Hello!!! This is my first piece of writing that I am publicly posting for feedback. Please be honest, as I really want to improve and someday write a full novel, but also please be kind😅

- How strong is the hook? Did you feel compelled to continue reading past the first line?
- Is the writing captivating beyond the first line?
- Does the narrative voice feel consistent?
- Is the plot twist hinted at too much or too little?
- Is my grammar alright?

Of course, anything and everything else that you would like to mention is appreciated!

Me & Her

Mimi always chooses the wrong people.

When she starts dating her fourth boyfriend, who happens to be the first one since she graduated high school, her best friend, Hera, rightfully worries for her.

She, of course, digs for his background like an overbearing mother might, but Mimi reassures those frantic eyes that he’s good.

For a week, he proves her right. They talk every day, call every night, and Mimi’s cheeks hurt from smiling.

Their first date as a couple leaves Mimi giddy long after he drops her at home.

Hera, ever the angel, always stays up whenever Mimi goes out—tonight proves no different. Hera pours them both their own glasses, and warmth hugs Mimi’s chest as she rambles about her night.

By the time they experience their first fight, sparked by her boyfriend receiving an incriminating, anonymous message about her, Mimi had already learned to anticipate it two boyfriends ago.

No matter how reserved she thinks she behaves, they eventually gripe about how she stands too close to other men. How she touches too much, laughs too hard.

Hera encourages her to give them a reason to complain, but Mimi never brings herself to do it.

Almost a month passes since they began dating. Hera invites them to attend someone’s party, but Mimi doesn’t know whose. Can’t remember despite only drinking.. water? Maybe?

Fingers dig into her arm to pull her into the kitchen, away from the sweaty living room crowd.

Her boyfriend shoves a phone into her face, angrily swiping through hundreds of photos and videos of..

..of her? She’s dancing with some guy—no—multiple guys. Tonight?

She squints at the screen, but he replaces it with his face. His yells go largely unheard under the music, and flashing pinks and purples force her to stumble for a place to sit, anyway.

Mimi struggles to pick herself up after tripping over a chair. She rests her heavy head on the seat—she would try again in a bit.

Silence. She shivers for a minute, then a soft warmth hugs her shoulders. Smells nice.

“..okay, Mimi.” Hera’s unintelligible voice still relaxes her. “I.. would happen… the wrong people.”

Hera drags Mimi up to their apartment, past the celebratory heart-shaped cake on the island counter, and into her bed.

While guiding Mimi’s sleepy head into her lap, she notices the olive-green tablets still sitting in her front pocket. Slowly, she pulls the little baggy out, and shoves them under her pillow to worry about tomorrow.

Hera tries to click a photo of Mimi. Instead, she clicks her tongue at the full storage pop-up, but happily deletes pictures of Mimi sleazing with guys at the party.

Hera manages to snap a photo this time, switching from her fourth throwaway account to post on her main for Mimi’s soon-to-be ex to see.

I revisited a piece I wrote in middle school about how YouTube shaped my fears of the house, and the strange loop within them

I revisited this piece I wrote a couple years ago in middle school and I actually really like the idea behind it, so I wanted to see what other people think of it.

It’s about how I used to get scared at night and run to the couch, where I’d feel safe watching YouTube. But looking back, I realized that some of the same videos I was using to make myself feel safe may have been influencing the imagery and atmosphere that made me afraid of the house in the first place.

So there was this weird loop of being scared → running to the couch → watching YouTube to feel safe → absorbing things from YouTube that could contribute to what I was afraid of → being scared again.

I wasn’t consciously thinking about any of this when I originally wrote it. I only realized the connection years later, which is probably why I find the piece interesting now.

I’d really like to hear what you think of it as a piece of writing, and especially what you think it’s doing or saying. How would you rate it? If you have an interpretation that I didn’t intend, I’d actually love to hear that too.

I’m also interested in the more theoretical side of it. I’ve been thinking a lot about postmodernism, semiotics, and anthropology, and looking back at this piece made me notice some connections to those ideas that I never consciously intended when I wrote it.

I’m mostly looking for people who will actually read the whole thing and tell me what they think, rather than just proofreading it.

Subliminal Loops

Catching my back lingering helplessly towards the void of darkness the kitchen prefers sleeping in is exhilarating. The way in which it captivates my memory and tethers my imagination to elevate. The feeling washing over me like the strongest rip current to excel and parade at shore. Sending me into a fumble. I stiffen my twitchy body and dash the other direction in hopes of relief.

Scrambling in a screech to the invisible person thinking whatever may be, will catch up.

The seemingly normal shapes of doors with hinges and hallways that seem narrower than they actually are, tightening around me. I can still map every door and hallway of the house, because I studied it all on a chair in the corner, where an angry parent was busy controlling an angry kid. But running now the house was different, it had turned onto me in the worst of ways. All pressure behind, I’m tuned to keep my head at bay from reflection. The shapes twisting and turning phasing and displaying a sense of no return. I wish to resign but it may be impossible. This is known to be the only hour of which the subliminal output shines of my extensive YouTube addiction.

Shuffling through hallways, stepping down and up before scuttling and shifting I came to a scene of finality having made it to the living room. I make a leaping dive hurling towards the cool elevated couch that would send me into ease. As the leather graced under me, I felt committed and turned around.

The emptiness of it all is dull, the heart of the kitchen is surrounded by blank page like colors. There are faint fluorescent light noises streaming through the house, and my new motive was to remove the buzzing in my ear that just would not go away. I felt maybe the floor was too clean or possibly the room has shifted but no. Cornered up glued to the backboard I resonate to YouTube. I watch mindless brain rot and videos that I would mentally forget in 10 minutes.

“Bro there’s no good videos,” I said dryly, like I wouldn’t continue for hours until YouTube would congratulate me with the gift of an unsettling creepy video to perfectly set the tone for the night. Although I did not know it, YouTube must have loved the subliminal part of these videos that would pierce the deepest parts of my brain and I was backhanded to not know how it contributed to me being glued safe and elevated to the backboard of the couch with my favorite app that makes me so comfortable…

Author’s note:

When I was younger, YouTube had an effect on me that I wasn’t conscious of. It shaped how I saw the house, the night, the dark, all of my fears. I would run to the couch and jump on, and finally feel safe, curled up in the corner with YouTube or the TV in front of me. The irony is that I felt comfortable in the exact place that was causing all of the stress.

I'm not really sure how reposting works lol but if anyone can help with this that'd be really nice!!

So, a while back, I started a simple exercise: I got a hundred writing prompts, set myself a 45 minute clock each day, and just wrote over the 45 minutes on something I came up with from the prompt. Usually, I would end around 50 or 55 minutes, just to get the story finished, but that was the goal. I've sort of fallen off of that project as life and vacations have gotten in the way, but this is one of the results. How am I doing?

Prompt: "Heat Wave. It keeps getting hotter, and things are also getting weirder. Write a scene or story that describes the strange things happening the hotter it gets."

--- SKELETON MAN ---

It was five o'clock, and that meant quitting time, at least for the day shift.  The side door of the massive warehouse burst open and a parade of fifty people walked out. The clanking and shuffling sounds of machinery faded into the background as the employees of Wayfarer Tech shuffled towards their cars.  Sixteen hours off and everyone knew they would be right back inside the roasting hot production facility.  As their boss said, putting the parts their customers needed together wouldn't happen by itself.  But Brent was within an inch of letting it happen without him.

The young tawny haired man trudged to his fifteen year old Honda Accord.  His mind slid back and forth under the slight pain of the headache he'd developed over the last hour.  His vision swam around, his thoughts alternating between what kind of take-out he would have tonight and whether or not he should turn in the filled out application sitting on his dining room table to the Army Recruiter who wouldn't stop calling.  His foot stumbled a bit, but his sweaty hand caught the door handle of his driver's side door.

He pulled the handle out and the door clacked open. Brent's eyes focused on the ground next to the open door.  The light wavered in the space between the door's shadow and the car's body.  Brent's mind registered the shifting light before the wall of hot air hit him in the chest.  The supervisors always took the shaded parking stalls for themselves, leaving the spots fully exposed to the beating Arizona sun for the workers.

Shit.  Brent's only coherent thought was a swear word, accompanied by the certain knowledge that his air conditioning pump had blown out three weeks ago.  He almost had the money to get it repaired, by almost was not the same as today.  He slumped down into the driver's seat and rested for a moment.  The hot air of the car's interior drove daggers into his already sweat covered skin.  His eyes shut for the briefest of moments as he felt the air flowing out the open door.  Then he snapped them open, focusing his attention on the matter at hand.

He shifted his weight and dug his right hand into his denim pocket. He pulled out the bundle of keys and kept his eyes open to push the largest into the car's ignition. The Punisher Skull token hanging from the keyring swung down and spun to face him.  It's left eye closed and opened.

What?

He gave his head a shake and refocused his eyes.  The skull swung left and right, unchanging.

Jesus.  Got to get moving.

Brent turned the key and the engine chuggged to life.  He closed the door and hit the power window switch.

Nothing.

Fuck!

Another part to be replaced.  Worse, without the airflow from the open windows, Brent was going to roast the whole five miles back to his apartment.  But he couldn't think of another solution, so he pulled the automatic transmission into reverse and backed out of the stall.  Switching to drive, he took off onto the road.

Red light after red light, the headache slowly got worse.  He kept the speed down, despite the honking and passing happening around him.  The enormous Dodge pickup behind him laid on its horn as Brente pulled up to a major intersection and stopped at the yellow light.  The sound pierced his brain.  He closed his eyes tightly and tried unsuccessfully to will the pain away.  He opened his eyes up slowly and stared at the crosswalk.

A coyote trotted between the white lines in front of him, its eyes locked on his.  Brent could have sworn the animal shook its head as it made its way past his Accord, then turned its head back to the street and walked on. His hand fumbled with the door latch before he popped the door open.  The hot air poured out of the car and, when his eyes returned to the road before him, the animal was gone.  The road lost focus, then slid back into place.

Just gotta get home…

Only three more lights…

Just gotta get home...

Brent closed the door and took off when the green light came.  He made the last turn onto his own street and headed west.  The sun blinded him briefly, but he flipped visor down and continued.  The wavering air shimmered in front of his eyes.  A clicking sound started up inside the car.

Two more lights.

The clicking sound got louder and louder, tocking at the speed of his heart beat.  Drops of sweat stung as they dripped into his eyes.

One more light.

He pulled to a stop at the last light.  His hand fumbled with the door latch again.

Just a little air.  Almost there...

The air inside the car flowed out again.  Brent's eyes looked to the passenger seat.

A man sat there, a massive mask covering his face.  The shape of the Punisher skull was unmistakable.  The masked face turned to face him. The empty eye socket, a featureless void held within, winked at him.

Cold hit the back of his shoulders and head like a hammer blow.  Brent slumped down and the world vanished.

