(Welcome back! I’d love more writing prompts! It helps keep my brain on its toes, lol)
(That, and I honestly just love the prompts you come up with, grin)
(And yes, I admit that I’m half-asleep right now, so don’t mind me, lmao!)
I'd still like to keep this going! it's a lot of fun to see everyone's stuff and to see Ninja occasionally die inside whenever I post something
(oh hey that's great, I'm glad!! also "see ninja occasionally die inside" sure is a funny way to spell "kill ninja with excellently written angst")
alright. so. prompts!
music: "Ship in a Bottle" by Steffan Argus
image: from "The Weeping Stones" by Tdub-Photography
words: "Good Bones" by Maggie Smith
Life is short, though I keep this from my children.
Life is short, and I’ve shortened mine
in a thousand delicious, ill-advised ways,
a thousand deliciously ill-advised ways
I’ll keep from my children. The world is at least
fifty percent terrible, and that’s a conservative
estimate, though I keep this from my children.
For every bird there is a stone thrown at a bird.
For every loved child, a child broken, bagged,
sunk in a lake. Life is short and the world
is at least half terrible, and for every kind
stranger, there is one who would break you,
though I keep this from my children. I am trying
to sell them the world. Any decent realtor,
walking you through a real shithole, chirps on
about good bones: This place could be beautiful,
right? You could make this place beautiful.
(aaah welcome back, Ninja!)
Alrighty. There’s not really much context to give with this one, compared to my previous little stories.
The character is, from what I imagine, a young woman, though she’s really not connected to any of my characters/stories. I literally just wrote this one as a random thing. I will say this though, this one will likely surprise whoever reads it (some dark/sad undertones here).
Feedback is welcomed and appreciated.
She wandered through the yard, a contented smile upon her face. The soft shine of moonlight beamed upon the soil as her bare feet walked along the many paths.
Her hand reached out to caress some of the stone pillars and pedestals she passed. Some had writing upon them, others didn’t. And some had grand statues or carvings, while others were simple cut stone. It mattered little to her.
She hummed a gentle tune, turning down a path that led her to a new addition of the yard, closer to the great house beyond the yard’s gate. There, the flowers were more tended to, and occasionally someone would drop off more. It all seemed so trivial to her, but she did enjoy smelling the flowers, even petting them.
As she inspected the flowers, she noticed someone had brought tulips. Oh, how she loved tulips, particularly the red ones! They were so beautiful. She giggled happily, then moved along down another path, one that ran alongside the elaborate fence surrounding the yard.
As she walked, she looked through the fence to the beautiful sight of the ocean. Her gaze drifted down, to the rocky beach at the bottom of the great hill the yard sat upon. Soft blue light gleamed on the rocks and in the water, a gorgeous display of nature’s beauty. One could almost be driven to tears by the sight.
It seemed like only minutes had passed when dawn approached. She sighed sorrowfully, deciding it was best to return to bed. Turning down another path, she couldn’t help but smile again.
It was such a tranquil place here, quiet and existing without guilt, a refuge to those that seek solace. It brought her peace to know that places like this existed. But, she supposed that’s what happened when one lived in a graveyard.
Alrighty. There’s not really much context to give with this one, compared to my previous little stories.
The character is, from what I imagine, a young woman, though she’s really not connected to any of my characters/stories. I literally just wrote this one as a random thing. I will say this though, this one will likely surprise whoever reads it (some dark/sad undertones here).
Feedback is welcomed and appreciated.
She wandered through the yard, a contented smile upon her face. The soft shine of moonlight beamed upon the soil as her bare feet walked along the many paths.
Her hand reached out to caress some of the stone pillars and pedestals she passed. Some had writing upon them, others didn’t. And some had grand statues or carvings, while others were simple cut stone. It mattered little to her.
She hummed a gentle tune, turning down a path that led her to a new addition of the yard, closer to the great house beyond the yard’s gate. There, the flowers were more tended to, and occasionally someone would drop off more. It all seemed so trivial to her, but she did enjoy smelling the flowers, even petting them.
