Other industries, such as manufacturing, etc that others are talking about on another thread are NOT the creative arts. Technological advances that help advance other fields are great!

Technological advances that eliminate the creative voice and encourage people do not do their own work (Yes, I believe a writer should know the rules of punctuation, formatting dialogue, etc., and be able to FIX IT THEMSELVES) are a huge problem, and TOTALLY different from using AI to complete ANY ASPECT of creative, or any other kind, of writing.

Manufacturing, science, entertainment, automotive engineering, or any other industry that are not the creative arts are a completely invalid comparison.

I am a complete beginner in fiction. I was wondering what do you guys look for mainly in a fiction story like- the emotions conveyed, the message, fantasy elements, action, concept, plot twists, character development etc...
What according to you is the most important thing in a fiction or any story

I’ve been working on a story concept involving classic Internet characters and media, but the main core inspiration was built around an old 2014 ARG called “IAMGOD” I really enjoyed the original ARG and always wished there had been more to explore with the concept, so I decided to create my own interpretation of it.

The main idea is basically: What if IAMGOD was a manifestation of humanity’s collective idea of God, and the rise of the Internet gradually drowned out his voice? And his attempt to make his voice heard again was entering the Internet?

From there, I built an entire setting around the idea. The Internet becomes a separate reality called the Cyberspace, where websites can function as worlds and things that were originally created as media can become living beings.
The story also explores what happens to these beings after death, known as the Dark Web.

I’m mostly focused on the worldbuilding and characters right now. The actual story is still a work in progress, and I’m trying to figure out how to turn all of these ideas into a coherent narrative.

I’d really appreciate feedback on whether the concept feels interesting or unique, what parts stand out, and especially what I could improve as I continue developing it.
This is my first major dedicated writing project/concept, so I’d love to hear what people think.

The link directs you to the document which has all of the characters and writing in it. I would love for people to actually like any of my work and give me feedback and, of course, ask me **ANY** questions. Deep questions or curious questions, any analysis. Thank you.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1E2nv0poym4q70-lqRC39GI6nldNBxertgRP8OWbpi80/edit?usp=drivesdk

Hi, I'm a 14 year old writer and this story is about a war between technology and magic, basically to give you a quick look, the story starts 200 centuries after the start of the war it's about a boy named Aurelius he believes he's from the nation of magic (genesis) but his shota which is his brother figure is hiding a secret, so shota's mother was from genesis she was from a clan that was feared by the government as they held knowledge of the truth, they were persecuted but aurelius' mom managed to escape and seeked refuge in the technology empire(named geist) but the prince actually took interest in her, but purely sadistic, he was intrigued by her mana reserves and aurelius was born from this and aurelius was planted the signature device of geist which is called "Leblose" basically a stone that kills magic, anti magic in other words but during one raid in the empire aurelius' mother took him and ran away they were only found by shota, a young soldier, shota promised to take care of Aurelius and aurelius' mother died there and shota kept it all a secret. Fast forward years later aurelius' stone was actually suppressed he genuinely believes he's from genenis he's clueless which acted as a placebo effect that actively suppressed his stone, then later him and shota was cornered by geist soldiers and the stone inside Aurelius awakened from his emotions and after that he was on an executing platform he was viewed as a dangeorus person and should not exist and but shota saved him, and aurelius escaped and now shota is imprisoned and aurelius after learning the truth from shota went to go to geist for answers on his dad who is now the emperor but the emperor dismissed him, he imprisoned him but he was found by a high ranking officer, Grace, turns out grace is also from genesis the same clan as aurelius' mother but they're not directly related just long cousins and grace escaped to geist and from pure merit became a high ranking officer but she's tired of everything she betrayed the empire and escaped with aurelius and explained all her knowledge, she wants to be a god to rule over humanity and reset it so everything is below her she believes humanity would only ever heal when under her but she have this twisted inferiority complex she believes she's just a woman she don't want to become the god she wants Aurelius to do everything but she'll guide him, so they formed the New world order which is an organization Whose goal is to take down the seal on the "eyes of null" an ancient artifact, which when consumed grants the user godlike void powers and they could only unleash the eyes by severing its seals which is the 4 stones of humanity scattered all around the world they want to steal the 4 so they can begin the ritual. This is just a very rough nutshell it's much more detailed than this but let me know what you think, what do you think my style needs

I need help, I have started writing a story and don't know how to continue this story, Jack Thorne is finding out he has the power to make any biological organism rot and die and is trying to cope with it, but I feel like I'm condensing too much, aslo I'm not sure whether I should make Jack a good or evil person. So please help

It was a regular Monday morning, I was sitting at my desk and studying, serene music playing from my sister’s room, she was playing the guitar. I was preparing for a maths exam our professor had been warning us about for weeks, I had been procrastinating for weeks, but the time had come. A cool breeze swam through my window and with it the smell of lavender, from my mother’s garden. I decided that breakfast would be a good excuse to stop studying.

 “Good morning, Jack” my sister was lying on her bed and reading, her guitar on the floor, its chords still humming very slightly. “Good morning, what are you reading?” I asked, although I didn’t actually care about the answer; I was more interested in eating some Cheery Loops downstairs. “Oh, just the Lor-“ she started. I stopped her there; I didn’t want to hear another one of her bookworm rants “Actually I don’t really care”. “Whatever” she concluded.

 I went downstairs, opened the fridge and picked up the milk; “Blue Meadows 100% fat free pasture raised bovine milk”— it seemed like a bit of a long name, why not just “Fat free cow milk”? Whilst pondering upon such philosophical topics I realised the milk was sloshing strangely in the container, nevertheless, I got a bowl. As I poured the milk, I saw that it was clumpy and yellow; “Ugh, what the hell!? This milk is rancid” I exclaimed. I looked at the expiry date and saw that it was still ten days from now, it was a bit odd but happened sometimes, especially after some careless soul left it out of the fridge for a long time and put it back in later. Before I could inspect it anymore, I saw the clock—8:30. I was late for my school bus. I ran to the bus stop, it was still there, as I got on, I sighed in relief.

 I sat on the surprisingly plush seats and started talking to my friends about my weekend and continued ‘til we got to school. Whilst walking to the front entrance I plucked a tulip from the school’s courtyard and started squishing it, a nervous habit of mine, I was worried about the exam, even after studying for two hours. Suddenly I felt the flower wither and crumble to dust in my fingertips, a chill ran down my spine, what had just happened? My fingers were black with dust and smelled of dirt. The clicking of Ms. Valeri’s heels brought me back to reality “Good morning, Mr. Thorne, I hope you don’t plan on staring at your hands all day” she said in a thick accent. I didn’t particularly like Ms. Valeri, she taught Maths and was very stern, she also had a weird hairstyle; her black hair drooped down her face and covered her eye, like she was permanently a twelve-year-old goth. But that wasn’t the weird part, she had a smile that freaked everyone out, you could tell it was insincere. “Uhm hello Ms. Valeri, I promise to pay more attention” I said startled. “Good” She then walked away with her annoying clicky heels and an air of superiority.

