"...meaning it was being transported across continents. This wasn't some profound engineering miracle, this was something entirely normal just..." The heat was loud. 
It sounded dull but still drowned out the trivial history facts Toby liked to listen to. He swore the time would eventually come in conversation to pull one out, and then they'd see why it was so important for him to listen to them every time he drove Gina's mom's car.

The sun was so bright. It painted Ela's small, chubby face and gave it a creamy glow while he slept soundly in his ash gray car seat. Gina shifted in her seat and then stretched her arm out to block her baby brother from the sun. Her necklace carved its way into her skin.
She should not have worn this necklace.

The parking lot was sloped, and as the patched up, once white Hyundai curved in, Gina reached out and held down some of the luggage she'd stuffed in the trunk hurriedly after she'd been woken at 5.12am by Toby, her mom's supervisor who'd started sleeping at their house almost a year ago now in October, a month and a half after she got a new job and started working again. Gina's bright purple stuffed octopus, Tickle, flopped off unto Ela's lap. She held her breath. He sniffed, but then turned his face away from the sun and kept breathing in little hums. She exhaled, then huffed. 

She wished Toby wouldn't drive her mom's car anymore. He always made such sharp turns.

*****

The walls were a faded teal, and the peeling bumps on it almost made the room feel smaller. Gina rested her right arm on the cold marble while Ela's tiny slimy fingers held on tightly to her left one. He was awake now, done with his sucking on his right thumb, and now fully focused on his other thumb while Tickle stayed firmly tucked under the arm he held onto his sister with.

She was standing straight and feeling very grown up now that she was finally tall enough to see over the counter at hotels and pharmacies. Really any counter. She hit a growth spurt over the summer, and although she was very proud of herself, her chest now felt heavy as the lumps that appeared seemingly out of nowhere pressed against the counter while she stood next to her mom. 

Toby was arguing with the front desk because he didn't have enough cash for the deposit. He had his card with him and it worked perfectly fine, so it just did not make any sense why they had to be so difficult and force him to pay in cash when literally NOBODY carried cash anymore. Couldn't they just charge it to his card and then refund him when it's time to leave the room? He didn't care if it would take an extra 10 business days to get the refund. He also didn't care if it was just the policy. It was a stupid outdated policy anyway. They need to change that or they would lose so much money because of their stubbornness when people refuse to book their rooms. 

Tina sighed, then grabbed her beaten-up, vintage, tan leather Gucci purse out of the big black shiny mom bag she got from Guess last October. She did not notice the flecks that loosened off the purse's frayed edges and fluttered to the ground as she opened it to pull out one of the last two bills she had and hand it to the front-desk girl to complete the deposit. Her brows were too busy huddling together as she watched Toby carefully.  Instead, she noticed the exact moment the scowl started to spread across his smooth face. She really did not want to demean him, but Gina already barely sleeps through the night as is, and it's even harder for her to go back to sleep after being woken up abruptly. She wanted to get all settled as soon as possible so Gina could have a real chance at a full night tonight. She also noticed the young, long-haired, desi front-desk girl relax her forehead as she handed her the bill.
Avani. Her nametag was hand written, and Tina only barely glanced at it before looking over at Gina. She pinched her cheeks and smiled when Gina swatted her hand away.

She appreciated her daughter for how much easier she made her life, but she could see how Gina's eyes were starting to get circled by a dark purple after one too many nights awake on the other side of the thin door that separated Ela and her from the rest of the collapsing two-bedroom apartment in Bedford-Stuyvesant, New York. Tina could always tell when she was there, no matter how much she tried to shrink and melt into the door while she had passionate, adult conversation with Toby about where the money for their bills would come from this month, and why does Tina have to act so immature and impatient, and who was that Toby was texting at dinner, and did Tina know that going through his phone was an invasion of his privacy.

Tina sighed as they trudged up the stairs, everyone except Ela pulling up some sort of luggage. The elevator had beeped loudly when they first pressed the button, and then stalled when it got to their floor, and then creaked and moaned as they filed in. They decided it would be best to take the stairs. It was only three floors up anyways, and the kids needed to stretch from the long drive.

As they walked up the stairs, the smell of burning tobacco wafted through the air and settled like a cloud above their heads. On the second floor, a tall, long-bearded, burly man in worn out jean overalls with one flap undone, a crisp white shirt underneath it, and dark work boots leaned against the wall looking out a window. He saw them and puffed some air out the window before turning to them. “Sorry guys, didn’t see ya there”

Tina nodded to him but grabbed Gina’s hand and pulled her closer to herself as they walked by him. She remembered a sign she’d seen downstairs. “No smoking within 5 feet of the building.” She gave him a stern look as she kept going up the stairs. He shrugged, then took another drag of his cigarette before going back to staring out the window. His eyes scanned the sky and the roads that surrounded the building over and over.