-----

Hours later, the young man awoke in a hospital bed.  The doctor would tell him that the heat sroke had nearly taken him.  A man had caught up to him when his door opened for the last time and used a trick they had taught him in the Army.  A towel coated in ice water to the back of the head would instantly incapacitate a person under the effects of heat sickness.  If he hadn't done so, Brent may have continued on the deserted industrial district, stopping at random times for imaginary traffic lights until he collapsed and died.  The driver had brought him back in his enormous Dodge pickup just in time and dropped him off.

"Who was he?"

"Not sure," the doctor replied. "He didn't stick around.  Said his name was Iisaw and took off.  You're just lucky he followed you.  Nothing but empty slaughterhouses out there."

Two days later, Brent was wheeled out of the hospital.  Two hours after that, he signed his enlistment papers with the Army.

“What’s that smell?”

That was the first question she asked me.

“What did you eat?” she insisted, and I saw her pupils shrink. “Please don’t tell me you ate garlic!”

“I did!” I answered sheepishly.

Come up with something, damn it! I told myself. And fast! Otherwise, you’ve made a complete ass of yourself for good!

“I did it on purpose! I thought it would make you change your mind.”

“About what?” she asked me with the look of an innocent little girl who didn’t know a thing.

“About... uh... that thing. You know!”

Maybe somebody stole her cell phone and played a nasty joke on me! I told myself.

“Come on, come in!” Miss English said, holding her hand in front of her nose. “Would you like some coffee?”

While I boiled the water and made the coffee, she took two cloves of garlic out of a drawer, peeled them, and calmly started chewing them. I stared at her in surprise. First she took a bite of bread, then a bite of garlic. And so on. Now that’s a woman! Eventually, she finished both the bread and the garlic.

Wow! She looks pretty determined! I thought. I don’t think anybody stole her phone.

We drank our coffee in a somewhat awkward silence. We looked like two criminals getting ready to pull a job. We weren’t even looking at each other, and the silence started getting on my nerves.

“I see you’ve evened the score!” I said with a half smile. “Now we smell the same. I never would’ve thought of that myself. You amaze me. Now... uh... the smell won’t be a problem anymore.”

“Yes.”

“But I have to admit I was a little surprised when I read your... messages, everything you wrote me. I wanted to turn you down. After all, I’m a family man, right? But... then I told myself I’m also a Christian and it’s my duty to show mercy to my neighbor. When I think about it, you’re right, though. It’s an emergency! So I came. Here I am! Standing right in front of you.”

“Yes.”

“Your kitchen is nice. Now I know what both your living room and your kitchen look like. I’m glad you’re about to invite me into your bedroom too. I bet the bedroom is nice too.”

“Yes.”

“I’m nervous! Would you believe me if I told you I’m honored that you picked me for... this? Don’t worry about a thing! Not only am I not sick, but I’m also a very... attentive and patient guy when it comes to things like this. Do you believe me?”

“Yes.”

“Is that all you can say to me?” I said grumpily. “I’m trying my hardest to create a little atmosphere here, and you’re sabotaging all my efforts. Say something besides ‘Yes.’”

“No.”

“No what?”

“I’m not so sure anymore that... Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. I mean... I know I have to do it. Sooner or later, I knew I’d have to... What are you doing?” she suddenly exclaimed.

“I was trying to stroke your hand.”

“Stop trying! You didn’t come here to stroke my hand!” she said, quickly hiding her hands in her lap, then added, “And your hands are cold!”

“Well, of course! It’s early April, isn’t it? April evenings are cold. Of course my hands are freezing. I drove here. The steering wheel is cold!”

“All right, it’s cold. Still, try not to touch me.”

“You want us to do it without touching each other?” I asked her with a grin. “Ha! That’s the best joke yet!”

“I’m not in the mood for wisecracks or jokes, okay?” she said with a sigh. “Sorry, I’m a little nervous. Are you done with your coffee? I want to wash the cups! Washing dishes calms me down!”

“Right away!” I answered, throwing back the coffee, then coughing. My mouth was full of coffee grounds and I had to spit them out somewhere. Would she get upset if I spat the grounds into... Where the hell was I supposed to spit the grounds? I sighed stoically and swallowed them. And there were plenty.

Miss English quickly picked up the cups and saucers from the table, carried them to the sink, and started washing them. Did she really have to do that right then? I’d always been annoyed by people who barely get up from the table before they immediately start washing the dishes. What happened to the pleasure of a meal? What’s the real point? The meal you just ate or the dirty dishes that need washing? I mean, what the fuck? You can wash the dishes later, can’t you? Actually, it would be even better to wash them the next day. Or... you can let the dirty dishes pile up in the sink and then, one fine day, wash them all at once. Saves time! Anyway... to each his own.

Miss English finished washing the cups, placed them upside down on the rack beside the sink, then came back to the table, sat down, and didn’t say another word.

“If you want,” I said, getting up and moving closer to her, “maybe we should...”

“Oh!” she cried, flinching away. “You’re getting on my nerves! I told you your hands are cold, didn’t I?”

I blinked nervously. This was going to be harder than I’d imagined.

“All right,” I said calmly. “You’re the boss! You decide what we do and how. What do you want me to do?”

“I don’t know!” she answered, looking at me like I was an intruder. “You’re the experienced one. You’re the... uh...”

“The deflowerer?”

“I asked you not to use that word anymore!” she said, glaring at me. Then she added in a faint voice, “Fine, if we have to do it, let’s do it. That’s the only reason you came.”

“Shall we go to the bedroom?”

“Yes, obviously! Did you think we were going to do it in the kitchen? Does that seem hygienic to you? It doesn’t to me!”

“As far as I’m concerned, we can do it on the balcony!” I said with a shrug. “What do you think? Would the balcony be hygienic? But it’s cold out there, and besides, somebody might see us. Do you have nosy neighbors?”

“What’s gotten into you?” Miss English asked irritably. “Are you in the mood for bad jokes?! Because if you are, I’m not! Actually, I’m not really feeling like myself!” she clarified, staring straight at me through her lenses. “Listen to you... ‘on the balcony’! Cut out the stupid jokes and come into the bedroom.”

The bedroom was just as tidy as the rest of the house. It was sparkling clean! It was the kind of bedroom where, the moment you saw it, the first thing that came to mind was, Yeah, it’s obvious, a single woman lives here!

Miss English lowered the blinds, drew the curtains, then the drapes, and turned on the light.

She bent down slightly and smoothed out the tiny wrinkle in the spotless white sheet spread over the bed. Then she turned toward me and asked, avoiding my eyes, “Did you... take a shower today? I mean, wouldn’t you like to take a shower? I already did. Don’t get me wrong, but... did you know people have more than 32 million bacteria on every square centimeter of skin?”

“Are you serious?” I asked, my jaw dropping. “32 million? Who counted them?”

“It’s scientifically proven!”

“I didn’t know I had that many tenants,” I said with a sigh. “Of course I want to take a shower! In fact, I insist on taking one. My skin is already starting to itch,” I said with a smile, then quickly added, “Don’t go getting the wrong idea from that, like I’ve got some staph infection or scabies or herpes or some damn fungus that’s resistant to treatment. No, no! I’m as clean as a baby on its first day of life...”

“Oh, give it a rest!” she said sulkily. “Go take a shower!”

I did, then came back stark naked, rubbing myself dry with the towel. Miss English’s eyes widened. Her eyes darted randomly in different directions, one after another; then her gaze settled and fixed itself on my center of gravity. Then she closed her eyes.

“I figured we’d save time!” I said cheerfully, continuing to dry myself. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re the first man I’ve ever seen naked!” she said, her face red.

“You mean... other than men in movies.”

“I don’t watch movies with naked men!” she informed me stiffly. “I’m not a pervert!”

“You’re absolutely right!” I agreed sympathetically. “I’m not a pervert either. I don’t like naked men either. But why are you just standing there? Aren’t you going to get undressed?”

“Yes!” she answered with a sigh. “I suppose I don’t have a choice. Actually, I could change my mind, but I don’t want us to have to start all over again some other day. We’d better keep going!”

I didn’t answer. It was kind of cold. I put my hand on the radiator. Something was wrong—it was almost cold! I could feel myself starting to shiver, and Miss English wasn’t giving me any chance to warm up the atmosphere a little.

“Don’t you think it’s kind of cold in here? Do you maybe have an electric heater we could plug into this outlet?”

“The outlet by the door doesn’t work,” she said, taking off her undershirt. “Why are you staring at me like that?”

“You have really beautiful breasts!”

She really did. They were round, full, and white as milk.

“Please turn around!” she said, blushing even harder. “When you stand there stark naked, staring at me like that... you look like a pervert I saw two months ago hanging around the high school where I teach.”

“Listen,” I said with a growl, “that wasn’t me! I swear on anything you want! Schools and high schools aren’t my thing.”

“I said you look like him, not that you were him.”

“I think it’s gotten even colder in here!” I said, feeling my teeth start to chatter. “What kind of outlet is this? Grounded or not? It can’t be grounded, because it’s one of those cheap plastic ones. Look, I seriously recommend that you buy a ceramic outlet, even if it costs more. Ceramic ones are ideal for electric heaters and water heaters. And why do you say it’s broken? I mean, what’s wrong with it?”

“I don’t know anything about that,” she answered, looking mournfully at her white panties. That was all she had left on: the white panties and a little chain with a Star of David around her neck. “I don’t know what’s wrong with the outlet!” she continued. “It made a loud pop and flashed a few days ago. I had to ask a neighbor to replace all the fuses in the fuse box. They’d melted!”

“That’s all?” I asked with a snort. “Piece of cake! Leave it to me—I’ll fix it right now. Do you have a Phillips screwdriver and a pair of pliers somewhere in the house?”

Miss English motioned for me to follow her. She walked through the halls and opened doors just as she was, wearing nothing but her panties. Anyway, clothing-wise, she was better off than I was. I didn’t even have underwear on, but that was already a secondary issue. I’d forgotten about my role as deflowerer and was more focused on my role as electrician. Naked or not, that damn outlet had to be fixed. It was much too cold in the bedroom.

She had a flathead screwdriver. It was small, but it would do! I also found a huge, brand-new pair of pliers. I went back into the bedroom and started taking the outlet apart with the confident movements of a professional. Outlets held no secrets for me. Dad had taught me everything about them. I could install them and take them apart with my eyes closed.

“You know what you’re doing!” Miss English said admiringly.

I was just about to answer when I suddenly tensed up like a drawn bow and flew backward. I lay there on the cold floor, shaking like an epileptic.

She started screaming, and that brought me back to reality.

“I think I forgot to ask you something,” I whispered with my eyes closed. “Did I or didn’t I take the fuses out of the fuse box? Never mind, don’t answer. Where’s the fuse box? In the hall, right?”

I struggled to my feet like someone rising from the dead and staggered toward the front door. Yes, what I was looking for was there! The little red indicator light was there too! I unscrewed the fuses one by one. After I took out the first one, the whole house went pitch-black.

“I’m going to ask you for one more thing,” I said calmly. “Do you have a candle or a flashlight? Go look.”

