Traditional, Inherited Predisposition

Liu lives in a suburban home now. The parents have a fake potted plant in the living room which they let their biological child water when she remembers. Her mother pinches her cheeks, when her daughter brings out the watering can, and tells her, “You have such a green thumb.” Liu never corrected her because he doesn't have enough knowledge about plants to know if she would have kept the plant alive and because the mum always looks pleased when he nods in agreement to her white lies. If it were Jeff, Liu would have grabbed him by the back of his shirt and told him if he couldn't be bothered to learn how to take care of the plant, it deserved to die. If it were Jeff, Liu would have told him it was a fake plant and to stop wasting his own time. It isn't Jeff though, it's a young girl and people aren't that harsh to young girls. It's also a suburban house with parents who care enough about interior design to own a fake potted plant. Even if it were Jeff, Liu's brotherly affections don't have a place here.

They eat around a wooden table at breakfast. Susie, Liu's younger sister now, eats cereal with a red sugar warning. Liu burns his toast and doesn't use enough butter to compensate for its bitterness. The news is on. It's familiar. Susie is chattering away about nonsense. Liu listens to her because the current drama the eight year olds at the local primary school are going through is more interesting than the weather and increased taxes on private school. There's only one thing he listens out for on the news but it's been quiet recently. He doesn't do much besides nod along as Susie talks but that's enough for her. The news channel shifts to show a fire, three dead but not because of the fire. The parents turn the news off as soon as the reporter starts talking about possible perpetrators. They stare at Liu, as if he's about to snap. When they realise he's noticed them staring, they look away immediately.

“Then Nancy changed her mind and decided she didn't want to be a witch, she wanted to be a fairy!” Susie continued.

“Why don't you focus on your cereal honey.” Her Mum says. Susie does just that. The table is silent.

People at school only talk to Liu to ask him about his scars. His last name's been changed from ‘Woods’ to ‘Wilson’ so people stop asking him questions. It hasn't worked. People start friendly but once the bandage of small talk is ripped off, they pounce with the invasive questions. No ones been able to figure out why he has scars just yet but it's a matter of time. The people who want to know have a certain look about them, their eyes leer too long on his face. No one did that three months ago, before he was scarred. He gets good grades. His new teachers ask if he needs extensions, because of his trauma. Liu refuses. Everything is fine. They ask the next time they hand out homework.

His therapist, after school, asks him what he's thinking.

This is where Liu believes he starts to get weird.

He has always had a voice in his head. This itself isn't weird. The voice used to say things like ‘where’s Jeff?' and ‘God * it Jeff, stop getting detentions it’s dark by the time you're let out' and ‘I’ll need to make sure the knives are out of Jeff's way,' among other things. They were daily reactions to his daily life. Nothing to be concerned about. Since his throat was slit, his voice has become raspier, the voice in his head hasn't changed. It sounds childish in comparison.

His therapist says that's normal for Liu to be upset by reminders of how he's changed. When he explains what it says, his therapist calls the voice an intrusive thought. It wants him to go to Jeff. It's important he doesn't act on visiting the places he thinks Jeff is hiding out in. She tries to get the locations out of him. The voice in his head, “Don't trust her, she'll kill him.” and Liu seems to lack the ability to develop a new voice to reason with it. The voice is telling the truth, even if he could dismiss it. His therapist might not make the killing shot but she'll send the police to Liu's location and they'll kill him.

The only advice of hers Liu does take is to separate the voice from himself. He calls it Sully. When Sully is too loud, he writes their thoughts in a book, blacks out any compromising information about Jeff, because Sully tells him too and Sully knows what's best for him and Jeff right now. His therapist doesn’t like that he’s still protecting Jeff. She says that “healing takes time” but Liu only has five sessions left with her. She won’t be able to help him if the compulsions to help Jeff get worse.

By the time they only have two sessions left, Sully gets wise. They know how to get under Liu’s skin, poking at insecurities he didn’t know he had before. The suburban house starts to feel like a trap. Liu’s convinced that if he touches the potted plant it will wither and die. Susie will cry and his foster mum will get mad and hit him. More than anything, Liu doesn’t want Susie to cry. It feels inevitable that his new mum will hit him when he thinks about it. He avoids touching the potted plant. It’s such a small thing to worry about compared to the whole ‘My Brother is a serial killer at large who wants me dead’ thing and how no one will talk to him at school still, isolating him from creating a larger support network. The fact Sully convinced Liu he can kill a potted plant feels minimal. Especially when he knows, rationally, that it’s plastic.

There is a duffle bag under Liu’s bed. It is packed with enough clothes to last a week and is practical for all weathers. He shoves it back under his bed and forgets about it. It’s there for a worst case scenario. His therapist asks what his idea of a worst case scenario is. Liu knows why he has the duffle bag but it wouldn’t really be a worst case scenario if he uses it. He shrugs. His therapist tells him to slowly work through unpacking it. She doesn’t tell him to get rid of it, to settle. It keeps Sully quiet until he tries to move the tinned tuna back into the cupboards. Unpacking the duffle bag is slow progress.

A serial killer comes to the sleepy middle class town. Susie’s no longer allowed to go round play dates with her friends or play down the road. Her mum tries to impose similar, but looser, restrictions on Liu. He’s not meant to be out past 4pm because it’s winter and that’s when it begins to get dark. He’s meant to come straight home from school and tell his ‘Mum’ if that changes.

Liu comes home at five pm, one night. He missed the earlier bus because his teacher asked him to stay behind - something about him coping very well and that he’s allowed to let his grades slip right now because of the circumstances. He ended up walking around thrift stores for the hour he waited for his bus. All the elderly shopkeepers gave him their honest thoughts on the clothes he tried on. None of them say anything about the serial killer or Liu’s scars. The most concern one shows is when he passes Liu the scarf he’d been eyeing the entire time. He was a dollar too short to pay for it himself. The elderly man tells him not to worry about it. He didn’t want Liu to get cold.

When he gets home, he’s quizzed about the origins of the scarf. “Now isn’t the time to be shopping.” His foster mum says, “If you were cold I could have brought you a scarf from Target on the weekend.”

“Nothing happened.”

“But something could have happened. That’s what I’m worried about.”

“I’ve been to juvie.”

“That doesn’t mean you can hold your own against you-” Her hand comes to rest across her neck, the same place Liu has a long jagged scar, “- A serial killer.”

Liu punches her in the nose, to prove he can defend himself.

“You know where Jeff is,” Sully says to Liu.

Liu nods. He does know where Jeff is. Jeff is his kid brother who eats sugary cereal right out of box and only learnt how to double knot his shoelaces last year. There’s little Liu doesn’t know about Jeff. He knew all his haunts in their old town. He knows what Jeff looks for in a haunt and there’s plenty littered about the suburbs, if you know where to look.

Liu grabs the duffle bag. He double checks nothing he needs has been removed from it. When he confirms everything is still in its place, he leaves.

His foster mum is in the bathroom, cleaning her nose and checking it isn’t broken in the mirror. His foster father is in Susie’s room, making sure she doesn’t see the rough shape her Mum’s in. Liu passes a glance at her, a stuffed rabbit sits in a circle beside a bog standard teddy bear and her dad. She laughs and her miniature tea set is light pink. She’s old enough to notice when Liu goes missing but not old enough to recognise the complexity as to why he has to leave. Her dad laughs when she spills some ‘tea’ which is actually just water. Susie will be fine. Susie doesn’t need Liu like Jeff does.

Liu shuts the door quietly and leaves his keys on the stairs.

He walks down the alleyways that everyone else rushes through. The poorer edges of the town accept him. They lead him down quiet roads until he reaches the storage centre that’s been neglected for at least months.

He knocks on the dirtiest garage that’s still functional.

“Jeff.” Liu says, knocking again after a minute again.

The door creaks open. Lit by a singular light bulb stands Jeff, in the same blood stained hoodie that he ran away. “Liu,” Jeff says, “I heard you survived, come on in.” There’s a knife on the floor beside him. Liu swallows, the scar on his neck pulses.

He walks in.

AUTHORS NOTE: (not part of word count)
This fanfiction obviously doesn't portray healthy relationships. Liu and Jeff were purposely written to be co-dependent because I can't otherwise justify the canonical existence of Sully in the semi-realistic world of the ‘Jeff the Killer’ narrative. Similarly, Liu's mental illness is left ambiguous because by the nature of the story, Liu is going to hurt people and I didn't want to label any mental illness as ‘evil.’ It's important to me that I and the reader recognise that while Liu is mentally ill, he is also culpable for his decision to withhold information on a known criminal and inevitably join him.

