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Taking Lacanoodles advice I decided to try and work on my favorite of my two recent writing ideas. I tried to write the paragraph summary then a full page. My full page went to about a page and a half but that just means I'm inspired right? I'd love to hear some feedback, its my first time writing again like this in awhile.

Deus Misit (Summary)

On a distant planet, under the light of twin suns, an astronomer and their apprentice make a startling discovery. A new star has risen in the sky. The people of the land take this as a holy sign, a blessing. Until that blessing takes the tangible form of a screaming fireball crashing through the skies and burying itself deep into the ground outside the city of Crux Mbl. As locals investigate the monolithic structure that now looms, they find the impossible. A voice and face not unlike their own. Though it speaks in a way they don’t understand, they cannot deny its beauty and grace. They begin to study it, unaware that what sleeps inside may not be the Gods they imagine.

Deus Misit (Page)

It was brighter now, the star that had appeared in the skies above Crux Mbl. It will be twelve sunrises today, once the Twins ascend into the sky, since the new star appeared causing a stir amongst the sprawling streets below. The first night, it was nearly unnoticed. Only a sole stargazer, an astronomer amongst their people, and their still young apprentice, saw its beginning. The second night, word had spread to other scholars, who made the long journey to the observatory, nestled on a sole butte behind the palace, to confirm this outlandish claim. They left the following morning with stiff lips and distant stares. The third and fourth nights, awareness had spread. Through murmurs in the marketplace, fearful glances cast into the sky at the dot that glows, even through the light of the Twins, or whispers of what was seen through crystal lenses pointed at the heavens. The fifth day came with a proclamation, a recognition of the new light as a blessing from the heavens gracing the face of Crux Mbl. The fears eased and Cruxites now smiled as they stared upwards. The nights leading up to now had been feast after festival, prayer after dance, exultation of the Gods shining their light through one more hole in the darkness. This is not to say all Cruxites felt this way. There were those who still cast eyes on the ominous, creeping glow, with mistrust. The astronomer Pherylindas, and their apprentice, Omus, watched from the domed butte. They watched as the blessing, this holy light, became something far larger than the rest. It became apparent that this star was falling. The pair tried to warn others, but the days of celebration combined with the majestic stupor of the very sky lighting with the bright yellow and orange glow of this falling star had rendered the population deaf. They merely watched, their metallic skin reflecting the splendor that blinded many that day. For a moment everything was still, The Gods had come. No moment can last forever, the stillness broke with a crash that threatened to split the very ground the Cruxites stood, danced, worked, and loved upon. Immediately after the crash came, The Judgement, buildings themselves bowed to the very majesty of the divine vessel that had graced the fields outside Crux Mbl. Recovery took time but was met with fervor. Cries of those that lay under rubble mix with cheers for the priests and scholars who gather to investigate what landed so near to their home. The gates open as a group of eight, all that could be spared from the relief efforts, leave towards the pillar of black smoke. They travel for an hour on foot, not far from the walls, but enough to give one a sense of scale. From this distance Crux is still tall, as a mountain is tall. What stood within the smoke, stood above the mountains, smoke at the top never quite dissipating the way the rest did. It appeared quite like a raindrop, only large portions of it bulged in unnatural ways. Two additional structures appear to be connected by narrow bridges, impossible to have survived such an impact with such fragile architecture. Yet here it stands in the face of those eight who would meet it. Greeting them further, a pale cerulean ghost apparates, as though from a staircase of light from the vessel itself. From the size of the sky, down to one of the Cruxites, it moves in a strange but not unfamiliar way. More shocking yet, it resembles them. Not so in the details, their forms are much straighter, their flesh is an array of golden hues, their eyes are clear orbs aligned vertically in their face, the only facial feature. In fact, the only natural distinguishing feature of these hairless people. Yet this cerulean messenger of the Gods, stands as they do, upon two legs. Waving two arms about a singular torso aligned with a singular head atop. Two of the priests begin to weep as the Messenger speaks, a sound as though water crashing into a great depth, unknowable in its content yet majestic in delivery. Pherylindas and Omus stared at the Messenger, while the priests fell into a blessed stupor. It began to speak again, waving a hand at itself, then the vessel, then all around. Then it flickered once and vanished. The eight return to the perceived safety of the walls of Crux Mbl, however looking back as the gate closes, it is clear the walls offer no protection from the sight of the Gods. Their vessel stands tall, into the clouds, glinting in the bright orange light of Crux In, The Youth, then bathed in the sterile white of Crux Ek, The Elder. The twelfth day has risen of Crux Mbl.

