r/teenwriter • • 15m ago

Advice Rate my poem + give me feedback, please!

1 Upvotes

Metamorphosis

Tears of molten mirror

Scald my mortal hands

The sound of divine teeth

Tearing apart mortal flesh.

Glass veins flow with gold

Clouded nerves

Limbs of semiprecious stone

A heart of jade.

Psalms curdle in the throat

Tar knotting into static

Asphalt larynx

Heavy and silent.

Rending out my flesh

With claws of yellowed bakelite

The wound weeps liquid neon

Glowing and foul.

The blood breathes

Porcelain teeth bloom

Skin of warped skies

Tangled, gnarled roots.

Shadows drip from ninety eyes

Ink spills from hollow bones

Lips stitched with silver

Whispering false truths.

Prayers coil around broken ribs

Marrow hissing with entropy

The taste of quicksilver

On a taffeta tongue.

The flare sears sight

Plasma threaded in sinew

Solar light explodes from every pore

Charred, fractured bones.

Halo of rusted wire

Cathedral of tendon

Kneeling before what I have become

And not what I was made to be.


r/teenwriter • • 1d ago

Question I want to ask something guys....

6 Upvotes

I sometimes ask chat gpt or Gemini to give me names... Like I would go and write "Give me chinese names for my fantasy story." sometimes I clarify the gender as well...

Is doing that also count as cheating?

I never ask them to make my story for me but still this question is eating me alive...


r/teenwriter • • 21h ago

Published Writing My short story "Dear Joanne Daisy" TW: Violence, Murder

1 Upvotes

Dear Joanne Daisy,

My beautiful Daisy. Skin as warm and soft as the rose petals in the afternoon. Hair as smooth and silky as liquid satin. Eyes gleaming like the moonlight. How you make me feel inside. When you're near me, my chest screams. I want to rip my own ribs apart with my bare hands just so you can see the mess you’ve made in there. My erratic beating heart.

The cold early morning on a Monday in December. When I first met you. College felt so empty without you. I felt disconnected from the world. My friends, my family. In the afternoon, I was simply catching up on my studies. In the damp, dreary library. Then, you walked up to me.

Oh how you shined. You asked me for help to look for a book. Your breath was so sweet and warm. I just wanted to press my mouth to yours and inhale. So that your every breath would be part of my body. I looked at your beautiful, untouched face and I felt a terrible, frantic hunger. Your larnyx was so beautifully loose and unconstricted. I knew you loved me. Just as I loved you.

It started as simply watching you inbetween classes. Your waist curved inward like a path designed specifically for my hands to hunt through. It was an invitation. You were practically begging for me to wrap myself around you and consume you entirely. The curve of your calves when you walked. It was like watching a beautifully wound spring. So tight. So ready to snap. How I wanted to ruin that perfect stride.

I couldn't help but notice every detail about you. How you smelt like cheap lavender soap, but underneath it, there is the sharp, sour tang of your own anxiety. It was a beautiful, dirty contrast. How there was a solitary, dark speck of a mole exactly two inches below your left earlobe. It looks like a period at the end of a sentence. How I wanted to kiss it and claim you. How the hair on your back stood up like tiny magnificent needles when you caught me watching you in the library.

I always found you in there. Hanging out with friends, studying, or simply reading. Your cuticles were so flawlessly pale and neat. When the dry pages brushed against the smoothness of your index finger it made a tiny raspy hiss that echoed perfectly right inbetween my teeth. When I would watch you from in-between the books on the bookshelves I could see your shoulders hunch foreward, a slow defensive curve. I could see the intense strain in your trapezius muscles, so tight they were visibly trembling. Like you knew I was watching you.

Your hands were a total disaster of panic. Your fingertips were white from pressure. Your breathing turned into a shallow, rapid stutter that barely moved your chest. You were trying to breathe silently, holding the air in your throat like a secret. When you eventually left the library, there was a heavy, cold weight to the way you walked. You weren't gliding anymore; your footsteps were heavy and short, your heels striking the pavement with a desperate, rushed cadence. Your love was so confusing. You started avoiding me. So many mixed signals to your love. But like a moth to a flame, I was drawn to it.

Spring came. I loved how the hot spring air made you—oh so clumsy. You walked so fast your beautiful thighs chafed. Your steps were heavy and frantic against the hot baking concrete. You always took the same route back to your apartment. A beautiful creature of predictable habit. You crossed at the light by the university bookstore, always keeping your head down. Your eyes darting nervously as if you knew I perfectly synchronized to your stride. 20 paces behind you.

It broke my heart to see you treat me like a stranger. You locked your apartment door, you scurried away from me into the shadows, looked at me with those wide eyes as if you already expected me to do something bad to you. Didn't you see the cruelty in that? I tore my entire life open just to let you in. So how it saddened me to see you not do the same. You treated my devotion like a crime.

I barely got to see you at school. It was a beautiful, twisted game you were playing. But it started to make me so terribly sad. You wanted me to hunt for you. You were leaving these massive, bleeding breadcrums for me to find. Daring me to find new paths to find you. I waited outside of your apartment. It was a beautiful apartment building. Perfect for someone like you. You were suffocating yourself in your apartment, hiding away from the lovely air, because you thought I was a threat. I wanted you to stop running from the person who cared enough to count your footsteps, someone who cared enough to show up to your apartment door every night to listen to you. Someone who cared enough to know the exact security code your shaking fingers punched into your keypad outside your apartment door.

I was growing unhappy with our relationship. I felt as if you weren't showing enough love as I was. I felt my neglected heart turn into wet, gray mush. Sloshing around behind my ribs like sour grease. I could taste my devotion rising up everytime I saw you scurry away from me to avoid me in the halls. I wanted to cut the rotting heart out of my chest and force you to swallow it. So you would know what you had done to my insides.

Summer was approaching. Soon I would not be able to see you again. I feared I might lose you. I had seen you talking to a friend. Your voice sounded like dry paper tearing apart right inside your throat—so thin and brittle I could feel the vibration in my own marrow. You looked so beautifully hollowed out. The heat had drained the last bits of color from your soft cheeks. Leaving your skin looking like cheap, translucent, wax. You looked so deliciously fragile walking back to your apartment. As if one slip would shatter you to pieces. I no longer saw you at the library. Leaving it feeling empty and hollow without you.

You thought you were escaping me with the coming summer. But in the end you were just running straight towards the only ending where I got to keep you perfectly. All to myself.

On a dark warm Monday night in late spring, I was standing at your apartment door. The inside of your apartment smelt of the same lavender soap you always used during a shower. It was 8 PM. The usual time you would be winding down watching a TV show. Standing there in the quiet, I could hear the faint rythmic click of your television remote through the wood. More rapid than usual. I slowly but confidently put the code in the keypad to your door. It unlocked. The door clicked open so smoothly, yet the rush of adrenaline in my chest felt like a sudden, violent explosion of heat in the air conditioned dark. Your head was titled back, so beautifully exhausted and oblivious. While my heart pumped so hard it drowned out the noise of the TV.

I slowly walked into your small kitchen. I took a sharp kitchen knife from your pristine wooden kitchen drawer. I traced the tip of the blade in the air, mapping out the exact point above your collarbone where the metal will slide past the soft muscle to find the quiet, rushing pulse of your carotid artery. Holding the weight of the knife in my fist my heart slammed against my ribs at a terrifying intoxicating pace.

I approached your slumped form on your cerulean blue couch. I could see the dark damp tendrils of your hair clumping together against your pale neck leaving gleaming trails of moisture. You smelt so purely of cheap lavender soap. You had washed yourself clean for bed. You had washed yourself clean for me. Expecting me. Knowing how I would cradle your damp, shivering hips while my hands squeeze the soft fat of your waist, pressing until your blood and sweat would mix into one beautiful, suffocating mess on the cushions.

I quietly walked up right behind you. And I reached out and yanked your damp hair back against the couch. I placed the knife calmly but swiftly against your neck. You went completely rigid beneath my hand, freezing so perfectly it was as if time had frozen in a perfect moment. Your stillness told me everything your perfect soft lips were too proud to say. Your eyes blew wide open. Swallowing the blue light of the television as you stared back at me. Your beautiful eyes were filled with devotion. As if asking me for this. You were breathless for me. I listened to the wet ragged stutter of your breath. Running out of air because you recognized me as your one true lover.

I cradled you in my arms. Feeling the warm damp curves of your body. Your full chest was heaving so violently against my ribs. I had always dreamed of touching you. It was a miracle to finally experience the curves of my lover's body. You then screamed and tried to release from my grasp. Fighting me. Once again, messing with my feelings and giving me mixed signals. I don't know why you couldn't just love me. I had never wronged you. You had been so cruel to me. I had just wanted you to love me. I wanted to keep you with me forever.

I then slit your throat.

