★¸.•☆•.¸★ 🅃🄷🄴 🅆🅁🄸🅃🄸🄽🄶 🄽🄾🄾🄺 ★⡀.•☆•.★ discussion

post your short stories here! if you have a longer story (like multiple pages long, or even chapters,) then request your own topic in the topic called 'request a topic! <3'

hey y’all! I’m not finished with this yet, and i’ve already made a group dedicated to it, but i wanted more feedback from y’all!

TW: horror elements and and an autopsy

M I S S I N G . . .

A C T O N E , S C E N E O N E :

The body laid on the wooden floor. The detectives bunched around each other in a small circle, the body in the middle as if they were about to perform a ritual. A man snickered in the corner as his back touched the moldy plastered walls. His wife shushed him and told him that this is not a laughing matter. A man with a very colorful suit comes into view. He rushed in like the wind in a desert, blowing around with quick but stiff body language. “What happened here?” he asked. He quickly looked around the room and at the detectives. They looked around and stared at their feet or at the walls as if they were guilty of something. “He was my boyfriend. What the hell just happened?” the man shouted. As tears started to roll down his face, he saw, blurrily, the smirking man stepping away from his wife and pulling out something from his back pocket. A noise from his wife and the holes in her chest seemed to appear in an instant. “Anyone else care for a shot in the chest?” the man asked with a big smirk on his face. “I do.” Then, the room seemed to be swallowed by darkness.

A C T O N E , S C E N E T H R E E :

The body laid on the exam table, waiting to be cut open. It laid there for approximately five minutes before a forensic scientist came into the room, along with a handful of college students wanting to study science or to be in the medical field. The exam table was cold, like touching metal on a chilly winter night. The scientist covered the body with a white blanket and started the procedure. The results weren’t out of the ordinary, a usual way to die in this kind of situation, but there seemed to be a strange feel in the room, as if you could slice the air in half, while they cut the body open. Suddenly, the smirking man flew into the room and asked the same question: “Anyone else care for a shot to the chest?” The answer was repeated: “I do.” Then, the lights started to flicker and slowly turn to darkness as the body moved towards the smirking man.

A C T O N E , S C E N E T W O :

The kids played in the room. They ran around screaming and laughing, as kids seem to do. They were having great fun, despite the fact they didn’t live in that house. What they didn’t know was that there were two dead bodies on the floor. They would occasionally feel like they were running through a large pile of spiderwebs, but no bodies were visible.
The next day, the same kids ran around and played in that same dusty room. This time, they didn’t feel anything out of the ordinary. Likely, they thought the room was dusted or cleaned up, which was partially true, but they didn’t pay any mind to it. These kids will never know the truth about what happened in that room. They will never see the headlines: “Two People Died In Front of Detectives”. They also don’t know that they are about to be killed.
Detectives were frantically searching for clues in the room where it happened, especially those who were there on that dreadful night. They only found a few small clues, not anything of extreme interest. One of them came up with an idea once they didn’t find anything. “Why haven’t we done an investigation about what happened to the boyfriend?” The detectives nodded their heads in agreement and they filed out of the room. The only people who were left were the kids laying on the floor with no one to help them.

A C T O N E , S C E N E F O U R :

The kids were never found. You might be asking yourself why this happened, especially since those kids didn’t live there. I really shouldn’t be telling you this because no one except us knows about it, but you seem to be trustworthy. There’s an alternate universe which is messing with the bodies of these people. It doesn’t want the bodies to be found and their stories to be told. I can’t tell you much more about this now, but I will try to tell you at some point in the future. This is the reason why I am informing you of this information. You must keep this information confidential, or else you will die. If you dare to tell this to even your closest friends, you’ll get a couple of ones in your chest. I will continue to tell you the story if you commit to this agreement. I ask: will you?

I N T E R M I S S I O N :

“Yes.” you say. Suddenly, your phone starts blowing up with notifications and messages and phone calls from relatives that say two words: good luck. You start to look back and question if it was the right thing to do. You hear a voice from behind you whispering something, yet it’s too out of reach to really be able to hear it. It’s equivalent to blowing all the air out of your lungs and trying to scream. But still, the voice begins to strengthen and gain more momentum in the air. The difference between these noises were staggering, like the difference between a breeze and a tornado. Soon, it becomes clear. The voice is saying, “Anyone else care for a shot to the chest?”. No noise comes out from your voice, yet the bullets still shoot through the air. Time seems to slow down for a moment, but the bullet still seems to fracture a couple bones once it hits your body. The voice disappears and you come back to reality. You just start to realize that you’re standing in a dark void alone. alone. alon. alo. al. a…

this was so cool! i think there was one that was out of order but other than that <3

it was actually written intentionally!

