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cryptwrites · 2 months

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bam bam bam another short story

CW: Suffocation, Darkness, Caves _______

Exploration of the earth has always intrigued me. I love to explore the parts of nature that humanity has yet to truly touch. So I go Caving. Not that I do a whole lot else in my free time, Jeremy Lawerence, my boyfriend, came along with me on a trip a few years back. He is quite a bit less into nature than I am. He would rather sit on our couch and play with whatever gadget he got that week than come caving with me, but he’s supportive of my hobbies. So we went.

You see, we didn’t really actually have the money to go all that often, the equipment and clearance passes are expensive, so I spent a lot of my time looking at caves that we could explore… without paying. I’m not going to get into wether some of our adventures were actually legal but we were always safe. Jeremy liked the less than legal caving we did, he got quite the thrill out of it, always joking about getting arrested for enjoying what the earth made us for free. Other than that, he was never quite as into it as I was, though. Don’t get me wrong, he was absolutely no claustrophobe and I wasn’t forcing him to follow me but he mainly enjoyed “feeling like a pirate” in his terms, and I always ended up going a little bit deeper than he enjoyed.

Maybe we should have tried cliff climbing or hiking, but caving was my thing. And I loved it. It had helped me deal with my thoughts, and Jeremy knew how much I loved it. Although, neither of us were too keen on the scrapes and scratches you always get on expeditions. He used to joke that he was a “earth bound warrior” and that they were his battle scars. If only he had known. We did have fun, though, and he always chose to join me.

The cave we were going to explore was Ogof Ffynnon Ddu– It’s welsh, meaning Cave of the Black Spring- Now we’ve explored this cave before but there’s three entrances to this cave, and we wanted to explore the Ogof Ffynnon Ddu II, the more complex of the three. We planned a day trip, giving us more time than we needed to explore and get back. The whole system is huge, though – I it’s the third longest cave and is 275m deep, this thing is huge– so there was plenty to explore, and we’d had so much fun the first time that we wanted to see it from another entrance. After we entered we were going to travel through the cave, as far as Maypole Inlet before heading back. There used to be a Ladder you could use to access the Inlet, but now it’s only accessible by rope. I had never used a rope to scale a cave, and neither had Jeremy so we were both pretty excited to try that out.

Jeremy made some calls a few days before we went out and got our friend Oliver Moffett note down all the details of our planned trip, as you never should go caving unless you have someone who knows what you're doing. Of course Jeremy and I had also done as much research into our route as we could. As much as I like exploring, I do not like getting lost, I’m happy to stay on the main routes. What I loved about caving was the feeling of surrendering yourself to the earth; the cold, damp, solid walls closing in like a mother’s sweet embrace. It felt like they were protecting me from anything bad happening. Not anymore though.

It was Sunday, July 17th we went. I had taken the two days prior off work to prepare for the trip, and took Monday off as well to tend to any well-earned bruises. Jeremy and I drove up to Penwyllt, towards Ogof Ffynnon Ddu II. I live in Swindon so it wasn’t too long a trip. We had someone drop us off since we weren’t really doing this… ethically.. and I didn’t want to attract unwanted attention with a car. I was pleasantly surprised to see that we were the only ones there when we arrived, which made questions a whole lot less of a problem. It was a bright blue day and the weather was meant to be clear for days, with no chance of rain making the caves too dangerous.

Ogof Ffynnon Ddu’s second entrance is quite easy to miss. When we went, the door you took to access the cave was covered in plants and weeds. Which I thought was strange. This was supposed to be one of the most popular caves to go caving in and it was covered in plants. I brushed it off thinking maybe this particular entrance just wasn’t very popular. The entrance itself though, it was quite the tight fit and I remember Jeremy joking about how he was glad he started his new diet the day before. Still, the ladder was in good condition, so we hooked up and descended into the mouth of the cave.

It was a bright day; it was about ten when we entered the cave, so the sunlight helped with the darkness for longer than I thought it would. We only turned our own lights on when we got a bit farther into the cave. By the time we hit the bottom of the ladder we were left in the caves of overwhelming darkness with just the light on our heads to illuminate the smooth cave walls around us. We could hear the small underground stream beneath our feet, and we followed it. It was an easier decent than the old ladder but much more slippery. The map i brought was damp by the time we got to the bottom of the stream.

Jeremy was messing with the stream so I took the moment to truly take the cave in. I turned my light off and I heard Jeremy do the same. There’s something about being under the earth and all you have is yourself. It’s a terrifyingly comfortable feeling. I took a breath in and all I could smell was the gentleness of the dirt and the stream. It’s a beautiful scent. Jeremy never understood why I did this, and frankly neither do I. But there’s something so freeing about opening yourself to the earth. Feeling that utter darkness, with no sound but the gently flowing river and our own breathing.

