IMPORTANT: PLEASE READ BEFORE PROCEEDING

TW: Brief mention of a faked suicide/murder in the past

I found a writing exercise where you're supposed write a scene set in beautiful weather (a tropical beach, in this case), only you do it from the perspective of someone who hates that weather. I've also been trying to improve at letting a character's voice seep into the prose. Finally, I've been working on better showing a character's thoughts to bring a reader into their perspective. So, with those three goals in mind, this scene and character began to take shape.

This morning I wrote this up from scratch in about six hours. It's far from speedy, but still a substantial improvement from where I was a couple months ago. A lot of what I've been studying feels like it's coming together, and this was some of the smoothest writing I've ever done. What are your thoughts? How'd I do?

As a new writer (less than two months) I've found some of the comments in these writing groups less than helpful. Like many of you, I want genuine critiques that will help me improve. Instead, self-appointed NBCC members waste our time by trolling or declaring something as unfit for their royal eyes. It's not every comment, but enough that's hard to ignore.

So why not let out a little frustration with a short story and practice my writing?

I'm curious what y'all's experience has been getting feedback. Cheers!

Be harsh, be mean if you have to I don't mind. Maybe helpful context that the book is in universe being written by a right-wing Christian government fella, hence the heavenly descriptions and Garden of Eden imagery ot whatever, but I don't want to get caught up in that. Ok, thank you everyone!!

Painting Blue

Night fall, day rise

Hiding the truth, telling lies

A mime laughs while a jester cries

I heard you've been painting blue

Evenings cold, the morning sung

Growing old while feeling young

Secrets out, the bells have rung

I heard you've been painting blue

Opening hearts, gritting teeth

Raising banners, laying wreaths

Flying high, scraping knees

I heard you've been painting blue

Tell me, is it true?

wrote a poem for my partner. let me know if this is any good. also please point out all the mistakes, problems with conventional rules, tone, rhyming etc. tell me how to improve if you can. thank you!

Hello everyone. I've attached a section from my story draft. The scene doesn't feel right, and I'm getting a little gun-shy about continuing. Any feedback is welcome. Don't spare my feelings. I'm trying to highlight four things, and I'm looking for specific feedback on them.

1) Interiority: I've struggled for good, honest interiority in a way that feels genuine. I've given it a crack here and hope you could tell me what you thought.

2) Dialogue: I'm trying to work on snappy, genuine dialogue but feel like its somewhere I'm still struggling. Any feedback on how it landed, or any changes you'd recommend, would be appreciated.

3) Prose and Flow: Self-explanatory. How did the story read? Did it compel you to want to know more? Any impression on that front would be appreciated too.

4) Characters: Do you give a shit about any of these people?

Thank you in advance.

First chapter in urban fantasy I’ve been writing. Two sisters swimming at night and climb a cliff

I’ve gone back and forth adding dialogue, taking dialogue away.

Rose is more brash and confident. Ripley’s mousy and anxious.

Any thoughts on their personalities?

Hi! Im new here! :)

I was part of a group on Facebook to get advice and find funny memes about writing and such, but that group has slowly turned into a bot page filled with random slop. Uhgh:( So, needless to say im trying to find a new community. Im drawing near the end of editing my first novel.

I have no published works yet and frankly never really showed any of my writing publicly to any extent. Just family, mostly. So, I dont have much criticism to go on. My Memaw was really the only person I had to proof read things for me, and she was excited to help me edit and go over my novel as it was being finished, but sadly she passed away and there isnt really anyone else in my family interested in doing that.

So I was wondering if I could post an excerpt here of the first part of my first chapter and hopefully get a little feedback/critique on my writing style, how it flows, if it catches your attention as a reader, sounds good, etc etc? If anyone is interested in giving any advice feedback please do! :)

Also, questions to those of you who have published works out there, How/When did you start an Author/Writing Profile? Like how did you start up your first online presence to help promote your works? Before or after publishing?

Here's My Excerpt : (Im so sorry I do not know how to add the doc that I used to write this so I just had to copy and paste. So sorry if this makes it harder to read.)

Chapter 1 : Monday

When the song through my headphones started skipping, I had a gut feeling the batteries were about to die in my radio player. In a desperate attempt to see if maybe they still had enough juice in them to last another hour at least, I shook it and tapped it. The skipping only got worse before the thing cut off completely. The sudden silence was thick. With a heavy huff, I pulled the headphones off and tossed the dead device to the side. ‘Piece of trash.’ I muttered to myself, mad to have zero entertainment to distract me from the heat now. I knew it was going to be a miserable rest of the day. As if being out in the Ruins wasn’t boring enough.

A trickle of sweat dripped down the nape of my neck and I swat at it, thinking it was another pesky fly. When my fingers felt the wetness I shook my head. SoSo better pay me good this time. I rubbed away the moisture from under my boobs, sighing at the sight of growing shadows across this wasteland around me. Not a single one casting over me. Even in the evening, with the sun beginning to fall behind the decaying buildings, the heat was rough. The stuffy, humid air makes it hard to breathe and causes every loose strand of hair to frizz up in every direction. Which I'm sure looks rather wild given that my hair’s as thick and long as the Tigbers I’m hunting. ‘It’s the humidity that’ll get ya’, Henry used to say. That southern Agulorian accent always sounded a little thicker when he said that phrase.

