(Monthly) Short Story Writing Prompts Submission Thread

Thanks a lot for the critique, gonna try to fix it once more, or maybe a couple times....

 

Very fair complaints, mostly. Yes, I wrote this in a poetic style so a lot of it will go way over the head of the reader; but that was the point (is? Tense for this is always confusing). Because of that, the meaning is layered with both metaphorical and literal interpretations being valid. For example, these aren't really 'worlds' in the classical sense, more like concepts. If you take say Dante's Inferno, you'd see that while he literally describes each circle of hell it also works as a metaphor for the concept that circle represents. The level of heat, terrain, and inhabitants, while literal in the context of the poem, also represent the concepts of sin. Much in the same way, I'd say that what I tried to do was create a set of literal descriptions of each 'world' to hint at the underlying concept, though I was more often just straight out specifying it half the time. Also, the twelfth world is not as simple as you thought it was...

As for the technical issues, you are completely correct. I did not spend a lot of time on this and so many of the lines are simplistic and filled with overused 'low' English, rather than high English as something of this sort deserves. I wanted to put a stop at the end of each line because that was how I pictured it being read (in an earlier comment I mentioned putting this to music and making it balladic rather than merely poetic. This is the lyrics of a song, not a read poem), but without that it comes across as overcontrolling and detrimental to the pace of reading. Even so, it was done too quickly and so comes off extremely clumsy.

You aren't supposed to know anything about the speaker or the recipient. In context I see this as a part of a much larger work which details a full history of something, in which this becomes rather crucial. But if you're really curious

Spoiler

The speaker is an individual who used the 'gate' to go from the end of everything to the beginning, becoming in the process the first cause and locking existence into a closed loop (or starting the next one in a repeating cycle, as said they do not know). The recipients are everyone else as part of a creation myth, which is why it often references some knowledge not provided. However, none of this is necessary information for the poem.

Sometimes, more is less. Like with your piece, explicit information about who the speakers are is sometimes better left unstated.

Good criticism, except that rhyming two syllable words with one syllable ones is actually common practice so long as the meter of the line is maintained. This I somewhat accomplished, though again I feel that it's unfinished because the flow of the piece depends on a very specific rhythm which is hard to convey with merely text. Also, the lack of knowledge about what is going on should be maintained till the end; if you ever think you know what's going on in an epic, you're probably wrong.

Err... "LOT of effort"... I did this in two hours. While the basic premise was developed before that, it's far from well done and not nearly as complex as it needed to be to pass as true poetry. You are correct that this was not as style meant for this context; anyone not extremely familiar with the English language and all of its quirks will have a lot of trouble with it. The simplest layer does give some interest, but it also does have that definite hint towards something deeper you mentioned and will provide a great deal of frustration trying to decipher it.
The summarizing refrain was meant to be as helpful as you seemed to take it, but also meant to hint at certain ideas which may have been missed on the first readthrough (specifically, the fifth world is first described as 'along the roads untraveled' and not for those who won't 'leave the safety of the mortal hive', but later refrained as 'for kings and leaders'. That should give a hint that what the fifth world seems at first is not what it is in the end, and its location after the fourth implies several ideas about leadership which seem to be overlooked). As an exercise in understanding this, try summarizing each world in a single world. The first two are easy: 'life' and 'death'. The rest, less so. (As a further exercise, what does each world imply about those summarizing ideas; for example, the first world clearly points to 'life' and claims its inhabitants 'play at life and death'. Why?)
As for the direct message at the end, the final quatrain is clearly in a different tone than the rest of the piece. Everything before that is narration of the speakers own experience while that finale is advice given directly to the recipient who travels the same road.
As for that final metaphor it's well done, but I like to think of it as a chest inside a chest inside a chest, which is appropriate for poetry. You're right that this isn't precisely the best circle for such a thing, but the technical details are a bit lacking to present it in those higher ones.

I'm making a point that you're piece is a 'love it or hate it' kind of thing. I like every choice but at the same time there are severe downsides to each of them. For example, the exposition seems to me to imply that the younger man (a grave digger from context) dug up a corpse which came back to life in front of him and led to this conversation. I feel like that could have been a very good scene to open with, the whole 'what? How are you alive?' would have been a great launching point to get into this conversation about how death really is. The piece itself works very well by itself but still I would have liked either a more explicit (yeah, I'm not one to talk here) confirmation of my theory or a more explicit rejection. On the other hand, leaving it open worked for the context of the piece so I'm rather complimentary of how it turned out.

I guess my overall point would be that you seem to have this clear idea of the context yet don't reference that context quite as much in your story. I can clearly understand the characters and their differences but it's how they met that just keeps bugging me.

 

Life
Death
Paradise
Misfortune
Kings
End
Beginning
Fate
God
Loneliness
Chaos
Nothingness
Oneness

I'm sure half of that is wrong

 

Title: Life Goes On
Number of Words: 1142
Genre: uh...I don't know, really ><"

Spoiler: Revised Version (v2)

The first thing that registers on your mind is the ceiling.

You're alive.

Lying on the floor in your room, you are staring at the ceiling above you. You notice the thick strip of cloth hanging from a low ceiling beam, its lower end torn in the edges, and a snort bursts out of your lips.

The next time you try hanging yourself, you should go on a diet first.

