hey guys, remember me?


Sitting on a wooden box in his garden he felt the rain starting to fall. He wouldn’t go inside for another while. He was still watching the candlelight, fluttering about inside one of the windows on the second floor. She didn’t like to read in the electric light. The flame gave it a feeling of homeliness. He was sure that had been lost years ago. He was middle aged, perhaps a bit too middle aged, and he lit a cigarette and with the flame from his lighter and the flicked of her candle, he danced the final waltz, felt the final caress of love, the racing heart beats, the ebb and flow, the colour of her eyes, the length of her hair, the freezing touch of metal and with a bang he plummeted into endless darkness…

The ground was moist. He quivered.


“How on earth did I fucking miss that? It was such an easy shot but you had to go and miss it didn’t you!” he cried. “Barrel to the head and pull the trigger, what’s so hard about that?” he howled desperately. He unloaded what was left in the gun into his foot punishing himself. The pain was so intense that for a few minutes he closed his eyes and whimpered. When he opened them, all he saw was his wife’s silhouette aiming at him with a shotgun. He called out her name but the deafening shot drowned out the cry before she could hear him. “Now get out of my house and go rob somewhere else!” Silence took over the garden. The rain had stopped tinkering, the wind had stopped blowing, the bugs had stopped squishing and squirming. Terror started to invade every inch of her body. “Oh fuck. I just killed him. I fucking killed him.”

She ran over to the motionless body to look at who she had killed and with horror she realized she had just murdered her own husband. The hole in him lined up perfectly with his shirt pocket, where he kept his tobacco. Just above his heart. She saw his lighter on the ground and picked it up. Tears were fleeing from her eyes as she struck it and matched it’s flame with that of her candle in the second floor window. She danced the same waltz, the same caress, the same racing heart beats, the ebb and flow, the colour of his eyes, the length of his hair and the freezing touch of the wind, which took her life, her love and their souls.
hey kyrl. Long time no see.

I don't know about this. I am tired beyond the point at which I can give decent criticism, so I'll be back. Just so you have something already and a bump, I thought that line was a bit wordy :

"and he lit a cigarette and with the flame from his lighter and the flicked of her candle"

the triple "and" reads bad. There's something wrong here. anyway. Like I said, I'll be back with thoughts.
I'm not sure if I'm a fan of some of the wordings, and phrasings. But it was truly a great story. Don't put yourself down like that, and get into damn practice.
this was, not, that, bad.

it's a very good idea, and though i think that you could've filled this to the brim with unnecessary vividness and overt verboseness, you succeeded in telling the story in a bare minimum, which is fine.

So yeah, there could be more, but there's not - so I'm going to get over it now.
There's a road that leads to the end of all suffering. You should take it.

- Jericho Caine

secret, aaaaagent maaan.
secret, aaaaagent maaan.
Great idea. It was a little long and wordy for what it was trying to say though, imo. I had to read a few things over again to get what you were saying, pretty much what was stated above.

The content is still lovely though
Quote by Arthur Curry
it's official, vintage x metal is the saving grace of this board and/or the antichrist

e-married to
& alaskan_ninja

Very very enthralling story.

Really enjoyed the content. The whole part about hte "how'd you miss it" didn't seem frantic enough. The tone just didn't match up to what I would expect the thoughts to be going through. The caps lock 400 exclamation point thing was unnecessary and frankly ruined what should have been the turning point of the piece. Stand it alone, italics and a period. Make it resonate... with a deep thunderous voice... not the voice of a 12 year old htat just woke up late from school.

There isn't a whole lot to critique here... the content was good. The technicalities weren't bad... what this lacked was personality. Your story where the guy shot the rat or something like that (I remember reading it) had KYRL stamped all over it in Giant letters. It had you and your touch on every phrase. This didn't. This was a bit standardized. Good... but not great.

Read Poe if you haven't yet. Every chain of thought has his stamp on it in his pieces. He doesn't waste lines or space... he makes sure you know this is his story and he'll tell it how he wants to; god-damnit. You have the makings... now you need to own the story and take it places instead of just telling it.