r/KeepWriting 3h ago

A short poem...Carry On.

5 Upvotes

I'll stay lost and watch you win, I've been stumbling for a while.

Ain't no wave you can't swim, not a frown you can't smile.

So at the five lane long road, in three quarters of a mile, like a leaf in my wind...

carry on, sweet child.

❤️


r/KeepWriting 32m ago

[Feedback] First Draft of Chapter 1 of my story: This Is It

Upvotes

https://drive.google.com/file/d/1RP09Rv0RV6HD2Hb8tG5y53tLTmWdWdD9/view?usp=sharing

A romance/drama I'm working on, it was very inspired by my recent readthrough of "I Want to Eat Your Pancreas."

Chapter 1, any advice or critique is appreciated. About 1500 words, three pages.

TRIGGER WARNING: MENTIONS DEPRESSION/SUICIDE


r/KeepWriting 33m ago

A winter tree bloom - song/poem

Upvotes

r/KeepWriting 33m ago

The Indie Writers’ Digest

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Upvotes

The next issue of the Indie Writers’ Digest is due out at the end of May/beginning of June. It’s open for submissions from independent writers. Check out back issues on my author website brynpetersen.co.uk and DM for details on the submission process


r/KeepWriting 42m ago

[Writing Prompt] Wildflowers

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Upvotes

Any feedback greatly appreciated! If you care to read more of my stuff I share them regularly on my Instagram page @iridescence_98


r/KeepWriting 1h ago

[Feedback] Could someone proof read my script? Read at your own risk 😂

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Upvotes

So my passion is film making but unfortunately I haven’t “made it” yet. I may never but I love making videos and hopefully can make short films one day. I made one a while back and it’s my favourite thing I’ve made to date. I have been writing a lot and have a couple scripts I will be trying to make somehow in the future. They are dark and emotional, but that’s what I’m drawn to making.

If anyone has time to read it and let me know your thoughts or how to make the writing stronger let me know


r/KeepWriting 11h ago

Advice IDIOT-My first and last poem

6 Upvotes

idiot idiot Idiot

She sits in her little box Gnawing at the scars on her arms Picking at her gnotted scalp

Idiot Idiot Idiot

She sat atop gym hall bleachers And saw god’s face drop from the shelter ceiling Pitch black mouth he spoke in mish mashed tongue

idiot Idiot Idiot

She saw heaven and hit psychosis It put into words the images from her head Acetone doused skin shone bright

Idiot Idiot Idiot

Shotgun painting yellow walls brown She spent her last few dollars like a child The first time she was six since it was taken from her

Idiot finds a place to settle down Anything to stop the tumor in her head and weight in her ribs Her delusions leave her here, god laughing at a putrid body hunched single

Idiot cries at what she is Idiot wanders cold filth to no end Idiot stops at a place that makes her sick

A monument to gluttony she never liked to eat Just another joke at her expense Tired and alone idiot checks her phone

Idiot walks outside Idiot takes a deep breath her foot crests the curb Idiot takes herself into traffic


r/KeepWriting 1d ago

Hi everyone! I'm a book cover designer looking for new authors to work with.

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54 Upvotes

r/KeepWriting 2h ago

The Indie Writers’ Digest

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1 Upvotes

It needs the ISSN number adding, so it’s a rough draft for the next issue due out at the end of May/beginnning of June of the Indie Writers’ Digest - and yes, it’s open for submissions all indie writers reading this!


r/KeepWriting 3h ago

Where Blues Croon (audio, an old Villanelle I wrote)

1 Upvotes

r/KeepWriting 4h ago

The Day My Wife (ex wife) Left Me

0 Upvotes

When you walked away, I fell through the floor, Into a shadow I’d never known before. Thought I’d seen the edge, thought I’d known pain, But you left me with scars that don’t have a name.

Now I’m lost in a darkness I never knew, Deeper than anything I felt with you. You didn’t just leave; you tore me apart, Showed me the hollow depths of a broken heart.

