Writers' Cafe discussion

Here you can post short stories if you want some feedback! (you can give links to google docs, etc. if you want)

I will probably post a doc here of the first three chapters of my novel just to see what you all think of it in the next week or so! 🤗

@Acacia can't wait to read it! 🥰

Eee! I can’t wait to read it! 🫶🏻🤭

@Acacia I'll make sure to read it! 😊 so exicted

Thanks!!! 😊

She falls on her knees on the pavement in front of the door to her home. Her step-mother yells, “Don’t come back without enough money to feed this family!” and slams the door in her face. The girl starts crying as she slowly gets up. She wipes her eyes and begins walking around, clutching her metal tinderbox to her chest. As she walks around, she notices townspeople swerving around and avoiding eye contact. Her hair, skin, clothes, every physical aspect of her is dirty. Even with it being the dead of winter, she wears nothing but a too small sack dress and a stained old apron. She has nothing on her feet as she walks on the cold ground. It was a dry, freezing winter this year, predicted to last months.
Throughout the evening she approaches people, begging them to buy her matches. Many completely ignore her, acting as if she were a ghost, but every so often they politely refuse to purchase any. Hours pass as she walks around trying to get peoples’ attention. Eventually she gives up and slinks away to an abandoned alley, there she pulls her knees to her chest and begins to cry once more. When her tears are all wept, she realizes that the chances of someone buying the remainder of her matches are next to impossible. Which brings the second revelation that she will be unable to return to the house she was expected to call a home.
She sits in the alley way, shivering in the below freezing temperatures. She reaches for her tinderbox, about to light a match. When she is about to open it, she hesitates ‘Should she use the matches she was expected to sell?’, she wonders. A cold gust of air blows against her exposed skin and she decides that she must use them if she wishes to survive. She pulls a match from the box and strikes it against the brick wall behind her. She cups her hand over it in order to keep the wind from blowing it out. She holds it close to herself soaking in the warmth from the miniscule flame.
She closes her eyes, basking in the heat, but soon the flame burns down to her fingers. She drops the match and blows on her burnt hand. She is too soon taken by the cold again and lights another match. Over time she lights the matches until there is only two left. She lights one of them, closes her eyes, then sees something. It was her late older sister. The little girl gasps, “Amalie!”
Amalie nods, “Yes.”
“How am I able to see you?!” The girl asks
“You are close to me, to death,” Her sister says, “Why?”
“We’ve been struggling since you passed, step-mother made me come out in the cold to sell matches. She will not let me back in without money.”
“That’s absolutely horrendous of her!”
“I’m scared, Amalie. I have no other choice but to freeze to death and join you permanently.”
“I must go now, but remember. You always have a choice, Euphemia.” For a split-second Euphemia sees a vision of the town burning down. And with that Amalie’s ghost or whatever it was disappear leaving Euphemia all alone in the alley again. Euphemia looks at the single match in her tinder box, and a diabolical look appears on her face. With that, she gets up and marches to the center of town. She bends down and strikes the match against the brick pathway. She smiles, and throws the match to the nearest wooden structure and it lights instantly. Seems these matches were magic, able to light even the worst, weathered wood.
She backs away into the shadows as she watches the flames spread. A gleeful look appears across her face as she hears the people inside begin to scream. The screams of those who wronged her, the screams of those who refused to give her even the slightest bit of help, those who seemed completely unable to look at her. The flames continue to spread, jumping from house to house. People continue to scream, as they try pointlessly to save their stuff from the raging inferno. They run around, grabbing buckets of water and trying to put out the fire; But the fire burns brightly still, stubbornly refusing to be killed.
People start to flee as they realize there is no hope of salvation for their poor town. The fire burns for days, a seemingly endless export of heat. It burns until the only people left around are Euphemia and some charred corpses, human and animal. Seeing the ruination of the town, the ruination she caused, she dances around among the embers and ashes. For once she feels a sense of relaxation, a sense of calm.
She takes a deep breath and looks around, smiling. She walks over to the pile of ashes that used to be where she lived. She writes in the ashes, ‘There is always another choice – Match Girl’. She places her tinderbox at the bottom of her words as if saying, “You tried to break me, and you may have, but I have survived.” She walks through town, surveying her work happily. At the edge of the ruined town, she brushes off her dress and walks away; Leaving small footprints in the ashes and smelling of smoke.

