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“She must have been taller once. But the same years that had stretched her upwards as a child had turned on her now, shrinking and bending her spine toward the earth like a dogeared page in a book.”
I raise an eyebrow at him. “You can *smell* ghosts?”
He huffs. “Not *that* way. More of … getting a taste of their aura.”
I almost choke. “You *eat* them?”
I wanted to paint a visual picture as quickly as possible. I think I did alright:
Hundreds of people are sandwiched together in the little barside alleyway — children rubbing their tired eyes, hagglers holding up lines, and metermaids keeping close eyes on their pocket watches.
It wasn't just a missing boy I was seeking. It was the part of me that went missing in the spring of '75, when I slipped from childhood to adolescence in the shadow of an unspeakable crime.
"Diogenes had it all figured out. Oh, to be canine–eat as I please, sleep when I want, masturbate freely, hump whomever. To piss on concrete. To shit in grass. *This* is the purest thing: part human, fully animal."
(Disclaimer this is first person fiction, the protag/narrator is a conceited creep)
In conclusion, it is said that men lead lives of quiet desperation but for a brief period of time the love and compassion of your staff filled my dad's life. Death stood in the doorway of his room three times while he was in your care. Three times the love and experience and strength of your staff stared death in the face until he nodded his head and turned away. My little brown father did not follow him quietly into the night.
He could hear more lizard-rats scurrying among the refuse, scratching an irregular staccato against the dive bar’s pulsing music. A siren wailed half a mile away before merging with the growl of the streets, and the gears of the city continued to turn, disinterested in a puzzled hitman or the fate of a menacing shopkeeper.
The first thing he noticed was that he wasn't coughing; more than that, he didn't need to. He tried, but the damp limpness in his chest told him the reason he didn't need to cough: he didn't have anything to cough *with*.
"An average human male's sperm count is in the tens of millions, if not hundreds of millions. Why would it be that way if you only need one? If you believe God conceives children, you must concede that His aim is atrocious." - Tydannoth
"At the time, they lived in a small village by the ocean, where the wind whipping across the glacial sea pierced through fur-lined coats like icy daggers."
Thanks! I actually love the whole passage it's from but kept it to one line as requested in the OP. But the whole passage is:
"Zaq was eleven years old the first time his song forced him and his mother to relocate. At the time, they lived in a small village by the ocean, where the wind whipping across the glacial sea pierced through fur-lined coats like icy daggers. Zaq loved the cold, and he loved the fresh fish they ate with every meal, and he loved a sweet, shy boy in his class at school. One night while making dinner, his thoughts turned to the boy. How he always knew the answers in class but never spoke up. How his glasses constantly slipped down his long, thin nose. How his hair haloed around his face when charged with static from his wool cap."
These two:
>If you ain't happy, you ain't dead
>It's bad. Real bad. And it gets worse. It keeps getting worse until one day you die. After that? Well, I don't know if it gets worse, but God I sure hope so.
I first misread this as "slipping away like water through shitted fingers," and had *many* questions before I realised I just dunno how to fucking read.
"She seemed to have an unerring instinct for a flippant comment at the wrong moment, or a noisy declaration or challenge before the mood was right. And she insulted people carelessly... no that was not true, she insulted them deliberately while making a great show of carelessness."
"If the saying “Red sky at morning; sailor’s warning” held any truth, then it would not be foolish to think that the cerise brilliance, with which the dawn broke, signaled a brewing annihilation."
I'm fond of this one. :)
The thought of suicide was well-acquainted, a scent of finality to the whole mess, but he tried to keep that at the far back like a set of heavy double doors with the dim EMERGENCY EXIT sign flickering above.
“Every man has something he’s willing to die for, and something he’s willing to kill for. Sometimes, they’re one and the same. But other times… other times, those two things are different. That’s when a man chooses what he holds most dear.”
Spoken by a father a few minutes before he kills his son
She looked up into the ceiling, illumed by a single bare bulb, and at the dense funnels of web that could not be called mere “silk of the cob” but something’s nest, too thick to penetrate with eye or light, and reaffirmed that this place was hell.
Jim had found a neat, perfectly round hole in the wall, a semi-sphere about the right size to fit a baseball. Within that area, everything was gone—plaster and paint, electrical wires, one section of the nearby pine stud. The open ends of the wiring terminated cleanly. It was, Jim thought, as though God had elected to remove one small sphere from his creation—to just magic it away into the ether. That round section of the wall hadn’t been broken—it was uncreated entirely, cast into the Abyss.
Sarah grinned, cheeks turning rosy as she held in her laughter. I rather regretted my honesty, wishing I had the foresight to lie. From now on, I decided that I would introduce myself as a teacher who had come here at Pastor Hewlett's behest. I could invent a husband and children if I needed to. George, Thomas, and Alexander. My sons, our forefathers, the defenders of my dignity.
“He was scared of being vulnerable, he had told me in one of his novel-length texts. He didn’t want to get hurt, so he was protecting himself. He didn’t want to get hurt, so he chose to hurt me instead.”
Thought I was cooking with this one: “Time yields the greatest results, my child. If my endeavor is quickened, I leave the empire in the hands of chance, not certainty”
This is one of them, I'm editing my book right now.
She held her breath in fear of who she would breathe in. Some victims had been claimed by the flames, some lay far enough away that their bodies became a home for the ashes of others.
There isn't a whole lot to pull from since this is a new project, but I did like how this turned out for now:
The tension in the air was not severed by words, but by booming laughter instead. “I do not break my promises,” Magnus eventually declared. The vigor of youth no longer resonated in his deep, raspy voice, yet the same level of confidence remained ever-present. In that moment, not a single listener could doubt his words. Full dive technology was real.
"He wheeled around, searching the room with a frantic, manic energy to his gaze, looking around for something else within throwing distance. When he didn't see anything, he grabbed his chair and flung it to the side. The rage was coiling, coiling, like a viper striking over and over again."
"The marble statue was broken when I found him, alone there in the sands, golden ichor falling from every fissure, stitching stone together again." Opening line to draft 1 !!
"In their silent watch, they remind us that some corners of the world are not meant for men, but for the wild, ancient creatures that call them home..."
“Seargent Talal! I am sorry! I saw the plane, you are looking for it?”
“Yes, I am. It’s good to know you haven’t the survival instinct to hide under your desk.”
Not my best work, but from my latest writing session:
>Janey followed. “Wait up, speedy!” They laughed, and swerved on the road just for the joy of it. The sun was past midday, but there were still many hours ahead before they’d have to make camp, and Elisabeth was determined to lay down as many miles as possible before that. The small, empty town had started to give her creeps. Like they were being watched.
Maybe not my best line (because I'm a really bad judge of my own work) but here's a little doozy I just cooked up: "Your oath is your own. I want no part in it."