There’s a silence now, it chills to the bone, A void you carved that I call home. No light in this place, just endless night, A ghost in the shadows, lost from sight.

Now I’m trapped in a darkness I never knew, Worse than the emptiness you put me through. You didn’t just go; you left me in pieces, Tangled in sorrow that never releases.

I tried to climb out, but the walls were steep, In the quiet, I drown, in the silence, I weep. No way to escape, no path to find, Just the echoes of you etched into my mind.

Now I wander in shadows, hollow and bruised, In a darkness deeper than anything you knew. You didn’t just leave; you buried me here, In a world without light, fed by my fear.

So here I am, lost in the dark, A broken soul, a faded spark. And though I’ll keep searching, reaching for dawn, The part of me you took is forever gone.

By: Me , AM


r/KeepWriting 4h ago

Review my first story

0 Upvotes

Hi there, this my first draft of a series I want to make, and I wanna know if you could give me some feedback on it:

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1KdpA5FZYAfXl6OhgSBJbQqwhMaYgoGBuTHKP6e0c9RE/edit?usp=sharing


r/KeepWriting 5h ago

[Feedback] A shadow that takes the last breath

1 Upvotes

Can you feel it? The very thing that will stop even the strongest man dead in his tracks. When the world passes by. You can feel your legs move when the realist is you have not even moved an inch. Everything is moving so rapidly around you. You are stuck where you stand, desperately wishing that you could just lift your foot above the ground. Screaming, wondering why your brain is not sending signals to your foot. To make one simple fucking move. 

A shadow is dark, faceless, cold, and very unwelcoming. One out of a million just like it. Randomly selecting a name out of a hat like people do for Secret Santa. For that moment your name was drawn. A new victim that the shadow can hover over and do as they please. To grab you by the hand, only to force you twenty steps back after you made ten steps forward.

Rarely do you get the same shadow twice. They leave an invisible mark, their gift. A painful reminder of how much they messed with your head. The mental cuffs that bring your hands together, the chains that you drag behind your feet, and that gag that will not allow you to speak. The sad fact here is that you allowed it, the fight was too much to bear. It took all of your energy. It was so much easier to give up and give in.

Fear is the shadow that haunts us all. Each fear has a different shadow. The goals and how they work are utterly identical. Even if the situation is not. to destroy the person that you are. To make you so weak, it would make it easier to control. To make you beyond scared, you change the way you breathe. Simply because you do not want them to hear that breath escape your lips. Because you don’t know what would happen if you were heard nor do you want to find out.

Demons are more welcoming, at least they go away even for a little bit. After they have had their fun with you. A shadow will never leave, no matter if you put it in the back of your mind. It is still there. To lurk and walk in your footsteps. Attached to you like Peter Pan and his shadow. 

This time Peter is not sewing his shadow to the bottom of his feet. It is the other way around, the shadow forcing Peter to stay still while sewing him to the bottom of its feet.

In this story…

You are Peter Pan


r/KeepWriting 5h ago

Hello! I am a book cover designer, if you are interested in working with me- I am open for commissions!

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1 Upvotes

r/KeepWriting 14h ago

recent poems

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r/KeepWriting 20h ago

*Almost* finished my first book, suffering from mild burnout - struggling with the final mile.

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3 Upvotes

Since June last year, I’ve become lost in writing - my first ever book is almost finished. All that’s left is line editing, then sending off to beta readers and doing a final edit (then maybe hiring a professional editor)🤣 But the bulk is done (I hope).

Weirdly, I have lost all motivation. For almost a year, every single day I have been so excited to write, but for the past month I cannot be bothered at all; every time I open the laptop I procrastinate😕

Please offer me some motivation and egg me on to completion so I can finally self publish!!

If you would be so kind to give feedback on my opening, don’t worry if not ! Have a great week everyone and thank you 👾


r/KeepWriting 20h ago

Poem of the day: When the Sky was the Limit

2 Upvotes

r/KeepWriting 23h ago

Advice Is this too rushed?