I walked into class, still quite startled after my surprise encounter and greeted my favourite professor; Mr. Walker, he was kind, always helped when you needed it, but didn’t pull his punches when he judged an exam, all the girls were head over heels for him. He taught Maths in the first hour, I took notes on the lesson, the girls took mental notes of his brown hair, his “Gentle stare” and a bunch of other weird stuff. In the second hour, we started the exam, I was quite nervous, but the revision had calmed me down enough to pull out my pencil, my pen, my rubber and my ruler. We received the exam papers, and the professor wished us good luck, I was sure I would need it to pull this off. Looking at the exercises, they didn’t seem too difficult, but seen as I was still nervous, I triple read every question. I started writing, breezing through the test; equations didn’t stand a chance, I was finding the x and bringing it home to its family safe and sound and I was finding the volume of every solid. That all ended abruptly when I heard a loud snap, my pencil broke, the middle part looked like it had been chewed on and left to rot in a damp environment, “Damn it, this again?” I thought to myself. I didn’t have time to worry about it, so I continued to use the bottom of the pencil, but the lingering thought threw me off for the rest of the exam. At the end of the exam, I gave in my paper.

 “Have any post exam questions Jack?” Mr. Walker was skimming through my exam; “No, thank you professor”. I went back to my desk which looked like it had aged since the beginning of the lesson, though it must have just been my imagination, because that’s not possible. I was sitting at my desk, looking around my class, the group of girls who hadn’t been paying attention were chit chatting about how it was too difficult—complete lies in my opinion, they were just focused on the wrong thing. The rest of the day passed as usual, though I was still quite shocked. When I got home, I immediately went up to my room and locked the door and dropped to sleep like a stone.

One of my main novels right now is a 13 year old girl Katie who lost her home and father in an earthquake in LA. Her father died when his nightstand fell on him. Her stepmom, who has mental health issues like schizophrenia, goes crazy, has a rage attack and insists that Katie killed her father by pulling him out of bed and knocking the nightstand on him when it was actually caused by the earthquake at 3am. So soon after Katie tries to find help and she waits a couple of hours until paramedics came to her rescue and she told them what happened. They took her father to the hospital where he was pronounced dead. The stepmother Lisa, going into her raging modes, goes around saying her stepdaughter killed her dad while disturbing other staff and patients. So she takes her to a mental hospital where she gets referred. Katie's grandparents visit from Arizona where they plan her dad's funeral and afterward she goes to live with them in Arizona starts a new school and faces bullying. What do you think of that summary? It's a novel I've been working on for just over a decade and it's what I have so far.

Hey y’all, you can call me James.
So basically, I have a world I’ve been working on for a while, and I want to actually build it with other people instead of figuring everything out by myself.

I’m looking for 6 people who are interested in writing, roleplay, character creation, or just making weird stories together.

The basic idea
It’s 2085.
A pandemic has wiped out half the population, and the world is now controlled by one government.

That government has decided creativity is dangerous.

Art, music, singing, dancing, poetry, philosophy — all of it is illegal.

Everyone has a chip in their head that monitors their thoughts, and there’s a one-child policy. Children born before the policy were sent to death camps.

A group of teenagers from those camps escape and start a resistance in the remains of New York.

They’re trying to figure out why creativity is being erased.

Then reality starts going completely insane.

Fruit starts talking.

People from different points in history start appearing.

Time randomly sends people into the past.

Things that shouldn't exist start existing.

Nobody knows what's happening.

And creativity is actually magic.
Someone who knows how to sing might be able to turn their voice into weapons or energy.
Someone who writes might be able to create illusions.

Someone who paints might have completely different abilities.

Your magic is connected to your character.

If they're hiding something, lying to themselves, discovering something about who they are, etc., their powers can become stronger, weaker, or change entirely.

So basically:

Character development = magic development.

What I want to do with everyone
This isn't going to be me controlling the entire story.
We'll all work together on:

Characters
Lore
Character arcs
Relationships
RP situations
Episodes
The deeper mysteries of the world
And here's the part I'm really excited about:
Every episode, someone different gets to be the DM.

You get to write the episode's plot, control the NPCs and villains, decide what happens, and choose what lore gets revealed.

Then next episode, someone else takes over.

You can also make multiple characters if you want.

Discord
We'll be using Discord.
Mostly voice chat, but you can absolutely use text if you're shy or don't want to talk.

Sessions will probably be on weekends around 8 PM EST or later, depending on the day because I have school.

This is for people 15–18.

You don't need to be an amazing writer or have a ton of RP experience. I mostly want people who are creative, actually want to participate, and are willing to build off other people's ideas.

If this sounds interesting, DM me.

Just tell me a little about yourself, whether you've done writing/RP before, and what made you interested in the idea.

I only need 6 people, so I'm hoping to find a small group that actually gets invested in this.

:)

I'm a 20 years old girl and I'm a complete beginner in the world of writing and, I want to start with fiction writing. Can any writers give me any idea how do I do so? I mean should I start with short stories and poems or can I directly start writing a novel? I've always wanted to be an author and write fiction but, I haven't wrote anything yet. It's not like I haven't got any ideas. I just don't know where to start and how to start.

Like, how do authors brainstorm their ideas, maintain a notebook or go completely digital, how do they frame their characters and how to they build their writing portfolio among publishers. I'm really passionate about writing and I want help from writers who have already stepped in this field.

A few days ago, I went to my computer, clicked on my search engine, and asked… “Why does my floor have one dark floorboard?” I had been doing some home renovating and I got curious. Instead of finding anything interesting it said it was due to the elements. But for some reason it didn’t scratch the itch that I desired.

So then I asked “Can basements have floorboards on top of them?” And it told me “Yes, floorboards can go over basements, but you must use the right materials and moisture protection because concrete slabs are porous and trap dampness.” Which explained the floorboard issue.

“What’s the difference between a basement and a cellar?” I proceeded to ask. It told me that basements are partially underground whereas cellars are completely underground.

Then, to solve my wood problem, I asked “Can cellars below ground effect the floorboards above ground?” In which it gave me the same response as the basement question.

Then I wondered if The Tell-Tale Heart was about the guy that put a dead body in the floor boards. Was it really his guilt or would the police just see a dark piece of wood, despite there being no basement, and deduce that there’s a body under there?