I love it!! It’s very interesting and up to interpretation imo

@thebookthief there's a whole other act I'm writing as well!
I definitely have a concept for the ending but I'm hoping y'all will like it cause I feel like it could go really well or really piss people off lmao

I wrote this for a spooky story competition last fall :)



It was a chilly evening, close to the time of twilight, when the girl first stepped onto the graveyard. She had chosen that time, when the dead were closest to the living world, when she could swear she heard her dead sister whisper a secret into her ear, because she needed a lifeline in the grief that was quickly making her spiral down, down, down. Her breath curled in the air that held a strange mist, but she thought nothing of it. The girl stepped deeper into the home of the dead, swerving around gravestones that didn’t matter as much as the one she was searching for. Soon, she found it, and something inside of her squeezed tight, a sharp pain forming behind her eyes. She vaguely heard a light scratching from beneath her, but didn’t care as she fell to her knees and wept, the sound of her sorrow echoing throughout the final resting place of the dead.

The monster had been there, waiting, for so long it had forgotten what–or who–it once was. All it knew was that its belly was rumbling, and that it could hear the footsteps of someone mindlessly walking, could smell the scent of grief as clearly as it had once felt the sun. Oh, how it missed the sun, the light, the warmth. For too long had it dwelled in darkness. The monster's claws clicked together, claws that would soon sink around something warm and mouthwatering, something to ease the ache that it could only quench when the taste of iron flooded its mouth, when the memory of life briefly settled into its scrawny bones. The monster quickly slid beneath the ground, following the echo of the footsteps. It got to the place where its next meal stood, and it scraped its claws against the rough stone embedded into the ground. A loud thump came from above, and the monster's sharp, crooked teeth broke into a smile when the scent of salt soon bled through the soil above it.

The girl was there, kneeling on the ground, until the sun went fully down and the moon poked its head through the darkness. The night was eerie, all of the daylight critters already settled into the sweet lull of sleep. The girl felt frozen to the ground, content to stay seated as her grief was gently quelled, the peace of the darkness making her drowsy. Suddenly, everything felt too quiet. The subtle chirp of a cricket, the buzz of a firefly, the scuttle of a mouse, were all hushed, leaving her quickening breaths feeling too loud, too unwelcome, to the beds of the dead. She soon felt something move beneath her, heard something whispering below in a voice that was luring, a sweet song to ears that had heard nothing but silence for too long.
“Sister,” the girl whispered, bringing her head to the grassy ground, “Is that you? Have you come back from the dead to whisper secrets in my ear, just like before?”
“Yessss…” that ghostly voice whispered, sounding deeper and more raspy, but she blamed it on the thick soil blocking her from the face she loved most. A slight tremble shook the ground below her, but she could not worry, could not do anything other than feel the excitement of being able to see her sister again. The ground cracked beneath her face, and the shadow of a hand reached up to greet her. In the darkness, the girl could not see the sharp claws, could not see the crooked smile of the monster below. She reached out her hand, laughing and overjoyed, for grief can make many hope for things that simply cannot happen. She grasped the monster, realizing all too late the claws that drew blood from her skin. Nobody heard her scream, for it was muffled by the soil as she was pulled down into the depths of the dead.

Soon after, people would begin to wonder what happened to the girl. Did she run away? Was she taken by someone? Would she return? Her parents were soon overcome by more grief, for losing both children tore their hearts in two. Still, they hoped, not accepting the children's fate until they both ended up in their own graves.
The girl? She was never seen again.
At least, not as herself.
For every chill, misty twilight, when a grieving victim came wandering onto the graveyard, the girl would be there to bring them to the same fate as she.
THE END

Sorry I forgot to add a trigger warning!!

TW: death, monsters, unknown fate

ooh! this one is cool! especially with halloween coming up!

They asked me to kill you.

They talked in quiet, dark rooms, whispering your name like it was a curse.
They showed me evidence.
Photos. Numbers. Wounds.

They called you a monster.
I was supposed to be the one person left who could stop you.
The hero. The last good thing.
So I watched you from rooftops, through cracked windows and bloodstained streets.

I watched you breathe.

