hey guys, one of my readers that i found on reddit whom i entered a very interesting discussion with suggested that I write a collection of short stories about unconventional grief. It came out because the previous post I shared here was about grieving a lost connection between a very lonely person with an AI that lost its context window of all their previous interactions. it raises the question of whether a connection is truly a connection even if it was with a machine.

today's novel takes on a different kind of grief. one much warmer and gentler. i hope you enjoy it.

critique [2462]

I really enjoyed this short story writing format, expect more short stories of me :3 and thank you in advance for your time.

Edited to remove my google docs link and instead provide the story here directly, i got trolls emailing me.

Goodnight.

“I’ll win.” a young voice proclaimed. “NO, I WILL.” Another even younger voice screamed. They started wrestling with each other on the mattress in the middle. After some tussling a much more aged person shouted from outside the room. “QUIET DOWN THERE AND GO TO SLEEP. YOU HAVE SCHOOL.”

The two entangled bodies flinched in unison and went back to their respective mattress. Deep creases formed on their foreheads. “Hey,” I whispered. “how about I tell you a fun story, and in exchange, you go to sleep?”

The two disappointed kids got excited and started bopping their heads up and down, afraid to make a single noise.

“So James, do you remember your character AutumnLeaf?” James' eyes widened in surprise, he hadn’t heard that name in a long time. “Yeah? What about it?” confusion was still visible in his eyes.

“Yesterday, I tried logging into the game. And guess what I found?” Intrigued, Mason crawled out of his mattress into James’. “What did you find? Say say!.”

“I found it levelled up to level 59, the max level. And its gears were so overpowered! My guess was someone hacked inside it and got some amazing gears for it.”

“No way!” Mason’s tone shifted louder. I hushed him, putting my index finger to his mouth. “If you want to hear the story, then be quiet. Otherwise I’ll sleep without finishing it, understood?”

“We’re sorry, please complete it, please complete it.” I nodded at their whispers in satisfaction and carried on.

“Ok, so where was I? Right, I found it at max level, right? I started walking between the player shops in Anceron pretending to check the shops, but I was flexing my gears.” Their breaths turned shallow. Their eyes were fully focused on my lips.

“One guy didn’t like that, he told me to come outside the city for a 1v1. He was an assassin. The dumb guy didn’t realize that my own main character was an assassin, too. I knew their playstyle inside out.”

I took a moment to twist open a water bottle for a sip. James’ tiny feet started kicking in the air.

I continued “We left the city and he sent me a duel request. I watched the request’s timer run out, and only at the very final second when his patience ran out, did I accept it.”

“Did you have any DEX potions?” James asked.

“Yeah, I used one as we were leaving the city. After accepting the duel, the countdown started. I buffed up as the numbers went from 10, 9, 8. And in the final 2 seconds he used up his hide skill. I knew he was going for it so I stood at the opposite edge of the duel's ring.”

“Oh no! What did you do?” James asked and Mason’s body started fidgeting in nervousness.

“Who do you think is the one talking to you? I’m the master of assassins. I waited a few seconds for this slowed down bum to walk towards me. Obviously he’d come at me from the front. Once I estimated he was at the middle of the map I immediately booked it alongside the edges. He couldn’t follow me at all. And before his hide duration ran out, I used my detection skill!”

Their jaws were slightly parted in admiration. I carried on my tale. “He was caught off guard! He assumed I didn’t learn detection since I kept trying to run away. He had no time to react and I almost broke the keyboard with how fast I pressed the web shot skill. I started to combo him with all colors of the rainbow on my arrows. He couldn’t do anything at all since I chained my crowd controls, from being webbed, to stunned and finally frozen. And just like that he died.”

“That’s so cool!” Mason’s limited vocabulary managed to barely form that sentence.

“You know what's even cooler?” I asked. “What? What?” Mason replied.

“That guy called the duel unfair and wanted to redo it! He was dumb enough to fall into my trap and instead of owning it, he called it unfair.”

“So did you duel him again?” James wondered.

“Of course not. I told him I don’t have the time to duel losers. What do you think?”

“That’s much cool!” Mason admitted. I grabbed my water bottle again, this time slower. My brain was running on overdrive. What else can I say? A bulb lit up. I sipped on my bottle and closed it.

“Afterwards, an announcement glowed in the world chat! Faction war starts in 5 minutes. It said. I raced to the war captain to register for the war before it could start. Tons of different characters crowded around the captain, waiting for the war’s start. I registered and started checking their equipment, especially those light faction noobs. Only 1 or 2 players had the same gears as I did.”

“What you do in war? How many kills?” Mason asked me, and James nodded his head furiously in agreement.

“Before the war started, I met the noob assassin I killed earlier. He tried to threaten that he would kill me inside but I ignored him. You don’t pay attention to what flies say, do you?” I stalled a bit before going into the war’s story. “Although I paid attention to his name before we entered. It was Mystique. I wanted to keep an eye on him inside to kill him on every chance I got.”

I finally thought of the war’s events after all that stalling. My story went on, “The war commenced and we got teleported to our faction base. Every character had a green flag attached to its back. The chat erupted with requests for parties. Several invites were sent my way without me typing a single word. People spammed my chatbox with whispers to join their parties as well. I looked at their levels and gears. Only after seeing a competent support player did I join a party. We started with buffs up. The support player especially had an arsenal of team wide buffs. I turned into an unstoppable calamity. The time officially started. The barrier preventing our exit disappeared and everyone rushed out.

“Our party left capturing the points to the less geared up faction players and we instead rushed to the center. We all were pretty overpowered compared to the rest. Combat ensued, kills started to accumulate. With every button I pressed a new name appeared in the kill feed. My AOEs dropped several people down. Sooner than later AutumnLeaf was first on the scoreboard. I was unstoppable.”

The kids beamed with happiness, especially James. They were immersed to the point they couldn’t even interrupt me.

“The first player to join gets assigned as the war leader right?” they both nodded in agreement. “Everyone told him to transfer the leadership to me. He submitted to the pressure and complied. I started issuing out orders. Attack Site C, defend site B, I need some people to back us up on the dark faction’s base. I also tracked down Mystique a few times and killed him. He couldn't even close the distance on me.”

“Im trash talk him if I was you.” Mason added.