When I originally wrote ‘Traditional, Inherited Predisposition’ I wanted to explore the latent content of Liu's story, exploring the gaps from how Liu went from a victim to a perpetrator. I mainly drew from fanon for facts like Liu being the older Woods brother. It also owes a decent amount of it's origins to ‘In Loco Parentis’ for how Jeff is characterised. I leaned more towards the 13 year old Jeff route than the others because of this fic. I also owe it to getting me into this fandom.

Thank you for reading

This was my first draft. For what I actually entered to the SWC comp, scroll down
Beetlebug: (1986 words)

A beetle scuttled across the damp motel floor. Kyron sat on the hard mattress tilted his head to watch it’s movements. It’s black shell stopped, turned around and wandered towards the bathroom, where it was brown from dirt and there was at least two drowned spiders. He frowned at the loss of his entertainment and reached for the TV remote on the bedside table. When he touched it, Kyron remembered his secret desire to have a sturdy pair of gloves because it was greasy. He slathered his hands in hand sanitizer afterwards.

The ten o’clock news for the local city started to play. Across every region, the opening music was the same. Kyron nodded along to the quickening tempo, he grabbed his notebook and a pen from his bag, then shuffled up to the headboard and got comfortable. He made a habit of watching the headlines, not so interested in the increasing global tension but on the grisly crimes.

“Lauren Hills was arrested last night for the murder of her little sister.” Kyron leaned forward as if he could climb through the screen. The unnamed sister’s school photo flashed on the screen. She had thick, curly hair and smiled with confidence in spite of her buckteeth. “Zara Hills was found dead on Thursday in a play park. Police have promised to increase security in these areas.” As the reporter continued, the footage shifted to a shaky camera as dozens of police officers left a suburban home with a screaming Lauren.

Kyron paused the news. In his notebook were road maps, seeming random spots marked in red ink and pages upon pages of information on other murder victims. He flicked past until he found the most recent page in his scrapbook, detailing Lauren Hill’s address and notes from interviews and his own stalking, over the weekend, when her murder was still under investigation, about what Zara liked to do.

He waited for the presence of Boo reading over his shoulder. When nothing came, not even a chill, Kyron reread the information like it wasn’t already burnt in his brain. Five seconds later, he turned the page with such a firm, sweaty grip that the bottom ripped. The looseness of the page shook him out of his stupor. He threw the notebook on the bed, open on the correct page.

He grabbed the map of the local area from the desk opposite the bed and thanked the scouts for still using ordnance survey to develop their survival skills. He tore up the city area and stuck it into his book (using his saliva as a make do glue.) From there, he uncapped the pen and circled the suburban areas on the edge of the city lines, ones next to a park, ones that matched the crime scenes. He lingered on the page, out of habit, adjusting the book for a theoretical reader to see.

By the end, there were four parks but only one was likely. Lauren Hills did not stray far from her home. She attended the local comprehensive school a ten minute walk away and only otherwise ventured outside for emergency shops when there was no food at home. Zara Hills, like any eight year old, could be appeased by going to the park unless it was the dead of winter. He marked the park by the Hills house.

Kyron was tracing his fingers around the map, when he realised his miscalculation. He had forgotten to include the motel’s location on his torn up city map because a motel is not quite part of any city it is in. He clicked his tongue and redirected his focus to any landmarks he recognised, eventually settling on the cafe on the other end of the road.

He looked around the room. He opened his mouth, about to call that he was heading out when he stopped, closed his mouth again. The room was empty. As it should have been, but the hope he’d been cultivating died in his chest. Kyron slammed the door on the way out.

The streets were cool in the summer night breeze. Kyron strolled down them with casual ease. He kept his shoulders relaxed but couldn’t stop his eyes from darting down every alleyway. They were all empty except for rowdy teenagers getting drunk. Jealousy burnt in his gut but he pushed it far down it drowns alongside his fear and guilt. He didn’t dare think on how the final year of teens slips through his fingers. If he focused on himself would mean taking away from Zara; Zara was his single minded focus.

When he got to the park, it was empty. Kyron stopped strolling and broke into a light jog. There was no one around. No parties, no barbecues and no police men. Kyron slowed down to find a thick metal stick in his bag before he slung it off his shoulder. He broke into a sprint without direction. He looped around the park. No one was on the edges, hiding. He checked between the trees, under the slide. The desperate need for air slowed him down, left him panting. He checked the obvious hiding spaces next; his shoulders pressed against the plastic tube that connects two play sets. No one was there either.

“Think like a kid.” He muttered to himself. He tapped his foot. The memories of before Kyron was this are covered in a thick fog. Every therapist he had ever seen told him to leave the memories alone.
“You wouldn’t be able to cope with what you’ve lost.” they said, “You’ve forgotten right now for a reason. They’ll come back when you’re ready.” but Kyron needed to be ready. He pulled the shroud in his mind away and finds another shroud. He didn’t try again.

The next best thing to his own memory is someone else. His loneliness made him want to hurl curse words at whatever divine being there is . It was okay when he was researching but now he needs his partner – whose pettiness is a personal punishment. Kyron didn’t know if he could forgive Boo if he turned on the news tomorrow and Lauren Hill had died. His fingers twitched for his bag, with his phone. He couldn’t go back for it though. He’s alone for this case.

Kyron can’t think like a child. He’d been hollowed out of that experience until all that’s left is anger, righteousness and isolation, which left him as nothing but the harbourer of death, a grim reaper,doing a thankless job. No one ever asked him to reap souls but it had to be done.

He wanted Boo carnally by his side. Something has been carved out the ribs beside his heart. The death to his life, his constant companion, the only being that’s as empty as he is.

The voice in his head that speaks next almost sounds like Boo, “Think like a ghost.”

The fear rose back. Kyron doesn't remember the near death experience but his body has kept the score. He wanted to fight back but he's scared and he wanted someone to come and save him. The emotions struck something in his brain. His brain started ringing. Then the emotions weren’t Kyron’s. They became something separate from him and he floated above them all. When his body acted on its own, he wanted to reach back for the control panel but found he can't. His body had also been covered by the shroud. Like a man possessed, he walked into the forestry around the park, ignoring the brambles that dug into his sleeves and the mosquitoes that bit his legs. After minutes of this, Kyron finds it comfortable - not having to think or feel.

He found Zara in the woods, near what remained of her body. She looked impossibly small, barely reaching five foot. She stared down at the ground with unseeing eyes and her curls, once defined, hang loosely, weighed down by blood. On her neck, a long thin line where the illusion of infinite blood pours down her baby blue summer dress.

Kyron grabbed control of his body. The fear from his past crashed over him but with it, his familiar grit and compassion. His hand shook as he offered it to Zara. At first glance, she doesn't react to him. At a second, she shook. Her fists tightened. Kyron's hand hovered over her shoulder. He didn’t want people to touch him when he came back either. It's so similar, excluding how they found Kyron in one piece.

“Zara Hills right?” He asked.

She trembled more. She shook her head frantically.

“Zara you're dead.”

She said. “I don’t understand why?”

Ghosts can't cry but Zara's voice quivered all the same. Kyron doesn't know the answer, only Lauren does. He didn't say anything, just stood next to her and focused on deep breaths.

His own fear melted back into the past. This routine familiar. Kyron said, “I could help you pass on.” With that Zara looked up.

“Is Laura going to come back?”

Kyron swallowed. He despised this part. “No. They arrested her.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means she'll be locked away. She'll have to think over her mistakes for the rest of her life.”

“Like timeout?”

He laughed, “Yeah, like timeout.”

“Then why are you here?” She looked up at him with wide eyes.

“I need to make sure you go to heaven, where you'll be happy. Dead people who stay here tend to get angry and do things they regret.”

Zara went silent. He softened his voice, “I won't do it till you're ready.”

She didn’t reply but that’s okay. Kyron didn't expect one.

They stood for five minutes. The wind blew the leaves, making them rustle. It was warm enough that Kyron could bath in the remaining light. A few animals passed by. Bugs began to crawl up Zara's ear, her body, and make it their feast. Other bugs, flies and worms came and went, never the same one twice.

Zara nodded her head. “Okay.”

