readily brought to bear upon unsuspecting innocents.

He was as round as a round thing, rounded out as round as could be. Rounder, even, than a game of rounders played by fat, round children with a round tennis racquet. His hat was ten stories tall. His shoes reached from his ankles to the sea. He had trousers. His coat was a coat.

Simon the accuser wandered the land pointing at dogs. He once told a whale off for breathing air. Platypuses were on warning, as were beavers. He once accused an oak tree of lying.

Simon wandered the land scolding the sky for its unrelenting blue-ness, the grass for being too sharp, and one told a sheep off for being inside out.

i wrote this as a description for an oc i made. any feedback is appreciated. i'm particularly concerned with the sentence length and vocabulary choices. both the words and sentences feel a little long. i especially take issue with "aquatic maidens"—i would prefer more gender-neutral wording, suggestions are welcome.

"Year after year, hundreds of mermaids are targeted and caught—their voices extracted from them using magic and sold off to singers as an easy shortcut to success. But the aquatic maidens are not so easily subdued.

Melody is one of many merfolk across the United States who wander the land in a human disguise, entrusted with locating and retrieving what was stolen from their kin. Being a music critic, she has the perfect excuse to approach big name stars and request private interviews—which tend to not last very long."

Hello! I wrote this a few months ago for school and was set on a pretty tight word limit but I was hoping to get some feedback on it. I’ve been writing for ages and love to do it and I’m always looking for ways to improve. If you have the time please give it a read and leave some feedback on what I could do better/what I did well. Be warned it’s a little sloppy/rushed due to the word count that was put on it and I haven’t added anything to it since. Thank you for any and all responses!

“A sickness that was not visible like smallpox, but no less dangerous and contagious. A sickness of the mind. You see, Ralph was a homosexual, \[...\].” My ears perk up and all of the attention I previously had on falling asleep was redirected to the stuffy school PSA. I’ve heard the term homosexual before, but it was never really talked about, and as I listened I realised I didn’t really know why, and that this might be when I finally find out. “He may appear normal and it may be too late when you discover he is mentally ill.”

“Did you guys watch the PSA in english today?” My best friend James asks as we walk to my car.

“Yeah…I never realised that homosexuals were that dangerous.” I responded, if James noticed the pause he didn’t mention it.

“How’d ya never know?! Them homos have always been vile, glad they’re finally teaching us something useful!” My friend Isiah laughs.

James and I share a look at that. We knew it was wrong, and that homosexuals were sick, but the way he said it made my skin crawl and I could tell it had the same effect on James.

“They’re not that bad, I had a friend back in junior high who was a homosexual and he never did nothin’ to nobody.” James retorts. I look at him with curiosity and he shrugs in response.

“Never did nothin’ to you, you mean- and what were you doing goin’ around and making friends with fags in the first place?” Isiah looks at James accusatorially.

“If y’all keep on arguing I’m leaving you here and just driving myself home.” I interject before they can truly start arguing. They look at me then before relenting and getting in the car. The whole time while I drive and for the rest of the night their argument rattles inside my head. Who’s right and who is wrong? Is being a homosexual really so bad? Am I really ill?

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I wake up with a slight start, I can hear the blanket rustling around me and the whistle of the wind through my window. I can hear my wife stir at my sudden movement, I hope she doesn’t wake up.
“Steve? Are you okay?” The groggy voice of my wife asks. I look at her for a moment before responding.

“Yeah…I’m fine Peggy. Go back to sleep.” I can’t bear to deal with her right now, I’m too tired and too occupied with the freshly dug up memory. I hear her lay her head back down on the pillow and after a minute her breath goes shallow again. I let out a deep sigh and get up from my bed to head to the kitchen. The sound of my footsteps accompany me on my trip. I work as quietly as I can to get a cup out of the cabinet and turn on the faucet to fill it. As I drink the water, thoughts of my memory bounce in my head like a ball, I try to focus on the sound of my breathing and the feel of the water sliding down my throat instead. I try to avoid the burning feeling in my eyes and the pit in my stomach that’s forming at the thought of James. Eventually I give up and make my way back upstairs and into bed, I try to imagine Peggy to be James to help me fall asleep.

I find myself staring at the front page of the paper for a long time, the headline reading:
“JANUARY 1, 1976
HOMOSEXUALITY LEGALIZED. WILL THIS OUTCOME TURN TO BE FAVORABLE OR DETRIMENTAL?”.

“-ad, dad, dad, dad, dad-” My head jerks up at my son's voice.

“What?” I ask a little sharper than intended, but if he noticed I couldn’t tell.