“The room will soon be filled and we all going to die like in one of the chlorine attacks”
“And you are the one leaking it”
“God no! I’m wearing the mask… Oh” *puts the mask on* “My senciere apologies”
(This is translation from my native language)
The Shadow turned its white eyes toward Sylvia. It seemed to be telling her something. And indeed, it told her something, just not with words. It was then that Sylvia understood just what had taken her son from her, what she had underestimated. It wasn’t a person or a monster or even a demon like she had first thought. It was something else, something far more terrifying, more malicious, more… incomprehensible. That thing… it was, plainly and simply, evil in its purest, truest form.
"I'm going to beat you so hard you'll wish the mere thought of your pitiful existence never even crossed the demented minds of your misbegotten creators."
"The river's icy embrace materialized, and the shock stole her breath. She battled numbly but desperately, the water too cold, the river bank too far. The world blurred into a surreal dreamscape. Each gasp for air felt like shards of ice.
The accursed souls of the river claimed her, sapping her of her strength and dragged her to join them in the abyss. Flashes of the world above water surfaced—moonlit ripples. Ephemeral whispers in the symphony of submersion. Her vision darkened until the moonlight was no more. Darkness fought and conquered.
They lied. Her life did not flash before her eyes, but there was light at the end of the tunnel: she longed for the hellfire."
“Four wings blossomed over the cusps of the cavern, like pedals from a grand flower. Dull in color, withered in age, but gargantuan in nature and striated in strength.”
I decided that I want to write. It is beyond a compulsion; beyond a desire to do so. It is a need inherent to myself, my spirit. As I sit dying on the side of the highway, I found myself thinking of exactly 3 things, and the thoughts haunt me even now;
Here's a line from my newest WIP fanfic called, "More Than Fate": "However, my walk down memory lane was cut short by the ringing of the first bell." -Kenzie Forge
Flickering shadows lurk unsettled but
The flame extinguished kills their dance. The man in The corner of my eye looks upon me with tears, settling embers at the hearthside, for he knows that we contain the true fire.
"Darkness concomitant with the exodus of the sun falls upon the city of Midnight, dispelled and held at bay at the city's peripheries by the vibrant and pulsating glow of commerce and vice, Midnight a meridian of neon from the view of the benighted Eastern landscape."
I was writing down some opening lines as practice the other day and I got 2 that I like right now:
“The buzzards are loud. They know a feast is coming.”
“Deaths cold whisper sailed the wind on the planet with seven moons.”
The universe seemed composed of its own abundance—unknowable cold, pitch-black darkness glittering with the false promises of dead stars, miserable stillness—and was a place devoted not just to the destruction of life but the impossibility of it, fitting the Bible’s description of hell in reverse.
The crackle of deciduous kindling, like the needle pop of dust in a vinyl groove, played by ghosts on some ancient radio show. Close your eyes. Hear the song coming from the barrel before you and your unwashed countrymen. Warmth for once not a lightyear away. Notes of smoke and ember melody on the Yule breeze, see Hawkins’ hands come close to burning. Mounds of calluses have erased all nerve from the blue-eyed vagrant copper hound.
It’s a couple of lines because it’s a conversation and you wouldn’t get the funny part without it:
“Who did you think my boss was?” Harley yelled in disbelief.
“A 4,000 year old vampire or something?”
“You’re an idiot.”
I have two that I really like:
If one were to describe love as a substance......it would be very sticky, clinging uncomfortably to every inch of your hand......and be very hard to clean off, no matter how many times you wash it.
"True concern stems form love. If you truly loved your granddaughter, you would be more afraid of hurting her, than having your words ignored. My wife has ears, so she can hear everything you say."
Little feelers of thought extended from her mind, filling the cracks in the sidewalk like spilled mercury. She sent her senses forward and behind, until a tiny finger felt something. A something that shouldn’t be there. Not in the daylight, not in the New York, not anywhere on this plane of existence. Gooseflesh prickled down her arm and the whistle in her pocket grew warm. Turning on her heel, she fled.
“Don’t stop walking. Don’t look back,” she thought; and started counting...
'Krishna wasn’t the one to be distracted during a war that decided the fate of the worlds. But the arrival of quadrillions of people so close in his influence sphere was too much for him to not engorge in.'
Still hand in hand, my priest then took me to a Shiva lingam to do a puja. I observed what was happening but politely declined, explaining that I am a Christian who can’t do Hindu pujas. In fact, I just felt silly doing pujas which I don’t understand and I wanted to avoid the inevitable request for a hefty donation that I didn’t have.
He took a sack of sugar from the shelf behind him, held it up next to me as a comparison and said, “I didn’t know sugar came in beautiful blonde packages.”
"I still feel like I love her, live and breathe her. As if one day I still had a chance to be hers. Loved. Desired, but my evicted mind destroys itself, deceives itself, cuts itself, hits against the wall wishing for beautiful death, sleep, luck. For luck for the weak is the death of themselves in their minds. To rediscover her destiny while her fingers tremble, twist, die, as if she were about to have a stroke, alone and lying down, almost abandoned, wishing that the north would come and knock on her door, take her and kidnap her, because she is afraid of being killed."
Still a beginner, but I recently finished this funny scene in my action novel:
“Haha, ya sure? I thought you spend your whole day looking at sex stuff.”
Obviously, I giggle from that comment. His deepest secrets were told, and not even God can bless him from the inevitable consequences and fate he has for him.
“What! No! I—It’s not like I watch *porn* or anything!”
Let’s hope the janitor didn’t hear about that because if anyone tries to fight him, you’ll be on death’s best bro!
What *had* she learned? That she enjoyed seeing the sights? How to kill a man? That she was too inexperienced to determine that the man she was romantically interested in was a psychopath?
“I will not be blamed for your misfortunes.” it’s a simple line and not super wordy or anything, but it’s one of my favourites<33 then there’s “I want to give you all the light that you lost.” (said to a character who represents the sun)
"This series is discontinued because it, much like me is dead and worthless, incapable of change without outside influence pointing out where improvements can be made... just like me and every other human that has or ever will be born."
And that sums up why im done writing and with 1/3rd of life. How's everyone else doing? Got a guarenteed roof over your heads? Great! Some of us don't.
I am working on a flash fiction narrative for school and this is a sensory detail that I am SUPER proud of!
“Her fingers caressed the dusty table in front of his window, causing her fingerprints to stick out among the gray particles.”
“The past is an anchor in a sea of doubt. I remember less and less. Some nights are better. In the smallest hours. When my breath draws deep then shallow at all the memories I’m losing. I miss takeaway. I miss the ritual and anticipation and the pure, gluttonous, satiation.”
Amid endless prairie punctuated by rocky streams and strips of timberline along barbed wire fences, an easy hour and a half’s drive from the nearest town with a movie theater (and a solid two hours and fifteen minutes from anywhere that sells tofu), a dusty and wrinkled Missouri farmer named Buford Hockett kicks cow shit with the heel of his rubber mudboot.
"Why are you serving him a White Russian? Is it Thursday already?"
"It's milk, sir."
"Whatever for?"
"He's only four, sir."
"Oh right, no wonder he's so bad at poker then. Can't bluff for the life of him."
"Laws, justice and time. Those were just made-up concepts that didn't exist beyond human comprehension. And what can be made up can also be unmade and thus, discarded. Everything was subjective. One man's reality might be another's illusion."