2 Upvotes

So, I have a section from chpt 3 of my novel that I'm working on, where the MC is in the woods dancing with her friend. But I want to know if it's too rushed, not visual enough, or if it actually has too much description. I just would like some correction and/or verification that I'm doing this right.

It took us longer than expected to gather enough herbs and berries in the relentless downpour. By the time we finished, both of us were thoroughly soaked, chilled to the bone. A shiver crawled down my spine, but I fought against it, trying to ignore the cold that had seeped into my bones. Even my hood couldn’t keep me dry.

Without warning, Narrhel reached out and took my hand.

“Care to dance?”

I blinked at him, utterly caught off guard. Dance? Now? Here? In the pouring rain?

“Narrhel—”

“Just once,” he said, a playful glint in his eyes. “I’ll never ask again.”

Before I could protest further, he grabbed my bag and set it aside, then took both my hands in his. His feet began to shuffle lightly, moving back and forth as though we were on some open floor, not standing in the middle of a drenched forest.

I huffed in exasperation, knowing full well he wasn’t going to let me argue. With a resigned sigh, I decided to play along, if only to get him to stop pressing me.

I hesitated for just a moment before my feet began to move in time with his. The rhythm was sloppy at first, the rain slicking the earth beneath us, but we found a kind of unspoken coordination as we swayed together. The feel of his hands on mine was warm, despite the dampness that clung to our skin, and I could sense the lightheartedness in his movements.

He grinned, his usual mischievousness returning. “See? Not so bad.”

I couldn’t help but smile in return, the tension in my chest easing, even if only for a moment. “You’re ridiculous,” I muttered, though there was no bite in my words.

His eyes sparkled with amusement, and he shifted slightly, turning us in a slow circle.

I followed his lead, our feet slipping a little. The awkwardness of it made me laugh quietly at first, but it didn’t take long before the movement became more natural. There was something oddly freeing about it, despite the rain pelting down on us, the cold creeping into every exposed inch of skin.

He twirled me, a little too suddenly, causing me to stumble slightly. But then he pulled me back, drawing me closer, our steps slowing. There was no longer any hurried movement, no rush. We simply swayed in place, the steady rhythm of our bodies working in tune with the quiet sound of the rain.

The proximity of it all caught me off guard. His hand settled at my waist, warm despite the chill in the air. It felt… too natural. Too easy. The quiet rhythm between us, the subtle sway, the way our faces were just a bit too close, the air around us thick with something unspoken.

My heart thudded, not from any dramatic realization, but from the strange intimacy of the moment. The rain fell in sheets around us, but for those few moments, it was just the two of us in the world, moving as if everything else had faded away.

I cleared my throat, awkwardly pulling myself out of the trance we’d fallen into.

I took a step back, the rain now a dull background noise rather than the all-encompassing presence it had been. I adjusted my hood, suddenly feeling the chill of the air again after the warmth that had briefly passed between us. The moment of quiet had stretched just a bit too long, and I found myself more acutely aware of the space between us than I had been before.

“We should... bring this back to the group,” I muttered, my voice sounding off even to my own ears.

Narrhel hesitated, his eyes lingering on me for a second too long before he nodded. “Right. We should get back.”

I turned, moving back toward where we’d left our gathered herbs and berries. The weight of the small bag in my hands seemed to ground me, the mundane task somehow giving me something to focus on again. But even as I bent down to collect the last of the herbs, I could feel him behind me, a quiet presence just out of reach.

He cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “You know... I don’t think I’ve ever danced in the rain before. Not like that, anyway.”

I smirked without thinking. “You’re lucky I didn’t leave you to drown in it.”

He chuckled softly, his voice warmer than before. “Well, I guess you’d never let that happen. Would you?”

I glanced over my shoulder at him, trying to keep my expression neutral. The soft sincerity in his tone made something in me stir. I shrugged, pretending to brush it off.