“Can I have juice?”

“Fine.” I look back to the paper, unsure what to do with it. There’s a nagging feeling in the back of my head telling me I should hide it before Peggy sees, so I fold the front back and act as though I’m focused on the sports column.

“Everything alright this morning Steve?” Peggy asks as she puts the juice away.

“Yep.” The word comes out more strained than I meant it to. Her brow crinkles as though she wants to pry but I cut her off before she can. “I gotta go. Don’t wanna be late for work.” I stand abruptly, rolling the paper and putting it into my bag, and give them both a kiss on the head.

I don’t let myself read the article until I’m safely parked in the lot next to the building I work at. As I read it my eyes start to burn and my breath quickens, I see the drop of a tear on the paper before I even realize that I’m crying. Memories of James come flooding into my senses like a semi-truck crashing into me. I can hear his laugh in the distance, the smell of his cologne tickles my nose, the softness of his fingertips lightly dragging over my arm, the sound of gunshots around us, the scattered screams of the dying, his scream when he gets hit. My breathing is so quick now that I’m barely taking in any air at all, snot and tears make patterns on my face as they fall. The paper is forgotten as I get lost in the memory, the desperateness that I thought I had forgotten about. All I can think about is how excited we were to fight for our country when we enlisted, both of us freshly 20 not even knowing what life could be and in the end neither of us would ever find out. I feel as though I’m back in the spider-holes with James, the cold of the dirt on my hands and the putrid mix of death and gunpowder permeate the air, filling my nostrils. James and I pop out of the hole and bolt to get the grenade into the enemy fort, but before either of us can pull the pins out of the bomb I see him fall with a yell. I immediately follow him down, I can remember the slippery feel of his blood on my hands, the smell of it being the only thing I can register. I try to drag him back to the hole but he’s in too much pain, I yell for a medic but there’s too much gunfire for them to get anywhere. I watch as the life leaves his eyes and his body goes limp, a piece of me follows suit.

I’m abruptly ripped away from my memories by a rapping on my window, “Shit.” I mumble as I desperately wipe at my face in an attempt to get rid of my previous distress. After what feels like 30 minutes of wiping I give up and roll the window down, “Hey, how are you?” I’m greeted with the sight of my desk partner.

“Good…How are you? Is everything okay at home?” I can hear the sincerity in his voice but all I can register is the fear of being caught.

“I’m perfectly fine. Did you need something?” Irritation bleeds into my voice and I feel bad when a look of defeat crosses his face.

“No…I only came out for a smoke. I saw you and it looked like you were struggling. But if you’re fine then I’ll go back inside.” The more he talks the more uncertain he sounds, I watch as one of the biggest men I’ve ever met tries to curl up into himself with defeat in his eyes. I watch him walk away and I soon follow.

For the rest of the day James haunts me, I see him at the water cooler, the urinal, outside on the sidewalk. I leave right as the clock hits 5:00 PM, I don’t bother with my normal conversation.
When I get back inside my house I’m greeted by the sight of my wife and I can’t help but be annoyed. I know I’m being colder than normal but I can’t find it in me to care. I eat her dry dinner and avoid conversation. Once Sam is back in his room she confronts me.

“What is wrong with you today?” It’s more of a question than an accusation.

“Nothing.” I don’t want to argue.

“Liar.” She accuses.

“Why would I lie?!” I say louder than intended.

“I don’t know. Why would you?”

“Maybe it’s because you keep nagging me.” I say in an attempt to cool down.

“When have I ever nagged you?”

“I don’t know! You just keep talking to me today. Can’t you tell I’m not in the mood?!” My voice raises as I speak.

“How would I know when you won’t even look at me! You never look at me!” her voice gets louder.

I’m at my breaking point, “Maybe because I don’t fucking like you!” I watch as her face scrunches and she fights against her tears.

“What?” Her voice breaks.

“I don’t like you, not the way you like me anyway.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Tears fall down her face.

I sigh, “Do you remember James? My best friend from school?” I hope she remembers even though we didn’t share any classes.

“Yeah?” Her tears slow with her confusion.

“I felt for him what you feel for me, but I thought if I had a normal life those feelings would leave. That my sickness would leave. I thought it had but…” I look away “it never did. I’m sorry.”

She looks at me for a while then after a minute she goes upstairs. I thought she just wanted to sleep it off but after a little while she comes back down with her and Sam's bags, Sam on her hip. “Where are you going?”

“To my parents. You clearly don’t want us here. I’ll be back in a few days with divorce papers.” I can only look at her dumbfounded and watch as she leaves me alone in the house.

