/lit/ - Literature

Come on, no one?

Your writing sucks Charles

>1

Oh god, what have I done.
I had seen this coming but I had ignored it, resisted it even. I hadn't thought it would ever happen.
We had been sat by the fire, K resting her head in my lap, asking me questions about life before the End. She had coerced me into running my fingers through her hair, telling me that it was knotted and that she had lost her only brush.
It was peaceful and the warmth of the flames and the drone of my own voice had been making me sleepy. Together, secluded as we were, it seemed as if our place in time had transcended that of the outside world; transcended that of humanity. We were a desert island in the middle of the ocean. Lost, and yet free. Alone, and yet blithely unaware of the fact.
I had thought that if I had stayed stoic, naive to her childlike advances, she would grow tired of the game. After all isn’t that all this was to her, a game? She couldn’t really understand. Who was there to teach her but me?
Why have you stopped?
I thought you had fallen asleep.
Her eyes were closed, shadows from the fire-cast light dancing upon her cheek like shifting sands.
I’m not tired.
Well I am. I moved to pull away and she clutched at my wrist.
Hey! Let go.
She giggled. No. Tell me more.
I feigned a sigh. I knew that I shouldn’t encourage her, but I was secretly savouring the intimacy. It made me forget, I mean, truly forget. Every moment spent as such was precious. What harm could it do really?
What do you want to know?
She was silent for awhile. The hand that tugged at me moved to envelope mine. Before...? She stopped.
Yes?
Were you - were you ever married?
No, not married. There was a woman I had thought of proposing to though. Guilt washed over me. How rarely my thoughts turned to Jeanette now.

>>4100403
>2

Oh. Her eyes were open now, watching me closely. Was she nice?
Nice? Had she been nice? My memories of Jeanette consisted of arguing and then making up, and dinners cut short as she had to rush back to work urgently. She had worked as a stock analyst, or something else with a similarly dull title, which became, painfully, apparent was more important to her than I was. Whenever I said as much she would bitch back at me, yapping like a feisty terrier, accusing me of not understanding.
It had been a while since K had posed the question. We were... good together, I replied.
Sometimes I wonder if Jeanette is still alive. Out there sitting on a stockpile of bottled water or canned goods, trading them for the best deal, taking advantage of desperation. Cold as ice. She’d do better than most in this glacial world.
K seemed sad. Like we’re good together?
I laughed. Not at all.
She stiffened, the hand I held suddenly stilled. Do you miss her?
Honestly? Not anymore. It’s a long time ago now.
My answer seemed to reassure her. What did you mean, ‘not at all’?
I paused, careful to pick the right words. Cautious of hurting her feelings, and yet wary of stimulating them. It’s just different that’s all. We. I held her hand aloft in mine, shaking it. Make a good team – a great team. I offered her a smile, hoping it would take.
I knew my attempt to appease her was pitiful, but it touched upon a subject that, naturally, made me uncomfortable - and she could sense it.
She sat up. You patronising arse.
I –
- Is that all we are? After everything we’ve shared? A ‘great team’?
I swallowed, sitting up from my reclining position against the chair, dreadfully awake. Her mousy brown hair, messed up from where she had been laying, angled and framing her anger. She was shaking and yet oddly still, like a scarecrow amidst a windswept field.
No of course not.
She held her face away from mine, trying not to cry. Her bottom lip was pouting, quavering, as though the stern of a boat built for cresting waves. How I wished I could settle those seas.
Please-
Don’t, okay, just – don’t.
I looked at her sadly. What do you want me to say?
A solitary tear rolled down the concave of her cheek hanging on the form of her chin.
I wiped it away with a thumb.
Oh, K. I hugged her, swaying her gently. You are all I have. Without you... I held my rebellious tongue, not daring to finish the sentiment. There is no existence. I had already taken this too far. This was too much.
You mean it? Her voice had dropped to a whisper. She had pulled away and was searching my eyes as if for a lie. In turned I searched hers, sighting a glimpse of apprehension, of fear, and a desperate craving for something unfamiliar.

>>4100397
>implying it isn't brilliant

Haters gonna hate.

>>4100403
>>4100405
Is that all? I liked it but it seems to end abruptly. Anyway, it's well written but lukewarm and not very special.

>>4100421
Huh? Yeah there was a bit at the end that got cut off because of word limit that I couldn't be assed to post. It's just an extract from an unfinished novella anyway.

A fair assessment, could be worse I suppose. I have no flair for romance.

Her cunt smelled sweet like a turnip. My eyes were dry and pusciferating with fever and excitement. My face was watery and dripped.

It dripped saliva, mucus, snot and pus from the associated orifices. My face was melting off as I smelled her earthen, turnip-scented cunt. She called to me from somewhere far above:

"Dig in, boy!"

I slid my inflamed face between her light brown thighs. I felt the wet and the dry like mud and sand. My eyes could not see and my ears were muffled, but the taste and the scent drowned me. My god, I felt like a mole in mole heaven.

I burrowed deep down and never came out again.

>>4100438
If it's just an extract from a larger work than it's fine, I thought it was a whole story.

>>4100438
If it's just an extract from a larger work then it's fine, I thought it was a whole story.

>>4100440
Pretty funny and interesting, but a little too wordy. Watch the adjectives.

>>4100405

Now THIS is what I call shit tier.

Once the mirror is broken, nothing remains which
can help us to answer the questions of our time. Absurd
ism, like methodical doubt, has wiped the slate clean. It
leaves us in a blind alley. But, like methodical doubt, it
can, by returning upon itself, open up a new field of in
vestigation, and the process of reasoning then pursues the
same course. I proclaim that I believe in nothing and that
everything is absurd, but I cannot doubt the validity of
my proclamation and I must at least believe in my pro
test. The first and only evidence that is supplied me,
within the terms of the absurdist experience, is rebellion.

>>4100455
Thanks for the >critique bro.

First lines of my novel.

Ah, what a thought: me, an author! How can someone with no life experience be an author? What would Hemigway say, what would Faulkner say? They wouldn’t approve, surely. Of course, I do have some experience, but not as much as most people have by 30 and not nearly as much to make me a respectable novelist. The thing is, for most of my life I ignored reality and replaced it with books, I stopped living a single concrete life and started living hundreds of ethereal lives. For the rest of my adult life, I replaced reality with dreams and fantasy, but let’s not talk about that just now.

>>4100465
.livejournal.com

>>4100465
10/10

Actually lol'd really hard. You're not actually this much of a dipshit are you?

>>4100465
Hemmingway.

It's spelled with two m's.

>>4100403
>>4100405
Eh, I thought it started on the right note, held it for a while with enough unique draw-out to make it interesting. The second post was breathless and dull in comparison, didn't feel like I should particularly care. The last part of it was decent though.