We turned our lights back on, and began to head deeper into the cave. The map we had was a bit difficult to read due to it getting damp and the irregularities in the lines, but I wasn’t to worried about it. I’m no expert on cave exploration but I can read a map pretty well. There were a few passages that weren’t on our map and some of the walls looked warped but I figured it was just the reflection of the light or passageways that didn't really go anywhere.

A lot of the passages you have to go through when caving are a tight squeeze. I mean these caves aren’t made by humans obviously, they’re made by mother nature and years of natural erosion. Humans getting through these passages were never high on the deep belows list of priorities.

Some of them are different though. Some of them barley leave you a foot to squeeze your body through. Sometimes you can’t even breathe until you make it out the other side because it’s so tight. You have to turn your head and basically pray that you don’t get stuck. This time was one of those times, If Jeremy hadn’t gone through first I would have just gone back and planned another day, but he had.

Half way through this particular squeeze, I realized that I couldn’t even move my chest to breathe, that it was far tighter than I thought it was going to be. I yelled out for Jeremy to make sure he got through to the other side, and I got no answer at all. That’s when I started panicking. I genuinely couldn’t move, I couldn’t even go back the way I came. I started hyperventilating. Was Jeremy okay? Was I going to die down here?

I felt a hand grab mine and yank me forward. Just like that, I was out. Jeremy was laughing for a moment before he saw how scared I looked. He grabbed my face and asked if I was okay, I wanted to shoot back some witty response, but by the time I had got my breathing under control again, I just gave him a weak smile and turned to continue on. Jeremy didn’t let go of my hand.

We made our way through the cave until we came to the Northern Lights. It’s a tall, long area of the cave with the side of it carved in so that it looks like the northern lights. We made quick work of getting through it and soon enough we were in the Mudlust chambers. It was absolutely beautiful, the moonmilk and mud tide marks that are absolutely stunning to look at, but this was the part that I had been dreading, this was the part that you had to use a rope for. We strapped down and it went easily. Very easily, actually, and at the time I remember getting a weird feeling, like vertigo almost. Once we made it through there we were in a small passage way with more tight squeezes. As we stood there, I felt anxious. I didn’t want to get stuck again. But there it was, before us lay the passage, Jeremy tightened his grip on my hand and he went in first, dragging me with him. Which went fine, we were making it through just fine. And when we got out on the other side, we were in a passage I didn’t recognize. There was a underground pool. I pulled out the map. We weren’t supposed to go cave diving this trip but we had the things for it. Jeremy took a look at the map and figured that if we went through here we’d pop out the other end near the entrance again. So we got ready and Jeremy slid into the water.

I had been told by a few other cave divers that you never judge the distance correctly. So you always are going to hit your head the first few times to try to break the surface. I reminded swore at myself for not telling Jeremy that but I thought he’d figure it out or swim back. I wasn’t thrilled about this unexpected detour but I hated the idea of retracing our steps more.

As I stood there alone, trying to stall for as long as I could. I tried so hard to push away the feeling of uneasiness, just trying to take in the comfort of the cave around me.

I shook the feeling off when it came time to follow Jeremy, and dived into the pool. It shouldn’t have been too far to the junction which would lead us on to the Upper Oxbow. I pressed myself through the narrow space, half swimming, half climbing, until I thought I had gone far enough, and attempted to surface. I hit my head a few times before I actually broke the surface. I swam over to where Jeremy sat, and he pulled me out.

Jeremy grabbed the now soaked map out, brushing as much of the water as he could off. He kept turning it and looking around before handing it to me. He asked if I could see where we were, and I couldn’t. Where we were had absolutely no correlation to the map. I started to panic, and I could see it on Jeremys face too. He said that we should go back the way we came, and I agreed with him, but we both agreed to wait for a bit to calm down.

It had taken longer to get this far than we had planned, so Jeremy picked what he brought and prepared to get into the water, he looked at me and asked if I wanted to go first, and I did. I just wanted to go home. So I got my stuff and jumped into the water, I felt Jeremy follow right behind me and when we emerged from the other side, we both got out of our diving gear to prepare for the trek back.

I started to squeeze my way through the passage way, and it felt even tighter this time. I heard something fall into the water which made me snap my head back towards Jeremy. He was watching me, waiting for enough space to get into the passage.

That’s when everything started to go really, really wrong.