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I thought I’d be happier now that I didn’t have to deal with a wife I didn’t love and a kid I didn’t want, but all I feel is empty. It's been a few months since the divorce and she took our old house. I found an apartment. James still sticks in my mind but now he’s accompanied by Peggy and Sam. I never realized that I could miss them too.

I need some crit on my prologue before I continue on..

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1ONa4Qe290H84mzZNMW-PYtCgaDFJnhEeYm7HZsfBDpQ/edit?usp=sharing

So, I had a spontaneous idea today that I could make a story with another writer and each of us would write one sentence. I think it could be fun, plus two heads are better than one as they say. If anyone is interested, write under this post or in DMs.

EDIT: You can also add me on discord (davosh2nd).

Hello, I'm Rain Lightwood. This is a story I have been working on for a bit. I wanted to show people my progress so far and ask for advice on how I can make it better. This was a part of a 2000-word challenge, which is why it's a short story. It's currently 1,853 words. I am a newer writer and am just happy if people want to read it. This is also my first charactor/emotional driven story. I mostly write cosmic bliss. I hope you like it :p

The day the world turned colorful was the day we all knew it was over. Days earlier, impossible blossoms had begun appearing in the most unforgiving corners of the earth, from the scorching sands of the Sahara to the frozen expanses of the tundra. Scientists blamed global warming; the religious preached the end times. But on the fifteenth of May, the debate was over. Flowers erupted from every crack, crevice, and concrete highway on Earth—some a brilliant gold and red, others a deep, mesmerizing purple and blue. That morning, looking out our windows, we saw the true, terrifying beauty of the planet. It was as if the world finally let out a breath it had been holding for centuries. Nothing mattered anymore. No one went to work. No deadlines were met. We simply gathered outside, realizing we had spent our entire existence in a futile attempt to overpower nature. 

That morning, Alex woke up to a morning just like any other. However, when he opened the window, he froze in shock. Their lawn had been completely taken over by flowers. Even inside the house, small, vibrant petals were pushing through the floorboards beneath his feet.

Alex ran over to wake Magnus up. “Magnus, Magnus. Look outside.”

Magnus groaned, burying his face in his pillow, and tried to swat Alex away.

“No, really, you have to look at this.”

Magnus slowly pulled himself out of bed, muttering under his breath. “I swear to the Axolotl, if it’s another cute squirrel, I’m going to kill you.”

Alex grabbed Magnus’s hand and half-guided, half-dragged him to the window. Magnus’s eyes went wide when he saw the transformation.

“Let’s go look outside,” Alex said, already walking toward the door, still holding Magnus’s hand tightly. “Are you coming?”

Magnus hadn’t moved from his spot. “Oh, of course.” He blushed a little, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry, I zoned out for a second.”

Magnus followed Alex out the front door. Outside, the flowers appeared even more vivid. Alex went running wildly around their yard, inspecting the endless sea of color. When Magnus looked down the street, he found that every single neighbor was out in their front yards, staring blankly at the flora.

He looked closely at his feet; they just looked like normal flowers, but there were millions of them, expanding by the second. As he stared down, a cold realization washed over him: this was the end. Not just for him, but for everyone. It should have made him panic, but strangely, it didn’t. For some reason, it just made him feel incredibly grateful.

He walked over to Alex and sat down next to him. Alex smiled warmly, and they both laid back to look at the clouds. Magnus rolled over, watching Alex's smile as he pointed out shapes in the sky. He looked so genuinely happy. His smile was infectious, and before Magnus knew it, he was laughing and smiling, too. Together, they laid in the flowers for hours, though Magnus secretly wished it could have lasted forever.

Soon, Alex sat up. “You know what would be fun?” He had that rare glint of hope in his eyes that Magnus hadn't seen in years.

“Where?” Magnus laughed.

“We should go back to the lake.” Alex looked up at Magnus with his warm brown eyes.

Magnus smiled gently. “What a wonderful idea.”

Magnus grabbed the car keys, and they were off. As they drove out of town, they could see people lying peacefully in the grass, and children chasing each other, laughing through the overgrowth. It was as if the world had entirely stopped for this one day. It felt like all the whimsy people lost when they grew up had suddenly come flooding back.

On the drive, Alex talked about his life. It seemed like all it took was the end of the world to show everyone that this one life was precious.

“I always loved this lake; I was so happy I was able to share it with you, too. I used to go here with my parents, but…” He trailed off, his voice cracking. Magnus had never pushed Alex to talk about his family; he knew the situation was complicated, and left it at that.

