u/Educational_Art_3763

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Looking for feedback on my piece: The Two Brothers! It is a very light fantasy piece that acts as a broader creation myth for a novel I am working on.

I am mainly looking for feedback on the register of the piece. I wanted to give a style that mimics oral tales, old myths, etc., with a more modern construction. If you want more structured questions, see these below!

• Is it interesting? What was interesting, what needs some work? How was the pacing, were there parts that were too fast or too slow?
• What feels jumbled or unclear? (The pond scene is where I am looking for the most feedback on this)
• Does it make sense what this is representing? Is it a believable mythos for what the two boys and their mother are representing?
• Anything else that stands out please let me know!

Critiques:

1706, 2410, 1946, 794

Critique: [1837]

Link to piece: here

Looking for feedback on my light sci-fi piece! I'm looking for any and all feedback but would appreciate some specifics about the:

• Style: Were you engaged? What sounded weird/made you reread?
• Story/plot: Did you find this opening interesting? My vision would be to make this a small adventure piece between the two subjects of this piece. How was the setting?
• Characters: What do you think of the machine? Do you get a clear image of what it might look like and how it moves? How did you feel about it? Was it endearing/scary/intimidating/cute/etc.,
• Did you want more? Was the world enticing to know more or would you turn the page?
• Big thing I know is the use of 'the thing', 'the machine' etc. If anyone has any good suggestions for this aspect, please drop them below!

Thanks for any and all feedback!

Full text:

Lichen, moss, and trees start to come back first, crawling like a baby left to roam. It finds a hold in some concrete, in a crack in what was once a road. Things start to become overgrown: flipped cars charred by riots, broken glass from storefronts blown away by wind or washed into old sewers by rains.

So, it was there, deep in an overgrown city with trees and bushes climbing the skyscrapers, with moss hugging the sides of buildings, and the slow return of animals, that the thing sat. It was a polished thing. Uncanny in the lush greens, muddied browns, and specks of color from flowers just starting to bloom. A layer of dew sat on the metal surface, bouncing rays of light in every direction. The thing moved, rumbling to life with a mechanical whir. Then it sputtered. The sputtering machine was like a cough: raspy and drawn out as it tried to brace itself against the ground.

Two long legs sprouted from the box shaped body. They spun around in their sockets then broke into the dirt. Its legs were thick with metal plates coating the wires and scaffolding hidden below. Small dents, scrapes, and burns snaked across its body.

The machine’s arms stretched out from small compartments on its side. With a sprout of steam bursting from the joints, hands and fingers separated themselves from the metal arms. They wiggled one by one and gripped onto a log. Underneath its fingers, the wood crackled and crunched, splitting against the force of the machine. It propped itself up and its singular eye came to life. A warm, red glow radiated from the glass lens. The thing purred, rumbling like a cat. The dirt below its feet shook just enough to send insects scampering out of their holes and small critters to freeze. Everything that was left in the city turned to the vibrating earth. Like a newborn deer, it hesitated before taking its first steps. Rust and lubricants ran down the thing’s legs, oozing from its joints as it tried to gain confidence in its footing. After a moment, machine no longer needed to look down toward the ground while it walked or keep its arms ready to catch the mix of concrete and dirt.

The thing lumbered down a wide avenue. What had been perfectly manicured strips of grass and glorious palms was now a rat’s nest of ivy and brush. The thing felt a drive. Off in the distance there was a pull. Voices that were too quiet to make out urged it to move. They called for it. Help.

As the sun broke through some thin wisps of clouds, the thing stopped. It leaned forward, slouching almost perpendicular to the cracked pavement. Its back opened up, two metal flaps creaked and moaned as they scraped against thin layers of rust. Two large solar panels began to unfold themselves, splaying out like a pair of wings.

The thing stared at the ground. Unable to move or turn as it charged in the sunlight. Its arms lengthened out and dug into the pavement, sending bits of tar flinging around it.

A twig broke off to its side. It was a thin snap: a clear pop that echoed off of the buildings. The thing began to shudder like an old car as the solar panels closed back into its torso. Its arms shifted and broke from the ground. The machine stood up straight and turned to the side, shaking with each rotation. It lifted an arm to its eyeline and pointed out into the street.

There was nothing there. Silence. The thing began to scan, its head rotated back and forth as it flipped through every view it could. Ultraviolet light, infra-red, one by one it looked and saw nothing.

Then, a metal clink bounced up from the thing’s feet. With a sharp movement, the thing stepped back and pointed its arm down, whirring up a gun in its wrist.

At the thing’s feet sat a mouse: small, round, and brown. It looked soft. With large, beady black eyes it stared up at the thing before scratching again at the machine’s foot. The thing froze, processing and watching the mouse. The mouse dropped to all fours and crawled to the other foot. It sniffed at the thin layer of moss that was starting to climb up the thing’s body.

