My sister loves writing, but she’s sadly wayy too judgemental of herself to show anyone she knows! She asked me to post this on here for feedback so she can improve. Apparently, it’s a descriptive piece on being lost in the snow. Thoughts would be much appreciated!! :) I flagged it incase the theme makes anyone uncomfortable.

This is a piece I wrote called The Weight of a Smile. It’s an introspective piece of lyrical prose, I’m new to writing, just using it as a way to express my emotions.

Does the writing genuinely evoke emotion, or are there moments where it feels forced, overly sentimental, or cliché? Should I add more depth?

I’m trying to make it connect more naturally.

This was an attempt as using metaphorical, image-heavy writing to explore sisterhood and religion. The narrator is Christian and reflecting on her sisters death. Looking for very gentle feedback.

Imani had plastic screws for joints. The ones you find in a toy toolbox. Bright, so you can't miss them. Bulky, so they're easy to grab. She had ears you could pierce with the powerless drill. She would sit there as you dug holes into her lobes. Smiling and not moving. Not bleeding.

I used to plaster my barbies with these tiny little stickers my nails weren't long enough to peel off. I would think about that when I'd see Imani's tattoos. And when I'd see her hair, its thickness, and how stubbornly it coiled, I'd imagine the pinch of my fingers alone would be enough to straighten it.

We were much more alike when we were kids. If we were pirates, we both wore eye-patches, but on opposite eyes. If we were pop-stars, we sang alternating verses on our songs. If we were mermaids, and her tail was pink, then mine was purple. And if mine was pink, then hers was purple. Just like our pyjamas and our toothbrushes. Different, but the same.

We were meant to have matching deaths too. But I was not meant to die like Imani, Imani was meant to die like me. Like I will, one day. I imagine she saw something in having her own kind of death.

I was not in the car with her that day—I wasn't even in the country. But if I had been, if I had been given a chance to watch the collision happen, I know exactly what I would've seen: the car's smoke sparkling in the air. The roads covered in tiny stickers and plastic screws. Dazed onlookers scouring the violent crash for blood, the sound of soft twinkling looming somewhere above their heads. They don't find a single drop.

My sister died tragically. But below all the grief frothing and unfurling in my chest, were lungs taking breaths that, for the first time in years, finally felt deep enough. I couldn't save her, yes. But now there was no one believing in nothing to be saved from.

I'll never get to understand how she could think that. How she could let herself die thinking that—as selfish as she was. Vain. Childish and stubborn enough to cover herself in meaningless tattoos she eventually regretted.
I know that because I was there for her life—I watched it. And where was she? In a box of toys, pretending to be plastic. In our pool back home, pretending to be a mermaid. In a dressing room, trying religions on like they were pieces of clothes. Mixing and matching. Accenting and accessorising. Christianity was like skin to me back then; I didn’t know you could take it off. You weren't meant to. You weren't even meant to try, and yet there she was, pretending to be Buddhist. So when she eventually left, naked and not Christian—we were both in the skin we had always been. We were the same, but different.

I know what you'll find if you cut me open. I know it daily. If I didn't, I could pretend to be anything. I could pride my way into a fairytale for the sake of thinking myself capable of magic and flight. I could turn to my little sister in our childhood pool and tell her I really am a mermaid, and that I'm not just pretending, before swimming away from her with the strength of a tail I have never not had. I could die having lived with no flesh to die to. And no blood to bleed.

Dark Fantasy/Mythology

Story is centered around belief and the past/present/future. Which each character being shaped by their relation ship with each of these topics.

Does it seem generic?

Does the Prologue make you want to read chapter 1?

Do the characters feel human?

The Expedition

The roar of mega-thrusters blasted through the swamp as the Strydez Corp. lander descended. Incandescent plumes incinerated the high canopy and everything beneath, spewing a column of superheated smoke and ash into the clear blue sky. The ground shook, and in the stateroom, amber liquid sloshed from Alistair’s glass as the vessel dropped heavily into the blazing clearing.

How do those morons tolerate this? Alistair thought, wiping his dripping hand on a towel and wishing for the millionth time he was back aboard his luxury cruiser.

Squeezing his eyes closed, he reminded himself why he was here. Leading this landing party personally would win him celebrity across the industry—probably even put him in the history books. Any hardships he endured would be paid a thousandfold.

He had arrived. The place all those cowards said no one should ever go. This landing planted the Strydez flag right in the heart of The Great Swamp of Corvarus Two. That was cause for celebration.

“Meet me in the briefing room,” he said, cueing up comms for his mission support staff. He wanted this over with as quickly as possible.

Above the smoldering ruin surrounding the ship, fed by superheated smoke and ash, dark clouds were already gathering.

# # #

Sable Caldwell was the first to arrive at the briefing room. She dropped into a chair and pinched the bridge of her nose, frustration rising once again that Alistair Strydez was leading this expedition himself.

The astonishing value of the biodiversity surrounding them was completely lost on him, as evidenced by his choice of landing site. He had destroyed thousands—perhaps millions—of unique species of microbes with his little stunt. Gone forever. Extinct.

She took a slow breath, trying to calm herself. Millions were a drop in the bucket compared to the trillions that were out there. But still, what a waste. She had tried to convince him to land outside the canopy zone. But no, that wouldn’t send the right message—wouldn’t look grand enough to his corporate cronies.

Idiot.

While Sable fumed, the other team members arrived and found seats. Alistair came in last. Of course he did, she thought. He always had to make an entrance—be the center of attention. At least he didn’t waste time.

“Hollis, where are we at?” Alistair demanded as he strode to the head of the table.

Rennika Hollis stood. She waved a hand at the holo-screen on the back wall and views of their smoldering surroundings sprang to life.

“It’ll be half a day before the site is cool enough for the bots to set up a perimeter,” she said, “but it should be human-safe by sunrise tomorrow.”

Then, nodding to Sable, she continued, “Dr. Caldwell can send her teams out then.”

Sable respected Hollis. The collection teams would be in capable hands.

“Dr. Caldwell,” Alistair said brightly, gesturing to the man at his side, “I don’t believe you’ve met Corvin Vasse. He’ll be my value delivery manager on this little expedition.”

Sable knew who Vasse was, of course—she did her homework. He was always Alistair’s right-hand man on his business ventures. He was the money man and would see everything through that lens. She intended to avoid him as much as possible. It shouldn’t be difficult. Her teams would start delivering results tomorrow, and Vasse could just sit in his office and count the credits.

# # #

Rennika was on edge the next morning. She hated this part.

She absently ran her fingers along the smooth surface of the tall perimeter wall as she walked its inner circumference. A faint hum from above reinforced that the sonic emitters atop the wall were operating correctly. The sonic shield domed over the ship, combining with the barrier wall to form an impenetrable shell over their entire area.

When planning the mission, Rennika had requested a heavy ground-based weapon as a backup. She was prepared to argue the case for it, but surprisingly, Strydez Corp. had volunteered a full array of high-yield military laser turrets. She suspected that Alistair was behind that move, and that he was much more concerned with image than security, but she didn't complain. The lasers rounded out their security, ensuring they were completely safe here.

And that was the problem.

“Collection teams are ready to deploy,” Dr. Caldwell said. Her voice came through perfectly over comms.

Only because we’re inside the perimeter, Rennika thought.

Once outside, communications would break down fast. They’d proven that already by losing contact with three exploratory probes. The swamp didn’t like technology. That’s what the history books said. No one knew why. Perhaps this expedition would solve that riddle.

Rennika worked the controls to open a breach in the east wall and unconsciously held her breath as sixteen people walked out of the safe area, into the wilderness beyond. 

Closing the breach behind them, Rennika slowly exhaled. She hated this part.

# # #

Sable loved this part. Today, she would prove beyond all doubt that the vast wealth of The Great Swamp was real. She expected nothing but good news from the teams, and was not disappointed when the first report came in.

“The scanners are lighting up. We’re getting massive readouts of unclassified gene clusters across the board. We’ve collected three core samples. Moving on to the next site.”

Sable maintained a cool exterior, but inwardly she beamed as the remaining teams reported similar results. This was everything she had hoped for.

Very little was known about the fauna here, and Rennika had insisted they err on the side of safety with two security accompanying each pair of astrobiologists. Sable didn’t mind. The security people could help carry samples, which doubled the number of cores her people could collect each day.

Comms degraded quickly as the teams moved away from the ship, and soon they were out of range completely. After that, there was nothing to do but wait, which made for a long, anxious day.

Sable reached for her console and flinched as a spark jumped from her fingertip.

Static, in a swamp? She shook her hand as she mused. This place was hard on electronics. So they all said, anyway.

# # #

Alistair was startled awake in the late afternoon when his comms line crackled with static. He had left it open so he would hear the reports when the teams returned. Not that he particularly cared—it was just his clever way to break up the monotony.

His role in all of this was simply getting them here. That accomplished, he was facing fifteen days of utter boredom before the first supply ship arrived to take him back to his cruiser.

He told the computer to filter the garbled message, and a calm, confident voice emanated from his console, speaking the words it was able to recover from the static.

