Wrote this when very drunk, fuck me up Veeky Forums
A girl grasps for her chosen's hand in a chaos of drunken instinct and human emotion. Eventually, their fingers meet, and they grab each other in an almost too human gesture of mutual longing, their enlarged pupils signaling their mutual longing for one another. Sexual or romantic in nature, the bond between them seemingly unshakeable despite the obfuscation of the alcohol running through both of their veins. For a second, they hold each other's hands, engrossed in their own lust. Quickly, oh so quickly, he pulls his Hand away from hers. He's too drunk to interpret signs for any definition of interpretation. She's too drunk to take his resignation as shyness, and assumes that he isn't into her. However, their alcohol addled minds forget their precious resignation and push them to hold hands again, which they end up doing. They're grasping for each other without looking at each other, holding individual pieces of wreckage as they float in the wreckage of he ship if their romance in the storm of their drunkenness. Eventually, their eyes meet, and they once again remember why their drink-addled mind had made them so attracted to one another. They fit, for now, like puzzle pieces that ALMOST fit together, with pictures that look similar but not of the same entity. These two aren't souls mates, but for now they are joined in something that is much stronger yet much less permanent than love. She draws her hand close to his, and he reacts by pulling h heir two hands into a ball up to his chin. He holds the entirety of their relationship there, whether he knows it or not. Their relationship, tenuous tho it may me, is contained, fully encapsulated, by that bringing of their conjoined hands up to his chin. The majesty of God's creation, of being and time and life and all those things he is too drunk to contemplate, are contained within that temporary display of lust and affection. He looks at her, and she looks back at him. They're too far gone to contemplate the future, and too drunk to regret the past. Their inebriation has led them completely to the present, to live within this present, this pregnant bubble that always seems just about to break into a million pieces with the slightest of provocations. They look into one another's eyes, sensing that lust and that naivety that their partner undoubtedly sees. They both know what is about to happen but tacitly, whether they know or not, agree to stay silent. The bus grinds to a halt, the lumbering behemoth being stopped in its tracks by what seems in the moment to be the sheer will of the bus driver. Neither know if this is actually their stop, but does it really matter? They both get off the bus, silently hoping that the other feels the same way about them as they feel about the other, the cold night welcoming them into its embrace.
/crit/ - Writing Critique
Would read this novel. Only thing that bothered me was the wearing of a beanie.
sounds like a person at the table
Don't post shit without criticizing first and when you reply to something don't just say "i like it" or "I don't like it". Pattting someone on the back or saying you don't like it is moronic and helps no one except your sense of self importance. Criticize something like if you actually had a brain
half of this doesn't make sense and sounds like reddit-tier poetry. please try to emulate an actual poet. you're throwing around too many 21st century terms then sprinkling some milton-esque words on top of some /pol/-tier buzzwording.
Can I get some crits?
>Nicholas stumbled through dense underbrush, thorns cutting his calves in ornate patterns. Fear gripped him; he lost sight of his own direction. He rushed upon a creek bank, tumbled down in a great clamor, and knocked himself unconscious. Dazed, he awoke on a water-soaked moss bed. His eyes adjusted and he was horrified to see the lumbering bear which had chased him into the ravine. Panicking, he lobbed a stone, striking the bear clean between the eyes. With a roar, the bear tumbled down as he had. Continuing to flee, he dared not check if the bear was still alive.
The repetition of the short clauses, short sentences gets boring. Also you are relying too much on telling not showing. Don't tell me that fear gripped him, don't tell us he was horrified, don't tell us he was panicking - show us. Describe the way his breathing has changed, describe the way he's scrambling a bit more - maybe he grasps onto something only for it to give way and he falls further. This way you will make your reader feel as though THEY are running from a bear, rather than reading a wikipedia article about someone running from a bear - ya dig?
Yes alright, I see what you mean, you're right! Thank you!
For all we have and are,
For all our children's fate,
Stand up and take the war.
The Hun is at the gate.
Our world has passed away,
In wantonness o'erthrown.
There is nothing left to-day
But steel and fire and stone.
Though all we knew depart,
The old Commandments stand:
"In courage kept your heart,
In strength lift up your hand."
One day out on a lazy Sunday afternoon drive me and my family passed a dilapidated tennis court. The sprinklers were active and there were children playing in the park along side it. The tennis court itself was stained the colour of baked on boor water and there were weeds ground through cracks in the pavement. Right next door there was a bright blue tennis court, the old one long since being defunct and useless to play anything. It remained unused.
If that is the logic eventually we will get to the point at which they replace the old tennis courts to the extent that there will be eternal tennis courts, stretching out for millions of kilometers in each direction, all roads leading back to an epicenter of dead and dying birds. Tennis court ground zero.