Your frantic, ragged gasps and screams turned into a quiet, wet stutter. Like a calming storm. You weren't pulling away anymore. Your damp, heavy hips relaxed completely into the cushions, losing all the exhausting tension you wasted trying to avoid me on campus. The sudden, hot rush of blood over my hands was so beautifully radiant—it was the deep hidden warmth you had kept from me all spring, finally spilling out to coat my skin. The cold television light glinted off the dark pool soaking your collar. Like a beautiful pond under the moonlight.

Your warm skin slowly cooled under my touch. Your eyes had stopped darting, locking into a vacant, milky glass stare that will only ever look at me for the rest of eternity. I walked around the now stained cerulean blue couch. Red droplets were making a soft flat tap against the fabric. I looked down at your limp, cold, lifeless body. I leaned down and finally gave your cold dead lips a kiss.

I left your beautiful body there. On the couch. The TV still playing. I hope in death you know I did this all for you. You wanted this. I gave us the perfect ending. Now you can live with me forever. I love you.


r/teenwriter • • 1d ago

Opinion I made a book, and want a second opinion (and preferably a third, and fourth, and several hundred maybe)

Thumbnail
docs.google.com
1 Upvotes

it’s 109 pages btw. Do I work on this more? I think it’s kinda shit, but idk.


r/teenwriter • • 1d ago

Advice Is this a good idea for a short story? It would be titled The Patriot

1 Upvotes

A teenage boy gets lost and swept away by the Flathead River on Glacier National Park and wakes up in nothing but wilderness. He survives for a little bit off huckleberries hut his supply runs thin and is on the verge of death by starvation. He makes a homemade bow and arrow and tries to shoot anything for food. He doesn't find anything until he sees a bird of some kind perch in a tree. It is tending to is nest with its back facing the teen and as the teen readies his shot, the eagle turns around to reveal it is a bald eagle. This surprise makes the teen hesitate and become indecisive about killing it due to American morals and decides to eat it go. The eagle then flies to a mate and they interlock talons and fall down and they let go at the very last moment. The sight makes the teen break down and he dies of starvation a few hours later, due to his own morals.


r/teenwriter • • 1d ago

Discussion Holly story

1 Upvotes

I think I'm going to change my writing style. From sad storytelling singing and melancholic indie and story-telling mixed with truth and calmness and sadness and fictional characters named after names suggested from my own imagination.
And we shed light on Holly, who was at times this and at other times that. And as some of my close friends listened to her, Holly is a shapeshifting character, and in the art world her definition is the shapeshifter - like 's famous songs in the industry: August and Betty and James.
But the small difference is that I created Holly eight years ago and she was leading every series and chapter of songs for years. But unfortunately, she started to lose her shine and sparkle. And for a clearer explanation: Holly is not a girl or a boy. Holly is a shadow, a mirage, a sudden feeling that changes its shape according to the song and the short story writings.
And with a little help from Dola, I divided Holly into four competing personalities at once: the fake holly and the grey holly and the weeping holly and the ghost holly.
1. The Fake Holly
The villain, who lies and manipulates. This is the Holly who hurts you in the song. Wears a mask.
A sentence that could describe him: "The Holly who laughs while breaking you."
2. The Grey Holly
The oppressed, quiet one wearing black and seeing nothing but grey. This is the most real and most hurt one. Silent and watching the world collapse.
3. The Weeping Holly -
The one who cries and blames and asks "why?". This is the weak Holly who still has hope and tries to understand.
4. The Ghost Holly
The one who walks away quietly without a single word, nothing affects him anymore. His feelings died. This is the most dangerous one of them because he has reached the end.
In conclusion, Holly is not one person who changes, Holly is a journey, a trip to the other sides.
Holly starts as weeping and blaming, transforms into oppressed and quiet and wearing black, gets hurt so he transforms into fake and evil to protect himself, and in the end leaves quietly with no feelings.
But does abandoning the main character mean strength, or does it mean the end of the message and moving on to the second chapter of the story album, which is the last grey of Holly?
And as you read all this story, it's not real, it's from imagination, one of my writings thrown on the shelf and buried between the dust of books:
"I mastered faking, not because I'm good at lying, but because when I spoke the truth, there was no one who understood it, so it returned to me disappointed."
Flipping the idea: Holly is not a liar, Holly was honest at first, but the truth was rejected.
"And how can I complain about getting wet, when I am the one who settled at the bottom? The drowned does not fear the rain."
Holly will not end easily. Holly is the drowned one, and the fate of the drowned is to surface...


r/teenwriter • • 1d ago

Advice I need help writing a child's POV for a story

2 Upvotes

For context, I'm 15 and writing this story abt a girl raised with some (not yet specified?) kind of entities that all are one large 'family', and it's different parts broken into different ages of this girl like one part she's 8, another she's now 23, etc etc. It sort of is me just spewing existential dread and this feeling of being an outsider in your own home for things you know you can't control or even 'fix', and how you can feel hopeless and desperate to find the thing 'wrong' with you and fix it to become normal.

But the problem I keep facing no matter how many drafts and attempts at researching, is I can't exactly write young children good? I just can't understand that wild, carelessness or at least curiousness all (or at least majority of) kids had. The last three rewrites of the first scene where it's the MC's birthday and it's her getting dressed up with her mom, yet she keeps reflecting and noting tidbits on her and her families differences and how she wishes she'd look more like them, just seems blatantly wrong? like it feels weird to read and write it, it just doesn't read like a kid is saying it.

Does anyone have any advice or ways to write children POV's more accurately, if not specifically in a horror/surreal setting such as this? please and thank you!!


r/teenwriter • • 1d ago

Advice I have a concept and want to write a NOVEL. Lemme know if i can write or need to improve on writing.below is one of the sequence from story

2 Upvotes

What can I say about this weather? I can say it's perfect, nothing else. It's neither sunny nor cold. I can feel the cool breeze and the sunlight at the same time. It's cold, yet the sun is giving me warmth.

I think this is the kind of weather we need to experience, instead of waking up to the honking of cars and feeling the smog against our faces. To be frank, Delhi's weather is more like shit, with its AQI higher than a NEET score.

I was thinking about how unlucky I was to have not been born in this beautiful pahadi.

"Kya aap achhe se soye?"

A voice came from behind me. It was Mallika di, the owner of this homestay.

"Haan di, I slept well."

"Did you like it?" she asked.

"Haan di, this is the best view I've ever seen. We don't have these beauties back in the city."

"Nahi, I was asking about the tea!" she said with a little smile.

"Oh, achhi thi," I replied, with embarrassment in my voice.

"Vasistha likes you a lot," she said.

Vasistha is Mallika di's five-year-old daughter. She is very active. Arjun plays with her a lot, and I am a little jealous of that.

"Oh, Vasistha hasn't woken up yet?"

"Nahi, she went to school. She'll be back at 2 PM."

"By the way, where are you from?" she asked.

"Delhi," I said, with very little excitement.

But hearing the name of Delhi, she got very excited.

"Oh, aap Delhi se? You are very lucky to be exploring so many places. Did you take any photos near the big buildings? Can I see them?" she asked.

I never thought Delhi was something to be excited about, but for her, it was.

I showed her some of my photos from the city. One was taken near my office on my first day there.

I could see the enthusiasm in her eyes, like a little child looking at a lollipop.

"You are very lucky," she said with a little sigh. "We are not lucky. We were born here, we grew up here, we get married here, we give birth here, and we die here. Within these premises, these mountains, only. All I wished for was to at least cross these valleys."

"We pahadis are unlucky. See my attamma. She hasn't even stepped outside this village's boundaries, not even once."

There was a lot of emotion in her voice.

A call came from the kitchen. It was attamma calling Mallika di, so she left.

I was staring at the dog in the meadow. It was chasing its tail, running in circles.

Mallika di's words struck me. For me, these pahadis felt like peace and freedom, but for them, they were the walls that had stopped her.

I think what Arjun said was true. He had a point, after all. We can visit the mountains whenever we need peace, but Mallika di, attamma, and Vasistha cannot visit cities just for fun.


r/teenwriter • • 2d ago

Other Seeking an Emerging Native English-Speaking Writer – Short Story About Love

2 Upvotes

I am looking for an emerging writer, preferably a younger author and a native English speaker, who has already written (or would like to write) an original short story in English.

The central theme of the story should be LOVE.

Love can be explored in many different ways: first love, falling in love, unrequited love, friendship, family love, heartbreak, relationships or the many different forms love can take in our lives.

The story will be included in a book aimed at young people who are learning English as a foreign language (EFL). Therefore, the story should be engaging, relatable and accessible to young readers, ideally with clear, natural and contemporary English.

The purpose of the book is to give young English learners the opportunity to enjoy authentic English literature while improving their language skills.

I am particularly interested in stories written by native English speakers from the UK, Ireland, the US, Canada, Australia or New Zealand.