They only had one more flight to go, and Tina’s shirt was starting to stick under her arms. Beads of sweat dotted Gina’s wide forehead, and one particularly large drop made its way down her face. It dipped right between her eyebrows, then almost got in her eye before following the curve of her cheek and jumping off her chin right as they stopped in front of a room.

317

Tina pulled out one of the keycards Avani had given them. The door beeped twice before opening up to a cramped, dark, dingy room with a king sized bed by the wall and a small burnt orange couch in the corner next to the box television. The light blue and cream wallpaper was torn in places and stained in the others, and the indigo carpet that peaked out from underneath the bed frame was tiny and stretched.

The smell hit her as soon as she walked in, and made her head spin. It was a putrid combination of old gym socks and wet dog, and it reminded her that she hadn’t yet had a chance to eat anything today, while simultaneously making her nauseous. She pushed her big suitcase into the room and hurried over to the Air conditioning on the floor. She turned it on cold then set it to 67°, and then walked over and sat on the bed. Two houseflies danced around each other, and she heard a buzz behind her ear.

The scowl from before had reappeared on Toby’s face, so she pulled out her purse again and turned to her kids. “I remember seeing a McDonalds on the way over, and I think it had a playground inside.” Ela’s soft, toffee brown eyes widened in excitement. “You kids go for a walk and stop over there and get some ice cream.” She handed Gina a twenty dollar bill. “Play for as long as you’d like, but don’t be out too late. Toby and I are going to Sam’s later today and if we have to pick you guys up, we’re not getting any more of those fruity snack things.”

The kids turned and scurried out the room, but not before Tina called out to them. “What do you say?”

They left the door open and their voices carried out through hall “Thank you mummy.” Tina got up and shut the door, then turned to face Toby.

The book that I am currently writing and have been writing on and off since 2017 is finally as polished as I'm comfortable with for people to read. And I have finally started writing new chapters.

That said, I realised that even once it is finished that I am never going to bother trying to go the regular publishing route. So, I decided to publish on one of my favourite sites. I have my first five chapters published just this morning on the site with a two week backlog for daily scheduled releases currently. And many more that I just need to set up. I have enough to auto release chapters for the next five or six weeks maybe before I hit a wall. Which gives me plenty of time to work on the next set of chapters.

I am both nervous, terrified, and excited by this. Decades of writing for myself and finally I'm letting other people see my stuff. Got to say, I was not expecting to be this terrified!

Anywho. Yey! 🤣🫣

This happened seven years ago and I still think about it.

Was in an early stage of taking writing seriously. Sharing work in online communities, getting back the usual mix of encouragement and vague feedback that was kind and not particularly useful. Had started to suspect that the feedback loop I had built was comfortable rather than honest and was not sure what to do about that.

Posted a short piece in a writing forum. Not my best work, not my worst, something I had written quickly and shared without much expectation.

One comment came back from an account I had never seen before and never saw again. No preamble, no softening, just a single observation about what the piece was doing underneath the surface that I had not consciously known I was doing. They named something in the work that I recognized immediately as true and had not had language for.

Then they said something like the interesting version of what you are trying to do is over there and pointed in a direction I had not considered.

That was it. No other comments on that post, no further interaction, the account went quiet after that.

Spent the next several years writing toward the direction they pointed. Not because I was following instructions but because the observation had shown me something about my own work that I could not unsee once I had seen it.

Still do not know who they were. The comment is probably gone now, buried in a forum that may not even exist anymore.

Some feedback changes the trajectory of what you make and comes from the most unexpected places and disappears before you can properly acknowledge it.

Best places to write splatterpunk and alternatives to Google Docs?

Hi my story that me and a friend were working on got deleted by Google Docs for being too gory and graphic? Wondering if there are any sites that have less stricter polices. It was a story with gore and a lot of violence. Any help would be appreciated.

I've started publishing a contemporary fiction story called False Spring.

Caleb Morgan is a husband and father who rarely talks about his past.

That changes when his daughter finds an old photograph buried in the garage.

Suddenly, he's remembering the friends he once had, the girl who changed their group, the relationships that slowly fractured, and the person he used to be.

The story alternates between Caleb's present life and his past.

I'm trying to keep the story character-driven and emotionally grounded rather than relying on major plot twists.

I'd be interested in hearing from other writers who have written about old friendships, nostalgia, or characters looking back at their younger year's.

It's just a rough outline for now, but the main character will be named "Donny" or perhaps, "Wingate' and his nemesis will either be "Donny" (if I don't use Donny as the main character's name) or possibly 'Heglington' unless that was the main character's name in that Odyssey movie, I don't know, I haven't seen it yet and I get motion sickness if the f/p/s exceed three. Other than that, the story is pretty much open, except that I want Donny and/or Wingate and/or Heglington (if that name wasn't already used in The Odyssey) to operate a candy store in Laguna Beach, or maybe just manage a candy store there if ownership sounds like too much of a stretch. The part about reading comes in when one of the characters has to read an eviction notice for the candy store, and he struggles. I am open to suggestions after that.