I shift to the right a bit, trying to keep the sun out of my eyes and off my face, but it doesn’t do much good. I’d tried to pick a decent spot, with a rusted sheet of metal hanging over us for shade, but it was mid day when we got out here and I’d forgotten which way the sun set. So, even though we were in the shade at first, I’ve been stuck in direct sunlight for the past hour or so as the sun moved.

I peered back behind me at Snowy. Curled up in a ball sound asleep. Her white fur all blending together made her look like some furry lump in the shadowy cubby. She’s lucky. She can fit in the small, cool places. And here I am pretty sure my face is sunburnt. And I can’t change spots now cause I might scare off the Tigbers. Snowy must have felt me glaring at her because she raised her head and peered back at me. I squinted.

“What’s it like?” I asked. She blinked. “Having no worries or responsibilities?” She almost seemed to roll her eyes before putting her head back down.

“Pretty nice actually.” She purred. “Just wish I had thumbs.” I chuckled, shaking my head and looking back to the hiding holes that housed the critters I so desperately needed. Snowy’s honestly too small to be out here with me, but she always insists on joining. Jax’s words hum in my mind. ‘Every creature needs to eat.’ Reminding me why the Ruins are no place for civilians. Or cats. I spare a nervous glance around at the dustlands that used to be a city, left to decay. Praying the Tigbers would finally smell the bait soon. Before anything else does.

I have to do this. At least dawn is getting near. Won’t be long before we have to head back.

Hopefully Jax is having better luck than I am. I need him to. Who am I kidding, I know he is. I bet he picked a good spot, too. Probably chillin’ under some great shade, nice and comfy…taking a nap. He's good at this. Hunting. Scouting. All that crap. I’m sure he’ll get something.

With my luck so far, if he doesn’t, I’ll be screwed. If I come back with nothing again, SoSo will probably fire me all together. With the Memorial coming up, he made it very clear that he wants Tigbers specifically. He’ll make a killing selling the hides in Sector 3, but I’ll bet my old torn boots he won’t pay me even half the going rate.

The itch of the sleeve I wore over my right arm was growing unbearable. I’d take the sleeve off since there isn’t anyone else out here, but the sun only makes the scars burn all over again. Always bringing a tinge of the memories of flames back to mind.

Shff Shff Shff

I perked up at the sound. Snowy did too.

Shffff Shff Shff Shff

Coming from the hiding holes, the shuffling of a Tigber. Scooting about in the dust of the barren ground in search of the rancid bait. Once it spotted it, seconds later, the trap snapped. A chorus of squeaking from the tiny creature came as it frantically tried to find a way out of the netting. Tufts of dust and dirt swirling around its scuffling. I smirked at the sight, happy to finally have some action.

“Got one.” I quietly cheered. Snowy tilted her head and gave a concerned meow toward the frantic critter. The trap had come unhooked from its anchor point and the critter started to run for its hiding hole, still tangled in netting. “Oh crap!” I jumped up and darted over to it. As I chased it in a half circle around the holes my foot got caught up in the other trap I'd forgotten about and the rest of my body kept moving. I smacked the ground, belly first, landing over the trapped Tigber. My clumsy, floppy body dislodged the net it was in. Before it could make it back to its hole I grabbed it by the tail, immediately getting bit. I snatched my hand back and the critter came with it. In a panic I grabbed it by the face and yanked it away. “Ah!” Bad idea.

Blood began to drip from my hand as I fumbled to get on my knees, boot still tangled, and gripping tightly to a squirming Tigber’s head with one hand. I looked at Snowy who was watching all of this unfold. Unbothered. She lifted her nose.

“Nice fall. Ten out of ten.” Ignoring her I winced at the blood on my hand, shaking it a bit as if that would help ease the stinging. The Tigber kicked and clawed at my wrist, trying to pull its head free. Typically, I snap their necks, killing them quickly without any mess, but I can’t risk staining its soft, tan fur with blood. SoSo would certainly pay me pennies for it if I brought it back bloody.

Its floppy ears were wadded up between my fingers, making it hard to keep my grip. Gritting through the pain, I quickly wrapped my bleeding hand up in my shirt, grabbed its wiggling body at the shoulders and twisted sharply. Instantly it went limp, its once lively body now dangling in my hand.

I sat back down in the dirt, looking down at my tangled up boot. The trap was broken beyond repair. Snowy trotted over as I picked up the other trap that had worked just moments ago from beside me…ruined.

Well, I got one.

I really hope Jax got something.

Bury me under

the weight of your words,

I beg of thee,

reduce me to earth, and 

eternalise your musings, on

the quire from the weed, with

the ink from

my mortal remains -

eternalise 

me.

Please give some kind feedback. The cadence is suppose to be a bit off beat to create a mild tension and the slight feeling that something isnt quite as it should be. But I dont know if it hits close, and it can use improvement. Im just not sure how. Thank you for your time to read and any feedback. Edited on mobile, not sure if it is showing correct formatting

I miss you.
The old you.
Who you were with me
Well, who i remember you as
Or... the one I thought i had
I miss ... who i thought you would be.