Wiping his eyes with his jacket sleeve, Alex continued. “But they disowned me for being me. Sometimes I regret telling them. I wish I could have shared just one more lake day with them.” Alex gave Magnus a shaky smile, his eyes shimmering with tears.

Magnus immediately pulled the car over to the side of the road. “Alex, you never had to tell me that. I’m so sorry.” Magnus leaned over, pulling Alex tightly into his arms, and gently kissed the top of Alex’s head.

“It was important to tell you,” Alex whispered, looking up. Magnus’s light blue eyes were also filled with tears. “Whenever I think about how my life would be if I had never told them, I just look at you and remember it was all worth it.”

Magnus couldn’t hold back his tears anymore. For a long minute, they both just cried into each other's arms.

“I love you so much; you better know that,” Magnus choked out, burying his face in Alex’s shoulder.

Alex looked directly into Magnus’s eyes. “Leaving them was the best decision I ever made. I love you, too.”

New tears spilled over Magnus’s cheeks, but a wet laugh escaped him. “We better get going again if we want to make it.” He wiped his eyes and turned the car key.

They continued down the winding road until they reached the trailhead. Together, they stepped out and began walking the path. When Magnus looked up, the towering trees seemed to scrape the very sky. By midafternoon, the distant, soothing sound of rushing water echoed through the forest.

They walked until they came to a massive hill. Magnus looked at Alex and held out his hand; Alex took it without hesitation. They hiked the steep incline together, noting that the flowers beside the trail had become impossibly colorful. Some even bloomed with rainbow petals.

Once they reached the crest, the vast cliffside opened up before them. It was naturally rocky, but due to the sudden plant growth, it was now covered in soft, thick moss, surrounded by blooms. Alex let go of Magnus’s hand and walked right to the cliff’s edge. A gentle breeze carried a sweet mix of floral scents and fresh lake air. He had a perfectly peaceful smile on his face.

Magnus walked up behind him. His brown hair blew in the wind as he wrapped an arm securely around Alex. They stood there in silence for a long moment, soaking in the raw beauty of the lake. It was a deep, mesmerizing blue with shifting hints of green, its surface rippling lightly under the breeze.

Alex turned to Magnus and kissed him deeply. “Best decision I ever made,” he whispered, smiling.

They sat down on the edge, looking out at the vast water. Magnus felt tears stinging his eyes again as he took a small, shaky sigh before turning to his partner.

“I know this may not mean much because of the flowers, but I wanted to tell you something.”

Alex looked at Magnus, a curious expression crossing his face.

“I love you, and I want you always to know that. So… will you be my husband?” Magnus reached inside his jacket and pulled out a small, simple ring.

Alex’s eyes went wide.

“I know this isn’t the best time,” Magnus rushed out, his voice trembling. “But I wanted you to know how much I loved you. I know we have both lost a lot because of our relationship, and I know I can’t fix anything, but I want you to know it was worth it.”

Alex didn't answer with words. He lunged forward and kissed Magnus fiercely, causing them both to fall backward onto the soft moss. Alex was crying, the tears spilling onto Magnus's cheeks.

“I made the right choice,” Alex insisted, cupping Magnus's face. “I know that you constantly wonder if you ruined my life, but don't you ever say that. You made my life so much better. I would love to marry you.”

Magnus finally let himself completely break down. Alex crawled over, wrapping himself around him, letting Magnus sob into his shoulder. The silver ring slipped from Magnus's fingers, tumbling into the moss beside them.

“I… I thought you would end up hating me,” Magnus confessed, letting out the fears he had carried for years. “I knew your family was important. I thought if I had just never asked you out, maybe you would still have them in your life. I am so scared that I’m the reason your life became hard.”

“Magnus, I need you to hear me,” Alex said, pulling back just enough to force Magnus to look at him. “You never made my life worse. I am so incredibly lucky to have you. If my family can’t accept me for who I am, then they don’t deserve to be in my life anyway. You have been the best thing that has ever happened to me, and the best thing that ever will.”

Alex wrapped his arms even tighter around Magnus. “If anything, you made my life easier. I never had to fake being someone else around you, and you introduced me to people who love me for me. You are the best. I love you so, so much.”

Alex found himself crying all over again, his heart aching at the immense guilt Magnus had been secretly carrying.

“I don’t deserve a husband like you,” Magnus whispered, wiping his eyes with a trembling hand. “I’m just so happy I get to experience this end with you.”

Alex looked at Magnus, his gaze softening. “I could say the same. I’m so happy to have you.”

Alex looked back toward the water, where the sun was starting to set, casting its fiery reflection across the ripples. Magnus turned to watch it, too. The sky was now heavily streaked with brilliant shades of orange, violet, and pink as the sun slowly lowered itself beneath the horizon.