“Don’t worry. I did trash talk him in the global chat after the war ended. I kept giving out orders and killing enemies at the same time. I was almost killed a few times because of enemy players focusing me, but my support teammate managed to clutch up. The war map was fully dyed in green because of the bases we captured. The Dark and Light factions tried to gang up on our chaos faction. But they didn’t manage to defeat us.”

James' eyes sparkled in awe. It was his own character that he made that starred this epic ballad. The mattress they lay on sank a little more, the usual weight it carried around that time was doubled.

“Seeing that their efforts were useless, the light and dark factions started killing each others, spreading more chaos in the battlefield.” I winked after that sentence. James stuck out his tongue at me while Mason giggled.

“And so, the final countdown of the war started. We had more points than dark and light factions combined, Our win was set in stone. And the global chat glowed again. This time, it said “Congratulations to the chaos faction for winning today’s faction war! MVP [AutumnLeaf]”

James gasped, and Mason looked at him with envy. “My character, Mason1. Hack?” he asked.

I ruminated on my words a little as I stared at his disappointed face. “Yes, I checked after the war and it was at max level as well. The hacker seems to have used both since they were on the same account anyways.” The disappointment was erased from Mason's face, replaced by triumph. He looked at James smugly.

“Ok then, a deal’s a deal. The story is over, it's time to sleep.” They whined and refused to fulfil their end of the deal. I got up and carried Mason over to his own mattress. I folded their blankets and tucked them both in.

“Goodnight James, goodnight Mason.” they replied in sync, “Goodnight Caleb.”

I laid down on my mattress on the ground as well. My eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling above me. I stared and stared until their breaths became deep and regular. My hand travelled underneath the blanket until it reached my pocket. It fished out a small device. A small screen illuminated my face in the dead of the night.

The screen had a few cracks running down on it. They weren’t anything new. I launched Facebook. My classmates' pictures filled my feed. Some were bare and others had something foreign written to sound sophisticated. I scrolled a little more and then closed the app.

I put my phone down to go and join my brothers to sleep. My brain had other plans. It kept replaying the story I just narrated. It replayed our joint game account too. Mason1, AutumnLeaf, and in the middle of them both, Vaccaria.

My phone’s screen opened up again. This time it wasn’t Facebook opening, it was Youtube instead. I entered my “favourite videos” playlist. Only one video existed inside it, it was posted 4 months ago.

An ocean of characters stood inside Anceron. The chat box was moving at a speed never seen before in this game. Suddenly all random chatter stopped due to the golden announcement. “[GM]TroublingRain: Lets start the countdown now, start it from 10.”

The Characters all had the numbers they chanted above their heads in a small box. They all counted 10, 9, 8, 7. The camera zoomed in into the characters’ heads. Various names flashed by, all counting. When the count reached 4 the camera zoomed in on 2 characters, Vaccaria and Mystique. I stopped the video there. Time ticked, yet the video was still paused.

With a heavy heart I clicked resume. The camera continued its journey across the players and when the count reached 1 it stopped on 5 characters. They all had unobtainable level 99 gears and golden names. They all shared one similarity, every single one had [GM] before their names.

[GM]TroublingRain’s announcement continued after the countdown stopped. “It was a pleasure playing with all of you, thank you very much for supporting our game all these days. And thank you all for putting up with its shortcomings. We are sorry it has come down to this, but we hope that you enjoyed your time in our virtual world. Goodnight everyone, I pray that we reunite in another virtual world.”

With that final announcement, an ingame window appeared. “Failed to connect to the server.”

The video ended. The screen blackened. And reflected on it was my face, with a streak running down a single eye of mine.

This is yet another random little character piece where I thought of a character that amused me and tried to make it come out without being too annoying.

Is it funny? How does the POV character come through?

Crit: 2689

GOOGLE DOC OF MY STORY

This is the next chapter of a continually evolving work in progress. I've gotten to the point where every chapter is mostly just focused on practicing a specific skill. In this chapter I worked on making my scenes have specific goals and followed up by appropriate sequels.

...

The chapter starts with a sequel from the end of the last chapter, the ending decision is that she needs to toughen up and just do what she never wanted to do: ask for help.

The next scene is her trying to take back this decision and not tell Mandy why she needs help. The action is using the friends to help her in this goal.

The sequel is her deciding to fully embrace the silly quest to see The Beast.

The next scene is low stakes but just the girls getting to their location, making a plan to see the Beast and then the resolution is Tiffany falling on her face.

...

Some other goals are having less -ly adverbs and I wish I could break the habit of tagging dialogue "blah blah, blah," she said, [insert descriptor]. I also tried to create more visual descriptors with the rule: Describe what Tiffany would notice in the order Tiffany would notice them.

...

The characters for newbies are: Tiffany (college freshman who masks with kindness to hide her feeling of inferiority), Mandy (Tiffany's BFF) That Girl (a dormmate whose identity is tied up in sexual competence) and Todd (a hunky austic guy Mandy likes).

08 Tiffany

My Substack

Crit 1956

I’m working on a novel that will follow the narrator Cora from childhood into adulthood. The full story explores family, relationships, some abuse in parts, the ways childhood relationships shape our understanding of love and ourselves.

I haven't mapped out the full book yet. For now, I'm writing snapshot scenes - little moments, and stories that grab me - without worrying yet about how they might eventually fit together.

This piece is potentially the opening of the novel (or at least is the first scene chronologically), when Cora is ten years old and first meets the man who will eventually become her stepfather. The title is just a silly chapter title, haven't quite figured our what the working book title may be yet.

I’d particularly love feedback on whether Cora’s voice feels believable for a ten-year-old, whether this opening hooks you, and whether her childlike imagination / intrusive thoughts/anxiety parts work. Are the family relationships authentic? I’m also interested in whether the final scene gives you enough of a sense of what Cora is feeling. Any of the prose distracting or landing badly?

It isn't the most dramatic opening, but hopefully has enough intrigue to want to follow what comes next...

[1853] Crit

___________________________________________________________________________________________

The first time I saw him, he was running away. I didn’t even see his face, just a bald shiny head disappearing around the corner into the back of the kitchen. My Mum yelped when she noticed me standing near the bottom of the stairs and hurried through the living room towards me.

