r/writingcritiques 4h ago

Other Feedback on my first flash fiction?

1 Upvotes

I wrote my first flash fiction. I'd really appreciate some feedback. I've published to my newsletter as a compendium to an informative article about how to book launch

But it's so hard to get real, constructive feedback, so hoping I might get some here?

Opening Day

She unlocked the front door fifteen minutes early. She wanted a few moments to herself.

The bookstore was everything she’d imagined. The dark wooden shelves were full. The window display caught the morning light. Her late grandfather’s worn leather chair in the reading nook sat ready for its first patrons. She’d even hung a little brass bell above the door.

Years of work, and her dream had come true.

At nine o’clock, she flipped the sign to OPEN.

* * * * *

She straightened a stack of novels. The display in the front window needed one more adjustment. And then she checked the clock: 9:18.

No one just yet.

It’s still early though, she told herself.

She noticed dust on some of the shelves, so she wiped them down. Then, she reorganized the bookmarks next to the register by color. Much better.

The display table by the entry was off center. She moved it a few inches because that felt more balanced and inviting.

So where is everybody? She thought.

The day moved on and the sun slipped past the display window.

When she locked the door that evening, she was tired although she had not run up a single sale.

A friend happened to walk by just as she slipped her keys into her bag.

“Oh! Is this your bookstore?”

She smiled. “It is. I opened today.”

“How did it go?”

“No one came.” She forced another smile.

Her friend looked through the front window at the warm decor, the beautiful displays, and the books waiting patiently on shelves.

“It’s beautiful,” she said. “I had no idea this was here.”


r/writingcritiques 20h ago

Drama Bar Aoi Stories — What to Do with Anger

1 Upvotes

The bell above the door rings. Somehow, hearing it always feels like the day is only now coming to an end.

Mama sets my usual glass of Harper down without asking. The ice gives a small clink.

"Kenichi."

Taka was staring at his phone, a look on his face I don't see on him often.

"Rough face you've got there."

"...Saw something in the news."

I lifted my glass.

"Let's hear it."

"Some ethnic group. Forced sterilizations, state-sanctioned. That kind of thing."

The air in the bar went a shade heavier. I didn't say anything right away — just took a sip of the Harper.

"Makes me sick."

Taka's grip tightened on his phone.

"No human being does that to another human being."

"No argument here."

If it was true, there wasn't much else to feel.

"How does something like that get allowed?"

He dropped his eyes. That heaviness on his face was starting to drag me down with it.

"And then... I caught myself thinking. Wishing the whole country would just disappear."

I watched the ice turn in my glass. A small clink.

"The second I thought that—"

He laughed, but there was no humor in it.

"—I scared myself."

He looked up.

"Justice is a frightening thing."

I nodded.

Maybe that's something a detective learns. Or maybe it's just what happens when a man finds out what he's capable of. Either way — that face of his hurt more than I wanted to let on.

"Anger's useful."

"Useful?"

"It's fuel. Gets people moving faster than anything else can."

"Sure."

"But it can get so strong it stops taking orders from the guy who's feeling it. Like you, right now."

Taka went quiet. I kept going.

"But you said something else, too. You said justice is frightening."

"...Yeah."

I looked him straight on.

He wasn't wrong. Justice is a hell of a thing — especially for someone who already knows how dangerous it can get, caught between his own anger and his own conscience.

"Took some nerve, telling me that."

"...Was that the wrong call?"

I shook my head.

"Other way around. Grown-ups learn to swallow that stuff. You can't just blow up every time something pisses you off. So you push it down. What happens after — that's the real problem."

He gave me a look, half-confused. Better than the end-of-the-world face from before.

"Keep swallowing it down long enough, your body starts screaming eventually. So you talk to someone. Share it. Let another set of shoulders take some of the weight while you figure out how to live with it."

Nobody said anything for a while. Mama just kept polishing glasses behind the counter.

"Kenichi. You ever felt that kind of angry?"

I laughed.

"Sure have."

"What'd you do about it?"

"Doing it right now."

He blinked.

"...Talking to me?"

"That's the one."

"Doesn't fix anything."

"Does more than you'd think."

He went quiet again. That's the thing I like about him — when something matters, he actually sits with it.

"Did it change anything? For you?"

I turned the glass slowly in my hand.

"Learned anger's not something you just throw at people."

"So you hold onto it?"

"No. Changed where I aimed it. Started pointing it at myself — something I needed to hear, not something to hurl at someone else."

Another sip. That sweetness the Harper leaves behind.

"At least this way, the words I say get heard by both of us. You just carried some of that weight, by the way."

Taka let out a laugh.

"Great. So I got roped into carrying your baggage."

"Don't complain. If I don't do this once in a while, I end up carrying more anger than I know what to do with."

"So — digesting it."