She offered her hand. Kyron took it, pretended it was fully corporeal and smiled. He flicked a switch on his metal rod and it extended into a scythe. He positioned it on the side of her neck, aligned with the wound. Her breath hitches.

“It doesn't hurt.” Kyron promised even though no ghost had ever survived to tell him how it feels. He didn't know if ghosts went to heaven either. “On the count of three. One, two.” He didn't wait for three. Zara stood relaxed and he sliced through her. She dissipated into the mist.

Kyron left the forest after, scythe still in hand. He held his head high and forced himself focus on anything but Zara. He didn't forget any ghosts he reaped but he didn't dwell on them

Boo stood in the park. His skin shimmered in the light. When they meet, Boo pulled Kyron into his arms, nestled his head into his neck. Boo was freezing cold, always was, and leaning on him was like floating on water. Any grief from his just finished job or from their separation melted into tentative affection.

“I should reap you.“ Kyron muttered, too tired for malice, ”I reaped her, and she wasn't malevolent. I should-"

Boo hushed him, “She wasn't herself. That's the difference between her and me. I have a consciousness. She was just a remnant.” He pulled away and tilted Kyron's head up so they were staring in each others eyes. “Do you understand that?”

“Yeah.” Kyron mumbled but really, he can't disagree with Boo about this now. They could fight about Boo making harsh assumptions about other ghosts and about duty later. However in that moment, Kyron didn't think he would survive Boo leaving again so soon. It was a miracle the ghost had forgiven him this time and Kyron had pushed his luck enough in this lifetime.

Critique for Skylar: (565 words)

Alright! Hi Skylar! Before I take this line by line: I am very fond of this! I think a general theme of this critique will be for the piece to be longer. That is because I really love your style of writing and want to see more of the story and Renee & Robert. My other wide critique is that I think you can add more conflict. I can't speak for the sessions current judges, as we all have different tastes, but I know from my time on the panel + judging + looking at previous winners that pieces without a clear conflict typically perform poorer despite a stronger style. Conflict doesn't have to be the stand out of the piece but it is necessary to keep people reading.

Having said all that, you'll probably notice most of my critique, paragraph by paragraph, is more about where I think you can expand and where you can add conflict. The two issues pair together very well so fixing one should fix the other.

Renée, you did not just-“ Robert was either in shock or absolutely done, and Renée still couldn’t tell which one it was, even after three years of marriage and six of being in a relationship. Renée smiled as she walked through the door, holding a tiny kitten, having returned rather late from the day shift.

I do love the opening, starting after the ‘initial event’ of Renee saving the cat is strong for a piece about the relationship. I would recommend showing signs of affection between Renee and Robert to develop their relationship better, even better if it displays Roberts emotions. Immediate ideas that came to my mind include him looking at her and then to the cat, or going to embrace her then seeing the cat. (Obviously all my ideas here are just ideas and please feel free to do whatever you see them doing!)

“It was on the road,” Renée said. “I couldn’t just leave it there,”
Renée was not one to make impulsive, rash decisions, but here was a cat, on the side of the road, and her heart had exploded.

I generally think the notion that Renee's heart exploded can also be showed. SHE HAS A CAT IN HER ARMS!! Make her coddle that cat! Stroke it while they talk, TALK TO THE CAT! How is Renee interacting with the cat now we know it's there?

Robert sighed. “I supposed we have been talking about getting a pet in the house, but this was not what I was expecting.”

I think Renee acting rash and out of character could be the potential point of conflict. Robert seems to take the sudden cat very well. Maybe his exasperation makes Renee think she has to return the cat. Maybe he's annoyed she didn't call him in advance and really he thought she was better than this. Give them a little spat and don't amend it immediately.

Renée looked at Robert. “Yeah, but rescue cats are better than ones that have been bred. I’m sure Ally would appreciate and love this little one -“ she waved one of the kitten’s tiny paws, “- just as much as any other cat,”

If you take my advice from the previous line, I don't think you need to change this line of dialogue - just contextualize it. Otherwise, my only issue would be: Whose Ally? I can assume she's their daughter but maybe she can make an appearance?

Renée passed the kitten into Robert’s arms, as she leaned down to untie her shoes. As she did so, she watched the kitten leap back into her arms.

“Woah, woah, woah!” Renée laughed, trying her best to catch the kitten. “He’s safe, I promise.”

“How did you even get it to like you that much?” Robert asked. Renée could tell he was still clearly reeling from the shock of having a cat jump out of his arms, and was trying to soothe some pain.

I love the cat loving Renee more. Obviously this is later attributed to cat food and I like that but maybe Robert mishandles her? Does something to like symbolize his mixed feelings about the sudden cat. Or even just give him a stronger reaction to the cat. Is he glad it's no longer in his hands, annoyed by the presumed scratches? Emotions that conflict immediately add some conflict to the story. Hell, even if he was ‘maybe not’ about the cat before, does seeing the bond between the cat and Renee change his mind? Does holding the cat change his mind?

“Sometimes,” Renée smiled, “all it takes is a whole lotta cat food.”

You establish a new equilibrium in the ending but it doesn't feel as if there was ever a disequilibrium to require a new one. This makes the ending feel unfinished, I'm waiting for something to change in their lives besides the mere presence of a cat.

space_fork wrote:

Nice story smiles

thank you!

Critique for Kiara:

I'll give general feedback but for words and sentence:

Not really about the piece but you do not need to trigger warning for pain and suffering. It builds expectations which are, realistically, too high for scratch. Also pain and suffering can be assumed through the other warnings.

I think you switch from present to past after the first scene (the man on the piano.) I'd amend this for continuity sake.
I also think you could do a smoother transition to the appearance of the stage to the reality backstage smoother. The reader is already going to get acquainted with class divide so you don't need to point it out there.

I personally think ‘Remember’ would be a stronger word to put in 'Stories, lies, control." because it would separate it from the rest of the nouns. It would also mean sentences like She ignored it. Remembrance. It was for her family that she did this. flow smoother.

She could feel the crowd recoil … Asking why her nose was pointed the way it was, why her ribs stuck out of her costume, This goes against what's already seemed to be established earlier in the story (that they make her hide their treatment to avoid allegations of mistreatment) Since the story ultimately has a bad ending, I would change ‘recoil’ to ‘sneered’ and edit how you describe her to be more grotesque but not concerning - put the reader in the aristocratic point of view for a second.

I noticed it occasionally throughout that you used words like ‘assumed’ to establish we're in Marie's thoughts. Since this is a 3rd person close POV, you can assume the reader knows they are in Marie's thoughts and there's no need to confirm this.

they threw money at churches to forgive them for their sins. No one else will probably notice this but indulgences, the idea you can pay for the forgiveness of your sins, hasn't really been practiced in any Christian church since the reformation in 1516. If you mean donating to a church, I'd clarify that. If you did mean indulgences, then you have a chronological issue because the reformation came before the French Opera. (It's a small error but you never know if one of the judges secretly knows church history.)

That's all that immediately caught my eyes on a word choice read through. More generally, I wish you'd been more descriptive, depth of the riches rather than the breadths, that or make it more tonally clear that Marie is looking down on their wealth. I also wish you'd either go into more depths about the control of the aristocratic rather than just repeating ‘control,’ because it feels tacked on rather than a theme meaningfully explored. That or cut it.

I'd like to also say that I think you have a strong piece here. The opposition between Marie and the audience is constructed very well, even by the story taking place on a stage. I love the ending, I think the downer end works well for the length and focus of this piece and a ‘happy ending’ would feel out of place. I wonder if the lack of detail around the sister and mother is purposeful. I don't mind it but it can be hit or miss so I'd make sure whatever you choose you choose with clear intent.

Best of luck with the comp!

Hi Gigi! So first of all, thank you for letting me read your piece The world and characters you’ve crafted here are super interesting — I especially liked the dynamic between Boo and Kyron.

My biggest criticisms relate to pacing and the underdevelopment of certain elements. I think that the most compelling parts of your piece are the characters: specifically, Kyron and Boo. Their individual backstories are only kind of hinted at here (especially Kyron’s, since it’s never fully revealed what his past trauma is or how he came to be a reaper), and I think it would make the story so much more interesting if you developed that a little more! I’m also really curious about their relationship — how did they meet? How did they grow so close? Why does Kyron not reap Boo? (I think that last part was sort of explained, but not really; I’m still kind of confused about the differences between “remnants” and “consciousness”, and how Kyron actually chooses who he reaps and who he allows to stay).