Hey everyone! I’m Mohamed (34). I’ve been working as a video game and entertainment critic for a while now, mainly because I believe writing is one of the best ways to express that hidden side of ourselves we rarely show.

For the past 15 years, I’ve been quietly building a passion project. To be completely honest, it took this long because I believe in taking things slow—no rush, no tight deadlines, and no pressure.

This post is no exception, so I apologize in advance for its length!

I believe those who enjoy a laid-back, thoughtful mindset will get where I’m coming from. If this isn't your thing, I apologize for taking your time, though I still hope you'll give me a chance to share the bigger picture.

This delay isn’t about perfectionism—it’s about Itqan (a concept in my native language about crafting something with care, mastery, and deep dedication). I want to share a solid, polished piece of work free from usual clichés, even if it ends up being my only creative project in this lifetime.

The project is massive—a fully fleshed-out alternate reality. But more than just telling a story, I want to give our imagination space to break free from what’s familiar. This universe isn't meant to copy our real world or typical sci-fi tropes. It’s built from scratch to explore entirely new ways life, laws, science, and societies could work. It’s pure, unconstrained imagination meant to deliver a truly otherworldly experience.

As they say, "Show, don't tell." But bringing a world like this to life is tricky since English isn’t my first language. AI tools gave me a starting spark, but they often translate ideas too abstractly, stripping away the human touch. When that happens, the soul of the story gets lost.

That’s why I’m here. I’m looking for chill, open-minded people who want to dive deep and help bring an original idea to life. I want to build a small circle of native English-speaking friends—not just to review text, but to brainstorm and shape these wild concepts as real partners. I’ve always believed that when people who love an idea sit together and let their minds explore, magic happens.

Now, I know I took a while to get to the point! You might be wondering: what is this project anyway?

It’s an interactive story set in an alt-reality sci-fi universe. It’s less of a traditional book or game, and more of a shared narrative journey—a collective social experience that eventually turns into a personal adventure for each reader.

It starts as a group path. You follow the story, but choices are made through collective voting. The majority decision moves the plot forward for everyone. Like real life, you don't always get full control, and that shared outcome is part of the fun.

Eventually, the story hits a point where individual actions matter. Readers move from being an audience to active participants in the lore. Everyone gets to be a hero in their own way.

It sounds a bit crazy, I know. But maybe it’s meant for the wonderfully crazy ones who love thinking outside the box.

Anyway, I won't make this any longer! If any of this catches your interest, or if you just want to hang out, test concepts, build worlds, or review what’s been done so far, I’d love to connect.

Feel free to send me a DM or leave a comment below.

Thank you so much for reading this far—your time means a lot to me. And I apologize for any phrasing slips or translation mistakes along the way!

That's for the jury to decide, and no, I didn't intentionally make off with a boom box from that explosive store the last time I was there. It somehow ended up on the bottom of my cart (the part the cashier can't normally see unless she strains to look over the counter), so I'll let my court-appointed attorney handle the closing arguments after I have my turn on the witness stand and explain how my actions were 'perfect' and it was everybody else's fault. That tactic seems to be still working in the public domain.

As soon as I fall asleep, I dream that snails are chasing me. Of course, I always manage to escape because they're snails, but still, it can be exhausting when I wake up and realize that I will probably have the same dream again the next time I'm waiting in a long line at the drive-thru to get my double latte with a dollop of pumpkin spice-flavored whipped cream and a cherry on top. I think the reward exceeds the penalty, so I am just going to take my chances with having that damned dream again because, "double latte with a dollop of pumpkin spice-flavored whipped cream and a cherry on top." Prioritze, people.

Recently, I finished the first round of editing my novel. But my novel currently sits at 538 pages in Google Docs, which is over 900 pages in actual novel form. I'm well aware that a lot of publishers aren't willing to accept first time novelists if their books are that long. I would like to ask your process in how you try to "kill your darlings" and make the novel shorter in the process. As a first-time writer, I have trouble trying to see how I can pare my novel down without butchering the whole story. And tips are greatly appreciated.

‎A woman was taken

‎lost to the hunger of men

‎For years

‎her tears learned how to fall in silence

‎

‎I am the smile she wears

‎

‎When the world grows heavier

‎she whispers, maybe… someday…

‎Her prayers grow dull with time

‎and even the pain

‎forgets how to hurt

‎

‎I am the strikes she endures

‎

‎They strip her of more than skin

‎and somewhere between the breaking

‎she begins to smile

‎because suffering, repeated long enough

‎starts to resemble something else

‎

‎I am the scream that survives her

‎

‎One night, a man arrives

‎promising escape

‎not knowing

‎he carries the same darkness

‎

‎I am the hell they share

‎

‎they speak instead of seeing

‎their voices echo

‎touching what their hands cannot.

‎

‎I am that echo

‎

‎still begging, still unanswered.