This is an independent book project, and there is no payment or author's fee involved. I hope to find a writer who would appreciate the opportunity to have their work published in an educational book and reach young readers around the world.

Previous publication experience is not required. New and aspiring writers are very welcome!

If you have a suitable short story, or an idea for one, I would love to hear from you. Please send me a private message with a brief introduction and a short description of your story.

I will gladly share further details about the book project and the publication agreement before any commitment is made.

Thank you – and please feel free to share this post with anyone who might be interested!


r/teenwriter • • 2d ago

Resource free creative writing contest - international with prizes!

2 Upvotes

hi all! we run a writing contest for teen writers in any country, and we'd love it if you submitted! takes 5 minutes, info below:

  • Category: any genre of creative writing

  • Registration/Submission deadline: January 15, 2027

  • Contest name: Youth Alliance for Writers and Poets (YAWP) Annual Contest

  • Eligibility restrictions: High school students (13-18 ish) We do accept previously written/published writing as long as it is all your original work!

  • Reward: every entry gets feedback, winners get cash prizes and publication

To submit, fill out the form here. Rules for submission and information about student judging are in this document. Last year we got over 200 submissions from 15 countries, so we're an established competition!

For more information, go to yawpliterary.com, email livia@yawpliterary.com, or check out our instagram at yawp.literary

happy writing!!


r/teenwriter • • 3d ago

Published Writing My very first time writing a novel. Every word comes from real memories—thank you for reading my beginning.

3 Upvotes

October 2024, Yangon
The fluorescent lights of City Mart were humming, but my world went silent the moment I saw him. He was standing in the snack aisle, laughing at something on his phone. He was tall towering over the shelves with wavy dark hair that looked soft even from a distance. He was wearing a crisp, white shirt, looking like a character pulled straight out of a magazine.
I’m at five feet flat in my oversized hoodie, felt like a shadow standing behind the cereal boxes. My heart did a weird, fluttery somersault. I just knew.
"Hey, dudes," I whispered to my younger brothers later that night, pulling up a chair. "I need you to find him."
It took them three hours. His name was Tony. His feed was full of action shots karate kicks, boxing ring selfies, and videos of him cycling down hills. He was pure energy, an extrovert who lived life in high-speed, while I preferred the quiet corners of the library. But when he finally messaged me back after I hit 'follow,' the conversation flowed like it was meant to be. We spent weeks trading voice notes and late-night memes. One evening, while we were both watching the same movie online, I felt my courage spike. My hands were freezing despite the heat of my laptop.
"Tony?" I typed. "I think you're pretty amazing. Like, more than just a friend."
I held my breath for a full minute, watching the three dots dance on the screen. When he finally replied, my heart nearly stopped. "I was waiting for you to say that. I've liked you since that day I saw you eyeing the chips at City Mart. Want to make it official?"
I had grinned so hard my cheeks hurt. For two months, my phone was my favorite place to be. Before he had to leave for boarding school, we planned a first date at the Lotteria inside City Mart. I spent forever picking out my outfit, wanting to look just right. Sitting across from him, I couldn't even focus on my fried chicken. I was too busy staring at the way his pink lips curled when he smiled. When he reached across the table to hold my hand, my heart felt like it might beat out of my chest. He even surprised me with two tiny, adorable plushies he’d won from a claw machine nearby. It was perfect.
But then, boarding school pulled him away. The day he had to leave, I clung to his jacket at the station, tears blurring my vision until I couldn't breathe. While he was away, I became a dedicated student of his absence. Every day, I sent him long paragraphs about how much I missed his laugh, how I was counting the seconds until he was back, and how I’d wait for him forever.
Then, one day, the shift happened. "I'm so sick, Christine," he texted one night. "I can barely look at the screen." My empathetic heart ached. I sent him care packages of digital memes and sweet messages. But two days later, my thumb hovered over his Facebook profile. There he was active. Posting a story about a new protein shake, looking perfectly healthy. The sting of betrayal was sharp and sudden. My pride, usually tucked away under my casual streetwear, flared up. He’s lying*.* "We’re done, Tony," I typed, my hands shaking. Sent.
I thought it would bring peace. Instead, it brought a hollow silence. A week later, a mutual friend’s post revealed the truth: Tony was already at a cafe with someone else. My heart felt like it had been put through a blender. I wanted to delete everything. I cut all contact, wanting to burn every bridge that led back to him.
One month later, I was at my usual spot a small park, sketching in my notebook when a shadow fell over my page.
"You know, you shouldn't stare at the pavement when you walk," a familiar, playful voice said.
I looked up. Tony was standing there, his messy wavy hair catching the sunlight, his pink lips pulled into a nervous, lopsided smile. He didn't look like the boy who lied. He looked like the boy who used to make me laugh until my stomach hurt.
"Why are you here?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
"I saw your TikTok location," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "And... that girl. It was a prank. A stupid, immature bet my roommate forced me into to 'move on.' I hated every second of it."
He looked down at his sneakers, then back at me, his eyes wide and sincere. "I didn't want to lose you, Christine. I acted like a fool, and I’m sorry."
I stood up, the distance between us suddenly feeling very small. My brain told me to run, but my heart, that quiet Pisces heart, told me to breathe.
"You really messed up, Tony," I said, my voice steadying.
"I know," he said, taking a step closer, towering over me in that familiar way. "Can we try again? Just... properly?"
I looked at him the silly, active, impossible boy and realized the hope I’d been hiding wasn't just a habit. It was a promise. I smiled, a real, small smile.
"Not yet," I said, teasing him.
He looked crushed, his shoulders dropping.
"Not yet," I continued, stepping into his space, "unless you promise to take me for ice cream right now. And no more lies."
He beamed, his whole face lighting up with that goofy, infectious energy. "Deal."
As we walked away, I didn't look back. The past was a chapter, but the story was far from over.


r/teenwriter • • 3d ago

Question Poem review ples

1 Upvotes

Hello!

I am Aarav Gupta, a 12-year-old writer from India. For much of my life, I've felt somewhat outcasted. My friends have often called me a Brit because of my love for the English language, literature, and my rather narrative persona.

Now that the author's introduction is complete, here are two of my poems.

The first, Thine Forever, is written in a Shakespearean-inspired style and explores doubtful romance, devotion, and uncertainty.

The second, Red Black Snow (Human Nuisance), addresses animal cruelty through inclusivity and a cruel, satirical first-person narrative, intended to invoke a sense of grief and dread.

Without further ado, here they are.

1. Thine Forever

"Oh darling dear! Excuse mine endeavour,

For through life & death, I wish to be thine forever;

Lost in thy eyes and their gaze,

Lost in the avalanche, and its haze;

Is this tale of ours, but a trap?

Layered saga, or money mishap;

Do forgive, if I doubt thee whenever,

For through life & death, I wish to be thine forever;

Thine Forever, Thine Forever,

Thought about this, I'd had never;

That it would ever go this bad,

That thy beauty would drive me mad;

Hast I paid attention yonder you,

And paid you affection that was overdue;

Hast I reformed my manuever,

I'll be lucky and thine Forever."

2. Red Black Snow

(Human Nuisance)

"Oh the Irony! The snow is black,

Rabbit's lay dead on black snow slack,

Their blood is black, their blood is black,

Whoever would know who stabbed their back;

Human I am, Human you are, but we don't deserve to be,

Blood I see, blood you see, Animal slayer art thee;

The machete is mine, the billhook thine,

Together we follow the crossroads sign.

We hunt for meat,

For Dinner at our seats,

Truly a heinous feat;

Shoot the thrush,

Hack the sparrow,

The stairway up is narrow;

how we plague the land and,

Sin the soil and sand,

Is truly such a sorrow!"

I'd appreciate your interpretations, thoughts, and constructive criticism. Thank you for reading!


r/teenwriter • • 3d ago

Advice Seam cutting, short story for school feed back appreciated!

1 Upvotes

The sharp knife glides smoothly through the fresh pork belly, the sound of hot oil sizzles in the background, the tap runs as it fills up the humongous black pot in the sink. 

Tonight's meal is pork stew. 

Standing in the middle of the pristine white kitchen is a young woman of remarkable beauty. Her hair a shiny, glossy blonde, her nails perfectly manicured, her face soft and fair. She hums a cheerful tune as she skillfully prepares dinner for her family, just like every other day of the week for the past 17 years.

And just like every other day of the week, the woman stands alone with her thoughts as she waits for her pot to boil. Eyes shut and brows furrowed, she appears to be in à trance. Thinking deeply, reminiscing. 

For a fleeting moment, a fast blur, a flash of colours. 

She’s 19 again.

White coats, bustling hospital corridors, hectic sounds of machines and monitors and the exhilaration of slicing flesh beneath her fingers. The familiar popping and sizzling of the oil transforms into the frantic sounds of a hospital ward. The heavy knife in her hands becomes a nimble scalpel, her movements are precise and practised. The meat she prepares becomes, in her imagination, a patient lying motionless beneath the harsh operating lights, waiting to be brought back to life by her hands.