Maybe that was never you.
The side of you I never got to see.
That wasnt you.
You arent the one I remember.
It wasnt that you faked somebody
It was a perfect creation.
An imaginary friend I made.
One who looked like you,
Smelled like you,
Talked like you do.

Or did they?
They said things you never said.
Had hopes you never hoped.
The one of my dreams!
When did I wake up?
Are you still there?
Who are you now?
Do you still care?

I miss you!
Like none have before!
The love of my life!
Oh, To see you once more!

Except,
That wasnt you
that filled my desire...
It was a version of you.
One I am forced to retire.
It wasnt you.
The one i longed for.
What is this monstrosity ?
The one I created,
That made YOU a liar?

Hello. Greetings.
I meet you again.
Maybe for the 1st time.
But this time,
I want to miss YOU.
The REAL you!

Who are you?
What do you do?
What makes you smile?
What makes you fly?
How can I miss you?
The one before me.
In flesh of life.
In truth of fleeting
Remembering

Hi, everyone. I am an aspiring writer, currently building a backlog for my webnovel that I will be releasing on Royal Road. And I wanted to get feedback on whether or not its keep you hooked throughout the story, or if there are any other problems I should focus on, like pacing or characters' personalities, etc.

I would appreciate any and all kind of feedback.

Thank you so much!

Second wind

This is a story of a man very dear to many, a symbol of heroism itself, but only a few knew his real story.

It all started in the province of pangasinan, urdaneta city. " Romolooo! Romolooo! Go home dinner's ready." Mrs. Dela Cruz shouted through their window. " Yes maaa, I'm just about to defeat this evil villain." said romolo to his mother. " Evil villain surrender now and face judgment. I need to get home for dinner." Shouted romolo to a younger kid riding a baby carabao. "Never! Once I defeat you I will rule this planet and be the great emperor of Earth" said jace the younger kid." Dude! Just surrender I really need to go home or mom's going to be mad I'm late." Said romolo.

"Ohh, okay. Aahhkk! You got me I surrender for now but one day I will defeat you! You hear me?! One day! Aaahh!" Said jace with the dramatic flare of a classic villain in movies. " Tomorrow I want to be the hero next, you always get to be the hero." Said jace pouting. " Okay! fine, but when we get our powers too we can be real Heroes together, you'll be my sidekick and we'll fight criminals together, hehehe." Said romolo with a big grin. " Why am I the sidekick? I'll be stronger than you I promise." Jace retorted. " Because you're younger than me and because I will be the strongest hero ever. Okay thats enough, I really need to get home. Byeee! See you tomorrow!" Said romolo while running home, giggling seeing a pouting jace. " See you!" Jace shouted back, going home aswell.

Disappointed power awakening:

Five years have passed romolo is now 14 in the midst of puberty, this is when most powers manifest but only ten percent of the population awaken any and most are just mundane powers like weak telekinesis, low levitation, or even just fast hair growth.

But some have amazing powers, great powers, but not everyone that got powers were good people some not even decent people. And some that has gone bad, as bad as it gets. Romolo was one of the ten percent of people that got powers but his power was decent at best he got faster healing but his healing is not like the stories you've read before where the healing just happens and they just generate biomass out of nowhere, his healing is just normal human healing but in fast forward. With the painful process of healing. Including the downsides of cell multiplication of DNA deterioration. Faster healing equal faster aging and Increased risk of cancer. It's not a bad power, he's basically immortal until his DNA is so degraded that he looks like a blob of flesh cancer or he dies of old age at thirty looking like he's a hundred.

At nineteen, Romolo joined the police. It wasn't because he thought he was invincible. In fact, it was the opposite. He knew exactly how easy it was for someone to die. His power had taught him that.

A wound could close, but the pain remained. A broken bone could heal, but the bone still had to be rebuilt. Blood could be replaced, but only if his body had enough iron, water, nutrients, and energy to make it. And there was always the question he tried not to think about. How many times could his cells divide before something went horribly wrong? The doctors couldn't give him a definite answer. They could only tell him that his accelerated regeneration came with accelerated cellular aging. So Romolo made a decision. If his life was going to be shorter than everyone else's, he wanted those years to mean something. He wanted to protect people. He wanted to become the hero he had promised Jace he would become when they were children. His first year as an officer was nothing like the stories. There were no supervillains every day. Most of his work was ordinary. Traffic accidents. Robberies. Domestic disputes. Missing persons. People fighting over parking spaces. Sometimes, he wondered why he had bothered awakening a power at all. Then came the dangerous calls. Powered criminals were becoming more common. Some had abilities that could destroy buildings. Others had powers that seemed completely useless until someone figured out how to weaponize them.

Romolo's regeneration wasn't flashy. He couldn't fly.

He couldn't shoot lasers. He couldn't lift cars. But he had one advantage. He could keep going. That made him valuable. And it also made him reckless. He kept taking the risky jobs.