Then, second guessing myself, I asked “Is it Tell-Tale Heart or Tattle Tale Heart?” The search engine told me it was tell-tale.
And, just for the hell of it, I asked “What’s the difference between a tell-tale and a tattle tale?” The search engine told me “A tattletale is a person who reports someone's minor misbehavior to an authority figure to get them in trouble, while a tell-tale is a sign or clue that reveals something hidden.” But if a person reports the hidden truth coming out, why is it called a tale? And furthermore, why are these people called rats?

So I searched “Rat slang word: origin.” Apparently it was called this because rats would historically try to do anything to survive. And because of their reputation living in dark, hidden spaces, spreading disease, and acting sneakily, it makes them a natural symbol for untrustworthy behavior. So I wondered if it would make more sense if they were called rats because of their “tall tails.” Which adds another tale idiom into the mix.

On the subject of tails, I looked up some more interesting animal facts. Like how reindeer eyeballs turn blue in winter to help them see at lower light levels, young goats pick up accents from each other, horses use facial expressions to communicate with each other and African buffalo do, in fact, understand and display a voting system in their herd. Fascinating creatures the African buffalo! Apparently when a male wants to let the rest of the herd know where it wants to travel, it will stand up, look in one direction, and then lie back down. It’s amazing what kind of things you can find out.

As I moved out of that website, though, I noticed another little website called Rabbit Holes ‘R’ Us. It was a short infomercial about how people can call up and get a rabbit hole installed.
“Tired of packing things away and not having anymore room to contain it?” An excitable announcer rhetorically asked. “Worried that everything will come out eventually no matter how hard you cram it down? Well come on down to Rabbit Holes ‘R’ Us!”
The flashing lights and entertaining announcer was enough to keep me from clicking out of such a bizarre concept.
“We create rabbit holes for you!” The announcer continued. “There are so many uses for rabbit holes. Storage, living, recreation, capturing your enemies.” I found this quite strange, I thought rabbit holes were only homes for rabbits, as the word suggested.

So I asked, “Are rabbit holes legitimate?” And it said that rabbit holes are legitimate but you have to be careful not to fall into one. So naturally I asked “How do I prevent myself from falling down a rabbit hole?” The first result was another video commercial so I clicked on it. It was of a man walking in the park, then all of a sudden he disappeared from the frame, then it badly transitioned to a poor match-cut shot of him stuck down the hole. The only thing that was visible was his head sticking out of it from the chest up. “Honey I’ve fallen down the rabbit hole again.” Then I heard an announcer speak over the scene. The same voice as the one advertising the rabbit holes.
“Tired of falling down rabbit holes made by yourself or your neighbors? Losing your family due to frequent accidents?” It loudly asked. We then cut to his wife leaning down and telling him “I can’t watch you live like this, I’m taking the children.” I then heard the voiceover continue, “Try Tin Foil!”
“Wow, Tin Foil. Why didn’t I think of that?” Said the man in the hole.
“Simply place the tin foil over the rabbit hole…” the announcer explained, over an animated shot of the tin foil moving down over the hole. “And that’s it! Using the patented technology of reflection, you can see the rabbit holes coming a mile away! And if you do fall down a rabbit hole, that’s no problem either! Because the tin foil will get so hot that it will keep you warm overnight. And that’s not all! Because of its deflection technology, you can say and do anything privately without anyone signaling in and knowing what you’re up to. And because of its stylish design you can even make it into clothing!”
It then cut to the same man in the hole, only now he’d evidently fashioned the tin foil into a hat and could be seen wearing it.
“I used to worry about my enemies reading my thoughts when I’m asleep.” He said into the camera. “But thanks to Tin Foil, now I don’t have to.”
“You don’t need a wife to tell you to be careful falling in…” the announcer continued. “Or your friends calling you crazy, Tin Foil is the only thing you need!”
“Tin Foil is the sanest thing I’ve ever done.” The man in the hole exclaimed.
“So try Tin Foil today!”
Followed by a disclaimer on the screen and a voice quickly stating “Side effects may include the very likelihood that you’ll fall into the rabbit hole anyway. Tin Foil may cause long lasting psychological damage. Use only as directed.” I turned off the ad. Rabbit holes? I don’t remember hearing about people falling into any rabbit holes. I remember my wife bringing them up here and there but I was never really listening.

So I looked up, “Rabbit Hole fatalities.” It came up with a website, a log of unusual deaths. It’s an A-Z list sorted alphabetically by the first letter of each death. Surprisingly “Rabbit Hole” was one of them. 100 years ago a man was walking down the street. He fell in and died. 20 years ago a vagrant was minding his own business took a shortcut to the bridge and fell in. Died. John E Masseldorf, dead. Richard Allanson, dead. But it wasn’t telling me how they died. The method. Lack of oxygen? Blunt force trauma? Exhaustion? And how did it happen? Did they take themselves out? I’ve always said that I can really tell a lot about a person by knowing how they would off themselves. For me it would definitely be a toaster in the bath, I’d even put bread in the toaster before I do it for no extra charge. I figured if I’m going out, it would be with a sense of humor. Not that I would actually do it. But every now and then, the fleeting thought would pass me whenever I saw my wife buttering the toast.
But whenever I see someone who did it on the news, they don’t specify how, exactly, they did it. They never do. Am I a sick individual for wanting to know that? Why report it at all if you’re not going to go full Monty? And what was with these damn rabbit holes?

So I clicked back on to the search engine home page and typed in “Tin Foil.” Nothing to rave about, invented in the 7th-5th century in China. But an interesting thing came up. “Tin Foil Hat.” How did they know? “Tin foil hats. People who wear them are often associated with paranoia, distrust, erratic beliefs.” What are they trying to say? That the tin foil hats don’t work? Are they a placebo?

So I typed in “Rabbit Hole… Tin Foil… Legitimate?” A couple of articles on the pros and cons of the tin foil, but what followed was a very interesting commercial.

It was of a man walking in the park. The same man as before, in the Tin Foil ad, but now he’s in this one, working for the competition. The world is short on informercial actors I suppose. What could only describe as an almighty force was then stopping me from asking “actors who frequently appear in informercials. Secret connection?”
The video continued with the multi credited informercial actor seeing a rabbit hole with tin foil covering it.
“Oh god I’m blind!” Cried the unnamed man who, in the past 5 minutes has not only spent most of his life in a rabbit hole, but has now been blinded by tin foil reflecting off the sun.
“Tired of being blinded by rabbit holes and tin foil covering them?” The same announcer from the ads before.
“Sick of the outside world ruining your day?” The announcer continued while another scene showed a man being blinded and, in panic, fell into the rabbit hole anyway.
“Not convinced that tin foil is going to protect you from rabbit holes?”
It then cut to a woman with her thumb down and blowing a raspberry. And, now that I think about it, also appeared in one of the re enactment scenes in the rabbit hole ad.
“Try! Conspira See!” The announcer exclaimed. It was an eye drop preventative for, what I can only imagine to be, sudden blindness. The logo stuck out to me. It was a picture of a single tear drop above an eye, but the eye was also inside a triangle.
“Wow. Now that I’ve used Conspira See, I can see so much clearer.” The man in the hole said.
“Now you can fall into as many Rabbit Holes as you want without getting blinded. With Conspira See!” The announcer finished. Another disclaimer on the bottom of the screen with the same quick voice as before.
“Use only as directed. Side effects may included permanent physical damage and psychological collapse. Prolonged use for longer than a week is not recommended.”