Also, it’s never really explained why Boo was avoiding Kyron at the start of the story? It’s mentioned, but then never resolved, even when they meet up later on.

As for things you could cut to make room for this development, I would suggest trimming the opening scene (when Kyron is researching Zara’s murder). There’s a lot of description that feels kind of unnecessary — at least in my opinion, the reader doesn’t have to know every single detail of Kyron’s research process in order to understand what he’s doing. It actually makes the story hard to get into at first, since the reader is not yet presented with a reason as to why they should care about Kyron or his work. They just get a huge infodump about his maps, lol.

When he touched it, Kyron remembered his secret desire to have a sturdy pair of gloves because it was greasy. He slathered his hands in hand sanitizer afterwards.

Like, for example, this sentence doesn’t seem all that necessary.

He grabbed the map of the local area from the desk opposite the bed and thanked the scouts for still using ordnance survey to develop their survival skills. He tore up the city area and stuck it into his book (using his saliva as a make do glue.) From there, he uncapped the pen and circled the suburban areas on the edge of the city lines, ones next to a park, ones that matched the crime scenes. He lingered on the page, out of habit, adjusting the book for a theoretical reader to see.

By the end, there were four parks but only one was likely. Lauren Hills did not stray far from her home. She attended the local comprehensive school a ten minute walk away and only otherwise ventured outside for emergency shops when there was no food at home. Zara Hills, like any eight year old, could be appeased by going to the park unless it was the dead of winter. He marked the park by the Hills house.

This could be shortened to just a few sentences.

Kyron was tracing his fingers around the map, when he realised his miscalculation. He had forgotten to include the motel’s location on his torn up city map because a motel is not quite part of any city it is in. He clicked his tongue and redirected his focus to any landmarks he recognised, eventually settling on the cafe on the other end of the road.

This could also be deleted entirely.

Anyways, aside from all that, I also noticed a lot of grammatical errors. This stuff is a lot more nitpick-y, so I’m not going to go into all of it lol, but in general I would keep an eye on your tenses. You switch a lot between past and present tense throughout the entire piece. I assume(?) it’s supposed to be written in past tense, so I would just do a read-through and correct all of the instances when you slip into present tense.

Kyron sat on the hard mattress tilted his head to watch it’s movements

This should be “Kyron sat on the hard mattress, tilting his head” (and there’s no apostrophe in “its” since you’re referring to a possession the bug, not saying “it is”)

It’s black shell stopped

Same thing here, no apostrophe

turned around and wandered towards the bathroom

Comma after “turned around”

where it was brown from dirt and there was at least two drowned spiders

Phrasing here is kind of confusing — instead of saying “where it was” you could say “which was”. Also “there was two spiders” should be “there were”

Kyron nodded along to the quickening tempo, he grabbed his notebook and a pen from his bag, then shuffled up to the headboard and got comfortable.

The structure here is off. I would either change the comma after “tempo” to a period, or delete the “he” in “he grabbed” and replace “then” with “and”

not so interested in the increasing global tension but on the grisly crimes.

Should be “not as interested in the increasing global tension as he was in the grisly crimes”

seeming random spots marked in red ink

“Seeming” should be “seemingly”

By the end, there were four parks but only one was likely.

Comma after “parks”

Zara Hills, like any eight year old, could be appeased by going to the park unless it was the dead of winter

Comma after “park”

Kyron was tracing his fingers around the map, when he realised his miscalculation

No comma after “map”

He had forgotten to include the motel’s location on his torn up city map because a motel is not quite part of any city it is in.

Comma after “map”

He kept his shoulders relaxed but couldn’t stop his eyes from darting down every alleyway

Comma after “relaxed”

They were all empty except for rowdy teenagers getting drunk

Comma after “empty”

Jealousy burnt in his gut but he pushed it far down it drowns alongside his fear and guilt.

Change to “jealousy burnt in his gut, but he pushed it far down; it drowns” etc

He didn’t dare think on how the final year of teens slips through his fingers. If he focused on himself would mean taking away from Zara;

Phrasing here is awkward — I would change to something like “… the final year of his teens slipped through his fingers. Focusing on himself would take away from Zara”

“Think like a kid.” He muttered to himself

Should be “‘Think like a kid,’ he muttered to himself”

The memories of before Kyron was this are covered in a thick fog.

This is really awkward phrasing — I would suggest changing it to something like “Kyron’s memories of what he used to be were covered in a thick fog” or something similar.

“You wouldn’t be able to cope with what you’ve lost.” they said, “You’ve forgotten right now for a reason. They’ll come back when you’re ready.” but Kyron needed to be ready

“You wouldn’t be able to cope with what you’ve lost,” they said. “You’ve forgotten right now for a reason. They’ll come back when you’re ready.” But Kyron needed to be ready.

Also, just out of curiosity, how can he see therapists as a ghost? Or did this happen before he died?

It was okay when he was researching but now he needs his partner – whose pettiness is a personal punishment

Comma after “researching”

He couldn’t go back for it though

Comma after “it”

No one ever asked him to reap souls but it had to be done.

Comma after “souls”

Something has been carved out the ribs beside his heart.

“Out” should be “out of”

The voice in his head that speaks next almost sounds like Boo,

Comma should be a period

Kyron doesn't remember the near death experience but his body has kept the score

Comma after “experience”

He wanted to fight back but he's scared and he wanted someone to come and save him

Commas after “back” and “scared”

They became something separate from him and he floated above them all

Comma after “him”

When his body acted on its own, he wanted to reach back for the control panel but found he can't

Comma after “panel”

On her neck, a long thin line where the illusion of infinite blood pours down her baby blue summer dress.

Delete the comma and add “was”

“Zara Hills right?” He asked.

“He” should be lowercase (and also, there should be a comma after “Hills”)

“Zara you're dead.”

Comma after “Zara”

She said. “I don’t understand why?”

The period after “said” should be a comma

Ghosts can't cry but Zara's voice quivered all the same.

Comma after “cry”

This routine familiar

Should be “this routine was familiar”

With that Zara looked up.

Comma after “that”

He softened his voice, “I won't do it till you're ready.”

Comma after “voice” should be a period

Side note: I really love the scene between Kyron and Zara! You did such a well-done job writing Zara, especially, as well as the way that Kyron chooses to interact with her. It’s very moving and bittersweet <33 also the bug imagery :starstruck:

She didn’t reply but that’s okay. Kyron didn't expect one.

Comma after “reply”. Also I would change the second sentence to “Kyron didn’t expect her to” for clarity’s sake

It was warm enough that Kyron could bath in the remaining light.

“Bath” should be “bathe”

Other bugs, flies and worms came and went, never the same one twice.

Comma after “worms”

Kyron took it, pretended it was fully corporeal and smiled.

Comma after “corporeal”

“It doesn't hurt.” Kyron promised even though no ghost had ever survived to tell him how it feels

Period after “hurt” should be a comma, and there should be a comma after “promised”

He didn't know if ghosts went to heaven either

Comma after “heaven”

He didn't forget any ghosts he reaped but he didn't dwell on them

Comma after “ghosts”

Any grief from his just finished job

Add a dash between “just” and “finished”

“I should reap you.“ Kyron muttered, too tired for malice, “I reaped her, and she wasn’t malevolent.”

Period after “reap you” should be a comma, comma after “malice” should be a period

“Yeah.” Kyron mumbled

Replace comma after “yeah” with period

He pulled away and tilted Kyron's head up so they were staring in each others eyes.

Apostrophe after “s” in “each others”

However in that moment, Kyron didn't think he would survive Boo leaving again so soon. It was a miracle the ghost had forgiven him this time and Kyron had pushed his luck enough in this lifetime.

Comma after “however” and after “forgiven him this time”

Anyways, grammar aside, this piece was genuinely such a pleasure to read! I really enjoy your writing; your characters and concepts are always so unique. Sorry once again for all the grammar-correction dumping, and best of luck in the writing comp

Critique for Koki!

Hi, I'm going to be pretty brutal with line edits first, then we'll talk about the piece as a whole.

The ever-so-gleaming, white moon. // The reader will assume the moon is white unless told otherwise, it detracts from the poetic elements you aim for. Ever so gleaming has a purpose, making it clear it's a full moon / a clear night. It creates imagery.

Her soft light shimmering, as if her gaze was soft, gentle almost. Repetition of the word soft. I'd cut the second instance, gentle does the same job so you don't loose anything.

our story, the one I told, was just one of so many.// I would cut this sentence here to keep the focus of the first paragraph tight.