As she inspected the flowers, she noticed someone had brought tulips. Oh, how she loved tulips, particularly the red ones! They were so beautiful. She giggled happily, then moved along down another path, one that ran alongside the elaborate fence surrounding the yard.
As she walked, she looked through the fence to the beautiful sight of the ocean. Her gaze drifted down, to the rocky beach at the bottom of the great hill the yard sat upon. Soft blue light gleamed on the rocks and in the water, a gorgeous display of nature’s beauty. One could almost be driven to tears by the sight.
It seemed like only minutes had passed when dawn approached. She sighed sorrowfully, deciding it was best to return to bed. Turning down another path, she couldn’t help but smile again.
It was such a tranquil place here, quiet and existing without guilt, a refuge to those that seek solace. It brought her peace to know that places like this existed. But, she supposed that’s what happened when one lived in a graveyard.
I LOVE IT!!! The whole time I was just engrossed. AND THE ENDING. The whole thing was well paced, the information was given subtly, and the MC seems like such an intriguing character. AMAZING. You might just want to say "a CONTENT smile upon her face", just because it's simple. But maybe it's just a choice and you prefer this version. Either way, im obsessed. Do you have any ideas on what the plots going to be about?
gay? yes, gay. i can never not do gay
not great, but i've just recently gotten out of a funk, so have this random Thing
She fell in love with the sculptor. The way his hands floated over delicate curves of marble, and chiseled away at pouty lips. He held his creation so sweetly, enrapturing his silent admirer and drawing her attention to the shimmering ball gown he designed, and the provocative slip of the sleeve over a full bosom. A marble lady of mouth-watering size, with a rump filling out the ruffled skirts and giving the world a wonderful frozen strut across her pedestal.
Hands so sleek and slim, perfect for a sneaky slip of a band. She could picture it, the mark of a lover's lips dancing over hypnotizing fingers, or a glimmering cylinder of diamond and gold. Hair piled high and tumbling down over shoulders. The sculptor paid such good attention to his work. An admirable display of the unwavering affection a lover could receive. His pretty brown eyes stared up at high cheekbones and cute rounded cheeks, she had no choice but to stare as well. A flash of stone dimples, so soft and touchable, of course she had to melt. Oh, how lucky she could be.
Nights and weeks passed by. She watched the beauty come to life at the doting care of the sculptor. One day, he stepped back and surveyed his work, scanned moving eyes over a still spectacle. She couldn't stop the envy blooming in her chest as she watched from afar, as she had always done. Finally, a smile tugged at his own pair of lips, and he beckoned to the shadows. "Come here." A startling contrast to the silence of the night. This did not fit routine. The only sounds allowed were the careful taps of metal against stone and soft brush of bristles to dust away the unneeded. "Come," he said again.
No choice, she told herself, as she stepped away from her hiding spot and approached the pair. Up close, the woman towered over her, arms strong and muscular but achingly feminine at the same time. A squishy belly encased in loose robes. Her eyes strayed down, down to the legs almost made for napping on. The sculptor placed his hands on her shoulders and stood behind, though she couldn't force her gaze to her love.
"Just a kiss," he whispered into her ear. A what? She turned, confused, and he had eyes for her already. "Only a kiss, and your love is yours."
Huh. So simple, yet they barely knew each other. But, something told her he wasn't speaking of himself—or perhaps that would be her own wants, directing her to the correct target of her infatuation. She darted her gaze back up, up to the woman she had stared at for ages now. Just a kiss.
Muddy feet lifted up, and dirty hands held onto open arms, and untrained lips met marble. Within seconds, strong and loving arms wrapped around her waist and held her close, and a warmth seeped into her lips as she had her head tilted, and a pleasant pressure bore down over her mouth.
She fell in love with the sculptor, or at least she had thought so. But when the woman held her so close and happily gave a sunset's grin to a poor girl such as herself, she realized the heart-pounding truth.
