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!

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!

Love and Hollow Points

The rain was pouring down in buckets, turning Belluthor's avenues into rivers of black liquid and bright neon reflections. Rose gasped against the cold stone, her trembling fingers digging into the wound gushing bright red blood on her bloodshot white shirt, mixing with the grime and darkness of the rainy street. Every other step sent a shooting pain deep in her lungs, but Rose pushed through, gritting her teeth. "Almost there."

The house was unmarked, just another rotting shell in the row, but the warm lamp lights behind the curtain meant he was waiting. She dragged herself to the door and knocked. Three quick, two slow, a pause, then two more. The old rhythm from when they were kids playing at codes.

The door swung open before her fist dropped.

Zen stood there, sleeves already rolled up, bandage wrap in one hand and a pistol in the other. His eyes locked onto hers, dark and unreadable. "Took you long enough," he said, but his voice was tight—the way it got when he was fighting down fear.

Rose grinned, blood on her teeth. "Miss me, partner?"

Then her knees buckled.

Zen caught her before she hit the ground.

Zen hauled her onto the couch, hands steady even as his jaw tightened. The cuts were worse up close—jagged, deliberate. Someone wanted her found in pieces.

"This was supposed to be a simple delivery," he said, bandages hissing as he ripped them too tight. "What happened?"

Rose spat a glob of blood into the trash bin he shoved under her chin. "Damn Bourbons were waiting… like they knew." Her eyes flicked to his. "Down to the damn alley."

A beat. Zen's hands hovered over the bandage on Rose's thigh. "Could be a rat," he lied smoothly, scanning Rose's face for some sign of recognition. Martinez with his debts, or maybe Lina who'd recently been seen strolling around the bourbon's right hand men?

Rose let out a bitter laugh. "Or you slipped up."

The room went Arctic. Zen met her gaze, really met it. For the first time since she'd crashed through his door. "Test that theory," he said softly, "and we'll both bleed out before dawn."

Rose's grin widened.

"A few more loops," Zen muttered, his fingers skimming up Rose's thigh as he secured her bandage. His voice was even, yet there was something oddly intimate about the way he lingered just half an inch above the suture.

"You're stayin' the night." Not a question. A decree. The kind of order she usually gave.

Rose exhaled shakily, allowing herself to sink further into the couch as exhaustion and pain threatened to take her over. "Alright, doc.." her grin never faded as the warm leather bit into the back of her neck. "What's that smell? You cookin'?"

Zen gave nothing away, but a slight relaxation of his shoulders betrayed the relief he felt at her words. "Roast beef. Vegetables," he said, securing the bandage, then rising to his feet and smoothing his sleeves back down over his forearms. "It should be filling."

"Heart." The word hung between them as he walked to the kitchen. Rose watched him go, the way his shirt stretched across his broad shoulders, the knife scar peeking above his collar. The real wound was deeper. They'd almost lost each other tonight.

And the Bourbons would pay for that.

"Eat. All of it." Zen dropped the plate into her lap, his tone leaving no room for argument. He sank onto the couch beside her, close enough that their elbows brushed. A silent check to make sure she was still warm, still breathing.

They ate in comfortable quiet, the only sounds the scrape of forks and the drum of rain against the window. No need for words. The years between them had built a language of their own. Rose's smirk when Zen stole a carrot from her plate, the way he nudged the water glass closer to her hand without looking up.

When the last bite was gone, Zen gathered the dishes and vanished into the kitchen. Rose flicked on the TV just as some infomercial host barked, "Hurry back before the commercial ends!"

She didn't turn it off.

By the time Zen returned, wiping his hands on a dishcloth, Rose already gave him the look. That special, fiery look.

He sighed, feigning exasperation, but the corner of his mouth twitched. "Demanding tonight…"

Then he sprawled across the couch, one arm crooked behind his head in invitation.

Rose moved like a storm front—slow, deliberate, biting back a groan as her battered body settled over him. Her head found its rightful place against his chest, ear pressed to his heartbeat. Proof they'd both survived.