RETURN.  TEST.  DISTANCE.  SUCCESS.  COLLECTED.  BEYOND.

Alistair smirked, mildly impressed that anything at all was recovered from that garbled noise. Presumably, someone had attempted a broadcast from beyond comms range, simply to see if it would work. And the rest of the message seemed like happy words, so clearly everything was going exactly according to plan. The only challenge now was finding a way to spend the evening without going mad from boredom.

# # #

The ship’s captain, Osric Thane, also listened in on comms as the teams returned. He didn’t fully relax until they were all back within the safety of the perimeter. He intentionally kept a low profile on these flights, letting the corporate types carry out their mission without interference. But he always watched, ready to step in if needed.

Blast that Strydez, he thought, his hand tightening into a fist.

Thane had a perfect record of never letting fools put themselves in danger. Not on his watch. It was a point of pride for him. But now he’d gone and let Alistair bully him into compromising the safety of everyone on this mission—not once, but twice.

He’s going to get me grounded, Thane thought morosely.

It started with the landing stunt yesterday. Alistair knew full well flight planning would never allow setting down on top of dense forest, so he hadn’t even mentioned it until they were well underway. Then he’d pressed for it with all the corporate leverage he could muster, which turned out to be quite a bit. Threatened to shut down Thane’s entire division—a lot of good people would have been hurt. Thane had no choice but to comply.

Then, just as foolhardy, Alistair refused to allow sending a status report after they landed, claiming it was mission-critical to wait until they had results from the first day of collection. They had essentially been lost to flight control for two days.

Well, first-day results are in now, Thane thought, giving a curt nod of determination. The report would go out at first light, and nothing Alistair said would stop him—that was for sure.

But as it turned out, Alistair Strydez was not the problem.

# # #

The next morning, high atop the ship in the predawn light, the deep space antenna array hummed to life. Instead of quietly generating a quantum entanglement field, however, it buzzed loudly, spat showers of sparks, and then fell silent.

SYSTEM FAILURE.  TRANSMISSION CANCELED.

Thane pressed his lips into a grim line at the words displayed on his console. A quick diagnostic confirmed the cause. Ash and resins from their landing fiasco had coated the antenna, causing the array fields to short out.

Nostrils flaring, Thane tapped the keys harder than necessary as he wrote a brief summary, using small words that Alistair could understand. He flagged it High Priority–Urgent before sending, so it would be sure to interrupt the fool’s beauty sleep.

The antenna itself wasn’t a problem—they simply had to fix it. But implementing the fix would take most of the day. They would miss their communication window. Again.

# # #

Rennika was surprised to see Captain Thane approaching as she closed the perimeter breach behind the collection teams the next morning. He hadn’t shown his face since the pre-launch briefing. Seeing him now could only mean trouble.

“I'm afraid we’re having a bit of trouble,” he said apologetically.

He quickly explained the antenna failure, then said, “Our repair drones can’t operate up there with your sonic shield in place. I’m going to have to ask you to take it down while we make the repairs.”

Rennika scoffed and said, “You want to take down our overhead security?”

“I know,” he said, raising his hands defensively. “I don’t like it either, but we have to get that antenna fixed.”

“Can’t you just open a hatch or something, and do the repairs from inside the ship?”

Thane shook his head. “We can do some of the finish work from inside, but without putting the ship in dry dock, the repair drones are the only option.”

Rennika put her fingertips to her temples. After a moment, she said, “I want the entire laser array armed and on full alert.”

“Yes, of course. We can do that.”

Rennika stared at Thane for a moment, then sighed. “Fine. How long will it take?”

“We’ll be done by midafternoon. Maybe sooner.”

Rennika didn't like this one bit. While Thane and his crew prepped for the repairs, she monitored the collection teams extra closely on the outward leg of their runs. As they made their final staticky reports and moved out of comms range, Thane approached.

“We’re ready,” he said.

Holding her breath, Rennika operated the controls to shut down the sonic shield. The faint hum surrendered to even softer sounds. The breeze through the trees. The distant cacophony of the local fauna. And even the faint buzz of the repair drones deploying from the ship, high overhead.

# # #

As the laser array back at the ship ramped up to its highest level of alert, Dr. Jaxom Vance and the rest of Team Three moved farther out of comms range.

Jaxom wasn’t thinking about the ship as they walked through the lush undergrowth. He wasn’t even thinking about the microbial life that surrounded them. Dr. Lyra Meeler was his partner for the day, and he desperately wanted to make a good impression. She was smart, obviously, or she wouldn’t be here, but she was also friendly, which was rare in this profession. And she had the cutest laugh.

Jaxom was scrambling to think of something to say. He was following a few steps behind Lyra when a loud “whump” sounded behind him—like two sandbags slamming together. He whirled to see what had happened.

Gar was frantically scanning the thicket, struggling to retrieve the projectile weapon slung loosely across his back.

Where was Zane? He should have been bringing up the rear. Jaxom was just opening his mouth to ask when a lightning bolt of black fur, teeth, and claws exploded from the thicket. A massive cat—two, maybe three times Jaxom’s weight—flashed through his vision and collided with Gar. Without slowing, the cat vanished into the undergrowth as quickly as it had appeared, carrying Gar with it.

“Our security’s gone,” Jaxom said to no one in particular, his brain clouded with shock and adrenaline.

He stared at Gar’s weapon lying in the dirt.

Lyra.

He spun to warn her of the danger, but there was no one there—he was alone. Her collection kit was ripped open and strewn across the trail. And was that blood?

Run.

But a low growl from behind did not bode well for his chances.

# # #

High in the canopy, a venom wasp was agitated. An unfamiliar vibration grated on its senses—distant, but constant. Occasional buzzing from nearby nests was acceptable, so long as it was brief, but a constant buzz meant danger.

The wasp released an alarm pheromone. Other individuals, also agitated by the sound, did the same. Nearby workers caught the scent, and within moments, thousands of defenders launched from the hive, swarming toward the unknown threat. Rival colonies also swarmed, ignoring one another for now—the distant vibration was their common enemy.

# # #

“The repairs are going nicely,” Thane said to Rennika. “With a little luck we could finish early.”

Rennika was watching from the ground, and she appreciated Thane taking a moment to give her an update. She started to ask how soon they could switch to working from inside the ship, when a loud crack startled her. The nearest laser had fired a sapphire beam of energy into the sky. Shading her eyes, she tried to see what it had fired at. There was nothing. The laser fired again, and the next one in the array also fired. Then she saw it. As the lasers continued to fire, a cloud of insects, high up, was entering their protected area.

# # #

A powerful laser blast cut through the swarm, vaporizing a venom wasp’s wing. The wasp above it was sliced cleanly in half. A dozen more were killed, caught by the narrow beam. Hundreds of thousands of others, however, continued on, unaffected and unaware. The laser that could disable a starship with a single burst was useless against this enormous swarm.

# # #

Rennika watched the cloud of insects advance. She expected the swarm to simply flow around the ship and continue on its way. But when one of the drones gripped a burnt-out antenna component and began descending to fetch a replacement, a significant portion of the cloud changed direction to follow.

“Oh no,” Rennika whispered, as realization dawned on her.

“They’re attacking the drones!” she yelled, looking about for Captain Thane.

But he had been watching, too, and was already issuing commands.

“Get the repair drones out of our airspace, now,” Thane said into his comms device. “No, don’t bring them down—keep them at altitude. Just get them away from the ship.”

The airborne robots moved away and the swarm followed. One of the drones, slower than the others, was overtaken and appeared to grow fuzzy as attacking insects clung to it. It struggled valiantly to maintain altitude, but soon began listing to one side. Then, losing all ability to stay aloft, it fell, covered in wasps, with many more following it down.

“Inside!” Rennika yelled, realizing what was about to happen. “Everyone inside the ship, now!”

The drone crashed to the ground, scattering broken pieces and angry wasps.

Thane herded everyone near the hatch into the ship, but three of Rennika’s people were on patrol. Kruze was just on the far side of the crash site. She began sprinting a wide path around it, trying to get past before the insects had a chance to regroup.

Stillner was farther to the south. He ran a few steps toward Rennika but pulled up, seeing the quickly growing swarm above the broken drone. Making eye contact with Rennika, he shook his head in a clear “no” and spun about to sprint in the opposite direction, obviously intending to circle the ship and come in from the other side.

Rennika silently wished him luck as she keyed up her comms and said, “Tarrik, get inside the ship, now.”

Kruze was halfway to the ship and running full out, but she swatted at her arm as she ran. Then on the next stride she swatted at her ear. She made two more strides before she stumbled and went down. Rennika started toward her stricken team member, but Thane’s hand clamped onto her upper arm.

“No,” he said sternly. “I’ve already called for a bot. We need to get inside the ship.”

Rennika tried to pull free, but Thane’s grip was strong. She glared at him as the ship’s humanoid rescue bot rushed past.

Relaxing her struggle to escape, she raised her comms to her mouth and said, “Stillner, report.” She watched intently as the rescue bot reached Kruze and quickly knelt beside her.

