Rate the Story Game, número tres

Seven.

--

Slip beneath the ocean covers, into restless sleep and breathless dream. Dive into the wild abandon at the bottom of the day. The beach crashes with the end of consciousness. The jaded, jutting edge of dry land comes tumbling down. Sail away on a pillow of foam. Hear the echoes of reality inside sea shells as the shore grows distant.

Now, you’re swimming. That’s the way, out where the kraken lunge and the continental shelf plunges into blackest ink. Go where the kelp forests are long and ropey, whispering in the current like a thousand green, anchored and stretched souls, reaching out with long leaves to stroke the passing fishes. Go where the manta rays are gliding phantoms and phantasms, skirting the roundness of unseen, glassy bowls. Go where the tangle of life is at its thickest.

I see you, long and silver, like a dart. You’ve become something else, something prehistoric, with a monstrous, hoary, corkscrewed nail at the end of your devil’s finger. I see you transformed by magic, and you see me.

You see the sea, and it waves.

--

From Waves.

9. The imagery is beautiful.

-

The party dissolved around them, re-forming into a park blanketed in white. The spirit directed him to two figures near a bridge; a different Greg, a different Clive. With a sinking heart, Greg approached them.

“Yet again, you postpone our wedding,” Clive said, staring out over the water.

“It can’t be helped,” the younger Greg replied, leaning against the stone wall. “How can we get married now? Business at the theatre is poor; we’re barely making enough money between us to live well.”

“There was a time when you cared more about the performances than whether there was a profit.”

“I can’t afford to think like that now, we have to be practical.” Greg watched as his past self bushed snow from his shoulder. “Clive, I’m doing this for you. I love you.”

Clive smiled sadly. “That might have been true once,” he said, slipping the engagement ring from his finger. “I don’t it’s true anymore.”

“Clive-”

“Gregory, I can’t live in this purgatory any longer. Each year, you put off our marriage, finding some poor excuse. You seem to care more about money than you ever did about me, and I think you stay only out of a sense of loyalty, not out of love.” Clive dropped the ring into Greg’s unwilling hand. “So I will release you, and wish you all the best.”

Both Gregs watched as the Englishman walked away, and the only person who called after him was the one who couldn’t be heard.

“I should have gone after him,” Greg said angrily. “Why didn’t I go after him?” He slumped against the bridge’s wall. “God, I was an idiot.”

“He wrote to you several times,” the spirit said as the younger Greg slipped away.

Greg nodded. “But I never replied to him. First I told myself I was too busy, then that I didn’t care. By the time I managed to convince myself, the letters had long since stopped.” Greg buried his head in his hands. “Spirit, why do you delight in torturing me?”

“These are the shadows of the things that have been. They are what they are, do not blame me.”

“Please, just take me home.”

The spirit didn’t answer. When Greg looked up, he found himself sitting in his bedroom, alone.

-Scrooge

8.

--

“So…” began the man in black; “you’ve finally given up…”

A wry smile formed across his face as he finished his sentence. Coolly he drew a glass of red wine closer to his lips, taking a sip and returning it to the glossed oak table at which he sat with an intimidating calmness. His harsh features were accentuated by the terrible glow of flames that poured through the windowpanes on either side of him; piercing dark eyes, neat jet-black hair with a small goatee beard, sharp cheekbones and between them a similarly pointed nose. A black dinner jacket covered what appeared to be a robust body with skin as deep and dark as white skin could be.

The room was a small one, the ceiling low and playing host only to a single light bulb with a plain white lampshade, the breezeblocks forming a wall similar in colour and creating a clinical and restrictive feeling. The only other sources of light were four evenly shaped, evenly spaced windows, one on each wall, letting through the terrifying, deep red shades of a dying world. The air inside was dry and unpleasant, and the smell of smoke hung there, caught from outside and ever intensifying.

The dark figure continued his confident gaze at the man sitting opposite him, a man not dissimilar to himself, but with bones less imposing, softer irises, lighter hair and a near-white cream-coloured suit. A beautifully crystal-clear glass of water stood before his hands, and he too wore an assured smile on his face, if somewhat gentler. He did not respond to the first man, meaning that the only sounds to be heard were the distant rumbles of thunder and licks of flame from the landscape outside the room.

The man in black clasped together his hands.