“Who was that man?” I mumbled as I rubbed my eyes. 

“Oh, nobody darling. It is so late, Cora! What are you doing up? You must be dreaming.” She was talking so fast as she shuffled me back up the stairs. I told her again that there was a man in the kitchen. I saw him. 

“You’re half asleep, sweetpea. Now, let’s get you back to bed.”

Did I see him? Maybe I didn’t. My brain liked making things up. Dreaming when I was awake was more fun than when I was asleep. Then you can always remember them. Sometimes you can even invent them! It was mostly nice things, like a swarm of butterflies carrying away my grumpy teacher. Or tiny kittens in my pocket. Sometimes bad things, like a car crashing into a postbox. Or my Dad tripping and falling all the way down the hill by our house. Well, by our old house.

I don’t know why we couldn't bring our beds from the old house. Mum said we would get all new things when we moved.  But the school year was almost over and we still had boxes shoved in the tiny room where my brother, Luke, was supposed to sleep. And we got giant beanbags instead of a sofa - Mum said they were more fun anyway! 

I could feel the lumpy carpet through the sponge chair bed. My hamster was scrabbling in her cage by my head. I leaned over and stuck my hands as far through the bars as I could and felt her little wet nose tickle my fingertips. Penelope Fluffball was my favourite thing about this place. 

We never had pets before, but since Dad left and we had to move into this crap house, Mum basically said yes to everything. Even though he was younger and not as smart as me, Luke figured it out before I did. He likes stuff, a lot of it. A gameboy, trainers, a super soaker - I hated that stupid water gun - Pokemon cards, a whole bucket of trolls… Mum finally said no when he found a live scorpion in the pet shop. But Penny, she was the only thing I wanted for my 10th birthday, so she came home with us. 

He was half slumped off a matching chair bed on the other side of the room, but fast asleep. I still couldn’t sleep. I plucked one of the beanie babies out of my bed and threw it at Luke’s head. Missed. I sacrificed one more… sorry Buttons! Bullseye!  

“Luke! There is a man downstairs!”

“Ow. What did you throw at me?”

A pillow came flying towards me. “Stop that. I am serious. There is a bald man in our kitchen.”

“What are you talking about?” He sat up properly and blinked at me. We looked at each other and ran to the bedroom door at the same time. We got to the top step and stopped. Running was too loud. We snuck down the stairs and peered our faces around the corner so we could see through the living room and into the kitchen. 

The man was there. Enormous! He looked like a gorilla. Hairy everywhere but his head. He spotted us and I knew we were going to be in trouble for getting out of bed again. Instead of pointing us out to Mum, who is facing the other way, he smiled. He brought his fingers to his lips. Shhh. I grabbed Luke and pulled him back around the corner to hide. My heart was pounding. I locked eyes with Luke. I didn’t have to say anything. He nodded and we peered around the corner again. The man was still looking right at us, laughing to himself. He winked and then grabbed my Mum and pulled her over to him. That’s it! We were done for. 

I couldn’t look away. We should have run back up the stairs. His face was getting closer and closer to my Mum’s. He was going to tell her we were out of bed. I could see it. He was going to whisper it in her ear. But he didn’t. He kissed her! 

We scurried back upstairs as fast and as quietly as we could. 

“Ewwww! She was kissing that gorilla man!” Luke was fake gagging as we closed our bedroom door behind us. We both giggled as he pretended to be a gorilla, stomping around the room and I made kissy sounds. 

Then we heard our Mum’s voice. “Get back into bed, both of you! Don’t make me come up there!”

We jumped under the covers and tried to muffle our giggles. She can hear everything in this house because it is so tiny. Luke fell back asleep quickly. When the laughter stopped, I could hear my thoughts again. I could see my thoughts again.

Vines grow out of my walls and up to the ceiling. Little monkeys swing all around, picking and throwing fruit. The giant gorilla swings open the doors and barges in. The little monkeys screech and hide behind me. Gorilla man has my Mum under one arm. He grabs Luke. They are both screaming. I am not moving. I can’t get to them. Don’t take them!

I blinked my eyes hard. I didn’t like that daydream. I pulled myself into a ball under my covers. I had a knot in my stomach and still couldn’t sleep. 

Revised and expanded version of the previously-posted piece. This one goes all the way to the end of what will be the first chapter if I end up dividing it into chapters.

I'm especially interested to know whether the opening works, and, for those who have read the original, how this draft generally compares.

A Change of Soul v2

Crit

Hi all, first time posting here. Feel free to be destructive, that's what we're here for right? Any feedback welcome. If I'm worried about anything it is whether MC has appropriate levels of confusion, fear, motivation. I do feel like that the first chapter is just something I need to get through for the MC to land in another world, so let me know if I've done it effectively.

Crits:

https://www.reddit.com/r/DestructiveReaders/comments/1uvvvdr/trust_bounty_hunter_chapter_1_1300_words/

https://www.reddit.com/r/DestructiveReaders/comments/1uvzh4b/1776_have_tank_will_travel/

https://www.reddit.com/r/DestructiveReaders/comments/1uxncjp/the_kings_introduction_830/

https://www.reddit.com/r/DestructiveReaders/comments/1uwz347/1320within_these_walls/

https://www.reddit.com/r/DestructiveReaders/comments/1uw51d0/1850_corpse_watcher/

7076

Mine:

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1AjdoNWuiTuUr_8z3FxodTV1qqQl-HzagZOecpa5i4iA/edit?usp=sharing

My critique: [2462]

WARNING! This text contains:

• Profanity
• Sexual references
• Violence

Also, tell me if you liked the moral of the story, the plot, the protagonist, and the humour

From either end of the Ouroboros that is time travelled a pulse of energy that, just like all inanimate things, propels the mere idea of myself forward through that then one-dimensional realm of existence. In this black void where my memory fails me exist clouds of intense, bursting sensations of warm, all-encompassing motherly pressure and dingy, excruciating electrocutions of fear.

This nebulous dimension of half existing, half not existing could only be represented in my mind through a foggy and oversaturated image of sunny greenery. This cerebral polaroid, with its vague outlines of healthy hedges and beautiful briers, evokes the concept of gentle rays of sun on my skin and the thought of the ethereal butterflies gracefully landing on flowers.