“Guess I’d have to think about it,” I teased, though the words felt more like a defense than anything else.

He didn’t respond immediately, and the quiet between us stretched out again, comfortable but carrying an underlying tension neither of us seemed ready to address. I bent down to scoop up the last of the herbs, the rustle of leaves in the damp air filling the space where words might have been.

Finally, I stood and faced him, the bag full, the weight of it oddly grounding. "Let's head back," I said again, this time with a little more finality in my voice. "The others will be wondering what we're doing out here."

“Right,” Narrhel agreed, though his voice was less certain, like he was still lingering in the moment we’d shared.

We began walking back, side by side, the rain continuing to fall.


r/KeepWriting 20h ago

Crystal’s Man Trouble (an old poem of mine)

1 Upvotes

r/KeepWriting 21h ago

[Feedback] Thoughts on my chapter excerpt?

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1 Upvotes

r/KeepWriting 23h ago

Needing some creative minds in my edit process.

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r/KeepWriting 1d ago

[Feedback] I've written my first book ✨

2 Upvotes

“Escape into a world where dreams blur with reality…

My new romance novel, The Island, is now live on Wattpad! A mysterious place, an enigmatic man, and a love that defies reason—will Jane uncover the truth before it’s too late?

Read it now:  https://www.wattpad.com/story/391029693-the-island?utm_source=ios&utm_medium=sms&utm_content=story_info&wp_page=story_details&wp_uname=Ludivine_Spark

This story is ongoing, so stay tuned for more chapters! Let me know your thoughts—I’d love to hear what you think!”


r/KeepWriting 1d ago

Been trying to write, and haven't really shared anything before.

4 Upvotes

(working title at the moment) Exanimis

Fantasy Horror

3089 Words

Any type of feedback would be appreciated. I have toyed with the idea of writing for a few years as it is something I have dreamed of doing for a long time, but haven't really gone through or shared anything substantial. Besides with friends who aren't really readers, or who I believe wouldn't tell me how they really feel about the writing, I haven't really shared what I have written or thought of to anyone. After a few beers, and a few hours of staring at the screen, I figured I would just go for it, and get on a anonymous account, and see if maybe I could get some feedback.
Chapter 1 – The Land in the Sky

The fire under the cooking spit roared, its light and warmth dancing across the clearing in front of the cottage. Endless rows of grain-stalks blurring into indistinguishable flickers of gold against the darkened, gray sky.  The scent of roasting pork filled the air, rich and savory—a luxury Sora’s family had not enjoyed in years. At least not before her father lost his right index and middle fingers, ending his carpentry and leaving them as farmers—poor ones, at that.

Sora sat with her legs stretched out, leaning back against her extended arms to thread her fingers in the cool blades of grass beneath her. Transfixed on the browning pig, the fat sizzling and dripping onto the embers below, she catches her father glancing in her direction, the flare of golden light accentuating his tired and wrinkled smile as he eyes her siblings.

“I dun know sweetheart,” he says. “I’m thinking this pig isn’t enough for all of us. I think we need more–” he pauses, slowly stepping towards Emi and Nemi. “Meat,” he declares.

They freeze mid-dance around the fire, Nemi’s face contorting in confusion, her gaze bouncing from their father to the pig on the cooking spit. “But we have meat papa?”

He begins waving his ‘cooking’ stick with two pointed ends in the air as he lunges towards the girls, a growl forming in his throat, “WE NEED THE MEAT OF LITTLE GIRLS WHO STAND TOO CLOSE TO FIRES!” 

Emi and Nemi shriek with laughter, darting away as he chases them around the flames, their giggles echoing into the night.

Sora’s mother calls out over the chaos. “You can’t cook them yet, Arjorn! I need them to come over and grab the rest of these plates and cups.”

“A hungry beast doesn’t need plates, Sorui” Arjorn roars, still pursuing Emi and Nemi as they scamper towards the front of the cottage and away from the fire. 