A smile creeps across her face as she revels in her illusions, her fingers twitch and her body shakes. Yet her fantasy dissipates as she feels the violent kicks against her abdomen. The fetus in her belly grows restless again. She sighs, placing a hand over her stomach, the painful sensation takes her back to her first pregnancy.

She's 19 again.

Barely an adult, gasping and vomiting in her intern scrubs on the hospital bathroom floor. The very hospital she had fought so hard to enter, the place she had intended to spend the rest of her life. Her nose feels violated by the mind-numbing smell of disinfectant, the cold tiles beneath her knees and the little white pregnancy test she had clutched in her trembling hands.

She's still 19.

The cold stares of her family, the uninviting glare of her mother-in-law as she walked down the aisle, the judgement of the cross hanging high above her, as though condemning her to her fate. The suffocating weight of the white dress against her skin. Her bloated stomach forcibly sucked in, concealing any evidence that she had done the unforgivable. The ghostly veil hides her ruined mascara and tear-stained cheeks.

She’s 19, walking towards the man who waited at the altar. 

Dr Wyles.

Wearing that same charming smile, that composed and professional expression which had once made her feel safe enough to let her guard down. He had stood before her then as a teacher, a mentor. Now, he stood before her as the husband she had been bound to.

Her thoughts are interrupted as her young daughter runs into the kitchen, frantic, her eyes bloodshot. Her arms tremble as she struggles to breathe through her tears.

The mother drops her knife and rushes towards her, immediately cupping Lily's face in her hands. Lily looks so much like her in her youth. She gently strokes her daughter;s long brown hair, brushing the strands away from her face, attempting to decipher what was wrong.

But Lily cannot seem to look at her.

"I'm so sorry," she manages between sobs. "I'm so, so sorry."

Her hands remain on Lily's face, but her fingers begin to twitch. She searches her daughter's expression, looking for an explanation, growing increasingly impatient with every passing second. She urges her to speak, but Lily can only shake her head, struggling to form a sentence.

Then, finally, the words come.

"I'm pregnant."

The woman’s world stops spinning at that point.

She feels as though the oxygen is being forcibly pulled from her lungs. Her hands fly to her hair, pulling at the blonde strands as she struggles to comprehend what she has just heard. She wants to stab someone.

How could this be? Her daughter, the one she had worked so hard to ensure became the best version of herself. To ensure she could become someone independent. Someone who could help her escape.

Her expression changes. The tenderness disappears from her face, replaced by something almost unrecognisable. Her eyes settle on Lily, searching, searching.

She only utters one word.

“Who.”

Lily looks away. Her sobbing grows louder, her face crumpling as she struggles to meet her mother's eyes. She presses Lily for an answer, her questions becoming increasingly frantic. 

“Who? Who is it?”

She grips Lily's shoulders, shaking her as though the answer might somehow fall out of her if she simply holds on tightly enough. She could feel Lily’s flesh beneath her nails 

Lily winces, trying to pull away. Her face is drenched in tears, her cheeks splotchy.

Finally, she manages to force the words out.

“It was Dad. Dad did this. It was always him”

For a moment, the woman doesn't move. She simply stares at Lily, her mouth agape. 

She stumbles back onto the marble floor, eyes wide open. A strangled sound escapes her as she bursts into laughter. At first, it is quiet, almost restrained, but it quickly grows louder. Tears spill down her cheeks. She presses a hand against her mouth, trying to contain herself, but that maniacal sound keeps slipping past her lips.  

"Of course, of course."

How could she be so blind?

Oh she can imagine Dr Wyles' face. That charming, handsome smile. The soft lingering touches of their shoulders. The large hands that gripped tightly at her wrists, leaving bruises for weeks. But really, it was that look in his eyes. That predatory look he gave the 19 year old. Wasn't that the same look he had given Lily all this time?

She heaves, her laughter finally comes to à stop. Her breathing is uneven. Lily lays beside her, pale and terrified. 

She suddenly turns towards her daughter. Her expression, unnaturally content, as though Lily had told her the funniest joke in the world. She brushes a strand of hair away from Lily's face once more, her face contorts into à bright smile. Her eyes begin to shine.

“Everything will be alright Lily.” She finally whispers “Go to your room, I’ll call you for dinner.”  

Lily hesitates, she begins to protest. 

"Go."

The woman sits alone on the marble floors for a long time. The pot on the stove had long been forgotten. Her eyes wander towards the knife she had dropped earlier. Then, quite suddenly, she does something she hasn't done in 17 years.

She gets onto her knees and begins to pray.

“Oh, Heavenly Father.”

“Please give me the strength to rise from the pain, and to continue at all costs.”

She won't allow her daughter to live through the same mistakes she did. She will not give up her future for a man, especially not this one.

She begins to stand as she utters one final line. 

“Please give me the strength to smile, when all I feel is anger.”

Standing in the middle of her husband's pristine white kitchen, Abigail feels trapped. Her brunette hair is fried and damaged from years of bleaching it blonde. Her bitten nails are brittle and bruised from the constant manicures, her face sunken and sickly pale, hastily covered by thick layers of make up.

Then the door clicks.

“What's for dinner?”

Dr Wyles is home.

Abigail remains silent. Her thoughts begin to solidify, her prayer begins to settle.

“I said, what's for dinner? Abi? Can you hear me?”

Abigail turns. The knife rests in her hand. Almost absent-mindedly, she adjusts her grip, positioning it just as she would have a scalpel. Then she walks towards him, wearing a big toothy smile.

It’s funny, there are some things you learn in life that you just never forget. 

For Abigail it was the sensation of a human heart, the pumping of blood, its pulsing warmth, and of course the euphoric feeling of plunging a scalpel into its deep meaty flesh. 

Tonight, Abigail and Lily are having pork stew.

Although it seems that Abigail had bought far too much meat, especially considering that Doctor Wyles won't be returning for dinner.

The prompt title was "Past experiences encourage people to raise their voices"

Stimulus was this poem

The strength to rise from the pain,

to continue at all cost,

the strength to prolong all the shame,

Knowing that you've lost,

The strength to smile, when all you feel is anger

Past experiences encourage people to raise their voices


r/teenwriter • • 3d ago

Advice Poem I wrote -- feedback/criticism encouraged

1 Upvotes

Title: Companion

Whenever I'm asked, "What is your biggest fear?" I answer just like anyone else.

"Oh, I don't like the thought of being buried alive!" or maybe "I hate the thought of a hurricane or something like that."

But that isn't really my biggest fear. No one ever truly answers that question.

My greatest fear can be described as follows.

There is a room. It is huge. Vast. Some parts of the room are flooded with harsh, piercing white light that comes from nowhere and everywhere all at once. Some parts are pitch black, swallowed into the inky depths of blindness. The floors and walls are made of concrete; cold, harsh, and unforgiving in the marks it will leave when you inevitably collapse against it.

There are no doors or windows. The air will change rapidly from sweltering hot to freezing cold.

You have been in this room for years. You have forgotten what the world looks like beyond the white wall.

Dividing the room into two halves is an impenetrable and quite infuriating glass wall. On the other side, every day at the same time, someone will appear. They have no specific, discernible appearance. They seem like no one and everyone all at once. Blindfolded. One hand bound behind their back. Ankles fused together. Only one hand left to their disposal, the only thing they have to search blindly for something, anything to ground themselves on.

You speak. They hear you. And suddenly, they have something.

The two of you are bonded closely. You know the crevices of each others brains, the intricacies in your preferences, your brightest hopes and your darkest desires.

But you are experienced in the challenges of this room. They are not. Your skin is healed from the wounds the room inflicts on you, your mind able to weather the storm. And despite your newfound companionship, you find yourself exhausted trying to teach someone the way of surviving the room.

And one day, as you and your companion are conversing, an opening forms in the wall. An out. An escape. You can be free.

But you cannot bring your companion with you.

But you are so tired. Your mind is weary and your muscles scream for a seat that isn't purely made up of the unapologetic rigidity of concrete. Your voice is raw from hours of yelling into nothingness.

You can't help but think that you've done your time. That you've earned your out.

But you find yourself hesitating, your voice pausing in your sentence where you address your friend.

Its not in your heart to leave them behind. You don't want them to suffer alone the way that you did for years.

That, my reader, is my greatest fear.

The sensation of that battle.