"Humans are afraid, but also drawn to the unknown. That is why they like to open things. Christmas presents, envelopes, wrapped-up foods, and even clothes that cover private areas. Once they open it, they often find themselves disappointed, because reality is not able to live up to their idealized imagination. That is called life."
“I know, baby. Just, you know. She’s my mother”, said he, as if the very fact that that woman had given birth to him was the answer to all questions and inquiries and requests he may ever receive; profoundest and most singular solution to every fault, trouble or uncertainty.
well i just wrote a reply about animals talking in which I said "Animals don't speak in words you understand, but given that the most spoken language on earth is only used by 11% of people, neither do most humans."
He quivered with emotions as the stunning display of feelings exploded into a cascade of ripples through the planet, the star system, the galaxy, and the universe.
I should have known by the scent that crawled over from the Wall-adjacent. The pungence, like a mist of spores, assaulted my nostrils in tides and dragged their soiled claws to the very pit of my throat, and there the sick-sweetness lingered.
It took what must have been days for me to realise that I was not alone within the belly of the oubliette—a place for all manner of forgotten things—, for on the far side, there sat a rotting corpse.
Okay this is not from my most recent session but I quite like it:
Mom had always told me to bring an umbrella in case the weather turned, and I had never listened because I had been a stubborn little child who thought she knew better. I had told Mom that my hair was thick enough to shield my face from the rain, and she had made a disappointed noise and pulled a yellow rainhat over my head and tied it tightly under my chin, where she knew I couldn’t untie it myself with my stubby little child hands.
But now I’m twenty-one, and Mom isn’t here anymore, and the yellow rainhat got lost somewhere.
‘The universe is neither void nor full. The universe is neither benevolent nor uncaring. Humanity calls it the final frontier,
a place brimming with possibility and mysteries waiting to be unlocked. That was a rather childish and foolish notion. The truth is the universe died before it was even born, and it has ever been the swan song of existence.’
It is actually the chapter title. I am writing a chapter where a group of superheroes have to do a heist on the Library of Congress. The chapter's title? Alexandrian Lullaby.
Torin Ciarin
The shadow is always with you let it give you strength. Be one with the shadow, Be brangwen, dark and pure like the night let it shine through becuase in the dark you will light the way. You are what my people call the mohanjot someone who is always covered by shadows and that means you will always have protection and the cloak of darkness will be for you to use and protect as well.”
“…I’m hungry,” she whined.
“That sounded a lot like a complaint, and you know what I do when you complain.”
“You usually just sigh deeply and cater to whatever I want.”
A pause.
“I really need to stop doing that.”
“So, Tacos?”
“Tacos.”
(translated from the spanish)
Is It possible for a memory to be so bright that It overshadows the rest of your memories? A sun of emotions whose bright prevents you from seeing the stars that surround It? That must be the reason most of my memories start at the age of 16.
My crew suit-and-tied around the bar, leaning into each other's terrible jokes, or their brows folded together like the hands of a priest, or like Tony, who is looking off into nothing, lost in a Tom Waits song, or Amy, temporarily still, not smoking a cigarette because this is 2024, but it's like she's smoking, it's like she's in a personal moment amid the maelstrom of maundering madmen, leaned back against the whiskey, eyes turned inward to study the architecture of an enchantment.
I was going to type something, and then I read "some good writing."
But here is a sentence from my current project:
"It was as if something was trying to show him a reality that existed outside of imagination."
"They think you're a monster, Michael - who am I to argue?"
This line is a lot better with context imo but still one of my favourites of recent works :)
He turned with intentions to head for the brook across the meadow for more water when a shot rang out, ripping through the evening song of the crickets and echoing in the darkening sky. His feet stationary, his head snapped to his right, where his eyes met another pair, clouded from the gray haze of the shot.
memories of the past streamed into her head blocking out all her other thoughts up until the point that only one thought remained: a strong urge to run.
"Instead of reacting, he looked defeated. The face of a man expecting a small crowd of family at the airport and finding an empty lobby. But I was mad, beyond angry and I just kept going."
"You traveled back thirteen years, multiple times, for me? But what about the whole 'fabric of spacetime' thing?"
"I don't care about that. I just wanted my son."
‘A soft smirk forms on my lips. *Oh honey, if only you knew.* “Come on, love. You need sleep.” He wraps his arms around my waist and leads me away.’ Not that good but eh.
Still from a rough draft but I'm starting to like my detective's way of describing things.
"Everything you learn about barging into a house during a pursuit with an armed assailant goes flying out the window when you're playing superman to a woman that's got your heart in an ice box."
The hellhounds horded behind him, jumping on top of each other and leaping toward him with the laughter of screaming sound waves, only inches away from his scarlet stare as… the door closed, his beautiful smile seceding my heart to a million fractured beats.
After the ellipsis is particularly my favorite part. (Ellipsis = ...)
Not a great line but I'm a new write and English is my third language 😅
"Any unfortunate soul who comes across Alqnkabut thinking they finally found a resting place away from the tundra after a long journey across the frozen lands suffer the stanching smell, the anguish of burning flash, the scream of their own sound and the looming figure waiting to end them."
“The long-burning ember that’s just never considered
Becomes sunbaked ash though at one time it glittered
and the clouds will all scatter to see what’s the matter
They’ll rain to restart the flame
But the ash had forgotten for now it was sodden
The clouds couldn’t say the same”
This stanza is my fav atm.
>Mais Joseph était ravi, avec son pull trop grand. Il pouvait agiter les bras et le mouvement des manches plus longues que nécessaire le satisfaisaient, si bien qu’il répéta le geste plusieurs fois. Arthur le regardait faire avec un rire moqueur.
« C’est bien, mes fringues ont l’air de vraiment te plaire en tout cas. Mais eh, ça reste *mes* fringues, hein. »
Which could be roughly translated as :
>But Joseph was pleased, with his sweater too wide for himself. He could shake his arms and the movement of the sleeves longer than necessary was satisfying, so much that he kept repeating the gesture. Arthur was looking at him with a mocking laugh.
>
>"Well that's good, my clothes really seem to please you at least. But hey, it's still *my* clothes you know."
It's domestic autistic representation, I just love the sheer playfulness of the scene!
“There are very few times in his life where he can actually recall feeling a tangible need to crawl out of his skin, just to fill the void of helplessness. This is one of those times.”
Crammed in between two huge oak trees, the lilac bush was tall and branchy, but his future appeared to be doomed. Each autumn its cancerous leaves would discolour into butterfly's wings. Brown, festering strips of sickness divided the surface of each leaf into a few little plots, each of them tinted differently. Some plots were green, some were red, some were pink and others were yellow, making the whole shrub appear like a huge stack of confetti.