“You’ve finally come to realise that it was all just a waste of time,” he continued, almost condescendingly. His deep, rich voice reverberated off the walls, practically shaking them as much as the earthquakes outside. It implied intelligence, thoughtfulness. He watched intently, as the second man continued to remain silent while taking a calm sip of water. “Tell me honestly; did you genuinely expect everything to work out the way you wanted it to?”

- [untitled, work in progress, hopefully posting soon].

8.

---
Pale skin exposed to the steam left behind from a smoldering hot shower, she stood in front of the mirror examining her body. This was a routine for her, something she would do before going out into the cruel world. She'd stand there simply staring at her reflection. No, she wasn't vain by any means, and she didn't exactly hate herself. This was just something that she did and she really had no explanation for it.

Gray eyes scanned and examined every piece of her being. Her blonde hair still soaked dripped water onto the soft white rug. When normally she would let it air dry, today she had to actually make it look somewhat presentable. If she knew anything about the outside world it was that one would be looked down upon if their hair was wet and it had not rained.

Her eyes didn't stop there. They continued down the length of her nose, lips, down the curve of her neck, around the plump breasts rising and falling slowly, and down the recently hairless legs. Everything seemed to be intact and in one piece. Nothing was where it shouldn't be. She was finally satisfied just enough to begin getting ready for the day that she wished she could just sleep through, but even she knew that food was necessary and there was barely any in the house.

7. I'm not really a fan of this scene in any story or book, really, but it's well-written.

---

We are older now. We are not children. There are no more drawings on faces on pictures stuck to the refrigerator next to a three month old grocery list scribbled on a Post-It note. There are no more kisses sticky-sweet with Red Bull and pink Starbursts. There are no late night couch cushion forts to watch Disney movies and forget about whatever pain had lead to the game of Hide and Seek. There are no fleeting touches and meaningful looks without the thought of sex.

There is us.

There was us.

Now there is me. I am not a child. I am a jaded empty shell of a human being who searches for a replacement for the man he loves in empty one night stands with perfect creatures with tiny breasts and sad eyes. I am a poet with perpetual writer's block who dips his empty pens in vodka bottles before drinking the bitter poison down, taunting death and not really caring how close to edge I go before someone pulls me back. Bittersweet taste of remorse when the edge goes slipping and reality starts to get less blurred around the edges.

--uneverything; potentially ryden

8. It really is written quite beautifully, and the vivid description is just amazing. But there are a few sentences in there that are a bit run-on without any sort of punctuation to break them up; for instance, a comma or semi-colon. If those were fixed up a bit, it'd be a solid 10, definitely.

---

Kate crawled backwards on the grass, in complete disbelief of everything that had just occurred. Liam had left her, Kara was dead, and those things were now crowding together over her body, devouring it inch by inch. Kate whimpered, as everything around her came into view. There were more; dozens, coming from every direction, accompanied by screams that sounded like they were coming from blocks over. It was happening everywhere, all over town; starting with the road block near Brian, and spreading.

Upon this realization, Kate slowly stood up. The motion alerted the approaching walkers, as well as a few of the ones near Kara, and they began heading the younger girl’s way. Her throat was dry, worn out from all the screaming she’d already done, so she only cried as she backed up toward the porch.

Giving her sister one last, devastated look, Kate bounded up the steps and into the house, slamming the door behind her with a thunderous crack.

-The Road to Nowhere

This thread needs more love

8. Liked it a lot, but it just seemed like something was off, as if you're just throwing all of these details onto the reader at once. Also I dislike 3rd Person written in past tense, so that may have something to do with it

---

Madison hears Nicolai growl low and deep in his throat before he begins sprinting into the darkness. Without hesitation, Madison follows, letting a primal snarl erupt from his own muzzle as he charges forward.

They aren’t prepared for the situation in front of them. A cow lays dead, being ripped apart by at least twenty-something corbuli. Madison had expected some kind of herd to be lurking here, but not this many. Nicolai rushes forward regardless, immediately tearing the first few corbuli apart while they still have the advantage of surprise. Madison follows behind him, further mutilating the undead monsters that have managed to escape a beheading from Nicolai’s razor-sharp claws and teeth.

