ok. so i am a young author and i was wondering. how do you get to publish stories?. like has anyone ever published a story to a magazine or ever released a book here?
if you want to read anything mine heres some small stuff.
Blub, blub, blub. Light. He kicked off his shoes. Salt water rushed into his mouth and nose. Air. Dear god air. He started swimming back to the surface. Only two feet to go. Out of air. I need air. His head broke the surface of the ocean. He gasped in for air. He was alive. He was alive.
He spit out water. His eyes burned and his nose felt aflame. He looked around. The boat floated behind him. Only death on the dead boat. He took off his socks and pants. Hell, he would go the distance. He swam back to the boat and climbed on it. He struggled on deck. He threw his cloths on it and grabbed a pair of goggles. The distance. He must go the distance. He put on the goggles and jumped back into the ocean.
The dead boat. What a name. Friends had died on the dead boat. The dead boat was apart of a larger boat. The deader boat. How had it come to this? A gunshot? A flame?
He was there when the life raft changed to the dead boat. A gunshot and a splash. He didn?t tell me he had a gun. His friend just stayed at the edge looking down into the water. His friend raised the gun and fired. A second later he heard the water splash. No more noise. No more whining. Just death. Thus the dead boat was born.
He swam and he swam. He swam for hours. His muscles ached and his eyes dropped. Water sloshed around his head and he kept swimming. He could still swim he was a master. He wouldn?t die crying, or stuttering, or on land. He would go the distance. He breathed and kept swimming.
Water sloshed around his head. The slushing sound burned into his mind for forever. He was a swimmer, he had always swum. He had willpower to die swimming. He had had willpower to win 3 Olympic medals. Stroke after stroke. Kick after kick.
One, two, three, four, ten, fifteen. He held his breath and kept swimming. Swimming was so lonely. He was tired, and hungry, and thirsty. Damn you irony. He was dying of thirst in the ocean. He opened his eyes as he swam and saw nothing below. Just dark murky water. Endlessly shifting. Nothing below the surface, just death.
The water had wanted his friend. The endless unsettling murk had claimed his life. He hadn?t even had the stomach to raise his body. He saw his body spill out and drifted down. The mystic river. The water. Death. Same difference. He closed his eyes and kept swimming.
His fingers were shriveled and wrinkled. His skin was chafed and cut. Salt clung to him and sores were opened on his skin. Yet he kept on swimming. It was for the distance, the distance. How much lay under the murky waters? A million sailors probably. Their bodies lying coolly beneath the murk. Empty eye sockets still grinning at the drowning man.
A million people died in this spot.
I came here and stayed to long.
And the number rose from a million to a million plus one.
What was he? A number? Just one. The waters kept slushing and sloshing. An explosion from the side of his head. He stopped mid-stroke screaming grabbing his ear. Blood ran down his head and floated on the top of the water. His broken ear flared in agony and pain shot across his head. Dead men tall no tales. Ringing in his ear. He stopped and started floating.
The distance. It was all for the distance. He couldn?t continue. His body hurt. His ear had popped and the other was most definitely infected. Only five hours had passed and he, a world renowned swimmer was drowning. Dear god the irony. He put his head in the water and kept plodding on. Half an hour later he noticed it. The light. There was a light shining on the surface. Maybe only half a mile away. The light. Franticly he kicked and swam. He would go the distance.
It was all so wrong. The water. The temperature. Everything. No bleach in the water. Just salt. What kind of ocean was this? No animals or fish. Not even the buzzards circling him. Highlighting his fate. Night had come and lights hadn?t popped up in the water. The water was cold. So cold. No heaters. No crowds. No fans. No timers. But there was the light. God save the light.
He was almost there. No more tricks now. His vision was now nothing more than a blur. His ear hadn?t even stopped bleeding. The light. He was getting closer. 50 yards. 25 yards. Closer and closer. He turned his head to breath and swallowed water. No. please god not so close. His throat burned and he was dying. He inched forwards closer to the light. He reached out with his hands and grabbed a piece of wood. Wood? Why was there wood? He pulled off his goggles and water rushed into his eyes. No. No! NO!
The light was a fire. He was back at the boat. The goddamn boat. His lamp had fallen and lit it on fire. He was gong to die on the death boat after all. He let his goggles slip from his fingers. They slowly receded to the murky waste and disappeared from sight.
He had swum in a circle. A waste of time. A waste of energy. What distance? There was none. He had stopped sweating hours ago. He was hallucinating.
He was beyond the point of no return. He grabbed the side of the boat and held on. Fuck the distance. He slipped off the side and two fingernails came off. The murk wanted him. No. it had a million people. It wouldn?t take one more. He pulled himself on board. He vomited of the side and laughed. He was so thirsty. Nonstop vomiting. He gagged and grabbed his stomach.
The moonlight still shone over the lone survivor with the mercy of light. It slowly lowered into the horizon being chased by the sun. The sun rose into the sky bringing its hateful wrath. Death. The distance.
He lay on the boat raving and muttering and groaning. His eyes were gaunt and it had only been three days. He had to die on the death. All hopes and expectations. Black holes. Revelations. Death. The distance. Light. God. What were they? Just words now. The sun beat down on him mercilessly. He opened his mouth one last time.
I died a million deaths.
And I?ll die a million more.
He died with the tune still stuck in his throat.
