Senseless Death In Combat Should Have Been Something Ares Had Gotten Used To After So Long, But It Still

to my fellow writers:

i hope you find the strength to finish that chapter, to finish your outline, to edit a bit more, to be kind to yourself

He’s been chasing me for centuries for stealing that bottle. I’m not about to let him catch me now.

You drank a snake oil salesman’s drink only for it to make you actually immortal in the old west now 300 years later you see that same salesman

Who’s next?

If you're reading this...

go write three sentences on your current writing project.

Precipice

The sharp click of the switch

reverberates through the air

as you turn off the light in the laundry room

and step into the kitchen.

Your steps stutter to a stop

on the cool laminate sticking to your soles

when your mind catches on

the sliding glass door

in your peripheral. There is a man,

standing on the precipice

of where the porch light’s glow

is swallowed by the dark.

Balaclava and clothes carved from obsidian

tempt the night to draw him in. The dying

bulb above the door is just strong enough

to drag his silhouette into its illumination.

Your gaze latches on

where his should be, instead

two brimming pools of black abyss

stare back, looking through you.

Your head is screaming,

“Don’t look too closely!

He might be real

this time.”

Wind wails against the walls outside,

the house creaks and groans in protest

and leaves scrape bark branches

as their trees bend with the gust.

The sudden sounds steal

air from your chest in

a sharp gasp. Muscles tense

and your eyes slam shut.

Dissipating

in the darkness,

the vision is gone

when they snap open again.

Your recurring apparition

leaves less fear

lingering in your blood now.

So,

Push your shoulders back

and wrench the weight

of anxious paranoia

off your chest.

You'll finish getting

ready for bed but

even though you know

there’s nothing there,

the shadows still seem

to whisper your name

and cling to you

in the night.

- A. Yenzer

World of Pain

Kingdom of the sick;

Where chronic illness reigns supreme

and suffering is everyday

but we peasants manage anyway.

A sea of pain and patience

Pumping through our veins.

Saltwater heals but gives us strife,

and infects just like a dirty knife.

A hollow tree

Once full of life;

Now infested.

Drained by self-made

Parasites.

- A. Yenzer

You will delve into the depths of your emotional dumpster fire and gorge the rodents on the remnants of your imagination, suffering for inspiration with the rest of us.

You will not use AI to get ideas for your story. You will lie on the floor and have wretched visions like god intended

Overstimulated

A rumbling, thundering storm

Of sunshine and perfume.

Bright light that feels like daggers

in your eyes and temples;

While you suffocate in the scent of

Flames and fruit.

A tidal wave

Of loud noise and pin pricks.

Swollen eardrums

Throbbing in time to

the sound of blood pounding past them

As needles burn your skin

Taste the only safe space

To harbor love for sweet

And sour, too.

Where bitter and umami,

Break through the pain

To you.

- A. Yenzer

reblog if you believe fanfics are as valid as books that were published and sold by authors who write as their main careers. I'm trying to prove a point

Spoiler alert: it’s a parent trap situation

You are a god whose most devout follower is marrying your rival God’s follower. Normally that wouldn’t be a problem except you both are asked to bless the union, and for that both of you must attend.

Fallen soldiers, from wars old and new, never stop fighting. They just have a different war to fight.

Sailors who die on sunken ships fight the monsters of the deep from pulling the ships of the living down to the depths. Ships with smashed hulls and broken masts, submarines with gaping holes in their sides rise from their graves at the bottom of the ocean and protect the living from the monsters of old.

Pilots of the newer wars have found themselves fighting the ones who can fly, the monsters that would steal a child off the street or a beloved pet from their yard. Until the first of these new fallen, attempting to fend the flying ones off was almost futile. But now ghost planes with broken wings and burning engines patrol the skies.

Warriors struck down on the battlefield fend off the monsters of the land from taking the souls of the living that walk the earth. Their axes and swords, bows and arrows, even calvary horses are some of the only things that allow the living to believe fairy tales are just tales.

A soldier never stops being a soldier, even in death. To them, it’s worth everything. To continue protecting those they love and all who come after.

- A. Yenzer