I think that your descriptions of both the compound and Shahid were perfect. Clear enough to get us started, but not overloading us. Even some of the way he walks, and the background, adds to the mental imagery of his character. As does little things like the compound having an execution spot away from the buildings, which probably have small, blacked out windows to limit light. His ability to take out three soldiers using his camera as a weapon only adds to the idea of his physique - I picture someone strong and agile.

Perhaps they can come up in some other stories, because I would love to see more of these characters.

Glad I was able to help! Keep up the good work.

Blackbird,

I love this story, how you describe Shahid, both in appearance and personality. Also the description of the compound (prison?) that he had been incarcerated in was fantastic.

Some small crit here - This paragraph felt a little disorganzied to me.

>As he shambled over, he took some grim satisfaction at the many other guards that fell in behind him. He had been captured by an extremist group while trying to gain evidence of the horrific crimes they had committed, but the troops sent to seize him hadn’t expected a six-foot-four giant using a telephoto lens as a flail. He’d sent three men to the infirmary.

The phrase "guards that fell in behind him" to me indicates that they are following him in a single file line. Maybe a better way to explain it would be "he took some grim satisfaction at the memory of the guards that he had taken down with him. The troops sent to seize him as he tried to gain evidence of their horrific crimes were not prepared for a six-foot-four giant using a telephoto lens as a flail. He'd sent three men to the infirmary before being subdued." Just a suggestion, take it with a grain of salt (I know word count may get in the way here, too).

I would like to see more of the sniper. Why does she get credit for saving him? Is she the squad leader, or just the best shot?

Overall, though, you painted a wonderful scene within the constraints here, and have definitely caught my interest in this story and what they do next!

Zach,

Glad to see a bit more of Bea here, getting her hands dirty! I love how we see her willingness to do some dirty work, especially for what she deems as a pretty decent payment.

Only a tiny, tiny crit here.

>Bea opened the dumpster and quickly stepped back, not believing the smell could get much worse but it found a way. Bea had not been dumpster diving before today and after this she knew she was going to update her Fiverr profile to exclude this specific activity.

Instead of repeating dumpster twice, maybe describe the black heavy lid, then the smell, then the dumpster diving. Just to break up how often the word dumpster is used. Also, the mention of what the client paid felt like an afterthought. Maybe have it more towards the beginning as a reason Bea agreed to dumpster dive for this job.

I absolutely adore her internal pun at the end of this story, as well.

The Beginning of the End

-----------------------------------------------

This piece should have made my career, not ended it. That once in a lifetime story that, when it comes along, every other assignment — and competing writer — gets told to fuck off. But even knowing that it’d lead to this, I still think I would've taken the bait. Boredom can drive people to do stupid shit. And, damn, was I BORED.

I wasn’t even looking for a story. I was at the Blue Oyster Bar — my usual haunt after Caitlin left with our daughter. Said I was too invested in my work. She wasn’t wrong — I spent far more time chasing stories than I did making our own. My biggest regret.

Focus. The bar. The story. I was three sheets into the wind, munching on seasoned fries to absorb some of the booze sloshing around my belly before attempting to race the last dredges of sunlight home. At least, until this gorgeous redhead sat next to me with a smile, warming my core in a way the alcohol hadn’t. Grinning back, I offered her a drink, surprised she accepted.

Sabine accepted a second drink as well, downing it before whispering seductively in my ear. “Don’t you think it’s time to go home?” Her hot breath sending shivers down my spine and waking up parts I hadn’t paid any mind to for the better part of a year.

I immediately agreed, not considering that someone this beautiful probably had an ulterior motive. After all, it wasn’t like I still had “it”, that fabled recipe of charm and attractiveness. Not sure I ever did in the first place, if I am being honest.

Honest. Sure. Not like I have much time left. I am writing this in the foolish hope that someone — other than my captor — will find it. That my racing thoughts will cross the finish line before the blood — my blood — has been stolen from my veins.

Beautiful, sneaky Sabine. We went back to my apartment, and — well, it was a great night. For me at least. Never had the chance to ask her. Next morning, that damned manila envelope, leaning against my coffee pot. Full of the proof that the worlds’ leaders are working to keep us docile, distracted. Hiding the truth — that we are nothing more than livestock for gods that most of us don’t even believe in.

Gods. Demons. Celestials. Angels. Whatever name they use, they're monsters. Much like the legends of vampires, these…creatures feed on us. More than our blood, though, they steal our lives. Our years. I have aged decades in days. Always suspected I’d die young, never feeling the toll of time on my body. How wrong I was.

I won’t see tomorrow. But the proof, my article, can be found with the dreams of my future. He’s here. It’s the end.

If you find my story, share it. Stop them. Tell the world, don’t let my death —

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WC 495

Feedback always welcome, and thank you for reading!

Again nature sleeps,

Blanketed by freezing winds

Waiting for morning.

​

Awakening dirt

Roots stretching, leaves unfurl

Reaching for the sun.

​

Summer sun rises

Heat spreads from wildfires

Earth begins to thirst

​

Autumn rain-storms flood

Under thundering gray skies

Nature drinks her fill

​

Tired, she slumbers,

Under a blanket of snow

the cycle repeats.

​

One year at a time.

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WC - 60 words - edit for formatting

r/Spirited_Words