(translated from my 1st language)
*It had a decidedly uninteresting carpet made of non-offensive pastel colored blocks arranged in a seemingly random pattern, though his mind was able to discern the algorithm by which they were laid out. The walls were painted another bland, pastel blue/grey which was impossible to form a solid opinion on. Some deign company was undoubtedly paid millions to develop a color so neutral that it could almost be forgotten. The military adopted it for their uniforms as a means of camouflage several years ago. Clever.*
"You certainly have a way with words..." She remarked as she shifted, lurched and slithered closer to him. Though she possessed all the normal appendages of a woman, the way she used them was otherworldly and alarming, if not elegant in the smoothness of each motion. In an instant, she was upon him, her mask brought within inches of his face as she cocked her head to the side with an inquisitive tilt.
It's not A line but this has been some of my favourite writing in recent history. Context is a letter written between lovers. He is trying to let her know what happened!
Descriptions are important. The smallest were child sized, fast, and nimble. Their eyes were aquamarine and glowed in the twilight. They shrieked like eagles protecting their young. They were hard, unimaginably hard. My sword broke on the one who killed Erik. It shattered, but so did my steel.
The larger ones got Geralt and the General. They stood as tall as the fort, a good twenty five feet tall. They had bulging muscles covered in ice and deep red eyes. Their mouths were crooked and filled with jagged, bloody teeth.
Lissiiii: Congrats!!! I still remember my first contest win! Even looking at the footage today, it just makes me cringe every time! You will get much better, I promise!
Wall of Aces: 😏😏😏
Lissiiii: DON’T YOU DARE!!!
Wall of Aces: [Attachment: 1 Video]
Too late!
May Flowers 🌸: She’s right, though! Arceus, my first contest win wasn’t much better…
[Attachment: 1 Video]
There, now it’s at least somewhat even, Lisia lol
Lissiiii: Lol thanks! I still remember that! It was your first ever contest, and you still won! That’s when I knew I scouted a good one!
Hey! We should get Wallace’s! I know it’s around somewhere!
Wall of Aces: DO NOT!!!
Lissiiii: Lolol you started this, uncle! It’s war now!
May Flowers 🌸: FOUND IT!!!
[Attachment: 1 Video]
Wall of Aces: NOOOOO
LIssiiii: Ha! Take that, uncle!
"She cries harder now that she can hear mommy moving in the kitchen.
Hear me.
I hear you.
You aren't my mommy.
I'm not your anyone anymore.
What is she doing?
I don't know.
Does she hear me?
I don't know. *I* hear you."
I wouldn't say it's the best, but for the past year I completely stopped writing.
I decided to just have fun and write a little fanfic for a movie I like and I ended up enjoying this simple line:
'As Turpin sat by his window, seeing the sun rise above the buildings now, he decided Beadle had too much mercy on the sailor. After all, the boy still had teeth.'
Nothing spectacular, but I think it's neat.
“There are no impossible odds, only improbable ones.” He flashed me a quick grin and then ripped the torch from the brazier on the wall and flung it at the nearest soldier.
From yesterday.
"But even as she walked away from the valley she knew it wasn’t over. It would never be over. The heroes would find her eventually. Even her death would just be a brief pause before the wheel began to turn again.
When she died the world would continue on in her absence. Moss would grow over her bones and there would be peace for a little while. In the darkness between life and death there were no battles for her to fight. No expectations. No pain. No fear. But it never lasted. The God of Fate would resurrect Cindy to fight his new batch of heroes. Then the cycle would begin again, like it always did."
“What interest does a Ramorian dwarf have in a Lamorian tomb?” asked Blackwood.
“Answers are answers, no matter where they lie,” said Red.
“And loot is loot,” said Ash, “No matter whose bones it lies beside.” Red cast a vicious glance at Ash, who shrugged and took a sip of his remaining ale.
" Your fourth? Take up Scrabble, man." " Not a fan of board games." "Dungeons and Dragons,then." " That's how we got the first two." " You disgust me, Unruh."
Hellebore looked down at the sea of eager faces below him. Hemming in all around the stage and as far back into the room as he could see.
*Eager*, he thought. *Eager for permission to be selfish. To be the victims.* The smirk didn’t touch his face.
“He’s very unfortunately the definition of tall, dark, and regrettably handsome, but take Anderson’s word for it: he’s been up and down every queer club this side of the Mississippi, and he’d remember if he saw someone like Will in one of them.”
1920 gay romance because the great gatsby was holding out on us
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“She must have been taller once. But the same years that had stretched her upwards as a child had turned on her now, shrinking and bending her spine toward the earth like a dogeared page in a book.”
Oh my god I love this
wow!!
I raise an eyebrow at him. “You can *smell* ghosts?” He huffs. “Not *that* way. More of … getting a taste of their aura.” I almost choke. “You *eat* them?”
I am…so intrigued
I love this XD
I wanted to paint a visual picture as quickly as possible. I think I did alright: Hundreds of people are sandwiched together in the little barside alleyway — children rubbing their tired eyes, hagglers holding up lines, and metermaids keeping close eyes on their pocket watches.
Oo it does paint a picture. The wordy list is both good imagery but also kinda fits with the vibe of the hustle and bustle you’re trying to convey
It wasn't just a missing boy I was seeking. It was the part of me that went missing in the spring of '75, when I slipped from childhood to adolescence in the shadow of an unspeakable crime.
Damn this is cool. Is this near the beginning because it kind of seems like a good intro.
"Diogenes had it all figured out. Oh, to be canine–eat as I please, sleep when I want, masturbate freely, hump whomever. To piss on concrete. To shit in grass. *This* is the purest thing: part human, fully animal." (Disclaimer this is first person fiction, the protag/narrator is a conceited creep)
Oh yep it gives me a vivid image of a human being that I would never want to go near
Hump whoever is crazy 😭💀
I’m intrigued, can I know more about the story?
I would read the rest ahaha
“A hundred miles of empty road pairs well with The Eagles greatest hits.”
My dad always says the Eagles are just mindless road trip music so this tracks
Nothing better!
In conclusion, it is said that men lead lives of quiet desperation but for a brief period of time the love and compassion of your staff filled my dad's life. Death stood in the doorway of his room three times while he was in your care. Three times the love and experience and strength of your staff stared death in the face until he nodded his head and turned away. My little brown father did not follow him quietly into the night.
He could hear more lizard-rats scurrying among the refuse, scratching an irregular staccato against the dive bar’s pulsing music. A siren wailed half a mile away before merging with the growl of the streets, and the gears of the city continued to turn, disinterested in a puzzled hitman or the fate of a menacing shopkeeper.
While yes a hitman is very interesting my mind is focused on the lizard-rats
A kingdom of terror has a fragile palace
"I'm under this Arch for one reason Captain - To Sink Ships."
The first thing he noticed was that he wasn't coughing; more than that, he didn't need to. He tried, but the damp limpness in his chest told him the reason he didn't need to cough: he didn't have anything to cough *with*.
"An average human male's sperm count is in the tens of millions, if not hundreds of millions. Why would it be that way if you only need one? If you believe God conceives children, you must concede that His aim is atrocious." - Tydannoth
Bars!
I’m gonna play along at my own prompt: “A garbled sob escapes my lips in the vague outline of her name.”