Oh, but will you try again?

After all, you got scared in the end, didn't you?

Crying, trying to untie the knot around your neck, gasping for breath, wanting to live, at the very last moment.

You did.

Just like how you couldn't use the knife you threw under your bed to stab yourself in the stomach and bleed all over the floor, even though you've imagined it for so many times.

You laugh. In the end, they were correct, after all. You're nothing but a useless, worthless, disgusting waste of human space who can't do anything right. You can't even kill yourself.

Turning your head sideways, you see the clock hanging on top of the calendar. 7:06 pm. Time isn't waiting for you. Your siblings are going to get back home soon.

You get to your feet and start to clean up. Take off the cloth loosely tied around your neck, right the upended chair and stand on it to unfasten the knots of the other cloth from the ceiling beam, then throw the two on the trash bin. Crawl underneath the bed, retrieve the knife and place it back to the kitchen. There. All normal, as if nothing happened.

Aside from the bruises on your neck, you see faint marks on your right cheek from where you must have fallen face-down and a small, bright red blotch next to your left iris in the mirror. If anybody notices, you'll tell them you fell down the stairs, you decide.

Just pretend as if nothing happened.

You go to the living room and lie on the couch, trying to see if a mindless sitcom could hypnotize you into sleeping. You feel so tired. You haven't been sleeping well for the past few days.

The sitcom ends, and suddenly starts from the very beginning of the episode again. What the fuck? You flip the channels, and settle for a cooking show. The sight of food reminds you of your empty stomach and an equally empty refrigerator, so you take out your phone to order pizza.

7:06 pm.

Raising an eyebrow, you lean over the couch to check out the clock in the kitchen. 7:06 pm.

A slight ribbon of confusion and apprehension threads it way around your gut.

You're just being paranoid.

You open a window and look out into the street. The sound of someone's radio turned on with the volume a little too high comforts you, but as you are about to close the window you finally notice something.

The streets are empty.

Well, not empty, since there's a car parked in the middle of the road. But there are no pedestrians or passerbys anywhere, not even your annoying neighbor who usually gets drunk at this time of the night on his balcony and bellows songs in foreign languages with the voice of a cow.

There's probably an event somewhere.

But the feeling in your gut makes you feel more uncomfortable with each passing second, so you go out just to figure out what's happening and get some peace of mind once and for all.
The evening wind is chilly and with the exception of the music blaring from a radio somewhere and the occasional rustling of the trees, there is no sound to be heard. No people anywhere, even though the houses have their lights on.

The feeling of dread grows stronger. You shiver, but it must just be because of the cold breeze just now.

You should call somebody.

Like the pizza shop. Yeah, you were going to order pizza, right? You put the phone to your ear and wait. No one answers.

Okay, they were probably closed or something. Try another shop.

Still nothing.

7:06 pm, your phone still says.

You start to feel creeped out. Call someone who will most likely answer back. Your Dad?
You've never called him before, so he'll think that the call is serious and pick it up quickly...no. He might be busy at this time. Your sisters? No. Who else? Your 'friends'? No. Whatever. Just call anybody. You don't need to say anything; you can end the call when you hear somebody's voice. You only need to hear somebody.

...No one answers. None of them.

Keep calm. Breathe. Go to your neighbor's and knock on the door. Ask if anybody's home, yes, just like that. Wait. Knock again. Again.

For the love of God, don't you start freaking out.

You steal a bicycle lying on the pavement and ride through the streets. No one. There's no one.
You pass by lots of cars stuck in stasis with the traffic lights flashing green, even when you get on the highway. The shops are empty, the restaurants, the buildings, everywhere.
Stop, stumble out of the bicycle, lie on the dirty ground, gasp for breath. No one. There's no one.

What is happening? It all feels surreal. As if you're dreaming.

Oh.

Is this a dream?

You've never had a lucid dream before, so you can't tell.

Or...

Is this the afterlife? Or is your real body in a comatose state and this is your consciousness, stuck in some kind of mirage?

You snicker. What the fuck? Isn't death supposed to be the end, just...nothing? Your consciousness ceasing to exist? Nada? No thoughts and no more stuff to think about? What the fuck is this?

It doesn't make sense. You're breathing now. You feel...normal. You don't feel different at all.

But then again, what does being dead feel like? You don't know, do you?

If you're really dead, and you feel perfectly normal, then you could say that you've been dead inside for a long time already, right?

This is so confusing. This is a dream. Yep, this is a dream. You need to wake up now...

...No, you can't fool yourself. This feels too true to be a dream. The rough, hard pavement underneath you, the smell of the road, the cold wind with only the thin layer of your pajamas covering your skin, the empty buildings and cars all around you, the black sky without any fucking stars above, all of these can't be just a figment of your imagination.

This is reality, and you are all alone, with the time stuck at 7:06 pm, October 26, 2016.

You start laughing in the middle of a deserted highway.

Tomorrow will never come. You won't have to face them. You've escaped your life before it was destroyed.

Congratulations, and welcome to the afterlife.

Spoiler: Old Version (1160 words)

I'm alive.

How long have I been staring at the ceiling?

I turn my head sideways, and look at the clock hanging on top of the calendar. 7:06 pm.

Closing my eyes, I start to laugh. This is ridiculous.

I'm alive. I'm actually still fucking alive.