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cross-posted from: https://literature.cafe/post/15172722

cross-posted from: https://literature.cafe/post/15172721

cross-posted from: https://literature.cafe/post/15172719

Hey everyone, I am working on a project for a science fiction college class. Initially I wanted to post a couple short stories I had ideas for on here, I still would like to do that. However as I started brainstorming and planning I realized one writing idea was longer form than a short story. So I still would like to post my short story once it is writing but I was wondering how people who write on here tend to actually start their writing, how much planning happens before ink hits paper as it were? Also how much help can newcomers find on Lemmy? I'd like to do a presentation on Lemmy as a resource similar to how reddit is commonly used. Any help would be appreciated!

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We all love Calvino. This is one of his great stories.

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You probably remember this, many have read this already

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Do check this out!

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A 2 minute read but quite nice

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This is why I love short stories.

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Real short, real nice.

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Beautifully nostalgic. Give it a go

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The Bear by William Faulkner (chawkinsteaching.weebly.com)

Since winter is coming

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by me,

--

The hall before the vast arch was eerily silent. Strained to remain mute, it trembled with a tension that even the softest noise could shatter. The atmosphere, awash with a thick tranquility, was hazy with darkness and filled by a perfectly still, slightly warm air. The steady quiet was ceaseless, until interrupted by the soft shuffle of distant footsteps - the uneven gait of a limp.

Slowly, they approached, drawn towards the glow emitted by the arch. Amidst the gloom of the hall, it stood as a beacon of brilliance, shedding a rich radiance that cut through the dark. From its center originated an infinitely long thread of pure, tangible light, suspended midair and flowing across the hall, occasionally pulsing with sluggish twitches. As the traveler approached, the archway hummed a tone, inaudible yet inexplicably pleasing, indiscernible yet unsettlingly familiar - a nostalgic lullaby reminiscent of home, one that promised safety and solace.

Decorated with intricately carved linework, the arch protruded about a meter from the rotting stone walls and was, like much of the hall, overgrown with foliage and dense vegetation. The arch’s most prominent feature, however, was its threshold, which was an unnaturally bright tunnel that extended seemingly endlessly far into the wall. The thread came from this well of luminosity, a passage that stretched farther than the eye could see or the mind could fathom.

Now standing before the arch, the traveler slowed. A tall man with tired, furrowed eyes and a balding head, he craned his head and gaped at the beauty of the arch. He had come far, having traveled over the course of two weeks while deciphering immensely cryptic instructions from obscure letters, books, and journals he had luckily collected. Now, he had arrived; now, it could all be over. Still, even being so close to his destination, the man exercised caution, slowly approaching while eyeing the impossibly bright tunnel eagerly. The threshold contrasted the crushing darkness of the environment it inhabited so sharply, it had an almost alluring appeal. Now just steps away, he wallowed in the gratification it offered, yielding to the dulled mind it demanded. Its song irresistibly resonated within his psyche. Just a little further, and he’d be one with that blinding white.

The man abruptly stopped. Within his peripheral vision, he caught a glimpse of a figure. Ripping his attention from the arch, he snapped his eyes from its threshold and turned his head away. Staring into the hall, the traveler allowed the darkness to soothe his burning eyes before losing his balance, assaulted by a wave of dizziness and nausea. Nearly collapsing to the ground, he stumbled while struggling to catch his breath. The man tried to recall what had broken him from the trance. Yes, a figure. But who else could be down here?

Panting heavily, the man squinted his eyes to dull the brightness of the arch as he scanned the surrounding shadows, desperate to see anything. Then, he found the figure once more. Sitting on the ground cross-legged, a woman of a small stature, lazily watching with a somewhat amused expression. How had he missed her before?

The man took a step back, clearly confused, and tentatively greeted her in a small voice, “Hello?” The traveler immediately cringed at the unintended volume of his voice. Though barely louder than a whisper, the words pierced the noiseless ambience with ease.

Clearly resisting the urge to laugh, the woman curtly replied, “Please, proceed as though you had not seen me.”