‎Please…

‎I pray to a heaven

‎that drinks sorrow like sacred wine

‎that watches

‎and waits

‎and does nothing

‎Then

‎footsteps

‎A door opens

‎“You’re free"

‎They run

‎into the open

‎into the light

‎and the sound of gunfire

‎follows them out

‎Three bullets

‎Silence

‎They fall

‎

‎I am the sand

‎that drinks what remains of them,

‎and keeps their story

‎buried

‎

To myself, a confession

The burden of my actions lingers in the back of my head, glimpses of my failures flicker in my sight, regret takes over my mind, “What I could’ve been if I weren’t…”in fear, wasting what I’ve got left, worrying about the past and future, yet never looking at the now, letting it slip by my fingers like grains of sand on a desert of despair. I look into the sky remembering my youth, the happiness I’ve had, the joy that was in my heart, the innocence, the no fear of tomorrow, the freedom of being in the moment, oh God. 

Waking up from a deep sleep on a summer break morning, all I’d worried about was what to play or what cartoon to watch. Life was simple, I thought, as the days slipped by me, not realizing they’d never return. I went through a lot, yet I never knew the impact it would have, the scars it would leave for a lifetime of suffering. I never knew the value of the peace I’ve had. I didn’t know much, I didn’t understand, yet I knew more than anyone my age could have, yet maturity came with a cost. I never felt in the right place, never understood the immature actions of others that brought them joy even though it caused harm to others. I couldn’t comprehend the lack of understanding they had, the self-centered behavior. I had to pretend, to not be left alone. I did, yet even with people around me, I never felt — truly not alone. Even with so many people around me, the lack of understanding of the people made me feel lonelier than ever. I wished for a partner my whole life, to never gotten one. 

Missed my best years in speculations, dreams and fear, to never take the first step, to watch yet to never touch. To wish but never take action, to dream but never achieve. Everyone around me spoke about the potential I had, the bright future of they had spoken, I’ve never seen. I was naive. I made the mistake, to let the wrong people in my heart, in my head. To trust the wrong ones I had. Was I smart as they said, or was I just a pretender at hand? Was it all lies? Were the words from their mouth truly coming from the hearth or just a formality? I felt out of place, like I never deserved anything, that I had to suffer, like I deserved it, like I had done an unforgivable act in a past life. 

I carry it to this day, the feeling of being out of place. I desire more, I desire freedom from these chains — eternal, yet the burden of my dark thoughts pulls me deeper like stone to my feet in the deep pacific ocean, I see the light slipping my fingertips, the darkness raising, yet I try to fight it, a losing battle I won’t stop. The battles we have in our heads, fighting an enemy that knows all our moves, all our weaknesses, an enemy with no remorse using it all to its advantage. I see him in the mirror, the person I’m becoming, the youth fading, the battle I’m losing. I won’t submit, yet it becomes harder by the day. In my eyes I see the emptiness it leave. The glimpse of the boy I once was fading, was this the price of becoming the man I had to be? Would I have been proud of the person I’ve become? I’ll never know, yet I know I’m at the beginning of the road of life, my hope that will be. To cleanse my soul of the pain, to leave this burden before I sink to the bottom, to see the light once more with a family of mine, see them grow and older, to show and support them on the right path like I’ve never had. To be at their side to the end of time, passing the teachings onto the next. 

Oh, how I wish I could change this world to make it a better place. Oh, my Lord, forgive me, for the sins I have, I beg for a chance, a chance to make a difference. Oh, I beg of you, show me the right path, show me the light, save me of this darkness I’ve fallen. These vines that tangle me so tight, free me of my suffering, I beg you. Let me be useful, let me have a purpose.

Save me.

Hi all! I'm working on a one sentence pitch for my new novel and I was wondering if you could let me know your thoughts!

'Lily has dreamed of drowning all her life, but when a body washes up on the 25th anniversary of her father’s death, the past her family has buried finally begins to surface.'

If you could let me know what genre you think it points to and if it would make you want to read the book (or not) that would be so helpful!

Thank you! x

I tried three different prompts. This is the first writing I've done for ages so I'm sure there is a lot wrong with it. At the moment I'm just relearning how to write, I'm not trying to create a novel or something.

If anyone has any thoughts that would be great.

The Earth is still alive.
Marcus had spent several hours trying to trace the source of the message, having ruled out a joke from another technician, or some sort of weird easter egg, he reluctantly settled on an actual message which had been sent by some extremely unconventional method. It was a long detailed explanation of how the earth was in fact entirely habitable, life was abundant and a small number of non-virtual survivors were in desperate need of assistance.
This was all obviously nonsense, probably one of the secret cults whose members had nothing better to do. Marcus knew the sentinels monitored normal communications, but nobody cared except weird extremists. The only people who tried to send messages without being heard were people who wanted to damage or change the simulation.
He should report it. Trouble was, then they might start digging and find some of his own clandestine modifications to his own core. It was a potentially very serious offence. The Sentinels didn't like anyone interfering with cores and he could lose his position and have to start at the bottom again.
But the message didn't make sense. It asked to be forwarded to everyone and anyone who could listen. The code it had been injected with was trying to send to every connection it could find. That didn't make sense.