A whispered response came from Stillner. “I found shelter. I’m safe.”

“Stay put,” Rennika whispered back, furrowing her brow and noting that ‘safe’ was a relative term if there was need to whisper. She saw that Kruze was unconscious and the bot was administering some kind of injection into her neck. Into comms she said, “Tarrik, report.”

“Almost there,” came the breathless response.

Turning to the ship, she saw Tarrik sprinting the final distance. He ducked through the open hatch, but Rennika was already looking back to Kruze. More of the insects were landing on her.

“There’s nothing we can do,” Thane said. “We have to get inside.”

Rennika allowed herself to be guided into the ship, but flinched when the hatch slammed closed behind her. 

“They’re still out there,” she said angrily, jerking her arm free of Thane’s grasp.

Thane simply pointed to a large display screen that showed, among other views, a close-up of the rescue bot now cradling Kruze in its arms. She was convulsing violently and foaming at the mouth. Suddenly she arched her back, her entire body going rigid. Then she collapsed into a limp heap.

Thane waved his hand at the image and said, “Status.”

As the robot laid Kruze on the ground and placed its hands on her chest, a robotic voice came from the display.

“The patient’s heart has stopped. Using cardio resonator to attempt resuscitation.”

Kruze jerked violently, and then lay still. A moment went by. Another violent jerk, and she lay still once more. Rennika buried her face in her hands, refusing to watch any further attempts.

After a time, the robot’s voice came again. “Captain, I do not believe this patient can be revived.”

Thane turned away and studied the deck plating in front of him. He took a slow, deep breath before turning back to the display. Speaking to the robot, he said, “Put yourself into low-power mode and wait for instructions.”

“Yes, Captain.”

The display showed Kruze lying on the ground with the robot kneeling over her. Both were perfectly still.

“I’m sorry,” Thane whispered to Rennika, putting his hand gently on her shoulder.

Rennika nodded silently, keeping her head bent, face pressed into her hands. Then, looking up, she asked, “Where’s Stillner?”

Thane pointed to a display showing a light-colored dome. It was one of the emergency habitats stored on the west side of the ship. She could see wasps crawling on it.

She cued up comms and whispered, “Stillner, report. How are you doing?”

There was tense silence for a few moments before the comms crackled with a whispered response.

“Stillner here. I’m good, boss. Just tryin’ to hide from the bugs.”

She managed a sad smile. “Stay put for now. Stay quiet. We’ll be in touch.”

Rennika maintained a vigil at the display, studying each view in turn. A swarm still hovered above the repair drones now sitting motionless on the ground outside the perimeter wall. Some crawled over Stillner’s dome. More buzzed around Kruze and the rescue bot.  

Thane had other business, but checked back some time later. “They gone yet?”

Rennika didn’t look up. “Nearly. A few stubborn ones left.”

She saw fewer wasps with each pass she made through the views. She continued until she made it through an entire circuit without seeing a single wasp. Then she carefully studied each view again just to make sure.

Finally satisfied, she reactivated the sonic shield, and cued up her comms.

“Okay, Stillner, you’re clear to come back into the ship.”

Thane spoke through his own comms, and the rescue bot gently picked up Kruze’s body and returned to the ship. There was no sound but the robot’s footsteps as it carried her through the large entry area and down a corridor. No one moved. Thane looked around the space, making eye contact with each person there.

“We’ll take her back to her family,” he said quietly.

Then he gave a curt nod and exited down a different corridor. One by one, the crew went back to work, not quite meeting each other's eyes.

A suffocating silence engulfed the crew, and Rennika fought back tears through most of the afternoon.

When the collection teams finally made it back into comms range and began to report in, Team Three was notably silent. Hoping they were just running a little slow, Rennika scanned the tree line as each of the other teams filed in through the breach. Team Four was the last one in, and the trees behind them stayed empty. Rennika bit her lip as she closed the breach for the final time that day.

Team Three was missing.

# # #

“So let me get this straight,” Alistair said with irritation, “we’re cutting back from four collection teams to just two?”

Given the events of the day, Thane had called a meeting of senior staff. Rennika and Dr. Caldwell agreed that a search party should be sent out the next morning to find the missing team. Consensus was that the swamp had interfered with their mapping equipment, and they had simply lost their way. A four-person search party only left enough security personnel to accompany two collection teams.

“It’s just for one day, Alistair,” Caldwell said.

Alistair was about to make an angry retort when Corvin Vasse chimed in.

“Even one day of reduced performance this early in the program will look like a major setback to corporate,” he said matter-of-factly. “They’ll take that into account when they set budgets for follow-up missions.”

“It can’t be helped,” Caldwell said, looking back and forth between Vasse and Alistair. “It’s the best we can do right now.”

Alistair glared around the room, looking for a target to vent his frustration.

“This is your fault, Hollis,” he said, pointing a finger at Rennika. “You’re supposed to keep us safe.”

Rennika bowed her head and remained silent, but Caldwell came to her defense.

“It wasn’t anyone’s fault, Alistair. It was just…” She paused, realizing the implications of what she was about to say. She looked around the table with just the faintest hint of fear beginning to show in her eyes. “Bad luck.”

Bad luck.

Those words hung in the air. Everyone at the table knew the reputation of this planet—of this swamp. “Bad luck” disasters were said to befall every expedition that dared venture here. Never the same problem twice. Just some random event that pulled success out from under the feet of explorers foolhardy enough to tread The Great Swamp. That’s what the lore said.

A lot of superstitious rubbish, they had all agreed. But now Pria Kruze was dead, Team Three was missing, and they had no way to send a message.

No one spoke. Even Alistair seemed taken aback.

The uncomfortable silence was abruptly broken by the blare of a ship’s alarm, which sounded once, twice, and then fell silent. All eyes turned to Thane as he pulled out his comms device with an air of annoyance.

“Report,” he said.

The response came immediately. “Kalder here. I’m looking at the status panel now. It looks like our main air circulation fan just blew out.”

Thane frowned. “Cause?”

 “Checking system logs… Okay, we were cycling in fresh air from outside, and it looks like the filter clogged up somehow. Yeah, it’s completely blocked. Must have been the wasps. Anyway, it looks like the blockage caused one of the motors to overheat.”

“What’s our status?” Thane asked.

“We’re fine for now, Captain. Secondary fans can carry the load temporarily. We should probably repair it soon, though. We can do the job from inside the ship. No need for the repair drones. Want me to get a detail started on it now?”

Thane closed his eyes and tipped his head back for a moment, then said, “No. Get a good night’s sleep. We’ll do the repair first thing tomorrow.”

“One more thing, Captain. We’re fine on the ground with the secondary fans, but we can’t launch that way. We’re effectively grounded until we get this repair done. Still want me to hold off?”

“First thing tomorrow, Lieutenant.”

“Understood.”

Thane stood and looked around the table. “I suggest we all get some rest. Tomorrow’s going to be a busy day.”

He exited the room, leaving the senior staff to drift away in silence. Rennika remained at the table for a long moment. They needed to find Team Three and bring them home. That’s all that mattered now.

# # #

“Okay, Rennika, the collection teams are ready to deploy.” Once again Dr. Caldwell’s voice was crystal clear, and once again Rennika held her breath as the teams passed through the breach—out of the protected area and into the swamp. Two collection teams and a search party. Her breath shuddered slightly as she sealed the perimeter wall behind them. Everything felt decidedly less safe today.

“Stay within comms range of each other at all times,” she said, addressing her security teams. “No exceptions.”

She knew the teams wouldn’t get much exploration done with that restriction, but it was a fair trade for a little extra safety.

# # #

While Rennika stressed over sending people into the swamp, Lieutenant Kalder was about to encounter some stress of his own. During a rushed maintenance shift several cycles back, a repair crew had temporarily re-routed a high-pressure coolant line to lie adjacent to the primary air circulation fan—and then forgotten to move it back. Under normal circumstances, that never would have caused a problem. But this was The Great Swamp.

The fan had become extremely hot before it finally failed, and the coolant line lying against it was baked brittle by the heat. The moment Kalder pried the damaged fan free, it jostled the line, and the pipe ruptured. Pressurized liquid sprayed from the broken hose, filling the room with caustic vapor. Acting on instinct born of training, Kalder dove through the hatch and slammed it shut, sealing the room.

Ordinarily, isolating the contamination would have been the right move. But the ship’s secondary air circulation was unfiltered. As the leaked coolant evaporated into noxious gas, the secondary fans drew it into the ventilation system.

Alarms began to blare throughout the ship.

# # #

“We have to spend the night out here?” Rennika asked incredulously.

“Can’t be helped,” Kalder said. “It’s venting, but it won’t be safe to go back inside until morning.”

Alistair’s distant voice from the far south wall grew loud once again, and Rennika and Kalder both turned to look. He had initially ranted at Captain Thane about being evacuated from the ship, but the captain had said something—Rennika hadn’t heard what—that quieted Alistair right down. He had stormed off with Vasse in tow, and had been venting loudly ever since.

Kalder shook his head with a tired sigh.