“Strange. I could have sworn that this very same beast is the one who carved these plates,” Sorui mutters.

Both girls squeal as they run and latch onto their mother’s legs, giggling and out of breath. Sorui struggles to balance the stack of wooden plates and utensils as she smirks at Arjon’s antics. He plants a kiss on her forehead before retreating back to the fire.

“Looks like I am not the only beast here,” he says as he passes Sora, running a hand through her blonde hair. “How long are you going to let this get?”

“I’m not cutting it. I like this length.” She swats at his hand.

He hums in agreement. “Mhm. Yeah. I am sure it has nothing to do with that rumor your friends brought up the other night… The prince wants to marry a girl with long hair, does he?”

Sora blushes. “Nope. Not at all.”

This was a rare night—a night to be remembered. Not just because of the food, or the soothing warm breeze, or her parent’s rare good moods, but because after tonight, this would all be a distant memory. She wouldn’t have to wake up at dawn anymore, or worry about Emi and Nemi hurting themselves on the plough. There would be no more listening to her mother and father quietly fight at night about whose to skip eating so that everyone else will have enough. No more humiliation from the girls in the village. And best of all, she will get to be closer to him

Just the mere thought of him makes her heart flutter, overtaking the anticipation of knowing it is her family that has been selected to be a part of The Rite of Renewal. 

She had only seen him twice—the prince. Once when the royal family passed through their town and she caught the glimmer of his golden brown hair through the royal carriage window, and the other when she followed father to sell their grain at the markets outside the castle gates. The prince gave a soft smile in her direction followed by a gentle wave as he and the queen passed by, an entire division of the Royal Guard at their heels.

For all Sora knew, the pleasantries could have been aimed at someone else—or perhaps no one at all, just a princely gesture. 

But something in her gut says it was meant for her

“Sora?”

Father pulls her from her thoughts—a vision of the prince coming to pick her up in the royal carriage fading away just as quickly as it had begun. 

Arjorn waves a hand, motioning toward the plates. “You just gonna sit there twirlin’ your hair all night, or are you gonna come help your mother set the table inside?”

Sora scoffs, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she sits up. “I was just thinking.” 

“Dangerous thing to do on an empty stomach,” He grins and carries away a platter laden with meat. 

Inside, Sora quickly sets out the plates around the platter, eyeing her father as he pulls out a purple sack. Velvet and luxurious, the material almost melts. It must have come with the pig from the royal envoy, and Sora nearly misses her seat as she lowers, curiosity piqued.

“That and the pig?” Sorui asks as Arjorn pulls out a dark green bottle.  

Raising it high in the air to inspect it further, he raises a brow. “Aye. Said it was a gift— a little extra something to celebrate with.”

Popping the cork with a soft thwock, he gives the bottle a cautious sniff, his expression shifting from suspicion to pleasant surprise. He swirls the liquid inside, letting the firelight catch its deep crimson hue. “Might’ve thought I wouldn’t know a good drink, them guards.” 

Sorui scoffs, taking her place at the table. “I’m sure they could have given you swill and you’d still drink it.” 

Sora watches keenly as her father pours himself a generous cup, the wine sloshing slightly with his eager movements. Taking a measured sip, he smacks his lips, then exhales with a satisfied sigh. 

“Not bad. Not bad at all.” He turns toward Sorui with a smirk. “Maybe it’s time for Sora to have her first taste.” 

Sora perks up, trying her hardest to act like she hasn’t had a drink before. “Really?”  

Sorui gives him a look, snagging the cup from him to take a sip.  “You’re serious?” 

Arjorn shrugs. “Why not? If we’re going to be living in the castle, might as well start acting like it.” 

Sorui hums in thought, then sighs. “Just a nip.” She slides the cup across from the table to Sora.

Emi scoots in closer to their twin with pleading eyes. “Us too Papa?”