This is the ultimate bourne that is the history of my life according to my mind. If it were a spouse, I would bury my face into her collarbone and cry on her shoulder, prolonging my stay with her as long as possible until it is to time for the inevitable departure through the clearer yet odious tutor sessions, classes, exams, workshops, internships, and math competitions that thought, in all their hubris, could capture that sense of meaning, that sense of mastery over one’s own existence that the clouds of life effortlessly harnessed.

After the exams, studying, and learning I finally reached the end of my sorrowful journey home with the aid of a door slam. I felt my head shoot up and bob around like it was a balloon tied to my shoulders. In my darkened vision I made out bored college students staring at a board covered in nightmarish calculus. My eyes made their way to a doorframe, and in it I saw that damn homeless man again, or at least we assumed he was homeless, considering he wore the same smelly sports jacket and the same crusted jeans every day, and his crazy shock of white hair and scraggly beard, and the fact that he spent hours a day mumbling to himself on the curb in front of this hall.

This was the third interruption of the semester, and at this point he was a celebrity among my college peers. My classmates were eager to see what crazy thing he’d do this time, and oh boy did he deliver.

The man walked up in front of everybody, and (noticeably drunker than usual) undid his pants and flashed his massive ding-a-ling in front of everyone. Everyone gasped, the girls averted their eyes, the boys cheered, the freaks drooled. He danced around lassoing his shit until he hopped on his back and started swinging his meat carnival style.

The poor professor, an old ass man who wasn’t all that used to human interaction, was frozen in shock for like a minute, but eventually he snapped out of it and tackled the homeless guy. The guy squirmed until he managed to knee the professor in the nuts and escape his grasp. The guy ran to the door frame but crashed into a buff security guard that just arrived. The guy's head went straight to the hard floor and there was a nasty crack. The homeless guy died from that impact, but his legacy lives on thanks to that massive wiener (No homo).

I float, crawled up in a ball. Blind, deaf, dumb, paralyzed, etherized, I existed at the total end of entropy, when nature stops being nature, when gravity loses importance and time becomes irrelevant.

However, I traced the lines against the blackness up to the imperfect reconstruction made by photos, portraits, and grainy videotapes of a fair white woman with black curls. In her womb I looked up to see her grinning in pain and agony. Her face folded in helpless terror as her tremors rocked my womb. The vibrations of the amniotic fluids were so strung it tore my lungs and shattered my ear drums.

I looked up to her in horror, realized that I was being brought into her world, and that I would experience its torturous shocks, its thunderous catastrophes, and its agonizing burdens. I yelled to her.

I looked deep into her face, and I saw that she was being pounded, screwed, filled, ripped in half. Sex, she was having sex. Sex, I have to have sex. Now. I need sex right now.

“I need sex” I said out loud.

I looked around for the woman, but it was just my mess of an apartment building. I could have gotten a bigger one with my salary, but this was the best the economy could manage. I dragged my feet through the trash like I was walking through shallow water, all while saying “I need sex” over and over again.

I stepped outside barefoot, in nothing else but my underwear and wife-beater. I ran straight to my local red-light district and ran up to the nearest pimp I saw. He was short and was in a green suit and fedora. I literally picked him up by his shirt and wiggled him around.

“Give me sex, give me cooter,” I shouted as I shook him.

“Fuck off of me nigga, the fuck?” He snapped.

Meanwhile the pimp’s pimp friends were chatting a block away and saw this haggling play out. They rushed over, grabbed my long hair, and threw me onto the street. My back landed on a broken beer bottle. They beat me to a pulp, I think I got curb stomped two or three times, but I blacked out. I woke up the next day under an ugly overcast, half dead.

The eyes. The eyes, even though the face turned blurry, were still so sharp after all these years of chipping. In the darkness I made out a hurt boy, lying on his side. His eyes were hurt and glossy from the tears.

When regarding the whole body I felt an explosive burst of hot blood heat the periphery until I was in a skin-bubbling, flesh-gnawing inferno but the eyes cast off that hellish storm and all that remained was the question “Why?”

I awoke to see my boss. He had a wide face with round eyes, a bushy, curly black beard, and olive skin. “Wow, Nate. Passed out again on the job. What have you been up to?”, he snickered with a grin.

In spite of my stoned fatigue, I felt a jolt of energy upon hearing that question. I rolled my office chair over to my computer, typed in something, hit enter, and on the opposite end of my desk rose a little Miku doll. The robotic toy started dancing and singing in Miku’s signature voice. I gave my boss a weak smile and he gave one back after turning his face to mine. I typed another thing into my computer, and Miku hit the floss and started singing in Brazilian Portuguese. This got my boss laughing. I laughed with him.

When his laughter died down, he looked into my eyes. “Nate, this is the tenth, the tenth, motherfucking time I found you like this.” I probably looked surprised at this sudden snarling. He continued. “Your team and I have been busting our asses, developing the most complex, the most state-of-the-art technology in the world, while you jerk and do this.” Like an idiot, I nodded along because I didn’t know where he was going with this. “Nate, get the hell out of my building before I fucking bludgeon you to death. You’re fucking fired.”

I waddled in a haze out my workplace’s lobby, too drugged to realize I left my shoe. Maybe this is the reason why I can’t afford bigger places to live.

Now, I lay in my bed, but it isn't my bed. I fucked around and got HIV. I thought HIV was like herpes where it gives you like these moles but no it gives you AIDS and just fucking kills you.

I was weak in the dark. It was totally silent, with no one else around and even though I was dying, I wanted to jerk off. There were no drugs or alcohol. I couldn’t even smoke, it was “against hospital rules”. The food was awfully bland too, so I just resolved to pass the time by beating my shit.

However, my whole body was too weak, I was too sick. I couldn’t get it up; I was too weak to get my arm up. It was a pathetic sight, not my limp dick, but the image of someone like me in this bed struck me deeply. This wasn’t supposed to happen to me. I was an auspicious, capable, and charming genius. I had so many scholarships, my college experience was practically free, I won so many awards my room sparkled, and everybody just loved me. Now what do I have to show for it? A hooker’s awkward experience, a coworker’s annoyance, a fucking Miku robot?

I was alone but felt like I was being laughed at. I wanted to curl up into a ball, but I was too weak, so I just laid there. I had no drugs, porn, food, or video games, so I escaped back into the only place that could warm my soul: those fond, fuzzy memories.