The man flushed with embarrassment, momentarily stunned at the situation. He took a deep breath to regain his composure, completely unsure how to proceed. How could anyone else possibly be here? The hall wasn’t exactly a tourist destination. Recalling what he had learned from the research required to find the arch, there were few who even knew of its location. Much of his information came from recounts of those who failed the journey. They each, by some means, learned of the arch and traveled there alone, only to either vanish completely or turn back, somehow dissuaded from continuing. Of those who certainly survived, the single constant was... Ah.

A mythical entity - typically described more like a natural disaster than a person - immortalized across every conceivable genre of fantasy, from tales of vengeful ghosts to books of faith. Of course the Warden, included in every recount of this journey, would be the final obstacle. How naive to assume that they were fiction. The traveler had every question to ask but could only sputter out, “You’re... real? You’re here?”

“I can imagine no other self, nor place I might be.” The Warden spoke flatly, clearly disinterested in holding such a conversation. She spoke with a subtle, indistinct accent, and with strangely archaic diction. Gazing emptily at the arch, her eyes betrayed no clear emotion or intent.

The man, deep in thought, unconsciously squeezed his face into a scowl. Perhaps even more surprising than the Warden being present was their form; given the legends, one could surely expect them to appear more formidable. Regardless, he had genuinely hoped that the arch itself would be truly unguarded. The traveler was far too exhausted to force his way through. As though already defeated, he sat down against the wall on the other side of the arch, preparing to talk his way through. “But why? Why are you here?”

“A question I, by rights, should pose unto you. You should not be here.” She paused, studying the man, then continued, “Your left leg is fractured, fastened by a makeshift splint; your neck bears scars of scratches, overtly from human nails; your attire is tainted by blood, though certainly not your own.”

For a long moment, neither spoke until the Warden, a slight grin creeping onto her face, continued, “Furthermore, you are encumbered by equipment in excess of need. Tell, why would one carry two bedrolls?”

With each sentence spoken by the Warden, the man’s face grew more pale. He hung his head, mind spinning again with dizziness. At that moment, he felt more fatigued than at any previous point in his life. In a hushed tone, voice trembling, he asked, “Can I return?”

“Most likely not.”

The words stung. The arch’s song permeated his thoughts, begging him to refuse, to ignore the Warden and just step through the threshold. It was right there. The traveler, torn, closed his eyes. “Why?”

“I know not. The birth of the Gate far antecedes my service, in ages long since forgotten. I merely serve to uphold the laws of those times.”

“But... I’ve come this far. And you aren’t stopping me, are you?”

The Warden tilted her head, her eyes now lit with slight curiosity, then admitted, “Indeed, a fair conclusion. Had I not willfully neglected my role, you would not stand here now. Had I heeded the expectations of my duty, you would never have known where to begin. From your perspective, it may seem cruel for me to oppose you only now.”

“All I’d have to do is step through that archway.”

“Yes.”

The man’s eyes shifted to the arch - it was so close. He carefully stood up, wincing in pain, and took a few steps forward. Why wasn’t the Warden resisting? All who reported an encounter with the Warden recalled greater opposition. Ignoring the arch’s allure, the man stopped and turned toward the Warden. In a suspicious and somewhat threatening voice, he said, “You never answered my question. Why are you here?”

The Warden closed her eyes and quietly replied, “I advise that you do not further delay your passage through the Gate, lest you be prosecuted for the attempt.”

“Knowing the Warden, we wouldn’t be talking right now if you wished to ‘prosecute’ me.”

“No. I shall happily fulfill my duty should the need for such violence arise.” Once again, a heavy silence fell between the two. However, she slowly reopened her eyes and was clearly considering the question. Finally, she sighed heavily. “Sit. If these insignificant matters concern you, I suppose I may afford some detail.”

The man, satisfied, sat back down, relieved to delay entering the tunnel. He did not quite feel comfortable crossing its threshold just yet.

The Warden drew a deep breath and began speaking, “In your time spent here, you have surely beheld the rivers of light that flow across the skies. Most who ponder their origin are blind to their nature; they believe the light must be celestial bodies akin to the stars and moons most recall from their pasts. Yet, the light is not an astronomical phenomenon but an interconnected stream of consciousnesses.” She gestured upward, toward the thread of light, a solid string of white that spilled from the tunnel of pure brightness within the arch, trickling and wobbling with a slow, pulsing movement. On closer observation, the thread was not one object but a dense, rushing cluster of countless infinitesimal particles flying downstream.