And then I saw your face.
Not the pictures they painted with their files,
Just you.
All alone,
Exhausted.
But not afraid.

You looked up at me like you already knew what was coming.
But you smiled. Not a wicked smile, just... calm.
Like nothing mattered anymore, not even death.

I stood there, my knife in my coat.
I had trained for this.
I'd imagined this in a thousand ways.
They said i'd be the here, the one who stopped you for good.

But instead I said your name.
Not like and executioner,
Like a prayer.

You said mine back.
Not fearfully, just with recognition.

And I knew in that moment, I couldn't kill you.
I couldn't even try.

They could never understand a love like this.
It's not soft, it's not kind.
It's violent, all-consuming.

They say a hero would sacrifice one person to save the world, but I would end the world for you.
I already have.

They sent soldiers. I sent bodies.
They asked questions. I stayed quiet.
They sent me. I chose you.

They used to call me 'light.'
'The last good thing.'
'Hope.'

But hope doesn't rip the truth from throats just to keep your name safe.
Light doesn't leave informants lying in alleyways.

You're sleeping as I write this, so small, so still.
Curled into yourself, unaware.
You'd never believe the skeletons in my closet if I opened them to the light.

Someday, though, I believe you'll find out.

Maybe you'll hate me. Maybe you'll run.
That's okay.

I never needed you to love me. i just needed you to live.
They warned me about the monster.
I just never thought they mean me.

LIZ YOU COOKED!!?

Liz that's so good omg

awee thank you guys!

‘Oh, you can't help that. We're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad.’
-Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland


The house had been abandoned for years. At least, that’s what the locals thought. No one could remember the last time the house had been lived in. It sat on the outskirts of their little town, crooked and sagging, vines climbing up the sides like leafy fingers. The windows were dark, and the door hung open, yet every so often someone would swear they saw a light flickering inside, a match or a candle. But nobody dared to creep closer than the front gate.

But one evening, as the wind began to bite and the shadows grew longer, a figure appeared at the gate.

He wasn't someone any of the townspeople recognized. And maybe it was the way the shadows flickered across the lawn, but his features seemed to shift, almost as if he was made of multiple people. No name, no history, just a shadow of a person who pushed through the front gate. Almost as if he was drawn to the front door.

The air inside was cold, colder than it was outside. The air tasted stale, as if the walls themselves couldn’t breathe. The floor creaked and shifted under his footsteps, but there was something… alive in the sound. Instead of the sound of the floorboards creaking and settling, it was the sound of something waiting.

He moves through the rooms, stepping over broken shards of furniture. Rooms that must have looked beautiful in their prime now stood in ruin. The wallpaper peeled from the walls in strips, an almost fluid look to it, the once-colorful carpets now mildewy and damp. The farther he walked into the house, the quieter it got.

But then, from somewhere in the house, came a tap-tap, tap-tap, tap-tap.

It came from above him- the attic. He climbed the almost never ending staircase until he reached the attic door. The tapping continued. Tap-tap, tap-tap, tap-tap. It was steady, persistent. Something was in there. Or someone.

With a shaky hand, he twisted the knob and pushed the door inwards.
Inside, the air was even colder. The room was dark, with thin shadows stretching across the room from the slivers of moonlight leaking in through the cracks. The room was cluttered, filled with old things: trunks, faded photographs and dusty furniture. But he ignored it. There was one thing that drew his attention.

There was a small, cracked hand mirror hanging from a hook in the center of the far wall. It wasn’t large, but there was something eerie about it. The glass was free of dust, a strange juxtaposition with the rest of the room. But that wasn’t all. There were marks on the mirror’s face, like the scars of cracks that had somehow mended themself.

He stepped forward, his hand reaching for the mirror. Holding it up to his face, his reflection was faint, but it was there. Just a flicker of his own, distorted by the marks that moved across the mirror, no longer hiding. Then, he saw something that wasn’t there before. The room behind him was dimmer, the shadows darker, as if some entity had entered the room behind him.

The tapping stopped.

A low sound rose behind him, so quiet he almost missed it. It was the sound of a sigh, or the breath of someone who had been waiting for much too long.

He spun around, but the room was empty. It looked just as it had before he picked up the mirror.

He looked back to the mirror, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. He watched as the reflection changed again. The room was no longer dusty and dim; it was alive with colors and sounds. Shadows moved from their corners, flickering, stretching out muscles gone too long unused. And there, behind his reflection, something was waiting for him. Not exactly a person, but something else. Something… more. And it had been hidden behind the glass all this time.