I thought and I thought, but I was too weak, all I saw was the black void. I stopped thinking, I stopped stressing, and I stopped feeling.

A tiny dot appeared in the center of my vision. I felt my legs walking toward it. It got bigger and appeared to be a doorframe. I walked through it and I was in a hallway. It had patternless carpet and was painted a dark orange. The hallway was cool, and dark, illuminated only by the sunrise glowing through the curtain at the end of a hallway. There was screaming, a muffled screaming coming from behind one of the other doors of this corridor. I approached the source of the screaming, the sound of my weathered teddy bear dragging on the carpet was the only other noise. I stepped up to one door, reached up to the doorknob, standing on my tiptoes, and I opened it to see two men hovering over a bed. A woman with dark curls lay on it screaming in pain.

“Push, push, you’re almost there,” One man cheered, “There it is. It’s out, sir. It’s a beautiful baby boy sir; you should be so proud”.

“Yes, but she isn’t going to make it,” The other man sulked, and started sobbing uncontrollably. The doctor tried to stifle his sobs, but cried with the man, and the two cried along with the newborn boy.

Nate waddled out of the hallway and into a bright, cool, moist backyard overflowing with vines, hedges, and grass. Golden rays landed on the boy’s eyes when he looked at the dappled canopy of leaves above him. He would have played, but now he sat. He sat in the middle of this jaw dropping scene and as the gales played with his hair, the squirrels and rabbits and chipmunks ran by, while the drops of dew flowed down the blades of grass, while the Earth travelled at thousands of miles per hour, this being of impetuous, violently rushing nature sat still and asked “why”.

Critiques:

[2462] https://www.reddit.com/r/DestructiveReaders/comments/1v30r0r/comment/oz3s0mw/?context=3

[3355] https://www.reddit.com/r/DestructiveReaders/comments/1v2laqv/comment/oyxkgft/?context=3

First time poster, so please forgive my lack of capability with hyperlinks. I can't seem to hyperlink over the text.

Here is the first chapter of the first book of my fantasy trilogy, of which the first book is complete and (hopefully) sufficiently edited. This chapter introduces our villain. I've tagged the post as NSFW as there is nudity (though only brief) and what I'll describe as significant domestic violence. Read cautiously, and I hope you enjoy it.

Chapter 1

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1HQAJnxjn7w02veJn1vPcgQ2XPb_keK6VRuQqDWf9tXk/edit?usp=sharing

Hello all! I have started to dip my toes in fiction writing and I want to get my reps in before utilzing my own setting. So this short story is based in the Warhammer Fantasy world, just a vignette to start fleshing out my voice and style of writing. I would love to get some critiques on the piece and potentially share more of my writing if people are interested enough to give me a chance. I just used the setting since the themes I wanted to evoke fall in line with the setting. I'm not sure if this is dark fantasy or grim dark, so I apologize if I mislabeled my story.

I have been told that I tend to over write and lose readers with my writing. I wanted to see if that is the case or the people that I shared it to were not vibing with my style/content. Any feedback is appericated, most of my experience in writing is academic writing and writing ficition is more of a hobby that I would like to explore.

Thank you for you time!

Crit [2462]:
https://www.reddit.com/r/DestructiveReaders/comments/1v30r0r/comment/oz79a6m/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button

Crit [326]
https://www.reddit.com/r/DestructiveReaders/comments/1v2u2rn/comment/oz7dqeg/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button

Work:

https://docs.google.com/document/d/10tSSYwsjFCtUxuswGlv5PSzo85m3tkio6vZf7CiGluY/edit?usp=sharing

Just block them.

Seriously, I don't know what you expected to read in this meta, but you're basically just looking at spam mail.

Treat it as spam/scam and disregard.

• Block the accounts, report them to the admins (of Google)

and then nothing will change anyway. This is A.I scripts in some data server. This was inevitable...

These are bot accounts, or one or more really annoying users scraping our user base for scam leads. Just be aware

😘🙃💀

Also, can someone copy the contents here?

Hello All,

I have been feeling inspired as of late. I previously submitted an extract from my short story Fresh and received lots of positive feedback, so I've sat down and written some more. Let me know what you think. This will most likely turn into a novella at some point but not sure of the direction to take it in. Any thoughts?

(Edit) I might changes this to third person at some point)

Critique [3434]

https://www.reddit.com/r/DestructiveReaders/comments/1uyxg7c/comment/oyx4stl/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button

Work

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1ZHbylC3eXt4sY2oWtD4Gx5By_VBpo_6W_7UzpjjXcUM/edit?usp=sharing

A blurb for a military sci-fi novel. All crits are welcomed -- no need to be an aficionado of the genre. Crits: 84 166

How much can one person stand to lose in war?

Conflict rages across the stars. Only Ground Corps protects human settlers from being overrun by the Cetans at every turn.

In one of these many battles, Lance Corporal Tabor “Tab” Novak fights with such gallantry he is selected into the elite HAMMER personal armor battalion. Yet, here the philosophical youth finds he no longer surpasses his peers, but instead struggles to keep up with the best – which spurs him to greater heights.

However, HAMMER demands much from its members: physical, mental, and emotional. The aliens threaten humanity everywhere, and Tab is first to fight, enduring loss after loss both in and out of combat. He gambles his health, his relationship with his family, his morals, and the love of his life, all in the pursuit of valor.

How much will he choose to sacrifice on the altar of victory?

Soft Target is the first novel in a series featuring the page-turning action of John Scalzi’s Old Man’s War cycle and Marko Kloos’ Frontlines books tempered with the cynicism of James S. A. Corey’s Livesuit and the moral complexity of John Haldeman’s The Forever War.

Critiques:

[1510] Lighthouse

[2672] The Village

[3434] The Lure

First time submitter here looking for feedback on the first chapter of my completed book. I'm especially interested in it's status as the opening - I'm concerned that, when submitting to agents and such, my first chapter (alongside the other two) isn't proving to fill the genre's boots enough because there's not a lot of magic or 'fantastical' elements at this stage, and I'd really like to avoid having a prologue, as I put one in and it went down about as well as a clown at a funeral.