The laughter runs out after what feels like a minute, and I continue lying on the floor for another second or two before getting up into a sitting position, grunting. The torn strip of cloth falls on my lap, and I chuck it away from me violently. Fucking useless. I kick the upended chair near me too, and then after this momentary outburst the anger flows out from me as well.

Without fear, frustration, and even my twisted sense of humor, I feel empty. Exhausted. Ah...whatever. I don't care anymore.

I get to my feet and remove the signs of what I just tried to do. As if nothing happened. I right the chair and stand on it, untying the knots of the ripped strips of cloth from the low ceiling beam. I pick up its other end from where I threw it and discard them both into the trash bin. I crawl underneath the bed and retrieve the knife I didn't have the guts to use, and place it back to the kitchen. There. All normal.

I realize that my right cheek is numb when I get back to my room, and I look at the mirror. There are faint marks on it, from where I must have fallen face-down. There's also a small, bright red blotch next to my left iris. How do I explain this?

Hah. Like they'll ask.

As if everything was normal, as if nothing happened, I go back to my usual routine every 7pm on Sunday nights. I wash my face, shrug on a jacket, and go out. If anybody notices, I'll just tell them I fell down the stairs.

It is only when I lock the front door that I notice.

It's too quiet.

The streets are void of people, and there's a car parked in the middle of the street. The houses have lights on but there aren't any sounds of radios or television sets coming from the open windows.

I walk towards the house next door and try to peer inside a window, but I can't see anybody. I knock. "Hello? Anybody home?" No one answers. I keep at it for another three times before giving up.

It feels surreal. As if I'm dreaming.

Oh.

Is this a dream?

I've never had a lucid dream before, so I can't really tell.

I take out my phone and turn it on. No missed calls, no texts. 7:06 pm.

...Huh?

My phone's...just probably broken or something.

I call my Dad, but he doesn't pick up. Neither do my few friends, or the other people in my small contact list. I go on Twitter and refresh the browser, but all the latest trends stay the same. It's the same with the news sites. All of them look like they're frozen in time.

No way.

I steal a bicycle lying on the pavement and ride through the streets, looking for any signs of people. No one. There's no one. I pass by lots of cars stuck in stasis with the traffic lights flashing green, even when I get on the highway. The shops were empty, the restaurants, the buildings, everywhere.

I stop, stumble out of the bicycle, and lie on the dirty ground, gasping for breath. No one. There's no one.

I start laughing again. Wheezing, dry laughs that are interrupted by a few coughing fits. But I continue to laugh.

This is ridiculous. Is this supposed to be the afterlife or something? Or what, my real body is in a comatose state and this is my consciousness, stuck in some kind of mirage? Just...what...why....

I move my hand to my chest, feeling my heartbeat. Feeling the air in my lungs. Breathing. It was...scary. Thinking that I would never breathe again. The last thing I could remember, before the darkness.

And now here I am.

What the fuck? Isn't death supposed to be the end, just...nothing? Your consciousness ceasing to exist? Nada? No thoughts and no more stuff to think about? What the fuck is this? Am I supposed to kill myself again? Can I even do that? Or will I forever be stuck here, whatever this is?

I continue breathing, lying on the ground, looking at the black sky. Can't even see the fucking stars.

I'm alone now. Completely alone. Didn't I wish for that, in the past? No one to bother me, no one to yell or scream at me, no one to hurt me anymore. Not them, not anyone. I won't have to face anybody tomorrow anymore. Or will tomorrow even come?

Checking my phone again, it's still the same. 7:06 pm.

Time doesn't even matter anymore. No more deadlines, no more stuff to do. Do I still have to eat? Will I never see the sun rise again? Why the fuck is the electricity still running? Are all the animals gone too? Am I the only living creature here, now? Well, there are plants...

...Am I still even alive?

Ahh...I don't want to think anymore. Fuck this shit. I don't care. Whatever.

I close my eyes.

I just...wanted...to sleep. Forever. Never wake up again. I'm tired. So tired. It's not that I wanted to die, really. I just wanted to not live anymore. I just wanted to quit that life of mine. To stop. Give up. End it all.

No. Stop. Just stop. Stop thinking. Go to sleep. Good night.

...

...

...

...

...

...

I can't sleep. Fuck this shit.

I sit up and groan. Now what? What the hell am I supposed to do? Do nothing? Die from boredom? Fuuuuuuuuuuuck.

Okay, let's eat. Finish my to-read list. Learn how to drive. Maybe get into an accident or two. Will I be able to die? Do whatever I want. Hell, maybe I can even drive an airplane. Jump from a building. Tour around the world. Study about whatever I want. I'm free.

Who the hell cares if nobody else is here?

I stand up and scream. Scream and scream and scream until my lungs feel like they're about to burst. No one shouts back. No one cares. No one's here.

I run into the middle of the road and jump around, kick, wave my arms like a complete madman. Laugh again.

What is this?

What is this?

I...I don't even understand what I'm feeling anymore.

Am I sad? Happy? Scared shitless? Disappointed? Lonely? Regretful? I don't know. I don't know anymore. Maybe this is what being crazy feels like.

I start dancing with a random song I can't remember the title in my head. I don't know. I don't care. I've always wanted to dance in the middle of an empty highway anyway.