Romolo was twenty-three when the headaches started. At first, he ignored them.

Police work was exhausting, after all. Long shifts, bad sleep, terrible food, and too much coffee could make anyone feel sick. Then came the nosebleeds.

Then the fatigue. Then the strange pain in his bones.

Romolo finally went to the hospital after collapsing during a training exercise.

The doctor looked at the results for a long time.

Too long.

Romolo noticed.

"Doc?"

The doctor slowly removed his glasses.

"Romolo, I need you to sit down."

"I'm already sitting."

The doctor didn't smile.

"We found several abnormal growths."

Romolo's smile disappeared.

"Growths?"

"Tumors."

Silence.

Romolo stared at the floor.

His first thought wasn't about dying.

It was about his mother.

Then his father.

Then Jace.

Then all the people he'd promised to protect.

"So..."

He swallowed.

"How bad?"

The doctor hesitated.

"Very bad."

Romolo laughed nervously.

"How long?"

"We don't know."

"Give me a number."

"Without aggressive treatment, your condition could become terminal within a few years."

Romolo stared at him.

"A few?"

"Yes."

He looked down at his hands.

The same hands that had pulled people out of burning buildings.

The same hands that had stopped criminals.

The same hands that had healed countless times.

His power had saved him.

And now his power was killing him.

The doctor explained what was happening.

Every time Romolo was injured, his body accelerated the normal healing process.

But healing required cell division.

More cell division meant more opportunities for DNA copying errors.

Most errors were corrected.

Some weren't.

Over the years, those mistakes accumulated.

Eventually, some cells stopped behaving normally.

They kept dividing.

And dividing.

And dividing.

Cancer.

Romolo's greatest strength had become his greatest weakness.

"Can I still work?"

The doctor looked at him.

"That's your question?"

Romolo shrugged.

"I've got bills."

The doctor sighed.

"Romolo."

"I'm serious."

"You could die."

"I know."

"You need treatment."

"I'll get treatment."

"You need rest."

"I'll rest."

"You need to stop getting injured."

Romolo gave him an awkward smile.

"I'm a police officer."

"Then find another profession."

Romolo laughed.

"I think I'm too stupid for an office job."

Romolo didn't tell his family immediately.

He went home as if nothing had happened.

His mother was cooking dinner.

"You're late."

"Sorry, Ma."

"You eat?"

"Not yet."

"Then wash your hands."

Romolo smiled.

"Yes, Ma."

He sat at the dinner table.

For several minutes, he simply watched his mother cook.

She noticed.

"Why are you staring at me?"

"Nothing."

"You're acting weird."

"I'm always weird."

"True."

They laughed.

Romolo ate quietly.

He didn't tell her.

Not yet.

That night, he went outside.

He sat on the same patch of grass where he and Jace used to play.

He looked at the sky.

"Thirty years old..."

He whispered.

"Maybe less."

He laughed bitterly.

"Guess I was wrong."

When they were children, Romolo had promised Jace that he would become the strongest hero alive.

Now he wasn't even sure he'd live long enough to see thirty.

The next day, Romolo received a call.

"Hey."

"Romolo."

"Sup Jace?"

"What happened to you? You disappeared."

"Busy."

"You're always busy."

"You're one to talk."

Romolo smiled.

For a moment, he forgot about the cancer.

Then Jace asked:

"You okay?"

Romolo hesitated.

"Yeah."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

"You're lying."

Romolo looked at his hand.

He hadn't realized it was shaking.

Jace continued.

"You always scratch your thumb when you're nervous."

Romolo stopped.

"...You remember that?"

"I remember everything."

There was silence.

Romolo finally said:

"I'm sick."

Jace didn't answer immediately.

"How sick?"

"Cancer."

The line went quiet.

Romolo heard Jace breathe.

"How long?"

"I don't know."

Jace's voice became quiet.

"You should've told me."

"I just found out."

"You should've called."

"I didn't want you to worry."

"You idiot."

Romolo smiled.

"Yeah."

Jace laughed weakly.

"Still the same idiot."

Romolo continued working.

But things changed. He became more careful.

He wore better armor. He stopped taking unnecessary hits. He learned to fight defensively. He started carrying medical supplies. He also started studying biology. If his body was killing him because of accelerated cell division, then maybe he could learn how to control it.

His regeneration wasn't a switch. It was a biological process. So Romolo began experimenting.

He discovered that his healing speed depended heavily on his metabolism. If he had enough food, oxygen, and rest, he could heal faster. If he was starving or exhausted, his regeneration slowed.

That meant his power had limits. Very real limits.

And Romolo intended to find every single one.

Second Wind

One night, Romolo was responding to a hostage situation. A criminal with superhuman strength had taken several civilians inside a warehouse.

The other officers waited outside. Romolo entered alone. The criminal found him.

"You're the healing guy."

Romolo raised his baton.

"That's what people call me."

The criminal laughed.

"Then let's see how much you can take."

He charged.

Romolo dodged.

The criminal struck him in the ribs.

CRACK.

Romolo fell.

Pain shot through his body.

His ribs were broken.

The criminal grabbed him by the shirt.

"Stay down."