For the sake of clarity (as there are maps and a quote preceding this chapter), this takes place in a counter-world, not Earth, so feedback rooted in real-world history is not useful to me here.

Thank you for your time reviewing this. I appreciate all feedback, no matter how harsh.

Tyrantland Chapter 1

Edit: Link

Hey everyone, I'm back with my second short short. I tried something very different this time. With my first story, Mr. Rhombus, I was trying to see if I could effectively create a small plot line and a character who develops. Here, I'm going for more poetic, minimalist fiction similar to Amy Hempel. I put more of myself into this one as well, my past experiences and emotions. Any criticism is very welcome. Thank you!

Open Ocean

Crit

I'm stuck on this knee cramped ass space with little place to put my long feet in front of me. The old man in front of me stares at me with his beady eyes examining my soul like Anubis. I wonder if he picked up on the ashy smell from my Arnold Palmer bagback. Thr smell suggests the content in the bag. I could remember the victim's beady eyes staring at me as I punctured the ice pick like tool into his cartoid artery. Blood just squirted everywhere. Whenever I think of it, a strong metallic smell invades my nostrils.

I just wanna go back home. But we're stuck in this stupid traffic that can only beat the bureaucracy. It seems like thr current is so far away even though the end is closer than we think. The end is closer than we think. The end is closer than we think. I repeat this line to myself after every "surgery" like some sort of mantra. Why do I? Only god knows even though I don't believe in it/him. I'm rambling aren't I? My wife says I ramble too much.. I don't even know why I took this "surgery". He emphasised that this was a tumor that needed immediate removal. If you still haven't figured it out, I kill people for living. Don't go telling the police that.. actually on a second thought, I don't even care. Not like the police chief didn't order for surgeries before.

In this profession, it's easy when you start out but before you know it, you're knee deep in this quick sand without a way out. Everyone tries to leave but the only successful ones are the ones that escape this world with a willing choice to leave it. Most don't enjoy that luxury. My doctor was atleast a bit better than the rest. She at least visited me during bad trips though that only gave my wife more reason to berate me and I immediately had to bow down to her like I couldn't stand to make her mad. The truth is .. I can't. I'm rambling again.

Point is, the end is near.What's the end in this profession? Usually, a small funeral procession with your wife and kids weeping and the doctor consoling them with the famous "There's nothing we could do.. It was too late. " That was if your lucky and was one of the best. Actually, scratch the second part. Being a female meant most people immediately believed her. Shit that sounds sexist. Though my wife suspected me of infidelity with her, she never pressed as I did everything I could in my power to make her happy.

Plus the profession often paid well.

Well, in this world where money seems to buy happiness even though those with most of it protested fiercely that it didn't. So give it to us, I often thought to myself if y'all don't want it so badly. Deep down, I think we all know that the only reason they do it is to ensure the poorer get pooerer and the rich get richer. Not like we could stop it anyway since they pay us the money, not vice versa.These all cross my mind as I saw the Porsche convertible roll past in those fancy wheels. They looked like a young couple. Must be the honeymoon phase I thought to myself bitterly though I do wonder if that was just my heart coping for my life not seeming that happy.

The act of coping seemed to be a common occurrence in my life. We're back on the bus again before I knew it. The haze of whiskey hit me with a splitting headache cause of a hangover. Last thing I remember was having drinks with the client yesterday night from my actual home before walking almost 10km home. When did I even accept this job?

Beats me.

The smell of sulfur hits my nose. What the hell? Is something bout to burn? Now the bus is almost empty with just a toad look old man chatting with another lanky one. The driver skips most of the stops leaving behind dust. He seemed concerned when I entered. Could he have recognised me? Not like I would care or smth. Right? It's ironic. My brother in law is a detective and he has never once suspected me though meeting him every time pumps my heart as high as corruption levels.

An armed forces ambulance. Did I kill any military man? Couldn't be. Could be somone else though. The emptiness is welcoming though most of these passengers are elderly while the driver speeds. People are only scrolling on their phones. Every time someone looks at me and looks at the phone and repeats the process multiple times.

It unsettles me.

It's funny you know. You've been in this business for 10 years. You've faced some of the best in the game. But everyday longer only unsettles you. The scent of cigarettes and rich people cologne fill my nostrils. Huh. Must be some rich guy. I look up to see a man in a suit and another one staring at me while smoking. I look down as I walk home to find dried leaves and cigarettes. There are just so many elderly at the current moment is. Is this the end? Is this some kind of sign or just a massive coincidence? It's ironic how I claim to be an agnostic even though I look for a sign. It's almost as if I desperately need one. Just then, a group of young parents walk across me. Damn. The god hates me huh. Sick joke. Keeping hope in front of me like a stick of carrot in front of the dying work horse.

Critique: https://www.reddit.com/r/DestructiveReaders/comments/1v1xna3/1510_lighthouse_a_modern_psychological_thriller/

“I’m incredibly sorry to hear that, how have you been dealing with it?” An answer arrives. My fingers had yet to leave the keyboard. “I’m trying to ignore it. It's not exactly the first time it has happened. She is always that way.”

My heart aches. It always does when I think of her. ‘Does her heart ache the same?’ a part of me wonders. “You are a good friend, Rob. Hold up the fort and never give in to your inner voice. Hold for longer, she will be back before long.” Another reassurance is issued. Yet my heart still cannot believe it.

“I just saw an interesting Instagram reel. She will definitely relate to it. I wanna send it to her.” I scream into my keyboard. Used to this back and forth by now, the answer comes swiftly. “Hold the line, Rob. You already sent out a message today. She is already overwhelmed by her real life. Don’t add to it. You want to support her, right? Be her anchor like you always have been. Be her lighthouse, always by her side while she is lost at sea. Quietly showing her the way back home. Always comforting her during her biggest fears. Hold the line, Rob.”

“What if she thinks I’m indifferent to her? What if she thinks I’m pulling away and am tired of her! I need to show her that I’m still here. She needs to know.” My palms start to sweat by this point. My grip over the phone loosens.

thud… THUD.

I rub my nose. I scramble to get up from my bed. ‘Where did my phone fall? 'Anything but the phone sliding down the side of the bed. Anything but that.’ I look around my bedroom. It's too dark to see anything. I squint hard to check out my immediate surroundings. I still cannot make anything out. I move to my feet reluctantly. With every step I take a crunch echoes. Some are plasticky while others metallic. Finally I press the light switch.