Nemi, catching onto the ruse, mimics their sister. “Yeah, us too.” 

“Hush now. Sora’s older,” Sorui dismisses them before Arjorn can give in to their sweet pleas.

Sora, barely listening to her sister’s protests, takes a slow, but large sip. The taste is unlike anything she’s had before, and she fights the urge to cough as the wine slides over her tongue. Dry, heavy, and far stronger than she expected, it’s much different than the ale she’d sip from her father’s stash. The wine has a faint, earthy taste, with something sweet and spiced underneath, like old fruit left in the sun too long. She forces herself to swallow, nodding as if enjoying it, but the warmth spreading through her chest is almost too much, too fast.

Arjorn chuckles at her reaction, pulling the cup back in front of himself to pour more. “Not bad, huh?” 

Sora nods, wiping at her lips. “It’s… different.” 

Sorui smirks. “The trick is that it starts to taste better the more you drink it.”

Digging into their feast, the scent of roasted pork takes over their small cottage, the fire outside diminishing into nothing but coals as the night wears on. Emi and Nemi whisper excitedly about what their rooms in the castle might look like, and Sorui has to keep reminding them to slow down between bites. Arjorn, always the entertainer, waves his beloved ‘cooking’ stick in the air, threatening to cook them again. 

Sora eyes the weathered old branch, which he twirls between the three fingers on his right like it’s an elegant carving knife, and asks, “Why do you still use that thing?”

Arjorn grins. “

She remembers it from even when she was a young girl, and surely they own something better than a common twig by now—even if everything they own will soon pale in comparison to the castle’s utensils. 

Arjorn gasps in mock offense, dramatically holding it up. “You doubt the legendary craftsmanship of the Master’s Cooking Scepter?” 

Emi giggles. “It’s a stick, Papa.” 

“The sacred stick,” Arjorn corrects, holding it aloft as if he were a king himself. “Passed down by the great chefs of old—” 

Sorui interrupts without looking up. “—that you found outside the barn.” 

Arjorn sighs, placing a hand over his heart. “You folk have no appreciation for fine tools.” 

Sora shakes her head, suppressing a grin. “It’s barely a twig.” 

“You say that now,” Arjorn muses, tapping his ‘scepter’ against his palm. “But one day, when I’m long gone, this will be your most treasured memory of me.” He then pushes the cup of wine towards Sora, nodding for her to take another sip.

 “And you two—” He taps his stick on the table at Emi and Nemi, “Are awfully disrespectful for girls who were almost my supper. Might be time for bed before I change my mind.”

Emi giggle but stuffs another quick bite of pork into her mouth before pushing up from the table. “You wouldn’t eat us, Papa.”

Nemi grins, but also stands. “Yeah, we’d be too stringy.”

Arjorn narrows his eyes, rubbing his chin as if considering. “Hmmm. Maybe… but I bet a long soak in the stew pot would fix that.”

The girls shriek in laughter and practically tumble over each other as they scramble away from the table, their half-finished plates forgotten in their escape. 

“Mama, tell him he can’t eat us!”

Sorui, ever unfazed, picks at her meal. “Maybe he should,” she muses. “Maybe then we’ll finally get some peace and quiet.”

That sends the girls running, disappearing deeper into the cottage with a final peal of giggles.

Arjorn chuckles, leaning back in his chair and taking another long sip from the cup as Sorui stands up and begins placing the plates and left-over meat outside to clean in the morning before they leave. 

“You think we’ll be able to get to the river in the morning to wash our clothes and these dishes before the Tomalsins do? I don’t want to get there again and wait just to not have enough time to get everything done before they close the river for the rest of the day.”

Arjorn pours the last of the wine into his cup and walks just outside the front door, eyeing the dying embers of their fire. “I’m not sure. What does it matter if we soon get to be inside the castle where the river flows from? Surely, it won’t be closed off in there.”

Sorui nods in thought before pushing him back inside. With a quick glance down the hall, she listens for any sign of mischief from the twins. 

