this is a collection of unpolished, imperfect, messy snippets either from writing exercises or unfinished stories. I’m putting these here to document my progress as a writer, and to remind myself that writing is writing is writing — even if its not perfect.
acts of preservation
Two apprentice researchers, raised on opposite wings of the Palace, vie for the title of Royal Alchemist. Damian’s world collapses when his rival is nominated for the role instead of him.
finger food
In a world dying from starvation, the sidekick of an old, floundering vigilante realizes he's outgrown his mentor. Things come to a head during their annual Fundraising Gala.
lyla’s spectres
“There was a reason she liked her sessions in the church. Not for sentimentality or faith, but for the idea that something could be entirely absent yet still suffuse you with its presence. That’s what these ghosts were.”
remnant
“Hello,” they repeated, having tried a couple variations and settling on a bizarre amalgamation of languages. Their voice was thick, a chorus of tongues, the sound of a heart caught in the throat. “You should not be alive.”
finding fate
The outskirts village is a place where the Empire’s stories have no hold. The village’s apothecary apprentice turned accidental motivational speaker has to reconcile what it means to deal in fate when the Emperor’s youngest prince comes to visit.
residue
An undertaker shows her new prodigy the ropes, in a world where humanity has stopped aging, has ceased natural death.
amaranth
“Immortality was her father’s greatest work. His second best was May. Now, at the end of time, there is only the two of them left.”
ta-two
“Cherry held out her hand, and he took it. She blew on them gently, as if to warm them from the cold. His steady warmth, maintained by the machinery within him, melted the snow around them. “
the well of moons and souls
“Darkness surrounds me, so thick it clogs the senses – filling the lungs, smothering sight – and each swallow brings with it a plume of silver and rust. It is the smell of time, of things long dead.”
ochre waters
“Heat bore down on our colony as fingers to a bruise, and it manifested as stickiness under my arms, barren dirt in the land—as though our bodies were forced to suck moisture from the earth to keep them whole.”
ashes from the sea
“Your third touch is final: the magic of threes spinning gold and translucent in the sky.”
stars at dusk
“…they curse when their bodies sink into the lake’s depths as teeth into apple skin, flesh, core as though death has let loose a spirit on the water’s surface.”