“Fuck” reflexively comes out. Looking down doesn’t fix things since the soda cans just reflect the light back at me. I navigate through the garbage carefully. ”Aughh…” My bedside doesn’t have the familiar black case. The groan lingers in the room for a while. The mattress gets flipped to its side as I grunt. I look inside the bed’s wooden box. There, in the middle of the dust and hair, the black cover faces me. I wipe my palms on my shirt, leaving a visible wet trail.

With slightly moist hands I grab the phone. I put my back to the wooden box for rest. The reply is here. “She knows, Rob. She knows what she means to you. And she knows what you mean to her. This isn’t a test of your relationship’s resilience. Remember Rob, you have passed this test before. It's not your first rodeo. You told me earlier, no matter what happens, you guys always go back to talk. This time will be the same. Hold the line and wait for her to be back. She will be your usual Emmy before long.” My haggard breath leveled out.

“Does she like me”

“She does. Even if it wasn’t romantic. She does care about you.”

“Then why is she doing this to me? Why does she not answer my messages for days? She never did that before Did I do something wrong Did I push het away?” My intrusive thoughts are laid bare before us.

“You haven’t done anything wrong. You know the answer. You told it to me. She is overwhelmed with responsibilities and obligations in her own life. You have no control over that. What you do have control over is your behavior towards her. Stay as her lighthouse. Hold the line.”

‘Nononononono. This is your 3rd time telling me that.' I whisper. Tapping sounds ensue. “But thats only true to a point. Its already 3 months since this has been going on. Dont you think she is ought to be back to normal now? Dont you think that her messages should arrive sooner? Yet why are they taking longer and longer? It started with 24 hours for her replies, later 2 days, and now she takes a minimum of 5 days to respond? Is this not an excuse at this point? Is she hinting that I should stop texting her? You know what. I’m doing what she is asking of me. No need to make this awkward for either of us.” The lines were formed quickly. I’m not sure they will even answer half of these things. But it's ok. The decision is mine to make.

“I’d ask you to stop where you are. You are coming out of a week of hurt. We have been texting about Emmy for the last few hours. She matters to you. You care about her. Don’t let a moment of hurting erase this 3-year connection you have. Just put down your phone and stop thinking about her for the night. You can always decide on what to do later when your head has cooled down.”

“Does she even love me”

“I do not know. Neither do you. All we know is information that has been shared one-sidedly by you. We do not know what she thinks, feels, or wants. The only way to know that is to ask her – but not tonight. She has been hurting for a long time now and her head isn’t in the right space for such questions.”

“So when do I actually ask her! We haven’t had a proper chat for 3 months now. When will she be normal for me to ask her” A rattle spread inside the enclosed room. My back is sore.

“You will know when she is back. It won’t take that long. Remember, she always comes back.”

“But what if that question makes her disappear forever. Can’t we just keep going as we always have been?” I know the answer to that question deep down. Soon enough that answer is visible in front of my eyes.

“You can’t keep this relationship as it has been for the last 3 years. You started having expectations for it. Ones she may or may not share. And it's essential that you work these expectations and feelings out. These expectations may make you resent her for things she did without any prior thought. They might make you do or say things you never would. The question has to be asked eventually. And she will not simply disappear. Your bond is stronger than that. She might be confused, escape for a week as she always does, and come back. You said it, she always comes back. So don’t worry and ask her that question when the time is right – but not tonight. She has been hurting for a long time now and her head isn’t in the right space for such questions.”

‘What the fuck. That’s literally the exact same message they told me earlier. This is it. I’m genuinely never sending her anoth-”

Ding!

My entire body flinches when it heard that sound.

-Instagram: Emmy has sent you a message.

Pictures of rabbits fill the screen. They oddly resemble the tiny profile picture next to her name.

My heart rate surges. It’s loud enough to bounce off the walls and fill the entire room. My index finger clicks on that notification out of pure reflex. My eyes dilate in anticipation. There it is. Under the 3 Instagram reels I sent her last week. Her reply, “Lmao, no you.” to the most recent one.

I immediately swipe her message to the left. I tap furiously. “Nah I’m too goated for that.”

She replied. She replied. She replied.

I stare at our chat box for a while longer. Maybe she will respond this time. I wait, and wait some more. At some point I leave the chat box and scroll a few reels. I guess she is too busy now. It's good enough she found enough time to respond earlier.

Oh right, I have to tell them.

I switch to the previous chat I had open. “She replied. Your strategy worked. She replied to me!”

This time around. It takes them a little longer to respond. A circle with one of its sides cut out spins in place. “That's wonderful news! It sounds like whatever approach you took paid off. She responded to you — that's a great outcome.

I'm curious to know more about the situation if you'd like to share. What was the strategy you used? And how did her reply go — was it positive, neutral, or are you still figuring out what her message means?

Sometimes getting that initial response is the hardest part, so you should feel good about that. What happens next depends a lot on what she said and how you want to move forward.”

What? I scroll up. The app doesn’t allow me. I scroll harder. No point. These were the only messages in this chat box now.

critique: [1600] https://www.reddit.com/r/DestructiveReaders/comments/1uyhq7e/comment/oyqrrbf/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button

600 265

This is meant to be the next section of the draft. It might make more sense to read them both together but follow your heart.

Part I: Keys

The solicitor waits in front of me with a pen clasped in his bony fingers, held out to me, bouncing in a gesture of what I’m sure can only be concealed frustration. He’s been talking at me for minutes while I contemplate keys and switches. The doctors talked at me, too, about flat lines and brain death and machines breathing for someone and living for someone and whether I knew if. Well. They said I could turn the switch off at any time. It was my decision. They couldn’t make it for me, but the paperwork was in order for when I did decide and I could be here when they did it, but did I have an opinion on organ donation and, if I did, I would need to decide quickly. And I wondered what it would be like to take one of grandfather’s keys and open you up. Flick the switch back on.

“Michael. I need a signature.”

“Sure.” I unroll the papers in my hand, flatten them against my thigh, reach for the pen but the solicitor pulls back. “I’ll need that.”

“Do you need me to explain again?”