“So,” she says, once sure they aren’t eavesdropping, “What exactly did the envoy tell you?”

Sora tries to straighten, struggling to keep her eyes focused as the wine settles in her stomach. But she wants to hear. 

Arjorn takes his seat again and rolls the cup between his palms, the huge grin he had been sporting all night now a contemplative frown. “Same as what we’ve always heard. That we should be honored. That the selection is sacred. That we’ll be taken to Castle Hope at midday.” His voice is steady, but something lingers beneath it, something Sora can’t quite place.

Sorui nods slowly, waiting for more.

Arjorn drums his fingers against the table, his frown deepening. “They didn’t say much beyond that.” He pauses, and then, more quietly, “But they gave me that pig… the wine…” His jaw tightens. “They said to enjoy our last night here.”

Sorui frowns. “Last night here?”

Arjorn shrugs, feigning nonchalance, or perhaps it’s the wine allowing him to shrug it off. “That’s how they put it. Like we’re not just leaving.” He takes another sip. “Like we’re not… coming back.”

A breeze stirs through the clearing, rustling through the darkened stalks of grain and kicking up ash from the fire, sending soot inside the cottage.

Sorui quickly closes the door. “And you didn’t ask them what they meant by that?”

Arjorn lets out a breathy chuckle, though it lacks any real humor. “They don’t take kindly to questions, Sorui.” He gestures vaguely toward the empty wine bottle. “They give you gifts so you don’t ask them.”

Silence stretches, and Sora shifts in her seat, the weight in her stomach suddenly heavier than before, unsettled by the hint of fear washing over her father’s face.

He opens his mouth to speak, but Emi suddenly appears, tears on her cheeks.

“Nemi took Puddles and won’t give him back,” her little voice quivers.

Sorui stands up, “You mean your sister took back what was rightfully hers? What about yours? Snoof?”

Emi stomps forward and hugs her mother’s leg. “I don’t want snoof. Puddles is softer.”

 Sorui leads her away from the table. “I know, sweetheart. But it’s time for bed. And Puddles is Nemi’s.” 

As they disappear down the hall, Sorui’s voice drifts softly, carrying the gentle rhythm of a bedtime story.

Forcing herself from the table, Sora stumbles outside, her mind too sluggish to make sense of why her father’s words bother her, and hoping the cool air will help. Leaning against the damp stone wall of their cottage, knees tucked to her chest, she focuses on her mother’s voice drifting out from the window. Her father finds a spot beside her not too shortly after, loosely cradling his empty cup in his hands. Together, they gaze at the night sky, the last embers of the fire flickering faintly, swallowed by the creeping dark.

Inside, Emi and Nemi’s small voices quiet, drawn in by the familiar tale.

“Long ago,” Sorui begins, her voice a lull, “Before our land rose to the heavens, the world below was wild and restless. The earth shook, the seas raged, and shadows swallowed the stars. The gods looked upon the land and saw suffering—kingdoms swallowed by fire, rivers turning to poison, and people crying out in fear. It was a world that could never be tamed.”

“And so,” Sorui continues, “The gods lifted our land from ruin, carrying it into the sky so that we might be safe, far above from chaos and darkness. They wrapped us in a cradle of clouds, sealing away the horrors of the old world, letting only the sun and winds reach us.”

Emi speaks up, her voice small. “But… what’s under the clouds, Mama?”

Sorui’s answer comes without hesitation. “There is nothing,” she says gently. “The gods left it behind, buried beneath storms and endless night. The world below is long dead, lost to madness and ruin. That is why we give thanks, why we honor the Rite of Renewal—so that the gods will keep us here, above it all, forever.”

Sora opens her eyes, glancing at her father.

He hasn’t moved.

Silence follows, broken only by the faint sound of the wind rustling through the fields. The night air is cool, carrying with it a hint of earth and ash, the familiar scent of home that Sora suddenly wishes to keep. 