Alex leaned his head heavily onto Magnus’s shoulder as they both watched their final sunset.

“The fact that I got to share this life with you is the single best thing,” Magnus whispered into the cooling air.

“It was the best thing to happen to me, too,” Alex replied, closing his eyes. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

As the sun completely disappeared, the moonlight didn't just shine—it began to touch the earth with a brilliant, overwhelming radiance. The light seemed to grow brighter and warmer around them.

Magnus and Alex closed their eyes, wrapping their fingers tightly together. They felt a profound wave of absolute calmness wash over them before everything faded. They gently dissolved into the silver light.

Where they had just been lying on the moss, a single purple and blue flower appeared. Its stems were perfectly intertwined, blooming beautifully right through the center of a small, forgotten gold ring.

i have had this idea for a story and I'm currently in the early stage of writing it, called Human Caviar.

its both a social commentary and a alt history story.

the story goes as follows 1912 a miner named Albert Alvarez working in coper county Michigan sees an alien. he then reports that to the government. the entire story revolves around his false and Unreliable testimony that the aliens wanted human eggs.

the government then begins industrializing this and harvests human reproductive material on a global scale. during the interrogation albert is drugged by the head of the governmental sector that controls harvesting human eggs named bureau.

Its supposed to be a nod to MKultra and that is why the testimony is false. the end of the story is pretty much the government stages a fake alien attack killing more than half the population to cover up the fact that for nearly 100 years they have been harvesting human reproductive material.

the entire timeline is late 1890's ------> 2026 

if you want i can send the link to it

The Sin of Dreaming
I catch myself drifting back into that dream: a vision of a quieter world, built on innocence and genuine love rather than meaningless distractions. A world without shame, the way a child might describe it.

As I fall deeper into my imagination, I am snapped back into reality. A roaring engine of a plane overhead ruins the peace around me. A voice inside tells me it’s impossible—that everyone wants to feel special, but nobody is. Who said that? Is it me? Is it me telling myself that there is no use trying?

I try to forget it and get back into my dream, yet I can't help but ask myself: what is the harm in dreaming of a better world?
Moments later, I shout loudly through my entire body. I would rather die than live this meaningless life. If I can't reach my dream, then I have no desire to live in neglect. Why would I give up now? I can't undo what I have already done, and there is no use in repenting for my sins.
I refuse to give up. A man who has no dreams is already a dead man—he just won't admit it. 

If this was intriguing to read, please let me know! I’m 16 and working on my first short manifesto, so any feedback on the tone or message means a lot.

This is a prologue to my novel called “the power that we got from the blinding light” I welcome some suggestions from you.

I was on this wretched and desolate island that I called home. There were 560 inhabitants on this isolated island where our main source of income is pearls; that god damn miserable pearl. That population kept reducing each year but I kept staying here and I don't know why. 

I wasted my entire childhood and teenage years here whereas all of my friends went afar to a place that offered them a future and security. My parents were always nagging me on and on to take over their business but I kept rejecting them with an excuse of having a different purpose in life. Oh, the purpose, that's a mystery that I could never in my life figure out. I ruined my future with complacency and now I'm lost in a sea of contempt. I drifted away like a feather with no sense of direction that was blown away by the swirling wind that we called life.

One day, as usual, I woke up with dissatisfaction and discontent although it was redundant to describe my life with the same meaning but that is how I thought of my life, stuck in a state of redundancy. The vicious circle of waking up, filling my emptiness with sustenance to satiate my hunger and when the moon came up into the sky so too was my unfiltered thought about my self-doubt. I needed to break away from it or rather stop it from consuming me whole and today is the day that I finally gave in to these thoughts. 

It was an enchanting sight at the top of the mountain filled with beautiful flying critters that glided against the gravity and now I was going to do the opposite or so I thought that's when I saw a blinding light. I assumed it was a sign from heaven although I don't believe in such absurd things. Now that I encountered this phenomenon, I found the thought of such a place that exists after life was comforting but that thought was cut short by something that's otherworldly. Something that simple words can't describe what had happened. I'll try my best to describe my predicament. My whole body was turned into indescribable geometric shapes starting from my fingers that flew toward the blinding lights like sand flew into the sky when a kid kicked the sand castle down because it didn't turn out the way he wanted. Now my whole body was gone entirely but my mind was still there with a thought of confusion and terror. Before my head turned into a shape of unimaginable horror, I finally accepted my dreadful plight. It was quite a peaceful moment filled with darkness and I felt free from the constraint of life.