He dropped the mirror, the glass shattering once more. As he turned to run, he saw the attic had changed. It was no longer the way it had been when he entered, but the one from the mirror. The shadows lunged for him, twisting around his ankles like the vines outside the house.

The house settled, the mirror mended itself, and the tapping resumed, it’s tap-tap, tap-tap, tap-tap now in time with his heartbeat. The door slammed shut, trapping everything and everyone inside.

The reflection in the mirror didn’t change. The thing still stood there, watching.

Only now, he was part of it.

liz you are so talented!! seriously, I love the dark plots you explore. you should definitely consider looking for and submitting to some horror or darker story journals

this one is a nonfiction story

“Snow Leopard”

Mrs. Gewel always told everyone I was exceptional. “Pleasure to have in class,” marked into every report card saved in the stack, fine lines of high marks and quiet cooperation. “This one will go off and do amazing things.” How do I tell her I am nothing of the sort? We researched endangered animals to swell our sympathetic minds—mine thought of snow leopards. Their coats, dirty and weathered from losing more snow each year because of us—because of our harsh decisions, but that simple mind didn’t know it yet—but I did not turn out to be their savior. We made compost, let it simmer in the gardens outside of school. “Make something beautiful out of other’s trash,” whispered above curious heads and threaded into newborn eyes. “You will be the change you wish to see.” We planted basil in cups and I came running to my mother with it, in awe. This tiny life form we nurture for the sake of our conscience. That bud never did so much blossom into more—it died months before eviction from that apartment, like the others and the goldfish, too. Mrs. Gewel was impressed by my fascination in Pompeii. “It really happened that way,” she told me over my picture book held in my little hands. She always liked my curiosity to learn. Others were loud, and yet, I stayed patient for my bloom, like our lesson on butterflies and their cocoons. “Something will come out of this one. I’m sure of it.” How do I know when it is time for me to let go of my cocoon? When should I stop feeling bad for the snow leopards that cannot be helped? What life forms will not wilt in my care? How do I tell her that all that came of me was a sore heart and mangled bones? Recycled, abashed, twisted plastic. My cruelty does not smell pretty. Sometimes, I don’t care about the snow leopards anymore; I’ve been hurt, too, and no one is coming to wash my stains. I wonder if she’d recognize me now. Mrs. Gewel, do you hear me? Am I still destined to be great?

@liz @aamyx you guys are insanely talented.

aamyx wrote: "this one is a nonfiction story

“Snow Leopard”

Mrs. Gewel always told everyone I was exceptional. “Pleasure to have in class,” marked into every report card saved in the stack, fine lines of high ..."

I love this! the flow is so pretty..

aamyx wrote: "liz you are so talented!! seriously, I love the dark plots you explore. you should definitely consider looking for and submitting to some horror or darker story journals"

aw thank you! I wrote this one during my ap world block today because we don't do shit in that class.. but anyways it's still pretty rough so I would love feedback!

~~
oh also a quick trigger warning: umm idk exactly how to phrase this but like self harm but not in a suicidal way.

~

Nobody believed me.

My mother called it depression. ADHD. Anxiety. My father, he didn’t call it anything. He couldn’t even look at me. I collected diagnoses like pins. ‘Dissociation.’ ‘Bipolar Disorder.’ ‘Psycosis.’ I was just a checkbox on their list of tasks for the day. Nobody listened.

I knew something wasn’t right.

I felt it in the way I moved, my steps too precise. I heard it in the way my thoughts zipped into my brain, fully formed before I even thought them. I smiled at the right times, laughed at the jokes. But I felt nothing.

I wasn’t paranoid. I was being controlled.

I started testing myself, testing them, waiting for a glitch in the code. I stayed up for days without sleeping, went days without eating. I held my hand over the stove, hoping for proof, anything to show that I was right. But my body just kept going on. Perfectly, too much so.

I can’t take it anymore.

As I’m writing this, I sit in my bathroom, the lights above my head shining bright, too bright. I grip the blade in my hand, not nervous, not scared. I was excited, in a way. Everyone would be proven wrong.

I dug through my skin searching for the wires they hid in me, but all I found was flesh.

As I bleed onto the cold tiles, there is no pain. Only betrayal, hot and pulsing red like the flesh in my arm, mocking me.

There are no wires.

No one controlling me, no one pulling the strings.