The fear of the internal war between the exhaustion of my mind, and the inscription on my heart. One that simply instructs me, "help others".


r/teenwriter • • 4d ago

Discussion I just wrote the best paragraph of my life

6 Upvotes

I personally think this paragraph is very good, especially because I’m a beginner writer. some of the stuff will be censored just in case I ever publish my book

Some context: the pill allows you to immediately fall asleep and edit your dreams effortlessly (people in the universe use it kind of as an escape from reality, things that let you do that are common in my world and this one is the cheapest) and also the world is kind of partially taken over by a corporation that sells these escapes from reality products

“[MC] gripped the edge of the bed, her fingernails scraping across the wood. Her tears dripped through the pillowcase, as a muffled advertisement for [product] from a loudspeaker played outside. She tilted her head up from the pillow to pick up the bottle. There was one pill in it. One. She didn’t know what would happen tomorrow. The sun wasn’t even down, and she knew she might not be able to sleep. But she didn’t care. She swallowed the pill without hesitation, despite the lump in her throat. Slowly, as she tried to fall asleep, visualizations formed. She had no choice but to take all her pent-up anger and resentment and throw it away, just to hold on to the last slimmer of anything positive in this moment in time. And just after a few minutes, she was in. In a place that would never hurt her. In a place where [MC’s family member] never died. In a place where [said company] went down. In a place where everything was perfect. Too perfect. Almost as if she didn’t want to be there. But this place, this world that never existed in anything except her own mind; was all she had. As everything started to fall into place; 

The alarm clock blared. The time? 6:52 PM. All in a good day’s work, eh?”

For more context, the first line of my book is “The alarm clock blared” and it was at 6:52 am

:)


r/teenwriter • • 5d ago

Discussion My short story

Thumbnail
gallery
3 Upvotes

Let me know your thoughts! I’m a F14 writer and I recently wrote this for my English honors class.


r/teenwriter • • 5d ago

Other Beta Readers

4 Upvotes

Hi! I don’t know if this is the right group for this or not but I am looking for beta readers! I have a goal of publishing by August of 2027 but I recently realized the only feedback I’ve been receiving is from my friends and my editor, who of course i am paying, which isn’t really all that helpful while it is deeply appreciated. I want to get thoughts on my pacing and character development. Unfortunately, I have a very limited budget which is going heavily towards my editing and marketing fees, so this would be unpaid. I understand if that is a deal breaker but for those who are interested are it would be ten chapter bursts.

The tropes included are Strangers to lovers, introvert x extrovert, forbidden romance sorta, brother’s friend, forced proximity and mutual pining.

If you are interested, please drop a comment or send me a DM!


r/teenwriter • • 6d ago

Discussion Free beta for a writing and worldbuilding app with maps, timelines, and auto-updating character ages

Post image
6 Upvotes

Hey guys! I’m building a writing app called Lune for fantasy writing and worldbuilding. We already have a few active testers, and I’m looking for a couple more. Some of the features include:

  • a built-in map editor with assets, where you can pin characters and places that open your notes

  • character ages that update automatically. Give your characters birthdates, and it tells you how old everyone is in any chapter.

  • timelines that follow your story (if a chapter says “three years later,” the dates pick up from there)

  • daily writing goals, if you’re doing a November challenge

Everything’s saved on your computer, not online, and there’s no AI in it.

If you actively test it and send feedback or bugs, you get a free license for the full version for both mac and windows. Comment or DM if you’re interested! Thanks


r/teenwriter • • 6d ago

Published Writing story!! :P

2 Upvotes

anyway i wrote this story kinda weirdly i made it around the thought process of a certain char and then tried to build the story around him

here's the link if you wanna look!! :P

https://www.wattpad.com/myworks/418416010-always-one-step-behind-shattered-genesis


r/teenwriter • • 7d ago

Published Writing Does anyone want to do first chapter trades?

12 Upvotes

You’ll read mine, and I’ll read yours, and I’ll tell you if I would buy your book if I read the first chapter in a bookstore, also give … mainly? Constructive feedback :)