They finish the job in a record amount of time, viciously shredding through the corbuli within a matter of seconds. Nicolai has managed most of them by himself, only a few of them getting past him to Madison. As things calm down and the atmosphere begins to settle once more, Madison further takes in his surroundings.

The barn’s interior isn’t much different from the outside. Sunlight streams in through cracks in the wooden planks, and the ground is dirty and seemingly… rotten. A loft sits almost squarely in the middle of the building, four different ladders spanning up to it. The barn itself is immense in size. A skeleton lies in the corner, every bit of flesh and muscle ripped from its frame. Flies surround the cow’s carcass, buzzing about, now spreading to further beset the killed off corbuli.

Madison shakes the blood and rotten flesh from his fur, slinging it all over the walls of the barn and pawing at a chunk of flesh lodged in his eye. He and Nicolai proceed to check every single inch of the building for more corbuli before changing back into their human forms.

Blood and Thunder: Chapter 2

[@ violent veins Oh my goodness, you'll never believe I read something from like pages ago; forgive me]
10. This is just lovely -- and I mean that in the way like, I never would have picked this up, and I am enthralled. I am so interested and almost confused because what? I will definitely be looking into it.
-----
Lizzie found a corner to curl up in, a very close to broken orange couch just inside the entry way, and took in the scene. She had been to parties, of course, but much smaller ones, with friends she knew relatively well, and would often partake in the pastime of finding a friend of a friend, a cousin visiting from New York, a normally recluse roommate and took him home with her. Every situation was the same -- since she couldn't sleep with a second body in her bed, she would be awake early enough to make a bagel and hand it to him on his way out, telling him she couldn't remember getting off and what was his name anyway? That would enchant them, and then they would try dating, and sometimes it would last a few months, but mostly a few days or weeks. John had the shortest lifespan, only three days when he dropped her off at her place and threw an 'I love you' at her out the window before driving off. Lizzie lost his phone number after that.

This had been going on since she first went out with her roommates freshmen year, and she was usually at least buzzed entering a party. Lizzie searched from an abandoned cup on the table, then reminding herself of all those party-safe rules they told you in college classrooms, in high schools, in grade schools. But the room was so full of people in costumes -- a pig, a set of cartoon characters, some Batman villain in a dress, and a multitude of cats -- and no one would be safe to spend the night with, considering she had hardly shared two words with the girls they had traveled with. Maybe she should have taken her medication for once and decided not to drink at all.
Bouncing over to her comes Ruby, spinning in a circle before narrowly missing Lizzie's knees with a splash of jungle juice. "Oh my dear sister! Do be careful where you sit, would you?" She pulled her knees to her chest once she was seated, offering Lizzie a drink.

"You know, I was only kidding," she continued as her sister hesitated. "I'm very sorry I almost solid your pretty white skirt."

"I'm just wondering what you're drinking. What's in that?" Lizzie frowned, eyeing the cup Ruby still held.

"Oh, it's just juice!" She beamed. "It's delicious, don't worry. Try it! There's hardly any alcohol in it, I think. I've had two cups already and I don't feel a thing!" She drank as she pushed the second cup into Lizzie's hands, who gave in and gave the drink a try. Fruity, she guess, and awake. But very strong.

"Ruby, honey, maybe you should slow down a little -- "

"Shut up, Liz." Ruby whipped her head around, swaying only slightly. "I'm trying to make friends. You can sit on the couch all night and be just fine, and you can make me look foolish for telling all my new friends how wonderful and fun my sister is and just watch us enjoy ourselves and that's just fine. You get to go home in the morning, but I have to stay here."

"Ruby, I'm only -- "

"Only what?"

"I'm only looking out for you."

"Well just shut up!" Ruby's face crumpled immediately, fierce anger melting into inconsolable sadness. "Oh, Lizzie, I'm so sorry I just don't fit in here at all and I'm so frustrated with not having anyone to eat lunch with that actually cares about what I have to say and doesn't have someone else they would rather hang out with, and I am so tired of feeling like I'm less than everyone else just because I don't know what I want out of life or who I am or what I'm like and I'm so sorry Lizzie, please don't be mad."

"Ruby, stop it. It's fine. You're way drunker than you realize. I'm not offended, I just don't want you getting hurt." The younger smiled, face still twisted with almost-about-to-cry-ness. "Would you put your legs down? Or sit on them or something? You're in a dress."