Jeremy's light went out, which left us with just mine. I heard him swear at himself and if i could breathe I would have as well. I felt the earth around me shift though. It moved. It must have made a sound cause Jeremys face snapped towards me and that’s when it happened. The Cave collapsed from behind me. Jeremy grabbed my arm and yanked me back through the passage. The passage was completely blocked off now but the rocks didn’t stop falling. I grabbed Jeremy and went to the farthest end of the cave I could. The cave started to rapidly deteriorate, it wasn’t like anything I had ever seen. Dirt and rocks were falling all around us. Jeremy was rapidly reading the map trying to figure out something to do. I was desperately trying not to panic.

A giant piece of earth fell into the water infront of us and splashed into the water, dousing Jeremy and I. I wanted to cry. I didn’t want to die down there. Jeremy told me to wait here and he leaped into the water, presumably to find another way out. I watched him swim back to the other section and as soon as he was gone another piece of earth blocked up the entrance. I screamed. Jeremy was now stuck there. I jumped into the water and tried to move it but it wouldn’t, and the dirt falling was slowly filling up the cave. I got back on the firm ground and started clawing at the passageway, I have no idea how long I spent trying to do that but by the time I stopped the dirt was up to my waist now.

I couldn’t move, so I screamed. I screamed for Jeremy and then I heard it. I faintly heard his voice. I don't know if I imagined it or if it was him, but I could hear him shouting for me. The dirt just kept piling onto me and I could barely breathe. Earlier I said I loved the naturalness of the cave. The ever reaching darkness. I was wrong. I have never known darkness like this. I never want to know a darkness like that again. I couldn’t move, I could barely breathe.

The dirt was up to my neck now and I was starting to comptilate my death. I could hear Jeremy screaming still. I wondered if he was going through the same thing as me. I hoped he hadn’t been. I hope he was safe.

The dirt started to fill my mouth now. I started to choke, trying so desperately to not inhale it. But I couldn’t, and slowly the earth fully consumed me. I sat there, I was in so much pain. You don’t know the kind of pain the human body can truly handle until you are breathing in nature’s gift to us. I could feel it in my throat, in my mouth. The dirt filled my lungs. I was nothing but nutrition for the soil down there. I knew at that moment that, that cave was going to kill me. That I was going to become the cave.

All I could see was darkness, and every time I opened my eyes all there was, was dirt. Dirt and more dirt. I opened my mouth to scream and the dirt filled my mouth even more. You can’t cry when you're buried alive. The tears don’t come to you like they should. You just feel pain. You’re in pain and you’re alone not sure what’s going to kill you. I could breathe. It hurt so badly but I could do it. And sometimes I wished I couldn’t because I so desperately wanted to die at that moment.

I don’t know when I lost consciousness, but I did. I woke up though and for a split second I forgot where I was and this sense of relief flooded over me before it all came rushing back. I was still in the dirt. I could no longer hear Jeremy’s cries. I kept taking in these big breathes of dirt praying that it would kill me. Everything was too close and although I could, I could not truly breathe.

I tried so hard to claw my way out, but I truly couldn’t move. I passed out again and when I woke up I was in the hospital. Apparently we were down there for a week before they found us, Oliver called the police when we didn’t emerge a few hours after we said we would. They found me almost completely buried and Jeremy knocked out cold, seemingly bludgeoned with something. Everyone’s saying a rock must have fell on him, but that doesn’t seem right. We were down there for a week. I should be dead. We should be dead.

I was well cared for at the hospital. My wounds were treated and I was given food and water. There was a lot of dirt in my mouth and throat but apparently not deadly amounts. Jeremy is in a coma but they said if he wakes up, he’ll probably be okay. I haven’t gone caving since. I miss Jeremy.

#writing #creative writing #writer #writers on tumblr #they/them #writers #writerscorner #horror #writers tips #poetry

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cryptwrites · 2 months

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i wrote this for a creative writing class so now you can have it. also my professor DOES know my tumblr. hi

CW:

To start off, the story - no the account - I am about to tell you is in no way a confession of guilt or a weight off my conscience but I need to know I'm not crazy or-or alone. I have to tell someone what happened at the Porter house..

The Porters live in a classic two story house just on the other side of town. They have… had two small children, Whitney and Jackson. Their lives were normal? I suppose? As average as they could get there.

Mr. Porter was a bastard of a man. He had rotting anger inside of him that he had slowly let consume over the past few years. Now, he never showed his anger, not to his wife and not to his kids but Mrs. Porter knew, and if she knew, the children knew. Eggshells were always walked on around their father, you could tell those kids did not fear him but certainly did fear what he could do if he ever stopped muzzling his anger.