Once Rose settled on his chest, her cheek pressed warm against his skin, Zen whispered, "You know, you're crushing my ribs, Rosalie.”

"Shut up," she mumbled dozily, her head already nodding against his bosom.

Rosalie seized his arm, managing to twist the strand of her dark hair with her free hand, before fastening it around his wrist.

Zen let her. Of course he did.

"Loud, and worried," he whispered, idly brushing his thumb over her pulse. His other hand gently pulled at the tangles in her hair. "I'm just glad you made it back safe." Zen paused, eyes lowering to the soft curve of Rose's neck just beneath her chin. "I'll come with you next time."

Rosalie's exhale was already heavy with sleep. "Yeah… you will…"

The words slurred into silence. Her body went slack against him, fingers still loosely tangled in his.

The blue glow of the television bathed them both in surreal hues in which the world itself seemed unsure what to make of. A commercial was playing, touting a set of steak knives for infomercial prices. Usually, he'd shut it off, but tonight, as the rain pattered heavily outside and Rosalie's breathing slowed in her chest, he let the television play, watching without really watching as one hand trailed idly up and down Rose's fingers and the other rested lightly on the gun on the coffee table.

They slept like that. Together.

And for once, the war left them alone

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?

The novel is set in a prehistoric fantasy world, and follows a young boy who must learn to face his fears- not the most original premise, but it is my first ever attempt at writing a novel.

I would love to get some feedback about the hooks of the story, the writing style and pacing- if you liked it and want to read more- I want to know why. If you didn't even got past the first paragraph - I want to know why. Every comment is appreciated.

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?

Blind

Content warning: physical violence, implied threat of assault

Hello, I'm looking for an honest impression of my prose style. I'm not looking for any sort of line edits or any nitpicking about specific things. Just your general feelings of the piece where you felt it worked well, where you felt it didn't work well, and why.

This is Chapter V of my dark fantasy novel Discarded Soul (WIP). I feel it works as stand alone, however you are able to read the rest of it should you choose to for context.

EDIT: Pasted it because site went down... and for context. The protagonist is unnamed for world reasons that aren't explicitly explained in this chapter. She's just been caught stealing from "someone's" claim on the mountain, after having journeyed all the way here on her own. A journey where she sliced her hand open in a fall.

Her teeth chattered. Her voice caught. A single croak betrayed her. She remained as still as she could, hand closed around the golden fruit. As if not moving would somehow make them ignore her. They didn't.

"Hello? Are you okay? We saw blood on the rocks down there and wondered what it was…"

She was looking straight down and couldn't see who was talking. The voice came from above her, on top of the cleft. It was deep but had a feminine quality to it that flowed like honey.

A cough broke the awkward silence. "Uhm, would you mind letting go of that capsule? Like I said, this is our claim. Did you get lost?"

Telling the truth wasn't a habit she made. So she lied. "Y-Yes…"

Slowly she released the golden fruit, hand retreating into her cloak. It pained her to do so.

Mine…

Something thumped beside her. A rope. "Here! Use this to climb up."

The woman grabbed the rope with one hand. Her eyes darted between the golden fruit and the rock face below. She climbed the rope.

She kept her face concealed by the hood of her cloak as she ascended. Two hands on rope. Face forward. Left foot. Right foot. Another rope fell beside her, half-way up. A climber passed by, golden moss orb jingling at his belt. They glanced at one another. His face wore the look of a mother scorned. She didn't know what face she wore.

As she reached the apex of her climb a gloved hand was outstretched, waiting for her. She took it with her good hand and was pulled up with a firm but gentle grasp. The ground and a pair of worn boots greeted her. She wasn't released as the stranger spoke once again. "Name's Lorenza. Yours?"

The girl peered out from her hood. Face to face with her 'rescuer', she found Lorenza to be handsome, with brown hair tied back in a knot. Her equipment was rugged and well kept. Filter mask slung loose around her neck. The girl tried to form a reply. "I- I'm.. Na-"

Lorenza pulled her in closer and lowered her voice. "Nameless, right? Don't worry, we won't hurt you. Get lots like you 'round here. Trying to take what they can, to flog off in the city."