***

Lux fumbled with the data block, dropping it for the third time. The wind muffled a cry of frustration. She grabbed it and rammed it into the connector. A small light came on. Then the machine roared. For a second, Lux flailed around thinking she had killed everything she had come to save. Nothing happened.
Blasted machine, she cursed. Not for the first time she rolled her eyes at the thought of being sent here. She was a diplomat, not an engineer. But apparently the terraforming system was intelligent enough to be sentient. It needed to be persuaded.
She couldn't even get the stupid thing to talk to her. The air was becoming hazy with dust blown in from the desert. If she didn't get the machine to talk soon, Lux would need to go back to the lander to avoid getting lost. Technically, she would be fine, of course. As long as she didn't meet the new inhabitants.
The gale suddenly strengthened. Grit and dirt hurled themselves at Lux. Her arm was gashed by a stone as she tried to clear her goggles. She needed cover. Now. The panel next to the data control looked like it might open, if she could squeeze in. Lux pulled at it with all her strength and was surprised when it popped off with ease sending her tumbling backwards.

***

"Maybe the sensors are wrong?"
"I used a wooden ruler last time. It's getting bigger."
Max stared at the screens. Reams of data and graphs showing glowed gently.

"Could the wood be getting smaller?"
"Don't be ridiculous."
"More ridiculous than the station getting bigger?"
There had to be a simple explanation for this. The resupply ship docked only an hour ago. If the size of the station changed, it wouldn't have been able to mate together.

"Lets just go to bed, there's probably something obvious we're missing."

Max woke up and stretched. It felt good. He reached with his eyes shut to his phone by his bed. There was nothing there. He opened his eyes. The phone was in an alcove in the wall, but his bed had moved a meter away while he slept. For crying out loud Fliss must be playing tricks on him.

Getting out of bed and rubbing his eyes, he almost fell backwards as the room loomed over him, almost twice as big as it had been when he went to sleep.

Max gawped. "Fliss, what is going on?" he said into his phone. No reply. She was probably still sleeping blissfully unaware. He grabbed some clothes and gingerly stepped into the corridor. 
Everything was too big. He felt like a child.

Item : SCP-XXXX

Object Class: Keter

Special Containment Procedures: Personnel must contain scp-XXXX within a multilayered vacuumized chamber at all times. This multilayered container should consist of a special beryllium-bronze alloy of at least 30 cm thickness. Testing by the foundation has unveiled that this special beryllium-bronze alloy is the only known substance capable of dampening and disrupting the anomaly's reality bending acoustic emission. No other physical material or barrier has proven itself of being able to disrupt or dampen the acoustic, reality bending emissions released by the anomaly including dense lead barriers, concrete, high density titanium alloys or deep underground placement under the ocean. Without active containment inside this specific composition the anomaly's reality bending acoustic frequency can penetrate almost every substance and has a unfathomable large area of effect. Because the anomaly moves through space autonomously, foundation personnel must maintain the primary spherical enclosure with a minimum distance of 6 meters from the core vacuum. The entire assembly must be permanently suspended in the dead center of a 15m x 15m x 15m containment vault made of the special b-b alloy manufactured and located exclusively at Site-██. This separation prevents the anomaly from breaching it's containment cells in the case of a malfunction. No personnel are permitted to make direct skin contact with, wear, or physically handle SCP-XXXX under any circumstances. All required experimental manipulation, testing, and positional corrections must be conducted via automated, robotic arms operated from a observation bunker located at least 20 meter afar the anomaly. In the event of a suspected containment breach or detected acoustic leak, all facility sectors will immediately trigger an automated Lockdown Status. All on-site personnel are required to immediately deploy active noise-canceling headsets. Personnel reporting auditory anomalies, specifically a distinct high frequency- whistling sound, must be placed into immediate, high-security isolation and monitored continuously for signs of Phase 1 progression.

Description: SCP-XXXX is a sentient, hostile, and autonomous whistle composed of an unidentified green synthetic polymer, featuring a small black nylon neck strap woven through its attachment loop. The anomaly actively resists Foundation custody by self-activating and creating an acoustic emission exactly once every twenty-four hours. When this daily chime is generated, the resulting sound waves travel via reality-warping vectors, passing through almost all standard matter as if it had zero physical density. The audio signal targets human auditory systems directly. The primary anomalous effects of SCP-XXXX manifest via two transmission vectors:

Vector 1: Cumulative Auditory Exposure: If a human subject registers this specific anomalous acoustic frequency three times exactly at any point across their entire life, an irreversible cognitive and biological infection is instantly triggered within their system. Exposure tracking is permanent and accumulative across the subjects entire lifespan.