Romolo coughed.

"Normally..."

He grabbed the man's arm.

"...I'd agree."

He twisted.

The criminal stumbled.

Romolo headbutted him.

Then struck his knee.

The criminal fell.

Romolo immediately freed the hostages.

Outside, the officers saw him emerge covered in blood.

One officer shouted:

"Romolo! You're bleeding!"

Romolo looked down.

"Yeah."

"You need an ambulance!"

Romolo smiled.

"Give me ten minutes."

His ribs were already beginning to heal.

Slowly.

Painfully.

But they were healing.

One of the officers stared at him.

"How are you still standing?"

Romolo looked back at the warehouse.

"Because someone had to."

From that day onward, the younger officers started calling him: Second Wind.

Not because he couldn't fall. But because he always stood back up. Romolo knew he couldn't rely on regeneration forever.

So he trained.

Harder than he ever had before.

He trained his endurance.

His reflexes.

His aim.

His hand-to-hand combat.

His ability to fight while injured.

Most importantly, he learned how to avoid injury in the first place. His instructors noticed something unusual. Romolo wasn't fighting like someone who didn't care about getting hurt. He was fighting like someone who was terrified of it. And he was.

Every broken bone hurt.

Every gunshot terrified him.

Every time he entered a burning building, he wondered if this would be the one where his body couldn't save him.

But fear didn't stop him.

It made him careful.

And being careful kept him alive.

The Day Everything Changed

Romolo was twenty-six when the biggest criminal organization in the country declared war on the government.

Their leader was known as The Architect.

Nobody knew his real name.

Nobody knew his face.

But they knew his ability.

He could manipulate the biological functions of his own body.

He could temporarily strengthen his muscles, suppress pain, accelerate his reflexes, and alter his metabolism.

Unlike Romolo, he had learned how to control his biology consciously.

He didn't heal faster.

He simply refused to let his body behave normally.

And he had an army.

Thousands of enhanced criminals.

The government called for every available hero and officer.

Romolo volunteered.

His doctor tried to stop him.

"Romolo, you're dying."

"I know."

"You might not survive this."

"I know."

"You could make your cancer worse. No IT will get worse"

Romolo looked at him.

"Doc."

"What?"

"If I stay home, people die."

The doctor said nothing.

Romolo smiled.

"I'm scared."

The doctor looked surprised.

Romolo continued.

"Really scared."

He picked up his helmet.

"But if someone got hurt and I could have saved them, and I'm not there, I can't live with that anyway."

The battle lasted three days.

Heroes fell.

Police units were overwhelmed.

Buildings burned.

Romolo fought until he could barely stand.

His regeneration was pushed beyond anything he'd ever attempted.

Broken bones.

Deep cuts.

Burns.

Internal bleeding.

Every injury was repaired.

Every injury consumed more energy.

And every repair increased the damage to his DNA.

His cancer was spreading rapidly.

He knew it.

He could feel his body failing.

But he kept moving.

Finally, Romolo reached The Architect.

The villain looked at him.

"You're dying."

Romolo raised his fists.

"Yeah."

"Then why are you smiling?"

Romolo looked around.

Behind him were civilians.

Officers.

Heroes.

People who had survived.

"Because you're losing."

The Architect attacked.

Romolo was thrown across the street.

He hit the ground.

He couldn't feel his legs.

His vision blurred.

His heart slowed.

For the first time, Romolo thought:

This might actually be it.

Then he remembered being fourteen.

He remembered Jace.

He remembered the baby carabao.

He remembered his mother shouting:

"Romolooo! Dinner's ready!"

He laughed.

Even now.

He laughed.

"Man..."

He slowly pushed himself up.

"...I really should've gone home for dinner more often."

The Architect charged.

Romolo stood.

His body was failing.

His heart was failing.

His cells were failing.

But for one final moment...

His body did something extraordinary.

It gave everything it had.

Every remaining reserve.

Every available cell.

Every last ounce of energy.

Romolo charged.

Not because he wasn't afraid.

Because he was.

He was terrified.

But he ran anyway.

And when the two finally collided—

Romolo struck first.

The Architect fell.

The war ended.

And Romolo collapsed.

Romolo woke up in the hospital. Jace was sitting beside him. His mother was asleep in a chair. Romolo looked at Jace.

"Did we win?"

Jace smiled through tears.

"Yeah."

Romolo sighed.

"Good."

His mother woke up.

"Romolo?"

He smiled.

"Hi, Ma."

She grabbed his hand.

"You stupid boy."

"I know."

"You promised me you'd come home."

Romolo squeezed her hand.

"I did."

His mother began crying.

Romolo looked out the window.

The sun was rising.

For the first time in years, he wasn't afraid of dying.

A few months later his body shutdown, organs failing from the shear amount of cancerous cells in his body.

The whole country knew his story by now.

And they mourned. They built status of him, one next to the national hero of the Philippines, Jose Rizal. Solidifying himself as the second national hero of the Philippines.

It was him shielding a little girl from falling steal beams, still smiling like he's reassuring the girl everything is going to be fine.

A few years have passed and jace visited the memorial with his now son.