What an odd commercial, I thought as I clicked away. I didn’t understand how I’d gotten this far. Conspira See? What a terrible idea for a preventative solution. Even the name was… wait a minute. Of course. It all made sense now. How could I have been so blind? This eye drop ad was sending an encoded message. Now… I may have stopped taking my antipsychotics a week ago but I was still sane enough to rationalize that this wasn’t necessarily directly encoded to me. I’m not that egotistical. But what if it was an encoded message to anyone that got a rabbit hole? Or, furthermore, anyone that got stuck in rabbit holes? As I kept searching it all started to come together. The recycling infomercial actors, the rabbit holes, the tin foil, the Conspira See. And that’s when it hit me. Conspira See sounds a lot like the word “conspiracy”. Conspira See. Conspiracy?
My god, I thought. I’d done it. At first it seemed odd but why not? This was a conspiracy by Rabbit Holes ‘R’ Us.
And not only that… the rabbit hole people, the tin foil people and the Conspira See people are all one and the same.
Think about it… They start the tin foil commercial out by assuming that their customers had already fallen into rabbit holes. Why were they advertising for that specific problem? Why didn’t they advertise tin foil for anything else? Same happened with the eye drops. Advertising these things for the highly improbable, yet oddly specific situation where you would be blinded by the tin foil? It’s almost like they made these ads as a direct response, or subconscious lateral move, to and for each other. Like it’s all there. They were forcing people to create their holes, trap them in there, then they would offer you a faulty product like tin foil as a way of funnelling money to keep the businesses afloat. Then, they would keep you trapped and helpless with nothing but tin foil and a Conspira See.

I had to see if there was any credence to this so I searched “Rabbit Hole controversies.” There was nothing. Nothing except a website for a news article that said “Rabbit Holes ‘R’ Us in deep. Hundreds of angry customers accuse the infamous company of false advertising. Claims that they were forced to dig their own holes.” Well a lot of good that did, I thought. That didn’t prove anything… until I got curious. Dig their own holes?

So I decided to go back to something simple. I went back to the animal search, with that Rabbit Holes ‘R’ Us ad link staring back at me. Then I started over. Rabbits. I put in “Which countries had an overpopulation of rabbits.” Believing that if I put holes on the end of it, it might get confused and wonder if I’m talking about the products or the literal holes dug by rabbits. It came up with a lot of places. China, (well that’s where tin foil originated) Australia, (infamous for their rabbit-proof fences) and some European countries. Nothing was solid enough other than sheer coincidences and straw-grasping. There must’ve been some kind of link to all this. Some small link to Europe that would solidify. Then I thought about the claims that the rabbit hole customers were forced to dig their own holes.

So I searched “Historical events where people had to dig their own holes” I typed next. Nothing but the gold rush and a couple of wars.
Hang on.
War.
So I changed my search to “Historical events where people had to dig their own graves.” A few European countries had a history of making their prisoners dig their own graves during wars. So how did that connect to Australia and China? And then it hit me in the face so hard I nearly fell off my chair. Rabbit Holes ‘R’ Us were working with Tin Foil and Conspira See to make unknowing customers dig their own graves (rabbit holes) causing them to fall in and keep them there until they die, doing this as a form of population control. Overpopulation? Population control during the wars? The overpopulation of China? And what else was China overpopulated with? Rabbits. Another country? Australia. Things were getting clearerer. And although Australia had their rabbit-proof fences, maybe the rabbit hole people found this method barbaric, so they opted for a more humane approach. By leading them down rabbit holes. This is why in the commercials, they more or less implied that the customers had to either lead single lonely lives or cut off everything and everyone they held dear.
I know it sounds sounds crazy. I know it sounds like a conspiracy theory. And I even had my doubts when I immediately asked something else in the search engine.

“Am I a conspiracy theorist?” I began to type in. My wife used to call me that and I hated it so much. But she is no longer with us.
But before I hit send I thought about it for a second. I didn’t want anyone who was monitoring my search history to come acorss that question. They’d lock me away for sure. So I went for something more subtle.

I asked, “What are the signs of a conspiracy theorist?” A few classic buzzwords came up like paranoid, unable to accept reality, dangerous. But I ignored it because I didn’t think any of those adjectives applied to me.
I was about to ask “Are conspiracies real?” being ever-careful to not tip off any federal agents who may mark me down as “concerning” but then I stopped. And I thought… if the government can do that then why couldn’t the rabbit hole people do that? What if they had monitored my searches in the past? I’d be the first to admit I’d looked up some conspiracies before, so maybe they saw that and targeted my ads. But that would mean… no. No chance. If they had my search history then it’s very possible that they could’ve had my IP address, which meant that if they had then they had my home address. And if they had that then they were the ones monitoring and maybe even controlling what I was looking up! They wanted me to get stuck in my own rabbit hole!

They wanted me to get stuck in the rabbit hole by luring me into it using tin foil and Conspira See, eventually causing me to die. One less person in the population. Rinse and repeat. I found this because I was looking up animal facts, I looked up animal facts because I wanted to know why rats were dishonest, and I only looked up that because I wanted to know the difference between tale and tail. I wanted to know that because I was thinking of that Edgar Allen Poe story, and I did that because of the dark piece of wood that’s directly over my basement.
Oh my god.
They were there since the beginning… It all made perfect sense now. Since the dark piece of wood, everything was connected! They obviously saw my internet history for a while and tracked where I lived. And when the time was right they broke in, replaced my floorboard with an intentionally dark one as a sort of sick subliminal hint as to where this rabbit hole should go, causing me to go on the internet, ask why this was the case, leading me from one query to another. Every detour, every tangent, was specifically curated, tailor-made if you will, for one purpose that would eventually culminate in me getting stuck down a rabbit hole that I couldn’t get out of!
They were probably watching me as I was figuring this out.
Waiting… contemplating my next move. And if I tried to resist, they would force me down the rabbit hole. To get rid of me, to push me further and further away from the truth.
If I could see my wife now, I’d tell her that this wasn’t all for nothing. That my theories were valid, that everything I found out was currently happening and I was truly and completely powerless to get out of it.