She had done this many times before. //Edit for clarity. Who is she? (I'm assuming the moon) and what has she done before?

I know she would // tense shift. I KNEW she would.

which brought me so much warmth, so much comfort.// This is the second time you've used warmth AND comfort in a short span of writing. Cut one instance of each. (e.g cut first instance of comforting and second instance of warmth.)

matching the slight twinge and ache in my heart // is slight the right word here, it seems to downplay what I understand to be major emotions? Is it necessary?

how it was so sweet, // second instance of sweet in the paragraph. I'd cut the first instance (sweet and charming smile.) because I do like your honey similie.

yet now bittersweet.// if she's dead, which is what I'm assuming at this time, how can it NOW sound bittersweet. Either clarify the situation or edit.

Now when I think about you, I feel a pang. I've lost you. // This feels repetitive. We've always experienced the pang when they think of them, in the previous paragraph. And the reader can assume they've been lost. Is it necessary?

Perhaps she felt indifferent towards the loss of him, // Who is ‘him’? Clarity.

She could feel the absence I felt, maybe it was because she had felt it before. // Break it into two sentences.

beautiful while it lasted. Delicate, fragile, short lasting love // repetition of lasting.

she was my companion. // Clarity. Make it clear you're talking about the moon.

OKAY! That's line edits done!
Generally prose wise, I think beyond the clarity and repetition, what you have is good. I see what you mean about the prose being stiff. It works a lot more in your favour in the descriptive sections than the plot sections. I don't think you need to make it more poetic.

For larger scale improvements, I would focus on expanding the context behind the break-up. I would like to see it better integrated with his feelings. The lack of context makes it hard to connect to any of the characters. The emotions are easy to project yourself onto, which makes your piece universal and a strength, but doesn't define your character well. The other option of course, would be to cut the star crossed lovers narrative and focus on the narrators feelings of guilt for not being able to maintain their relationship. I think you need to either pick if your story is a universal exploration of feelings (with the conflict that drives the narrative being internal) OR a narrative story which starts at the end then gives the readers the beginning.

As I said before, your prose is strong and it's an enjoyable piece to read!

Beetlebug (1634 words) Author's Note (not part of word count. Only read once finished.)

A beetle scuttled across the damp motel floor. Kyron sat on the hard mattress, tilting his head to watch its movements. Its black shell stopped, turned around, and wandered towards the bathroom, which was brown from dirt, and there were at least two drowned spiders. He frowned at losing his entertainment and reached for the TV remote on the bedside table. When he touched it, Kyron remembered his secret desire to have a sturdy pair of gloves because it was greasy. He slathered his hands in hand sanitiser afterward.

The ten o’clock news for the local city started to play. Across every region, the opening music was the same. Kyron nodded along to the quickening tempo, grabbed his notebook and a pen from his bag, shuffled up to the headboard, and got comfortable. He made a habit of watching the headlines, not as interested in the increasing global tension as he was in the grisly crimes.

“Lauren Hills was arrested last night for the murder of her little sister.” Kyron leaned forward as if he could climb through the screen. The unnamed sister’s school photo flashed on the screen. She had thick, curly hair and smiled with confidence despite her buckteeth. “Zara Hills was found dead on Thursday in a play park. Police have promised to increase security in these areas.” As the reporter continued, the footage shifted to a shaky camera as dozens of police officers left a suburban home with a screaming Lauren.

Kyron paused the news. In his notebook were road maps, seemingly random spots marked in red ink, and pages upon pages of information on other murder victims. He flicked past until he found the most recent page in his scrapbook, detailing Lauren Hill’s address and notes from interviews and his own stalking over the weekend, when her murder was still under investigation, about what Zara liked to do.

He waited for the presence of Boo, reading over his shoulder. When nothing came, not even a chill, Kyron reread the information like it wasn’t already burnt in his brain. Five seconds later, he turned the page with such a firm, sweaty grip that the bottom ripped. The looseness of the page shook him out of his stupor. He threw the notebook on the bed, open on the correct page.

He grabbed the map of the local area from the desk opposite the bed and thanked the scouts for still using ordnance survey maps to develop their survival skills. He used the map, drew circles around potential burial sites based on his information. Lauren Hills never strayed far from home. Zara Hills, like any eight-year-old, could be appeased by going outside to play unless it was the dead of winter. He marked the park by the Hills house.

Once done, he stuck the map down, using his saliva as glue. The map took up the whole page to include the motel’s location because a motel is always on the edge of the city it is in.

He looked around the room. He opened his mouth, about to call that he was heading out when he stopped, closed his mouth again. The room was empty. As it should have been, but the hope he’d cultivated died in his chest. Kyron slammed the door on the way out.

The streets were cool in the summer night breeze. Kyron strolled down them with casual ease. He kept his shoulders relaxed, but couldn’t stop his eyes from darting down every alleyway. They were all empty, except for rowdy teenagers getting drunk. A sour hatred burnt on his tongue. He deserved to be cramped by strangers, with a bottle in hand and thick smoke above his head.

When he approached the empty park, Kyron shut down his human emotions. Wires could have run underneath his skin and a stranger would struggle to notice he was human. He pulled out a thick metal stick from his bag, which he then dropped to the floor. The extra weight made him less efficient.

Kyron looped around the park and the obvious hiding spaces – no ghosts. How would a kid act when betrayed in the most primal way? He tried to reach for his lost memories of childhood. They were filled with fear, the urge to run and hide, but he didn't know why. All Kyron knew about before he woke up in a hospital with Boo at the foot of his bed was that he was a John Doe and someone had left him for dead. His therapists warned him to only delve into them with professional help. He had never sought further help after he turned eighteen and could shed the mandated sessions. His amnesia had never gotten in the way of his job before. It had left him hollow, nothing but a grim reaper, but never incompetent.

If Boo, his anchor, was by his side, Kyron could ask. But Boo had left him – a petty punishment over a hypothetical question. The thought of him did, however, give Kyron a different line of reasoning: to think like a ghost. He planned to spend his life hunting ghosts, the scared recently dead, and the malevolent who clung to life. Zara would fall into the first category, in shock and struck still by the sight of her lifeless body.

He headed towards the forestry. Zara stood in the depths of it. She looked impossibly small, barely reaching five feet. She stared down at the ground with unseeing eyes, and her curls, once defined, hung loosely, weighed down by blood. On her neck, a long thin line where the illusion of infinite blood pours down her baby blue summer dress. Grit and compassion settled in his gut at the sight of her.

Kyron offered her his hand. At first glance, she doesn't react to him. At a second, she shook. Her fists tightened. Kyron moved, so his hand hovered over her shoulder.

“Zara Hills, right?” He asked.

She trembled more. She shook her head frantically.

“Zara, you're dead.”

She said. “I don’t understand why.”

Ghosts can't cry, but Zara's voice quivered all the same. Kyron didn't know the answer; only Lauren did. He didn't say anything, just stood next to her and focused on deep breaths.

This routine was familiar. Kyron said, “I could help you pass on.” With that, Zara looked up.

“Is Laura going to come back?”

Kyron swallowed. He despised this part. “No. They arrested her.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means she'll be locked away. She'll have to think over her mistakes for the rest of her life.”

“Like timeout?”

He laughed, “Yeah, like a timeout.”

“Then why are you here?” She looked up at him with wide eyes.

“I need to make sure you go to heaven, where you'll be happy. Dead people who stay here tend to get angry and do things they regret.”

Zara went silent. He softened his voice, “I won't do it till you're ready.”

She didn’t reply, but that’s okay. Kyron didn't expect one.

They stood for five minutes. The wind blew the leaves, making them rustle. It was warm enough that Kyron could bathe in the remaining light. A few animals passed by. Bugs began to crawl up Zara's ear, and body, making it their feast. Other bugs, flies and worms came and went, never the same one twice.

Zara nodded her head. “Okay.”

She offered her hand. Kyron took it, pretended it was fully corporeal, and smiled. He flicked a switch on his metal rod, and it extended into a scythe. He positioned it on the side of her neck, aligned with the wound. Her breath hitches.

“It doesn't hurt,” Kyron promised even though no ghost had ever survived to tell him how it felt. He didn't know if ghosts went to heaven either. “On the count of three. One, two.” He didn't wait for three. Zara stood relaxed, and he sliced through her. She dissipated into the mist.