Spoiler: Critiques

 

Yeah, I don't think readers are mean to understand it like Aca1814ina said. I am one of those people that to poetry meant to go over the head of, and not really get it the purpose of some of the lines nor thought there was a need to and just accept it. it poetic right?

Aren't poetry basically immune to narrative critiques anyway? Because it is poetry.
Even in the case of narrative poetry, it just comes down to was it entertaining or not.
It closer to being thoughts than logical narrative so it doesn't need structure, it doesn't need grammar if it sounds good, it doesn't need linearity, conflict, drama or plot, if it makes sense. if it doesn't make sense it's metaphoric it's poetic, it is meant to be 'like something' or reflecting something.

So... yeah, we should just accept it as poetry and critique it as poetry even if it is narrative poetry.
but we can't look at it like a short story. it's not a short story.

it's no more short stories than... er... Flash fiction that was drummed on about a while ago, they don't follow the same conventions or need to. Right?

 

Ahh...I'm so glad you divided that long-ass poem into verses! That was the only thing I didn't like before, since I can't digest poems properly if they're just a slab of text without being split into chunks. ><

 

Man, you would get along with the Vogon's perfectly.

 

Title: If death came in flavors, I think I’d choose chocolate; a little bitter, a little sweet and a little dark.
Word count: 1300-ish
Genre: Mystery?

Spoiler: A Story

There are places in this world where you can say, “Hey! That’s a nice place to die”, however, in this particular diner’s toilet, next to this rather colorfully fragrant urinal, it was definitely not one of those places.

Detective Inspector Cooper was never one to complain, nor was he ever one to whisper snide comments to the departed like, “Well, no more bacon for you…” But secretly, standing over the dead did make him a little smug.

And smug he was, smugly not dead, as he noted the crime scene. Officers left and right made busy with their own jobs, flashers flashed and photos captured, the shoebox-size restroom lit up like some bizarre fashion shoot. The star, of course, was the face-down corpse in a puddle of blood, cause of death, bullets, probably bullets.

The holes in the dead man’s back were loud, a common sight; the reaching hand with grime scribbles scribed into filthy tiles, was not. And the symbols just barely readable were number and letter, B4

Dying message? This day and age!?, hovered in his mind

The whole concept, rubbed Cooper the wrong way, and the sad truth was that the message was in code; And he didn’t like codes. It always made the whole thing felt a bit too much like a movie or a book. Cooper hated that feeling, it was like something will happen or something had happened, and something that was hardly ever good.

Derailed from his train of thought Cooper heard Chief Inspector Watson approaching. Watson wanted know about the situation and some nice officer was entertaining him.

Watson loved to walk and talk, just as mush as he loved to let people talk to him as he did other things. Cooper thought that it was what made Watson felt important, or like that old TV show E.R. Even as they finally entered the small crime scene, the officer was still throwing out info that would be redundant upon seeing the body.

As the officer mumbled about shots in the back, the chief inspector swooped down closer to the body. With a gloved hand, Watson lifted the head away from the pool of blood. For a moment then, just a moment, he paused. Then liked he was forced to, he looked away.

‘Jesus…’ the inspector muttered with a tight frown.

Ooo, Cooper observed in turn, This… this is different.

Cooper was curious, and he was no cat so it felt right to lean in to see.

Notebook at the ready.

Cooper looked.

And he saw.

The face dipped in blood; it was neither deformed, nor grotesque, nor shocking. But yes, he was surprised, very surprised; since the face was familiar, his own, in fact.

Detective Inspector Mathew Cooper was lying face down in that dirty lavatory, dead.

What he should have said was “Woah! God! I’m dead”.

What he wanted to say was, a long string of profanities, but all he could manage was a reaction.

And his reaction was a firm and musical, ‘Dan, DAN, DANN!’

But life went on and no one heard nor saw.

After a moment, Cooper nodded solemnly.

It’s alright to be hysteric, he thought,

It's ok to panic, he reasoned.

So he stood, letting the disastrous news set in. Processing what he saw, what he felt and what heard in recent memory.

He cleared his throat, in case he wanted to scream or cry. He held his breath and waited.

But then, he felt nothing. Just like a little kid who wanted to go to the circus, but no one ever took him, or simply forgot about him.

In the end, all he did was look at the corpse, his corpse, and said with some regret, "God, I gonna miss bacon…"

Cooper could not imagine being surprised in his afterlife; he’d seen enough cheap TV movies; read enough pretentious books, to be able to say. 'Can’t touch stuff, fine!', 'Can walk through stuff, sure!', 'Everyone ignores you, why not!?' But not being surprised was not the same as being disappointed, and Cooper was disappointed. He never really thought about death before dying but still, he did have a certain degree of expectation.

He looked up and there was no light to walk into, he looked down and there was no pit to fall into. Just nothing, there was no life before the eyes; no big men with scythes, much less small boats.

He understood the whole 'I don’t remember dying' thing, with the trauma, the amnesia, and the brain and what not, all very 'medical', it was.

At that point in time, all he did was watched men, women, combing the small room, trying, oh, so hard, to figure out why he died.

He realized he had done this many times before and it was only yesterday he was still one of them. And now, he just didn’t care, plus, Cooper was positive he won’t get paid for helping. Even thought it was his own death the whole thing was, boring; like a Rubix you can’t solve; but you know when it actually gets solved; it’d be in the most rudimentary way; with the resulting object the same every time.