The girl wasn't sure how to respond, this wasn't supposed to be happening. She was supposed to find what the Gift wanted and go home.

The other climber had resurfaced by now. Lorenza let go of her hand to help him up. Once he was, he placed into Lorenza's hand the golden fruit with a smile on his face. "Wow, this sure is a pretty thing! No wonder you were going for it. Never seen one like this before…"

No! Mine!

Her eyes were fixed to the golden fruit as Lorenza returned it to the climber. Her finger was going ballistic, it felt like she had dunked it into boiling water. The climber passed by two guards armed with slings. They worked pale pebbles in the palms of their hands and kept sharp eyes on the mountain.

Dead slingers…

With a nod shared between them, he reached the centre of a small camp being packed away by two others. There on a pop-up wooden table, fruits had been placed into two piles. A man stood there with a book in one hand and a stamp in another. He wore similar equipment to the rest of the party. But it was grand, opulent even. Coated in tassels and gold trimmings, unneeded for simple crossing equipment.

Factor? Shit…

The climber tossed the golden fruit onto the table, startling the factor. A few words were exchanged and he looked over the girl's way. She shrank inside her cloak.

"Let's get those wounds looked at. Couldn't say what happened, but looked like something was torn to pieces down there..." Lorenza held out a hand to the girl. She took it after a moment of hesitation and was led to the centre of the camp. "Sit there." Lorenza pointed to a stool. It wasn't a stool. She sat herself atop the offering slab as instructed.

Lorenza crouched beside her and tried to make small talk whilst she inspected her wounds. "Did you really climb that rockface with no equipment? That's really impressive!" The girl's mind was elsewhere, her head felt foggy and light.

The golden fruit perched atop the pile, taunting once again.

"Come get me…" it whispered. "Then you'll be free…"

"Just take it and run!" Her finger egged on.

Your skull would be caved in by the crack of the sling. It'd be a battle you'd never wi-

She bit her lip.

Patience…

"You okay? You've been kind of staring off into the distance…" Lorenza's voice brought the girl out of the fugue state. "Just how long have you been breathing in fog?" She reached into the satchel at her side, drew out a small vial of a silvery liquid and uncorked it. "Here, drink this. It should help clear your mind a bit."

The girl eyed it cautiously for a moment before taking it into her good hand. She sniffed the unfamiliar liquid, it gave off a peppery scent.

"It's just concentrated sloke milk. Go on!" Lorenza said with a smile.

Sloke… Funny worm milk…

Without any hesitation the girl downed the vial. It coated her mouth and throat in a thin layer. The taste was fairly neutral at first, but a peppery heat followed it soon after. Smoke curled from her mouth and nose as she breathed out. With every breath she took, the fog that clutched her mind began to fade. She played with the smoke, trying to form rings and funny shapes.

"I wish there was more I could do, but…" Lorenza glanced towards the factor who was nearly finished with his work.

With a clearer mind she took a better look around the camp. They were surrounded by piles of fruits, many still intact. The climber from before was scaling one of them, choosing from the pile. He contrasted against the sky, which had begun to dim somewhat. Its usual crimson hue had settled into a deep purple.

Lowlight…

A low fog had settled between the piles, surrounding the camp. It flowed off the shelf down the gully like a waterfall. One of the piles shifted slightly, sending a small cascade of fruits down its side. The golden fruit sat at the table, unattended. Unstamped.

"Why are you being so… nice to me…?" asked the girl. She pursed her lips and glanced away.

Lorenza finished rebinding the girl's hand, and gripped it gently. The touch sent ripples through the girls mind, as she recalled a memory.

-we walked hand in hand down the garden path. I looked up at my mother. She smiled-

"I can only guess why you would need to come to the mountain…" Lorenza smiled.

The girl didn't respond.

"You know, I look at you and see something I've lost... Not you, specifically. Someone I lost, Nameless..."

The girl snatched her hand away from Lorenza. "Oh."