He had his own David to love, anyway.
gay? yes, gay. i can never not do gay
not great, but i've just recently gotten out of a funk, so have this random Thing
She fell in love with the sculptor. The way his hands floated over delicate curves of marble, and chiseled away at pouty lips. He held his creation so sweetly, enrapturing his silent admirer and drawing her attention to the shimmering ball gown he designed, and the provocative slip of the sleeve over a full bosom. A marble lady of mouth-watering size, with a rump filling out the ruffled skirts and giving the world a wonderful frozen strut across her pedestal.
Hands so sleek and slim, perfect for a sneaky slip of a band. She could picture it, the mark of a lover's lips dancing over hypnotizing fingers, or a glimmering cylinder of diamond and gold. Hair piled high and tumbling down over shoulders. The sculptor paid such good attention to his work. An admirable display of the unwavering affection a lover could receive. His pretty brown eyes stared up at high cheekbones and cute rounded cheeks, she had no choice but to stare as well. A flash of stone dimples, so soft and touchable, of course she had to melt. Oh, how lucky she could be.
Nights and weeks passed by. She watched the beauty come to life at the doting care of the sculptor. One day, he stepped back and surveyed his work, scanned moving eyes over a still spectacle. She couldn't stop the envy blooming in her chest as she watched from afar, as she had always done. Finally, a smile tugged at his own pair of lips, and he beckoned to the shadows. "Come here." A startling contrast to the silence of the night. This did not fit routine. The only sounds allowed were the careful taps of metal against stone and soft brush of bristles to dust away the unneeded. "Come," he said again.
No choice, she told herself, as she stepped away from her hiding spot and approached the pair. Up close, the woman towered over her, arms strong and muscular but achingly feminine at the same time. A squishy belly encased in loose robes. Her eyes strayed down, down to the legs almost made for napping on. The sculptor placed his hands on her shoulders and stood behind, though she couldn't force her gaze to her love.
"Just a kiss," he whispered into her ear. A what? She turned, confused, and he had eyes for her already. "Only a kiss, and your love is yours."
Huh. So simple, yet they barely knew each other. But, something told her he wasn't speaking of himself—or perhaps that would be her own wants, directing her to the correct target of her infatuation. She darted her gaze back up, up to the woman she had stared at for ages now. Just a kiss.
Muddy feet lifted up, and dirty hands held onto open arms, and untrained lips met marble. Within seconds, strong and loving arms wrapped around her waist and held her close, and a warmth seeped into her lips as she had her head tilted, and a pleasant pressure bore down over her mouth.
She fell in love with the sculptor, or at least she had thought so. But when the woman held her so close and happily gave a sunset's grin to a poor girl such as herself, she realized the heart-pounding truth.
He had his own David to love, anyway.
oh I love that ending!!!!!!!
SO I found this prompt of Pinterest (naturally) and had an idea. Anyway, this is just the second part, so the romance hasn't started yet, but beginnings are kinda hard for me so i need help.
“Honey, it’s time for dinner!”
I blink. How has the time passed that quickly already?
I note the time at the top of the screen of my dying phone, then glance at my sticker-covered laptop on my desk across the room. I was supposed to start my homework almost two hours ago.
Instead, I spent the time staring at my phone’s screen, trying and failing to think of something to text Blair.
It has been almost a decade since I’ve seen her. We were childhood friends, inseparable. Well, almost inseparable. The concept of moving countries was the only thing that had a chance of breaking us apart. And it had. After that, we tried to call regularly, but life had a different idea for Blair and I. We slowly grew apart.
Now, I find myself missing my old friend more and more.
I force myself out of the position I’ve been in for three hours, groaning as my body adjusts to the new movement.
“Coming!” I call back to my mother.
The thumping of my older brother and younger sister running down the stairs is muffled by my closed door.
I take one last glance at my phone, at the one word I’ve thought of so far.
Hey
Classic. But maybe not enough? I groan as my thoughts start to spiral again, and throw my phone on my bed without sending it.