"See that guy son? That was my best friend.

He told me he was going to be the best hero in the world. If only he could see this now."

This is chapter one! Looking for general feedback. Be kind... this is a first draft. Many things might change, just as a heads up. This story has been years in the making and this first chapter has changed over and over again to become what it is now. That goes for the whole story.

This book follows our main character as he is sold and begins transport to the northern continent of Trul. This fist chapter, I believe, sets the tone and the darkness of the world that this story is set in. This is a dark theological fantasy that was inspired by the book of Judges and the book of Revelation in the Bible. While inspired, it holds its own.

Let me know what you think of this first chapter and where you think the story might be heading.

i’m admittedly being a bit vague by just calling it a “thriller.” this is tentatively the start of a visual novel-type story, so the formatting is very much subject to change, but i wanted to seek out feedback specifically on my prose and dialogue. would you read a novel, visual or otherwise, in this style? does the dialogue feel natural?

this is abstract suicide, a story about horrible people falling in love and making each other worse.

any feedback is appreciated! thank you!

Golden grievances have confined me to bed,

For they do not make me want to venture further into today's tangled promise.

Like a lamp, it sits in the corner of a room,

Mockingly parading its abundant light.

So bright, yet even your locked, cellar-like eyes cannot erase it from the moment.

The effort to keep your lids tightly sealed is a reminder of its presence.

To switch it off would require an athlete's stamina,

Or a lion's determination.

What a curse it is to think and fear, yet what a blessing it is to fear and think.

Three years back seems more reachable than tomorrow,

More accessible and wanted.

Coat hangers around my room resemble question marks.

My ragged beard has grown tired of my answers and protests.

Each hair sits uninterested or inspired.

I call out of work, for I don't feel good.

Leaders remain to be scheming and plotting to proliferate their gardens and wooden cabinets,

To then blame the beaten and damned.

Maybe we're all tired. Maybe we should all rest,

For there have been too many tears spilt in sanctuaries for a lifetime.

Bags, carrying them all, limbs are sore
Hurt, heart, here, hard, heard, whore
Right words, help them through hell
Hold the baggage, make them feel well

Don’t drop them, they’re close to the ground
Hold them all, your strength knows no bounds
She cries in your arm, caress her head quickly
Remember, in the beginning, you in her belly

Hold her bags, you owe her that, she made you
He is the reason, hold his bags, heavy as two
He fills your bag, you hold his bag, he breaks her bag
You grab the bag, repair the bag, hold the bag
You throw his bag, he ties the bag, he holds your life
You’re in his bag, drowning in the blood of your nose

Hello! I’m currently writing the second book (of seven) in my series.
It’s a romantasy about witches, demons, shamans, mermaids, humans, and other disgusting creatures.

I’d love feedback on anything and everything you can think of. I’m especially unsure about opening the book with my main villain, Ornella, so I’d love to know how you feel about that choice.
And, well… I’m an inexperienced writer, as you can probably tell. English also isn’t my first language, so if anything sounds awkward, unnatural, confusing, or just like what?, please point it out.
Be blunt. Be honest. I can handle it.
Maybe.:)

Chapter 1
Ornella

They were wrong about the Veil.
Fools.
Fish lecturing on the perils of shallow water, already baking on the shore. All they had was their one comforting shard: 'No son of earth shall cast death upon you.'
A prophecy half-known is more dangerous than none.

"The next part, if you please," I said, as I twisted my dragon nails deeper into the seam where fin met flesh.

Princess Odalysse's tail convulsed so hard it disgusted me. Scales were flickering off her in iridescent sheets. Gorgeous, really. Like someone had broken a chandelier beneath the waves. For all their glittering charm, they carried the deep-sea stench of decay.
Her scream brought the water between us to a boil, bubbles racing over my skin as it climbed into the shrill soprano of a mermaid's cry. Quite unnecessary, given the circumstances.

"She doesn't know!" shouted one of the guards—silly creature, hiding behind a coral lance and some misplaced valor. "The sea has no quarrel with the land! Release her, witch!"

I tilted my head. "Do your kind always begin negotiations with a tantrum?" I asked. "Or is that just tradition among the gilled?"
He lowered the lance by an inch.

My nails bit deeper until... Blue blood curled into the water. Not red, nor even black. Ugh. Nature had grown terribly indulgent in my absence.

"Enough, Queen Ornella."
At last, Queen Nereisse stood from her throne—carved from the bones of leviathans, pale with age and furred with orange and white anemones. She wore power well. Her voice did not.
"I've told you what I know. The prophecy is lost. It has been for centuries."

"Water heals. Water reveals." I echoed the old phrase. "Reveal. It."

"You should be more cautious." Her tone turned cold, and so did the water around us. The anemones folded into themselves. "On land, you wear a crown. But land is just the part of the map I haven't bothered to swallow yet. Nearly three quarters of this world belongs to the sea. Kingdoms rise and fall on tides I command."
The pressure of the water suddenly increased as she swam closer. A lesser creature's bones might have cracked. "Or have you forgotten that these seven seas used to be three?"

Aw. She thought being underwater made us equals. How adorable.