I don't know if they ever saw, but I suppose they must have… sometimes when I would go out to get the morning paper or just to get a breath of air I could see him. Just staring. Not at anyone or anything in particular anytime, no. The subject of his gaze shifted with every day that I saw this, sometimes it was his wife… other times it was his kids. Sometimes it was a squirrel and once… it was me. He would stare with an unbroken gaze for minutes (hours?) at a time. Nothing would even happen for him to go back to normal, he just… did. Carried on like nothing else happened.

I’m not the only one who could feel it. This… off feeling to Mr. Porter and his house. You walked by and you felt depressed. Even without knowing what they were like, the house was sad. I bought my house at a lower price than anything on the market because the realtor couldn't sell it no matter what they did. I wasn't thrilled about this gloomy aura that followed me around the block but… I’m a college student who couldn't afford anything else.

Anyways, Mrs Porter was a fine woman, she was friendly but she was sad. But one day, Mrs Porter discovered she was pregnant. All the neighbors got these little flyers taped to their door announcing it. I didn't even know they were wanting a third child. Could they even afford it? Regardless, Mr. Porter began working on the nursery. He worked on this damn room day and night. I live on the other side of the street and I couldn't sleep at night from all the hammering.

Mrs. Porter started to show up less though. I thought that maybe the pregnancy was getting the better of her. I mean, she was an older woman, and the pregnancy might have just been a little harder on her now. But days turned to weeks, and weeks turned to months. That damn nursery still hadn't been finished and Mrs Porter was nowhere to be seen. The hammering now just had become a customary part of life, something I only noticed when I was trying to work or study. Other than that, it blended it with the other mundane sounds of life.

It was only at my neighbor's barbeque - Cher. A sweet guy who I honestly have considered asking out two or three times. Anyways at this barbeque I mentioned the Porters and how if he knew anything about the nursery or has heard anything from Mrs Porter. Cher gave me… this weird look. Half way between concern and pity. He asked if I had been sleeping well. I laughed at this and said “Obviously I haven't been sleeping well. There’s a man hammering together a room throughout the night.” Cher didn’t laugh though. He told me I should go talk to them and then wrote down the number to his psychiatrist. Pleasant.

I didn't think much of it, Cher lived two houses down, I mean, maybe he just didn't hear the incessant hammering throughout the night like I did. But I did take up his advice, so I went over to Porter's house the next day. Now, I don't know why but knocking on that door made me more anxious than I had felt in a while. Every knock took a considerable amount of effort but eventually, someone answered.

It was little Whitney. I asked her where her mother and father were. She looked at me confused, so I asked if I could speak with her father. She shook her head and went to get him. Waiting there, at that house, it felt like I was being watched. I mean neighborhoods like that tend to be very nosy so maybe I was being watched - but this, this felt wrong.

Eventually, Mr. Porter came to the door. He was wearing the exact same clothes he had been wearing the last time I saw him. I asked him how he was, how the nursery was coming along and how Mrs. Porter was. He gave me fairly generic answers of courtesy but paused when I asked about his wife. He offered to go and get her. I told him it was not a problem if she was in too much pain to walk. He laughed at this. Told me “We only just found out a few days ago. She’s more than fine to walk.” he walked away with that - presumably to get his wife - but he left the door wide open. I just stood there… had it really only been a few days? That can't be right. I had gone through an entire semester's worth of classes by this point, there was no way it had just been a few days.

Mr. Porter eventually came back and asked to borrow my phone, noting that his had died. I didn't even think about what he was asking before my phone was in his hand. He dialed a number - I, I don't know what the number is. I’ve tried calling it numerous times, but it just goes to a deadline. - he spoke on the phone for a little bit, giving his address and the name of his wife before handing the phone back to me. I asked him what it was. He said he had called the police. I asked him why. “Ms. Porter isn't here.” he said. He went back into his house without a word being said. He told his children what had happened. They both just looked at him. Whitney and Jackson did not cry. I don't know if they were just too shocked to cry or if they just… didn't. I just stood there, looking into this house and… I could swear I heard the hammering start again. Eventually the police arrived, they questioned Mr. Porter who didn't really have much to give, they talked to the kids, who were quiet. And they talked to me, who was as helpful as I could be with my now warped perception of time.

“He’s been in the house. With the children.” I told the officer. I think about it now, and I don't think in those days… months? That I ever saw him or any of his family leave his house. Not that I was looking too closely but I hadn't seen anything. The police couldn't find anything or any evidence of a crime and so they left. Mr. Porter and his children reverted back into the house, still leaving the door open. I don’t know how long I stood there, just staring into this house but I know that by the time I turned to go home it was fully dark. The hammering did stop that night, I could see them all around the dinner table silently eating. Once that was done, he led his children to bed and then went to his own.