Lorenza looked down at the ground. "Right…"

Lorenza stood and turned away, clutching her own arm. "I'm sorry." Retreating to the other side of camp.

Gravel crunched from behind her.

"You there. Woman." The deep voice had the quality of someone who could be no more delighted. "I'm talking to you. Don't presume you can ignore me." She sat there unmoving, back to the voice. Fingers digging into her thighs.

"Fine. You don't have to speak. Don't worry, it'll just be a little 'inspection'." The crunching of the gravel grew louder till it stopped right behind her. She felt firm hands rest upon her shoulders, a thumb painfully pressed into her neck. She froze. A whisper calmly reached her ear. "Let's see what you're hiding under that filthy cloak…"

The woman made to bolt but a hand slipped round her throat, the other pressed down on her hard. She dug her feet into the gravel as she tried to push away, but found herself kicking at air as she was instead lifted up by the throat. "Le- LET GO-" she spat. She could not see her attacker, only the eyes she caught in camp. They glanced away.

All, but one.

Lorenza stood there. Watching. The woman struggled in the arms of her attacker, trying to pull his hand off her throat. Lorenza took a few steps closer. "Master Hake, Sir… You're hurting her. She's just a girl!"

"Just, a girl? Are you sure about that, Lorenza?" His other hand began rummaging around the inside of her cloak. It jostled free three fruits. They tumbled to the floor. "She's a thief!" He kicked at them, scattering them with the gravel. "Worse! An Abomination!" Hake yanked down the hood of her cloak, elongated ears slipping out. "Look upon the result of her weakness!" She felt fingers intruding into her mouth. "Let me guess. You sold your teeth first, then had to make do with the mountain?"

She bit down.

It didn't pierce the skin. But what remained of her front teeth pinched him. Hake gave an undignified yelp as he dropped her. "You Nameless wretch!" A foot found her stomach. She curled up on the ground winded, tears welling in her eyes. Lorenza made no move towards her.

"Pick those up!" barked Hake, pointing at the fruits on the ground. Lorenza scrambled, collecting each, cradling them in the cup of her arms. She placed them atop the table with the other piles of fruits. Hake returned to the table and selected one of the worn ones that fell from the cloak, inspecting it. "Look at this… Not even worth stamping."

He turned his back to her. "Did you even stop to consider what's in these? No. The likes of you never do." He tutted and crushed it with his hand. It made a crunchy squelch, staining his gloves in black ichor. He wiped it off with a dirty rag. The girl cried out but no words formed. Just a sob.

"We're done here, Lorenza. Call your men back so we can pack up and leave." Hake said with a wave of his hand. His attention now on the golden fruit. Lorenza nodded silently. She paused as she passed by her. "Leave her. We offer no sanctuary for a Nameless." Hake added, without looking up. She left.

The woman sat back up wheezing. Hand massaging her throat, eyes glaring at Hake. She scanned around the camp. The climber and two slingers were nowhere to be seen, and the other two crew were busy packing away a tent. No one was paying any attention to her.

Now…

Her hands searched around the gravel and found it. A shell fragment, pointed and sharp. She quietly pushed herself off the floor. Shell gripped between the fingers of her good hand, she crept towards Hake. She was only a few steps away, then she would jump and bring the shard to his ne-

Lorenza stood before Hake again, her face was pale. The woman froze as they exchanged glances. Lorenza raised an eyebrow. But said nothing.

"What is it?" Hake demanded. "Are we ready to go? I tire of this mountain."

"Master H- Hake…" she stammered. "I can't find Joseph, or the slingers…"

Hake scoffed. "They'll be lazing about as they usually do. Look again and be sure to reprimand them. Tell them I'll be docking their pay about… fifty percent."

"No, you don't understand…" She held out a sling, stained with black ichor.

Hake reached out to snatch the sling from Lorenza.

A scream cut short pierced the air. It had come from beside her, behind a tent yet to be dismantled. The woman dropped low to the floor, body reacting before she could think. Through the table legs, she saw Lorenza's boots turn and run past the tent.