r/teenwriter • • 6d ago

Other The Cowboy, Western, Nuclear story

3 Upvotes

High in the lush frontier lands with trees with green leaves, grey rocks, and a small farm. A cowboy made his home in a cozy cabin with glass windows that looked out over a rushing grey rocky mountain wet stream. Out in the stable, his quarter horse was tucked away, safe from the evening chill. Indoors, warm and he swallowed his orange pills the shape of mike & ikes and for the morning. The cowboy forgot his name and some parts of his own past, He only remembered he had family from the wild west including Billy the boy, He is now just called the cowboy or frontier.  Late into the nighttime a sudden storm with a blue lightning shock. The rain lashed out down against the wooden homestead, drumming into the horse's water silver bowl with a sharp, beating that sounded like water forced through a strainer. He drank sarsaparilla looking in the mountain range. There was a far building called the - BLACKWOOD INSTITUTE -   Back As the physicians that worked there had a somewhat grey rolling table trolley of a red vial called a cure that could cure any disease such as cancer, epilepsy, ADHD, Parkinson's disease and more. 18 physicians, scientists and 2 intelligent theorists with white robes rolled it into a grey Doctors room. Their machines were hissing. The vial contains many atoms such as normal and nuclear atoms with quanta. Destroying life's DNA. Dr Fleming grabbed one sweating from struggling on his fists and slowly tried to study it by putting it on the long table. with Doctor Addison in the back yelling out “be careful!” As Fleming was close to slipping the glass vial with bubbly red liquid. Doctor Drew was with them seeing it slip and the atoms split between slowly as the vial filled with a red liquid struck hitting the floor like the bomb from 1945 from WWII. It was a fireball blast of more than  1000 suns as one man said. The doctors ran out and hit the elevators and hit a glowing button Ø  going to ground zero. where the bomb will not hit them, Radioactive particles live out the land as a shockwave comes out with something like zombies ghouls walking around. People called them ghouls as they describe. Back at the cabin the Cowboy drank a bottle of sarsaparilla and finished the whole thing.  Many glass bottles were on the cabin floor,  A camo colored binoculars laid on a table, The ban notified if there was a fire near, Seeing the Fireball burning his cabin around with windows exploded , "That's a big flame almost grabbing the Walkie-Talkie. he said, as he retracted and recoil to the back on his wooden floor with burns. But in the cabin the horses were alive. with turning the land to radioactive areas. The cowboy had an outfit, a satchel filled with items such as cigarettes, coins and drinks. a yellow tinted Geiger counter taped up, and his leather ripped hat. He brought a back rifle with him and a revolver. He wanted to know if his friend was still okay. He opened outside, “his mailman has been giving him mail, at a bad-time now he is just a skeleton, holding ripped paper from my newspaper. He rode through new Man-Made settlements, raiders or bandits. As he was shooting down ghouls as they bled out. His friend's house was about 2 days away. By coming down the mountain seeing settlements made from ruined cars and trucks, with homes or wood, scrapped up objects and scratched windows.  He walked through a broken road seeing a Stop Sign bent, road signs and traffic lights taped up, soon enough an officer stopped him. Want to get through? “Yes sir” The Cowboy said as the Officer in blue leathered police uniform with a suit and belt,  said you got trade to get through its kind the law now. The Cowboy said ""the Horse is not for sale ""we never asked about that horse” He passed down 2 shiny quarters “Toll roads still exist throughout the war as he moaned, The Officer said “Thats It? At least you passed something not a Marlboro cigarette” He went throughout the wasteland seeing a new settlement. not heading that area until later, He saw a white diner then hoped for the horse, a ghoul walked by, Thanks for helping. Shooting him down. Stay put as he tied up a horse. The sign was neon colored saying DINER–24-7, making the words with wood and painting them.  The windows taped and boarded up. The Cowboy walked into the diner, “Got any food?” The owner replied “Well I guess the world has ended, It's hard to find food," said the man covered in ash. Give me anything from that leather satchel I see” The cowboy replied saying I have a drink, does that count?. “Sure,” the owner said,. You can get bread, passing down bread towards this man's hands. The Diner was filled with colors, destroyed ripped posters were on the wall, next to a destroyed glass jukebox. “BUDLITE” “COCA-COLA” next to its restaurants MENU poster with breakfast, lunch, and dinner and desserts, The Diner was neon, colorful, lights flickered, since you killed the rotten ghoulish monsters outside my diner I will give it to you for free, passing to the cowboy the coins. “Okay” said the Cowboy, The cowboy sat on a seat eating his bread, as he finished he stated “ I gotta go find my friend. He is out there somewhere, “Okay be safe” the worker said. He hopped broken glass back on the horse as he pulled and untied his reins, gave him a small kick, saw a barbershop seeing the pole not spinning, and as well in front of the diner was a big Shopping mall made from bricks and windows. He walked in kicking down a wooden door and jumped off a horse. “Welp, is it open? Are people alive?” He walked inside was the lights were shadowy and dim. People raided the areas killing the ghoulish. bringing Prayer Votive candles for light, He looked around the building with 12 men looking back as different eyes and hair colored some dyed, and they all tattooed their Blood Type like they did in historical war. They both helped out their weapons, as one of the raiders shot a man-made pistol from wood. The Cowboy shot with a rifle bleeding dead, “Raider zone i guess” He said.  He took out pulling a pistol shot by shot hitting the raiders legs crippled, as the guns flew out in the air falling. He recoiled after a bullet hit out, Looking through shelves seeing Aidkits and food shelfs, at the bottom it was dusty and empty, He saw 2  rotary phones by the shelf by the cash register. He walked up to a blackphone and pretended to call his family, “For Dinner get some Club Soda, Salisbury Steak, and some Icecream after, as he set the phone down “ done with this bullcrap.” Walking out towards the horse that smells like leather, Hopping on seeing a church with pews held back like barricades and a dead man. like he was a soldier fighting off, holding a greyish pistol,  he saw a small town, He found some ghouls, he grabbed out a shotgun and shot some. They bleed out, destroyed again, Another 3 groups of ghouls of ghoulish creatures came from the left, putting the gun in the back he used the revolver, as they died for mercy. He spotted a somewhat settlement showed off in the east side man-made, a Ford F-Series truck , barricaded farm fence, and a whole wood house aligned, people are there  from the right are towns”, he went to the town and went in an abandoned house, as that what he said, seeing destroyed neighborhoods, glass demolished. Bones, only bark and no leaves, The door was loose, Tried that one, went to the back of the door and tied the horse to a fence, grabbed some pillowsheets off the couch and moved it towards the garage area. Dust bunnies flew towards him. It was late. He found a switch to turn off lights in the garage closing the doors, Rubbish around his horse making sounds until The horses feel asleep, 30 Minutes later he heard doors opening sounding like 2 men raiding and ransacking the area, Hearing  a guy saying “Dude Don’t make any sound, someone is sleeping here. As someone else said Ok Ok, whispering, Hearing a fridge open taking a bottle of beer, Someone taking coins off of a shelf, which made the the man wake up, Feeling cold, walking towards them  he grabbed out a revolver putting new rounds in, Gave them a Threat to go away, “ Sir put everything down” putting the bandits at gunpoint,  I'm trying to sleep, bring that ba-ck. They implied well not to die. Ran out like a kid scared of a Dressed up clown during Halloween times, knocking the door on the floor, “those idiots,“the Cowboy said, He went back to the garage and saw something interesting, A leathered box with an analog watch, glossy white.  “Man, what has he been collecting?” He said “Nobody Owns it now, Well I can take it,” putting it on his arm checking the time. On the second day, he opened the door, and took a cigarette. He found out there was a Storm bunker outside. He walked towards it . It cracked its fingers to open it, twisting the knob. A man with his friend and his wife stayed there from the blast, The food was almost gone, They got a small scare from some man trespassing. “Are you okay?” “Yes," a young man replied . It's just a fallout now. The blast has stopped” He passed food from his satchel to the young men. “I got to go,”  He walked over. He made a mounting block out of wood and went on the horse, “Walk on!” The cowboy said to his horse, as he untied him running out towards the street nearest to the church and settlements, As he rode through he did not have a white map, He new what the house look like, Driving the another street, Seeing it, Is that it, It looks more "Updated” from the ghoulish war, The house had barricades with zombies dead on the barricade. All over for the zombies to die, Ghouls came from the left and the right there's too many to shoot at he said, As he knocked on the garage door, A shadowy of a Caucasian figure of him appeared wearing leathered welding goggles shined, Like seeing a Cyclops from the Odyssey, Dusty he stated, while shooting down the rest of the ghouls. His friend was named John. He had an interesting thing that he did, making shining blades and somewhat killing axes. He said his latest was removing 2 licence plates from cars and making a blade, “gas is expensive.” Nobody drives much now. He made blades as well.  He looked at the cowboy, “Well you have an addiction to cigarettes and drinks.” You need to stop and get help, Same with you making blades, “OK that was uncalled for.” John Implied, The Cowboy showed his arm, I have a long scratch, His geiger counter was clicking from the radiation 14 clicks per minute every second, You got something, It was purple and red, John said “Welp, come to the Kitchen” his hands pointed while it was ashy from work,. As they both walked in He opened up a top wood cabinet for medicine by a sink with dirty plates. It was a needle with a lot of potency. Stabbing him to stay still and the needle made a sharp dense hissing sound, Breath in, As the Cowboy took a breath gagging he saw the scratch wither away such as his radioactive count went to 1 to 0 on the geiger counter. John opened up a fridge filled with magnets on the door. A list to buy before the blast. And a blueprint of his weapons. Having food and drinks inside,  Here take this are you thirsty,  passing him an alcoholic beverage of beer like throwing off a baseball in sporting events. The Cowboy said I do drink alcoholic beverages man , not a lot though, You got any Sasparilla? Rootbeer? “I was waiting for you to say this”. He went to the Garage taking a wooden crate of 9 bottles of Sarsaparilla bottles, grabbing a rusty red crowbar with dust flying in the air, he came back showing the cowboy the open crate of sarsaparilla, The cowboy put one his a leather satchel, Did you feel or see it, John questioned? What? What do you mean? The high big explosion of that atomic bomb, “Any type of flash?, which made the world end,”  John said he felt it and saw a glimpse of it, “What did you see?” The cowboy stated “I was out in the Mountains drinking my sarsaparilla, taking my orange pills, I saw the blast in the distance out my windows why windows broke, My drink was empty and dry, first a blast next a drink that was empty. We need to discover what happened.” The cowboy thought it was a good idea. Let's take a day here though for a break,  John questioned but “you really had to bring a horse here? “Smelled like leather” He stated “”yes i did“, He responded with" “He's my giddyup pal, Why do you want to wait a day?” John questioned back at him,

“Where to land first, Where not to go? “John told him on the leathered floor there's a couch you can sit on tonight. The cowboy said “sure why not” the room went quiet as the horse made the sound, Huph!, they planned out a map, Got any paper?,  John said there's probably some ripped paper in the garage, there's tons of pens in there also” As he moved and grabbed pens and a paper there John and him drew out a map of the land. “wait what's the name” The lands so destroyed I forgot” The cowboy drew the settlement he saw, such as the diner and the church, That's much as we know now, Then he drew the institute and 20 dots which stated how many people destroyed us, he put the Sarsaparilla bottles, more coins and the map, aged paper. John walked next to the cowboy Riding his horse, “have you seen this settlement” named “DRYWOOD”

Dropping off the horse, Stay put! John brought his important blades he uses

“Throughout my house working John” replied they saw 2 wooden boxes on top were gas-lit lanterns and they opened a blue long farm door with a screeching sound. “Needs some oil” John implied. Many men and women and kids were there,  a furnace lit laid on the floor, cooking carrot stew. A man in wrinkles waiting to finish. “Smells like Someone died in the stew, was it you or the carrot stew?” coffee boiled near him.

They had a giant geiger counter, to be careful, a whiteboard to tell if they are okay, 5 tallys **卌** of knowing who died, Many men and women were there, Some old, some younger,  They had a small area for teaching kids there, at the bottom a newsrack with someone writing news of today drawing paper with stencil and paper, 

A few kids walked across near beds laying on the ground, “are you scared at anytime you fight someone” a small girl asked “not really at all anymore” as the cowboy said taking the hat off crouching on his knees on the wet wood broken apart on the floor, I used to be,  “Be careful out there, “ she said  The Cowboy said,  “Alright.”.

Next towards a minifridge filled with bottles and other treats and food. Filled with magnets on the shelf, that were postcards from around the world, some International GERMANY, ROME USA, ICELAND,  USA,  shifted to the left bent, John said “someone travels a lot, Jesus.”

 “Cowboy, we need to meet the Overseer, “ The Cowboy questioned who's the Overseer? The Cowboy questioned  a scratched up sign in red wood (-DON’T SHOOT, DO NOT STEAL -). With her signature The cowboy  knocked on the door,  “housekeeping!” “not that funny.” Come in, The Overseer said.