Kyron left the forest after, scythe still in hand. He held his head high and forced himself to focus on anything but Zara. He didn't forget any ghosts he reaped, but he didn't dwell on them.

It became easier when he saw Boo standing in the park. His skin shimmered in the light. When they met, Boo pulled Kyron into his arms and nestled his head into his neck. Boo was freezing cold, always was, and leaning on him was like floating on water. His emotions kicked back to life, but what Kyron felt was overwhelming emotion. He lifted his head and kissed Boo's jaw.

“She wasn't malevolent. Does that make you mad?“ he asked, too tired to hide that he was pleading for forgiveness.

Boo hushed him, “She wouldn't cope. You couldn't take that risk, not when she's so young; they corrupt so easily. That's the difference between her and me. When you met me, I had moved on from my death. It was luck then, but now reaping me would be like killing another human.” He pulled away and tilted Kyron's head up so they stared into each other's eyes. “Do you understand that?”

”It was hypothetical.“ Kyron said. He couldn't have Boo leave again so soon. It would kill him. ”Just, after what Esther said and… I needed us to be on the same page.“

Boo pushed away, ”No, I get it, but it won't happen.“ He offered his hand, and Kyron took it, squeezing hard. ”I don't want to talk about it. We can talk about it if it ever happens." They began to walk out of the park. Kyron looked away to hide his shame. Specifically, at the trees that provided shade to any picnic goers. Weevils climbed up their trunks, burrowing into the wood in a way that would slowly kill it.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: BEETLEBUG

Using this to expand on my creative process and add extra infomation about Kyron and Boo.

Alright, so ‘Beetlebug’ is a scene from a longer work of mine. The idea behind Beetlebug is an episodic horror show where Kyron hunts ghosts with an overarching plot about his past. This extract was written for the comp but takes a premise from an episode (Kyron and Boo are fighting. The ghost is an innocent child.) I wrote it in prose because ultimately, my understanding of prose is greater than my understanding of script and I'd rather send in something I'm confident in. Alongside how because it's an episode/short story, the episodic structure that makes Beetlebug better for TV doesn't apply.

This scene is probably late season 1, of an ideal 3 season run. At this point in time, Kyron is an amnesiac with no clue as to who he actually is and Boo might not be a scared ghost but he's far from the malevolent fate Kyron fears is inevitable. Kyron, after meeting fellow reaper Esther for the first time, is having doubts about the true nature of ghosts. This leads to his and Boo's split while Kyron goes to do his job and Boo leaves in protest. I hope the complexity in Kyron viewing Boo as an exception to the rule because he loves him comes through. I also hope Boo comes across as rational while also cruel.

One of the big themes of Beetlebug is the linimal space. You see it Kyron's home base being a motel, “somewhere always not quite in the city it's in.” (This quote was originally lifted directly out of Supernatural, which was a big influence on the plot.) You see it in Boo being a ghost, between life and death, not afraid but not malevolent. Kyron whose isolated from humans but also human himself. It's a classic horror trope where the story is not disconnected from reality but also not fully in it. This of course, assumes reality is purely black and white. Whether or not reality is black and white, or if it should be, is questioned by Beetlebug. It's up to you to decide how this extract answers that question.

The other big themes of Beetlebug are classic Gigi Imacreamoo themes. Anyone familiar with my writing will probably have picked up on them immediately upon hearing me pitch the idea.
Those themes are
- Mental illness
- Unhealthy relationships
- Ethical thought.

As a rule of thumb, I do not like to label my characters because mental illness can overlap and I want readers to project onto them. I will admit though, unlike my other OC's Casper and Ximena, I did write Kyron with more than just PTSD in mind. Kyron in this extract shows an unstable and intense relationship with Boo, stress induced dissociation and implied black and white thinking. This was purposeful and symptoms of a personality disorder. More symptoms are present in other parts but either weren't relevant here or not scratch appropriate. (Kyron was gripping that sink telling himself infection was a lame way to go iykwim)

Kyron and Boo's relationship is a MESS. Between Kyron's intense feelings and Boo's knowledge of Kyron's past (hehe!), the relationship was never going to be equal as Boo has a lot of emotional leverage over Kyron. On the flip side, Kyron has the power to kill Boo and suffer no consequences. Based off what's shared about their fight, this is something Kyron recognises and discusses. So you also can't blame Boo for being afraid of Kyron. All around mess.
If you're familiar with my writing you might be shocked to hear that Kyron and Boo are not the end game for Beetlebug! The end game is Kyron and Esther!

Speaking of Esther, if there was one thing I wish I could have included, it would have been her. Unfortunately, to have a simple ghost hunt that would fit in 2k, this extract needed to focus on Kyron (with Boo at the ending being an added bonus.) She might be my favourite, a cringe fail woman after my own heart <3. She's awful at comforting people, merciless in her reaping and works at a hotline. She tries. I generally find it very hard to describe characters - too much bullying myself to show not tell. So I'm sorry for her lackluster description but she is a gem!

Finally for themes, there's ethical thought. This one comes from my A-level Religious Studies course. What is the right thing to do regarding reaping ghosts? Do we really need authoritative control or can we trust our communities? Do we have free will or are we determined? What happens if we're determined? Are all questions that crop up. In this extract, the focus is on the concept of reaping. Is Kyron in the moral right to reap Zara? Should he reap Boo? Why are the two's differences important? Are all questions I hope you asked. I also hope you'll respect that I have a 3 season show plan dedicated to answering this question, so you'll have to decide for this piece.

Another ghost hunting story, which leans more into the horror elements, is part 4 of this sessions 3rd weekly. You can read it here

This piece wouldn't be as it is without Kiara, Koki and Inky. Thank you all for going ‘We want more Boo!’ You're so right, this piece needed more Boo. Also thank you so much for all your grammar help. For grammar, I would also like to thank my friend off scratch who had to explain the oxford comma to me. I was not taught that in school.

For musical thanks, I wrote a lot of this listening to Eliza Rickman then edited a lot of listening to Brass Goggles by Steam Powered Giraffee and The Ballad of Jane Doe. The second two were basically written about Kyron .

Then thank you to everyone who not only read Beetlebug but also my extremely long Authors Note. I really just wanted to yap about my project.

29/03/25 - Avoid is/was when writing (442 words)

Monday morning, the alarm clock wakes Tim up. He gets up, puts on the work clothes that he found the night before and leaves without waking Toby up. He figures a little more rest can’t make the kid worse. The walk to work leaves him high strung. God – it must have been years since Jay and Marble Hornets but he can’t get rid of the sense of being watched. He checks behind him every two minutes. He checks behind every time something makes a noise.

Tim arrives at work two minutes late – despite leaving with enough time to arrive five minutes early. He can only nod his head when a petite woman curses him out and warns him if he’s late again, the job won’t be his much longer. Typically, Tim would argue back but he can only assume his past job paid the rent and now this job has too.

Over the course of two hours, before the early morning rush, Tim learns how to use a coffee machine. It takes a lot of trial and error, and a lot of customers threatening to complain about their order being wrong or taking too long. He learns.

The girl who threatens him, introduces herself at ten am. “I’m Minnie.” she says. “Sorry about being rude earlier but opening alone is hard. I won’t actually get you fired if you’re late occasionally” She sticks her hand out in a peace offering.
Tim takes it. “I’m Tim.” He says

“I know. I read your application before you arrived.”

Her hair, in a low ponytail was coming undone. Tim checked the queue was empty before he pointed it out. “You can go and fix that if you want.”
She feels it before nodding and ducking into the break room. One customer comes in and requests a latte with oat milk. Tim manages it in a timely manner. They even leave a tip for the good service.

By the time 1pm comes around, exhaustion tugs at Tim. His feet hurt and the lack of sleep from the night before hits him like a wave. Minnie leaves alongside him. She walks with a spring in her step and advises him to start going to bed earlier. “I could hold my shopping under your eyes!” She teases, jabbing an elbow into his ribs. Tim winces but forces himself to laugh.

“Is that all the guidance I’m going to be getting at this job?”

Minnie stares at him, “Dude. You’re more qualified than me. I’ve just been working at that branch longer.”

Before Tim can question her, she reaches her bus stop and waves goodbye to him.