I went through a very complicated process to get Blair’s phone number. A process complicated enough that I’m honestly embarrassed how much time I spent on it. And now I can’t seem to even text her. I can’t seem to get the right words out.
I just…miss her, you know?
“Charlie! Get your butt down here! Mom has forced us to wait for you and we’re hungry!” my older brother’s voice yells, the sound forcing me out of my thoughts. I push the topic of Blair out of mind.
“I’m coming, I’m coming!” I call back, emerging from my room and hurrying down before my entire family gets hangry.
I am greeted with the smell of roasted chicken, perfectly cooked green beans, and…something else?
“Hey, family of mine.” I sniff the air again. “Is something burning?”
My mother jumps out of her seat, seat falling back on the carpeted floor with a thump. “The sauce!”
My father jumps up too, his seat mimicking his wife’s. “Caroline! You had one job!”
They both rush to the kitchen, which is built behind a swinging door that reminds me like something from a restaurant.
My siblings and I share a look, the three of us smiling. “Every time,” my sister says in a sing-song voice.
We all chuckle. My mother emerges from the kitchen. “The gravy is saved,” she says with a smile. She turns to me. “Thanks for the warning, Charlie.”
I nod to her in acknowledgement, and sit down, facing my siblings. My father eventually comes back with a small pitcher full of gravy, and sits down at the head of the table. My mother sits across from him. When I came out to my family as transgender, they were everything to do with supportive. So supportive, it was annoying. Since then, the topic comes up rarely, but besides that, the world is normal again. Just slightly less stressful not having to hide every queer thing I have from my parents.
“What were you doing up there?” my sister asks in her typical audacious way. “You’re usually the first one at the table long before dinner is ready.”
“I was texting my friends,” I lie.
“‘Friends’? Plural? You only have one friend.” my sister replies, before stuffing her face with gravy-soaked turkey.
My mother sets down her fork. “Abigail!” she says, just as my brother laughs and says, “Burn!”
I roll my eyes. Rude, but not necessarily untrue, however depressing that is. The problem with being transgender is, while the people of the town aren’t necessarily homophobic, I’m different compared to most of them. They know it, I know it. Liv was the first person to come up to me, and look at me like we were peers, we were equal. I soon learned that that is the kind of person Liv is.
Abigail shrugs. “What? It’s true! Liv is awesome, and everyone loves her. But she’s Charlie’s only friend.” Abigail looks at me. “Sorry sis.”
My father chuckles, before noticing Mom’s glare at his reaction, and he quickly repairs it, organizing his expression into a disapproving one.
“Mom, seriously. Abigail’s just joking,” my brother laughs.
“Well Logan Arlo Cromwell, a joke is supposed to be funny. That was not funny.” Logan quickly stops smiling.
The table is quiet for a heartbeat, and then my fellow siblings and I look at each other and… burst into laughter. My father joins in, and after a moment, my mother does too.
By the time we have all calmed down, there are tears in the corners of our eyes. Happy tears.
I grin. I love my family.
Alrighty. There’s not really much context to give with this one, compared to my previous little stories.
The character is, from what I imagine, a young woman, though she’s really not connected to any of my characters/stories. I literally just wrote this one as a random thing. I will say this though, this one will likely surprise whoever reads it (some dark/sad undertones here).
Feedback is welcomed and appreciated.
She wandered through the yard, a contented smile upon her face. The soft shine of moonlight beamed upon the soil as her bare feet walked along the many paths.
Her hand reached out to caress some of the stone pillars and pedestals she passed. Some had writing upon them, others didn’t. And some had grand statues or carvings, while others were simple cut stone. It mattered little to her.
She hummed a gentle tune, turning down a path that led her to a new addition of the yard, closer to the great house beyond the yard’s gate. There, the flowers were more tended to, and occasionally someone would drop off more. It all seemed so trivial to her, but she did enjoy smelling the flowers, even petting them.
As she inspected the flowers, she noticed someone had brought tulips. Oh, how she loved tulips, particularly the red ones! They were so beautiful. She giggled happily, then moved along down another path, one that ran alongside the elaborate fence surrounding the yard.