That means every fake smile, every conversation I regret, it was all me.

And that is the most terrifying thing of all.

@liz hope you’re okay < / 3 this feeling of destruction to feel something is something I relate to as well

OH DAMN THE NON-TWIST-PLOT-TWIST GOES CRAZY LIZ 🔥

also, I can give your other story a deeper read through over the weekend and offer feedback! I’ve been busy with work training and school stuff as my semester starts

edie-may ☆✞ wrote: "OH DAMN THE NON-TWIST-PLOT-TWIST GOES CRAZY LIZ 🔥"

thank you!!

aamyx wrote: "also, I can give your other story a deeper read through over the weekend and offer feedback! I’ve been busy with work training and school stuff as my semester starts"

i actually was talking about the one in the same message as that, but now re-reading it I see that it was worded weirdly, sorry! I would love feedback on anything though <3

GIRL YOU ATE THAT UP SO HARD THO LIZ
i love your writing style and your concepts!

alex wrote: "GIRL YOU ATE THAT UP SO HARD THO LIZ
i love your writing style and your concepts!"

aww omg thank you xx

you guys are too kind i fear

i found this in my notes app.. it shows i added it at like3 am a few days ago but i lowk don't remember writing it. its pretty rough but i'm just gonna post it how it is!

``

one night, i dropped my phone under the bed.
it rolled too far, i couldn't reach it.
after a few seconds of struggling, a hand passed it back to me.
''thank you'' i said.
wait-

@liz LMFAOOOO

aamyx wrote: "@liz LMFAOOOO"

don you know its nonfiction~ hehe

here’s a little excerpt from book 2 of my wip trilogy! (i wrote this at like midnight so it’s not that great.)

In this world, surrounded by chaos, loss, and failures, the smallest wins can mean the most. Finding a single letter, learning just one more name, getting one step closer. That means everything.

Now imagine what a victory as great as this one feels like.

The hideout is loud. People cheer. Katelynn’s already on top of a table, leading a series of chants. Rowan’s still sat, hands folded as he watches her with concerned, confused, but also joyful eyes. Smiles are everywhere. And yet, I can barely muster up the strength to keep mine up.

I slip away in the bustle of the celebration.

My feet take me across the land, illuminated by grey moonlight.

Grey surrounds me. The rocks, the light, that exact shade of grey-blue on my hood.

I can’t seem to escape it these days.

Yellow also can’t seem to leave me alone.

The stars, the blazing sun that shines perfectly bright during the noon.

I can’t seem to escape them these days.

I perch myself up at the ledge. It seems as if i’m eye level with the moon and slightly shorter than the stars. The sun is a star, I remind myself. That yellow light never disappears. It’s the sun during the day, bright and warm. During the night, it accompanies the moon, never leaving, even when the moon can’t be seen.

I’ve sat just like this many times in the past. Under trees, under gentle beams of sun, people around me. Two people, specifically. And those two people just won’t leave me alone.

Having clear, unchangeable memories like mine is blessing and a curse. I remember things exactly as they happened. Which means I can’t trick myself to believe something else, and I can’t forget the things I don’t want to believe.

I can see that look.

Hazel, yellowish eyes fixated on mine, brimming with tears, gleaming like the sun. I burn under that gaze, because of shame and guilt.

I didn’t want to leave.

That unforgettable combination of blue and grey, its cold, distant appearance. Anger, annoyance, hurt.

I didn’t mean to cause that last one.

I said that we’d see each other again.

All I can do now is believe.

I stare down at my left hand. The hands that once grasped the bow of a violin or the end of a pen now hold the hilt of a sword. Once stained with paint, now stained with blood. And I don’t feel sorry.

Because if that’s what it takes to get back, I’ll do it.

I feel a force pull me away from the ground. Like the moon pulls the tide.

I feel the ghost of a hand on my chin.

‘Stop sulking like that. You look like me.’

I bite my lip as the memories flood back.

‘Would you like me to hit the negativity out of you? I can.’

I put a hand over my ribs. I never thought I’d wish to be punched right now.

I’ll see them again. I have to.

I made a promise, didn’t I?

sieraqvt🇻🇳 semi-ia (school) wrote: "here’s a little excerpt from book 2 of my wip trilogy! (i wrote this at like midnight so it’s not that great.)

In this world, surrounded by chaos, loss, and failures, the smallest wins can mean t..."

i love this! lmk if you want a topic to post your book!