She continued, “From this sanctuary each branch stems, for its point is unique in its being along the edge of Lycoris. They linger above until terminating at one of many facilities, each as incomprehensibly ancient as this hall. The light withholds the minds and memories of countless departed creatures from the neighboring stage of life and deposits them here.

Whether they recognize this fact or not, many mistake Lycoris for an afterlife. In reality, it is no more an afterlife than the previous stage, from whence the light emerges. In reality, death exists not, for death implies finality. In reality, you are the subject of a single contiguous experience, albeit periodically interrupted by a change in scenery. This Gate is that interruption, the boundary between stages, the threshold of transition. And I, per the design constituted by the architects of experience, am the one who ensures this process remains wholly one-directional. I cannot stray from this location any more than you can stray from the cyclical stages of life you are fundamentally bound to.”

The two sat quietly. The man, lost in thought, stared at the river of light. The particles - the lives - had no shape, color, or texture and moved too quickly to study. It was a beautiful, if uncanny, sight. Eventually, he softly asked, “If I’m bound to these stages of life, then what happens when I cross the Gate?”

The Warden smiled slightly, as though satisfied by the question. “I know not for certain. The possibility has bothered me for as long as I recall, and yet with irony, it is my duty to ensure that the answer remains perpetually beyond grasp. Many sought the discovery - all have failed by my hand.”

At that moment, the man had a realization. It all made sense. The letters, the journals, the books - he had learned of the Gate from them, but now it was clear how he ever found them. She had said so herself that, without her interference, he would have never known where to start. Voice threatening to break, he whispered, “...You’re using me.”

“Yes.”

“From the very beginning, you took advantage of me. You pulled the strings to make me come here.”

“Yes.”

“And everything that happened... Everything I did was your fault!”

The Warden looked at the man. Speaking clearly, she said, “No. Your transgressions are your own, and only by the nature of Lycoris did you fail to know the depth of their severity.” Subtly nodding to the evidence of his crimes - the wounds he bore and the blood that stained him - she went on, “Though I know not the physiological consequences of return, this much is apparent: cross the Gate of Lycoris, and the burden of your sins shall be yours alone to bear. You may crumple under the weight of your guilt. You may succumb to the gravity of your choices. You may surrender to the consequences you have sown.”

The man broke, tears threatening to flow freely. Breathing shallowly, he gasped, “I... can’t. I’m not ready to understand what happened. And if crossing the Gate will make me feel, then I don’t want to escape.”

“You believe you shall fail, that in confronting truth, you shall suffer. Yet with much the same justification, you sought to return to a life you once cherished and the responsibilities you left forsaken. You could not accept the transition, the change of scenery. Now, it is too late to accept either path in innocence.”

He sobbed, recalling his journey here, and his facade of confidence collapsed. “Please help me. I beg of you. You’re the Warden of the Gate, right? The arbiter of these... cycles, right? Please tell me what I should do.”

“No.” She stood and walked over to the man. Looking down on him, a mischievous smile formed. The Warden lingered for a moment, then quietly spoke, “Until you decide, you will neither rest nor see an end to your suffering. However, I am patient. I shall wait.” Turning away, she stepped into the shadows, leaving the man alone.

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OK this was the last one. Had to post a few for Halloween, sorry for the dump. No other day defines an entire genre so I couldn't let this opportunity go.

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The Outsider by H. P. Lovecraft (www.hplovecraft.com)

I've posted some more iconic of his works already. This deserves to be here too.

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Perhaps the most iconic of his works

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There's 3 ghost stories there, but the signal man in specific is what I wanted to highlight.

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Shiva, Open Your Eye by Laird Barron (www.nightmare-magazine.com)

Well, its also diwali

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Zombie By Joyce Carol Oates (www.newyorker.com)

Use bypass paywalls clean d.

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The Wishing Pool by Tananarive Due (www.uncannymagazine.com)

Do the woods do it for you? Well then this is for you

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Happy Halloween everyone. Gonna post a few horrors now!

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I know I just posted the story but I had to post this version too. I mnkw y'all love Christopher Lee

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