Cooper wanted something interesting to happen, something different, or without the luxury of a choice just something to happen.

And then, something did.

Johnny happened, nice guy, ordinary guy, he was the kind of guy no one remembers; also the kind of guy you trust because there'was never a reason not to. And every now and then everyone would doubt if Johnny'was his real name, for no one, no one, ever talked to him long enough. Sometimes Cooper wondered if Johnny was even a cop.

‘Er, Wats, there’s a woman ‘ere. She, she said she came in with … em…’ he tried to point, and then he tried to speak, but he only coughed unnaturally. Cooper thought it was sweet, but being a 'man', what he acknowledged was that he wanted to buy him a beer.

And with that, Watson upped and left with young Johnny.

Naturally, Cooper followed. Not to solve his murder, but to see who he was with before he died, and more importantly to find out if he had any bacon before he died. For him, it’d be a very comforting thought.

Cooper had always had a soft spot for criers, and when he saw her at the diner’s corner table, he felt his heart ached.

‘Miss. Anna Miller…’ monotone Watson stated as he sat. ‘You knew the…’

‘We just got engaged’, she said with a sob, and her hands tore uncontrollably at her tear soaked napkins, ‘I just… I just… I just… don’t know…’

The girl lost coherency as tears bled from her eyes. But Watson pressed on; it was his job after all.

He pushed on about the Whats, the Whys and the Whens. But Cooper couldn’t care less, he only had eyes for the beautiful, but sad, oh so sad, Anna. She, such a lovely creature, he’d love to embrace her, maybe comfort her. And then maybe Unchain Melodies would resonate from the Jukebox, just like in that movie. “Ohh My Love, my Darling..”

But alas, it was unfortunate that he could not, for one, Cooper was very much dead and much less visible.

And two, had he been alive, holding her would have been very awkward, considering the fact that, Cooper, had never met nor heard the name, Anna Miller in his (appropriately put) life.

It was then Cooper realized, not time, nor age, nor era, will ever hinder the return of the Rubix cube; like a yoyo, the Rubix will always manage to make a comeback

~why because the power of procrastination is so strong...

 

Some critiques:

Spoiler: Teivel

Just a suggestion, but to make the this sentence

Spoiler

have a lot more impact, why not add something like this?

Spoiler

It surprises me; the coffin isn't empty! I remember this face...where did I last see it again?

This question bothers me, it bothers me a lot! As much as that damned mirror did!

Mirror?

Ah! The thing missing from the mirror, wasn't it this face?

It's just a suggestion though. XD

Spoiler: Zero300

Jack's characterization could use a lot more improvement. Normally, one would expect someone who was just in a war to be more...suspicious? Especially if he died from an ambush. And that opening line is just...it could be forgiven if this was a xianxia novel, but since it's not...

If I were the one who wrote this story, I would remove the faceless-mask part, and have Jack bring his guard down when he sees the girl. Or the opposite. And I dunno if it's just me, but such blatant world-building like this paragraph:

Spoiler

"It's true that they are humanoids but they are only livestock for us divine beings. We give them different types of religion and beliefs in order to cultivate and culture their souls into energy which we use to sustain our everyday life. We have been doing this for a millennia. You shouldn't worry too much about it."

doesn't sit well with me. It doesn't make sense for a character to just explain this stuff to someone who should already know it, right? Unless the girl's a complete newbie, and he's teaching her from the get-go. You could find another way to convey this information to the reader without using the character as a mouth-piece.

 

Warning, gruesome scenes may occur.

Spoiler: ∞

Session 6 End.

Session 7 Begin.



“Watch out!”



A round object collides with a glass window, shattering it. An abrupt discontinuation of his dream state occurs. Waking with a pacing heart, he shoots glances around the room, searching for the origin of the sound. Upon seeing the broken glass window, a fit of red fills his eyes, causing him to shoot up off his bed, and run to the window. In haste, a lapse of judgment occurs, causing him to stomp on top of the glass fragment, and in pain, toppling him over.



“Fuck!”



Blood begins to ooze from the fresh wounds on his feet, while he goes to grasp it in pain. Hearing the loud noise within, the children outside panic, and rush home before they are caught, or even identified. Frustrated, he attempts to get up, trying to get his revenge against the brats that caused him this pain. Glaring out the window, he sees that it was too late. He clicks his tongue.



---



“That’s hilarious”



His co-worker tells him. Glaring fiercely back at him, he sneers.



“You got to be joking?! I had to go to the hospital and get some stitches! Fuck that cost me a fortune, not to mention how long I spent in that waiting room…”



He sighs.



“I even had to come to work since those dumb-ass bosses wouldn’t let me take a leave of absence.”



He leans back at his chair.



“Well they do got a point. You don’t really need your feet to do your job.”



His co-worker rebukes him.



“The perks of a desk job, eh?”



“Whatever, I don’t give a crap. Just wait till I get a hold of those kids! I’ll make their parents pay!”



His co-worker chuckles.



“Good luck with that.”



---



Alone in his cubicle, he typed all day. A subtle pain could be felt, as he tried to drown it away with the weak pain killers prescribed to him. Thanks to the mild distraction, he had to stay overtime, past normal working hours, he was all alone in the office. A power surge occurs, flickering the lights, and causing all systems to reboot.