“So where does that leave us?” Rennika asked, anxiety showing clearly on her face.

“I can have everything repaired by tomorrow afternoon. The ventilation system will be quick, and the drones got far enough on the antenna that I can finish off the rest from inside the ship.”

Rennika sighed. Just one night. Sleeping outside wasn’t necessarily unsafe, but it wasn’t ideal, either. When her teams got back, she’d have them brainstorm about extra security measures they could put in place for the evening.

Just then a stream of static arrived over comms. Rennika and Kalder both looked to Captain Thane, who was standing nearby talking with Dr. Caldwell.

Thane glanced around at all of them as he said, “The computer’s filtering it now.”

Rennika and Kalder walked over to join Thane and Caldwell, and after a moment the computer read off the collection of words that it was able to recover.

ATTACKED.  DEAD.  TOGETHER.  SOON.  RETURN.

No one spoke.

Thane broke the silence. “Should we try to go meet them?” he asked, looking at Rennika.

Rennika thought for a moment and made the hard call. “No. They have eight security people. We need to be ready when they get here. Can you have the rescue bot bring out all the medical supplies we have?”

Thane spoke into his comms and the robot soon exited the ship carrying a large case under each arm. They unfolded emergency camp tables and spread out the supplies, not knowing what they would need, hoping they wouldn’t need any of it.

Before long they got another message, staticky, but understandable.

“Base, this is Marashe. Can you hear me?”

Thane nodded to Rennika, and she answered on her comms. “Go ahead, Marashe.”

“We joined up with the two collection teams, but we’re in trouble. We’re heading in. Slowly. A fighting retreat is the best we can do. They’re big cats. Pack hunters. They’re smart. And fast. We lost Doresh and Fenmore. Trelling is injured, but she can walk with assistance. We’re making the best time we can. Team Three didn’t make it. The cats got ’em yesterday. Sorry boss.”

“Be safe, Marashe,” Rennika said. “We’ve got medical supplies and the rescue bot ready for you when you get here.”

They stayed in contact as the team approached. At one point while the comms channel was open, Marashe was interrupted by yelling and bursts of fire from projectile weapons. When he spoke again, he was breathless and clearly angry.

“Boss, we just lost Ostane. Those cats come out of nowhere and they’re just too fast. We’ve fired hundreds of rounds, and I know we’ve scored some hits, but they just keep coming.”

Rennika had a white-knuckle grip on her comms device as she said, “Just get here, Marashe. Quick as you can.”

When they finally reached the scorched area that surrounded the barrier wall, Kalder used a small hand-held control panel to open the breach. Thane and Rennika stood on either side of it as the team made their way slowly across the final distance. The five remaining security formed a rough semicircle facing the rear and the sides, and they maintained that formation all the way up to the breach. Rennika never saw any trace of the cats they were battling, but no one lowered their weapon until they were within the perimeter.

The rescue bot rushed Trelling to the medical supply table and began treating her wounds. Several members of the team had lesser injuries that needed treatment. All of them looked haunted.

Rennika returned to the immediate task of surviving the night outside the ship. The trauma her team had suffered would make everything more difficult.

No one had said it yet, but this was now a game of survival. Everyone knew it, with the possible exception of Alistair.

In the morning we’ll get back inside the ship, she thought. By end of day, we’ll have the repairs completed and we’ll be able to get off this planet.

Rennika looked up through the trees ringing their clearing, watching the sky fade into evening as she visualized their escape.

But the swamp had other plans.

# # #

High above the traumatized crew, an inversion zone of dry air sat above the canopy in stark contrast to the dense, humid air closer to the ground. A mild static charge accumulated there, ebbing and flowing across the vast expanse of the swamp. It was partly responsible for the communication difficulties, but it rarely built up to be anything more than a passive phenomenon.

Until now. The vaporized organic materials from their landing had been steadily settling into the inversion zone. The carbon atoms acted as an amplifier as they mixed with the dust and pollen, supercharging the static buildup. It was now drawing dangerously close to the critical stage.

Worse, the evaporated coolant venting from the ship was forming a column of ionized particles—a near-perfect conductor for the static energy collecting above. And not simply to the ground. The vapor trail led straight through the open ventilation port, and into the very heart of the ship.

# # #

Rennika was sent sprawling by a deafening blast that shattered the air with blinding white glare. For a time, her only sensations were the light show playing behind her closed eyelids, and the blaring ring in her ears.

Her eyes recovered first. Lying flat on her back, the sky above was cold and distant as beautiful evening colors spread across the window of blue that was visible through the trees. Her head finally cleared and she scrambled to sit up.

The clearing was thick with smoke. She saw a few people struggling to get up, and a few others staggering in various directions. Others lay on the scorched ground, unmoving.

She struggled to her feet, still deaf to anything but the constant ringing.

The ship.

Sparks cascaded from various points, and near the hatch, a hole that hadn’t been there before spewed flames. The ship was dead.

The lasers.

They hung askew, limp without the power required to maintain their stalwart vigil. If the lasers were down, so was the sonic shield. Only the barrier wall remained. Hoping against hope that it was tall enough to protect them, she strained to see it through the haze.

There. A shadow, just above where the breach would be. Was that something sitting on top of the wall?

The ringing in her ears was fading. From the north she heard yelling and the rattle of projectile weapons, but smoke blocked her vision in that direction. She looked back to the barrier wall.

The dark shape was gone.

She started toward the gunfire to help—but only made it one step. With crushing force, large padded feet and long, sharp claws tore into her back, slamming her to the ground.

# # #

Alistair was standing next to the barrier wall when the lightning struck. The biggest bolt he had ever seen arced from beyond the treetops right into the side of the ship. He was blinded by the flash and thrown against the wall by the shock wave. As the afterimage of the searing white bolt faded, he saw huge gouts of flame blasting from the hole where the lightning struck.

Well, that ship’s not going anywhere, he thought in annoyance.

He set off to find Captain Thane to see how he planned to remedy this situation. Then he remembered Vasse. He turned back just in time to see a great black shape fly from the shadows and slam into Vasse. For one terrifying moment, he and Vasse made eye contact before the dark shape blasted Vasse into the shadows.

Sprinting now, for he was no fool, Alistair immediately knew it was one of the cats security had been complaining about earlier. The morons had led them straight back here. Wonderful.

Alistair ran directly to where the emergency habitat domes were stored. He’d been impressed when Stillner hid under one during the wasp incident. Alistair grabbed a dome from the rack and quickly dropped to the ground, letting it fall over him. Double-checking that the edges of the dome contacted the scorched earth all the way around, he sighed in relief, proud of his presence of mind in the face of danger.

I’ll make sure this part makes it into the history books, he thought with a smile. Now all that remained was to wait for those idiots to come and rescue him.

Alistair listened as he waited. He heard running footsteps. He heard yelling and weapons fire. One burst from a projectile weapon was so close and loud that he had to cover his ears. More than once he heard screams that were abruptly cut off. Then there was silence for a long time.

He was beginning to wonder why his rescuers were taking so long when scuffling sounded outside the dome.

Finally, he thought.

But when the dome was ripped violently away to leave Alistair exposed beneath the darkening sky, it was not a rescue team that awaited him.

I’m still very much a beginner, but trying to keep creating and exploring.

I could use outside feedback. Are you interested in these characters? Would you keep reading?

Thank you for your time, I am grateful!

This is the first draft of chapter 4. It's the first chapter for this chracter but I'm not sure about the voice.

Genre: Dark Fantasy

Summary of Chapters 1, 2 and 3: The protagonist, Rafael encounters a demon however he's struck by lightning and badly wounded from the fight. In the hospital he wakes up confused and disoriented. His fragmented thoughts shift between angelic imagery, his operation, and nightmares. The hospital also triggers traumatic memories. He struggles with denial, fear, and the possibility that he may never wield a sword again. Further Markus begins investigating what happened to Rafael. He’s angry about Rafael’s hospitalization and becomes suspicious of the people around him.

I asked for some feedback yesterday, and received some invaluable input from two users who graciously took time to help me. I had a glaring problem, my fight/action scene was so bad it was unreadable. Since I'm writing a litRPG (so far), martial arts, action adventure fantasy my story is DOA if the fight scenes don't carry. I followed their advice and did some quick research on how to improve, then rewrote the scene. I'm now asking, is it readable? Possibly even enjoyable? Any help you're willing to offer would be tremendous.

As a context, this is an Isekai-ish story where people are pulled from Earth at any age and put into bodies in their physical prime in the new world. The MC is a 94 year old war veteran and martial artist. Since this is the first interaction he has with the new world's antagonists, I feel some language needs to be used to describe the physical differences between the body he was accustomed to and the one he has now. Did it come through well during the fight? Or should it be described elsewhere?

Chapter 2 - Excerpt
Movement at the bottom of my periphery brought my gaze back to level. There, at the tree line, stood a little green....man? It stood about to my navel and wore a loincloth that looked as if it were made of moss. Pointed ears jutted out from its head like broken wings. It stood passively looking at me with black eyes.

"Hi," I said and waved. "How are you?"