"I just told you I'm trying to make friends." Ruby rolled her eyes, but stomped her feet flat onto the floor anyway.

-"Cleaner", a severe work in progress.

@ Judas Ryden
But... it's not Star Trek? Your comment is also unexpected because most of my readers feel I don't have enough of a structure.

10. You have an eye for detail and dialogue and god all of these characters seem so amazing and I love it. Absolutely no complaints.

---

It’s corrupted. Madison’s never seen one before, but he’s heard the tales. Legends of lupir that haven’t drank enough blood and have been stuck in between forms while trying to change. It sends shivers up his spine just thinking about it.

In one fluid motion, the monstrosity has snatched up a rat in its claws. It breaks the animal’s spine with a single twist of its hands before it begins to tear the animal’s intestines out, grunting happily when the blood and flesh hit its mouth.

Nicolai faces Madison slowly, trying to help calm him down. But he can’t. Nothing can now. Seeing this... thing is already giving him nightmares.

Blood and Thunder: Chapter 4

8. The description is gruesome and pretty awesome, but it feels too... rushed, I suppose? I can't quite explain it, something about the sentence structure seems off to me. It's very good though. :3

"I'm late. I'm late.

That peaked her interest even more. A talking rabbit? It sounded so absurd.

Alice ducked under the tangle of branches that it had disappeared under, wincing when the wiry thorns raked back her blonde hair.

I'm late. I'm late. The rambling could still be heard, and despite the prickling pain and the overwhelming, musky scent of overturned earth, Alice followed the sound eagerly, trudging through the bushes on her hands and knees.

By the time she had emerged, blue dress stained with blackened mud and purple berry juice, the little white rabbit had already darted into its hole. And what a strange hole it was, too. Gaping and pitch black, like the mouth of a monster, watching and waiting under the cool shade of a giant oak tree.

Alice kneeled next to the giant mouth, peering inquisitively inside of it.

"How strange." She murmured to herself. It was impossible to see anything, so with a deep breath she leaned even further into the hole, nails digging into the grassy ground to steady herself.

Where had that rabbit gone?

Apparently she leaned forward a little too far, because a second later she found herself tumbling into the mouth of the monster."

White Rabbit, posted. An Alice/10th Doctor story I'm doing for a contest.

Eight. It's written well, but it felt extraordinarily familiar. I'm sure the story itself is great, I just wish I'd been able to sample and rate something else, yknow? But I do like it, @paracosm
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At this point, the air has grown stale, but he still can’t find enough motivation to get out of the car or turn it back on and go home. The August heat has warmed the car back up just enough to make him uncomfortable with the window shut, but he refuses to wind them down. He’s getting out in a minute, he tells himself, in the same way he has for the last 45. There’s no point in rolling down the windows when he’s just about to get out.

He takes the keys out of the ignition and lets his hands fall back into his lap. Just another minute.

Kay had already called him once, and what would he say if she called again? He eyed up her house, a dim light on in the living room and another, brighter one in an upstairs bedroom. Hers. When he does finally approach the house, he imagines her taking her time letting him in and claiming that she was preoccupied upstairs so that it doesn't look like she was becoming anxious or needy. The thought grounds him to the driver’s seat.

-Like Bonfires, unposted

10. I can seriously find nothing wrong with it. You create a rushed kind of atmosphere with the word choice and really show how the character is feeling. I... I love it. I don't even.

---

The Hunter's Trill

8.5

---

It was only in the moments before his first appointment of the night that Dean wished he could see a single focal point which was the determining factor of how his life would turn out. Sure, he could scrounge together some pathetic excuses, like, ‘my father was neglectful and abusive’ or ‘my little brother ditched me for some fancy law school friends’, and while they weren’t exactly wrong, Dean was a man, and a man took responsibilities for his mistakes rather than blaming it all on the other people in his life.

Still, Dean thought it would be nice if there had been one clear moment in his life that he could see as the beginning of the end. The point where it all went wrong, so to speak. ‘The fire that killed Mom,’ he always thought, but it would be replaced with a snapshot of his younger self and Mom, comforting her when Dad yelled, wiping away her tears as if he was the man of the house. A gradual descent rather than a sudden turn on an unwanted path, as if he had been born just to end up in a shitty town on the outskirts of a city with his ass in the air for men who hid their sexualities behind expensive suits and shiny wedding rings.

