Lighter | StickPage Forums

First step, don’t read the next step and do what comes natural. Third step: leave no evidence behind. That is the rule of this world. Close your eyes and just do it. And so they do, did and done.

There’s nothing left to be said, really. All that had already been said, I’m just saying. Better yet, it’s time you beheld it with your own eyes.

When light shone, the world unfolded before my eyes. Dim green hues fill the cobbled together street, like a mad-lib of a comedy routine. Light torn itself and refracted. Those who live here view the world through a distorted lens, green like envy, but rose-colored in their minds. Positivity has always been a commonly held belief, but not for their own sanity’s sake. It was for insanity to take root.

I patrol on the road and slowly put myself to work. Each movement I make is slow yet careless. It is nothing short of flailing, but it suffices. Efficiency does not matter. My shaky hands hold the staff and lift it high up. The torch it holds sways and flickers, threatening to commit suicide lest it finish its duty. But the job is done. Light is lit. I saw something in the shadows. Hunched figures. It’s a shame that it was me that they saw, so they slunk away like rats in a maze. I continue my job.

I weakly sway my staff, and it closes. It has been done, for now. I look at the road and many more grow from the viney stones. Light begets light to be shone. I shamble along, carrying myself and tool with me. One more.

Then two more.

Then 5 more.

Then none pops up.

All has been done. This green world is lit.

And it fades into black.

I stumble my way around, my green glow guiding me. I bumped into it. With my staff, I lit it up. The lamp post, it shines. More pops up away from me.

I drag my feet, and get to work.

It is what it is. This circular world, tainted by something. I forget. Or did I forgot instead?

Then I stumbled. Collapsed to the ground. My time was up. I can tell. Could tell. Would tell.

A figure closed in. He tossed a person onto me. Cold, unmoving. Dead. Outside or inside, I don’t know. Worms bursted from my pale skin and dug into the carass’s body . Or carcass’s? Ass. Blast it. Trash it?

Then the trash rose, glowing green grimly and dimly. A shadow picked up my tool and gave it to it. It shamble along, carrying itself and its tool. One more.

Two more.

Then 5 more.

Then none pops up.

All has been done. This green world is lit.

And it fades into black.

It stumbles its way around, its green glow guiding it. It bumped into it.. With its staff, it lits it up. The lamp post, it shines. More pops up away from me.

It drags its feet, and get to work.

Finally, everything went black. No more from me. Enjoy this thing. I can’t think anymore.

The voice stopped.

To be honest, I really don't know what to make of this because I really don't know what's going on. It feels like it's a piece that's meant to be left open to the imagination, but it's like I opened a door and found nothing on the other side. It's also extremely difficult to pin down a tone or genera. The narrator comes off nonchalant and unfocused, which in turn make it hard to care or hone in. Here's how this came across to me as I read it:

Lighter (Click to Show)

I just honestly don't know what to say about this because I genuinely don't know what's going on. All I have to go on is the narrator, but they never seem to feel anything. Are they worried, at ease? Is this important or a job? These monsters are dangerous, I assume? But are they threatening to him?

The metaphors were also tricky to pin down.

Dim green hues fill the cobbled together street, like a mad-lib of a comedy routine.

I know what a mad-lib is, and watch a lot of stand up, but I've never seen them cross paths. Also, mad-libs and comedy routine imply this is going to be a lighter tone.

The torch it holds sways and flickers, threatening to commit suicide lest it finish its duty.

But isn't it swaying because your hands are flailing? Feels more like you're killing the light, but that's much darker than the comedy routine.

I saw something in the shadows. Hunched figures. It’s a shame that it was me that they saw, so they slunk away like rats in a maze.

Rats I get, but most rats in mazes are looking for cheese or some type of reward, right? Why are they slinking away?

Not a simile, but:

Each movement I make is slow yet careless.

As someone who works with a large number of people, people who slowly move carelessly tend to just outright not care and not want to be there. Not in a worrisome why, just in a way that they're bad at their job and you'd reeeeally rather work with someone else.

You need a lot more definition and consistency for your reader to feel something