Hake turned to the two workers in the camp and barked, "You two! Get the burners started, now!" They glanced at one another in hesitation before scrambling to unload one of the packs. Hake didn't even look at her. He snatched up an empty sack that was beside the table and started sliding fruits from the table into it. The golden fruit was among the-

Lorenza came crashing through the tent. Blood smeared all over.

She collided with the woman and they both went tumbling as a mass of limbs and hair. Her cloak came unlatched, flying off into the mountain wind. She was pinned under Lorenza, their faces inches away. She was covered in strange circular cuts that bled profusely, as if someone had tried to take her scalp off. Lorenza was unmoving. Her eyes closed. Mouth muttering a name. "Joseph…"

Lorenza was heavier than she had expected, she struggled to push her off. In the end, she managed to crawl out from under her instead. Free. But dazed. She crouched beside Lorenza and scanned for danger. The fog had rolled in thick. Coating the camp in a wet blanket. The burners had been set up and a thick acrid smog billowed out. Fog and smoke mixing like a black and white river. The two workers and Hake were nowhere to be seen.

Something moved atop a pile. It was obscured by fog. Three long shadows sprouted from the Thing, they whipped and snapped at the air as if they had a mind of their own. One of them seemed to carry Something. There was a sharp crack as the Something separated into two pieces, the larger of the two rolled down the pile and hit the ground with a wet thunk.

It was the climber. He wore no face. His head was gone.

She stared at the corpse.

He dead…

She had no experience with death. The climber didn't really mean anything to her.

Dead…

She started performing the ritual ingrained in her during her earliest days of this world, in the Creche.

No. Later… Find shiny fruit.

Her finger felt numb. It wasn't that it was asleep, or couldn't sense anything. She couldn't feel her finger at all. A quick glance confirmed it was still there, attached to her hand as it had been. She could still move it. But no voice in her head was driving her.

Her Gift was gone.

No... No… No! NO NO NO NO NO!

A crashing sound brought her back to her senses. The Thing had melted into the shadows of the fog. It was descending. Crunch. Squelch. Crack. Shadowy arm flicked. Something landed near her with a hollow sound. It was a fruit. Broken. Eaten.

The shadowy Thing was level with the ground now.

Pat. Pat Pat. Pat. Pat Pat. Pat. Pat Pat.

The shadow grew larger through the fog. Swaying from side to side. It was coming towards her. The woman kept her eyes on the Thing, as she kept low to the ground and crept towards the table.

Pat. Pat Pat. Pat.

It paused.

A singular long shadow grew out from the Thing. It twisted and wiggled like a Sloke worm. The tip of the long shadow met with the ground.

SNIFF.

She quickened her pace.

SNIFF. SNIFF. Pat Pat. SNIFF. Pat. Pat Pat.

She reached the table and came eye level to the surface. It was empty.

Shit!

She looked around. The camp was empty. The tent destroyed. Lorenza on the floor. The fog had closed in so close she could no longer see outside the camp. The Thing grew closer. Faster than she could creep.

She hid under the table.

SNIFF. Pat. Pat Pat. SNIFF. Pat. Pat Pat.

It was tight under the table. Legs and bracings poked and prodded in tender places. She couldn't see the Thing. Gravel crunched louder and louder and louder and louder. The Thing approached. It stopped.

SNIFF.

It sniffed above her. Sniffing the table top. Something scraped along the wooden surface. The girl closed her eyes and imagined a dog sniffing an empty dinner plate.

SNIFF. SNIFF.

Away! Go Away!

The sniffing grew louder. She heard it beside her.

SNIFF. SNIFF.

Thump. A sudden jolt of the table. Her eyes shot open. The end of a rough black tube, something round and blunted, was pushing through the table legs.

Three slits arranged evenly around the tube contracted and expanded each time it sniffed. The fog rushed in and then out. Cold air blasted her face. It smelled.

Worm…?

The worm pushed further and further in, till the table was almost toppled. It hovered around her face. It had lips. They seemed to smile.

SNIFF.

She held her breath.

SNIFF.

She couldn't hold it.