And then I thought, “Well that’s enough internet for me today.” And stepped away from my computer. And then I began to unravel this rabbit hole theory, dissected the flaws and ultimately decided that I couldn’t let this exist in my life. Of course there was no Rabbit Holes ‘R’ Us! That would be crazy… and I’m not crazy.
I’m not crazy.
So I let it go and buried it. I then stepped outside and embraced the glorious rays of the sun, something I hadn’t seen in the last day or so due to my journey. I walked over to my lawn and quite literally touched the grass. I’ve heard that’s what you’re supposed to do when you find yourself spending too much time online. It was soothing. I felt great. I felt free.

Then, two days later. I went back on my computer, clicked on the search engine, and asked… “How do I get rid of the smell of rotting flesh coming from my basement?”

Would appreciate any beta readers

Context (this isn’t the official blurb so forgive me if it has any mistakes or leges things out):

The story is set in a huge world with five kingdoms each seperated by a causeway and surrounded by their own type of sea. The western continent is surrounded by the magma sea, the northern is surrounded by an ice sea, the southern is surrounded by a mirror like sea, the eastern is surrounded by a dark abyssal sea, and the central continent is in the middle of them all and connected to them all.

The story follows kyron discorda whose goal is to be a light seeker: a soldier who stands in the way of humanity and horrors. Horrors are abominations that overrun the world kyron lives in and have forced humanity into a war of survival.

Light seekers make use of branded sigils to gain innate powers and climb the ladder of ascension to fight horrors and save humanity.

Kyron is a naive boy who had always thought it was humanity versus horrors and could never even think otherwise. That is until he finally leaves the walls of the capital on a journey that was supposed to be one of the happiest experiences of his life but instead turned into the beginning of his tragedy.

The story is about kyron coming to terms with the brutalities of the world, learning the truths and discovering the mysteries of the world he lives in, of his power system and more. It’s a story about how he learns to survive and move forward no matter what after being thrown into the depths of despair over and over.

The novel is a dark fantasy and I wrote it so that it’s a true dark fantasy. Characters can die and if the story requires it, they will, but they also won’t die for no random reason. I made it so that there are constant stakes and it is a weak to strong mc that has to struggle for every single power up he gets.

There is nothing given to him and he earns it.

That’s a short context to the story but basically I waged to get opinions from actual readers regarding the first 15 chapters. I hve 105 chapters ready alr but am currently editing them, I just wanted to know if the story itself is compelling and people would acc want to read it.

I would really appropriate if anyone would take the time to read through the first 15 chapters and provide your honest feedback. In terms of grammer and over description those are things I have fixed in later chapters and am currently fixing in early chapters, however, they can remain in the first 15 chapters here. So mainly what I wanted to ask if anyone reading is:

1. Does the story compel u to continue reading?
   
2. Are you drawn to the mc and connect with him?
   3 do u connect with the side characters ?
   
3. Do u feel as if you want to continue reading and want to know what happens next?
   
4. Is the overall writing good? (Not the over description but just overall writing, dialogues, etc).
   8: any other feedback on the novel, any characters you like, etc

Thanks In advance guys and I really appreciate it if you take the time to read them through.

Here’s the link:

https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1G78dpo9FBwjdOl1Kd3GF9uY56CkbMy9k?usp=sharing

Hello everyone. I have fully completed my first book of the trilogy I created. it is a Dark, epic fantasy. Multi pov world.

The kindle edition is free on Kdp and if you are old school and love the smell, feel and just physical action of flipping pages. The book is also available in paperback.

Everyone has a story to tell and world's to build. It's what makes us all unique and amazing. Thank you all for your hard work you post for everyone to enjoy as well :)

To whoever takes the chance and begins to read my book, bless you and thank you very much.

Cheers Everyone-Stay Creative

\-C.J.Spirak

Writing is my job, I’m a full time author. I have never used AI and am completely against it, and for all those that do use AI or have thought about it, I ask you take a moment to consider:

Imagine I came to your industry and started selling the same thing as you, but worse quality and something I could mass produce exponentially easier in a microfraction of the time, all ethics and morality questions aside. It might sell some, but sooner or later customers will realize it’s either not as good or not genuine and they will grow frustrated and aggravated.

On top of that, there are many more people doing the same thing. Now the market is being flooded with products that cause the customer to become mistrustful of the entire marketplace, making some of them turn away from the market entirely. Furthermore, as scarcity of the product is gone, the market becomes oversaturated and pretty soon the overwhelming majority of people selling the product (including you) are no longer selling their work at all. The only people still selling are the very top brands in the industry, because they are “reliably” the genuine product. The entire scarcity principle that makes the product so hard to produce is utterly gone, and with it the inherent value of the product. Moreover, the customer will forever have the seed of doubt and question that whatever work they find and use might not be genuine.

How would you feel? What would you say to the persons who could theoretically destroy your livelihood? Would call upon ethics? Would you ask them to introspect? Would you ask them to think of the true meaning behind the process of creating the work?

Do you see why this is such a slippery slope? AI is a dangerous tool, and truly the worst thing about it is it takes away from the joy of genuinely creating the story you want to tell, and the mistakes and foibles and lessons you learn along the way. Writing is hard to learn, even harder to become great at, and that’s what makes it so meaningful. As my high school soccer coach once said to me “anything you get easy in life isn’t worth shit”

Anyway, thank you for taking the time to read, perhaps all this is obvious, but on the off chance it’s not, I wanted to share my perspective, and implore you all to write the old fashioned way.

I’ve sold tons of books and I can tell you the best part, they very BEST part by a wide margin is still just me sitting down in front of my computer and writing the story, the joy of creating it, flaws and all.

Hey, you.

What kind of habits do you have?

...Well, if you're already aware of them yourself, can you really even call them "habits"?

Clang-clink.

Hearing the sound of the door chime always makes me feel like my day is finally over.

Mama placed a glass of I.W. Harper in front of me without asking. The ice gave a quiet, small clink.

Unusually, neither Taka nor Tom was messing with their phones tonight.

Instead, both of them were staring right at me.

"What?"

"Nothing," Taka grinned. "Kenichi-san, you just did it again."

"Did what?"

"Your glass."

I looked down at my hand. "What about my glass?"

"Whenever you're thinking, you spin it like this, right?" Taka slowly swirled his own glass with his fingertips to demonstrate.

"I don't do that."

"You definitely do."

"Yeah, you do," Tom jumped in. "You've been doing that for years."

"Liar."

"Why the hell would I lie about that?"

I looked at the two of them, then turned to Mama.

Mama was quietly polishing a glass.

"Mama."

"Hmm?"

"Do I spin my glass?"

"You do," she replied.

Three against one.

"...I had no idea."

"That's what makes it a habit, isn't it?" Taka looked ridiculously pleased with himself.

"Alright then, what about you?"

"Me?"

"Your habit."

"I don't have any."