As she walked, she looked through the fence to the beautiful sight of the ocean. Her gaze drifted down, to the rocky beach at the bottom of the great hill the yard sat upon. Soft blue light gleamed on the rocks and in the water, a gorgeous display of nature’s beauty. One could almost be driven to tears by the sight.
It seemed like only minutes had passed when dawn approached. She sighed sorrowfully, deciding it was best to return to bed. Turning down another path, she couldn’t help but smile again.
It was such a tranquil place here, quiet and existing without guilt, a refuge to those that seek solace. It brought her peace to know that places like this existed. But, she supposed that’s what happened when one lived in a graveyard.
I LOVE IT!!! The whole time I was just engrossed. AND THE ENDING. The whole thing was well paced, the information was given subtly, and the MC seems like such an intriguing character. AMAZING. You might just want to say "a CONTENT smile upon her face", just because it's simple. But maybe it's just a choice and you prefer this version. Either way, im obsessed. Do you have any ideas on what the plots going to be about?
Thank you, I’m glad you like it!
I can definitely see what you mean with ‘content’ vs. ‘contented’. I actually didn’t even notice that little detail until you pointed it out, lol, but it works either way for me.
Honestly I’m not sure. It was inspired by the prompt, and actually vaguely references it with the rocky beach, and that was pretty much it. But, I definitely could turn it into a story… a moment of deep contemplation… I just got to figure out what I want to do with it, lol. There’s so many things I could do.
@Serpentess
Haha i know the feeling of feeling a little lost on how to start. Especially when you started with such an amazing introduction! Ideas: her home could be threatened, something could happen or she could meet someone that/who leads her to the world outside her graveyard. first two things that came to mind. <3
@Serpentess
Haha i know the feeling of feeling a little lost on how to start. Especially when you started with such an amazing introduction! Ideas: her home could be threatened, something could happen or she could meet someone that/who leads her to the world outside her graveyard. first two things that came to mind. <3
Ooh, those sound neat. I’ll definitely consider them. I’ve also been thinking of something like she realizes she’s actually a ghost and cannot leave, and tries to find a way to either get true rest or escape (I actually have a creature that starts out as a ghost, then turns into a vampire if certain criteria are met).
@Serpentess
ooh, I love the build-up here!! the description that's super specific but doesn't name what it's describing until the last sentence is a great way to set up a mystery and I think it's really well-done here - especially with the tone of the descriptions being a lot more soft and gentle than we'd necessarily associate with a graveyard.
One thing I noticed is the wording here
There, the flowers were more tended to, and occasionally someone would drop off more.
it's totally fine as is! but I think what it's doing is comparing the new place to an aspect of the old that we didn't have any context for, if that makes sense? like we now know that the flowers are looked after better in that area, but we don't know how well they were looked after elsewhere. the implication is that the flowers elsewhere are neglected and there's more human activity here, but if you wanted to elaborate on the description one way to do it would be to describe one of the two spaces and then let the comparison do the rest of the work.
afjkdsfjdsl lots of words but I hope that makes sense! it's not a critique as much as a potential, in case you want to play around with this scenario.
anyway. i love this concept!! (also I am 👀👀 at the idea of a ghost) thanks so much for sharing!
@kirky
this is so well done!!! it's a very clever subversion - a reader could start out thinking that loving the sculptor is loving what he creates (and follow the character's own internal logic). so it's a really great set-up and followed through really well! plus like. magic related to artists' creations coming to life is inherently cool and that is simply the truth
honestly I can't think of much else to say? if you wanted to, you might lean more heavily into the contrast of cold and warmth (the "frozen strut" vs the warmth of the kiss), but I tbh I kinda like the subtle hint of it that we have here. it's very nicely balanced already. thank you for sharing!!