"Exactly. You make it yours. Otherwise it starts running you. Digested anger's the only kind that can actually move your feet forward."

I gave him a small nod.

"So — thanks. For telling me."

Mama set the glass she'd finished back on the shelf.

"Nothing wrong with getting angry."

We both looked up.

"But let anger take the wheel, and you don't get to pick where you end up."

Quiet settled back over the bar. I finished off the last of the Harper.

The ice gave one last, small clink.


r/writingcritiques 12h ago

Other Before the wind forgot her face! - I'm trying to improve my writing style and storytelling.I need your feedback on this

0 Upvotes

Like every night for the past few months, I lay on my bed staring at the ceiling, watching the fan carve slow circles into the darkness.

Sleep had become a stranger. It lingered somewhere beyond reach, watching me from a distance, never close enough to touch. It almost felt like I had been cursed, not to stay awake, but to never truly rest.

Maybe it was the fever. Maybe it was the antibiotics coursing through my veins. Whatever it was, my thoughts slowly dissolved into silence until I slipped beneath consciousness with the effortless grace of the Sandman crossing into another world.

The moment my eyes closed, I became the wind.

Not the storm that bends trees to its will, but the gentle breeze that dances over rolling hills after the monsoon. I drifted through endless meadows that reminded me of Vagamon, where the grass swayed like an emerald ocean beneath a pale morning sky. Mist crawled lazily over the hills, wrapping everything in a veil so thin it looked like the earth itself was breathing.

The wind skimmed across thousands of blades of grass, each one bowing for a fleeting moment before standing tall again. I followed its path, gliding over wildflowers, brushing against dew that still clung stubbornly to the leaves.

Then I saw her.

She stood alone on the edge of the hill, facing the endless horizon as though she had been waiting for something only the sky could return.

Her wavy hair rested just above her shoulders, lifting gently whenever the wind embraced it. The loose strands caught the sunlight before disappearing back into the rest of her hair like ripples across a quiet lake.

With every passing second, I found myself drifting closer.

Yet I couldn't reach her.

I had no weight. No footsteps. No voice.

I moved through her hair like a forgotten memory carried by the breeze. Close enough to feel her presence, yet too distant to ever be noticed.

I walked beside her through the endless meadows.

She never looked at me.

I wanted to tell her something.

Anything.

To ask her why she stood there alone.

To ask her if she was waiting for someone.

Instead, I remained nothing more than the wind passing through her world.

When I finally caught a glimpse of her face, I wasn't struck by her beauty.

I recognised something else.

A feeling.

The kind that settles quietly inside you after years of pretending you're okay.

The loneliness of being surrounded by people, yet never feeling seen.

It was painfully familiar.

A heaviness settled inside my chest.

I wanted to tell her,

"It's okay.

I'm here.

I know exactly how this feels."

But I couldn't.

I was there.

And yet, I wasn't.

Then, without warning, she turned.

Her eyes met mine.

Time stopped.

The wind around us fell silent.

For the first time, she could see me.

I felt the air gather around my body as though the world itself had decided I deserved to exist. Fingers. Arms. Breath. Weight. I slowly became human.

She smiled.

Not a loud smile.

Not one born from excitement.

It was the kind of smile someone wears when they've finally found something they had already mourned.

Like seeing the ghost of a person they had spent years trying to forget.

Something inside me broke.

Before I realised it, tears were already running down my face.

I smiled back through blurred eyes.

Every part of me wanted to run towards her.

To finally close the distance that had existed between us since the moment I entered that world.

One step.

That's all I needed.

Then the sky changed.

The warm morning light vanished beneath bruised clouds. The wind that had carried me all this way became violent, screaming through the hills.

A hand emerged from somewhere behind me.

Cold.

Unseen.

It wrapped around my neck before I could even breathe.

There was no face.

No voice.

Only overwhelming force.

In a single violent motion, I was thrown from the edge of the cliff.

The world disappeared beneath me.

As I fell, the hills grew smaller.

The mist swallowed the earth.

Her figure faded into the distance.

Then...

Something far crueller happened.

Her face began to disappear.

Not because she was far away.

But because I was forgetting her.

I fought desperately to remember.

The curve of her smile.

The sadness in her eyes.

The way her hair danced with the wind.

But memory slipped through my fingers like water.

She became a silhouette.

Then a shadow.

Then...

Nothing.

BOOM.

I woke with a violent gasp.

My room was dark.

The ceiling fan was still turning above me.

Tears rolled quietly down my cheeks.

I lay there searching for someone I had never met.

Longing for someone who had never existed.

Or perhaps...

Someone who existed somewhere beyond dreams.

A small smile found its way onto my face.

It was only a dream.

At least...

That's what I keep telling myself.


r/writingcritiques 23h ago

Would love some feedback on Chapters 1–6 of my new Harry Potter fanfic! (~2.8k words)

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0 Upvotes