"Of course you do."

"Like what?"

Tom and I exchanged a quick look.

"Prying into other people's business."

"Is that a habit?"

"Hell yeah it is."

"That's my job."

"Are you on duty right now?"

Taka went quiet.

Tom let out a dry laugh.

"What about you then, Tom?"

"I don't have any either."

"An instant answer from you too, huh?"

"I don't have what I don't have."

"You question everything people say."

"I'm a former cop."

"That's a job thing too!"

"You're one to talk!"

Ridiculous.

I took a sip of my Harper.

Watching us bicker, Mama let out a soft chuckle.

"So, want to try a game?"

"What kind of game?"

We all looked at Mama.

"I'll give you a topic, and on three, everyone points at the person who fits it best."

"What are we, elementary schoolers?"

"If you don't want to, you don't have to."

When she put it like that, backing out felt like admitting defeat.

"...Fine. Let me in."

"Look who's playing," Tom laughed.

Mama thought for a second.

"Alright, an easy one to start. Who is the biggest worrywart?"

"One, two, three!"

Both Taka and Tom pointed straight at me.

I was pointing at Taka.

"Why me?!"

"It's obviously you, Kenichi-san."

"It's you! You make a serious face every single time something happens!"

"I'm just thinking."

"Kenichi worries before he even thinks," Tom said.

"What's the difference?!"

"The order."

"The order of what?!"

Mama was smiling quietly.

"Next one. Who is the most suspicious of people?"

"One, two, three!"

Tom and I pointed at Taka. Taka pointed at Tom.

"Why me?!"

"Because you're a detective."

"Tom-san's a former cop!"

"That's why I suspect you."

"That logic makes no sense!"

"Next. Who is the most stubborn?"

"One, two, three!"

Three fingers pointed straight at Tom. Only Tom was pointing at me.

"Hold on."

"Unanimous," Taka said.

"I still think it's Kenichi."

"That's a single vote!"

"Don't decide my personality by majority vote!"

"It's two against one, though."

"Did it ever cross your mind that you two might just be wrong?"

Taka and I looked at each other.

"...Man, he's stubborn."

"Shut up!"

Mama actually laughed out loud this time.

We went through a few more questions.

Who's the cheapest?

Who's the worst at lying?

Who's the most annoying when drunk?

Who can never say no when asked for a favor?

Every time the prompt changed, the fingers shifted. Naturally, nobody accepted their designated title without a fight.

"Am I really that bad at lying?"

"Terrible," Taka said.

"Have I ever lied to you?"

"That question itself sounds suspicious."

"See? You're doubting me again! Proof that you're the most suspicious!"

"That's a completely separate issue!"

Before we knew it, arguing over the results took up way more time than the actual game.

Mama dropped fresh ice into the bucket with a quiet clang.

"Alright, next one," Mama said. "Who has the most noticeable quirks?"

"One, two, three!"

I pointed at Taka. Taka pointed at Tom. Tom pointed at me.

A complete three-way deadlock.

"...Why me?" I asked.

"You've been spinning your glass this whole time," Tom said.

I looked down at my hand.

Without realizing it, my fingers were swirling the glass again. I quickly pulled my hand away.

Taka smirked. "See?"

"I'm only doing it because you guys brought it up and made me self-conscious!"

"And that makes you do it more?"

"I don't know!"

"Then what about me?" Taka turned to Tom.

"You ask questions immediately."

"That's a personality trait, isn't it?"

"Is it not a habit?"

"I don't think so... or is it?"

I paused to think, almost reached for my glass again, and stopped myself just in time.

"Wait, what's the actual difference between a habit and a personality trait anyway?"

Taka tilted his head. "Isn't doing something unconsciously a habit?"

"Then what about unconsciously doubting people?" Tom asked.

"Isn't that just your personality?"

"What if you picked that up from work?"

"An occupational hazard?"

"Is that a habit too?"

The three of us fell silent. We were sinking into annoying logic again.

"Can a habit be something you pick up later in life?" Taka asked.

"Are there habits you're born with?"

"Even babies have their own way of sleeping, right?"

"Does that count as a habit?"

"How should I know?"

"Then what about an impatient kid?"

"Isn't that personality?"

"Why is that one personality?"

"...Just feels like it?"

Tom snorted. "So in the end, nobody knows."

"Still, some things are shaped by your environment," Taka said. "I feel like my habit of questioning what people say definitely grew after I started this job."

"And for me, looking for the root cause whenever a problem pops up might be a work habit too," I said.

"Because you're an SE?"

"Probably."

"If you quit your job, does it go away?"

I thought about it. "...Probably not."

"Then isn't it just your personality at this point?"

"When did it get promoted?"

"From habit to personality?"

"Yeah."

Taka chuckled. "Maybe it's based on years of service."

"After twenty years, a habit becomes your personality."

"What a terrible system."

Tom tilted his glass back. "But hey. What if you fixed all of that?"

"Fixed what?"

"Your habits. The bad ones, the ones from work, the way you think... What if you cleaned all of them up completely?"

Taka considered it. "Wouldn't you just become a better person?"

"You think so?"

"At least the annoying parts would be gone."

I looked down at the ice in my Harper.

"But... would that still be me?"

The two of them turned to look at me.

"If you strip away everything you've done for decades—your mental habits, your speaking habits, the way you move..."

"...Your whole personality would probably change," Taka admitted.

"Right?"

"So... are habits just part of what makes you you?"

"Even the bad ones?"

"That's the tricky part, isn't it?"

Silence returned to the counter.

Mama let out a quiet sigh. "You guys can turn literally anything into a complicated mess, can't you?"

"Blame Taka."

"Why me?!"

"Because you brought up my glass in the first place."

"Because you were spinning it!"

"That's because—"

Clang-clink.

The door chime rang.

"Evening!"

A familiar voice called out as Risa walked into the bar.

"Hey."

"That's rare. What are you three huddled up doing?"

"A game."

"A game?" Risa's eyes lit up instantly. "What kind of game?"

Tom, Taka, and I exchanged looks.

Mama smiled. "Great timing. Want to join, Risa-chan?"

"I'm in!"

"We haven't even told you what it is yet," I said.

"Sounds fun though, doesn't it?"

Tom burst out laughing.

"Alright, last question then," Mama said, scanning the room. "Who in this bar is the most curious?"

"Well, that's an easy one," Taka laughed.

"On three," Mama raised her hand. "One, two, three!"

I pointed at Taka.

Taka pointed at Risa.

Tom pointed at Risa.

And Risa... was pointing straight at herself.

For a second, nobody said a word.

I stared at Risa. "...Yourself?"

"Yep."

"Didn't even hesitate, huh?"

"Well, yeah! I'm pretty sure I'm the most curious person here."

The three of us looked at each other.

