Hi Sam, thank you for sharing your story.

It’s a perfect blend of Dystopian and Romance (with some fantasy and horror thrown in for
good measure), but overly heavy on the Dystopian for my taste. The story arc starts off dark
and gets darker, giving the reader nothing in the way of an uplift. Even the ending offers little
hope for the next day.

Maybe it’s just me, but when I write a story, I try to think first why it might appeal to a
reader. Will it leave them feeling better than they did before they read it? There are many
ways to achieve this—humour, redemption, love, hope, excitement, etc.—but all your story
has is the love between the two dying characters, who the reader doesn’t get to know well
enough to identify with. I recognize that 600 words is a brutally tight limit, but I think a ray
of hope somewhere would have made your story more enjoyable (for me, at least). Maybe the
river Emi will cure them of their fatal disease? It’s hinted at, but no more, so the reader is left
without much to hope for.

I’ve taken the liberty of doing a line-edit. I hope some of my suggestions are useful.

After Dark

Dystopian + Romance

The sun’s heat parches our throats; our skin turns to ashes, our souls haggard. I let you down

our mare’s back gently to the ground. You need rest, you say—whisper. I take the jar from

my pouch and stride toward a boulder; I place a hand on the rock. There’s still magic in me,

enough to make the boulder trickle water. I don’t remove my hand until my jar is filled, just

enough to quench your taste. I bring the jar closer to you as you lie on the ground; place your

head on my thighs and force the water down your mouth (This phrase doesn’t work for me.

Something like ‘trickle the water down your throat, maybe?). You thank me after a few gulps,

then I lay you back down.

I touch the scales on your face. The greyscale’s taken most parts of you now. Your

once tender skin now rots with a stone-like texture, the cracks and flakes deteriorating. Our

city has been taken by this disease. Everyone we knew has become nothing but death’s

statuettes (Nice phrase! The only problem is that ‘everyone’ is singular (‘has’—right)

whereas ‘statuettes’ is plural). The buildings burnt to ashes.

 You’re lucky to live this long, b. But my magic cannot continue to keep you. One way

or another, we will(?) change.

There is a river on the other side of the mountain. You don’t believe it—no one does,

actually—but I do. I think (If your intent here is to indicate that the narrator is uncertain, then

I think the punctuation should be: You don’t believe it—no one does, actually—but I do…I

think.) I believe the map. The river of Emi lies after two mountains, after the Ice Terrain and

a dark forest.

At first, you hesitated, never wanted us on this course; yet, here you are with me. We

both seek the river for cleansing. (Maybe this is the point to reveal that the river holds the

cure for their fatal disease.)

A moon hangs in the dreary sky; a starless night. (Hmm, a moon and no stars? How

can that be?) We hide in the belly of a cave to protect ourselves from the gale. (This is the

first mention of the gale, and it comes as a surprise) The cold bites, so I snuggle you like an

infant.

Remember, remember, with rheumy eyes, I sing. Gone are the cities, the people

cremated; the merry and laughter no more, but remember, my love, in the night of days, our

bond.

“Please …” your voice’s (the contraction is inappropriate here IMHO) a whisper. “If

you love me, do it.”

“No.” No—I won’t set you ablaze. The pain is excruciating for you, to bear. I know.

But I promised you the river. Promised you a better life. Marriage. Two beautiful men

entangled with (?)to each other.

Hold on for me. Please. (Your ultra-short sentences work, up to a point, to portray the

emotional stress on the narrator, but they should be used sparingly (again IMHO))

••••
We are making midday (Curious adjective to choose. I don’t know what it’s supposed to tell

the reader) progress, snaking around boulders, and trudging on the slope of the mountain and

they ambush us. (Putting this sudden action at the end of the sentence robs it of its drama.

Was that deliberate?) The Ravage Men, astride giant wolves. The runes on their bodies are

marked by the Red Sorcerers, but the scales on their skin worsen, too. Most of these men

would get weaker withinby a fortnight. The sickness would take their entire body; if it

reacheds their heart … Nothing but to succumb to self-immolation.

Howbeit (interesting), they still live as though unsullied, awaiting death’s call.

They slaughter our mare to fill their bellies, chortle and spit on our naked bodies as

we crawl before them. My magic is too weak to fight, so I let them fuck me. Thirty of them.

Just so they let us be. To let us continue our journey.

When they’re done, they abandon me to the ground like a whore, wholly defied.

I watch you drip tears for me. Your pain doesn’t let you cry aloud. You crawl slowly

toward me, handing over my clothes. With a trembling hand, you rub the tears off my face,

plant a kiss on my bloody lips.

Twilight comes. Another storm is about to come. So I don my clothes and carry you

on my back. I run, for we must find another cave.

At dawn, we must continue. But tonight, we hide.