I woke up the next day and went back over to the house - I don't know why? I just felt like maybe I owed something to the poor man. I knocked on his door, Mr. Porter answered. I asked him how he was, if there was anything I could do to help and if the children were at school. He paused at this last question again, stating that the children were on the porch. Playing. I pointed out to him that young Whitney and Jackson were nowhere on or near the porch. Mr. Porter could not say where they were. He expressed utter confusion. He once again asked for my phone, I once again gave it to him. The police did not believe him this time and arrested him. But they were forced to let him go as there was no evidence of his involvement, and was brought back home.

The neighbors avoided him, but they had always avoided him. The police would make periodic checks on the poor man but all he would do is work on that damn nursery. The hammering became louder and more violent. One evening, after several weeks of this, I walked over again. I wanted to check on him I guess. I knocked on the door, he answered. Looking the exact same he had the last two times. He greeted me, and welcomed me to his home. I hesitated, but eventually walked him. He offered me a cup of coffee, which I accepted and he offered to show me the house. I didn't really want a tour of the gloomy house I found myself in, but my mouth had other plans and agreed.

He showed me around and I soon learned that Mr. Porter no longer went to work. He did not make breakfast or dinner, he did not sleep. He just worked in the nursery. They were always a strange family, and he was always a strange man and something strange was bound to happen to them eventually, but this was not strange. This was sickeningly ordinary. Not for your whole family to go missing. That's not ordinary, but for this family, it seemed like the most ordinary tragedy that could have happened.

Eventually, we got to the nursery. I opened the door. It was heavy and hard to open, but eventually it moved. I stepped inside and everything about this nursery was bright. It was ordinary. It didn't have the gloomy feeling the rest of the house had. I stood there, looking at it for a second before turning back to Mr. Porter, but there was no Mr. Porter to look back too. I searched the whole house, calling out his name and there was no trace of Mr. Porter. So, like he had done many times before, I opened my phone and called 911. When the police got there, I told them my story and showed them the nursery. But when I opened the door to it, there was no longer a nursery. Just an old spare guest room.

Evidence was searched for, and evidence was not found. The Porter house stands empty, with all of the family’s things still inside – furniture and clothing. Even the food, rotting in the refrigerator. The Police arrested me, thinking maybe I had hurt the entire family, but of course could never nail me for anything because I didn't do anything.

This is not a confession. This is not a plea. I do not know what happened in the Porter house but I know that what happened was far from ordinary and much too ordinary. Something is wrong with that house. Something. Is in that house. I fear that something is in my house. If there was anything to be learned from this, I… refuse to learn it.

#writing #creative writing #writer #writers on tumblr #they/them #writerscorner #writers #horror #writers tips #poetry

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cryptwrites · 2 months

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Fear of heights? God you'll hate this!

CW: Falling, Blood, Body Horror, The Unkown ___________

Down. All you can feel is down. Wind rips through your hair, tearing at your delicate skin. You can feel the pressure of the air pulling the blood from your skin. You beg to hit the ground. To stop falling. You welcome death, but your hope is empty. All around is nothing but the expanse of sky blue.

Don’t look down. Don’t see how long you have left. You do not know what waits for you at the bottom, or if anything waits for you at all. All you know is that you’ve been falling for a very, very long time.

Your screams aren’t even loud enough to hear over the piercing howl of the wind around you. Your head is pounding with agony, and you try to breathe.

You can’t.

Your fingers curl around your throat as you desperately grasp for the air surrounding you. Your falling too fast for your body even register you are alive. You close your eyes trying to ignore the all consuming nothingness around you and cry out for the distant glimpse of what might once be hope.

But now vertigo is the only thing holding you in it’s terrifying embrace, knowing you are nothing but a dying husk held to the falling titan above.

You don’t want to die. No, do not look down. You don’t want to die.

The cold of the air bites at your flesh as you try to keep your humanity together. You try and keep something in you alive. Your fear alive.

But you can’t. You’ve been falling for so long now.. your fear is as dead as the past.

You open your eyes. Your can see blood trailing up your arms into the sky. When did you hurt yourself? The sudden warmth of liquid fills your back, dousing the jacket that had already begun to tear. You’re as pathetic as an animal ready for slaughter and the air is your butcher.

Your stiff and frozen fingers turn in the air, watching the crimson liquid dance along your limbs.

Do not look down. Do not surrender the air.

There is another noise. A cry breaks into the howling of the wind and is lost as fast as it came.

It is a body, a woman. She looks at you for just a moment. You can see her skin tearing itself if it’s bones from the pressure of the wind. She wants to cry, but she hasn’t been able to in a long time.

A new terror fills your heart, and you try to take another breath, knowing that you cannot.