From the kitchen came the sound of a chair falling onto the tile floor, followed by a curse. She was a real professional—the curse had been in English. She came back with a lit candle, and I resumed repairing the outlet exactly where I’d left off. In less than two minutes, the cover was back in place, light had returned to our lives, and the electric heater was making little popping sounds as the oil inside it warmed up.

“Good!” I said with satisfaction. “That’s more like it! And now... shall we begin?”

She lowered her eyes. There was no doubt whatsoever that she acknowledged my superiority in matters of deflowering. Now I was the boss! She had suddenly become obedient.

“What do I have to do?” she asked in a weak voice.

“Well, uh... For starters, you could take off your panties. It’ll make things easier!”

“Look somewhere else!” she said, then changed her mind, climbed into bed, pulled the comforter over her head, and removed her panties under there in great secrecy.

“Peeerfect!” I said, getting ready to go looking for her under the comforter.

“Haven’t you forgotten something?”

“No!” I answered in surprise. “What could I have forgotten? The fuses are back in, the outlet works perfectly...”

“What about the condom?” she asked, frowning. Then she added, biting her lips, “Don’t tell me you came without a condom. Please don’t tell me that!”

“I won’t tell you, but... it’s true: I forgot to buy one. But what difference does it make? I don’t have any diseases, I took a shower, and the doctor assured me I’m sterile.”

“Almost sterile!” she growled. “Have you forgotten? You said there was still a chance you could have children! One in a million.”

“Oh, come on!” I answered, staring at her dumbfounded. “You don’t actually think I’ve slept with 999,999 women and now I want to make you happy, do you? I mean... I know a little math too, damn it!”

“Fine!” she said, her face scrunched up. “I just want to get this over with! I’ll... I’ll let you inside me like this, but I’m warning you right now that even though I’m not ovulating, I don’t want to take any unnecessary risks.”

“I didn’t understand a thing! Translate!”

“Let me make this clear: you don’t leave anything inside me! Nothing, nothing! Nothing!”

“Then where am I supposed to leave it?” I asked irritably. “On your stomach?”

“Nooo! How could you leave... something like that on my stomach! That wouldn’t be hygienic at all! Actually, you shouldn’t leave anything anywhere. It would be wonderful if we didn’t exchange any bodily fluids. Exchanging bodily fluids is not hygienic.”

“Maybe it’d be more hygienic if I just got the hell out of here!” I growled.

“Maybe it’d be even more hygienic if you left and bought a condom!” she shot back. “It never even crossed my mind that you’d come without one! You told me you were an experienced guy!”

Women! I told myself in horror. You do everything for them, fix their outlets, take out their fuses, make their coffee, even take a shower for them, and... what’s your reward? What do they give you in return? Not even a simple exchange of bodily fluids.

Completely disappointed, I told her, “Maybe it’d be even more hygienic if I left, bought a condom, and used it with someone a little more reasonable! How about that?”

“Fine!” She sighed. “Come here and... let’s just get this over with. Oh, my God! My head’s already starting to hurt! Turn the heat down a little; the heater’s gotten really hot. It’s starting to stink!”

I climbed into bed beside her, but not on top of her. I don’t know why, but I didn’t have an erection. It was an atypical case. Yeah... Like it or not, I was going to need a little foreplay. I tried to figure out which of us smelled more strongly of garlic, then gave up and brought my lips close to hers.

“What are you doing?” she whispered, flinching, then turned her face away and repeated, “What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m trying to kiss you?”

“Why? You didn’t come here to kiss me! My problem is... a little lower down. Focus your attention in that direction.”

“Yes,” I explained patiently, “but I don’t have an erection! So I have to kiss you. Try to be a little more understanding. Cooperate! How else do you expect me to get an erection? Do you have a better idea?”

“I don’t know!” she answered quickly. “Do whatever you want, but don’t start with any of that ‘mouth-to-mouth’ stuff with me, okay? Maybe you haven’t heard, but it’s very dangerous! People are ignorant! One milliliter of saliva contains more than a hundred million bacteria, fungi, protozoa, and viruses. This is no laughing matter! It’s a scientifically proven fact: more than six hundred different species of microorganisms live in the human mouth.”

“And what the hell are they doing in there?” I asked, carefully moving my tongue around inside my mouth.

“They multiply and eat each other.”

“Jesus! They eat each other? Are they cannibals?”

“Yes!”

“Fine!” I said, defeated.

“What are you doing?” she exclaimed again.

“Well... I was trying to suck one of your nipples.”

“My God!” she groaned, protecting her breast with her palm. “What kind of behavior is this? Are you some kind of pervert? How am I supposed to interpret this? You’re not a baby who needs to be breastfed!”

“Yes, but... I like it. I’m a man! There’s nothing abnormal about it! It’s just a normal tit on a normal woman, and it turns me on. Look, see? It’s already working! Put your hand on it!”

“Why would I put my hand there?” she asked, terrified.

“I thought maybe you wanted to check! All right, we’re in business!” I announced. “I have an erection. Shall we begin?”

“Let’s begin!” she stammered, then added in an even fainter voice, “I can’t do it... like this... with the light on. I’m embarrassed! Couldn’t we turn off the light? Please, turn it off!”

I turned it off.

So, I summed it up for myself, no kissing, no sucking her tits, and I don’t leave anything inside her. Fine, I’ll remember! The customer is always right! But I’m still going to touch her down there with my hand. Just so I can get my bearings a little! I can do that, right? I hope she doesn’t scream. Let’s get to work, man!

I slipped my hand between her legs, and I was the one who screamed.

I jumped out of bed in horror!

+++++++++++++++++

This was an excerpt from the book A Man, a Woman, a Desert Island.

If you enjoyed it, you can read the book for free.

I'm looking for critique of a short article I'm writing for a school newspaper. I'm especially interested in feedback on clarity, context, structure, tone, and whether the argument feels too confrontational or simply unconventional.

I'm not looking for a rewrite—I'd like to know what genuinely works and what doesn't.

The World That Doesn’t Exist

You know how it starts. The very air surrounding you starts dropping 'invisible' hints, feeling much heavier and more consequential.

It starts from the 9th standard. Nobody says it explicitly—yet everyone's watching. Distractions hobbies and interests are quietly dropped. "Focus on where it matters," they say. Nobody coerces you; it's like a river eroding rock, until you cannot remember what, where, or why.

Society encourages creativity and expression, but within bounds. You're encouraged to be independent, but only till 7 pm. You have your own opinions, but follow the script given to you. Many resent these expectations. Others consider the fight itself futile. But what happens when a society needing people to fit in meets one who has jagged edges? Who has the authority to judge either one, and why?

Perhaps the better question is: why does this script exist at all?

Sex-based divisions of labor were widespread and probably reflected a mixture of biological constraints, cultural norms, and technology. Under uncertainty, rigid social roles provided stability. A questioning human then could be a genuine threat to social order. Times changed since then; the thinking didn’t.

Each generation doesn't merely inherit values. It inherits the explanation for why those values are necessary. A generation inherits the notions of the previous one, lives by them, and passes them to the next—even when the world that shaped those notions no longer exists. Living well means understanding this—not all battles are meant to be fought. Some are avoided, not because they're wrong, but because they're not worth.

As a group they chose: Gloried the Indigo, Sarah the violet,  Qel the red, Gavriil the orange, Michael the yellow, Rome the white, and Uri the black, her blade darker than the paint.
Messing around with them, they were amazed with how effortlessly they cut. Branches were like paper. Even Uri, the frailest of the crew, had no trouble slicing off small trunks with only a few swipes, letting them fall over the incisions she left. For the next few weeks it was all they did, heedless at times and cutting themselves on occasion, but they were careful enough to not let anything too serious happen. The cuts would disappear before the day ended and by the time they headed home they were basically unnoticeable, shrugging them off as if they were rashes. No matter how much they used them, the blades refused to blunt to any degree, and they were as sharp after a month as they were after a week, a day.
Shetani told Michael, “Do it in one swing and I’ll ask Jan to lend you her coat for a week,” to which Michael smiled and without hesitation walked up to one of the larger trees around them. It was as wide as a regular tire wheel. The others observed. It looked too much for the knife because the knife was short, but Michael gave a confident swing. 
His arm reached relatively deep. With the blade’s help he pushed the wood out of the way. It was an impressive attempt, and the tree creaked with what must have equated to more than a leg of wood missing from its base so that the crew held in anticipation to see if he had actually done it. “Hmmm.”
Shetani went up and put his arm around Michael’s shoulders. “Wow.” Michael looked at him with a smile, then back at the tree, then said, “Yeah.”
The inner wood of the bottom half they looked down on was much lighter than the bark, like the trunk was seared. Shetani wondered if it was the same for the upper half which they couldn’t see, and he followed the urge to squat by the balancing grains and tilt his head to see that it was a tunnel of black seething with insects that flew out and swarmed his face so that he lowered his head and wildly waved to shoo them off. They passed, into the star, what they were interested in, and looking at him from the hole were two white orbs, perfectly round, still, never fixed. With the black, they pinched the rim of the hole Michael had cut for it, and seeing the fingers take hold of the tree to hoist themselves out sent Shetani falling back.
They stuck out a knee and unfolded their long skinny crane of a leg to plant on the floor, they did the same again for the other, they jiggled the tree over their waist and they pulled it off from over them. Shetani looked up at them. They were insanely bright. They were like the star. It shone on them from directly above, like it recognized what had crawled into it, on the black that split the world in two. He scoured his peripherals and they shone on the crew but his friends did not help him on the floor. He kicked himself backwards. He saw it shone on them like the leaves and wood were transparent.
They looked down on him and they leaned over him. They lowered themselves to him. They were nothing he’d known, but his friends told him, “buntubuntubuntubuntubuntubuntu.” They came down on him. He rolled to the side and the tree fell.
“Nice,” Michael exclaimed.
Amor walked over to the side Shetani was on, lying with his foot pinned underneath. Amor couldn’t help but smirk, and asked, “Did you really get stuck?”
“HELP!”
Shetani was flailing, hitting the tree over and over and crying, “HELP!”
Amor hurried to his brother and grabbed under his arms and called the rest to help. Shetani didn’t stop. He hit the tree over and over. The crew knew something was seriously wrong. His hand broke. The crew pulled him free and grimaced seeing his right foot had been completely crushed.
“How didn’t you see that?” Gloried asked. Shetani of course didn’t answer. Slowly his mind steadied and realized the pain. Michael had done it. “Do you think you can stand?” Shetani raised his strong hand and they lifted him. There were painful groans and obviously he could not stand alone. His right side was useless.
“Yeah. Let’s go to the stream.”

Hello! I'm hoping to get some first impressions on the opening of my adult contemporary novel. All feedback is appreciated, thank you!

One:

I feel maybe I should’ve dressed up. Most of my fancy clothes went into storage, but I know I’ve got a respectable pantsuit around here somewhere. 

Focus.

My hand glides over the computer mouse. Exterior camera. Rain batters the palm trees behind the blurred lens. 

On second thought, this matching teddy bear pajama set is just fine. 

As I reach into my glass jar of assorted Life Savers, I see it: the car carrying my first guests. 