A dark shadow climbed over the mouse, soon covering its tiny body completely with a foot shaped shadow. The thing sent its foot down like a rocket. It smashed into the ground with a crunch. Dirt and pavement flew every which way and rained back down like the pitter-patter of a summer drizzle. The mouse scampered across the avenue, jumping from side to side, winding in and out of debris. The thing’s arm snapped up and began to whir. Chuk. Chuk. Chuk. It fired off a round of bullets at the mouse. Each shot reverberated throughout the city like a lone trumpet call.

As the smoke cleared, the mouse was gone. Nothing came up as the thing scanned the avenue.

Without a thought, the machine turned back down the road and continued to march on.

The road began to grow as the median of brush and old palm trees vanished, replaced with more and more abandoned lanes of rusted, flipped over cars. Mixed in with the cars were bleached bones. Bodies were piled haphazardly like they were trying to crawl over one another. Some were trapped under cars; others were burned to a crisp. The thing kept walking, glancing down to observe but never to stop. It stepped over the cars or pushed them, rotating them with metal screeches and the cries of shattering glass. The machine just looked forward, continuing down the road.

The road took a sudden dip into a tunnel. The bodies were becoming thicker and the cars were more and more scorched. Fire had licked the top of the tunnel. A bright flame had burned the outlines of bodies into the floor, walls, and sides of cars. They were melted and fused to anything around them.

Deep in the tunnel something glittered. More than a few things did. A whole pile of something blinked red and reflected the light this way and that. The thing was drawn to it. The red light called for the thing.

They told the thing to help them. The machine began to run, smashing through cars and crushing the charred remains that became multiple feet thick. They begged the thing to help them, to run, to save them.

The pile of blinking lights grew. It was a pile of metal, oddly shaped and strewn together.

The thing stopped at the foot of the pile.

Reaching out a metal hand, it gripped onto a body. Metal limbs tumbled down the pile as the thing pulled the body free. A face like its own looked up into the thing’s lens. A singular red eye blinked with a faded red glow.

Some of their lights were almost faded, clinging onto life and what little sunlight they could absorb. Some were already dead. Their lights permanently out.

The thing held onto the body before letting it drop, clattering to the ground in a deafening crash.

Screams echoed in the tunnel. Real screams. Screams that shook the thing’s entire body. Creatures ran out in its peripheral, scattering around and hurling themselves at the thing. Jumbled voices cried out and rocks struck the thing’s metal body. Metal pipes and rope wrapped around the thing as arms hugged the machine in a death squeeze. They clamored for any sort of grip, shoving and grabbing against the metal to get the thing to the ground.

The thing scanned them. Fourteen people, makeshift weapons in their hands. The thing thought for a moment, unsure what to do, then it sliced its limbs back into its body. The screams turned shrill and high pitched. Severed arms, legs, and fingers splattered to the ground around the thing.

The people scrambled away as the thing raised both arms. Chukchuckchukchukchuk. Steam rose from the gun barrels as the tunnel became silent. The thing let its arms come down to its sides with a soft mechanical whir.

The people were scattered around it in a bloody arc.

A gurgle came from one of the people. The machine turned to it and stomped over, squishing its feet into the bodies with a squelch. It looked down at the person while their eyes twitched and shuttered back and forth. The person tried to speak, raising a hand out with an outstretched palm.

The thing raised its own arm and pointed it at the person’s head. They pleaded. Chukchuk. The thing turned back to the pile of bodies. To the pile of its own body.

They wouldn’t stop crying for help, yelling for anything.

A squeak echoed off the walls of the tunnel. The thing whirled around and raised its arm, immediately locking onto a small creature sitting on a car. The mouse.

The mouse sat on its back legs, sniffing up at the air.

The thing kept its arm raised. Its eye scanned the mouse over and over. The mouse fell to its front legs and climbed down the car. Expertly hopping from roof to hood then climbing down a tire onto the ground. It weaved in and out of the charred bodies until it came to one of the people. The mouse looked up at the thing then down to the person. It sniffed the body, studying the gaping wound.

The mouse stuck its face into the hole and began to eat, cleaning along the exposed spine and ribcage.

The machine lowered its arm then stuttered forward to the mouse. Each step made the mouse jump slightly in the air. It kept its face in the body but one eye tracked as the thing approached. The thing knelt down and held out a hand toward the mouse. The mouse turned from its meal and brushed off its face with its paws.

The two stared at each other for a moment. Then, with a hesitant reach, the mouse stuck out its paw onto the thing’s hand. It climbed into the cupped hand of the metal thing. The mouse shuddered at the cold for a moment. It scampered up the thing’s arm, feeling the warmth off the thing’s torso. It wiggled its way into a crevice in the thing’s body, curling up deep inside its protected compartments. The metal thing chugged on, its core heating the mouse.