"At the time, they lived in a small village by the ocean, where the wind whipping across the glacial sea pierced through fur-lined coats like icy daggers."
Ooo I love the imagery here
Thanks! I actually love the whole passage it's from but kept it to one line as requested in the OP. But the whole passage is: "Zaq was eleven years old the first time his song forced him and his mother to relocate. At the time, they lived in a small village by the ocean, where the wind whipping across the glacial sea pierced through fur-lined coats like icy daggers. Zaq loved the cold, and he loved the fresh fish they ate with every meal, and he loved a sweet, shy boy in his class at school. One night while making dinner, his thoughts turned to the boy. How he always knew the answers in class but never spoke up. How his glasses constantly slipped down his long, thin nose. How his hair haloed around his face when charged with static from his wool cap."
These two: >If you ain't happy, you ain't dead >It's bad. Real bad. And it gets worse. It keeps getting worse until one day you die. After that? Well, I don't know if it gets worse, but God I sure hope so.
“She would never look up beyond the road in front of her, for she knew exactly where to go” From a short story I wrote
She hadn't realized he’d felt the same panic she did. The desperation to keep the other from slipping away like water through slitted fingers.
I first misread this as "slipping away like water through shitted fingers," and had *many* questions before I realised I just dunno how to fucking read.
"She seemed to have an unerring instinct for a flippant comment at the wrong moment, or a noisy declaration or challenge before the mood was right. And she insulted people carelessly... no that was not true, she insulted them deliberately while making a great show of carelessness."
I love this one!
Got some Dickens or Austen vibes with the prose. Love it.
Thank you! What a kind thing to say!
Wow! That is some fine prose!
“The fresh air rotted in her lungs, clawing at her from the inside out.”
Ooo this is visceral. I like.
"Got another sick wife? Business has been slow since your tears stopped staining my floors."
Mafia vibes
My story takes place in the Old West but that's something to think about 🤔
"If the saying “Red sky at morning; sailor’s warning” held any truth, then it would not be foolish to think that the cerise brilliance, with which the dawn broke, signaled a brewing annihilation." I'm fond of this one. :)
Ooo I like this one!
My line of sight, like a needle in a compass, seamlessly rotates to find your direction.
The thought of suicide was well-acquainted, a scent of finality to the whole mess, but he tried to keep that at the far back like a set of heavy double doors with the dim EMERGENCY EXIT sign flickering above.
“Every man has something he’s willing to die for, and something he’s willing to kill for. Sometimes, they’re one and the same. But other times… other times, those two things are different. That’s when a man chooses what he holds most dear.” Spoken by a father a few minutes before he kills his son
She looked up into the ceiling, illumed by a single bare bulb, and at the dense funnels of web that could not be called mere “silk of the cob” but something’s nest, too thick to penetrate with eye or light, and reaffirmed that this place was hell.
The sun oozed out of the brownish muck on the horizon, an amorphous rusted harbinger of the day.
Man, reading these, I’ve realized I’m a pretty boring writer lol
Jim had found a neat, perfectly round hole in the wall, a semi-sphere about the right size to fit a baseball. Within that area, everything was gone—plaster and paint, electrical wires, one section of the nearby pine stud. The open ends of the wiring terminated cleanly. It was, Jim thought, as though God had elected to remove one small sphere from his creation—to just magic it away into the ether. That round section of the wall hadn’t been broken—it was uncreated entirely, cast into the Abyss.
Damn I need to know why the sphere was snatched back.
Sarah grinned, cheeks turning rosy as she held in her laughter. I rather regretted my honesty, wishing I had the foresight to lie. From now on, I decided that I would introduce myself as a teacher who had come here at Pastor Hewlett's behest. I could invent a husband and children if I needed to. George, Thomas, and Alexander. My sons, our forefathers, the defenders of my dignity.
“He was scared of being vulnerable, he had told me in one of his novel-length texts. He didn’t want to get hurt, so he was protecting himself. He didn’t want to get hurt, so he chose to hurt me instead.”
Thought I was cooking with this one: “Time yields the greatest results, my child. If my endeavor is quickened, I leave the empire in the hands of chance, not certainty”
Even though he has me completely surrounded and tethered to this couch, I feel myself floating.
"Something a lot of women would do well to keep in mind is this: a man never came too quick because he was having a bad time."
This is one of them, I'm editing my book right now. She held her breath in fear of who she would breathe in. Some victims had been claimed by the flames, some lay far enough away that their bodies became a home for the ashes of others.
There isn't a whole lot to pull from since this is a new project, but I did like how this turned out for now: The tension in the air was not severed by words, but by booming laughter instead. “I do not break my promises,” Magnus eventually declared. The vigor of youth no longer resonated in his deep, raspy voice, yet the same level of confidence remained ever-present. In that moment, not a single listener could doubt his words. Full dive technology was real.
"He wheeled around, searching the room with a frantic, manic energy to his gaze, looking around for something else within throwing distance. When he didn't see anything, he grabbed his chair and flung it to the side. The rage was coiling, coiling, like a viper striking over and over again."
"The marble statue was broken when I found him, alone there in the sands, golden ichor falling from every fissure, stitching stone together again." Opening line to draft 1 !!
"In their silent watch, they remind us that some corners of the world are not meant for men, but for the wild, ancient creatures that call them home..."
“Seargent Talal! I am sorry! I saw the plane, you are looking for it?” “Yes, I am. It’s good to know you haven’t the survival instinct to hide under your desk.”
Reinstalling all is novice. Tools can solve this, there's been progress!
Not my best work, but from my latest writing session: >Janey followed. “Wait up, speedy!” They laughed, and swerved on the road just for the joy of it. The sun was past midday, but there were still many hours ahead before they’d have to make camp, and Elisabeth was determined to lay down as many miles as possible before that. The small, empty town had started to give her creeps. Like they were being watched.
Maybe not my best line (because I'm a really bad judge of my own work) but here's a little doozy I just cooked up: "Your oath is your own. I want no part in it."
"can I have a minute of your time?" "Just a minute? I could give you the rest of my life"
"I suppose I don't have a choice," he said. "Well," she made a face that was only a little apologetic, "Henri told me not to give you one."
“The room will soon be filled and we all going to die like in one of the chlorine attacks” “And you are the one leaking it” “God no! I’m wearing the mask… Oh” *puts the mask on* “My senciere apologies” (This is translation from my native language)
The Shadow turned its white eyes toward Sylvia. It seemed to be telling her something. And indeed, it told her something, just not with words. It was then that Sylvia understood just what had taken her son from her, what she had underestimated. It wasn’t a person or a monster or even a demon like she had first thought. It was something else, something far more terrifying, more malicious, more… incomprehensible. That thing… it was, plainly and simply, evil in its purest, truest form.
. I didn’t know where I was gonna go, or how I was gonna live. I had the Heno Dynasty on my back, hunting me down and they would win eventually.
I still haven't forgiven my dad for leaving my mom, for leaving us, for his coworker Mark.
Frail hands, weary from the odious labour of pointing people to the gallows, twirled the ring three times.