A retelling of the Little Match Girl in which the girl is evil? Nice!

YES!! OH MY GOODNESS!!! NO ONE I SHOWED THIS TO BEFORE HAD KNOWN WHAT IT WAS!

really? that's one of the best fairy tales, I'm surprised

Esmerelda the 153rd wrote: "She falls on her knees on the pavement in front of the door to her home. Her step-mother yells, “Don’t come back without enough money to feed this family!” and slams the door in her face. The girl ..."

omg this is kind of crazy!

Sophie (High Orange Priestess) wrote: "A retelling of the Little Match Girl in which the girl is evil? Nice!"

This is so creative! I'd read this!

that's a really cool spin on Little Match Girl! Her feeling calmness amidst the flames and chaos, it's such a stark contrast and a strong imagery, love the way you write that! It's kind of tragic too, that poverty and the abuse pushed her over the edge.. :(

Sophie (High Orange Priestess) wrote: "A retelling of the Little Match Girl in which the girl is evil? Nice!"

omigosh i love the little match girl thats like my favorite fairy tale...Esmerelda I love your story so muchhhh. if I found that somewhere in my library I would actually check it out and read it. actually I dunno where the short story section is in my library but ya know what i mean

All of you are so nice, I'm so happy rn!!!

it's a work in progress :p it's one of my projects that i have do to for school, tbw i'm a really slow writer 😭

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1R...

feel free to leave feedback in the comments on the doc!!

These are a few of my writes!!

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1l...

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1E...

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1C...

・゜-: ✧☾ The Enderian Elf ☽✧ :-゜・ wrote: "These are a few of my writes!!

Leave feedback if you want!

・゜-: ✧☾ The Enderian Elf ☽✧ :-゜・ wrote: "・゜-: ✧☾ The Enderian Elf ☽✧ :-゜・ wrote: "These are a few of my writes!!

Leave feedback if you want!"

Ahh, thanks for sharing! I loved the last one in particular because it gave a sense of hope that the other two didn't and I would say the writing was best in that one.
The other two were good as well, although it is really hard to read of those characters suffering- so far in darkness and pain, and in the end- have no hope. I wish I could crawl into their stories and share the Light of the Father with them- the Father who won't ever abandon them, even when they are blinded by the horror and pain that they feel and can't see Him. Christ is a shining thread, hanging in the middle of all that darkness, and they have only to turn around and squint and they will see it, right there, easily grasped.
All-in-all, good work! You have a very poetic style that I really like. There were some minor touch-ups that could be made, but nothing severe.
Best of luck on your writing journey, keep up the good work! ❤️

⟡ allie ⟡ wrote: "it's a work in progress :p it's one of my projects that i have do to for school, tbw i'm a really slow writer 😭

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1R......"

Good work! I made some suggestions, you do not have to listen to them by ANY means

Natalie wrote: "⟡ allie ⟡ wrote: "it's a work in progress :p it's one of my projects that i have do to for school, tbw i'm a really slow writer 😭

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1R......"

thank you sm!! i did add a few more chapters if you would like to read them :p ofc, you don't have to if you don't want to haha

The start of a potential Hansel and Gretel retelling??? With lots of twists, for sure and later name changes. (Not Edited)