You know the void will swallow her. And hopefully you.

Rain. You feel rain.

The woman falling next to you is limp now. Is she dead? Does she know she’s dead?

For from her mutilated body it seems to be their would be no chance for her to be alive. How long has she been here? How long have you been here?

You watch her, as she falls farther and farther down. Then she is gone.

You are left alone. Abandoned by all but the bittersweet pull.

You go back to waiting for the gentle embrace of the ground so far below you.

There is nothing but dreadful pain in your veins. Never knowing how long the fall may be.

You close your eyes again. Your try to imagine your death. It’s so close, if you could reach a bit farther you could almost kiss it.

The woman. She passed so fast. Perhaps she was not there at all.

You sweat and shake and swear.

It will not be you, and you don’t look down.

The wind continues to howl through your body but something has changed.

You carefully reach up with a bloody hand. No.

You’re not falling down anymore.

And in an overwhelming instant, comes the anguish that you no longer know which way you are going and for a moment you grab onto the near faded memory of escape.

Beyond the great blue beast above, descend above the welcoming dirt below where you might be free. But now, it’s pulled you to itself and kissed your last breaths within its great expanse. So in the dread of our extremity you cry for someone. Anyone. Anything to pull you from the thing that pulls you up and out.

But now the air is all you can see and you cannot flee to fields of green.

You have not prayed in a very long time, but you pray now. Not to any god you know, but to the sky. The great blue vast above you.

Everything is empty.

Wait. That’s all. Wait.

Your breath trapped in your chest. Praying for something to come to rescue you. To kill you.

You open your eyes at last.

And see it, you take it all in. There’s no fear. Just acceptance of your new life. Surmounting your fears.

You look down at last.

And the space below you is not endless

But far worse the ground slathered in blood and bodies, hungry for its next meal.

It seems to move away.

And yet the distance does not lessen its need to feed upon your shattered bones.

You’re Desperate. Unmoving.

Holding out with all your remaining strength. The whip of that deep dark desire to surrender to the open arms of empty air.

The blood starts to dance on your skin once again. And you begin to cry.

#writing #creative writing #writer #writers on tumblr #they/them #writers #horror #writerscorner #writers tips #poetry

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cryptwrites · 2 months

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FUCKA REPOST BECAUSE I FUCKED UP LALALA

CW: Drowning, Body Horror, Blood ______________

Static. That is what you are. Static in this cold beyond cold. A sharp, liquid chill that surrounds you, embraces you in a gentle kiss unlike any other, the marrow in your delicate bones are frozen into nothing but soreful agony. The shivers that abuse makes it almost too painful to swim, although your movements are violent, they push you through the water in panicked spurts.

You open your mouth to scream. Water? That’s it. You take a deep breath, immediately hit with the scorching pain of salt against your tender lungs. Your eyes shoot open and the darkness around you, the forever of it all is almost too much to comprehend. You stop moving for a moment. Just a moment as you’re suspended above the forever nothingness. When did you last breathe? You take another breath, you want nothing more than the reaper's gentle embrace. But you know he will never visit you. How long have you been like this? You pray that your lungs cannot handle the abuse for much longer. You can taste the sweet metallic liquid they bleed. No matter how hard you try to end this, nothing you can do will bring an end to it, no relief. So you wait. Violently slashing about waiting, pleading for something to take you.

There is freedom above you. You must know that. You can almost see it, imagine it, shafts of light breaking through the inky stillness of that thick barrier between water and sky, motionless as black glass. You thrash and kick at the water around you, clawing your way to the surface. But you are not moving. You’re being pulled back, the more you move. Your blood turns to a cold that has nothing to do with the water consuming you. You have the strength, so why does the body force you and beg you to stay down, to kiss the darkness and its vulgar embrace?

Just swim, that's all. That’s all you need. Pick a direction, and swim until you find something. Anything. Land or someone who is suffering as you are. Haven’t you been doing that? How long have you been swimming? The cold burn that passes convulsively through your veins makes it hard to tell, and no light would dare to reach here. But still you press on, telling yourself that you’ll either find freedom, or you will die. And either sound okay to you. How long have you been moving now? Seconds? Years? Your lungs are pleading you to stop breathing. They want nothing more than the sweet taste of fresh air on their bruised skin.

Did you see something? Something sharp and deceptive, slyer than your frozen imagination could dream of. You feel it. You know you can feel it. You aren’t going mad. The water shifts and pushes against you, spinning you around, and tearing apart your thin idea of up and down. For just a moment you feel something brush upon your leg. A hand? Teeth? It’s closer than you want it to be. Despite the pressure of The Awful Deep all around you, the bit of humanity you cling so desperately onto kicks in. Your legs frantically flail, trying desperately to get away from whatever is beneath you.