A Girl Walks Alone at Night

Anne stepped out of the McDonald's on the highway and into the fluorescent yellow light that could be seen from across the town. While still under the shade of the overhanging roof, she removed her name badge and pulled her umbrella open. Then she began to walk across the empty car park. Pencehames wasn't a town that attracted more than homesick medical students and older teens on a gap year while they got a grip on their life away from their abusive parents. One of those groups avoided fast food and the other group worked at the fast food chains. Anne sighed and redirected her thoughts towards her future, where she'd be a politics student before taking a masters in Law.

Water soaked into her boots as she stepped into a puddle. It sprayed across the pavement and the streetlights glower in their reflection, like a ball of light, fuzzy and indefinable. Anne paid no mind. A good pair of shoes cost more than her paycheck but if she saved, she could afford a decent pair, leather and platformed - more expensive than she needed but a pair she'd love. She yawned, throat creaking as she did so. A car drove past without it's lights on. Almost invisible but given away by the roaring engine. Anne could have really made that drivers day bad by jumping in front of it but no. She had law cases to win, she did.

She crossed the roads at the traffic lights. It was a detour since she had to backtrack but it was worth it for the slightly increased safety. The wind roared as she stopped walking into it. Anne adjusted her grip on the umbrella. She would shower when she woke up, to avoid sleeping with wet hair, but if she'd have to blow dry it regardless, she would loose the fifthteen more minites of essential sleep to get the most out of a bad situation. She crossed the road on the red light, speeding along.

26/05 add horror elements when it's not 10pm + continue) (Add Sin + Evervale dynamic for own reference)
27/05: discontinued because I'm blanking. If coming back to idea. concept was that girl had a stalker. Enough small details to raise eyebrows in 2nd half (e.g banging sound in song, rewind, not part of a song but nothing around her seemed amiss (because it was too dark)) and reveal at end and leave fate of Anne unknown.

Ravenhood: spoilers for the end of The Raven King! Iirc (549 words)


Nathaniel's hand finds Jeans, stroking circles on the top of his hand. His skin is soft, scarred at the knuckles and Nathaniel only needs to press gently to feel the bones, and their poorly healed breaks. But it's better than the palm of their hands, because there's always, always, always blood under their nails and cuts from where they've defended their faces because they know it will be their fault if someone sees the injuries. Above all, their hands are calloused from Exy. Nathaniel grows his extra skin with pride, he wears it like a medal and Jean can appreciate the necessity but that doesn't have to mean he likes the feeling. So Nathaniel is rubbing circles on the top of his hands while he unravels the bandages, for grip, with his other hand.

They don't say anything. French sits on the top of Nathaniel's tongue but it's slapped off by Riko. He grips their shoulders, his nails digging through their underlayers and into their skin. “It would be so disasterous to loose against such a pathetic team.” He says, grinning, “You two will be on your best form.” Then he leaves to go and give pep talk to the rest of the starting lineup.

Once he's gone, Nathaniel roles his eyes. Kevin's, unfortunate accident, departure from the nest and even less fortunate reimmersion with the Foxes lights a fire in his muscles. He bounced on his toes. Jean had focused on getting ready, securing the protective jacket around his ribs. Tetsuji gives his five minute warning, before they go on the court and win. Jean placed a hand on Nathaniels shoulder, “Get ready. We should lead by example.”

“Awh, but we're always getting into trouble.” Nathaniel smirked but put his jacket on as he spoke. Jean pinched the gap between his eyebrow and Nathaniel laughed, “No need to go on a tangent about how I am sent from Hell. We need to get ready and you don't have a mouth guard in yet.”

Jean turned away, grumbling as he put the mouth guard in. Nathaniel redid the straps of his gloves, making sure they were tight enough to squeeze against his wrists. He used his mouth to pull the strap further than possible with his hands. Jean sneered at him as if his looser gloves weren't part of the reason his hands ached constantly. They slipped down his hands too often, weakening his grip and letting the stick slip enough that a rough hit sent it to the floor - then came the reprocussions for failing.

Once enough time had passed to give Riko the limelight on the court but not enough to make the perfect court seem sloppy, Nathaniel and Jean jogged out. The audience cheered for them, screaming their names. Nathaniel waved twice, one for them both. Jean started his warm up immediately but Nathaniel jogged to his side after fueling the public.

The entire Ravens had done one lap around the court when the Foxes came out. Nathaniel looked over, there was one new freshman, a striker, nothing impressive, and grinned. There were only two threats to the game over there. The short goalie who wouldn't care and Kevin, who alone couldn't make up for such a bad team, let alone with a broken hand.

Sorry to ruin your fun, but this topic should have been named something like “Story writing”, as “Gigi's misc writing” implies that this is a general no topic discussion

Paddle2See wrote:

June 2, 2025 05:29:42
Hello! The forums are organized and have quite a bit of structure to them - topics need to follow the theme of the forum section. General “no-topic” chats are not permitted, sorry. I suggest you chat on your profile or on a studio.

gamerboiti wrote:

Sorry to ruin your fun, but this topic should have been named something like “Story writing”, as “Gigi's misc writing” implies that this is a general no topic discussion

Paddle2See wrote:

June 2, 2025 05:29:42
Hello! The forums are organized and have quite a bit of structure to them - topics need to follow the theme of the forum section. General “no-topic” chats are not permitted, sorry. I suggest you chat on your profile or on a studio.

This topic very much does follow the theme of the forum section. The forum is ‘things I’m making and creating' which includes creative writing, which is what this topic features. Similarly, ‘Gigi’s misc writing' is not a no topic discussion. The topic is miscellaneous (so a varied collection of writing, rather than one continuous story) writing done by Gigi (myself) While the stories do not share a specific theme or narrative, they are all written by the same person, which gives this forum a pretty specific topic. The topic does plenty of justice to the content of the forum.

I am very familiar with the rules of scratch forums and this topic has been open and active since 2021. While I understand you are trying to be helpful, this topic doesn't go against the forums in any manner.

Half-Light (1379 words)
A companion piece to “In Heavy Dusk”

Ghost had spent enough nights down crumbling alleys to know that the walls were thin and always close enough to fall into. That was why as soon as Alloy, the assailant (although the less clinical term ‘villain’ applied better,) swung his sword, Ghost dived backwards into the wall and concrete floor. He gripped at the shadows cast from the tilting buildings and wrapped them around him, tight. Alloy's sword clattered against the brick buildings. A small hole formed and the dust from age old construction work blew right in the assailant's face.

The opportunity was glaring Ghost in the face so he took it. He leapt out of the shadows and grabbed Alloy by the neck and fumbled with his spare hand to find a makeshift handcuff. He had none in his pockets; they rattled too much for someone who relied so heavily in strength. Ghost looked around the area for Executor, who carried a pack of ziplocks on his person religiously. It was just him in the alley.

Red and blue lights suddenly lit up the alley. Ghost and Alloy both stiffened. Taking advantage of Ghosts shock, Ally broke out of his grio with a simple jab from the elbow. Ghost stumbled back before grabbing onto the closest fire escape ladder and scrambling up. Alloy would come back; they always did.

Once at the top of the building, where cold air bit at any patches of open skin without the city there to block it, Ghost watched the police officers stumble after Alloy. A futile attempt, since their drawn guns would only fire redirected bullets, but one he appreciated because it took the eyes off him.

The bright lights of the sirens lit up the city where the moon and flickering streetlights could not. They revealed a single stilhetto just outside the alley where Ghost had just been.

Ghost stepped on the ledge of the building and squatted to better see the stilhetto, black and with DIY'ed straps to better support someone's feet - one of a kind. Bile rose in Ghost's mouth; he swallowed it. God, he thought, please let me be wrong. He dialled Executors work phone number first, letting it ring ten times before the automatic voicemail started. Ghost's hands shook as he typed in the eight numbers he remembered seeing saved under the contact “personal.” The number wasn't connected at all. Ghost told himself that the pit growing in his stomach was the fall out of a sudden adrenaline crash, something he'd gotten used to avoiding because of Executor. It was anything but dread.

Then, a sudden notification from an unknown number on Ghost's phone. He almost swiped past the message in a panicked rage about spam texts before he read it. The text was a string of numbers, an IP code, similar to his current location, across a few alleys and a main street. What made the text stranger was only one person who had Ghosts number would have reason to be so close and to text.

The next few minutes were a blur of rushing winds and the slapping of his feet against concrete as Ghost sprinted across buildings, jumped down between balconies and pulled at shadows to hide the crazed state of his actions. He skid into the alleyway that the IP had led him to. It was much like all the others in Rotemore, damp, tight enough to squeeze one person's guts and dark. With all alleys, Ghost relied primarily on sight and smell, but it was so quiet that his own harsh breaths were the loudest noise, and the smells of wee and musk was too expected for any immediate alarm bells to ring.