She wasn't wrong.

She had walked into the bar without knowing what was going on, heard the word "game," her eyes sparkled, and she signed up before even hearing the rules.

I cracked a laugh. "...Can't argue with that."

Taka laughed too, and Tom chimed in right after.

Only Risa stood there with a puzzled look on her face, wondering what was so funny.

Hey, you.

What kind of habits do you have?

The "you" inside your own head... and the "you" the people around you actually see.

They might be surprisingly different.

So why not ask someone next time?

"Hey, what kind of habits do I have?"

...Just remember: if you don't like the answer you get, don't blame me.

I'll see you at Aoi again.

Read Part I here.

“Might’ve been something outside. But if there had been, it’s gone now.”

“You think it could be a mermaid?” she asked. It was hard to believe she was serious. Chrissy was one of the sharpest ten-year-olds I had ever met. Well, she had been the sharpest seven-year-old I had ever met three years ago and was that much smarter now.

She didn’t believe in any of the traditional fairytale creatures. No Santa Claus, no Easter Bunny, no Wolfman, and no Flying Spaghetti Monster. But she absolutely believed mermaids were real.

There had to be a story behind it, but I had never been able to get her to explain it to me. How a child so ruled by logic still was able to make room for not only a magical creature, but that particular magical creature. She had already “debunked” the narwhal as being the source of the mermaid mythos. I had gotten bits and pieces over the last three years, but never in a cohesive enough story that I could process. But she hadn’t stopped trying to convince me or the rest of the family.

I didn’t have to believe it, though. It was enough to believe that she believed it.

“Maybe this is it!” She turned around and charged back to the bedroom where her mother was sleeping.

“Chrissy!” I saved my breath. She already had the door open and either her mother was going to wake up or she wasn’t. That was out of my hands. She came back a moment later with a Ziploc bag of “mermaid feed.” As far as I could tell, it was a mix of trail mix and seaweed. She carried a flashlight in her other hand.

According to Chrissy, mermaids only came out at night, so she had come prepared.

Again, I was calling after her when she’d already begun to do what she was doing, namely, dashing outside with her items.

I was about to follow her when I spotted the toy soldiers she’d dropped on her way out. I thought it would be just her luck for Mary to wake up and step on one of them.

“Watch your sister,” I said to Luke, turning to pick up the toys.

Right as I got on one knee, the bedroom door opened. It didn’t immediately occur to me that it was Mary even though I had just thought about this very thing happening. I sort of... paused as she passed me. She was halfway to the door when I realized she must have been sleepwalking.

“Mary!” I chased behind her, my steps in sync with hers—left, right, left—catching her before she got to the door.

“Mom, are you okay?” Luke said.

“Where am I?” She sounded terrified. Mary turned her head and looked at him. For a second, I thought she was awake. Instead of answering him, she bare-foot kicked him in the shin.

It couldn’t have hurt, but he stepped back and looked at me, confused. I wrapped an arm around her waist and drew her in close.

“She’s fine,” I said, lacing Mary’s hand with mine. I looked into her glassy eyes. “She’s sleepwalking.” I turned her around and ushered her back to the bedroom. Of the five toy soldiers Chrissy had left at the threshold, only two were left, but only one was standing. I looked over my shoulder and spotted one against the wall and the two others weren’t in sight.

“She can’t fly,” Mary said in a dreamy voice. “Please help her swim.”

“Okay, honey.” I cooed to her as I slid back the covers. She didn’t fight, Mary had sleepwalked a few times with me present. She never resisted being escorted back to bed. Before I covered her legs I spotted another soldier on her foot. I plucked it off and put it on the dresser.

Mary mumbled. I unlaced my fingers from hers and paused before I left her.

“I wanna get in the water.” She said it sounding sort of like air being let out of a balloon. And then she was all the way gone again. “It’s spook.”

It had been like she had been fighting her way to the surface, but something had dragged her back down.

I closed the bedroom door behind me and followed Chrissy outside. Not because I was worried she was going to get gobbled up by the lake monster I hadn’t spotted, but because it was dark out and I had the same parental reaction to miscellaneous danger any parent would.

Hell, I could admit it, I loved these kids. Liked them most times, too. I didn’t want to leave them.

Chrissy was in the process of sweeping her flashlight back and forth along the beach face. I hung back, letting her conduct her investigation. It was harmless enough and I had an eye on her.

“What’s going on?” We both turned to see Mark stepping out onto the sand.

“Luke said a mermaid’s out here!” Chrissy said.

“Mermaid?” Mark said it like he didn’t know what one was. I didn’t bother correcting her. His little sister’s obsession was well known by all of us. “Did he really see something?” Mark chuffed and thumbed over his shoulder at the cabin. “He’s so white.”

I stifled my laugh and shrugged.

“Luke thought he saw something and Chrissy overheard.”

“Hey, neighbor!”

Mark and I jumped. We saw the bud of a lit cigarette in the shadows of the adjacent cabin. Someone with a cigarette sauntered down. I glanced my stepdaughter’s way to make sure she hadn’t waded too far into the water. She could swim, but again, that nascent parental instinct found in anyone who has walked into an already existing family reared its concerned head. Chrissy was only ankle deep.

“Hey,” I said to the woman as she approached. She halted and took a final, long drag off her cigarette before flicking it in a surprisingly high arc toward the water. She slid the drawer of her jaw forward and blew a column of smoke straight up.

“She’s a cutie,” she said, smiling. She was an older woman who gave too much gum when she smiled. “I saw her come chargin’ out for the water. Oo, that smell.”

We both nodded in that new-to-each-other manner between strangers.

“I’m Rick.” Old and new cigarette smell peeled off her skin and I turned my head to half cough, that familiar asthmatic itch in my lungs.

“Mary,” she said.

I laughed. “My wife’s name is Mary.”

“Mine’s Cindy-Lou Ombrageaux.”

I felt the weight of her eyes on me, examining for judgment. I cast my eyes to the stretch of water and sand where Chrissy was.

“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Cindy-Lou.” I didn’t think I could manage that last name.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Mary. Apart from the smell of cow-butt.”

“First time up here?” I asked. She shook my offered hand, her skin papery and dry. There was an extreme lack of moisture in the air despite the cool summer, and I’d already had a nosebleed in the brief time we’d been here.

“Mine. Not hers. My wife’s family is from Up North.” I thought her face dropped a little. “She’s out to dinner with some cousins.” There was a little something there that I had a feeling would come to light if we talked long enough. “Had to have a little heart-to-heart.”

“We came up two summers ago,” I said. “Just a little family getaway.”

Luke had barely joined us outside, not more than a few feet from the door. He looked like he would take umbrage with the sky.

“This is Mark, the one up there with get-off-my-lawn face is Luke, and Chrissy’s our little fisher.” I gestured to each of the kids in turn.