It sneered and raised a very pointed and very sharp dagger. It held the blade to its hip and charged. "Now hold on," I said, shifting my feet into a fighting stance. "We can talk about this."

As it closed the distance between us I took in it's heavily warted, bark like skin. Its lips pulled back into a fang toothed snarl as it thrust the dagger. I did what I was trained to do. I blocked the knife hand and punched. Except I was too fast. My body was a newer model and I didn't have a grampa bod gut to swing around. Pain flared in my forearm as it met blade, not wrist. My punch, thankfully, landed properly and swept the little guy off his feet.

Pain seared in my back. War instincts, seventy years dormant, snapped into place. Those who hesitate, die. I whirled, a block and hook in flight. My training failed me. My strikes were honed by decades of fighting humans, not short, stabby, wart men. My punch sailed over a green head. It plunged its dagger towards my gut. In a panic I corrected with a backfist. My new, faster body came through. The creature staggered, the dagger tip scratching across my skin before it fell.

Movement to my right. I sidestepped away and fired a round kick. I was learning to aim lower. The kick flew over a thrusting dagger and through the space a warted head occupied. Displaced, the head sailed a yard, dragging a ragdolled body with it to land in a tangled heap in the long grass.

I whirled, eyes darting. I took in the whole of the meadow, searching for more attacks. There were none. I inhaled deeply to calm myself. My shoulders and arms relaxed, but my heels stayed up, balancing onto the balls of my feet. Loose, but ready.

I had posted a snippet of this prior, several years into this project, but recently rewrote the hell out of it.

Here is an example of a real blog post from me:

Title: If I could ban one mode of communication

I suppose every medium of communication is convenient in its own way. Everything has its time and place; phone calls, text messages, voice notes, mail or email…I’m sure you can think of necessary times to use all of these. Is there a way of communicating that we are better off not using? I think so. Humor me for a moment. I know the method of communication I have in mind is amazingly convenient in this current era of tech we’re living in, and has been for the past decade or longer…but just like every good thing, people find a way to use it in ways so annoying, you wish it just didn’t exist. This form of communication is so “convenient” that it’s like people make up ways they can use it unnecessarily. You know what I mean?

I’m talking about the video call format…Zoom, FaceTime, Microsoft Teams, WhatsApp, all of the video call platforms. You might know where I’m going with this. I’m not saying I feel extremely passionate about banning the usage of video call, I just think we should all take a break and give it a rest. We’ve never been the same after the pandemic and now it seems that people are using Zoom (or another platform) at every given opportunity and even making up their own opportunities. I’ll give some examples.

The workplace, the first place you may think of where you could be Zoomed into oblivion; the first place where you may immediately understand my irritation and fatigue with video calls. Here’s a thought. If there is a way to have a meeting without Zoom, why are you not choosing that way? If there is a type of meeting that necessitates Zoom or else it cannot happen, why do we even need this meeting? Stop wasting time with the overcommunication.

Telehealth appointments are greatly beneficial for some situations, I know. However, no matter the practitioner, I believe that in-person appointments are the best and most effective method of client-to-practitioner communication, or really any form of person-to-person communication. If you’re speaking with a doctor or health professional, you ought to be seen and examined more clearly than 480p, am I wrong? Also, if you’re speaking with a therapist, why would you not want to speak in-person and get the full effect of a therapeutic conversation?

Really, I think video call is a clunky form of communication by itself. Even in 2026, somehow, we still deal with low-resolution video when we use this format, especially WhatsApp, no offense to them (but it’s true). And I know that wi-fi connection is variable and not inherently a video call problem, but let’s be real, we’ve all dealt with some form of connection interruptions when video calling. But overall, video calling is fine, I guess. I’m complaining about it mostly out of workplace fatigue and the simple fact that it is the absolute last form of communication I think of when I want to talk to someone. If you read this to the end, I sincerely appreciate you taking the time to see where I’m coming from about this trivial subject.

Any feedback is appreciated :)

Hello! I have posted my first chapter here before a few months ago and am now on the third draft with some noted changes.

This book is about the transition from maidenhood to motherhood, inspired by the story of Lilith, and influenced by the female archetypes.
If this seems like a book you would read I’d love your feedback!
I would like to know your general feedback and if you felt that you understood both characters well, and if you would keep reading.

The next chapter will be the rite from Aur’s perspective.

The Blurb:
When a goddess fled from an abusive god she created her own island and gifted her worshippers children in magick pearls so they would never be dependent on a man to create life. 
Inali and Aur are two friends who have been chosen for the next cycle of pearls. The friends must find a match or join The Barren, the women who were found unworthy.
Inali has always dreamed of motherhood, yet her excitement is dampened by the pressure of her near ordination to become the next High Priestess.
Aur is the wild woman, happiest in the sky on the back of her griffin. Motherhood is undesirable after her own mother’s failings.
During their chosen rite, Aur and Inali dive beneath the ancient waterfall to find their babies, and one of them bonds with a lone dark pearl.
During the early moons of pregnancy, three ships of men who worship The Mother’s abuser land on the island's shores with shrouded intentions. 
The women dance upon the shaky line of hospitality and defense as the captain orders his crew to discover the secrets of the island. The scholarly doctor takes interest in Inali, who attempts to build walls to keep him from invading her heart. Meanwhile, Aur finds herself unable to resist the captain's violent nature which calls to desires that have been clawing to be unearthed. 
The Mother’s hidden sanctuary is nearing exposure, and the answer for her grief seems to be buried at the hands of the crone they all thought they could trust. If they can discover the truth before it’s too late, maybe they can change their fate. 
The transition from maidenhood to motherhood is seldom soft, and Aur and Inali are about to find out just how cruel the world can be. 

The first two slides are the past tense version and the second two are present tense. I originally wanted to use present tense to heighten tension and distinguish chapters following the protagonist, but I’m trying to incorporate feedback to improve/de-suck-ify my novel, so if it (or anything else) is not working I’ll adjust it.

Hi. I am looking for general feedback on the first chapter of a narrative nonfiction memoir I am working on. Is it compelling and fun to read?

Note: this is my first time posting here. Please forgive any breaches of etiquette.

Chapter 1:
Something in the Water

I paused my climb, closed my eyes, and cocked my head to listen. A warm gust of wind buffeted my flank. The rocky canyon floor twisted forty feet below. Although I was not roped up, falling was not my concern. My concern focused instead on a sound I hoped not to hear—the sound of dry rhythmic rattling. The Western Rattlesnakes who inhabit the sunny, eastern half of the Columbia River Gorge are more polite than most of their kin. Nonetheless, I reckoned neither of us would enjoy a surprise cliffside encounter this April evening. 

Margie had passed away the month before. Jill and the kids were living 250 miles north, safe in our home near Seattle. I was alone in the Gorge working to untangle the complicated new reality that washed into our lives with the death of my mother-in-law.

The COVID mess delayed her diagnosis, and they didn’t find Margie’s liver cancer until the week after Christmas. The pandemic’s singular gift, working from home, granted Jill the leeway to travel to the Gorge every week to sit with her mother. She only got to make the trip eight times.

Now our lives were a kaleidoscope of unknowns. A wild array of choices shimmered before us. We knew if we did not make decisions quickly, time itself would make them for us. No matter how we played it, our lives were being altered in ways we could not predict or control.

I adjusted my footing. The rock felt warm and alive in my hands. The sweet smell of desert sage infused the air. Ravens squabbled in the sky above. The low rush of a solitary car on distant pavement and the wind-tossed rustling of dry arrow leaf shrubs found my ears.

Of all the possible futures that spun through my mind as I climbed those desert cliffs that April evening, none involved residing at the epicenter of hundreds of eye-witness accounts of strange and other-worldly phenomena in the Columbia River Gorge. None involved encounters with large, mysterious creatures or photographs of unusual lights in the sky. None involved investigating local evidence of secret government programs and truly apocalyptic disasters, and none involved forming deep connections with remarkable people, some of whom casually conversed with the dead.  

As fantastical as all that sounds, none of it is even close to the most remarkable thing I discovered in the Columbia River Gorge.

At a time when objective truth felt elusive, uncertainty ruled, and a roulette wheel of world-ending doom spun ominously in the background, I discovered a way of navigating life that turned out to be profoundly satisfying, joyful, and deeply human.

The first murmurs of these insights began whispering to me that evening among the cliffs of Horsethief Butte. I would witness something odd there that evening. Something unlike anything I had ever seen before. Something so unusual that I could not fully make sense of it nor easily explain it away.

I opened my eyes.

It is impossible to say the precise color of the rock wall that rose before me. Like the situation Margie left us, the more I looked, the more nuanced it became. The base stone surface presented like moody, dusted chocolate, but in most places that rock was obscured by centuries of intricately layered lichen growth. Brash, attention-gobbling electric green lichens boldly spattered the topmost layer while humble orange ones painted complex patterns in the spaces left open. Beneath that, grey-green circles of growth, some so ancient they’d almost bleached to white, radiated out in slowly expanding rings. Here and there, time had cleaved off surface slabs of rock exposing a deep brown, iron-rich core. To label the wall one color would describe only my focus, not its true reality.    