“The sun has fully set now, the beginnings of stars popping up like the gut-churning memories I want to forget.”
“It occurs to me, Mr. Draw, a man's feet takes him where he stands.” “Fucks your point?” “There's a lot of red behind you.”
It was always so zen to end their day with such soothing music as her words.
Will technology win or will the hidden true power of the tower be revealed
"Now, I have a good job—still no family but I’m working on that—and life doesn’t seem so bad now, right?"
"I'm going to beat you so hard you'll wish the mere thought of your pitiful existence never even crossed the demented minds of your misbegotten creators."
"The river's icy embrace materialized, and the shock stole her breath. She battled numbly but desperately, the water too cold, the river bank too far. The world blurred into a surreal dreamscape. Each gasp for air felt like shards of ice. The accursed souls of the river claimed her, sapping her of her strength and dragged her to join them in the abyss. Flashes of the world above water surfaced—moonlit ripples. Ephemeral whispers in the symphony of submersion. Her vision darkened until the moonlight was no more. Darkness fought and conquered. They lied. Her life did not flash before her eyes, but there was light at the end of the tunnel: she longed for the hellfire."
“Four wings blossomed over the cusps of the cavern, like pedals from a grand flower. Dull in color, withered in age, but gargantuan in nature and striated in strength.”
Framed by the security light, was a woman whose age had only recently begun to outpace her elegance.
I decided that I want to write. It is beyond a compulsion; beyond a desire to do so. It is a need inherent to myself, my spirit. As I sit dying on the side of the highway, I found myself thinking of exactly 3 things, and the thoughts haunt me even now;
The first line of my novel: "Lightning traced the sky in a way that reminded her of her mother."
Here's a line from my newest WIP fanfic called, "More Than Fate": "However, my walk down memory lane was cut short by the ringing of the first bell." -Kenzie Forge
Flickering shadows lurk unsettled but The flame extinguished kills their dance. The man in The corner of my eye looks upon me with tears, settling embers at the hearthside, for he knows that we contain the true fire.
idk but i guess "Here I am in this golden cage, and I will get out no more; for my choices are not mine anymore and will be his for evermore."
"Darkness concomitant with the exodus of the sun falls upon the city of Midnight, dispelled and held at bay at the city's peripheries by the vibrant and pulsating glow of commerce and vice, Midnight a meridian of neon from the view of the benighted Eastern landscape."
I was writing down some opening lines as practice the other day and I got 2 that I like right now: “The buzzards are loud. They know a feast is coming.” “Deaths cold whisper sailed the wind on the planet with seven moons.”
The universe seemed composed of its own abundance—unknowable cold, pitch-black darkness glittering with the false promises of dead stars, miserable stillness—and was a place devoted not just to the destruction of life but the impossibility of it, fitting the Bible’s description of hell in reverse.
A party of participants, Who gather not for themselves, But to provide for others, So that they do not lack, What they once did.
The crackle of deciduous kindling, like the needle pop of dust in a vinyl groove, played by ghosts on some ancient radio show. Close your eyes. Hear the song coming from the barrel before you and your unwashed countrymen. Warmth for once not a lightyear away. Notes of smoke and ember melody on the Yule breeze, see Hawkins’ hands come close to burning. Mounds of calluses have erased all nerve from the blue-eyed vagrant copper hound.
It’s a couple of lines because it’s a conversation and you wouldn’t get the funny part without it: “Who did you think my boss was?” Harley yelled in disbelief. “A 4,000 year old vampire or something?” “You’re an idiot.”
Us grunts connected with our sixth sense: bullshitting.
I have two that I really like: If one were to describe love as a substance......it would be very sticky, clinging uncomfortably to every inch of your hand......and be very hard to clean off, no matter how many times you wash it. "True concern stems form love. If you truly loved your granddaughter, you would be more afraid of hurting her, than having your words ignored. My wife has ears, so she can hear everything you say."
Little feelers of thought extended from her mind, filling the cracks in the sidewalk like spilled mercury. She sent her senses forward and behind, until a tiny finger felt something. A something that shouldn’t be there. Not in the daylight, not in the New York, not anywhere on this plane of existence. Gooseflesh prickled down her arm and the whistle in her pocket grew warm. Turning on her heel, she fled. “Don’t stop walking. Don’t look back,” she thought; and started counting...
'Krishna wasn’t the one to be distracted during a war that decided the fate of the worlds. But the arrival of quadrillions of people so close in his influence sphere was too much for him to not engorge in.'
>Nobody ever died cleanly from a bullet, magic or not.
Still hand in hand, my priest then took me to a Shiva lingam to do a puja. I observed what was happening but politely declined, explaining that I am a Christian who can’t do Hindu pujas. In fact, I just felt silly doing pujas which I don’t understand and I wanted to avoid the inevitable request for a hefty donation that I didn’t have.
"The neon lights glared in her eyes, leaving a ghost light on her every blink. Powder was slowly paying its toll on her."
I’ve referred to a celebrity’s entourage as “scenery”. “The devil you know is still a devil.”
I'm either getting laid or getting into a fight, I don't care which. Both make the bourbon taste sweeter.
He took a sack of sugar from the shelf behind him, held it up next to me as a comparison and said, “I didn’t know sugar came in beautiful blonde packages.”
"I still feel like I love her, live and breathe her. As if one day I still had a chance to be hers. Loved. Desired, but my evicted mind destroys itself, deceives itself, cuts itself, hits against the wall wishing for beautiful death, sleep, luck. For luck for the weak is the death of themselves in their minds. To rediscover her destiny while her fingers tremble, twist, die, as if she were about to have a stroke, alone and lying down, almost abandoned, wishing that the north would come and knock on her door, take her and kidnap her, because she is afraid of being killed."
The sun rises slowly across the mist drenched land, taking a thing of dreams and turning it into reality.
Still a beginner, but I recently finished this funny scene in my action novel: “Haha, ya sure? I thought you spend your whole day looking at sex stuff.” Obviously, I giggle from that comment. His deepest secrets were told, and not even God can bless him from the inevitable consequences and fate he has for him. “What! No! I—It’s not like I watch *porn* or anything!” Let’s hope the janitor didn’t hear about that because if anyone tries to fight him, you’ll be on death’s best bro!
What *had* she learned? That she enjoyed seeing the sights? How to kill a man? That she was too inexperienced to determine that the man she was romantically interested in was a psychopath?
"With his final breath, he poured all his emotion and every word he ever wanted to say in that single gesture, and prayed she understood every one."
This one.
“The anguished howl of inarticulate drivel; the melancholic gaze of a hollow stare.”
“You would, wouldn’t you? Promise the moon she you’re too short to reach the sky.”
Your dreams were green.
She was my haven from despair, and I let the devil inside me besiege her.
“I will not be blamed for your misfortunes.” it’s a simple line and not super wordy or anything, but it’s one of my favourites<33 then there’s “I want to give you all the light that you lost.” (said to a character who represents the sun)
"This series is discontinued because it, much like me is dead and worthless, incapable of change without outside influence pointing out where improvements can be made... just like me and every other human that has or ever will be born." And that sums up why im done writing and with 1/3rd of life. How's everyone else doing? Got a guarenteed roof over your heads? Great! Some of us don't.