Vector 2: Direct Physical Contact: If a human subject places the nylon neck strap of SCP-XXXX around their neck, there is an immediately likelihood of forcing an accelerated state of infection. Instead of entering the standard stance-like state of Phase 1, the victim's central nervous system is instantly hijacked, transforming them into an extension of the whistle's consciousness. The victim's physical actions are entirely commandeered by SCP-XXXX and The puppeted subject will sprint towards any nearest heavily populated civilian or facility sector attempting to force others to listen to the whistle's chime. The subject completely ignores personal safety and even extreme physical pain, attempting to inflect severe self-harm or physical trauma upon their own self if necessary to breach security barriers or force SCP-XXXX out of its containment cell.

Secondary Anomaly: Spatial Displacement: Exactly every 30 days and 30 seconds, SCP-XXXX undergoes an displacement event. The object teleports to a random coordinate within a strict 5-meter radius of its location at that exact moment. This again nessesifirs the 6-meter zone of the vault to prevent the object from materializing outside of its primary shielding.

Phase 1: Solitary Perceptual Displacement: Within twelve hours of registering the third strike, the victim's body enters a completely frozen, stance-like state in the real world. The subject becomes totally motionless and gains an absolute immunity to all external physical trauma, toxins and hostile anomalous SCPs. While the physical immobilisation lasts exactly one daylight cycle, the victim's consciousness is violently pulled into a dreamlike-state that stretches out for exactly twelve years. Trapped within an empty, perfect replica of Earth, the victim wanders as an invisible, elusive entity. They age more than a decade within their cognitive perception while being completely unseen, unheard, and unable to interact with any living creature or so, they perceive a idea that the organisms around them are ignoring them which triggers intense psychological breakdown and hate towards all living beings. While silently navigating this solitary punishment, they possess total anomalous immunity. Active anomalies present within the zone simply ignore their presence entirely, allowing them to neglect fatal environments unharmed. The psychological strain of this exile escalates if they suffer even a minor physical trauma, such as a superficial bruising or burn. Any physical trauma instantly causes intense visual hallucination where the sky splits open with a massive void; visible only to them. This rift devours the planet inside their own perceived environment without altering real-world physics.

Phase 2: This prolonged timeline of absolute isolation, combined with the catastrophic visual rifts, causes severe cognitive harm, driving the subject insane in most class-D experiments. During this initial immobilization, the subjects tissues undergo progressive calcification .Upon awakening into Phase 2, the subject exhibits rapid physical aging and a remaining lifespan strictly limited to 24 hours. Painful calcification appears across their flesh, causing the entire epidermis to strech and harden. The subject experiences severe physical pain as their skin tightens around their muscles, bones, and joints throughout these final twenty-four-hours slowly crushing their entire anatomy from the outside. Suffocation: This relentless tightening compresses the oesophagus and trachea, suffocating them into stone-like statue the exact moment the final second of the 24 hour period runs out. During these final hours of physical trauma and calcification, the victim's vocal cords involuntarily imitate the sound as testing has proven, anywhere from 2 to 7 times into the surrounding environment. Anyone standing within earshot who registers this vocalization for the third time in their life is instantly infected.This process poses a XK-Class End of the World Scenario if the infected are not immediately placed into total acoustic containment.

Interview Log:

XXXX-1

Date: 12/04/2026

Interviewer: Dr. Alistair Vance

Subject: Agent Marcus Boyd

[BEGIN LOG]

Dr. Vance: Marcus? Look at me. Focus on my voice. We have the neural dampeners on max to keep your throat open.

Agent Boyd: Doc....it's tight. My chest... it feels like pou…red concrete. I can't... I can't get air .

Dr. Vance: I know, Marcus. We're trying. Please,tell me what happened while you were out trying to recover the whistle. The monitors say you were out for twenty-four hours, but your brain activity was through the roof.

Agent Boyd: Twenty-four hours?…Are you kiddin… me, Vance? Vance??? I was there… there… twe.. Twelve Years..

Dr. Vance: Twelve years? Tell me what you saw.

Agent Boyd: I woke up right.. here . But everything… empty. No staff, no alarms... nobody. I walked to; to; surface. No wind. No trees. dead,dead,dead(breaks down) i saw the world dead.but somehow alive I screamed for three years…..Vance. Screamed. my throat filled;; blood, but nothing. Nothing(starts to cry). Like a. Like a. ghost. I even went down to Sub-level 4. Stood right next to.... to it... just begging the damn thing to tear me. It looked.. looked right through..me.

Dr. Vance: Total isolation for twelve years???(shocked, taking notes)

Agent Boyd: Yeah. But the worst part.... God, the worst part was Year nine. I tripped over a loose tile… tile in the street. Bruised.. my knee. Just a.. just a drop of;; blood, Doc. That's all…. to ruin everything.

Dr. Vance: What happened when you bled?

Agent Boyd: no I do..not want to( grasps hard for air) remember.

Dr. Vance: please, it is for the record.

