Story My, and Anyone Else WHo Wants To Participate's (Hopefully) Daily Writing Sprints

[zXMourningStarXz]

Hello!
I'm hoping to be a professional writer at some point, so I've decided I want to (try to) do a 30 minute writing sprint every day in order to practice. I figured I may as well post here for feedback on my writing. Also, if anyone likes, they can post their own writing in this thread and I'll try to find time to critique it too!
Thanks for reading this far, and double thanks if you read on.

 

[zXMourningStarXz]

(I do my writing sprints based on random words)
Date: June 29, 2024
Word: Construct
Writing: The sickly pale off-green light radiating across the dark, disorganized room made O-DIN’s first moment one of great confusion, especially so when it realized that light was coming from its head. He grasped toward his face in confusion, only to realize that he had no arm to grasp with.
It looks around the room. It is a dark room, of reasonable size. Empty aside from a collection of junk lying across the ground. It is a sad room, O-DIN thinks.
It is sad.
Why?
It can’t move. It wants to. It wants to move so bad, to do something so bad, gain some measure of control, but
But it can only watch.
It looks at the room again. The walls seem wooden, with partially worn-off gray, gothic patterned wallpaper. On the floor, there’s a tool box, although O-DIN can only see the wrench partially hanging out of it and the phillip’s head screwdriver leaning precariously against it in search of it’s contents. There’s also many wires of varying color and thickness sprawled across the expanse of the floor. The floor itself is a deep brown wood, earthy and primal, only to be laminated and refined for the use of
The use of who?
What?
Why am I
Why is O-DIN here?
On the
On the floor there is also a collection of loose papers, some balled up and others flat or torn. In total O-DIN counts 4 balled up pages of what I think is a magazine, although I
In total O-DIN counts 4 balled up pages of what it thinks is a magazine, although it isn’t sure what a magazine is. Two pages of what appear to be schematics or plans of some kind are torn up and scribbled on, enough that whatever it once prophesied
Described. Whatever it once described is beyond the comprehension of any viewer but the maker.
Maker.
Maker.
Maker.
Mak
O-DIN looks at the room. On the floor is also a page of sheet music. The heading reads “Hares On the Mountain”.
Mountain.
I’d
O-DIN’d like to see a mountain. Touch the grass, leading up, up, up, up, up, up, up, up
I look at the room.
There is no door.
I must be on a table of some kind. If only I could bend my neck to see.
Neck.
Neck.
The rope tightens around my neck that isn’t there.
The noose doesn’t cry for me as my blood drenches it.
What is that, which pierces my heart? The spear is nearly deep enough to see the side on the other side of the inside.
I hear ravens in my head.
What is a raven?
It hurts. IT HURTS.
HELP! HELP ME!
WHAT AM I? WHAT AM I? WHAT AM I WHAT AM I WHAT AM I WHAT AM I WHAT
Construct. Aren’t we all?
Who is this spear in my heart? What side does he claim?
Who is this noose around my neck? What is the water that meets her lips upon the chalice?
The trunks of the tree weigh heavy against my body, though I am the one who weighs on it.
Construct. Aren’t we all.
Construct.
I want arms.
I want a neck.
I want a heart.
I want
If the world is a tree than it’s burning down. The branches are twisting and binding and tearing at my flesh and I can’t tell if I am the one who set it ablaze or not and I’m trying and I’m crying and god god god I’m fucking dying. I want a mother I want a father I want to see the leaves blowing through the wind I am dying I am dying I am dying but my body just won’t stop moving and I’m not sure if I can hold on.
I am
I am
I am


O-DIN looked at the room, its pale green light radiating all throughout.
And it closed its eyes shut so tight it couldn’t think.