“FUCK!”



He slams his fist against his desk as he stares at the black rebooting process occurring on his monitor.



“You have to be kidding me”



He could feel a tinge of tears forming in his eyes. His head falls to his desk, as he awaits the boot process.



“I got to do that all over? I’m never going home...”



He contemplated on his life. He was having such a bad day. Has there been any day worse than this in his life?



“...”



He hears something from a distance. Raising his head from his desk he looks around, puzzled. From a distance, there was a humming. He was unsure what tune it was, but it had a nostalgic feel. A silhouette of a character could be seen in an unlit portion of the room, as it hops it way down an isle of cubicles. This character didn’t seem that interested in his surrounded, and care-freely skipped along while humming his tune. This irritated him.



“What the hell are you doing?!”



He exclaimed. Startled, the character sharply turns his head, seizing his skipping and tune, and looks towards him. A moment of silence.



“Well!?”



He questions. The character merely remains silently motionless. Pissing him off, he pushes himself off his chair, forgetting the injures he had previously inflicted on himself.



“Argh...”



He stumbles, grabbing a hold of the movable wall to prevent his fall. Managing his pain, he grabs his crutches, and stands supported. This intrigued the character, causing him to finally respond.



“A name if I may?”



The character questioned him. He felt slightly irritated, but he complied with a response.



“Charlie… Now what in God’s green earth are you doing?”



Taking a moment to ponder the name, the character nods, mumbling to himself “I see, I see.” while he inches himself forward, revealing his face. An old man, white hair, holding a cane is revealed. Fed up, Charlie, gives up, and stumbles his way towards the water fountain, allowing enough time for the servers to fully boot up.



“Why Charlie is it? May I inquire why you still remain at the office at this hour?”



Feeling a sharp pain from those words, he glares back at the old man.



“I have work to finish up.”



He sighs out an answer, removing his hostility towards the old man. The old man, astonished, replies.



“Are you slow? Did your mind completely forget that the system is set to reboot at this time, to refresh the system, to prevent any errors from occurring later on in the work day?”



Taken aback, Charlie rashly replies,



“Wha… If I knew that, I would’ve saved!”



Chuckling the old man shakes his head while mumbling, “An idiot… I see… I see...”. These remarks didn’t go unheard. Ticked off, he makes his way up to the old man. The old man merely stares at Charlie makes his approach.



“Why you old bastard.”



He says as he drops his crutches, enduring the pain from his soles, and grasp the collar of the old man’s shirt. The old man remains unfazed. He gazes at Charles, while holding tightly to his cane, and smirks. Irritated, Charlie raises his fist, and prepares to smash it against the old man.



“Ouch!”



Charlie exclaims in pain as the old man slams the bottom of his cane against Charlie’s feet, causing him to drop the old man and stumble back in pain. Before Charlie could even react, the old man pushes his cane against Charlie’s chest, causing him to fall.



“Heheheh...”



The old man chuckles.



“Why aren’t you a rude fellow.”



He murmurs as he opens apart his cane, revealing a blade.



“You see, there is a saying.”



The old man says as he approaches the fallen Charlie.



“An eye for an eye...”



His blade is fully unsheathed as he drops the sheath.



“A tooth for a tooth.”



The old man brings the blade to Charlie’s neck. His heart paces as he feels the cold metal against his neck. A slither of blood grabs a hold of the blade, tracing its way down to the tip.



“But you see, I don’t believe in such random nonsense.”



The old man sighs as he inches the blade away from Charlie’s neck. Relieved, Charlie’s tense body relaxes. However, that was a mistake. In an instant, a flash sparks.



“Ahhh!”



Charlie cries in pain. Looking towards his right hand, he seeings something amiss. Blood seethes out from where his hand previously was. His mind is chaotic.



“No, no, no… I believe in a simpler truth.”



The old man blabbers on, simply being ignored by Charlie as he focuses on the pain of his right hand.



“Misery loves company!”



The old man shouts, releasing the weight of his legs, and falling down against Charlie’s chest.



“Ughh”



He grunts, gasping for air, while the old man sits provokingly on his chest.



“How’s the pain in your foot?”



The old man asks a rhetoric, not giving Charlie enough time to respond.



“Well you see, when I cut off your hand, the pain you felt on your feet dissipated.”



The old man cleaved his blade in between the joints of Charlie’s left shoulder, bathing his face in the splatter. Liking the blood off his lips, the old man continues while Charlie moans in pain, twisting and turning, trying to escape from underneath the old man.



“Like you, I’m also in pain.”



The old man utters, pressing the hands, along with the blade’s handle, against both Charlie’s shoulder, and lunges in for a kiss. Holding his lips against Charlie’s a chuckle begins to emerge as a gap between the two form. Clenched in between the old man’s teeth, Charlie’s tongue is held. Sharply twisting his neck, he rips Charlie’s tongue out from within his mouth, causing blood to erupt out.



“And in order to soothe my pain...”



The old man says as he jabs his left hand to cover the blood from escaping Charlie’s mouth.



“I shall devour your soul.”



The old man laughs hysterically, plunging the blade straight into Charlie’s chest, through his heart. Inching his face close to Charlie’s ear, he whispers, trying to hold back his joy and laughter.