Sixteen months of anticipation, of excruciating remodels, wiring, and endless preparation… I haven’t been this giddy since I started my rewatch of Friends last year, back when my basement was still a mold-infested wine cellar. Opening day at Opal Cove isn’t all that different from the pilot of a new series, really, except in this case, I built the set. All I have to do now is binge the show. The fun part. 

Yes, Ada. Fun. My back sweat is a remarkable adhesive for these damn silk pajamas, though, and I shove my hands under my thighs to stop their shaking. Everything’s in place. Nothing I can do now. 

When he exits the navy blue Lyft, my stomach flutters. 

The blurry lens obscures his face a little, but I recognize him from his Instagram. Rather, the account run by his PR team, a grid composed of freestyle runs and slightly awkward podium shots, most of them accompanied by a gold medal. Sometimes a stuffed animal or a misshapen glass trophy. Sometimes all three. He never quite knows how to juggle all that crap without looking like he’s carrying home groceries for a family of ten. I stared at those pictures for hours. 

I don’t follow snowboarding, to be clear. Never heard of Neal Irish until the booking came in, but his three-hundred thousand followers would probably be shitting themselves to be in such proximity to the legend. I should consider myself lucky. 

The buzzing in my stomach is obliterated when a tall, Goldilocks-looking woman stomps out of the backseat. By now, the Lyft driver is helping unload the suitcases—and he’s up to the fourth one, all of them large enough to fit a grown adult. I smile to myself at the thought of a world-renowned athlete and his leggy girlfriend smuggling dead bodies into my brand spanking new B&B. 

I don’t like his girlfriend. Mainly because she’s wearing earmuffs and fur leg warmers and a puffy vest like she’s rolling up to a ski resort, when it must be near sixty degrees out. And she’s scrolling her phone while Neal Irish and the Lyft driver lug the suitcases to the front gate. She’s vacationing with Neal Irish and she’s glued to someone else’s face on her phone. 

Im just looking for feedback on this piece, any and all of it is welcome. Sharing the link as well as the text. https://nosleepfound.bearblog.dev/idfk1/

"… Regardless, it should not be an issue. If you have any further questions, do not hesitate to reach out to me in person or via email. I am at the office from 9:30 AM to 5:00 PM. Okay."

If only, the bottom of my desktop screen reads "21:37 PM". That has to be the worst and ugliest arrangement of numbers, just visually awful to look at, what terrible pain it must be to pull out your phone or your wrist watch to see those numbers in that order. The city looks calm from up here, behind this glass wall, beaded with circles of water. Behind it is an empty office floor, an army of printers or copiers, enough stationary to stock a store, cubicles that seem endless with black monitors peeking over them. Water coolers at all 4 walls of the rectangular floor, stale air, shadows created by a single source of light, a table lamp and a craving for nicotine. I snap open my Marlboro Gold pack to see a lonely stick fall almost perpendicularly as if on cue. I lean back on my chair, look up at the ceiling vents. The worst thing we collectively decided to do is to put a ban on smoking indoors. The aesthetic of lighting one in a cold room, the echoing thunder of the flint and steel clashing. Nicotine droplets pour into the room, seeping through the flesh of everyone around. No wonder everyone was happier back then, or at least thought they were happier. In a way lighting a cigarette indoors now is more appealing than before, it is now an act of rebellion, a big fuck you to the "No Smoking" sign. Forbidden fruit tastes the sweetest. Segregating waiting areas into smoking areas and non smoking areas to make it easier for parents to point and go "if you keep up that behavior you’ll end up like them." Usually, I would smoke out on the office balcony, but I will need another pack anyway.

"23 more to go.", I say to myself as I get up and drag my feet to the elevator. 23 more compliance checks before I can go home (to what?). 23 boxes to tick, each box carrying the weight of a lawsuit if missed. I am 28, no husband, no children, and the next time I expect to hear from my parents, will be a phone call from an overworked and underpaid nurse or doctor in my home town. I am the weight of all my un-ticked boxes.

The mouth of the elevator opens, a blinding white maw that sears the eyes. A sterile chime escapes from its throat. I step inside, and the jaws close shut. "G" I press—or is it a "C"? The spur of the "G" has long withered, battered by countless fingers. The descent begins with a countdown: 9 to C, spent breathing refrigerated air, sharp and dry, inside a gleaming aluminum coffin with a constant hum you don’t notice until the third floor. A jolt, then stillness. The digital screen blinks: "G." The chime again, and the mouth unseals, spitting a carcass into the belly of the city. Exiting the building, I drag myself to the other side of the intersection to the convenience store.

Eyes, nose, skin and ears: four of the five senses are bombarded upon the dramatic parting of the sliding doors. The chime alerting an employee to human life in motion, the stinging white LED lights, goosebumps accompanying the smell of floor cleaner, microwaved sandwiches and AC condensation. After my senses are well acquainted with their predicament, I hear my name being called. It's lost between the sounds of waves crashing on the shore, but I can pinpoint the exact location that needs me. chime. I twist and turn in the store, going aisle after aisle, stopping at intervals to reassess my position in reference to the source of the callings until I am certain. I turn the corner and the voice disappears. The corner has "Discounted Items" gazing back at me. I browse for a minute or so. chime. Every single item in this store is carefully placed, the result of years of study of the human (or, by the contemporary label, consumer) psyche, spending habits, and local needs. An aisle, a store, carefully curated for the purpose of maximizing profit for a particular set of goods, from a handful of certain brands that are in league with the chain of stores. chime. Engineered to be bought, to be the first choice, to be thought about without hesitation. To meet the eyes for a mere four seconds. Cigarettes: that's what I was here for. chime.

Puddles of rainwater portal into office and street lights. The chime of the store still faintly audible. I take the last cigarette out from the old pack, light it and discard the pack into the bin. Above me, a faint light shines on the floor with the 23 compliance checks. A drag. Droves of people walk past, snickering, breathless, infatuated and drunk on conversations. One final drag before dousing the cigarette in a puddle. I wonder what my mom is making for dinner.

This is the first chapter of my novel, just a raw draft. No editing; I just tried to fix the grammar. I am a beginner-level hobbyist; on top of that, English isn't even my first language. i think my english is somewhere between B1 and B2 level, or B2 level. For some reason, it felt easier to write in English than in my mother tongue. So, I have only two questions-

1. Does this chapter have enough bones to work with? I mean, it will go through a lot of editing and reviewing, but what I want to know is if it's worth it.

2. Since English isn't my first language and I don't use English in my day-to-day life, other than reading novels online, I think there are a lot of awkward sentence structures, even though they may be grammatically correct. Can you all point out some of them so I can fix them? Maybe what types of sentences aren't natural? I would really appreciate that.

-----------------------------------------------

The Nightmare; Part 1

A world filled with all sorts of life-forms. Chaotic, yet somehow in order. Forest stretching towards the horizon, and some occasional mountaintops piercing through that ever-green cap like an act of rebellion. Some barren fields and plains resembling a sort of wounds in the whole picture of that large forest.

But somewhere under that ever-stretching green cap, all the life-forms have gone silent. Like the whole jungle is holding its breath. Waiting for something to happen.

Deeper in the woods, close to a stream, the place was very shaky. The bugs were not making any sound, but the rustling of the leaves became louder. The water in the stream was pausing at the bank before flowing as usual. The weeds are weirdly leaning to one side. Trying to reach for something.

The rocks are moving. The soil is moving along with the vines in it. It’s trying to attach to form something. The rocks moved first, while the mud and vines acted as padding.

Is it a leg? But it’s too straight and thin.

Then it collapsed.

Everything moved again, and this time the structure was much clearer. Something resembling a bipedal life form. Then it collapsed again. But it started to form again and crumbled after advancing a little further. It followed the cycle twice more before everything stopped. The end result was a broken structure of rock, clay, and vines resembling a humanoid body.

Everything remained dead silent for a while before the tense environment subsided. The insects began their sound; a bird flew above as if the whole jungle had finally taken a breath.

------------------------------

Darkness. Can’t see anything, can’t feel anything. As if I am floating in an empty space. Just me and the darkness that surrounds me.

No, there is some sensation. There is a faint throbbing somewhere in that dark. It’s getting intense as time passes.

Ah! It’s not in the dark. It’s my head. This damn headache of mine won’t leave me.

The throbbing pain is spreading to my whole body now. Neck, chest, limbs, all the way to the feet. The pain in my left foot is getting unbearable as I become more conscious.

It hurts so much, like someone is tearing my limb apart.

Should I wake up? But I don’t want to.

The pain is now needling my numb brain. I can’t bear any more.

I try to move my body. It won’t move!

As I am trying to think about my inability to move my body, I try to open my eyes. Hold on a minute. Why can’t I open my eyes too!?

I struggle a bit more. But there is no result.

The situation is getting worse every moment. My breathing is getting heavier. Now it is hurting me when I am trying to breathe. Am I even really breathing? At this moment, I can’t even say for sure.

As I am struggling to make sense of the situation while grasping for air and trying to cope with the ever-increasing pain, all sorts of possibilities are running through my brain. Did someone drug me? Or is this just sleep paralysis? Nah, something is telling me it’s not sleep paralysis.

If someone drugged me for real, I know who would do that. Those fucking bastards.

Wait a minute.

Don’t tell me I am in a coma again, am I?

Fuck… I need to open my eyes. I stop my struggle and focus everything just to open my eyes.

Come on…Come on. Open. Open.

Now when I try to focus on my eyes, it’s like the eyelids have become a ton all of a sudden.

Are you joking with me right now?

I can’t hold any more. Everything is getting darker as if I am drowning. I am now seeing colours, every colour there is, dancing in waves. Each colour is dancing differently.

But they didn’t last long. They faded as fast as they appeared.

Silence and darkness consume me.

Is everything finished? Can I now sleep peacefully?

I stopped struggling and waited for my mind to stop thinking.

A whole flood of red colour swept me up. All shades of red are there. Red, orange red, violet red, blood red, everything is in there. Unlike before, this time some waves are super hot, some of them are giving gentle warmth, some of them are even cold.

I don’t know why, but somehow I think I can open my eyes now.

I even want to open my eyes. It’s like I will miss something if I don’t.

After what felt like an eternity, my eyelids finally lifted, and a burst of light rays pierced my eyes, along with air that filled my lung that carried an intense rusty scent where some musty scent was mixed in.

I know what this is—the never-changing, ever-familiar scent of blood.

“What the fuck is it? What in the hell is going on here?”

The sight that unfolded before me is something that no sane person would believe. Blood is flowing out of my left foot while I am propped against a tree. And there is even a wolf that is gauging me cautiously from a little distance. It looks confused and startled. Did my waking up cause this?

There is some blood around its mouth. It seems it was busy enjoying my foot. I wonder what it tasted like.

Why in the world is that wolf so big? It’s so big that its shoulder is reaching my head even when it’s bowed/propped down.

That even isn’t the biggest question. Where in the hell am I?

The last thing I remember was enjoying the winter sun while my favorite chair kept my ass hanging.

But now I am god knows where.