The thing took one last look at the screaming bodies. They had gotten quieter. Fading as it pushed away from them. As it came to the other side of the tunnel, the thing looked out beyond the highway. The road gave way to rolling hills, dotted with thick trees that had snaked their way across roads and through houses. Soft clicks from the mouse’s claws echoed in the its head. With the screams faded into nothing, the machine took its first step out of the city.

 **Edited body due to odd formatting error

Critique: [2755]

Link to text for those who prefer a docs version: here or see full text below.

Looking for feedback that is more focused on my writing itself. This piece was created from a prompt, so not necessarily a piece I'd be looking to expand on nor had extensive thought put to it. I've had work published in the past and had a solid circle of professional and amateur writers around me, but I've taken a longer break from writing and don't have a solid critique-group right now. Since I'm getting back into it and shaking off the rust, any and all feedback is appreciated. Thanks!

*****

There it was, lush and green. I hesitated when I saw it. Thin blades sprouted from the ground in an almost perfect circle except for a little jutting spike on the end furthest from me. The circle was maybe the size of my palms placed next to each other with my fingers spread as wide as can be. The tops of the little green spires became lighter and lighter until they basically looked white. Against the frozen snow that surrounded it, the blades disappeared at their tips.

I slipped my gloved hand from my side and reached out to the green mass. It looked warm and inviting, coaxing me in to grab it. They sort of looked like miniature versions of the long spikes scattered around the plains, towering high above with shattered icicles crushed at their bases.

I extended my pointer finger out and brushed against the stuff. I couldn’t feel it through my glove. The blade shook, waving back and forth like a breeze had blown through it, before silently coming to a stop. At that point there was a decision to be made. I pulled my mouth and nose covering off my face, letting it hang about my neck so as to not block my vision.

My mind went to my mother as I carefully removed my glove. She would have clutched onto my hand, scolding me about the cold and whatever this thing could be. The air instantly bit at my skin, clawing at my finger tips and gnawing through to my bones. I winced, but couldn’t stop myself from touching the blades. As my skin met the blades, this time I could feel it. Just barely, just a little kiss on my finger tip. Again, it wiggled like a breeze had come through, then froze again.

I let my hand stay by its side before unclenching my fist, sticking out my thumb with my pointer finger. The outside was waxy but smooth. It all looked so delicate, like I could rip it all up from the ground without a second thought. The sun beat down on my face, jumping off the snow and into my eyes. I felt warmer than I had in years, leaning over the green spires.

My hand did not burn or sting. I checked it over and saw nothing, no red marks, cuts, or bits of swollen flesh that would make my hand look like a pair of gloves. I stared at my palm, struggling to close my fingers through the cold.

Without thinking, I turned my hand over and thrust it against the little green blades. It was soft. They kissed my hand while the warm earth below cuddled the tips of my fingers. I scrunched my hand into it, feeling as a mushy, warm dirt soaked into my skin.

I cocked my head at the feeling of warm, wet earth, and looked down to my palm. The dirt clung to my skin; a few broken strands of the green blades hung onto me. As soon as I brought my hand higher, the water started to crystallize. I slipped my glove back onto my hand, pushing myself off the ground. My eyes stayed hooked to the green circle, even as I walked away, slowly tracing my steps backward through the snow.

The whole way back to my home I couldn’t keep my eyes focused on anything. It was like I had fallen into a hypnotic state, mindlessly walking, only brought back by a rogue flake that clung to the exposed bridge of my nose. Circles clouded my vision, circles with a little dent on one side. They spun around and around in my head.

When I returned to my home, it felt like all eyes were on me. Maybe it was because I knew something they didn’t, that I had seen something they hadn’t. Eyes could peel back my scalp and search through my brain. I passed into the entrance of the cave, walking by children wrapped up in dense furs and warriors holding spears in their hands. Into the cave I walked, my eyes straining in the dark.

My family and friends all worked in the cave. They sat in small groups, talking and laughing while they fixed tools, made clothes, or prepared fish. Though, when I walked by, the voices seemed to fade for a moment, like they all froze and stared.

Down a deeper passage, extending far back into the deepest parts of the cave, soft whispers dominated the air. The voices were raspy yet powerful. The sound was like old boulders tumbling down a cliff.

The voices came from the elders. They stayed in their corner of the cave, speaking to themselves and to whoever would listen to their stories. An old woman sat on a fur covered boulder with a handful of old men and women surrounding her. Voices spoke in hushed tones, eyes drooped nearly shut, and hands shook under their blankets. The woman on the boulder was the oldest. I did not know how old but she spoke of things that I did not understand. She had names for things that the other old people seemed to recall but did not really know. When we were young and she was not yet so old, she would sit with the children and talk about a warm world. They were stories, but she talked about green. It was everywhere, on everything.

I only knew it on the scales of fish and in their guts.