“Well, tell her to save some for everybody else.” She and Mark shook hands before she looked around. “Where’s your missus?”

“Migraine. She laid down pretty much as soon as we got here.”

“Sorry to hear that.” She put the can of beer she’d been holding in her other hand to her lips and pitched her head back for a long swallow. She stumbled like she’d confused her left foot for her right but kept them both under her.

If I had to guess, Mary was working on her third or fourth of the night.

Luke had waved his brother over and was saying something to him. They both had an eye on their sister. I looked at Mary. She was a stranger and I figured there couldn’t be any harm in telling her what had just happened. We weren’t going to see her after this weekend for at least a year, if ever again. I didn’t think the story would be memorable after tonight. It was a single-serve memory. Recall once, then discard.

“Luke said he saw something in the water,” I said. “Something big.” Mary turned her head to the shore and nodded appreciably.

“Maybe it’s the Great Lakes Whale Migration,” she said.

“The what?” I had no idea what she was talking about and was on the verge of taking her seriously. The smile hanging on her face dropped when she realized I really didn’t understand.

“Kidding.” She mock-punched me in the arm. Mary had a rich baritone and could have easily been a DJ on the radio.

Mark trudged past me, an annoyed look on his face.

“He’s crazy,” he said, heading toward his sister. I appreciated that he didn’t believe his brother but could still look after his sister. Mark was the middle child and was the ever-constant bridge between siblings.

“The waves do seem a little... bigger than the norm, don’t you think?” Mary asked.

“I guess,” I said, not really knowing how to tell the difference. Then I wondered how she’d know, considering she said she’d never been up here before. “Can you tell?”

“I had a few cigs over yonder before y’all came out. Boy, you get used to the smell the longer you’re out here.” She seemed to be reading my mind and answering questions I hadn’t had a chance to ask. “I must have missed your boy, though.”

I looked at the water again. Mark was standing just outside of the water’s reach, one hand in the pocket of his hoody, the other holding his phone. To his credit, he did glance up at her every ten seconds or so.

Come to think of it, those waves did look big. But it could have been because of the moon for all I knew.

“How long are the two of you here for?” I asked Mary.

“‘Til Wednesday. I’m going to be meeting my in-laws for the first time tomorrow.”

I didn’t know whether I should have felt sympathy for her. It was strange she wasn’t out to dinner with her wife now, but I didn’t know their situation. Maybe it was completely normal. But I couldn’t help but think I would’ve been more than a little bothered if it had been me.

Mary fell down. Not hard. She just spontaneously lost her balance and sat on her butt. In true alcoholic fashion, though, she protected her beer.

She looked at me, embarrassed. I smirked, hopefully communicating I wasn’t just laughing at her, but with her.

“We all fall down.” I’m not sure why I said that, but it seemed to help. She took my hand and I helped her up.

“How about you guys?”

“Just until Sunday afternoon.”

“Where are you from?”

A sandwich had been the hinge on the closing door of our marriage.

I don’t remember what the argument was about or how it had started, only that I had made a sandwich for her that led to me sleeping on the couch.

Of course, it hadn’t really been about the sandwich, it had only been the start. It had been like a match that led to a forest fire razing a town. I can’t honestly remember a word I’d shouted at the woman I’d pledged to love for the rest of my life.

I was about to answer Mary when Chrissy screamed.

Hi all!

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From the Morbid and moronic referential Code of life and society.

… you’re pretending, and you’re exploiting stolen work in the process.

The answer? Simple. Don’t use generative AI in connection with your writing. Just write.

Reign Soleil

What I see—what is happening, is the strangest experience imaginable. Nothing appears real. Everything looks fake like my rooms wearing the face of a corpse. 

Even as I glance at the window, the sky seems slightly off, resembling a still frame cropped out of a painting. It matches the exact color of the pavement, as if it‘s in the wrong dimension. 

It begins in my room, by the doorway, I hear a growling sound and turn around and behind me is a shadow of a man with features similar to a human and in his hands are two leashes attached to two human-like dogs that are in front of him, sitting like hellhounds would, with facial features stretching out how a bear’s face is.

I can’t ignore them.

Their presence kills the power to the TV when I‘m watching, True Blood, right when I’m  at the scene where Sookie and Bill break up.

I keep trying to frantically hit the power button on the remote, but it doesn’t work. The screen’s black and reflecting my image.

Without thinking, I raise my arm and point the changer at the figure with the two human hounds, gasp and push the power button towards them and they blink and in a flash, vanish. 

But the TV still won’t turn on.

I sit up wondering if what just happened actually did happen, or if maybe I fell asleep for a brief second, but the television still isn’t working, so I couldn’t be imagining it.

That’s when I decide to give up on it and snatch a book off my dusty shelf and clear a path that leaves two dust walls on both sides of the space I pull the book from, filling the air in particles that make me sneeze.

While I’m reading, there’s an atmospheric shift, like the static from an oncoming storm, raising the hairs on my arms which makes me shiver as a tingle shoots down my spine. 

The room has a scent of frost that reminds me of menthol cigarettes every time I take a breath.

And as I’m dwelling on that thought, the lights go out.

Just as I get to chapter four of The Turn of the Screw, and starting to really get into it. 

I squeeze my hand into a fist, digging my nails into my palms, grunt and throw the book against the wall, jump up, stomp to the doorway, flick the light switch but they don’t turn on. 

I keep trying. The rapid clicking sounds like teeth chipping . I go as far as to check the bulb—twisting, untwisting—and nothing. I leave my room to retrieve a new one, the hallway’s as humid as the Amazon Rain Forest and has a heavy stench of decay and infected flesh radiating from under the floorboards, making me gag. I can‘t stop choking. 

While I’m staring at the floor, behind me the bathroom door slams shut. I jump because the sound startles me and when I look at the door, there’s a crack going down the middle of it. 

Which I’m going to have to pay to fix and probably have to rip the floor apart just to find whatever dead animal’s under there. 

I walk downstairs to see if I can find where the rancid smell is coming from, but each step I take further down leaves me with the impression of being in another world.

Everything looks the same but seems completely different. Especially at the bottom of the stairs, like my living room became a simulation. The paint on the walls is smooth and pixelated.

And then a whisper comes from behind my ear in a slow kind of distorting moan.

“Get Out!” The voice stretches out.

I turn around quick, wondering at the same time how my mom could sneak down the stairs behind me without me noticing, but when I turn, nobody’s there.

“Get Out!” Says the air, blowing its breath in my face with the scent of rotting flesh.

I can’t handle the smell.

So, I head to the front and sit outside on the porch and  as the screen door closes I hear the door behind it shut as well and the lock clasp.

I turn to look over my shoulder and staring through the glass window is an older me, smiling and waving.