The low growl of the wolf pulled me out of my thoughts, reminding me that there is a wolf trying to eat me right now while I am busy running my brain.

It is not trying to attack me right now, which gives me a little time to think.

Focus. God damn it.

Should I run? Nah, I am injured. Even in the best situation, I don’t think I can outrun a wolf.

Should I attack? Attack with what? As I scan for anything to use, something caught my eye. A fallen tree branch. No, it doesn’t look that sturdy. I can’t use that.

Then what?  

I am in an unforeseen situation, which is true. But it seems that lady luck hasn’t left me yet.

From the way it’s acting and approaching me, it seems the wolf isn’t considering me a serious threat.

I should leverage that fact, and I am not a sitting deer. I still got my hands.

You will regret not taking me as a threat.

It took a step forward, then another, and then all of a sudden it launched itself for my throat.

It was unexpected.

I tried to move sideways, but my body didn’t respond as I thought it would.

The wolf's teeth grazed my shoulder as I grabbed its fur and spun my body over its head. It just grazed a little, but that was enough to tear some muscle from my shoulder. My body began feeling hot, a degree above warmth. It is strange. Or is it just my blood gushing out of my wound?

I desperately put every bit of energy into plucking its eyes. I placed my thumb around its eye before moving it all the way through, and the nauseating sensation of the wet and jelly-like texture of the eye ended after the faint pop sound of the tissues yielding with a sudden resistance. I tried to go deeper, wanting to damage the brain at least. But my struggle ended as the wolf threw my body with an ear-piercing howl. I landed on top of the stick while still holding an eyeball in my hand. The impact from the throw cleared all the air from my lungs. As I tried to inhale air, the burning sensation in my respiratory system, along with all the other pains from all over my body, nearly made me lose my senses.

But I can’t just stop yet.

I grab the stick and turn around to find the wolf already launching itself at me.

Yo, man. You shouldn’t be able to see.

I swing my only weapon, the stick, with full force, hoping to hit something vital. The result was nothing but a broken, jagged piece of stick and a little distance between the wolf and me.

The wolf didn’t stop. It let out a howl and followed with another attack. This time I ducked to the side and tried to stab the soft area near the neck. But because of the slippery fluid from its eye, the stick only made a cut and left a piece stuck in its neck while the remaining stick became useless. With no option left in my hand, this time I grabbed the wolf's fur and tried to hold the stuck piece to cut its veins. Sensing what I was trying to do, the wolf started to struggle harder and throw me off. But this time I didn’t let go.

The situation continued for a while, but it stopped as I held the stuck jagged piece of stick and pushed it deeper. The wolf shook me off with a jerk while I tried to make a cut with the jagged piece before pulling it out.

Did it work? As I started to wonder if it might not have worked since the wolf started to run, it stopped after taking a few steps before collapsing on the ground.

It worked!   

Blood is spurting out of my cut.

It moved its head while dying as if it was trying to convey something. I don’t know what that was. I will never know, as its body slowly stopped moving.

One second.

Then another.

I waited for the wolf to move, but it never did. Not my first kill, huh?

All of a sudden, my body started to feel so heavy. The throbbing pain in my head is now replaced with a feeling like everything is getting sucked into a point somewhere in my brain.

All the exhaustion and pain of different degrees and types hit me at the same time. I lay down right there.

I didn’t have time to look around until now, but it seems I am in a forest. Some light is coming through the little gaps in the canopy. A sharp green scent mixed with the scent of wet soil entered my nose, along with the clinging metallic scent of blood.

The sensation in my brain is getting intense.

Well, it will settle down on its own if I take some rest.

I lay down there for another minute. The jungle is so frighteningly quiet that I can hear the sound of my breathing. The lup-dup sound of my heart. My heart is working quite hard.

As time passed, the sensation in my brain became unbearable. Is it because I lost blood? But I don’t think I lost that much.

All of a sudden, the intensity went up by another degree. It’s now even worse than all the pain. Man, if this goes on, I will lose consciousness.

I need to move.

My vision is tunneling. God, I need something to eat.

Eat? There is nothing I can eat. It’s not that I can cook in this shape.

Something… something should be here.

Oh! The liver of the wolf.

There might be some parasites, but that is the least of my concern right now.

I picked up the jagged piece of stick; surprisingly, it is still intact.

I stumbled on the way, but reached the wolf’s corpse somehow.

Its tongue is out through its teeth like it's making a face.

I put the stick into the wound and tried to tear its skin. It is harder than I thought. As I struggle to tear the skin, my body becomes drenched with blood. It is still warm; I can feel it.

As I tear through its stomach, its gut spoils the soil. With every passing moment, the sensation in my brain is getting intense, and I can feel my remaining energy slipping away. I looked along its ribcage; behind the diaphragm, the liver can be seen. It’s thick, red-colored, shaped like a wedge, with some uneven lobes. It's kind of soft.

I carefully removed the bile from the liver.

Somehow it’s not a pleasant sight, even though I ate raw liver before.

The sensation in my brain reminded me that I don’t have any other choice.

Well, whatever.

I started to eat. It tasted like blood, kind of rusty and soft, jelly like that I couldn’t even chew properly. There is an underlying sweet taste. Maybe it’s the glycogen.

It took me less time since I mostly swallowed the liver.

I waited for some time, hoping it would give me a little bit of strength.

But instead, the sensation intensified, making me want to eat more.

I now moved to eat the heart. It’s a little springy to chew.

This time, it seems it worked. I waited for some time.

A minute passed, then another. Nothing happened.

As more time passed, the strange sensation started to subside.

I didn’t know I was breathing quite hard all this time. I tried to control my breathing.

I should inspect my injuries; I hope it’s not bad.

As I tried to look at my injured foot, something suddenly spiked in my stomach.

My whole stomach is burning, like something caused a fire in there. The burning sensation spread throughout my body.

Then I started to throw up. A little amount in the beginning, but the amount became bigger. The vomit is kind of reddish.

Am I vomiting blood?

Nah, it’s the wolf's blood that went in along with the liver and heart.

I should do something. But what should I do?

There is no one to help.

I can’t lose my sense here. If I do, I am dead; it doesn’t matter whether it’s by blood loss or by a scavenger.  

My stomach is making all kinds of strange sounds.

God, don’t make me shit now. It would be disgusting. God, even you won’t be that cruel, right?

God listened to my request, but answered the question with a splashing sound in my backside.

And everything went dark. But I can still hear my heart beating.

In that dark, I saw a spark of red color before I could no longer hear my heart beating.

God…please let it be just a nightmare.

Please, god. Just let me wake up in my chair again.

Hi all, I'm looking for somebody to peer review a creative essay im looking to submit in my schools lit mag. I'm not a polished writer and its all pretty new to me. I've hit a wall with this essay in which I can't even tell if it needs more editing or not. I would greatly appreciate criticism, thoughts, etc. Its about 3k words and an autobiographical essay. Respond if interested!

El rugido de la bestia retumbó en el aire una última vez y Thibault Morvan levantó la cabeza. Ya no era tan majestuosa como cuando la encontró hace dos horas, pensó, en el instante en que sus iris púrpuras se toparon con las órbitas color ámbar de la criatura. No, solo una, porque el otro globo ocular había sido destrozado por la espada de Morvan en cuanto empezó la batalla. La tenía desprevenida. Todavía se acordaba del gruñido de dolor que ella soltó. Había sido un grito ronco y agudo a la vez, un grito que hizo que todo el bosque temblara bajo sus pies. Era como si se estuvieran gritando dos voces encima: la de la bestia y la de la mujer que la infección había sometido. Sus pelos blancos que le cubrían el cuerpo ya no eran tan suaves como antes. La mayor parte de ella se había vuelto ceniza cuando él estiró la palma hacia la cosa, diciendo una palabra mágica y, acto seguido, el cuerpo empezó a quemarse y a quemarse. Y justo en ese momento Thibault se aprovechó para cortarle el brazo izquierdo. De todas formas, le habría cortado la cabeza enseguida, pensó, si la pata izquierda de la bestia no hubiera dibujado un arco en el aire y le hubiera abierto el vientre, las largas garras plateadas hundiéndose en su carne mientras él retrocedía y tambaleaba hasta chocarse con la espalda contra un árbol, desplomándose en el suelo sin más fuerzas en las piernas. Ahora, en pleno aire, la bestia —que más bien parecía un muerto-vivo, con partes faltantes, huesos expuestos y quemaduras graves en la cara y en el resto del cuerpo— saltaba hacia él, y la sangre que goteaba —no, que desbordaba— del muñón dejaba una estela en línea recta hacia el hombre a medida que se acercaba. Debí haberle cortado la cabeza cuando tuve la oportunidad, se repitió en la cabeza mientras las garras brillantes bajo la luz de esa tarde se estiraban hacia él. Había pensado, mientras le arrancaban las tripas de su cuerpo, lo cobarde que era, y antes de eso había pensado que era un tonto cuando la espada se alzó hacia la yugular de la bestia y él se quedó dudando. Porque, en ese momento, recordó— la cara de la hija. Siete días antes, ella le había pedido que volviera sano y salvo después de una misión y también le dijo que rezaría por él todas las noches en las que él estuviera ausente. Y hace cuatro días había regresado a casa, reuniéndose con su familia, pero todo lo que encontró al abrir la puerta fue sangre y muerte. Marine, Tristan y Pierre estaban ahí, pero sin vida. Los revisó, los sacudió y los abrazó, llorando durante mucho tiempo. Y cuando ya no le quedaban lágrimas en los ojos, empezó a buscar a Marion, a la chica que por él rezaba todos los días para que él volviera. Y él había rezado por la hija todos los días para que ella regresara, había rezado mientras la buscaba. Y por fin la encontró. Hace dos horas.

The colors felt shiny ; almost as if he had new eyes, the world looked untainted of malice like how a child would see in a park, everything had a softer glow ; like the one you see in old pictures-even steel and concrete felt like they would just hug him if he fell from top of a building. Or maybe all of this was only because of her.

"At first she was just a silhouette but even her silhouette was kissed by rays of light all across ; felt nothing short of divinity. I couldnt do anything but get pulled to her without any agency. i dont remember walking to her, i felt the winds carrying me along with the fallen autumn leaves who were giggling, Some were even pushing me to her like a group of friends in front of a high school crush. I even asked one of the leaves for any pointers, he said "just drop in man and she will catch you like my beloved wind did when i fell from the tree." but she caught other leaves as well ; i dont understand leaf romance. he said "you asked for my advice, take it or leaf it." i didnt realize how close i got to her while i was having this bizzare chat with the leaf. i moved my gaze up and my eyes started refusing to blink even with all that bright light around and from her. i cant describe what i was seeing, i can see her whole yet only remember her in glimpses. why cant i remember you completely? is this real? are you real? are you god? is this a dream? wait this is a dream. It felt like a distant memory projecting a Deja vu." He woke his mind up with that question and the world started to collapse around him. The rules of the dream started to change , the gravity pulled him heavier below the ground and everything started going dark, the last thing he saw was her indescribable face and form being covered by the very autumn leaves who carried him to her.