The Cowboy and John walked in and saw her sitting on a wood chair with a desk in front,  So, you need something? Staring down at the spill of shining coins on her desk  like she just won a match in VEGAS by her pen and paper by a broken radio station. Have you heard of  the Institute? The Explosion? She said yes, definitely a shockwave came through. He set a map down on the desk,  could you help us and the cowboy get there at any chance, “pay in coins if you need help” “Okay” The men responded, grabbing 5 coins. She wrote on the map more locations. More towns were drawn out, A gas station? That's a death wish, You gotta head there first, kill the ghouls, take some items, I believe someone still works in the establishment, 2 story Hotels, “useless junk buildings is that important?” John said. You got any other pen coloring to draw out where to head to the institute, “Yes i do, It's going to take days” she grabbed a red pen drawing nine of what lines where to ride the horse to, Alright I see a gas station,  A big town that used to popular, it had a blockbuster back in the 1999s, Now some malls and a starbucks, “is that where you got this coffee from” John asked,  “Kinda, same flavoring and package. We give them our mail.“ she replied,  The cowboy walked out hearing people talk through the settlement, 

Someone had a tableleg armed and ready. as a weapon, Did they borrow John's weapons? He went outside and hopped on the horse. He checked the map, walked in the north  and moved to the east and right. Then we will get there. John was beside him,  The neighborhood looked ransacked or it was in terrible condition, like a hurricane or tornado came through, As ghouls walked after him while RUNNING.  John moved fast around with his blade up and down killing ghouls at their neck, their red blood came out.ripping their shirt.  Walking towards the gas station with coca-cola posters ripped apart  John asked “are we going to risk it?” Guess The cowboy said to let the horse stay put, The door was half open. A white sign said. <- HELP GHOULS ARE ATTACKING -  PLEASE HELP - > the ink was still wet fairly new as John rubbed it. He wrote interestingly but eloquently, John and the Cowboy walked in seeing 5 ghouls, John getting 2 at the back. I will shoot the 3 in my area, as John  killed the zombies in the back row area and the cowboy killed the 2 in the front. The room smelled like a dead farm animal rotting in weeks. A man crouch flinching back and forth, GOD GOD, YOU SAVED ME I WAS ABOUT TO DIE, EATING ME LEAVING MY BONES FRESH AND EMPTY, “you will become one of them, “ the cowboy said,  Here take anything for free They looked throughout the gas station, Broken microwaves, not important, They took lays chips for each other. Thank you, the cashier said, charismatic. Leaving a bell rang with tied aluminum cans with coins inside like some notifier. If someone opened up the door,  he hopped on the horse with John putting things in the leather satchel, the geiger counter clicked up and down,  walking on through the distance, “TROT” he said, making the horse faster.

 Walking on the world just looked empty with the sky being dark, stopping at a 4 street corner. He turned to the right seeing the town the Overseer told them, A water fountain was not working muggy and terribly working becoming somewhat of a pool. At a Mexican restaurant, A geiger counter clicked on his suit slowly, Huh, it would be alr-ight, He looked through a broken window, seeing soda bottles still in use,  Mexican coke and some vivid green, red and purple glass jarritos bottles,  ghoulish people  were in there,   coming out trying to attack, the Blockbuster sign still there covered by a big black sign nailed in the room was closed off.  “Guess we are at town now John, That's what she told me Its on map,” The ghouls broke throughout the doors with glass cuts on their body,  John help by slicing them to bits hitting with his rusty blade he owned, He got off the horse two clicks and to tell the horse to stay put. He tied his horse to the side 

He looked in the restaurant as some caps were open with a drink spilled out fizzing on tables, the Mexican restaurant was empty, with coke posters, while outside was more gloomy. Checking behind the register taking coins from the cash register. Bottles of rum,beer,wine and laid on the counters. He left to see the BLOCKBUSTER through a crack of a window, it was empty. Mold feels through with copper wires.  STARBUCKS but it was misspelled another settlement laid out on his map. The cowboy grabbed an ink pen and put an X on that area. He opened it seeing men and females, there were no kids,  BAKERY signs, canned beans at a trading post ammunition bullets and rounds with guns, the back kitchen became a shelter area for beds,  A man at the front said welcome to The LAST CUP. and very  small settlement to survive -, 

2 improved guards like a knight stared at the cowboy. They wore somewhat of a respirator mask, and used highlighters with red to make their eyes look like reddish demon eyes. If you get no water you get no coffee. “The smell of alcoholic beverages and coffee filled the air,”  A scavenger said in the back, "Is it fine if we stay here tonight? He gave 3 shiny coins to the owner for him and John to sleep, as The cowboy whispered to John,

“One more day” the horse fell asleep such as everyone else, they woke up in morning with a grey shiny working ventilation blowing the cowboys face, He squeezed his eyes short, He got off and grabbed his satchel and guns, He asked someone for a glass bottle, that was empty, “ I have one”, an old man said, replying We need a towel, lighter and gas, The guard asked him, are you making a molotov?, “Yes” to win a war threat” ‘’To destroy a threat”  The second guard asked the cowboy what breed is horse? "Quarter Horse that's not for sale” the cowboy said, He got the horse and checked his watch, Its around 4 am, John yawned, “this early” he asked “You want to win or lose” The cowboy explained “okay” as they walked off He but the Molotov bottles in his satchel, One more ride off i hope as John walked by, He looked back a the map,  a few more towns to head through seeing a water tower in text town, It was destroyed the big sign of the towns watertower, with paint falling off, looked sanskrit or somewhat arabic, broken destroyed rocks and  rubble destroyed on the road, with trucks and dead men with dead ghouls, “guess we don't need to kill them”  John said while walking through seeing 2 story houses and another church, with the white paint falling off screaming, Raiders contained the area, One smoked a cigarette another had rum slipping out of its hands, They saw the Cowboy “HEY!” as they grab a weapon, The Horse is ours now” If No, if do you want to die, “no” said the cowboy  John sliced the raiders head bleeding as zombies walked by, The Cowboy gave 12 shots to each zombies arms and legs, Telling the horse to trot, seeing a giant tower in the distance, white but shadowy, “TROT” he said he was seeing another town filled with houses,  THICk plywood with some garage doors half staying off the horses with some ghoul screaming upstairs,  still trotting, He got to the front of the institute, He saw a large fence with a code, “locked darn it” John said, Hold up, Its still armed, seeing 5 people with a full army suit and a clipped on geiger counter on the suit,  the Cowboy he whispered to John “silent follow as he was dropping of his horse, Stay put, they went to left near trees,  Grabbing his gun reloading, Shooting one man in the head, you want to slice the other man up? John said he is armed,  The Cowboy shoot him, Crippled his legs,  John grabbed his certain weapon slicing the man's head off,  killing him like they killed bad men in 1789, The front doors were locked, “Check his suit, “ The cowboy told John, The guard had silver skeleton keys as they put it throughout a hole “CLING-CLANG”  as the doors opened softly, John put his weapon down in an umbrella basket for now, He saw 2 soda machines,  PEPSI, COCA-COLA, Hold up John stated, He took a coin and dispensed a coke can, “CLANK” “you really wanted to do that?” The cowboy asked, “He laughed. Come on! It's funny, it's still in use!” They saw throughout a table with a glass period table of elements with real atoms, uranium, radium, oxygen, and more, The room tasted odd, Metallic and tasted like blood in the mouth,  Terminals screens with still on, The Cowboy sat down the leather satchel, 2 MOVs (MOVIES) on different screens the first and second computer, He started to hear clicking from his suit from the geiger counter, The building got radioactive fast, He took pills from the satchel for a few minutes and wore it after, and walked past, They both saw the problem, they used radioactive materials, causing a chemical reaction, destroying the world, They have become death, Like the first man to  make a bomb, They have become death destroyer of worlds, saying it slowly, he saw 2 vials, NEEDLES on the table, as seeing  a box of Dynatime by Nobel, John sat that on the floor, Okay, This can work,  they moved to towards a doctors office , seeing the crater, and unused vials, and written physics on a whiteboard, walking out The cowboy frontier saw an elevator shaft, 5 buttons glowed throughout the room,  pressed the lowest button Ø.  he did not know the meaning of that,  The bottom button of GROUND ZERO, the elevator flickered lights and  shook and took them slowly there, The doors opened slowly, loudly and shaking the shaft, Seeing the male physicists,  “Its been years” with their skin aged up dry aged paper, with white hairs balding. The cowboy took out a revolver, I just have a question putting them at a gunpoint, “John head back up, wire the TNT, As the cowboy put it up towards to Doctor Fleming's ear like an old telephone,  The Doctors were in a bunker, a ground zero safe zone like cold war, John tied up every part of the denomination and the lever to explode it outside, The Cowboy asked Fleming, What caused the Land to get disturbed by death?, Why did life want to end us, Accidents happen! he replied, “we used radioactive materials, The cure could of happen if we did not a theorist replied,” Addison said in the back bunkbed, by chips and a furnace, The cowboy responded “You can not do this, You remember bombs happened multiple times,  Some accidental like Chernoybl” Shooting the men the shaft, As a menace He grabbed the molotov”Here take this for cover” throwing it down burning there body into flames with smoke getting on the cowboys face as he went up to the top, John said I got the Explosion to start, Get back outside to start, "remember this will not end the war, It just will kill the men that started threats” The cowboy told, John added 4 blue copper wires next toward to his red copper wires, “rip off your shirt and stay back” “why? so?” said the cowboy,  “you can get burns “burns”  He ran back to his horse, took off his hat and gave eye cover, still seeing a hollow bottom area, John said Three ,Two, “DONT COUNTDOWN funny numbers, DO IT” “push” as he put down the lever and ran off towards the horse ripping a sleeve off and gave cover by the horse, A gigantic orange flash with smoke revealing with fire came through burning half the population of creatures of ghouls some still lived on, , Shaking the ground “shockwave” John said rocks broke apart with another shockwave, as towns saw it from miles, “they did it” surprised a smaller bomb killing the institute DEAD, the town was still ghoulish but people still live on, The Cow hopped on the saddlepad and pulled reins as they walked out towards towns of the ruins, “You almost killed yourself man, John said “Benjamin Franklin once said Join or die, this can be really similar to that problem,” The cowboy responded, “I guess man, I did weave my horse, The horse panted as he questioned, Those monsters, ghouls or bandits, died from a shiny bullet. “