@wordlesswriter
hey I love this!! the whole "we drifted apart bc you moved but I miss you but I don't know what to say but I desperately want to say something" is too relatable skfjsfjsd you've really captured the feeling!! also the family is so wholesome I love them. a sister talking in her "typical audacious way" YEAh that sure is siblings
there isn't much to say, really? In this exchange
My mother jumps out of her seat, seat falling back on the carpeted floor with a thump. “The sauce!”
My father jumps up too, his seat mimicking his wife’s.
i wonder if there might be a way to reword it to avoid repeating "seat" quite as often? It's not a huge deal or anything, but sometimes having the same word several times in a short time can stall the flow a bit.
but yeah. would love to see where this goes!! thanks so much for sharing!!
and prompts!!
music: "Snow Dance for the Dead", performed by the Stellenbosch University Choir, composed by Seán Doherty
and an extract from the poem it's based on, "Snow Dance for the Dead" by Lola Ridge (1922)
Do not wait to warm your hands about the fires.
Do not mind the rough licking of the wind.
Dance forth into the shaggy night that shakes itself upon you.
image: Winter Landscape by Ivan Aivazovsky
@Serpentess
ooh, I love the build-up here!! the description that's super specific but doesn't name what it's describing until the last sentence is a great way to set up a mystery and I think it's really well-done here - especially with the tone of the descriptions being a lot more soft and gentle than we'd necessarily associate with a graveyard.
One thing I noticed is the wording hereThere, the flowers were more tended to, and occasionally someone would drop off more.
it's totally fine as is! but I think what it's doing is comparing the new place to an aspect of the old that we didn't have any context for, if that makes sense? like we now know that the flowers are looked after better in that area, but we don't know how well they were looked after elsewhere. the implication is that the flowers elsewhere are neglected and there's more human activity here, but if you wanted to elaborate on the description one way to do it would be to describe one of the two spaces and then let the comparison do the rest of the work.
afjkdsfjdsl lots of words but I hope that makes sense! it's not a critique as much as a potential, in case you want to play around with this scenario.
anyway. i love this concept!! (also I am 👀👀 at the idea of a ghost) thanks so much for sharing!
I definitely understand what you’re saying, and I agree. That one sentence has been nagging at me since I wrote it, lmao! Haven’t got a chance to change it yet, but I plan to.
And thank you, I appreciate any feedback, whether it’s critiquing or encouragement. (Big grin).
@Serpentess
Haha i know the feeling of feeling a little lost on how to start. Especially when you started with such an amazing introduction! Ideas: her home could be threatened, something could happen or she could meet someone that/who leads her to the world outside her graveyard. first two things that came to mind. <3Ooh, those sound neat. I’ll definitely consider them. I’ve also been thinking of something like she realizes she’s actually a ghost and cannot leave, and tries to find a way to either get true rest or escape (I actually have a creature that starts out as a ghost, then turns into a vampire if certain criteria are met).
oh my gosh. I love that. the best part is that I've never heard of anything like that. the uniqueness to your story is such an important part :)
hey I love this!! the whole "we drifted apart bc you moved but I miss you but I don't know what to say but I desperately want to say something" is too relatable skfjsfjsd you've really captured the feeling!! also the family is so wholesome I love them. a sister talking in her "typical audacious way" YEAh that sure is siblings
there isn't much to say, really? In this exchangeMy mother jumps out of her seat, seat falling back on the carpeted floor with a thump. “The sauce!”
My father jumps up too, his seat mimicking his wife’s.i wonder if there might be a way to reword it to avoid repeating "seat" quite as often? It's not a huge deal or anything, but sometimes having the same word several times in a short time can stall the flow a bit.
but yeah. would love to see where this goes!! thanks so much for sharing!!