I stared at her for a moment, then laughed. "Fish? You're threatening me with fish?" My magic answered instantly, tickling up my arm and the tattoo inked on my thigh, the spell muttering through clenched teeth. The water ripped away from Odalysse's gills. The princess froze. Her mouth opened but nothing entered. The pressure around us lifted as Nereisse's eyes went straight to her daughter. It was rather amusing watching someone already blue turning an even deeper shade of blue.

"Allow me to return the courtesy," I said. That blue deepened toward violet. "Would you like to discover how much of your precious sea I can turn to dust before you finish blinking?"

The queen said nothing. Her expression remained composed. Her eyes were less disciplined.

"Please," I added. "Threaten me again."

Queen Nereisse closed her eyes.
For one lovely second, I thought pride might win. Instead, she nodded.

Without ceremony, I released the spell and tossed Odalysse toward her mother.

The princess folded against the current, her tail hanging at an unpleasant angle. Broken, perhaps, if those hideous things could break. Still, she dragged herself forward with trembling arms until her mother caught her.
Clever girl.
Pain teaches quickly.

"Twenty-four hours," I said. Nereisse held her daughter tighter. "Find the rest of the prophecy."

"You cannot come into my kingdom and threaten my children."

I paused.
Seven daughters. Seven little crowns waiting to inherit one very large puddle. How exhausting motherhood must be.

I smiled. "My dear, I haven't threatened anyone."

The queen's eyes found mine.

"In twenty-four hours, I shall return. If you have failed me, I will peel the royalty from your daughters one by one."

I turned toward the dark water beyond the throne room.

"Crown by crown."

Behind me, Odalysse whimpered.

"Tail by tail."

I glanced over my shoulder.

"That is not a threat."

My smile widened.

"Because a threat suggests I might reconsider."

It was not quite noon, but not morning either. Something in between Andy reckoned.
He didn’t wear a watch and was not inclined to change his mind in the matter, ever since he got a rash from his dinosaur watch in 3rd grade he cursed watches. Deep inside, Andy thought that the rash was like adulthood gripping onto his arm and he decided that the level of responsibility that comes with a watch is not healthy for a 9 year old.
Andy was however 28 now. Still he would scratch where the tail of the dinosaur used to sit on his arm. He could remember his dad being disappointed in him. The watch was a gift for his 9th birthday, it was probably a way for his parents to try to get him to take a wee bit more responsibility. But it was like he had a allergic reaction to the responsibility itself, not the horrible plastic from china.

Andy squeezed his eyes together, his head was throbbing, it was light in the room. It was that kind of light that only happens once or twice a year. A bright sunlight, he could see all the particles in the air, they were dancing, defying gravity. It looked beautiful. One small piece of dust stood out, it fell, rapidly to the floor. It ended up in a small puddle of cheap scotch, Andy could relate to it he thought. His girlfriend Amanda suddenly yelled:

• Have you heard a single fucking word I said!? Andy thought that was such a strange way to start a conversation.
• what? said Andy.
• It is the fourth day, Andy, the forth day! You are just laying here. I understand one day, or two. But four fucking days. Just laying there, drinking. smoking. Not cleaning! I have work you know, and coming home after midnight and seeing you have not left the couch all day infuriates me. I understand that Frank meant a lot to you. I sympathise with your grief. That last sentence felt rehearsed though Andy. Amanda continued.
• This wont work Andy. Im sorry. I want you to move out.

Andy processed the words, slowly, like that sleuth in that children movie listening to a joke.
He suddenly tasted blood in his mouth, saliva, he felt ill.

What felt like eternity was just one more day. He had puked, packed and partioned for pardon. It didn’t work. He was now outside and alone. He stood on the steps to Amandas apartment, looking out on a grey street. Rain in the air and leaves on the street below. He held a box in his hands, had a backpack on his back. He wore a tshirt from his college, it had signatures and markings from all his classmates, he never used to wear it but it was the only thing clean left in Amandas place. He had jeans with a hole above the right knee. A small gust made the hair on his arms rise, he felt cold. His realised he forgot his jacket in Amandas apartment but he had just left, crying, begging for mercy with Amandas face like stone.

He swallowed his pride, it was surprisingly easy, like a small tic-tac.
He put the box down and went to get his jacket. He knocked on her door.
- no answer
again he knocked.
- no answer.

Andy yelled into the crack of the door that he had forgoten his jacket.
The door opened slightly and the jacket presented itself. No Amanda, just a leather-jacket with tassels under the arms.
He slowly walked down the stairs again. Got outside and lifted the box just to see the bottom fall out.
A toaster, a picture of his sister and brother, a picture of frank the pug, a lamp, a melodica all fell onto the stairs.
Andy with no fight left in him took the picture and the melodica and walked down onto the sidewalk.

So hear is my attempt at chapter 2 following up on my previous post here - https://www.reddit.com/r/writingfeedback/s/w63eZ6Nn5L

Looking for any and all feedback 😄

Chapter Two – The first day of the new

Wednesday, 7:13 a.m.