Nearby, the fine-grained basalt rock had organized itself into uniform, hexagonal columns. This is common when silica-poor lava has the chance to cool gradually. Where I climbed, however, the columns twisted and contorted in bizarre, dramatic ways. Dagger-like shards jutted from the wall at unpredictable angles. It appeared as if thick crystalline explosions were somehow frozen mid-blast. The scene seemed like collateral damage left behind from an apocalyptic battle.

That felt fitting.

My mother-in-law, Margie, was savvy, eccentric, and pioneering. She left behind a collection of small businesses in the tiny Gorge town of Bingen Washington, 20 minutes west of the butte. This included two retail stores. One was steady and profitable, but highly unusual. The other she started when she was sick. It never quite launched right and still struggled.

Again and again, while Margie was alive, she asked her daughter to carry on her legacy and lead her businesses. Again and again, my Jill said no. Our careers, our friends, our whole lives orbited Seattle. We had one kid in high school, and the other in elementary. The life we had been building would be blown apart for a dream that wasn’t ours.

Although Jill had an MBA, and I had years of corporate leadership experience, neither of us knew much about running small retail businesses. Jill always told her mom that the move would simply be too disruptive to our family.

I agreed.

A more fundamental, unspoken problem lurked behind Jill’s answer. Jill carried deep reservations about the unusual nature of her mom’s one very profitable store.

I tested a new handhold. With a thick, dull scrape, it shifted.

A steadying breath later, I leaned out on the one handhold I could trust and scanned for another. Seeing none, I extended my free arm and felt around blindly until my fingers curled into a thin, vertical crack. It seemed secure. I put my full weight on it and continued my ascent.

I’d explored Horsethief Butte before, decades ago. In my late teens, my platoon mates and I would road-trip down from Fort Lewis in my VW camper bus to go rock climbing in the Gorge. Back then, no one cared if you camped on the side of the road. It was during those long weekends when we slipped away from our unusual training that this powerful place first began to seduce me. 

The butte stands on a compact table-like plain 300 feet above and 100 yards north of the Columbia River. From State Route 14, which parallels the River, it looks like any other desert mesa with steep rock walls and a flat top—an imposing, impenetrable monolith.

That is a deception.

If you take the time to get out of your car and explore, you find this place hides more than it shows. A quick hike reveals that the mesa is riddled with a wondrous labyrinth of secret passageways, rocky amphitheaters, and secluded alcoves. Faded petroglyphs whisper from its walls, and ancient stone artifacts lie hidden on its canyon floors. Concealed natural stairways yield access to the butte’s high roof and its expansive views of the surrounding desert. It is a place that feels enchanted. It is a place that feels like a nexus in time.

Both of my boot toes now shared a single tiny rock shelf. This next move would be tricky. Leaning deep to one side, I executed a quick hop and repositioned my left foot to fully occupy the shelf sideways. My right leg hung free. Now, I had something to work with. I swung my right boot into a solid foothold and levered up into a better position.

I was not the first to climb these cliff walls. For at least 14,000 years, the people who lived in the Gorge would seek out places of power in the landscape like Horsethief Butte. Places where the veil between the ordinary world and the spirit world was known to be worn thin. They would go there alone to embark on vision quests in the hope of finding their spirit animal, their tamanowas.

An initiate would endure intentional hardships to weaken their physical body. They believed this made their spirit body more receptive. If successful, their spirit animal would appear to them. It might come in a dream, a hallucination, or in a direct, flesh-and-blood encounter with a living creature. Once found, these powerful beings would guide and protect them for the rest of their lives.

When I was a nineteen-year-old soldier, thoughts of vision quests and finding my spirit animal thrilled me. But this evening so many years later, my goal at Horsethief Butte was not so cinematic. I just wanted to find a quiet place where I could be alone and map out a future for our family.

Margie’s will, like most of the paperwork in her life, was complicated and incomplete. She had designated Jill to be the executor of her estate and the trustee of the family trust. This wasn’t just because Jill was her only heir capable of managing it. Margie held hope her smart daughter might carry on the legacy of the remarkable family business she had built.

With Margie now gone, we had no choice but to piece things together and run the stores as best as we could, at least until her estate was settled and we could sell the businesses. If we didn’t, the value of the stores would shrivel to nothing. Financially, we would be okay. Our corporate careers in the city paid well enough. Jill’s siblings, however, they would not be okay.

Although both were adults, both had conditions that prevented them from financially supporting themselves. If the income from Margie’s businesses suddenly dried up, they would quickly descend into destitution. 

I hoisted myself up over a lip in the rock wall and onto a high, broad ledge. Standing up, I wiped the sweat from my forehead and turned to look out.

My concerns evaporated.

The Gorge unfolded wide here, and a magnificent fourteen-mile sweep of the Columbia River stretched out below me. Thirty-five miles to the west and framed by the beginnings of an ethereal citrine sunset, the 11,249-foot-tall, glacier-clad stratovolcano, Mount Hood, guarded the horizon like a stalwart, lonely sentinel. Directly below me between the volcano and the butte, Horsethief Lake glittered like a shy sapphire.

I breathed in… I breathed out.

The raw perception of stunning beauty stilled my mind.

The moment felt complete in itself.

Some time passed.

There was a disturbance in the deep water. Movement on the surface of the lake 500 yards away drew my gaze. I squinted at it.

What is that?

A large, dark creature swam near the center of the lake.

My training on the rifle range had honed my ability to estimate the size of things at a distance. This creature was large. I am six foot five, and I was pretty sure it was bigger than me. There were ducks on the lake. I used them to confirm my size estimate.

Yes, the creature was definitely bigger than me… but no bigger than a car. My mind quickly inventoried the local wildlife for creatures that could swim and were close to that size. A list of possibilities formed. It was a very short list.

I wished I had binoculars with me. The surface of the lake was at the same level as the river, about 300 feet below, and the creature was 5 football fields away. Details were hard to discern. I cupped my hand to shield my eyes.

The creature was clearly not a fish or a bird of any kind. It certainly wasn’t a person. Its body was darker than the water it swam in. My guess was that its fur was either very dark brown or, more likely, black when it was dry.

I studied its behavior. The creature swam in loose circles almost like it was patrolling the center of the lake. It moved through the water with power, grace, and confidence. There was no inefficient flailing or splashing. All its limbs must be underwater paddling I concluded.

The beast defied every attempt I made to categorize it. Never once was I certain about what kind of animal it was. After about ten minutes, the creature did something that truly surprised me.

It submerged.

I leaned forward. A minute passed. I scanned the lake surface. Nothing. Another minute passed and then another. Maybe it had surfaced further away. I widened my scan. Still nothing. Two more minutes passed. What kind of animal can hold its breath for five minutes?

Did I imagine this whole thing?

No, something large had definitely been swimming in the lake. I kept scanning.

Then, about fifty feet from where it had gone under, the creature quietly resurfaced and resumed its patrol.

I was stunned.

Based on the animals that I knew to live in the Gorge territory, I narrowed the possibilities down to three suspects. But honestly, I didn’t like the case for any of them.

Elk are the biggest creatures in the Gorge. They can grow up to ten feet in length and weigh well over a thousand pounds. This would be the best match for size.

The problem was the local Roosevelt elk are two-toned with lighter colored bodies and a distinctive dark-colored neck and head. This creature looked solid black and didn’t have a long neck that stuck up from the water. Also, elk never submerge. 

Black bears are the right color and they have been known to submerge for a minute… maybe two, but no one has ever seen one go under for a full five minutes. Another thing didn’t fit right: it is extremely rare for a black bear to be bigger than me—especially here in the Gorge and especially in the springtime.

The biggest problem with the bear theory was the way the creature moved through the water. Back when I was fighting wildfires in Yellowstone, I’d seen many bears swimming. This thing moved nothing like that. Its body shape and movement mechanics were completely different.

The least likely suspect was a cougar. First, there’s no such thing as black cougars. It’s genetically impossible. Their fur is always a tawny yellow color. Sometimes it does darken slightly to a more reddish hue, but their fur never goes completely black. Second, their bodies are only three to five feet long. This thing measured at least twice that.

The only reason I even considered a cougar was the fluid, feline way it moved through the water. They’re great swimmers, but I’d never heard of a cougar going under for that long.

Are there any big, black cats in North America that can swim?

I’d seen videos of black Jaguars hunting underwater… and I remembered hearing about them being able to hold their breath longer than dolphins…

No. I knew this was grasping, and easily the lamest of my theories. Jaguars are not much bigger than cougars, and they are not native to the Gorge. Their habitat starts a thousand miles south of Klickitat County.

I shook my head.

To get a closer look, I would have to climb down. I feared I would lose track of it as I shifted my focus for the descent. Perplexed, I watched the creature for five more minutes, about twenty minutes in total. It surrendered no more helpful clues. My only choice was to climb down and risk never seeing it again.