Maybe she would know.

I sat on the outskirts of their circle waiting for them to notice me. Their mouths moved slow, long pauses for thought and consideration packed the silence. Subtle nods and rumbling mouths agreed. A pair of eyes noticed I had sat, then another, then soon all of them were waiting for me to speak in long, drawn out phrases with enough time to process. To talk with them, one had to take their time.

I blurted out, in too fast of a phrase, a jumble of excited words of the green spires I had seen. Pulling my knife from my pocket, I tried to show them what they looked like, grasping at the right words to make them understand the mini, green ice spikes that sat in almost a perfect circle.

What was it, they asked, turning to the old woman on the boulder. She tightened her jaw and her eyes seemed to open up some more. Something that I couldn’t have actually seen, she said.

I pleaded my case, telling her that I saw it and felt it and that it was real. I threw off my glove and reached out my palm, showing them where the green blades and earth had clung to my skin. Where the sensation of water kissed my hand while it froze.

It could have been, she whispered.

I will show you, I said back. I stood and made my way out of the cave.

Back across the snow I trudged, pushing through a thick sheet of flying and twisting crystals. It came down in large chunks, dancing across my vision. My footprints were starting to become filled as I pushed further. They would be covered soon. The little blades would be covered too.

I was careless, rushing against the snowflakes, forgetting how to shift my weight and balance along the snow. If my feet sunk in and the snow snuck into my boots, soaking my toes and socks, it was okay. I wanted to get to the blades.

It felt as if the wind and snow were trying to stop me. Their bellowing cries and savage bite tore at me. The large ice spikes were all I could use to pull myself along, willing each step forward as I clawed along their bases.

Just beyond my sight, I thought I could see a glow pulsing through the snow. A beacon was humming just beyond my grasp, right as my tracks were starting to fade into the snow around them.

At the end of my trail, they were there. Not entirely covered yet, just a light dusting. It was hard to tell that they were ever green. I knelt in the snow and slipped out my knife, driving it into the earth. Slipping through with ease, I started to cut along the edge of the circle then stopped.

I couldn’t take all of it. I just had to take enough. Just enough to show them that I was right about what I saw. The rest should stay in its warm little circle.

So, resolving to only take a bit, I cut out a small square and slipped it into my glove. It settled in my palm, pressing against the hide and my skin. It was still warm, not as warm as when I first had touched it, but warm. Wet, too. The blades tickled my hand as I retraced my steps.

This walk back I could only keep my eyes glued to the path in front of me. My mind could not wander as the snow became a thick wall of white, so dense I could barely make out my own legs.

I couldn’t climb over the snow like I had before. No amount of shifting my weight or taking extra time would keep me from sinking in. My legs were soaked through by the time I had taken a few steps. Each step sunk a little further into the snow. More and more of it found its way into any crack in my clothes. It seemed to find my skin no matter what. Yet, I pushed through.

As I reached the cave, only a few stood out front. They had shovels and scoops used to clear the snow. Tirelessly, they worked to shift the snow away from the cave.

My steps echoed in a silent, lonely passage. It was empty as I continued to press on to where the old people sit. No one was by their sleeping pads, no one was cleaning fish or mending broken tools. They had vanished.

A whisper bounced somewhere down the cave. An old voice spoke, raspy and strained; it took its long pauses. I could hear the ears listening to the voice.

I picked up my speed, jogging down the corridor until I entered the room with the old people. The regular circle was there with the oldest woman sitting on the boulder. Around her and the rest of the old men and women, however, was everyone else. Every single person that I knew was there. The old woman spoke of the past again. She spoke of the green. Her eyes were squinting in a hopeful smile. While she spoke slow and deliberate, her movements looked young. Her hands were steady and begged everyone to listen.

The words she had spoken to me as a kid were sprinkled through her story. She spoke of them now; they were words that I had forgotten and just thought of as stories. Trees. Grass. Warmth. All of it green. Tickling her palm, the old woman told a story of how it felt to walk with her bare feet on this grass. The waxy, soft feel of it in between her toes. How good it felt to have the soft soil giving way like a sponge.

Eyes locked onto me like they had before. They turned one by one until the old woman no longer spoke. She finally looked at me and lifted up her hand, expecting me to walk to her, her open palm asking for something. I took off my glove and let the earth and grass come down into my palm. I extended out my hand while I walked forward and placed it delicately into her palm. She beckoned for me to sit beside her while she took in a deep breath. Ready to speak, the woman stood and waddled over to the children in front of her. She kneeled and let them look at it, letting their little fingers press against the springy substance. Each person took a chance to touch it. To roll the grass between their fingers and press into the soil, letting it become stuck under their fingernails. The old woman was taken to a different place. Her eyes were glazed over and tears welled up in her eyes. She spoke of the green again. We listened to her speak of the grass while she cradled it like a baby.