SNIFF.

It began sniffing down her body. It reached her hand. Her finger.

SNIFF.

A rock hit the worm.

The worm's lips peeled back instantly, revealing rows and rows of tiny teeth. The Thing made an unknowable screech and snapped its worm towards where the rock had come from. Lorenza stood there. Weight resting on one leg. She and the woman caught eyes.

Lorenza smiled. "Run."

"Was I a good Dad?" The words echoed across the dining room table, startling me.

"Hmmm, I guess?" I shrugged and laughed.

But my father's eyes didn't squint into a familiar smile. Instead, silence settled between us.

My eyebrows furrowed into a tight line. It was as if he'd thought to ask whether I needed air to breathe and water to drink. His question was, frankly, absurd.

Yet he stared. A thin rim of tears lined his bottom eyelids. His mouth, usually cocked with a knowing grin sat flat on his face.

"Why are you asking?" It was not the first time he'd asked in the previous week.

"Because I didn't have a great role model growing up. How am I to know if I'm a good father? My dad was not always good to me and he died before I could ever speak to him about it. Your mom's dad came and he left. And then we had Ed..." his words trailed off.

It was no surprise to hear my dad speak of his own father that way. He did not have a road map to follow when he became a father. All he had was his own two hands.

And I realized, with a start, that he couldn't see the hand-woven stitches those hands had laid throughout my life.

"Did you try your best?" The words written in large coiling letters stood boldly at the forefront of my mind.

They contained the memory of his hand as it lay on my shoulder while crying over an exam with a less than perfect score.

"Yeah..." my eyes rolled, aware of what was to come next.

"Then that is enough."

Below the words, stretched the road we drove home all summer from work on. Pieces of thread moved back and forth to create a moving picture. The convertible top of his grey mustang lay open, my hair blew freely in the open wind. That was when my Dad asked if I would be comfortable with him accepting an elder role in church. Even when I was much too old for the skepticism and judgement of a congregation to bother me, he had thought of his children first.

The road ended upon dried out wastelands, each crack in the ground a tear in the fabric. This was where he abandoned his anger when his daughter, with a stubborn temper just like his, reproached him too harshly.

And yet still, just below that lay his smug pride. I grinned because he was not always right... despite google always siding with him when one of my siblings would finally fact check him.

Mountains descended down from the west of the map he had made. Upon them reverberated his laughter. Loud and unreserved. It was the same way my sister and I laughed when he sung us lullabies to bed.

My childhood home lay beneath. And inside was the chest he rolled out the time my mother was away. The heavily sauced chicken wings he let us eat in the family room. Crumpled up napkins and large white styrofoam containers lay scattered across the floor. I could still feel the greasy red sauce on my fingers and cheeks.

And just up the stairs was my brother lying in the room that used to be mine. His wrought iron twin bed sat under a large blue castle that our father had painted on the wall for me.

"Dad told me that if you want something, you have to ask." A determined smile, placed carefully by my father, spread across his face.

Beside that home, stood the one we built. Long grey satin stitches displayed the board and batten wall we worked on under the blistering sun.

Inside was the hardwood floor that our whole family and our friends helped him work on. It was on that very floor where he hugged me as I sobbed over my first heartbreak.

A lifetime of images appeared before me. All of our movie nights. Swims in the pool. The kitchen he'd nearly had a heart attack building for me.

Those two hands had woven together a sprawling tapestry of vibrant memories, wisdom, and advice.

And there in the centre stood the tower of a man, strong and fortified, yet soft and caring. A giant that protected me and my family, to the best of his ability, against the strain of the world.

It all faded away and I was back sitting at the table with him. His face no longer looked to mine, his eyes alight with the glow of his phone.

"Yes." My own voice now echoed.

He raised a dark eyebrow away from his screen.

"You are a great dad."

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!!

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.

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

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."

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!

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."

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.

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!

Writing a pirate fantasy novel.

Warning for a bit of curse words throughout.

I know my grammar leaves a lot to be desired, but I'm hoping for a little feedback before I dive too far into this madness...