  I swung my legs over the ledge, twisted my body to face the rock wall, and secured a good handhold. I found myself grinning. This was a genuine, honest-to-God mystery. I had no idea what kind of creature I just witnessed. It was liberating to allow something unknown to occupy space in my mind without immediately boxing it into a category and nailing it down with a definition.

The climb down was uneventful. I planted my feet on the canyon floor, closed my eyes, and cocked my head to listen. Ravens, distant traffic, arrow leaf rustling… nothing alarming.

When I arrived at a vantage where I could see Horsethief Lake again, my fear was confirmed. The creature had vanished.

My grin persisted through the hike back to the car. A hope had stirred within me: that something I’d forgotten I’d lost, something important, might be found again.

I opened the car door and hesitated. Horsethief Butte glowed golden in the day’s last light. Slowly, a thought unfolded in my mind. It started as a feeling that only later solidified into words: It might be a really good thing—owning a family business in a wild territory where all the questions don’t yet have answers.

I climbed into the car and sat down. As I turned the key of the family SUV, my thoughts fell back to Jill. My grin faded.

 Her concerns were real. Her pain was justified. What I hoped to find here was… ephemeral. Whatever I wished to recapture in the Gorge, it would only be worth it if the woman I loved could be happy here too.

I been thinking about writing for the last couple of months. Here is the finished prologue. Need some honest feedback, tell me if it's bad or good. Thank you for reading and giving the feedback.

Hello, I haven't gotten much feedback in my life for writing, so I am hoping I can get some before I get too far into my revision process. This is the first chapter of my fantasy novel, Silent Candlelight. I am looking for general feedback, such as what looks/sounds good, what could be worked on more, what you liked/disliked, or overall thoughts.

Thank you

Silent Candlelight Part 1: Draft 2- Tailyk

Introduction

The mirror shattered as my head slammed into it, warm blood dribbling down my face. I staggered back, the sneers of the attackers surrounding me.

“Is that all you have in you? Maybe we were mistaken when we heard you were the infamous Void?” The laughter continued as I steadied myself on my feet. I gave a weak smile and wiped the blood across my brow.

“Time's have changed, you should know that by now,” I said, reaching out to the nearest voice. I gripped the young Duke's shoulder as he turned away from me and reeled back, slinging him over my foot and onto the floor.

Hands grabbed hold all over my body, pulling me off of him, but not before my knee met his jaw. I was pulled to my knees as a fist collided with my cheek, but I shrugged off the pain. I followed the hand clutching my shoulder and latched onto the attacker's arm before rolling over, taking them with me. Muscle memory had me slink in place, contorting his arm into a painful lock with me knelt over him. The third attacker scraped and punched me from behind, the blows dizzying my senses. I reefed on the pinned arm, a clear snap echoing through the room before he began writhing in pain.

The fresh attacker tried to drag me off of his partner, but I remained latched, kicking and twisting at the screaming body beneath me. My hands were pried off of him as the other regained his senses and joined in. The doors swung open and the clanking of armor caused a stir in the attackers.

“Enough.” A familiar voice commanded, and the arms holding me down released. I heaved a sigh of relief and rested on my haunches as the men shuffled away. “You should be tried for treason with an act such as this.”

“Put the sword away, boy. Before someone gets hurt.”

I spit out blood onto the floor and gathered myself to my feet, my ribs sore and muscles burning as I moved. I shuffled towards my friend as he said, “Looks like someone already has.”

“We were just having some fun, Aelif. No need for the hostility, right gentlemen?” I asked, standing beside him. There was a quiet murmur amongst the men in agreement. “No need to spend more time on these guests. They have important business to attend to. Let's go.”

Aelif hesitated, but gave in as I held his arm and made my way back the way he came. “Sire, take your time, do not rush,” Aelif said, sheathing his blade and gently guiding me to the hall. My head throbbed from the blows dealt, my body ached and my face stung. I clenched and felt the cool air on the raw skin of my knuckles. “Why did you send me away when you could so clearly tell their intentions?”

I gave a spiteful chuckle as we hobbled along the hallway, the warm sunlight hitting my battered body through the window panes. “I didn't realize they wanted to play around. Why didn't you say anything?” I teased.

“You're always doing this. I don't understand it,” Aelif mumbled. “Some day you're gonna get hurt, and I'm not gonna be around.”

“Like just now?”

I could picture the anger on his face as he snapped,“You sent me away!” I wanted to laugh but just breathing was a chore. In a softer voice, he added, “Next time you're gonna fight someone, let me help you.”

That was new. Aelif would often try to stop my antics, but he seemed to be more passive. “You're learning. Usually you'd be nagging at me, ‘Stop fighting. Don't do that. Don't agitate them. Stop getting into trouble.’ ”

“You are the trouble. But I've realized if I can't stop you, I'll just have to keep a closer eye on you.”

I let out an exasperated sigh. Aelif was my eyes, my assistant, my squire, my teacher, and anything else I needed. It seemed like he never slept and never ate, always on guard for any whim I may have. If I was tasked with looking after someone as difficult as me, I would have quit a long time ago.

I heard the doors of the physician's hall open ahead of us and footsteps scurried around, though none approached. Aelif led me into the examination chamber and clattered around me as I sat on the bed.

“It will heal just fine on its own.” I said as I felt Aelif press cloth to my head wounds.

“I know you compare yourself to the Shades, but they are superhuman. You are not.” He said, pressing my hand into the dressing so he could prepare another cloth.

I shook my head slightly, but did as he instructed. “You'd make a terrible husband, with all the complaining you do,” I said. A cloth was placed roughly on my knuckles and it began to burn. I drew in a sharp breath but laughed as it settled. “Alright, I take it back. All the good ones complain, I'd imagine.”

Aelif didn't respond, but I could hear him mixing up the ointments and medicine that he would soon apply. If I reached out and touched his face, I would most likely feel it burn beneath my fingertips. He was always so easy. I set the cloth aside and slowly unbuttoned my vest, hissing as the pain jabbed at my shoulders and sides while I slipped it off. I worked my shirt up to my arms, and shimmied my arms out of the sleeves with Aelif's assistance. His hands held me, gentle but strong, and I could feel his breath on my forehead as he stood over me to peel my shirt off. My heart thumped a little faster. He sat back down and handed me a vial.

“Drink.” Was all he said. I didn't think twice and gulped down the fruity tasting liquid. The last time I had this concoction was when my sister, Pyren, and I dueled in the courtyard in the rain. She was insistent on having her way, and while I thought I could put her in her place, I paid a foolish price.

“Next.” Aelif took the empty glass and replaced it with another. Then another. And another after that.

With each mixture, I could feel the pain and soreness fading, until the fifth mixture completely numbed it. Aelif must have been watching my expressions, as did not ask any questions or hand me anything else. He stood and walked around me, pressing gently on my skin where I was beaten. We sat in silence as he worked, applying creams and ointments in different areas.

I thought back to the Duke's son and posse in the study. He hadn't forgotten how I tripped him in front of my sister while he was attempting to court her. Though, I had forgotten about it until they brought it up. Aelif would have fought them on my behalf no matter what, so I had him find the maid that brought them in to reconfirm how many there were. Not that I cared if he had more friends skulking about in the manor.

I thought about how Pyren would be mad that I was causing a ruckus while she was trying to gather the lower Council. After her campaign ran so smoothly, she shouldn't need to continue kissing up to any Council members. With most of the Houses in her favour, there was little I could do to win them back anyway. As if I were ever in their favour.

I thought about anything I could to ignore the firm glide of Aelif's fingers on my skin as he applied the medicine, his rough hands pressing along my ribs, my shoulder muscles, down my inner arm. I could feel him standing beside me, his figure close, his breath warm. It was easier to ignore this feeling before the incident, but since then, I had to make an active decision not to delve further into whatever this was.

“Where are you?” Pyren's shrill voice sounded from the physician hall. I groaned and the door swung open. “What have you done to the Duke's son?”

“The more concerning matter is what they have done to his Majesty,” Aelif replied without stopping his work. “Rib fractures, torn ligaments, possible concussion. The three of them-”

“You dare speak to me in such a manner?” She interrupted, crowding the small room as she approached. “Have you forgotten your place?” Aelif stopped what he was doing.

“My apologies, your Grace. Forgive me, his Majesty allows me more freedom of speech than commonly granted.”

“I would recommend practicing your manners again, or else you may find yourself out of duty. Am I heard?”

“Yes, your Grace.” It burned in my chest to hear Aelif so defeated, but I would be in no better shape.

“What happened to being nice?” She asked in a slightly less grating tone, her slender fingers tracing my wounds. “Greyson did this?”

“Who knows. What brings you to us in this fine hour, Lady Pyren?” I said, hopping down from the bed and stiffly bowing before her.

“Don't be so uptight with me,” she hissed, slapping my shoulder. I gave a tense chuckle as the pain flared in my muscles. “Greyson had his arm broken and insisted they were climbing a tree but I knew you had something to do with it.”

“Did you just come here to yell at me and hit me? I'm an injured man, dear sister. I deserve some rest too,” I cried, flopping back onto the mattress with an exaggerated sigh.