You pause. Where did it go? You turn around, straining your eyes to see something, anything to give you a clue. But there’s nothing. Your looking into once again is a huge forever nothingness. You almost feel sorrow. As terrifying as it is, it’s almost worse being alone again. And although you try to find peace in the nothingness around you, you know you cannot stay down here. The darkness hides horrific things, and your whole chest pleads for air. You stop yourself for a moment. Regaining some sort of control, you steady yourself in one direction and you start. There is no other option but to swim.

You see it. The light that breaks through the dark expanse. Your relief is so overwhelming, a new panic greets you, forcing you to take in one more disparaging breath. You kick and claw your way towards that light, tears somehow forming in your eyes under the watery expanse. You can feel yourself shaking that you know you should slow down, but it is too late, as your whole body rips through the surface of the sea and into open air.

You feel the icy liquid expel from your throat, letting out a scream and you take a breath. The air burns but you take the pain, never wanting to breathe the Deep Dark again. This is perhaps a feeling long forgotten, and you open your eyes.

There is… nothing.

You frantically look around you, trying to take it all in, but the ocean that stretches away is smooth against the reddened sky, unchanging. There is nothing else. Nothing to save you. But that is okay. You can take a break, you can swim until you find something. Right? You begin to cry. But not a sowful cry. A weak cry riddled with newfound hope. You throw your head towards the sky, taking another abusive breath in. You can feel the rawness of your lungs as you try to treat them to the air.

And then it hits you. You are so very tired. You are so incredibly exhausted and the water you were treading feels unbelievably heavy. Almost all at once you feel your limbs give out. You try so hard to keep above the water, but you are violently dragged back down. Something is pulling you down. You cannot feel it, but you know something doesn’t want you to taste the crisp air. And you also know that nothing will ever change. Your life will forever be a cycle of this.. You want to scream. But your lungs are still holding onto the false reality of air.

#writing #creative writing #writer #writers on tumblr #they/them #writers #writerscorner #horror #writers tips #poetry

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cryptwrites · 2 months

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Can I/are you able to answer a question I have about writing an asexual character? I wanted to ask that it was okay before actually making the ask 😅 as I found your blog while looking at different resources for writing asexual characters. If you respond to this with an okay, I will make an ask about it! If you reply with a no or just don't reply at all, I will leave it be 😊

go for it! always happy to help in anyway i can!

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cryptwrites · 2 months

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HI!! BIG ANNOUNCEMENT!

IM COMING OUT WITH A POETRY BOOK!

so if you like some of the shit you see here. NOW YOU CAN TANGIBLY HOLD IT AND WRITE ON IT. Or burn it. If you hate it. Idk. Do whatever you want to it I'll get paid either way.

ANYWAYS

it’s called Slaughterhouse and as soon as I finish it (87% of the way) it’ll be available where ever you buy books! (Ideally. I have to figure that out still)

YAYY FOR SMALL WRITERS!

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cryptwrites · 3 months

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read & write like it’s air you need to live.

the internet is but the digital wind carrying your words and thoughts to others. it doesn’t matter that 99% won’t read it, what matters is that 1% that do

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cryptwrites · 6 months

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Its tender.

Oh god, its tender.

But not in the soft way, where a man hugs another, and they share such a personal moment.

No... it's tender, like a bruise thats a few days old but near not close to healed. With its blues and purples making a myriad of colours you don't understand yet.

#writing #creative writing #writer #writers on tumblr #they/them #writers #writerscorner #horror #writers tips #my poerty #poetsandwriters #short poems #poems on tumblr #short poem #original poem #poem #poetry

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cryptwrites · 7 months

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Tell me to repent for sins I did not commit

And then wonder why my devotion is violent.

#writing #creative writing #writer #horror writing #they/them #writers on tumblr #writers #writerscorner #horror #writers tips

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cryptwrites · 7 months

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if I crossed shifting sands, with a raven by my side, would you love me then?

would I be good enough then?

Etching the dates on others grave is harder than I initially expected, although digging my own for you, has become a quick way to pass the time.

#writing #horror writing #creative writing #writer #writers on tumblr #they/them #writers #writerscorner #horror #writers tips #poem #horror poem #poems on tumblr #love poems #original poem #short poem

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cryptwrites · 7 months

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writing injuries: 101

hi goblins and ghouls let me teach you how to write that silly little stab would you decided to give your silly little guy so that you could rip out the hearts of your reader, even more.

Hopefully you have gathered from the title that this will be discussing WOUNDS! BLOOD! GORE! OTHER NASTYS! If you disagree with my advice, MORE THAN OKAY! I'd love to hear yours and we can exchange tips! Lets get into it.