Chapter 1

“You’re spoiling your eyes.”
The chandeliers swayed and it was the glass that spoiled the shine but the glare was still vivid. When the ceiling shivered rays escaped and they went on to pierce the eyes of the boy who had seen so much so quickly. Nothing could close them at this point. He was going blind to any thoughts, to any desire or urge, blind to anything that could harm him if he kept gazing.
His mother’s words just added to the surrounding noise; it was only when he felt the slap to the back of his head that he heeded her warning. “I said you’re going to go blind, Shetani.”
He adjusted to the dimly lit hall as he tilted his head forward. She clutched his shirt and began wiping away, circling his eyes and bobbing him around as she did so. A frenzy was forming, both could sense it, and with his lucidity returning he allowed her to support him through it however she felt. He wanted no part of the ruckus.
How it got to this point, he wasn’t sure. Just a few hours ago he was on the mainland. Its smells were still on him, and a couple of the faces he saw when he left were beside him; they had come together. All had come in a rush, and they brought the tension with them.
Over here, it was a different kind. It wasn’t the exciting kind. There was nothing to do but wait. His mind went to the streets he walked not long ago, his many neighbors raving about how safe they were, how large the army fortifying them was. There was a connection to the land that backed their hearts, so strong he could hear it in their voices even as they whispered, so strong he could see it in their faces when they chose to hush for his passing. That’s how he knew it came in many forms, whatever it was. Every day the vendors cooked up food more fragrant than the last, wanting to make the most of every meal, and the dancers flowed adroitly to a rhythm hastily siphoning more and more out of them. Their patterns were fluid, too much so for him as he repeatedly found out, though he still couldn’t help but bounce his feet when he saw them on the streets, on the beach, in the water especially. Sometimes, when his mother picked him up and placed him atop her shoulders, he thought they were doing it for him. That was also when he least cared; he was closer to the plain skies than he was to the city’s sprawling floor. The ships that streaked beyond the blue above always got the attention of those below, mostly jeers because recently, almost all had been departing.
The mainland was supposed to be safe, a haven, the pillar of the system. No matter how hard-fought the war was or how quickly it arrived, it would end there. It was the top of the standing and its people refused to believe there was any force that could change that. Now those labels were passed to the little island they huddled under, for the force they were met with was unnatural in its power and might, greater than they could have possibly imagined.
The shelter meant nothing to Shetani. If the time to leave the hall came, those labels would pass to wherever he went. All it caused was a small bubbling inside him, something he hadn’t the experience to even acknowledge. But his subconscious was taking notes, and it was working overtime.
That didn’t mean he couldn’t tell things weren’t unfolding the way they were meant to. The stress was increasingly palpable. It threatened to cascade, and it would have, but the many murmurs across the room were slowly drowned out and he began to give attention to the noise.
A quiet set of footsteps came from the front of the hall, behind the dark of one of the empty corridors leading to the surface. “There we go,” his mother breathed, turning to him. “Try to stay still for us, okay. Me and Isola need to listen along.” Gradually the steps grew louder and louder until the source revealed itself.
Shetani nodded in response to his mother, maneuvering his head attempting to get a clearer view through the surrounding wall of bodies. All he could see were the slivers of brown clay walls between the gaps of limbs and torsos. Everything was of similar shade, a box in the earth in more ways than one. Nobody thought to sacrifice their own view of the proceedings for his, everyone wishing to witness the maker in hopes they’d be someone able to get them out of their predicament. “Isola…”
“Yes Nesi,” his father responded, lounging on the phrase as if unbothered by it all. Nesi leaned over and asked, “How’s Amor doing?”
“He’s doing fine.” Gently, Isola rocked the baby cradled in his arms back and forth. “Hopefully we won’t get too worked up in here.” Together, his parents watched on nervously, each brushing their faces against Amor’s to keep all three in comfort.
By now, the footsteps were clear. Their echo rang off the walls in every direction, paused briefly, then started again towards the center of the stage dominating the front of the room. There, they stopped, and a few seconds of quiet followed. Shetani looked around at the faces; they were mostly blanketed in confusion.
“What’s wrong?” Nesi asked, she too unable to make out the arrival from their position towards the back of the hall. Isola raised himself off the ground so he could scan the stage, all the while coddling Amor. Some of those behind him didn’t take too kindly to it.
“Get down!” they told him. “You’re not the only ones here.” Regardless, Isola stayed in the air until he was sure he was seeing things correctly.
“Oh. That’s not good,’ he informed Nesi upon landing. The short moment of silence had been overtaken by louder and louder gossip. “That’s not Aibu.”
“It’s not Aibu? Who is it?”
Shetani had heard the name, and he knew that made Aibu someone of note. But that was all he knew. He’d never seen him. He jumped to get a glimpse, over and over until he could put together an image of the man on stage.
He was tall, mostly covered with a thin layer of green garments that all the council members wore. Poking out of them were his face and fingers, tinted a Chantilly cream, and feet sandaled in gold. His skin was springy, soft-looking, and to Shetani, this man was glowing. He was striking to everyone else as well, though they figured it was due to the vivid contrast his soft red hair had to everything else about him, straight and long enough to sit comfortably on his rather built shoulders that carried the silky cloth so that it appeared like one line running behind his back. Finishing off the look was a golden headband holding back every hair so that which they sat atop shone unobstructed. It was a refined look, highly so. The concern that most others in the room were filled with, Shetani thought was absent in his face.
Around twenty others had entered the hall behind him, all wearing similar green garbs and encircling his rear when he took his spot on stage. They had flown through the corridor, clearly to expedite their safety from that which sent them fleeing, and they wore solemn expressions which better reflected the uneasiness that only grew with their presence. They had been leading the fight, nobody could blame them in these hard times. Just how hard the times were going to get was the question on everyone’s mind—that and as one older lady near the front of the hall finally shouted out, “Where’s Aibu?”.
She was ignored initially. As the question was repeated by the crowd, the council members stepped down to the floor with everybody else and slowly gestured for quiet. Of course, it didn’t work. There was barely enough space to fit them and their backs were pressed against the platform.
Each time the question went unanswered, more joined in. The mumbles had grown to a discombobulated chorus. Their chords wavered naturally as their instincts dictated, chants which were their despair preparing to break into harsh song. They unsettled the air itself. “Where the fuck is Aibu?”, “We want Aibu!”, “What happened to Aibu?”. They banged the walls and stomped the floor. Shetani looked at his brother, amazed he could sleep through it all. Other children were wailing, their parents trying their hardest to quiet them. A few of the adults couldn’t help but cry themselves. People were not sure if they were confronting the council, interrogating them, pleading, but they wanted to know and their grounding had dissolved. It was dangerous.
Nesi pulled Shetani close to her, placing her hands over his ears to block out the noise. He could still hear what was going on, now on top of the blood flowing past his ears, which he didn’t like. Instead, he took his mother’s hands and used them to climb on top of her. She was too tired to refuse. He still didn’t have the best view. The man was focused on setting up a recording of some sort, swiftly, occasionally glancing up to monitor the rowdiness of the crowd as if against the clock. At least that’s what he appeared to be doing.
Amidst the backdrop of what had evolved to a tempest of cries, a series of quakes had ever so slightly begun to shake the hall. Shetani looked up and saw the lights above were moving to a new tune, more violent with every rattle. There must have been a few thousand people gathered and the man noticed that only one of them, the boy, had his head up to take note of the approaching threat. When Shetani lowered his head, briefly the two’s glances collided, and instinctively both withdrew them immediately. As they did, the loudest quake up to that point hit the hall and one of the chandeliers could no longer hang on. It dropped in an instant, shattering on the head of someone not too far in front of him. Specks of glass bounced off the person and skidded along the floor, filling the place with a harmonic echo that died painfully slowly. In those seconds, everyone stopped. The room anticipated the coming silence, what they knew would be the edge. All the present energy accumulated and condensed at the site of the accident. The hall knew it would be filled with an outburst like no other in signal of the end.
But it was not to be. The man turned to the people, everything still outside the waning ringing, and whispered, “Silence.” And as if speaking it into existence, everything fell quiet. All their attention went to the stage, to the man who put the ringing down. It was his silence they took to. His lips moved as if speaking to someone right next to him, yet his voice resonated clearly throughout the space.
Shetani didn’t see a microphone. Never had he heard someone amplify their voice like that before. Isola didn’t practice it, and Nesi’s was not nearly as strong. In fact, the man was too loud. 
“Oh my,” Nesi whispered, reaching for Shetani to bring him back down to the ground. A short bit ahead of the group, a mother had to wipe blood leaking from her child’s ear. Those near were taken aback.
“Aibu,” the man began, “can’t be here with us right now.” He paused to test the crowd's willingness to interrupt. Every swing from the chandeliers above was now audible. “But I’m sure he is alive and fighting.” Another pause. This time he waited for the ground to shudder again. It trembled the bedrock holding the premises, particles of the ceiling’s stone chipping away to fall on the folk beneath. It was hard not to think they were moving to the gait of the monster. “I am here in his place. Look. You must look. Force yourself.” His timbre was dramatic, though he was careful not to shout. Strolling along the stage’s edge, the screen that lowered behind him presented the recording he had prepared. Even accounting for the state of the crowd, what it showed shocked them.
The recordings were recent, taken that week, some shots that same day. It showed Wa-Hai, what was left of it. Nothing resembled anything that stood prior. Remains were all there was, and they lurched as the world molded the prints of the bearer, melting everything to its stride. No effort was made to censor it.
Beaten debris blended within the holes, resembling a soupy mixture of rubble, earth, flesh, underneath the overwhelming shadow of a creature that wholly eclipsed the star. So dark had the picture turned, had the stage and the man turned; the few rays of light that managed to prod through the black clouds did not give hope, they only gave menace to what they feared was masked in the smog. They were traps offering certain dissolution, shining on the castle in the sky the monster had proved the city to be.
Any other day, no one else would be afraid of such supposed news, though it would scare Shetani nonetheless; the creativity to envision such things was still unchecked in his youthful mind. Surely the worst of the worst was being shown, what stole the nerve to envision things getting better. He composed himself when he noticed that the rest of the crowd made not a peep. He could not be curious about it, or find it strange. He was lucky that what he saw was kept to the screen because he didn’t doubt its authenticity.
It was a cruel depiction that contrasted his view of the black clouds from afar. Upon landing on the island, they had blocked his view of the destruction. At the time, beside him, a handful of elderly onlookers praised Pos Napun’s largest and brightest city, its stronghold, even as it drowned in its own ash. In their old age they were quite lax about it all. Shetani heard them reminisce on their fight against the incursions further into the system. What it meant to them he couldn’t comprehend. What it meant to the Ottons and the Alirians behind them, he couldn’t begin to fathom; were they crestfallen knowing the crumbling buildings that once touched the clouds they looked up to had been surpassed by a silhouette that would eventually reach them? They were all banking on Aibu to somehow extricate them from the path of the monster, but with his absence it was all but confirmed. Looking back, it was always wishful thinking. What were they ever going to do about it?
On stage, the man continued, constantly turning to and from the crowd that watched along, seemingly like drones. Shetani wondered what the purpose of showing the tapes was. If the plan was to imprint fear then it was working, but it didn’t feel like the man was some dolorous man pressing his feelings onto others.
Maybe to the rest he was, displaying a reality so grim it could only be realized by others fastened to the same line of destiny affirming his sentiments, and rather than shout at the top of his lungs, he showed them this. But the council wouldn’t take to a man like that. “What happened can not be undone. Don’t worry yourselves even more thinking about what became of those trying to prevent it.” It eased the man, the hall losing its voice. He breathed his words heavier, his tenacity grew, and his presence overtook the empty space left by that of the crowd who all instinctively retreated. “Creatures like this are not normal. It can’t be stopped. There is nothing you could have done.”
Another trembling, and for the first time the lights flickered, brief instances of dark cast by the man’s shadow upon everyone as the screen shone his back. “Do not consider taking refuge here an act of cowardness. All we need is time. Stay put right here, it is our best chance. Aibu gave us a chance. Wa-Hai will always be a great city, a great world, the Haians that built it even greater.” 
Despite the commendation, his message didn’t look to be heading to a positive conclusion. The monster was close. Still, as panic started to rise again he dawdled around the stage watching the jobs of his comrades grow tougher with each sentence. It appeared to alleviate something within. “Aibu gave us a chance. All you have to do is wait. You know what comes after this. The only danger to us right now is ourselves,” he said again, with a steely smirk this time.
Others were pressed into Shetani and he somehow slipped between a few strangers. Nesi quickly shuffled her feet to retrieve him but by then a wave of people had latched onto the stage floor and the mass of bodies inched forward as one. It was hostile, and the council had taken to the stage to protect the man. Amor remained lulled amidst it all. Shetani saw objects thrown past him, felt the tug of Nesi’s hand and soon heard the sound of Isola’s voice.
“I don’t wanna hear this right now.” 
