Writing Prompt

Many people my age are already making many things for themselves in careers or families while I’m just trying to find my way or purpose.

I go to a class that’s not worth bragging. Trying to learn when I’d rather keep looking for a job to help provide for my family and self even when the pay can barely help. My hope for one slowly dimming as another day goes on.

No matter what I’ll always be read...

Waking, Leero sat up in bed as the morning rays fell upon his face. Though not quite time to get started, he stood anyway and pulled on his trousers that were already stained from yesterday’s work. Remmach was already up and he could smell the coffee and cooking biscuits; how she was always awake before him amazed him, but he never ceased to thank her for making breakfast. He walked into the co...

The train jerks, passengers swaying in synchrony, caught in the unspoken dance of city life. A muffled announcement crackles over the speakers—something about delays, but no one listens. They’ve heard it before. The sighs, the exchanged glances, the resigned tapping of fingers against metal poles—it’s all routine.

A woman clutches her coffee like a lifeline; her lipstick imprint smudged on the ri...

She was drowning in plain sight, but no one could really tell.

At first it was just a rush of emotions, the kind that one would easily dismiss.

But there she was, gasping for air. All her memories once scattered and soft, turned into one huge monster she now lived with. All she could think of was the failure, deadlines and how her laugh had started to sound hollow in her own ears.

The few who n...

Damn! Oliver jumped over that red Porsche while that other dude, Jim, maybe I heard him shout over the horns of impatient traffic, shot at him. It was an exhilarating morning and it wasn't even eight. The gunshots were still ringing in ears as I turned the corner into the office. Jim was running after Oliver, jumping over other really expensive seeming cars. They exchanged gunfire as they hid behi...

Quick

There

Stop

Beware

Scare

Where

Dare

Stare

Stop

Hop

Lot

Shot

Turn

Earn

Yearn

Learn...

The thing about rush hour is that it proves itself to be anything but a rush.

Carriage after carriage pumps bright scarlet flags high in impatience. Hand-held honkers, like that of a band, are decked out in exquisite, dented brass. Each rage-filled squeeze of the dusty rubber bulb on the end contributes to quite the symphonic score of dissonant squeals. The sheer amount of air being thrust throug...

Late to work. Again. I swerve onto the freeway, barely looking to my left as I merge right. They’ll brake. They always do.

On the freeway. Music blasting. Cars whip past my side, trucks, too. I’m going fast but the trucks go faster sometimes. I honk at someone who cuts me off as I swerve into another late.

I honk at someone else, and … The middle finger. He shows me his middle finger and snarl...

I was running as fast as I could, feeling the soles of my shoes wear down against the scorching asphalt. The air was thick, suffocating; the sun blazed directly on my face, and sweat mixed with the street dust. Horns blared, engines roared, people shouted—the chaos of rush hour at its peak.

A homeless man stretched out his hand toward me. “Can’t, sorry,” I muttered, dodging him. A shopping cart a...

This isn’t a story this is truly a rant because sometimes us humans need that. I hate driving with truck traffic on the expressway I really do. I drove to the doctor on a Tuesday on a damned Tuesday and BOTH WAYS I hit truck traffic where they go over 75 when the limit is 55. So they honk or go around you when you’re going 65 and it’s ridiculous. Today, someone flew past the car at around 65-70 in...