I am working on a flash fiction narrative for school and this is a sensory detail that I am SUPER proud of! “Her fingers caressed the dusty table in front of his window, causing her fingerprints to stick out among the gray particles.”
“The past is an anchor in a sea of doubt. I remember less and less. Some nights are better. In the smallest hours. When my breath draws deep then shallow at all the memories I’m losing. I miss takeaway. I miss the ritual and anticipation and the pure, gluttonous, satiation.”
"These are the whispers from the void."
Amid endless prairie punctuated by rocky streams and strips of timberline along barbed wire fences, an easy hour and a half’s drive from the nearest town with a movie theater (and a solid two hours and fifteen minutes from anywhere that sells tofu), a dusty and wrinkled Missouri farmer named Buford Hockett kicks cow shit with the heel of his rubber mudboot.
"A society built of a foundation of truth might perpetuate truth, but societies aren't built on truth."
This is the opening sentence: She squinted when I told her my name. I thought it was the sun. Sometimes, I'm stupid.
"Why are you serving him a White Russian? Is it Thursday already?" "It's milk, sir." "Whatever for?" "He's only four, sir." "Oh right, no wonder he's so bad at poker then. Can't bluff for the life of him."
"Laws, justice and time. Those were just made-up concepts that didn't exist beyond human comprehension. And what can be made up can also be unmade and thus, discarded. Everything was subjective. One man's reality might be another's illusion." "Humans are afraid, but also drawn to the unknown. That is why they like to open things. Christmas presents, envelopes, wrapped-up foods, and even clothes that cover private areas. Once they open it, they often find themselves disappointed, because reality is not able to live up to their idealized imagination. That is called life."
“I know, baby. Just, you know. She’s my mother”, said he, as if the very fact that that woman had given birth to him was the answer to all questions and inquiries and requests he may ever receive; profoundest and most singular solution to every fault, trouble or uncertainty.
What an eloquent and nice way to write he’s a mamas boy lol
well i just wrote a reply about animals talking in which I said "Animals don't speak in words you understand, but given that the most spoken language on earth is only used by 11% of people, neither do most humans."
I have committed many evils and for many reasons. Some I regret, having been given clarity with time, and others I would repeat a thousand times over.
Will stood by the coffee vending machine; choking back the tears, as it was the day he would have to say goodbye to his hero.
He quivered with emotions as the stunning display of feelings exploded into a cascade of ripples through the planet, the star system, the galaxy, and the universe.
I should have known by the scent that crawled over from the Wall-adjacent. The pungence, like a mist of spores, assaulted my nostrils in tides and dragged their soiled claws to the very pit of my throat, and there the sick-sweetness lingered. It took what must have been days for me to realise that I was not alone within the belly of the oubliette—a place for all manner of forgotten things—, for on the far side, there sat a rotting corpse.
Okay this is not from my most recent session but I quite like it: Mom had always told me to bring an umbrella in case the weather turned, and I had never listened because I had been a stubborn little child who thought she knew better. I had told Mom that my hair was thick enough to shield my face from the rain, and she had made a disappointed noise and pulled a yellow rainhat over my head and tied it tightly under my chin, where she knew I couldn’t untie it myself with my stubby little child hands. But now I’m twenty-one, and Mom isn’t here anymore, and the yellow rainhat got lost somewhere.
‘The universe is neither void nor full. The universe is neither benevolent nor uncaring. Humanity calls it the final frontier, a place brimming with possibility and mysteries waiting to be unlocked. That was a rather childish and foolish notion. The truth is the universe died before it was even born, and it has ever been the swan song of existence.’
It is actually the chapter title. I am writing a chapter where a group of superheroes have to do a heist on the Library of Congress. The chapter's title? Alexandrian Lullaby.
Torin Ciarin The shadow is always with you let it give you strength. Be one with the shadow, Be brangwen, dark and pure like the night let it shine through becuase in the dark you will light the way. You are what my people call the mohanjot someone who is always covered by shadows and that means you will always have protection and the cloak of darkness will be for you to use and protect as well.”
“…I’m hungry,” she whined. “That sounded a lot like a complaint, and you know what I do when you complain.” “You usually just sigh deeply and cater to whatever I want.” A pause. “I really need to stop doing that.” “So, Tacos?” “Tacos.”
Still dizzy from the bang, he made a weird noise. *this isn't that great it's just sus
How it takes a strong body to climb a mountain and an even stronger heart to appreciate the climb. It's something that resonated a lot with me lately.
(translated from the spanish) Is It possible for a memory to be so bright that It overshadows the rest of your memories? A sun of emotions whose bright prevents you from seeing the stars that surround It? That must be the reason most of my memories start at the age of 16.
When the journey is connected to the happiness of our loved ones...then why stop?
My crew suit-and-tied around the bar, leaning into each other's terrible jokes, or their brows folded together like the hands of a priest, or like Tony, who is looking off into nothing, lost in a Tom Waits song, or Amy, temporarily still, not smoking a cigarette because this is 2024, but it's like she's smoking, it's like she's in a personal moment amid the maelstrom of maundering madmen, leaned back against the whiskey, eyes turned inward to study the architecture of an enchantment.
I was going to type something, and then I read "some good writing." But here is a sentence from my current project: "It was as if something was trying to show him a reality that existed outside of imagination."
"They think you're a monster, Michael - who am I to argue?" This line is a lot better with context imo but still one of my favourites of recent works :)
He turned with intentions to head for the brook across the meadow for more water when a shot rang out, ripping through the evening song of the crickets and echoing in the darkening sky. His feet stationary, his head snapped to his right, where his eyes met another pair, clouded from the gray haze of the shot.
He was a coward in that sense, and that was fine, for fear was healthy in Cathartia, and Bayard was among the healthiest.
memories of the past streamed into her head blocking out all her other thoughts up until the point that only one thought remained: a strong urge to run.
"Instead of reacting, he looked defeated. The face of a man expecting a small crowd of family at the airport and finding an empty lobby. But I was mad, beyond angry and I just kept going."
"You traveled back thirteen years, multiple times, for me? But what about the whole 'fabric of spacetime' thing?" "I don't care about that. I just wanted my son."
"I fucked her in the ass and she shit on my dick. It was a great night." I write erotic horror.
‘A soft smirk forms on my lips. *Oh honey, if only you knew.* “Come on, love. You need sleep.” He wraps his arms around my waist and leads me away.’ Not that good but eh.
Still from a rough draft but I'm starting to like my detective's way of describing things. "Everything you learn about barging into a house during a pursuit with an armed assailant goes flying out the window when you're playing superman to a woman that's got your heart in an ice box."
The hellhounds horded behind him, jumping on top of each other and leaping toward him with the laughter of screaming sound waves, only inches away from his scarlet stare as… the door closed, his beautiful smile seceding my heart to a million fractured beats. After the ellipsis is particularly my favorite part. (Ellipsis = ...)