Types of Injuries

To write a realistic injury you NEED to know three things: A) What type of boo-boo B) What caused said boo-boo C) Where is the boo-boo D) Who will kiss boo-boo better (optional) edit: according to my friend D is not optional, so. find someone to kiss it better

Common types of injuries

I am by NO MEANS a professional so... take with a grain of salt. There are so many resources out there if you need to get specific but here's some simple shit xoxo:

Abrasion: Remember when you fell on the street as a skin and scrapped the shit out of your knee? Yeah. That. Its broken skin caused by friction against rough surfaces: requires IMMEDIATE cleaning.

Animal Chomps (bites): These can and will cause an infection if you don't treat it. Your 5'3 teenage girl CANNOT brush off that wolf bite apocalypse writers. Get her to the closest med tent.

Avulsion: A injury's caused when a body part is ripped away either partially or fully (HELLO SAW MOVIES). Results in some severe trauma (physically and mentally if they live) Typically caused by gunshot wounds, explosion's, car crashes etc.)

Bruise: Muscle fibers, blood vessels, and connective tissues are damaged with these bad boys. They cause that bluish purply look. Bruises do change colour to a yellow-green the older they are so do your research!

Burn: There are three degrees and a whole lot of different types for this mf and I can do a separate post on burns if you all want, but in general it is damage to the skin caused by heat, chemicals, radiation or sunlight (we all are too familiar with that last one). As some of know it can result in Swelling, Blistering, and scaring. Now if you gave your creature a really bad burn then it can cause shock, death and the destruction of the skin! And it leaves your victim of choice vulnerable to infection! Yay!!!

Fracture: a break in the bone, it literally looks fractured. It causes pain swelling, numbness and possibly deformity. You will likely need to send your character to the doctor.

Laceration: A cut, slice, tear in the skin, these are not stab wounds this is like if you accidentally cut yourself on glass or if someone swung at you with a knife and it sliced you, but it didn't go into your body and stay there. You get the idea.

Puncture wounds: THIS. THESE ARE YOUR STABS. Penetration to the skin caused by any sort of (usually sharp) object. These are the wounds your serial killer might use in the final moments of the kill with his knife, or the final blow to your hero's enemy with his sword.

Sprain: Ligaments (the things you see in x-rays that hold the bones together) that have been stretched or torn which happens when the joins move into unnatural positions. Usually, this results in stiffness, discoloration and swelling.

Strain: NOTE, Sprain and Strain ARE different. This is what happens when a muscle or tendon (not a ligament) is pulled, twisted or torn. Typically caused by over-stretching/contracting. Usually results in pain, muscle spams, and weakness.

Please note, that like I mentioned with burns there are degrees of severity for ALL OF THESE so please do your research this is just a starting point.

Care & Aftermath

LOTS of writers forget this part and its so sad. You want cute scenes between to characters who aren't yet dating but your rooting for? ONE OF THEM JUST GOT HURT AND THE OTHER IS TENDING TO IT. BAM INSTANT CUTE SCENE. Do not forget about your aftermath and medical care. Most injuries if left untreated WILL WORSEN if you leave them alone so FIX UP YOUR GUYS.

Do your research!! Look up the kind of injury your character sustained, the severity of it and you'll find recovery time and the kind of treatment they'll need.

In my experience, the more you focus on the aftermath of wounds, the more realistic it seems even if your dashing hero just got his arm ripped off by a dragon.

Writing the injury

You do not, now listen closely. YOU DO NOT HAVE TO WRITE A MEDICALLY ACCURATE DESCRIPTION OF THE WOUND. You're probably writing fiction and not a med student essay. If you are... email your professor I cannot help you here.

Just focus on getting the basics down. What's the bleeding? How bad is the swelling? What's the pain level at? and just leave the rest to the imagination. Unless your character is a doctor or whatever, your little dudes will also not know exactly what an Avulsion is. You can just say that there's a gaping hole or something. They'll be far to focused on the pain or whatever is causing it to diagnose themselves then and there.

Realism

I pinky promise you that as long as you have the basics, your readers will pick up what your laying down. The characters reaction is the most important part. How are they feeling emotionally? Are they having a physical reaction to the pain (Limping, shaking)? Do they have any physical response to the sight of their own/others blood? Do they experience shock? What's their attitude after it all?

These are the questions you should ask yourself. A war-hardened soilder will react differently to a gunshot wound than someone fresh out of high school.

Thanks :] go make the masses suffer :]]

#writing #horror writing #creative writing #writer #writers on tumblr #they/them #writers #writerscorner #horror #writers tips

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