The tip off that something was wrong was that the shadows crowded around one particular area, knitting together tighter than most places that lacked, but Ghost couldn't even dip his fingers into the inky blackness to hide. Something lay there. Ghost approached with hesitant steps until the figure became clear.

The figure wore all black, including a veil across its face to hide their identity. The only immediately visible piece of skin shown was on the foot, where an ankle socks didn't quite cover the end of the trousers and one stilhetto was missing. Ghost didn't pull the veil off because he knew the identity of the figure. Only one person was capable of being so paranoid about being seen, and that person was Executor.

Ghost fought the urge to trace a finger against the still cheek of his partner, because the act felt too intimate to do without Executors permission. He pulled his hand back from where it had unconsciously been hovering and moved to focus on finding a pulse and a wound.

Executor's hand was pressed against the wound with his fingers angled to touch as much skin as they could through the fingerless gloves. Ghost snorted; the clever, clever son of a gun.

The wound wasn't gushing as much as it should have, although there was still enough blood for Ghost's hands to come away sticky and red. He felt for a pulse, careful not to disturb Executor from the connection to his own power, and there was one. Ghost stepped back to evaluate the situation.

Eventually he found himself in a warehouse. It was one of Ghost's personal designated safehouses for the worst case scenarios in his nightmares. Executor could have guessed that Ghost had a few. He would be stupid to not have so; his partner didn't have a confirmation on their existence and as a result, their location. Later in the week, Ghost would have to pack up all his equipment and move the safehouse elsewhere - as a failsafe - but in that moment, all he was processing was blood. Blood pounded in his ears, blood dried on his hands and blood pooled in his mouth from a bite on the inside of his cheek. Ghost pulled off his partner's jacket with shaking hands and grabbed the needle from his sewing kit. It would be alright, he told himself, Executor was in relatively capable hands.

-

The morning sun began to rise. Casper's head rose from where it had fell on the table in a tired daze. He blinked several times before he noticed Executor's limp body lying across the table. He scrambled out of the seat and pressed two fingers to his partner's neck. The heartbeats were steadier than before. Casper's shoulders slumped and he resisted the need to wrap Executor in his arms and go to bed, where the rest would be good and he would know without a shadow of a doubt that they were both okay.

He didn't. Executor would lose it when he came to in an unknown location. Ghost didn't want to know what would happen if he woke up in someone's - not quite a friend's but so far from a stranger's - arms. He stepped back and went to make dry cereal. If Casper didn't look at Executor, he could pretend everything was normal and they'd seperated at night like usual.

Casper took the bowl and scooped a mouthful of dry cereal into his mouth when a phone rang. The dial sound was a classic pop song that Casper heard in supermarkets but didn't know the name of - definitely not his phone. He placed the bowl down and stepped towards Executor. The sound got louder as he got closer. The song was so unlike Executor's classic mechanical buzzes that Casper headed straight to his prone form. Dread began to build in his gut as he rifled through Executor's pockets, until he found the small flip phone that was ringing.

He didn't have time to speak before a young feminine voice called down the line, “Where are you? I'm gonna be late.”

“Who is this?”

There was a pause. The girl on the other line spoke as if venom could be transferred across the screen, “Who's this?”

“I asked first.”

“Well your a stranger… And this is my brother's phone.”

Casper looked back towards Executor's prone form, hesitant to answer. “I'm a friend of Executor.”

Another pause, then the line went dead.

hii here with grammar corrections!

That was why as soon as Alloy, the assailant although the less clinical term villain applied better, swung his sword, Ghost dived backwards into the wall and concrete floor.

this would read more smoothly if you restructured it with parentheses: "That was why as soon as Alloy, the assailant (although the less clinical term villain applied better), swung his sword…“

I would also either italicize the word ”villain" or put it in quotations

A small hole formed and the dust from age old construction work blew right in the assailants face.

add apostrophe to “assailant's”

grabbed Alloy by the neck and fumbled with his spare hand to find a make shift handcuff

I think “makeshift” is one word

He had none in his pockets, they rattled too much for someone who relied so heavily in strength.

change the comma to a semicolon

Alloy broke off Ghosts hold in the shock with a simply jab from the elbow.

“simply” should be “simple”; also, this is more nitpicky, but the phrase “in the shock” feels kind of clunky here — maybe change it to “Taking advantage of Ghost's shock, Alloy broke his assailant's hold…” or something like that

Alloy would come back, they always did.

change the comma to a semicolon or period

A futile attempt since their drawn guns would only fire redirected bullets but one he appreciated because it took the eyes off him.

add commas: “A futile attempt, since their drawn guns would only fire redirecgted bullets, but one he appreciated because it took the eyes off him”

Bile rose in Ghosts mouth, he swallowed it.

change comma to semicolon

Ghosts hands shook as he typed in the eight numbers

apostrophe in “Ghost's”

Then a sudden notification from an unknown number on Ghosts phone.

comma after “then”, and apostrophe in “Ghost's”

He almost swiped past the message in a paniced rage about spam texts before h read it.

there's two typos here, “panicked” and “he”

The text was a string of numbers, an IP code and one similar to his current location, across a few allies and a main street.

I think you meant “alleys” here? And again, this is a more minor nitpick, but I think this sentence would flow better if you deleted “and one” (so that it read “an IP code similar to his current location”)

He skid into the alleyway that the IP had led him too

“to” instead of “too”

Ghost relied primarily on sight and smell but it was so quiet that his own harsh breaths were the loudest noise and the smells of wee and musk was too expected for any immediate alarm bells to ring.

add commas: “Ghost relied primarily on sight and smell, but it was so quiet that his own harsh breaths were the loudest noise, and the smells of wee and musk was too expected for any immediate alarm bells to ring.”

The tip off that something was wrong wrong wrong, was how the shadows crowded around on particular area, knitting together tighter than most places that lacked, but Ghost couldn't even dip his fingers into the inky blackness to hide.

delete comma after “wrong”, and there's a typo in “one area”

including a veil across it's face to hide their identity.

delete apostrophe in “it's”

Only one person was capable of being so paranoid about being seen and that person was Executor.

add comma before “and”

Ghost fought the urge to trace a finger against the still cheek of his partner because the act felt too intimate to do without Executors permission.

comma after “partner”

He pulled his hand back from where it had subconsciously been hovering

I think you meant “unconsciously” instead of “subconsciously”? This just seems like the more fitting word choice to me

Ghost snorted, the clever clever son of a gun.

I would replace the comma with a period; this just flows better as two separate sentences. Also, add a comma between the two “clever”s

there was still enough blood for Ghosts hands to come away sticky and red.

apostrophe in “Ghost's”

Executor could have guessed that Ghost had a few, he would be stupid to not have so; his partner didnt have a confirmation on their existence and as a result, nor their location.

Replace comma after “few” with a period, add an apostrophe in “didn't”, add comma after “and”, delete “nor”

Ghost pulled off his partners jacket

Caspers head rose from where it had fell on the table in a tired daze.

He scrambled out of the seat and pressed two fingers to his partners neck.

Caspers shoulders slumped and he resisted the need to wrap Executor in his arms

apostrophe in “Casper's” and “parner's”

Executor would loose it when he came too in an unknown location.

should be “lose” and “came to”

Casper took the bowl and scooped a mouthful of dry cereal into his mouth when a phone rung

this is written in present tense, so it should be “a phone rang”

The song was so unlike Executors classic mechanical buzzes that Casper headed straight to his person.

apostrophe in “Executor's”; also, the phrase “his person” is really confusing because it could be interpreted as a reference to Caspar's person, so I would make it more explicit and change it to “his partner's person”

Dread began to build in his gut as he rifled through Executors pockets until he found the small flip phone that was ringing.

apostrophe in “Executor's”, comma after “pockets”

a young femine voice called down the line, “Where are you? I'm gonna be late”

typo in “feminine”, and add a period at the end of the dialogue

The girl on the other line spoke as if venom could be transferred across the screen, “Whose this?

the period should be a comma, and “Whose” should be “Who's”

“Well your a stranger who picked up my brothers phone.”

should be “Well, you're a stranger…”

Casper looked back towards Executors prone form, hesitant to answer.

apostrophe in “Executor's”