All except for Cas. After all, there were always exceptions to any rule, and a hell of an exception too – the way he stared at Dean with such an intensity and seriousness that at times it left him breathless, the way he said his name as if he was actually an important person, the same outfit that looked like every tax accountant he had ever seen in his life… These were only a taste of what made his returning client so unique, but Dean couldn’t help but like to think of these things as he waited, smiling into a crisp pillowcase with his pants around his ankles.

Some guys threw the money down on top of him, Dean thought as he counted the cash in between clients, while he was still sweaty and at least partially naked, as if he wasn’t anything more than some kind of machine and therefore barely deserved the respect of an inanimate object. Others placed it on the table or the nightstand, so mortified by their actions that they can’t even bring themselves to give him a farewell glance before they leave. Cas has been the only one to actually hand him the money, their fingers brushing together as he took the neat stack of dollar bills, those blue eyes watching every movement. 20, 25, 45, 95, 145…

A small knock interrupted his counting, and Dean quickly stuffed the money into a small tin, and then shoved the tin into a drawer before answering. “Come on in, Cas.”

- incomplete supernatural au.

8

---

It was raining outside the hotel room, but no one cared. The action was surrounding a young, beautiful woman on the main floor, in the ballroom, singing her heart out to the crowd. She was beautiful, with flowing blonde hair and bright blue eyes. She wore an extravagant dress that entangled her body, fanning out at the bottom and long enough to only touch the ground softly. Behind her was a small orchestra, playing violins and cellos and a harp. They melody they composed was beautiful and moving, and as soon as I laid eyes upon her I knew who it was: Ada Skald.

The lights shined onto her golden dress, which reflected the light like a dim disco ball back into the crowd as they danced slowly to the sound of her voice. I was overcome with strong sadness and heartache again, like at the dinner table, but this was much stronger than before—like a brutal pounding on a door. I felt as if that door was about to collapse from the beating, but I tried to keep myself together.

After the show, Ada made her way to the penthouse suite at the top of the tall building. She had a great view in her room, with a large royal bed with curtains hanging down on either side. There was a large window overlooking Paris with the Eiffel tower just in sight across the street. The lights were orange and illuminated the night and the tower like stars here on Earth.

Ada walked in, unaccompanied, and closed the door. She went to take off her earrings, but instead met with a dark creature standing in the center of her room. She stopped, stunned at the sight, and the creature didn’t hesitate to take advantage. It jumped at her and she had no choice but to scream at the top of her lungs. It easily brought her to the ground, shaking her about and slamming her head into the carpet and trying to tear open her dress. I reached my hand out to help, but I couldn’t; I wasn’t there, I was elsewhere, without the ability to help or to speak. I felt powerless.

They rolled in a heap and bumped against a nightstand, which had a large vase sitting atop it. Ada stretched her arm up, grasped the vase, and brought it down hard onto the Shadow’s head. It squealed loudly, fidgeting and scurrying off of her across the room. It screeched at her and as soon as help arrived and the door opened, the thing flung itself out the window.

--The Shadow Hunters

9. It's really, really vivid, but the sentences are somewhat choppy, which I love if it fits the storyline.

Pitch:

There was nothing like the way the thick waters pooled around his feet as he walked, or the constant smell of damp decay that always lingered in his nose even after he was long gone from the underground. He sometimes watched the rats scurry through the darkness, their small feet a capella symphonies against the cool concrete, and wondered what it could be like to be so carefree.

He didn't love the underground, nor did he hate it. It was a part of him as much as his surely filthy hands. It was as much his home as the blue sky above - so many dozens of feet above. He smiled, dragging a cold-stiffened hand along the wall beside him. Just for reassurance. He knew where he was going,

It was as black as pitch in those sewers, but he didn't notice. He never had. There were far more vicious things in the darkness than shadows.

-Pitch (unposted)

20/10She pulled me close, treading water in the greenish haze. “Isn’t it beautiful down here?” she asked, her nose pressed against mine, that smile still on her face.

“Yes,” I nodded a little, “yes it’s quite amazing. I can’t believe this place exists.”

She was breathing harshly, pressing herself into me. She giggled once more, “I know, right? I’m not used to swimming this far, sorry.”