Agent Boyd: The sky... it split open… Like, wet paper. Just this...pitch black void behind the…. The… thing And it started pulling things into it. The buildings... the.. the sun...( tears drop)…Five years..Vance. Five years running in the dark… from that.. that… thing... screaming like a total madman...

Dr. Vance: Marcus, calm down. Your heart rate is making the calcification spread faster. Look at your arms, they're already turning pale grey.

Agent Boyd: It's finishing..M..m..my… chest... won't move. I can't breathe...help….

Dr. Vance: We have Class-A amnestic right here. It'll make you forget the twelve years Marcus. Let us help.

Agent Boyd: No…Stay back… It's.... it's…it’s controlling me , Vance. Get… get.. hell out of the room! Get..out…. PHEEEEEEEEEEE-WT!

Dr. Vance: Cut the mic! Seal the glass now.

Agent Boyd: PHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-WT!

Dr. Vance: Marcus, fight it.

Agent Boyd: PHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-WT!

Agent Boyd: PHEEEEEEEEEEEE-WT

Dr. Vance: Containment team, get in there with the Level-4 gear right now. Destroy the statue before the next 24 hours hits. God help us if anyone caught that last whistle through the glass!

[END LOG]

Date: 10/04/2026

Location: Sector-4 Testing Facilities, SITE-██

At 14:22:30

SCP-XXXX underwent its scheduled 30-day spatial displacement event. Due to a mechanical calculation error in the robotic arm's positioning, SCP-XXXX was found exactly 1.2 metres closer to the southern boundary of its vacuum chamber than allowed by protocol. Upon teleportation, SCP-XXXX materialized 4.9 metres south-east of its position, placing it 0.1 outside the protective shielding layer. The daily chime occurred seven minutes later. Due to the failure of the acoustic barrier, the auditory frequency penetrated the staff living quarters. [REDACTED] staff personnel registered their first or second cumulative exposure, resulted in immediate containment re-evaluation by order of the O5 Council. D-Class personnel D-4412, who had previously registered two exposures during initial recovery operations in [REDACTED], immediately triggered a Phase 1 entry event. D-4412's physical body became entirely became completely frozen and unresponsive while sitting in the facility cafeteria. Containment measures were successfully established before the Phase 2 calcification cycle begun. Following this incident, handling protocols were updated to enforce multiple automated robotic arms, more spatial location trackers, an extra containment shell and stricter checkup before any scheduled displacement window.

XXXX-3: Recovery Log: The following is an excerpt from the field recovery report by Mobile Task Force division Eta-11 ( savage beasts) following the initial acquisition of SCP-XXXX in the civilian sector:

On 03/01/2026, local law enforcement in the rural country town of [REDACTED], Indiana, reported a total loss of communication with the municipality. Aircraft imagery indicated a complete lack of movement across the entire 12-square-kilometre town. MTF Eta-11 was deployed under the assumption of a possibly unknown SCP materialising. Upon entering the town square, operatives discovered sixty-one civilian individuals completely transformed into calcified, stone-like statues. While investigating a residential property at [REDACTED] Street, operatives encountered a civilian male, later identified as [REDACTED], running at high speed toward the team. The individual was wearing SCP-XXXX around his neck. Subject exhibited severe physical trauma, including fractures to both ankles,a bloody injury to the head and a broken shoulder, yet continued to sprint while actively attempting to blow into SCP-XXXX to generate an acoustic strike. The subject was terminated via standard firearms before he could successfully complete the auditory sequence. SCP-XXXX was successfully secured using acoustic containment transit cases. A civilian casualty count of 114 was recorded, all presenting similar calcification on them. Cover story "Chemical Factory Explosion "was successfully released to local media outlets.

Brady favored the cold sting of orange soda biting his tongue after chewing on a piece of milk chocolate that smothered his tastebuds in an unnatural flavor. 

It exploded with a ferocious rush of dopamine, shining behind his eyes, brightening his vision in a ray of golden auras, as if a light switched on under his skull. 

The mixture melted like water and lava into each other, as he swooshed the carbonated bubbles around his mouth. His teeth, sensitive and brittle and stung from being invaded by the sharp sweetness of refined sugar acting like tiny needles penetrating his molars. 

A sweetness too irresistible to ignore over the pain stabbing the swollen nerves beneath the shell of calcium capping his gums.

The whites hid under a museum with every brand of chocolate sold at the corner store by his house, sticking to the food coloring of orange soda he guzzled, staining his teeth.

His bedroom succumbed to crumpled up junk food wrappers, slowly unfolding out of the ball they were squeezed into and tossed on the floor, over the crushed up soda cans they rested above.

He ate as many chocolate bars and drank as many sodas as his dad smoked cigarettes.

Would you like me to go into how his dad takes a drag from a Marlboro?

The excerpt is below. I've written a lot, and I often feel good while writing, but after looking back I realize that I absolutely hate everything about it. Right now I don't mind this, but I know I wont feel the same way later, please give me advise so I can see the issues earlier. I appreciate you!