“It was delicious...”



A beep resounds in the back, as the servers once again boots up.





Session 7 End.

Session 8 Begin.



“Watch out!”



A round object collides with a glass window, shattering it.



~Fin

Well that escalated quickly lol.

 

The girl is a newbie since its her first soul capture. Besides why should I develop jack's character if he's gonna get killed soon? This ain't game of thrones

 

HA! what's with that title? Titles should be short and make it about the story or something.

But that's just me

 

"“NOTICE

Persons attempting to find a motive in this narrative will be prosecuted; persons attempting to find a moral in it will be banished; persons attempting to find a plot in it will be shot.

BY ORDER OF THE AUTHOR"
-prelude to the most widely motive interpreted, morally quoted, and plot analyzed book in the United States.

Translation: does it matter what I say?

Critiques:

Spoiler: Life Goes On

@iampsyx... This is stream of thought. And stream of thought can be done well, albeit with extreme effort.
This is not it.
First of all I like the way the story is introduced and the character is acting, but the way they think and work through those actions seems like a bit of a stretch to me. Attempted suicides usually involve a lot more emotion, especially regret and relief, than was displayed here if they fail. Humor and anger are not the typical reactions. Perhaps if the suicide attempt was a mistake, a joke that went badly and nearly got them killed then that would be an appropriate response, but this sounds like a planned an executed attempt to commit real suicide for some reason or another.
And that's another problem: I'm not seeing any reason for this character to attempt such a thing. Do they have a bad relationship with their parents? Yes, but it's not estranged or abusive (from the fact they think to call their Dad first) and they obviously do care about each other. Do they have trouble making friends? Yes, but that alone doesn't lead to suicide (plus they obviously have enough to be surprised by no new texts or calls over what kind of period? A night? I went months without getting texts or calls when young). And the signs of bullying that would appear, if at that level of extremity, are all missing. I can tell you haven't really thought about what would drive a person to this kind of thing, and especially that you yourself don't have much experience with that state of mind. It makes it really really hard for me to sympathize with this person in any way, and I should have a pretty easy time considering my own experiences.
Other than my extreme issues with your character I feel the story does alright. If I look at it in a narrative manner the events are well written and the actions do seem to mesh together well for some sort of person (even if again they're completely inconsistent with the character you introduced). The grammar is done well and it ends at the point it should, without any real resolution or satisfaction and just a mindless escape.
My only advice is this: write a character that you can relate to. Suicide is an extremely tricky subject only those who have attempted it or know people who have well should even try to work with it, especially as a central theme.

Spoiler: If death came in flavors...

@Imnotarobot okay, the whole 'surprise, the main characters really dead!' Thing has been done repeatedly and usually goes pretty well overall. It's not all that hard to bring about the connection between the living and the dead and the surprise is usually enough to prevent the reader noticing any major mistakes.
In other words, good job taking the basic concept and making it work. You added a nice twist to it by having the dead be a detective looking at his own murder and the ending was a nice little twist, though not all that surprising by that point. Which brings me to a couple of issues with execution.
First, the element of surprise is somewhat central to this plot. And with your story, it was all visible a mile away. I'm not sure how to fix this because I don't tend to use surprise myself all that much except for humor, but I can say that foreseeing that the detective was dead was simplicity as soon as the whole 'smugness' thing came out. Sometimes being blatant is good... This was not one of those times.
Second, you try too hard to force intrigue and mystery into this scene, which is understandable with the whole detective character and theme but ultimately overdone and pointless. Especially as you have your main character acting like it's pointless, it makes it feel like this story was a waste of time. Better here would have been to significantly tone down that opening scene and move into a solving the murder case story, with the detectives soul freed upon he capture of his killer (short or long, doesn't really matter). That would have been a more satisfying ending for a proud detective. Giving up.... Just doesn't feel right.
Third, you're trying to be funny and failing. Humor is not a bad thing, not in any context in the right amounts. But this humor with the bacon just isn't funny and feels out of place. I didn't feel like it helped the story at all and instead cost some of the dignity of the detective for nothing.
Outside of those and a few smaller complaints I'd say good job. You took an overused theme and while you didn't add anything new or exciting you did execute well. In the end, that might be more important, as good ideas can be found all over the place, but good execution is a much rarer skill (yes, this is the opposite of what most people say. No, that doesn't make it wrong).

Spoiler: infinity?

@Rajikai Alright... I see where you're going with the endlessly repeating thing, but I don't really get why it was supposed to be entertaining. Are you trying for a Sisyphean punishment here, with a constantly repeated task that can never get finished (referenced by the office work he stays late for)? Are you trying to create an eventual path to redemption? I can't tell, and that irritates me. It should be made clearer in the story which is actually going on, whether the old man is a redeemer or a torturer, whether he retains memories or doesn't, what exactly is going on in that office at night?
I'm left with too many questions and not enough answers to make it interesting. I don't care about anyone in the story, which is not a good thing in any way (all 'evil' characters can be done, and done well, but each must have redeeming qualities which make it possible to sympathize with them. The character I like most in this story is the coworker who only shows up for around five lines). The settings confusing, the plots minimal at best and the only reason there is any at all is the end and the beginning.
The only upside I can say is that the grammar was good and the mindset of the POV character was well displayed and overall pretty normal (except I don't know how elderly people think so I can't say it's perfectly accurate). Outside of that though, it was not a well executed piece of work.