I laughed along. “No, no, it’s okay,” I said and allowed for her to wrap her legs around my waist.

She leaned back a little, making space between our faces. “I come here all the time when my dad tells me to go to my room,” she said, “It really helps to calm a person down, you know?”

I bit my bottom lip. I couldn’t bare staring into her eyes, they were so beautiful. That was the only word I could find to describe her: beautiful. When I looked at her now, my mind was jumbled, my tongue tied, and all I wanted to do was think about how beautiful she was and tell her how beautiful she was and just get lost in this wonderland with her. At that moment, in the dim green light, with her freckled pale face just centimeters from mine, her legs wrapped around my body, and her soft giggles echoing through the ravine, I knew I was in love.

“You know what else is beautiful?” I asked, mindlessly pressing myself even closer to her.

“Please don’t say me; that would be so cheesy I’d have to punch you.”from a struggle of shadows/the shadow hunters

10/10 because i beta'ed it and i think it's perfect and cuteWhen Byerley was younger it was popular to have oneself genetically modified in such small ways as eye or hair colour. In his many travels, he had been quite the subject of awe and fear among Medieval lords and ladies especially, as well as several star-systems' worth of human colonies and the occasional extraterrestrial, but the interesting thing about Byerley was that no one had ever met him━not that they could remember, anyways. It wasn't that he was not memorable━oh, was he━it was simply that Byerley did not exist yet.-uneverything
(PS: Byerley's a surname.)

10/10 - it's mysterious and intriguing. I can't wait to read the whole thing if you do post it.Her mouth was dry, and she swallowed, her tongue feeling like sandpaper. Her back hit the wall as the creature advanced.

She had two options.

Run.

Or fight.

She weighed up the pros and cons, the knives feeling heavy in her grip. She threw one with all her might, the blade tumbling over handle, with barely any curve to the flight. It was headed for the creature's chest, right where it's heart should be. It didn't pause in its movements, only continued to walk steadily forward as the blade pierced its body. The creature didn't stumble, or appear to be hindered in any way.From Stealing Diamonds From Eyes.

6.5/10 I feel as if the throwing could have been executed a bit better and the ending could have been more suspenseful.The darkness was seemingly everlasting. We navigated by hand on the damp wall, treading carefully on the stones beneath us. The smell was ever-changing; going from death to sewage to rotten food; the light was waning and then waxing like a moon from holes on the surface. There was one constant though, the familiar sound of rushing water. I focused on that the whole time, clenching my eyes shut and sticking close behind Blue as she led. I tried to think of the previous night, of the ravine; I tried to use the sound as a gateway to the waterfall, the swimming, the leg-wrapping, and the kiss.

When we immerged from the narrow tunnel, we came into the large main room. It was unlike anything I’d ever seen—it was hopelessly vibrant and amazing. The room was a full circle, with a waterfall opposite us allowing for water to cascade down into a small pool. At the foot of the water, some unfamiliar flowers sprouted from the sand. The whole place was in ruins; stone beams had caved in, the ceiling had large holes letting single rays of light in each. It was almost uninhabited, save for the two people climbing over the beams, cleaning up.

Again, I saw that symbol, large and painted upon the ceiling in black. It was bold, broken and cracked, but still clear enough to make out. I stood there, at the opening of the tunnel, looking up in awe over everything. And though it was bitter cold, I felt calm and warm.

“Well, boys,” Blue announced our arrival, climbing onto one of the fallen beams. It was one of those picture-perfect moments you only thought happened in movies: the light hit her just right; she stood tall, clapping the dust off of her hands. She looked like a leader, towering over the collapsed haven that had once been safe. That was what life was full of—once-beens. And right now, in this moment, Blue had once been a teenager. She had once been a follower; she had once been an underling. Now, she was a leader. “Let’s clean this shit up.”

8. I feel like the sentences were too choppy and the description a bit stark, but aside from that, I like it. Adventure's a wonderful genre.It was more than just a job for Emery Hunt. It had become over the course of a decade nearly an obsession, a game, an activity of leisure which he no longer treated as serious. It was simply life as he knew it━a geometric universe dotted with plottable perfect spheres of energy and gas and composed of literally ninety-nine-point-nine-percent nothing.- a very brief excerpt from The Long Dream, unposted