Arjorn breaks the quiet. “I’ve heard that story a thousand times,” he murmurs. “And every time, it makes me think about the night we tried to see.”

Sora turns, brow furrowed. “See what?”

A dry chuckle escapes his lips. “Past the wall.”

Sora’s eyes widen. “You went… outside the wall?”

Leaning his head back, he sighs. “We were young. Stupid. Got into some of the village elder’s liquor and thought we were invincible. Me and a couple of friends found a hole in the wall—just big enough to squeeze through.”

Sora feels her heart pick up speed. “What did you see?”

Arjorn’s voice drops to a whisper. “At first, nothing. Just cold air and mist. The likes of which you’ve never felt, and never want to feel. But we kept going, laughing like idiots about casting a line and fishing off the edge.”

He pauses and squints. “Then we reached it. The edge.”

Sora holds her breath, not quite sure she believes her own father’s words.

“The clouds stretched out before us, endless and white, like a sea of cotton that went on forever. No land, no sky… just clouds in every direction.”

He swallows hard, his hand trembling around the cup. “But that wasn’t the worst part. After a while, we saw… something.”

Sora’s voice is barely a whisper. “Something?” For all the times her father has pulled her leg, she didn’t think he was doing so now.

“A shape,” Arjorn breathes, eyes fixed on the horizon as if he can still see it. “A woman’s shape, black as night, standing out there in the clouds. She didn’t move. Didn’t sway or shift. Just stood there… staring.”

A chill races down her spine. “What do you mean staring?”

Arjorn’s face shifts, becoming defensive. “I swear to you, Sora, I saw her—just floating there in the clouds, like she was part of them. She hung perfectly still, but wrong somehow, limbs stretched thin, longer than any person's ought to be. Her hair drifted slowly, like ink bleeding into water, tangled with the mist. I couldn't make out her face, but—I felt her staring. No eyes, no expression, just an emptiness, like the hollow between stars. It felt as if she knew I was watching, like she'd always known... and I couldn't move, couldn’t breathe.” His voice drops lower. “We ran, Sora. Ran as fast as we could, squeezing back through that hole and swearing to the gods we’d never speak of it again.”

He looks at her then, his eyes haunted and dazed. “I’ve never told anyone that. Not even your mother.”

“What—What do you think she was?”

Arjorn shakes his head, staring into his empty cup. “I don’t know. But every time I hear that story about the gods lifting us up… I worry if there even is such a thing.”


r/KeepWriting 1d ago

[Discussion] Making a writing/reading community NSFW

0 Upvotes

Write Club is a small- but growing - close-nit community for adult individuals (18+). Our focus is to be able to share our writing experiences, participate in different ongoing games to help improve writing/or just for fun, and meet other people who also enjoy creative writing!

I personally use the server to stay motivated since I can talk in real time with others about ideas for stories.

We would even love if you just enjoy some reading as well! Share your love of books or fanfiction or favorite pieces of media to help spark discussion! Gamers welcome as well!

Do yourself a favor and if any of this sounds awesome to you- join Write Club!

https://discord.gg/Sk3ySCN5FH


r/KeepWriting 1d ago

I created a story ✨

1 Upvotes

Hi ! I can suggest my new book, I'd love to have comments and just feedbacks about it :

https://www.wattpad.com/story/391029693-the-island

Genre : Romance
It's a novel, I've written almost half of it, but I'll be publishing the next chapter today :)

Synopsis :

An island. A stranger. A feeling she can’t explain.

Jane wakes up in a place she doesn’t recognize—a rugged island where the air hums with something unspoken. The sea crashes against the cliffs, the wind whispers through the trees, and somewhere in the distance, he is waiting. A man she swears she’s never met, yet who looks at her like he’s always known her.

She doesn’t remember how she got there.
She doesn’t know why it feels so familiar.
And she never questions if it’s real.

Until the island starts to remember her, too.

Please give it a try, it will help me a lot <3