Splinters of wood fell on the wet, cold soil of the early awoken forest. Dew lined the dark green leaves, dripping, dripping down landing on Hansel’s face as cool tears. His sister sat on a log not far from his woodcutting efforts, sewing a dress in what looked to be a painful fashion; blood droplets rose on her skin from clumsy fingers.
Splinters. Chirps. Drip. Drip Drip.
Dawn had been an unfortunately sunny, tiring haze. Locked in their respective chores the two siblings didn’t have much to talk about, Hansel only swung his axe over and over trying to fell this particularly stubborn tree. He peeked once in a while at his sister to see a frown plastered on her face; her brows were furrowed generously too close. Hansel didn’t like that look. It reminded him too much of his mother. Of her untimely death. And of the witch living in their home.
There once was a time Hansel would have scoffed at the prospect of doing work so below him. Cutting wood. Selling it. But, here he was.
“Hansel, aren’t you tired yet?” Gretel asked, yawning. She didn’t wait for an answer before collecting her things in her small purse, delicately placing them in the thin woven material.
“Wait,” Hansel put down his axe, “we can’t leave just yet. Unless you’d like to be yelled at? Or given no food for another two days?”
Gretel stilled and frowned until finally letting out an exasperated sound. “That old hog can shove it down for all I care. If I had it my way, she would be dead in a ditch by now.”
Hansel let out a hollow laugh, this being their fifth time this week discussing their stepmother’s potential murder. Ironically, not long after their actual mother’s planned demise.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Hansel looked up quickly just to have a water droplet land straight on his eyeball. When he made a move to wipe it off Gretel shot him a glare.
“What are you doing? Grab your things and let’s go. Hunger is better than the witch’s chores.”
“Okay, okay. You have mud all over your dress by the way.”
Knowing Gretel was violently suppressing the urge to scream he quickly grabbed his bag, her arm and started leading them to the forest’s opening.
“You seem greatly traumatized,” Hansel said, “what did she do this time?”
Gretel straightened, “She is a demon just so you know, one that grabbed my beautiful dresses and sold for angledust. That vile woman.”
Ah, Gretel’s precious dresses. Her most prized possessions, and her greatest weakness; it was all the drama for her. Though, the idea of angledust cast a bitter taste in his mouth. It was a useless thing that blurred any rational thoughts. Not that the women would have had any to begin with.
“Typical.” Hansel said.
“Easy for you to say, she didn’t take your… your—,” she groaned, “You don’t care about anything do you, you heartless ogre?”
“You forgot my extravagant gem collection.”
“You mean the useless pile of rocks you've had since you were four? Oh please, as if they’re even worth anything.”
“Marbles, don’t insult them like that.”
She rolled her eyes, “Marbles.”
Hansel smiled, pathetically victorious and partially because he found their situation to be ridiculous. Hansel and Gretel still haven’t gotten over anything that had happened in the last two months. They were grieving and they knew that, and it was entirely crazy to be deflecting and aimlessly conversing smack middle in this dark forest that their step mother was fond of sending them to. Repeatedly. Annoyingly.
“Hellooo? Hansel?” Gretel waved a hand in his face, “Don’t zone out on me right now, I’m in need of a fellow murder plotter for when we get back.”
Hansel lightly pushed her out of the way. “Gretel, stop.”
“Stop what?”
“Doing that. Killing the old witch can wait, we have other things to worry about. Better things.” Things like moving on.
Gretel looked away. “But Hansel you heard what she said, what she does, what she did.”
And he did hear, and he did see. And he never wanted himself or his sister to have to feel like that ever again; for that to happen they needed to be patient.
“I told you, just one more week. Only one more week, Gretel and I promise no more.”
She looked up at him, eyes full of hope. “And we will never need to see our wicked father ever again, and his even more wicked wife. And we’ll have enough money to build a nice little cottage far away from them, where I’ll have a gigantic closet with so many dresses that I won’t even be able to count. No one will hurt us any more. Right, Hansel? Brother, promise me.”
“Yes, yes Gretel. We will.”
“Promise.”
He can’t.
He didn’t.
Drip. Drip Drip.

Oh I just realized, none of the italics transferred through, oh well.