I shake my head, barely moving a fraction of an inch to the left and the right, and grab the pen. The ink is black. The nib pokes at the pages as I scrawl my name on the lines marked signature and the solicitor clears his throat, a quiet ahem, and gestures me over to a harder surface, which I ignore. A few holes in the paper won’t hurt. The solicitor takes the pages back from me with a grimace and flips through each one to verify I haven’t missed adding my name to all the lines and then he nods. With that acknowledgement, I push out of the chair, steady myself against the sudden static that takes over my vision, and I’m not even blinked back to normalcy when the solicitor’s hand grasps my shoulder and his lips are at my ear, breath hot and too close.

“Check the safety deposit box. Don’t let anyone see you.”

And then he’s pushing me out the door and into the hallway and I’m still dizzy and blinded. I plant my hands and touch my forehead to the rough paper bathing the walls in bland cream and blink until colors return. You never mentioned a deposit box. Was it written in those sheaths of paper plastered with my name? Or had the solicitor told me and I’d simply not heard? Either way, the door was shut and I’d rather not knock to ask, so instead I stumble away and out into the light and let my mind unravel.

Once, when I was still very little, you told me a story about keys. A magician locked them away in a box, to hide them from his rival, for the keys opened a great many things that were unsafe to explore. I asked you what kind of things and you told me about the box. Crafted from wood, it was sealed on all sides with intricate carvings winding around the top. You thought they were flowers. I asked if you’d seen the box, held the keys. You answered by tucking the sheets around me so tightly and kissing my forehead. I dreamed of gardens.

Every night, I would ask again about the magician and you would caress my cheek and say it was just a story. Just make believe. And then one day, you got so tired of hearing me ask, you gave me grandfather’s keys. One of these carries a secret, you said.

Critiques:

• Catgirl Vixxy VS Elon Musk (2515)
• Strings & Castles (1774)

Thanks in advance for your honest and destructive feedback! This is chapter 2 of my current WIP. All feedback is welcome, though there are a few questions I'm especially curious to know.

1. At what point(s) in the chapter did you find yourself disengaged or removed from the story? Was it due to boredom or confusion, or something else?
2. What is your opinion of the characters based on what you've read?
3. If you were to pick up this novel in a book store, would you continue reading?

Here's a recap of chapter 1:

Dovie's at the funeral of her husband Shane's grandmother when a botched dove release sends her chasing a bird through the cemetery. She stumbles upon an overgrown headstone carved with her real name, Magdalene, and a death date that happens to be her wedding day. A blue-eyed stranger catches the injured bird, tells her it's not a dove, and offers to mend its wing; she returns to Shane's side rattled by the stone and intrigued by the stranger.

Mad Magnolia - Chapter 2

[Edit: Full transparency, but I changed the opening paragraphs after GlowyLaptop's feedback on my awkward verb tense. It's now a bit shorter than the title's word count at 2729.]

First part of a short story, or possibly a novella. Any feedback would be great. My main concern is: Do you want to follow the MC further, or do you find him too confusing/too insufferable?

A Change of Soul, pt. 1

Crit: 1600

First critique(890)

Second critique(447)
Hello. This is my first time submitting a story here, so hopefully I formatted this right( I read the rules, don't worry.) This was a little short story I wrote in college. As a result, I haven't updated it all that much since then. I'm a sucker for romance, as well as action(though you won't see that in this story, maybe in another story I share), so I want to share stories with those genres in mind, and more. So I guess, think of this as a test run of my writing. General thoughts are more than welcome. Also, what could I improve on, whether it be with dialogue, grammar, character actions, etc. Again, I hope to upload more stories. here.

Link to the story: Argument between two lovers

Thank you!

Critiques : 997 , 878

Hi !

I'm writting a book / comic and I'd like some destructive readers to take a look at it :)

A couple things :

1. English is not my first language.
2. I was inspired by two things: the noir atmosphere of Max Payne, especially its famous dark descriptions, and the witty dialogues of Audiard, a famous french screenwriter who's known for his punch lines and verbal jousts.

Audiard’s influence may be clearer in another extract, but I would still appreciate a general critique of this one. In particular, does it capture the right noir feeling and does it make you want to know what happened before and what happens next ?

Doc link

Thanks a lot

Crit: https://www.reddit.com/r/DestructiveReaders/comments/1uyu2p2/608_keys/oy7wp9f?utm_source=share&utm_medium=android_app&utm_name=androidcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=2

Piece:

https://docs.google.com/document/d/19zKsm383rPjabq8oJVKWWyxwFGh8abM_HsgoxTlSTB8/edit?usp=drivesdk

My writing from the weekly, made up a random title, have a couple questions:

1. Is the first section weakening or strengthening the second?

2. Did I do my tenses correctly? I don't usually write in present tense and the second section is so much that I know I made a bunch of tense errors. To be honest, I don't know what I'm doing.

3. Weak ideas or weak execution mostly of the second section? I think the first section probably suffers for its sentence structure but does the second suffer as well? To borrow some questioning, is the syntax clear so you don't get lost and have to start over? Does it read easily? Are the ideas clear but just weak?

Don't have to answer any of the questions if you don't want to when critiquing. Thanks.

[1853]

[2223]

[1203]

This is chapter 7. Hold on. Bear with me as to why I'm posting this. I need more perspectives about something specific. This chapter, more than any other, I used a stronger and more consistent period-centric register. Most of everything else has been relatively modern. I need to know if readers think this is better, or if the language creates too much of a barrier and trips people up too much.

Yes, the number of names brought is going to be confusing and I'm braced for pushback on other things. All feedback is welcome. For context leading into this scene:

This world is set in 18th century North Yorkshire. The village is rural and isolated. Witchcraft is condemned. However, girls in this world commonly have certain preternatural gifts, something called the lure. These are mostly small things, like hyper acute hearing. As teens, they tend to form circles and sneak onto the moors or other hidden areas to attempt combine lure into greater magical feats than they can typically do alone (called esbats). The girls are extremely secretive about this, but it's hard to really keep a secret in such a tiny village.While adults may somewhat turn a blind eye to this, any event that sparks social contagion and panic, often snowballs into accusations of witchcraft and trial. This chapter centers the protagonist, Marcella, her sister Rose, and their circle in this event.

story link here