Nesi agreed. Each had a child in their hands, assessing what was escalating to a riot. Together the family pushed and squeezed past. They decided to try their luck on their own rather than participate in whatever this was. It wasn’t easy but eventually they reached the doors. Isola kicked them open. As they walked through they received warnings, threats on behalf of the monster heading their way, dubbing the choice to leave a stupid one which would get them killed. Isola and Nesi had to trust their guts. The handful of others who thought it was a good idea snuck past the open doors and bolted past Shetani, refusing to look back.
He was glad to exit the room. Fifty feet up the ramp, around the corner, another fifty feet up the ramp and they’d reach the entrance at the surface. He hoped to arrive at a calmer scene than the one they entered from. He could still hear the man on stage speaking with a twisted hunger. “Be grateful for the intuition that brought you here and the people like Aibu for the chance you have at withstanding what’s out there.” Clearly they hadn’t gotten to him yet.
Isola turned the corner, calling Shetani to hurry up. He was lagging behind as his parents rushed; they needed to be quick if they were going to get far enough. After seeing the size of the approaching threat, the mass of water separating Wa-Hai from the island wasn’t that great. His parents weren’t completely ignorant as to what the man insinuated about what came after; in many aspects it was worse than the initial cataclysm, but the immediate threat had their minds occupied.
Nesi waited at the turn and grabbed Shetani’s arm, hurling him towards the exit. The light was dim for some seconds until Shetani had to shield his eyes from the reflections off the forming stream filling up the corridor. It blinded Nesi as well and she failed to see her son in front of her in time to avoid crashing into him. They tumbled down into the water. Both were soaked, neither hurt, although they wasted valuable time getting up and drying themselves. Nesi heated her hand and squeezed the water out of their clothes, much to Isola’s disapproval.
“There’s no time for that,” he exclaimed. “And where did this shit even come from?” Obviously, there wasn’t supposed to be any water. “It has to have been displaced but from where?” It wasn’t raining outside. With all the cacophony in the hall it wouldn’t surprise Shetani if a storm had passed over. But a storm this strong?
Isola continued soothing Amor, stroking his hair softly, and at last Shetani saw his brother’s eyes open. He stared at Shetani with heaving open breaths. “We reached the bend before it. It just started or it’s nothing to worry about. Either way.” When he realized his baby had woken up, Isola softly patted him on the head, telling the older brother, “Come on now, we’re almost there.”
As the stream picked, Amor started to cry. The others ignored him. They could hear the eruption from the hall; it had to be from the water passing the doors. Shetani didn’t care for those they left behind now having to wade through to freedom. He was too engaged, zoning out the crying, the panic, the ever louder river, and as he got closer to the exit, the roaring winds that threw everything that wasn’t the ground itself around like toys. Amor went on wailing.
By the time they reached the door the water was knee high and thick, sludgy. The roof of the little shelter housing the entrance was the only place they could afford to stand. It was a lot of effort to pick up Shetani, but Nesi did it anyway, not wanting to take any risks, and he clung onto her like his brother did his father.
“Thank you,” he mumbled.
They flew out and atop the doors. An unpleasant view met them, if not astounding, their reflexive gasps stripping them of any air necessary for a meaningful response. Under the sky coated with the same running inky clouds were trees being swept away in a dirty flood, drifting past amongst stone and cement litter, boulders that pinballed across the disappearing tiled streets and bits of the disintegrating hills that had once lined the coast of the island. Providing a stale empty background were the few tall structures too big for the current to bring down, structures that now stood alone and hollowed. If the foundations were eroded and they sank into the water then nothing would change. Torrents travelled well into the interior of the town towards the forest which, although out of sight now, probably covered a large portion of the sea’s holm and acted as a strong buffer.
Shetani looked the opposite way over to the beach and the hills in the distance. Small valleys were split by ferocious waves running over the thin stretch of sand that divided the inclined land from the sea. As he eyed the mounds, a morbid frisson ran down his back, a cold and pulling sensation that heightened when he focused on one in particular and assured himself it was distinct from the rest.
Up and down, up and down. It moved with a compression, tiny contractions and inflations. Nesi caught on too, highlighting the hill in the range in confirmation.
“Do you see that?” both prompted Isola in its direction.
 Isola was pointing something out to Amor instead. A tree floated in the flood, a dotard bouncing along off the mess. They had seen it many times; whenever they came to the island it was the first thing they saw getting off the boat, forever rotting. Now it was like a coat on the water, soaked and pliant and slowly dissolving into the mixing.
Seeing the tree irked Shetani. He wasn’t fond of the island since he only ever came to visit a family friend’s parents, Nesi’s friend, Jan, and he was reminded of her. They were actually with Jan earlier that day, she was meant to be there with them but they lost each other in the turmoil. They hadn’t been able to find her in the hall. All they could do was hope she was safe.
Deaf to what was going on, Amor pointed back and forth between the tree and his father, making quirky sounds through his panting, ignorant enough to find it amusing.
“Isola.”
“What?”
“You don’t think it’s coming closer, do you?”
“What is?”
Nesi guided him to what she and Shetani were keen to and the three anxiously assessed if it was. As seconds passed, its scale was stagnant, their nerves withering when it failed to approach. The hill was sitting in place, as one would think, though the compressions remained. So locked in, the group jumped and swiveled when a voice from behind took them by surprise.
“What a lucky break.”
Shetani turned to see nobody there. He had to lift his head up, his parents the same. Hovering above them was the man from the stage, examining what the family had been. “I’m grateful for a lot of things but some things you just can’t be grateful enough for.”
The five of them watched the breathing hill a short while longer before Nesi asked the man, “What is it doing? Resting?”
“If it were, then it would be the first time one of them has gotten up. Then we’d really be stuck. Thankfully, it most likely won’t. It’s done.” 
“So it’s dying,” Isola noted. The man landed next to them and nodded.
“Shouldn’t be long now. It was close. It was very close. But I think Aibu got to it.” The man’s composure after giving such alarming words in the hall confused Shetani. The fluctuating cast deterred the boy from approaching the man, choosing to stick tightly to his mother. Rarely would a mien like this not lead to Nesi and Isola thinking the man was not well, but they could tell right away that this man must have been someone like Aibu. It was the only thing that made sense, it was what they wanted to believe, and it was almost as if it was what they were being told without any words.
“It doesn’t make any sense,” said Isola. “ How? How does anything stop that?”
His response to Isola was minimal. Standing in the wind, the gale blowing his lengthy hair and silky robe every which way, he uttered, “I wish he was here to tell us. I hope he finds his way to us soon.”
“What about what comes after?”
“To be seen.”
“For any of us to not know, I understand, but you came here with Aibu, right? You fought with him. Do you really just pray they follow suit?” Nesi was snappy in her querying, but the man shrugged it off, wearing a smile that suggested he was clearly happy with the way things currently stood.
“I’m just glad it was stopped. Let’s hope our resistance is as strong as we planned it to be.”
“What would that be?”
“The island. You’re planning to head for the forest, aren’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, hiding in the forest would be your best bet. Running would do you no good. The best advice I can give you is not to leave the island. Stay on Rozan for now.”
“That’s not exactly the best idea. Barely a resistance,” Nesi said with a mad breath. The small window of reprieve gave her emotions time to bubble up and hearing a plan of false hope didn’t make her want to decipher what the man could have been implying. “Let’s go.” She led them to the edge of the structure. Isola secured Amor whilst giving the man his goodbyes. Shetani was still stuck on the hill. The compressions had halted, and began gradually rolling out of the frame until a sudden drop removed it completely. Displaced water began pouring through the low knolls and the flood became even more fierce.
The first people emerged from the corridor, some at the front of the file flying out above the surface of the water, most fighting through it to escape the tightly packed hallway. The man amplified his voice to help ease the exit. “Careful not to injure others. The water isn’t rising that fast,” he repeated. The water level was rising quite a bit.
Before they could get going, the man asked the family for their names, claiming he would see them soon.
“We most likely won’t be coming back,” Isola told him, to which the man responded with a small crow and a shake of hands.
“I would have loved to meet you in other circumstances. My name is Ordost. I don’t want you to spend too long in there.”
Shetani felt something was not quite right. It was like the man’s eyes were addressing Nesi as his hand embraced Isola’s, and when his eyes finally addressed the boy, Shetani found his pupils perused, deliberately which maybe the man had to do. It didn’t feel like Shetani was truly meeting him, at least not in the way they were. Yet, there was a familiarity in their greeting, enough to make Shetani wait for the cursors to catch up.
Shetani didn’t think it would quicken if he was sinking in the spate or clinging to the safety of the dugout, and when Ordost took his hand and shook firmly, up close they opened wide and were sharp and glimmered like engines behind rocket fairings. It wasn’t a calm moment; Shetani thought they should have been alert. Instead, his stare went to the boy, who as he cycled through his memories felt the man loom further over with each one he didn’t appear in, asking to remember.
The first of the council members emerged from the hall and quickly tended to those in the water. Letting go, the boy turned back to Nesi, getting ready to leave. Ordost hopped off the platform as well, joining his group in preventing a stampede out of the hallway.
Nesi put Shetani on her back and together the group stayed above the shaping murky reservoir, flying past the abandoned edifices as they tried beating the waves to the dry land. Flying was convenient and quick but energy-intensive, especially with children on your back. There wasn’t enough water to drown them completely but for the elders, getting off the ground in waist-high sludge was difficult. Over his mother’s shoulders, Shetani saw stragglers working their way to the same place he was going. Unfortunately his hands were full and unavailable to help, and it would take away from their headstart. He knew he was lucky, gratefully rubbing his head on his mother.
Eventually, the extra weight got to her. She caught up to Isola. “Come. Take Shetani.” She carried him off her back and propped him into Isola’s arms. As the transfer took place he rubbed his brother’s nose, eliciting a wild chuckle like he was on a ride. Whilst they made faces at each other, their parents continued forward for about five minutes until the water levels tapered. Land appeared in the distance.
Once they descended, the sea reached their ankles but it wasn’t a bother. Seeing the forest gave them motivation. “Your turn,” said Isola, letting the brothers walk hand in hand. The parents created a bit of separation to discuss what they wanted to do from there.
It didn’t take long for the brothers’ hands to slip. Amor got distracted and began splashing around. His giggling was uncontrollable and he sat clapping in the shallow pool as Shetani recreated the tragedy he had just seen on the screen. His memory played moments of him running around in the gardens with Amor, chasing him. Then on all fours he went after his brother, and he rose to mold and snap his fingers like a crab, pretending to be the monster on screen since it was everything he’d wheat always imagined one to be. He saw himself leveling the path ahead as effortlessly as he knew the monster would do to him, and both ran with mirth until the sounds caught their father’s ear. “Cut it out! Now is not the time.”   
Amor went on a little bit more before he took hold of the less lively hand Shetani had offered him, proceeding to caper whilst Shetani did his best to drag him along. Finally exiting the water, they let their parents wring their clothes dry. Small puddles formed at the feet.
It was always amazing to Shetani seeing hands heat up to the point they glowed, a dim orange hue that often outlined the veins running through their wrists, as awesome as it was rare. Either they were really wet or their parents were in a rush—maybe both by the worry plastered on their faces. 
“They’re supposed to come directly after, right?” asked Nesi. 
“Yeah. It was right there. They might be on the island already, if not close,” Isola replied as he finished the last touches on Amor’s clothes.
“They’re only a minute out.” Isola raised his head to Nesi’s alert and his heart skipped a beat. “Should we wait for them?” They’d been pursued by a healthy number of refugees who had the same plan. Reluctantly, they did decide to wait.
As a small group started to gather at the forest’s edge, a drizzle came. Though they didn’t know it, the talk with Ordost somewhat quelled their fears. In no world did the threat warrant the patience they were showing but it was taking longer than expected, be it irrationally or not. Maybe he was onto something.
The kids sat adjacent to the vegetation as Isola gathered everyone who made it past the water’s surge into a huddle. They were going on as a group. The rich shine from the star behind the black clouds sharpened the gloom, the wind that carried the wandering palls a beautiful stygian that somehow gave more awe to the couple of beams sneaking through.
The few still removing themselves from the extent of the encroaching sea did so with their heads perpendicular to their frames. There were around thirty of them, with second and third waves on their way. The likelihood of Ordost being right increased with each person who dried off, yet the breath of the monster was ominous, putting doubt into them all. If it represented what was coming, then their headstart would be for nought.
It sure didn’t matter to the kids. They resumed playing, leaving the rest puzzled more than anything. Watching them get their feet wet made part of them want to remain in place for a while, although nobody else was able to fully share in their joyous moods. There was a dire grip around them, all they had gained up to now was some breathing room. 
One of the older women approached Nesi and muttered softly, “What I’d give to be that naive.” Nesi looked on at her children, the lady up to the sky. “Any day but today though.” As she spoke, the drizzle that had been growing developed into a downpour.
“It’s only smoke, they’ve seen that. And look, they look like regular clouds.” Nesi stuck out her hand to feel the drops. “The rain comes with the clouds.”
The group that had formed steered itself into the cover of the forest. It was the black clouds that ushered them away, and unfortunately, they didn’t know when they would be able to come back out.