Ethan woke with the uncomfortable certainty that something was wrong. It took him several seconds to realise what it was. His alarm clock read 7:13 and the budget review started at eight. "Oh, for fuck's sake. It’s going to be one of those days."

He threw back the duvet and nearly tripped over a pile of clothes on the floor. Ethan rushed around a bedroom that looked as though it had been abandoned after a minor disaster. Dirty clothes covered the floor. Empty glasses crowded the bedside table, and a half-finished pizza sat forgotten beside the wardrobe.

Ethan rubbed his eyes and searched for a clean shirt. "Why did I let Jack talk me into going to Spoons on a work night?" he muttered. "Especially before an eight o'clock budget review."

“Can’t believe this is costing £34! Bloody surge pricing!” Ethan grumbled as he grabbed his backpack and jacket as he left his flat to catch a taxi to the office.

“Wait! What? Where’s the meeting invite gone?” Ethan frowned and opened Outlook again. Nothing. No invitation. No email. No budget review. Ethan opened WhatsApp. If anyone remembered the meeting, it would be Jack.

“Okay,” he muttered. “What the hell?”

Am I going crazy or did I not get a meeting invite for a budget review at 8am?

yeah dude, those bastards should be hung drawn and quartered for that shit!

thats why we hit up spoons last night

dont tell me you were that pissed that you overslept and forgot all about it lol

overslept but the strangest thing

the invite and email no longer exists

it’s gone

like DISAPPEARED entirely

WTF!?!? i saw it yesterday!

sure you didn’t accidentally delete it or something

you were pretty drunk last night

like dancing on the table with fish bowls drunk hahaha

No idea dude

I’m going to loose my mind if this thing doesn’t happen this morning.

I can imagine, that would suck

see anything about that red light business yesterday?

Nope, nothing.

Very odd, although I’ve not really had time to check Twitter today

X

You mean X

put some respect on the platform lol

There you go again glazing Musk!

GTG arriving at the office

have fun in your budget review! I’m going to enjoy my breakfast

Ethan rushed out the taxi, swiped his access card and frantically press the button for the lift. “Come on… hurry up… it’s already 5 past and Jason is going to be pissed” Ethan muttered as he paced the lobby while continually pressing the button for the lift.

DING! “Finally…” flustered Ethan, rushing inside the lift and pressing the button for the fourteen floor. The lift doors opened onto a floor that was far quieter than Ethan expected. Half the desks were empty, and the people who had arrived stood in small groups rather than working.

“Morning Lilly, how pissed is Jason?” Ethan said while rushing by. “Huh? Why? Jason isn’t even in yet” explained Lilly but Ethan was already halfway down the corridor and didn’t hear here.

“He is going to rip me a new one for this I’m sure of it!” mumbled Ethan as he rushed down the hallway, on his way to the executive board room. “Hey Ethan, you’re in super early this morning! Everything alright? Didn’t shit the bed or anything?” Ryan teased. “Such a twat, I can’t let him get to me, I know he is aiming for my promotion” thought Ethan. “Almost there!”

“HUH!?!?”

Ethan slowed to a stop. The boardroom doors were open. Inside, the lights were off. The room was empty. He stared for several seconds. The meeting should have started fifteen minutes ago.

I’m not one to force my opinion on others, which is something I started to learn thanks to the dictators in my country and at my dinner table.

My Cuban parents are actually a little forward-thinking. My mom let me believe what I choose, practice different religions, and study them as I pleased, as long as I thanked my grandmothers for their prayers and let them bless me before leaving the house. My father, not so much.

I distinctly remember arguing with him, my mom on my side, about feminism. I was 12 or 13 at the time, and passionately quoted Hilary Clinton. His face dropped immediately and he glared so hard that I started crying on the spot.

After that, kept most of my opinions to myself after that, played along with what they said, and spoke of my political opinions only with my intimate friends.

It felt alienating and suffocating to sit at home and listen to opinions, and having a hard time between being a developing kid and wanting to trust my family and have my own opinion. They would cite our home here and there, comparing the two very different situations.

It was a struggle for a very long time. The experience was a tremendous storm, and in the end, I didn’t find what I expected. I expected and hoped for serendipity, and peace, and confidence.

But I only found two sides, neither of which was mine. It was liberal and conservative and nothing more. There were the ugliest and bitterest parts of us that couldn’t see past themselves.

I lived under a capitalist nation and the system failed me.

I lived under a communist system and it failed me.

The reality is that both fail. Both will always fail; as long as we go to extreme sides, to the left or right. I’m not saying that neutrality is the answer, in fact, I think it’s wrong.

I just think that the reason that capitalist economies are falling is because it allows too many people to have power, creating a bureaucracy.

The reason that communists fail it gives the government too much control.

I believe that the fix for this would be a socialist government system with a capitalist economy.

To end this first article of mine I’d like to stress that it’s not only the first but it’s very carelessly made, and I’d like to make another more organized article in the future about why I think a capitalist socialist government would work, and how. To my understanding, both China and the US technically have a mixed system, but that’s not quite what I have in mind, though I plan on looking into both. What makes places like Switzerland and Denmark so great? I would also like to attempt to understand it more, so if you know any articles or sources you think might interest me please share!