Thanks so much! You're totally right. I'll fix that.
prompts!
music: "I Lift My Eyes", composed by Christopher Tin, performed by Nabeer Nehme and the Angel City Chorale
image: "The Lost Temple" by Dmitri Jakubowski
words: "Asteroid", a Wikipedia poem by headspace-hotel on tumblr (this is the first image, I highly recommend looking at the whole thing!! I think it's also a great form to explore if you're so inclined)
this has died but also i have nowhere to put this so have it! i'm not sure how to feel about it.
as a person who does not identify as female and yet has an aggressively female body, i have a weird relationship to femininity. it was hard as a little girl to find myself stared at and eaten up by the eyes of men on public transport and on the streets and in the park and at the store and at the
it is a cycle. i fall in love with my body, short skirts, makeup, hair down, cinched waist, chin up. i do not want my body, long sleeves, loose clothes, hair up, plain face, look down. i have a body, clothes, hair, face, walking.
do i own my body? the physical world says yes. and yet! he tells me what to wear and how to look. he has opinions. he tells me what he wants before i can tell him the opposite– before I know what I want. how is a girl to live? how is a girl to become a person? how is a girl to soothe her soul, mould her mind, nurture her knowledge and foster her feelings? how is a girl to be?
and the heart of the issue. i am not a girl. i am held down by the eyes of assumption and the fingers of attraction. i am captured. cannot escape. there is no transcending what the world teaches to be true– his words. his assumptions. his attractions.
what i own is not my body. my body is his. what i own is an instinct in the heart of my heart that i owe. an instinct that, as the child i still am, connects me to a song of a wife that cannot conceive. an instinct that, as someone who has yet to be illegally touched, connects me to the feeling of violation. that i am made to feed and carry and give. what i own is the pain woven into the fabric of my nerves.
what i own is not my body. my body is his. what i won is an instinct in the heart of my heart that i have something to give. an instinct that tells me that i am a creator of life, a god. an instinct that unites me to bodies like mine across the world and across the spectrum of trauma. that i am made to feed and carry and give. what i own is the pain woven into the history of my gender.
not my gender. my sex. i am not a girl. i am a girl as far as the pain in my nerves, as the history behind me, as the cycle of my body. but i am not a girl. i am a person. and that is in spite of him.
broo i have no idea if this is based on personal things or on a character but either way wow. it's…a lot and it's really good
oh good!! it's a personal thing! but I'm really glad it comes across!!! awesome thank you!
:D yeah no problem!! it seriously was really good dude, good job!
ooooh this is amazing!!! it's very emotive and raw but it also expresses itself very clearly - something about the all lower caps and the repetition and the structure of the "eyes of men" and then talking about "him" and "his", and ending on "in spite of him". It's a really cool piece - both from the content and message, and also from how thoughtfully it's set up and executed on a technical level. thank you for sharing - I know it's died out a little but I do still check in here occasionally and it was lovely to see you'd shared something!
finally got my ass up and wrote something because why the hell not
anyways
I inhaled, smelling the fatality in the light breeze.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It would seem, as if she had found myself back in this hazy radioactive world, yet again. The girl kept her eyes shut – there wasn’t a point in looking around anyways. This wasn’t her first time in this world, after all. Without even looking up, she knew what she would find if she opened her eyes and looked through the window. Dead bodies, everywhere, the darkness threatening to envelop her vision. Whether it was blood or rain or something else altogether leaking from the ceiling, she wouldn’t be able to tell. There was no colour in this world.
She sank against the walls back into her corner on the ground. What a funny thing it was, to exist in this plane of existence. While she knew she wasn’t alone – a grand clock slowly marked the passing time somewhere, and occasionally there would be someone knocking on a window or their footsteps wandering around – she was also completely, utterly, alone. Who- or what-ever this mysterious being was, they never dared to show their face. In the end, it made no matter whether being here was lonely or not. You didn’t interact with anyone, anyways.
As the girl leaned back against the walls, she remembered the first time she’d found herself here. The marking of the passing time had terrified her. Every knock and every footstep had her nearly jumping out of her skin. She’d thought the loneliness would drive her insane. But now… now she was used to it. In fact, it had become a sort of comfort, almost. A lonely sadness that was warm and comforting enveloped her here, and it was familiar and… safe.
This was her safe haven.
Sometimes, though, she longed to stay here forever.