The grim reaper stood over him, watching him. All aboard the death boat.
tell me what yall think of it please.
if you want to read anything mine heres some small stuff.
Blub, blub, blub. Light. He kicked off his shoes. Salt water rushed into his mouth and nose. Air. Dear god air. He started swimming back to the surface. Only two feet to go. Out of air. I need air. His head broke the surface of the ocean. He gasped in for air. He was alive. He was alive.
He spit out water. His eyes burned and his nose felt aflame. He looked around. The boat floated behind him. Only death on the dead boat. He took off his socks and pants. Hell, he would go the distance. He swam back to the boat and climbed on it. He struggled on deck. He threw his cloths on it and grabbed a pair of goggles. The distance. He must go the distance. He put on the goggles and jumped back into the ocean.
The dead boat. What a name. Friends had died on the dead boat. The dead boat was apart of a larger boat. The deader boat. How had it come to this? A gunshot? A flame?
He was there when the life raft changed to the dead boat. A gunshot and a splash. He didn?t tell me he had a gun. His friend just stayed at the edge looking down into the water. His friend raised the gun and fired. A second later he heard the water splash. No more noise. No more whining. Just death. Thus the dead boat was born.
He swam and he swam. He swam for hours. His muscles ached and his eyes dropped. Water sloshed around his head and he kept swimming. He could still swim he was a master. He wouldn?t die crying, or stuttering, or on land. He would go the distance. He breathed and kept swimming.
Water sloshed around his head. The slushing sound burned into his mind for forever. He was a swimmer, he had always swum. He had willpower to die swimming. He had had willpower to win 3 Olympic medals. Stroke after stroke. Kick after kick.
One, two, three, four, ten, fifteen. He held his breath and kept swimming. Swimming was so lonely. He was tired, and hungry, and thirsty. Damn you irony. He was dying of thirst in the ocean. He opened his eyes as he swam and saw nothing below. Just dark murky water. Endlessly shifting. Nothing below the surface, just death.
The water had wanted his friend. The endless unsettling murk had claimed his life. He hadn?t even had the stomach to raise his body. He saw his body spill out and drifted down. The mystic river. The water. Death. Same difference. He closed his eyes and kept swimming.
His fingers were shriveled and wrinkled. His skin was chafed and cut. Salt clung to him and sores were opened on his skin. Yet he kept on swimming. It was for the distance, the distance. How much lay under the murky waters? A million sailors probably. Their bodies lying coolly beneath the murk. Empty eye sockets still grinning at the drowning man.
A million people died in this spot.
I came here and stayed to long.
And the number rose from a million to a million plus one.
What was he? A number? Just one. The waters kept slushing and sloshing. An explosion from the side of his head. He stopped mid-stroke screaming grabbing his ear. Blood ran down his head and floated on the top of the water. His broken ear flared in agony and pain shot across his head. Dead men tall no tales. Ringing in his ear. He stopped and started floating.
The distance. It was all for the distance. He couldn?t continue. His body hurt. His ear had popped and the other was most definitely infected. Only five hours had passed and he, a world renowned swimmer was drowning. Dear god the irony. He put his head in the water and kept plodding on. Half an hour later he noticed it. The light. There was a light shining on the surface. Maybe only half a mile away. The light. Franticly he kicked and swam. He would go the distance.
It was all so wrong. The water. The temperature. Everything. No bleach in the water. Just salt. What kind of ocean was this? No animals or fish. Not even the buzzards circling him. Highlighting his fate. Night had come and lights hadn?t popped up in the water. The water was cold. So cold. No heaters. No crowds. No fans. No timers. But there was the light. God save the light.
He was almost there. No more tricks now. His vision was now nothing more than a blur. His ear hadn?t even stopped bleeding. The light. He was getting closer. 50 yards. 25 yards. Closer and closer. He turned his head to breath and swallowed water. No. please god not so close. His throat burned and he was dying. He inched forwards closer to the light. He reached out with his hands and grabbed a piece of wood. Wood? Why was there wood? He pulled off his goggles and water rushed into his eyes. No. No! NO!
The light was a fire. He was back at the boat. The goddamn boat. His lamp had fallen and lit it on fire. He was gong to die on the death boat after all. He let his goggles slip from his fingers. They slowly receded to the murky waste and disappeared from sight.
He had swum in a circle. A waste of time. A waste of energy. What distance? There was none. He had stopped sweating hours ago. He was hallucinating.
He was beyond the point of no return. He grabbed the side of the boat and held on. Fuck the distance. He slipped off the side and two fingernails came off. The murk wanted him. No. it had a million people. It wouldn?t take one more. He pulled himself on board. He vomited of the side and laughed. He was so thirsty. Nonstop vomiting. He gagged and grabbed his stomach.
The moonlight still shone over the lone survivor with the mercy of light. It slowly lowered into the horizon being chased by the sun. The sun rose into the sky bringing its hateful wrath. Death. The distance.
He lay on the boat raving and muttering and groaning. His eyes were gaunt and it had only been three days. He had to die on the death. All hopes and expectations. Black holes. Revelations. Death. The distance. Light. God. What were they? Just words now. The sun beat down on him mercilessly. He opened his mouth one last time.
I died a million deaths.
And I?ll die a million more.
He died with the tune still stuck in his throat.
The grim reaper stood over him, watching him. All aboard the death boat.
tell me what yall think of it please.