“The King shall not let a peasant pass for so little as that!” Joe exclaimed, the stick in his hand waving, the white lichen at its tip swaying. 

“We gave you all we have!” Emmy said. The four peasants clustered before the king, dark round pebbles that groveled to the ground, incomparable to the towering majesty of the king.

“And it is not enough.” the King said, “You think I care if you work every day? You think I care if you save for years? It matters not to me. I am the king. Results are what matter to me.”

“Oh please, won't you take it?” the peasants begged “We need only to pass on to the promised land to see our kin.” 

The king leaned forwards, his white hair brushing the peasants' stony bodies. “I control the gate, peasants. Me. Your money means nothing unless you are able to meet the toll. Now go, before I make you. The guards await around the corner. Do you want them to escort you out?”

“Okay, my king.” the peasants said. “We will gather more. Just please, dont raise the toll again. We can hardly keep pace. Just yesterday my neighbor starved trying to set aside money for the toll.”

“Dont test my patience.” The king said, his guards now looming behind him, hulking stones covered in a fur of moss.

“KIDS!” came his voice, booming and deep, cutting through the world of imagination Joe had been building. Suddenly, the king was only a stick, the guards only rocks, the peasants pebbles, their hard earned money only scraps of grass, Joe and Emmy, no longer gods, but children.

Joe hopped to his feet and Emmy did the same, and they rushed away from the spot of flattened grass and scattered stones which had been the kingdom of Fenrir. They rushed between tall trees and across a path of dirt and exposed roots that he and Emmy had worn down themselves walking back and forth to the house. Light shone up ahead and soon they were in the open space where the house resided.

Father stood in front of the garden, his arms folded so that the muscle of his forearms bunched together, in a way Joe couldn’t imagine his arms ever looking like. Joe didn’t like the way Father was standing. He looked like he had been waiting. He towered like a tree. His body thick and sturdy, the power of his muscles barely concealed by his dirt stained clothes. 

Joe’s heart rate began to rise, and beside him Emmy was still, though Joe dared not look away from Father to get a better look at her. He could only think about the beating that might be about to come, for whatever it was that they had done to upset Father. This time he wouldn’t let Emmy take it again. This time he would step up. 

 “Kids.” Father said, letting the silence draw out, and meeting his gaze with each of theirs before speaking. “I will be going to town for a few days. While I’m gone I expect the garden to be cared for, the animals to be fed, and Emmy I expect you to care for your little brother. Don’t let him run off again or break something. I won’t let you take his punishment again.”

They each nodded, and without another word Father shouldered his worn black bag and began the walk to town. Joe and Emmy waited a long few minutes before allowing themselves to relax. A wild heart-racing joy filled him. A few days without Father, just him and Emmy all alone.  He turned to look at her. 

Emmy was watching the path where Father had disappeared, as if waiting for him to emerge from the bend after which trees obscured the trail. He walked up behind her and tapped her shoulder. Emmy turned slowly and looked down at him. Her eyes were such a deep brown, and she was so tall. Sometimes Joe couldn’t believe that she was ten and he was eight. He couldn’t imagine possibly being like her when he turned ten in two years.

Emmy smiled upon seeing him. “Whatta you want to do Joe?” 

How about the Kingdom game?” Joe said. “No, what about the hiding game. Actually, lets go into Father’s room, and see what he keeps in there.” 

“Only if it’s unlocked.” Said Emmy and they went inside.

Emmy tried the door to Father’s room and it jiggled. Emmy said the latch was loose on the other side, and maybe that was why Father had gone to town. However, in the end the door to Father’s room was locked. It had always been locked. The door being locked was part of living here, like the lake two miles out, or Momo the Goat. But every time Father left he and Emmy tried it. 

When they were done trying the lock. Joe turned to Emmy and asked “What are we gonna do if we do get it open? Are we really gonna go to town?” 

“Yes.” Said Emmy. “I know father keeps things in his room. The important thing is money. I know we need that to buy things. We can use it for food and a place to stay when we get there.”

“Are you sure?” Joe asked. “What if they don’t take money from us? We probably aren’t supposed to have it.”

“It's ok Joe. We just need to make it there first. After that we just take it one step at a time. Like how Ma taught you to walk. Remember that?” 

“Yeah,” Joe said, smiling. He noticed how she hadn’t answered his question. A few years ago he hadn’t noticed when she did that, but now he did. He never brought it up because he noticed that she always did it when the topic was something where the answer was worse than the question itself. Like when he broke his wrist, and kept asking how long before he could heal. He could see now that whenever she said something like “Father said it wasn’t so bad, it should heal fast.” It made him feel better than telling him it would take three moons, and that he would always have a weak grip in his left hand. 

“I love you Emmy.”

“I love you too, Joe.” she said and reached down to put her hand on his head. Even though she was so thin and slim compared to father, she somehow felt bigger than him sometimes. 

After that they spent the day day playing the hiding game in the woods.