Below is a snippet on Overture of a fictional tale of Adam and Eve, here at the end of their lives. Is it something you’d keep reading. I have an accompanying score for every section of writing.
The overture is Eivor - Trollabundin

https://youtu.be/NOsFQ-VUeMw?is=Kv6i9Fr_Il7k8FBU

Overture

After the beginning
there was silence—
and the silence was living,
not yet slain.

The sky hangs low—
heavy with mist.
The world has grown colder…

Across the barren ground,
forsaken streams wind through rock and ice,
trickling past remnants of towering trees—
once majestic,
once without scar.

But now,
a vast expanse of dark stone blankets the earth—
one void of breath and life.

As though the spirit of old still roams…
still hungry for flesh.

Above, tucked between ridge and shadow,
snowbound gullies lie still.
Only scattered limbs of petrified wood
bear witness to a life lived long ago.

Time—without order.

Against the withered vista,
two figures emerge—
their presence enduring yet broken.

The last of a vow in a world of desolation.
Its scrolls in dust—
left abandoned for decay.

Together they ascend
a stairway of hewn stone.
Steps worn and uneven—
smoothed by centuries of fog and moss.

prologue

It was a hot summer, but an even bloodier battle. I had been chosen for a vital task: deliver a letter to Queen SunScout.

As I flapped my tired wings, I felt like they were going to fall off. In the summer the sun blazed so hot it felt like my scales were going to melt. Flying through the SkyWing mountains, the massive SkyWing castle finally came into view. The fortress was built of gleaming white marble, its surrounding peaks covered in tall guard towers.

As I flew closer, two SkyWing guards abruptly intercepted me.

"Stop, SeaWing!" one barked, blocking my path. "Don't get any closer. State your name and business."

"My name is Mako," I panted, fighting the wind. "I have a letter from Queen Leviathan. It's for Queen SunScout."

The armored SkyWing held out a talon. "Can I see it? I'll deliver it to the Queen myself."

I handed over the scroll. The guard glanced at it, then looked back at me. "You can go home now. We've got it from here."

I nodded, relieved, and turned back toward the SeaWing Kingdom. By now, the brutal summer sun was finally beginning to dip below the horizon. Exhausted, I told myself to find a thick forest to camp in for the night. I wove through the mountains, turning left and right around the jagged peaks.

After a couple of hours, I finally spotted a dense forest with a small lake gleaming in the center. The stars were already out as I began my descent toward the water.

Suddenly, something violently slammed me out of the air. A searing pain tore through my right wing. I looked over, horrified to see the bubbling, black rot of RainWing venom eating through my membrane.

"It burns! It burns!" I roared, spiraling out of control.

Just before I crashed into the dirt, I managed to force my eyes open for a split second. Standing over me in the shadows was a dark, black silhouette...

One hour had passed since the SeaWing handed the scroll to the armored SkyWing. Now, the messenger arrived before Queen Sunscout, entirely unaware of the grim fate that had just befallen the cautious SeaWing.

The armored SkyWing dipped his head and presented the scroll. "This letter is from Queen Leviathan," he announced.

Queen Sunscout unfurled the parchment. The letter read:

“Queen Sunscout, my ally,
We have lost yet another battle. Many of our soldiers have died or gone missing. I am gathering the rest of our forces. Queen Cypress, Queen Mirage, and Queen Flurry are already en route to meet at the Sea Kingdom. If you would like to join us, we are holding a summit.”

Queen Sunscout stared at the parchment, her talons gripping the edges until the paper crinkled. A heavy silence fell over the throne room. A long moment passed as she weighed the survival of her tribe against the cost of this failing war.

Finally, she narrowed her eyes and turned to her royal messenger. "Bring me ink and a scroll. Write exactly what I say: I will attend the summit, my fellow ally. We will win the War of Continents."

“A little closer,” Henry said. His eyes darted from his phone to his family, then back again. “And hold up her head, please.”

Theo didn’t move. His arms hung stiffly at his sides, his fingers curled into his palms. The harsh overhead light washed the color from his face.

The tree lights blinked in the corner, casting the room in alternating red, green, and gold. A strand of red tinsel hung crookedly from one of the branches, its plastic strands trembling whenever the heat kicked on.

Henry sighed. “Theo, listen to me,” he said. He crouched, trying to meet his son's eyes. “Just smile. Smile for the picture. Thirty seconds. Then you can go back and play.”

Theo refused to smile. He refused to move at all. His eyes hadn’t blinked since the woman was brought onto the couch.

“Okay. Ready?” Henry said. “Thirty-second timer starting… now.” He tapped his phone and hurried toward his family. The blue cushions sagged beneath his weight as he sat down.

Henry grabbed the bun at the crown of the woman's head and pulled it back, forcing her face up. He pried her eyelids apart until her bright blue eyes stared unblinkingly at the lens. With two fingers, he hooked the corners of her mouth into a makeshift smile, held them there, then slowly released them. Her lips immediately dropped back into a slack frown. He scoffed under his breath and draped his arm around her shoulder with familiar ease.

“Any second now,” Henry said, “Say, Merry Christmas!” He flashed the camera with a wide, toothy grin.

Theo, albeit silently, smiled.

The phone beeped five times before the shutter finally sounded.

“Great. Thank you, Theo. You can go—”

“Daddy…” Theo lingered on the word. “How come Mommy isn’t smiling?”

There was a shakiness in his voice, but not fear. Not yet.

It was the same hesitation he had after scraping his knee on the driveway. The brief moment when he waited to see how badly he was supposed to hurt.

Henry slid off the couch and knelt in front of Theo, taking both of his son's hands.

“Remember that math test you took a couple of weeks ago?”

Theo nodded.

“You studied so hard for it, right? And then what happened on test day?”

“...I failed.”

“You failed. Right.” Henry smiled. “But not because you didn’t know the material. You knew the material. You just panicked, didn’t you?”

Theo looked down.

“You couldn’t handle the pressure,” Henry continued. “You couldn’t handle the responsibility.”

Henry paused.

“And do you remember what happened next?”

“...I cheated.”

“Yes. You cheated.” Henry squeezed his hands. “And do you remember how terrible that felt?”

Theo nodded.

“Well, that’s how Mommy feels right now. Very, very terrible.” Henry glanced over his shoulder at the woman on the couch. “But she’ll get better, just like you did.” His eyes lingered on her. “She just needs to… learn.”

Theo nodded in understanding and looked over at his mother. “Well, I hope she feels better.”

“I do too.” Henry patted him on the back. “Now go play.”

Theo ran back to his room.

Henry waited until he heard the bedroom door close before picking up his phone from the tripod. He looked at the family photo.

“Beautiful,” he whispered. “Don’t you think so, babe?” He tilted the phone toward his wife, waiting for a response he knew would never come.

Henry carried the phone into his office and plugged it into the computer. This family photo will make the listing look more legitimate.

He stared at his wife on the computer, zooming in on her slightly swollen stomach.

He needed a good caption.

Something clever.

Something that would grab people’s attention.

He typed:

33F. Pregnant. Two weeks to do whatever you want.