 

...I believe that in order to be a better writer, one must treat their characters as real people, even if they're main characters, side characters, or even plain background characters. It gives more depth to the story, you know? The reason why lots of people like GoT (well, I've never watched the show but I loved the books) is because the author spent effort fleshing out his characters even if they died not even ten pages after they were introduced. Considering how the series is well-received, we could take a page out of it, just saying.

Yes, the girl is a newbie, but that still doesn't justify the other guy going on about something that could be considered 'common sense' to them just to tell the readers what's happening. Like, it'll be weird if we're talking like this and I suddenly go: "We're writers, and the universe works like this blah-blah" without you thinking, 'I already know that. I'm not stupid.' Wouldn't that kind of info be the first thing they teach the girl before giving her the bottle and telling her how to acquire souls?

Uhh...yeah...I did put the reason why the mc committed suicide there, but I guess it's in a bad place? I'll rewrite it. Thanks for pointing that out, Aca! And I'll do something about the emotions as well...>w< As for your advice, I'll keep it in mind! But in this story...well, I think I know what I'm writing about. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Thanks for the critique again! ^^

 

TFW you forget that the MC of someone's story committed suicide.

 

Let's start~
I don't know if I'm writer or/and a good reader, but please don't take what I write too serious.

Spoiler

@Minaku The concept is interesting, but the execution is not good. Make the descrition of his life a little longer and add something to make the reader feel how slow the time is (like a clock but without say the time). So I will like the story a lot more. The ending is so random. Give him more satisfy to end the long wait like every person after wait a long time than surprise and random reward.

Spoiler

@Teivel I prefer the second one. Have more spices. But it feel like more a horror story than a after-life story.

Spoiler

@Zero300 Feel like a short part of story than a short story. It's just "BOOM! I'm dead. Aaaaaah! The end."

I have no more time to write review now~

 

*Run in in a hurry*

I did not spell check this

Spoiler

Heya,

Thanks for the feedback yo @Aca1814ina

Well, I probably wouldn't say making a basic concept work a good job because by definition a basic concept is not hard to make it work, coz it a basic concept
lol

It is interesting that you found Surprise to be central to the plot tho.
while it may be true... it wasn't really important to me.
For me being genre savvy was more important its more of a reader's book and having surprises are the by-product of the “gap” here is what i mean

(lol, it sound alike a very douchey story now that I think about it.)

I wrote it as to examine a mishmash of police procedural drama, Ghost (the movie) and other ghost movies and old hard boil Noir films. And the deconstruction of it. People more or less all know how these stories go and end

The pleasure I wanted WAS that the reader knows what was coming, but is unsure and there in lies the 'gap'. It is built NOT to be a new story So what I am playing with is not the surprise but the 'gap' in the narrative. And also know that the narrator can not be trusted.

We were told by the MC/ narrator he can walk thru walls, but did we see it? Can he really? The point of saying it was not to build the world but to lie to the reader
(LOL)
The narrator lets the reader know "this, this and this" but the next time it will ask
“did you guess that?”
But from the writer's POV, my POV, my question is “did you guess that you need to guess it”

IF you think about it the moment the narrator mentioned the Rubix the first time and MC said he did not care and will not solve the case at this point
You should already know he will try to solve it
because the RUBIX ALWAYS COMES BACK!!!!

The pleasure is not knowing if he will try to solve it but what changed his mind

How should I say this, the fun is not that there is a surprise but for you to spot there is going be a surprise and wonder how it gets there
(LOL, I hate myself so much right now)

It's like a sandwich with another piece of bread in it but the bread is really pizza.
Then you pull it out you find that it's all pizza there is NO BREAD and you think why is it pizza? its just more pizza, WTF

if its a game

The smug = MC is dead is ( LVL 1)
Unlovable MC + Fiancee = fiancee fake
Rubix = case will be solved
Jonny un-important = very important
the song of movie ghost = will find Whoopi Goldberg + lying author = no Whoopi (LVL3) + Jonny = Jonny is whippy / Jonny is a ghost(LVL 4) OMG

it's all hints and clues
Who else have read this, this way?
Where the story is not the story

I suppose this would have worked better if it was longer...

On your second point and kinda also related to the third.

If we talk about, the MC acting like it pointless there is a reason for that.
Because it is pointless, if you are dead, do you want to solve your murder?
The rules are not the same, the way the character is setup is that he is the most base human being He is shameless, his lustful, gluttonous, and slothful
But consistently he is curious.

The idea here is to examine what makes a person after death there are no laws, no relationships no needs etc

All there is is curiosity

I do agree that bacon was an odd choice, If I were to change it I would probably make it cake instead…
But the line as something that costs the detective dignity was kinda exactly what I was going for In fact…if it was a longer story I might add more lines about his obsession with cake and bacon…

Those were my thinking on writing it and it was fun
Again I thank you for your feedback…

 

Well that's what an oneshot is

 

One shot one kill?

I feel cheated.
I read all of that, yet still don't know what you wanted to do.

 

in a way, I wrote a story for people that like to predict how stories ends. So there are surprises but I expect the readers to know what the surprises are before I tell them.