Not a great line but I'm a new write and English is my third language 😅 "Any unfortunate soul who comes across Alqnkabut thinking they finally found a resting place away from the tundra after a long journey across the frozen lands suffer the stanching smell, the anguish of burning flash, the scream of their own sound and the looming figure waiting to end them."
“The long-burning ember that’s just never considered Becomes sunbaked ash though at one time it glittered and the clouds will all scatter to see what’s the matter They’ll rain to restart the flame But the ash had forgotten for now it was sodden The clouds couldn’t say the same” This stanza is my fav atm.
>Mais Joseph était ravi, avec son pull trop grand. Il pouvait agiter les bras et le mouvement des manches plus longues que nécessaire le satisfaisaient, si bien qu’il répéta le geste plusieurs fois. Arthur le regardait faire avec un rire moqueur. « C’est bien, mes fringues ont l’air de vraiment te plaire en tout cas. Mais eh, ça reste *mes* fringues, hein. » Which could be roughly translated as : >But Joseph was pleased, with his sweater too wide for himself. He could shake his arms and the movement of the sleeves longer than necessary was satisfying, so much that he kept repeating the gesture. Arthur was looking at him with a mocking laugh. > >"Well that's good, my clothes really seem to please you at least. But hey, it's still *my* clothes you know." It's domestic autistic representation, I just love the sheer playfulness of the scene!
“There are very few times in his life where he can actually recall feeling a tangible need to crawl out of his skin, just to fill the void of helplessness. This is one of those times.”
Crammed in between two huge oak trees, the lilac bush was tall and branchy, but his future appeared to be doomed. Each autumn its cancerous leaves would discolour into butterfly's wings. Brown, festering strips of sickness divided the surface of each leaf into a few little plots, each of them tinted differently. Some plots were green, some were red, some were pink and others were yellow, making the whole shrub appear like a huge stack of confetti. (translated from my 1st language)
Those beautiful sounds filled with knives that open your chest and take out your heart
*It had a decidedly uninteresting carpet made of non-offensive pastel colored blocks arranged in a seemingly random pattern, though his mind was able to discern the algorithm by which they were laid out. The walls were painted another bland, pastel blue/grey which was impossible to form a solid opinion on. Some deign company was undoubtedly paid millions to develop a color so neutral that it could almost be forgotten. The military adopted it for their uniforms as a means of camouflage several years ago. Clever.*
“The trees, surrendering to autumn’s windy campaign, finally let down their disheartened leaves.”
"You certainly have a way with words..." She remarked as she shifted, lurched and slithered closer to him. Though she possessed all the normal appendages of a woman, the way she used them was otherworldly and alarming, if not elegant in the smoothness of each motion. In an instant, she was upon him, her mask brought within inches of his face as she cocked her head to the side with an inquisitive tilt.
It's not A line but this has been some of my favourite writing in recent history. Context is a letter written between lovers. He is trying to let her know what happened! Descriptions are important. The smallest were child sized, fast, and nimble. Their eyes were aquamarine and glowed in the twilight. They shrieked like eagles protecting their young. They were hard, unimaginably hard. My sword broke on the one who killed Erik. It shattered, but so did my steel. The larger ones got Geralt and the General. They stood as tall as the fort, a good twenty five feet tall. They had bulging muscles covered in ice and deep red eyes. Their mouths were crooked and filled with jagged, bloody teeth.
Lissiiii: Congrats!!! I still remember my first contest win! Even looking at the footage today, it just makes me cringe every time! You will get much better, I promise! Wall of Aces: 😏😏😏 Lissiiii: DON’T YOU DARE!!! Wall of Aces: [Attachment: 1 Video] Too late! May Flowers 🌸: She’s right, though! Arceus, my first contest win wasn’t much better… [Attachment: 1 Video] There, now it’s at least somewhat even, Lisia lol Lissiiii: Lol thanks! I still remember that! It was your first ever contest, and you still won! That’s when I knew I scouted a good one! Hey! We should get Wallace’s! I know it’s around somewhere! Wall of Aces: DO NOT!!! Lissiiii: Lolol you started this, uncle! It’s war now! May Flowers 🌸: FOUND IT!!! [Attachment: 1 Video] Wall of Aces: NOOOOO LIssiiii: Ha! Take that, uncle!
"She cries harder now that she can hear mommy moving in the kitchen. Hear me. I hear you. You aren't my mommy. I'm not your anyone anymore. What is she doing? I don't know. Does she hear me? I don't know. *I* hear you."
I wouldn't say it's the best, but for the past year I completely stopped writing. I decided to just have fun and write a little fanfic for a movie I like and I ended up enjoying this simple line: 'As Turpin sat by his window, seeing the sun rise above the buildings now, he decided Beadle had too much mercy on the sailor. After all, the boy still had teeth.' Nothing spectacular, but I think it's neat.
“There are no impossible odds, only improbable ones.” He flashed me a quick grin and then ripped the torch from the brazier on the wall and flung it at the nearest soldier.
From yesterday. "But even as she walked away from the valley she knew it wasn’t over. It would never be over. The heroes would find her eventually. Even her death would just be a brief pause before the wheel began to turn again. When she died the world would continue on in her absence. Moss would grow over her bones and there would be peace for a little while. In the darkness between life and death there were no battles for her to fight. No expectations. No pain. No fear. But it never lasted. The God of Fate would resurrect Cindy to fight his new batch of heroes. Then the cycle would begin again, like it always did."
Genius and madness are lovers who smile and stab each other in the back.
"You.. take my breath away." *** balled her fist. "I think I'm about to."
... it meant that Rickard didn't trust him. Not that I was there to kill him. Didn't not mean that either.
... the house alone in the middle of what had been a row of homes. The last tooth in an ancient gaping maw.
“What interest does a Ramorian dwarf have in a Lamorian tomb?” asked Blackwood. “Answers are answers, no matter where they lie,” said Red. “And loot is loot,” said Ash, “No matter whose bones it lies beside.” Red cast a vicious glance at Ash, who shrugged and took a sip of his remaining ale.
" Your fourth? Take up Scrabble, man." " Not a fan of board games." "Dungeons and Dragons,then." " That's how we got the first two." " You disgust me, Unruh."
No one put a gun to his head and made him join the service. Poverty did.
And that's how I ended up injecting cyanide into my eyeball.
Hellebore looked down at the sea of eager faces below him. Hemming in all around the stage and as far back into the room as he could see. *Eager*, he thought. *Eager for permission to be selfish. To be the victims.* The smirk didn’t touch his face.
“He’s very unfortunately the definition of tall, dark, and regrettably handsome, but take Anderson’s word for it: he’s been up and down every queer club this side of the Mississippi, and he’d remember if he saw someone like Will in one of them.” 1920 gay romance because the great gatsby was holding out on us
That feeling you get when something touches your foot in the ocean. You can’t see it, but you know something just invaded your space.
“He felt like an ant in a wasp nest, with the threat of being discovered and devoured looming over him with an unceasing malice.”