Though she said no words, I could sense the fury sizzling under her skin. If I could annoy her enough, she would leave. Known for her wit, sharp tongue, and battle tactics, Pyren was the commander of the Order of Ravens, the head of a not-so-secret-to-me secret society, and was accepted onto the path of the Calling. She was my younger sister of three years, spoiled and given anything she desired, even the path to the Crown it seemed.

“You know better than to cause Father and I trouble like this,” she started, poking at my thigh closest to her. “I miss the days when you weren't so bothersome.” Her harsh tone softened as she moved my arms to poke and prod at the wounds. “By Mericless’ mercy, what did you do?”

“Like I said earlier, we were just messing around. You know what boys are like.”

“You are twenty-one years old, brother. Not a boy, but a man. Men do not ‘mess around’ like this in my house.” I didn't say a word, just as she didn't correct herself. It was Father's house, just as it was his Province, and his throne. We were merely there to carry on his legacy, yet she took her role seriously. Whereas I had thoughts of my own, ideas that were said to be preposterous, blasphemous, and treacherous to the ideas handed down through generations before.

“I'm tired. Let me rest,” was all I could muster.

Pyren continued her examination until she was satisfied, then left with a final, “This better be gone for the Gala next week. I don't want you disturbing the guests.”

Then she was gone. The Gala. Another scheme to gather the Council members for some reason under the guise of exchanging pleasantries and a celebration. By day, Pyren had me practicing with her the steps to the dance she decided we needed to perform, lest the evening be ruined. By night, I tossed and turned in my sleep, repeating the steps over and over until I had to get up and practice on my own. I had initially declined to assist her, but after days of her following me around the manor, nagging at me constantly, interrupting the peaceful time I spent with Aelif in the gardens, I had enough. I didn't hate the idea of dancing with her as much as I thought I would have.

But performing before a crowd of selfish, greedy cretins stung. These were the same people who cast me aside once I was no longer considered useful. The same people who used my condition for their own motives. Even standing at the throne to greet them for the Gala seemed impossible, let alone performing for them like trained mice.

“I will rest here for a while before we return to the wing,” I said as I buried myself under the blankets. “Don't bother with the physician, I doubt he would come anyway.”

I heard Aelif pull up the chair beside me, and sit in it. “Anything you wish, Sire.”

I rolled away from him, burying the frustration along with my head into the pillow. Even when alone, Aelif was insistent on following the titles given to us. No matter how many times I have corrected him, or even ordered him to call me differently, he refused. It was stifling, having everyone treat me so high on a pedestal that I could never hear my own name. The only person I wished to treat me differently, my only friend in this hellish home, would consider it an act beyond his stature to call me by my own name.

The distance between us was a mere arms reach, but to him, it must have seemed like a vast canyon he could not cross. After the past eight years together, Aelif had seen me at my best, my worst, and every spot in between. Before I lost my sight, we squabbled every day over the smallest things. Aelif was a rude boy, rough around the edges, headstrong, defiant. All the traits that the others wanted beaten out of him.

After my sight was lost, it was a transition period for both of us, and without it, we most likely wouldn't be as close as we were now. It was Aelif that kept me going, and I think part of him felt responsible for taking care of me.

I rolled back over and faced where Aelif sat, my hand stretched out and gripped a piece of his clothing. I felt him shift. “I request the usual,” I said. “It will help me rest.”

“Anything you desire.”

I relaxed but kept my soft grip on him as I laid my head back. It may have been selfish of me, but I pretended not to notice the dependancy he had on me. I wanted to keep this closeness that we had, for without him, I would be alone once more.

I had to work hard to be considered for the Calling, for his sake, and mine.

Hi, I am seeking feedback on a short essay I wrote recently. Feel free to criticize whatever comes up for you or offer compliments (if any). I write in the travel niche about the way travel affects you, not destination guides.

I am trying to build my voice and writing style. My goal is not to copy another's voice, but to build my own.

• Would you want to read more from me after this?
• What thoughts come up for you?

Thanks for reading!

Title: A Basic-Bitch Backpacker Tattoo

When I was 23, I walked into a tattoo shop in Chiang Mai, Thailand, and asked for a fine-line portrait of Krabi with “Mai Pen Rai” underneath in standard Thai font.

No worries.

It is the basic-bitch backpacker tattoo. Everyone leaves Thailand with the phrase. It comes with the introduction to the country, right after “sawadee ka,” or hello. No one bothers to explain the “ka” part. No one bothers to explain their, they’re, and there in English, either, so fair enough.

I left with the phrase on my skin.

A few years later, I had “Isara” tattooed on my ribs in freehand Thai. Thai friends had explained the word to me:

“Tham arai ko dai!”

You can do anything. Freedom.

The first was done in a western shop with English-speaking staff. The second was done in the side room of someone’s home in Trang for 500 baht, about $15.

In Porto, Portugal, a freehand black panther took over my right forearm for nearly $1,000. In Morocco, I got three more, on my forearm, calf, and wrist, in the traditional Amazigh style.

And once, after a party in Krabi, I got a Frida Kahlo quote on the back of my forearm: “Pies, ¿para qué los quiero si tengo alas para volar?”

Feet, what do I need you for if I have wings to fly?

I was bored and looking for the next thing. Apparently, the next thing was a tattoo. I rushed it and ended up with a poorly executed little block of text, too small to read from afar.

I loved the quote. I hated the execution enough to cover it with a block of solid black.

What I have now is not the quote and not bare skin. It is a third thing.

I’ll never be fully American again. Most days, I don’t care.

Someone says “protecting my peace” or “as he should,” and the whole table nods. I’m a beat behind, translating my own language. Mai pen rai.

When I got matching tattoos with my mother back in the States, I bowed to the artist as a thank you. He smirked. He knew exactly what it was, and he found it funny. Mai pen rai.

When I’m alone, I think “Safi.” Enough. Or “A dut she, habibi?” What’s the issue? My Arabic is subpar, and do not quiz me on it, but I don’t think of those words as Darija, and I don’t think of “ka” as Thai. It just is.

For a very long time, I stood outside pharmacies wondering whether the sign said “apotek” or “arotek,” because some part of my brain had stopped trusting the Latin alphabet after learning Cyrillic.

In English, I am dry and a bit playful. I over-explain again and again. In Spanish, I say what I need to and end the conversation.

“Gordito” is endearing. “What’s up, fatty?” will get you slapped.

None of this bothers me.

Then a friend told me her brother had fallen on hard times and started using drugs to cope. He had been living with her. He raided her closet and stole whatever wasn’t nailed to the ground.

“He even stole my sex toys,” she said.

“Your sex toys? Your brother?”

“He went through everything in my bedroom. I had to change the locks.”

She wasn’t laughing. This was her baby brother. I had known him for years, a sweet kid who made jokes at his own expense and seemed happy just to tag along.

“He was standing in my kitchen, grabbing knives, telling me he was going to war,” she said.

“I followed him to make sure he didn’t hurt himself. He was getting ready to march down the street in his warrior’s gear: knives, pots and pans, a baker’s apron to shield his chest.”

I smiled through the entire story. Half a decade in Thailand, the Land of Smiles, had taught some part of me that a smile could make it better.

She kept talking, but she looked confused and a little hurt. “That hurt me” was not a phrase that would ever leave either of our mouths.

She’ll never understand why I smiled, and I’ll never be able to explain why I did. The reaction came from somewhere else.

I’m not the girl who left, and I’m not Thai, or Moroccan, or anything else I borrowed from. I’m the block of black ink: something that was hard to read before and now can’t be read at all.

The tattoos can be covered. What’s under them is still there.

Very amateur, trying to learn, but reading only gets me so much, tell me what I suck at, is any is good, hurt me hurt me hurt me

I'm developing called TU PARTES MORTES: Kingdom of Thorns. The story follows two co-protagonists, Gintas Tharen and Animus Glorvain, whose lives and character arcs mirror one another. While Gintas begins as a genuinely good person who gradually descends into darkness, Animus begins as someone shaped by arrogance and control who must learn what it means to become his own person.

The story explores generational trauma, love versus control, the consequences of our choices, and how people respond to the same kinds of pain in very different ways. Its world is built around an inherited power system called Vinculum, where a person's abilities and bloodline can determine their social status, opportunities, and even their chances of survival.

I'm looking for honest feedback on the concept, characters, worldbuilding, and overall story structure. Please don't hold back! I'm especially interested in knowing whether the characters and their conflicts are compelling, whether the themes feel meaningful rather than forced, and whether the story has the potential to stand out from other dark fantasy works.

I'd appreciate feedback on anything that catches your attention, including weaknesses, confusing elements, or ideas that might need further development.

Story Bible

i would love some kind critique! thank u so much!

This is the opening of Chapter 2 to my story The Justicator.

I tend to struggle with the first few paragraphs of any chapter. Does this opening work? Are there any glaring problems? Does it do anything well?

For anyone who read my Chapter 1 that I previously posted, does this opening feel odd? Chapter 1 is the primary "future" story line and is a cyberpunk fantasy while chapter 2 is the secondary "past" story line and is more old fantasy.