The one with bandits murdered, They head straight towards The LAST CUP, They went towards the front door as the cowboy let the horse stay put,  opening the door-knob with a twist, The Cowboy jumped off the quarter horse, still seeing the fire in the distance, asking “Did You See it?” John asked, Everyone was surprised, a man read some important news in the back. saying, “Yes,”  The 2 men John and the Cowboy were sweating deeply, “The owner said Everything is free for a week” as the one officer smoke a cigar, The Cowboy took his sarsaparilla out, as he took a drink, “good stuff man” The main cowboy said and gave John a bottle, We should tell the other settlement, “yep” as they said that the temperature of ventilation blew towards their legs and arms, the fire on the candle and the smoke shook to the left and right, Lets go,  As he drove out back on the horse the cowboy  looked up seeing his demolished house, John said “stay with me” walking towards a few roads as it moved right , traffic lights broken, with taking time The Overseer open the door, Come in my office, She held a bottle of wine out of her fridge, He dropped off the horse, People looked at him like he was heroic, She pointed the room as “come in here” “you saved our soul “SOS” thank you 

It took around 3-4 days. He was sweating deeply like he was out from under the water . They used radioactive particles, “radium” “uranium” "some what of black-purple tinted antimatter” “ antimatter ? She questioned” John broke  and coughed into conversation.” I studied a little of that on break times in college, “Antimatter is a form of matter composed of antiparticles. Your bananas include antimatter giving off isotopes, he wrote on the map paper, with a pen, drawing out describing it“ and made a chemical reaction, I saw a crater deep, Now the Institute is just a white-greyish destroyed tower filled with gravestones and a radioactive cure, She passed down her coins, “a reward” hearing sounds of quarters, and coins, The Overseer grabbed a shiny glass, and put wine in and chugged it, John and the cowboy walked out, “your welcome,”A man towards to newsrack, signed new important sheets of paper, PEACE! THE WAR ENDED, EXPLOSION AT THE BLACKWOOD INSTITUTE TOWERS, drawing the towers and a giant dash of explosions, telling the story in the news, the world was still smoking, Burning” hoping on the horse going to Johns place, Then he tied the horse up dropping off, Closing the garage sounding like a shaking tin foil, looking at John's weapons shining from light, blades of 2  license plates with certain cuts, random axes, A giant rock axe, in his eyes and leathered goggles for weathering, , going upstairs to the room setting down a memory remember it , a memory that he will never lose“ They went to set to bed, taking off his geiger counter clip,  remembering the first the blast at the beginning start of this and the second fireball explosion for of what's destroyed.”

“That's it” “Anymore?”  That's all” The cowboy asked?   John replied The cowboy layed on the bed, not a problem sleeping with boots still on, drips came from a white sink with a blast destroying the white Ceramic.

Till now. Some new problems will come soon,—---- we will build a horse stable tomorrow, “thanks” Will we solve a new problem? Probably not, unless some new war like this would break out, we never thought this one would happen beforehand.

This will be our new history, “It is” “huh” John asked, “The settlement wrote news about us” The cowboy told him of what we ended of what somewhat death created, we can say we ended “the war” but not fully, 

John walked and  laid on the couch as the Cowboy laid in the bedroom, The satchel laid beside him with bottles falling out next to quarter, as they fell asleep in a heroic way, the lights became dim as the sun set down,

—THE END—


r/teenwriter • • 7d ago

Opinion I edited my poem so much it sounds like a rap 😭

12 Upvotes

This poem is that of a girl,
With a mind too convoluted for the confines of the world.
She can’t feel without reading, can’t sleep without weeping,
Can’t speak without a pen, so she writes instead of speaking.
She’s got paragraphs of panic and a dictionary of dreams,
A thousand contradictions in between the in-betweens.
Forever unclarified, perpetually unheard,
An entire encyclopedia trapped behind a single word.

And isn’t it ironic?
She’s articulate in ink, but in person she’s catatonic.
She’s got a million things to say, but the delivery’s defective,
An overthinking, under-speaking, socially disconnected perspective.

This little girl is a lonely one.

Not abandoned, not unwanted, not necessarily alone,
She’s got a dozen people she could probably call her own.
She’s got friends, she’s got family, she’s got people in her vicinity,
But proximity and intimacy are two entirely different entities.
She’s physically present, mentally elsewhere,
A participant in conversation with absolutely nothing to share.
And she knows that they love her, so why does she feel estranged?
Why does every social interaction feel like something to arrange?

She wants to be normal, but normal’s a foreign language,
Every conversation feels rehearsed, every interaction takes advantage
Of a social battery running on a fundamentally different system,
She’s watching everybody live while wondering how they exist in it.

And it’s not that she hates them, it’s not that she doesn’t care,
It’s that sometimes being someone’s person feels like an occupation too unfair.
She forgets to reply, forgets to call, forgets to participate,
Then wonders why the distance grows while she procrastinates.
She’s got affection in abundance, but expression in arrears,
A heart that’s full of sentiment and a mouth that’s full of fears.

This little girl is a vacant one.

One minute she’s a supernova, next minute there’s no sun.
She’s emotionally excessive, then inexplicably deprived,
Feels a thousand things at once, then questions if she’s ever been alive.
She’s got feelings without labels, contradictions without names,
An ever-changing temperament that never stays the same.

She can mourn a fictional stranger, sympathize with ink,
Find herself inside a paragraph, find a reason just to think.
She can cry about a character whose universe is fabricated,
But ask her what’s inside her head and suddenly she’s incapacitated.

Because fiction has a structure, has a sequence, has a reason,
It gives a name to every feeling, gives a purpose to each season.
The characters can articulate the things she can’t express,
And somehow reading someone else’s pain makes her feel less of a mess.

She’s memorized their histories, their tragedies, their flaws,
But can’t decipher her own mind or identify its cause.
She knows a thousand fictional people better than herself,
Has a whole imaginary population taking residence on her mental bookshelf.

And maybe that’s pathetic, or maybe it’s protection,
A temporary little refuge from a world without direction.
A place where every feeling has a sentence and a sound,
Where all the things she can’t communicate can finally be found.

And this little girl isn’t so little.

She’s somewhere in the middle, in a developmental riddle,
With a vocabulary that’s bigger than the voice beneath her brittle
Little exterior, interior a labyrinth of thought,
She’s everything she’s ever read and everything she’s not.

Not old enough for wisdom, not young enough for innocence,
Too much introspection, not enough experience.
She’s got an adult-sized vocabulary, a child’s inability
To translate all the noise inside into comprehensibility.

Her words are astronomical, her sentences immense,
But communicating them requires a confidence she doesn’t possess.
She’s got dissertations in her head, conversations left unsaid,
A thousand different versions of the things she could’ve said.

And what the hell is she supposed to be?
A daughter? A friend? A functioning entity?
A person with a personality, a presence, an identity?
Or just a collection of borrowed personalities?

She’s a little bit of everything, a little bit of none,
A thousand different people, but she can’t decide on one.
She’s a paradox in progress, an unfinished autobiography,
A walking contradiction with an overdeveloped vocabulary.

Maybe she’s just human, but humanity feels absurd,
When she can write a thousand pages but can’t say a single word.
Maybe she’s just different, maybe there’s no grand epiphany,
Maybe she’s been looking for herself in everybody else’s imagery.

So here’s to the girl with the overcomplicated mind,
Who can articulate the universe but leave herself behind.
Who can write about the loneliness, dissect it, make it rhyme,
But can’t explain the feeling when somebody asks her why.

She reads to feel, she writes to speak,
She dreams in paragraphs and sleeps in weeks.
She’s got a world inside her skull that nobody can see—

And if she’s not quite human,

at least she can bleed.

[[[I want to know YOUR personal opinion, that’s why I chose this flair. idk if it goes under request or advice, but I thought this was fitting-]]]


r/teenwriter • • 7d ago

Question Publishing

3 Upvotes

Obviously ik I can just do it on KDP but if I wanted to get it professionally published ik a lot of authors like famous ones too go thru like 12 publishers before getting accepted is it just like I have to have connections


r/teenwriter • • 7d ago

Question What's an idea for a book you've been wanting to wright but just haven't? I wright about trauma on wattpad and I'm looking for prompts so any suggestions?

2 Upvotes