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Writing Prompt

STORY STARTER

Submitted by an anonymous user

Write a short story based in an idealistic suburban neighbourhood.

Try and put a spin on the usual suburban trope.

Writings

The Secret

She looked down at her phone and blinked, in bewilderment, stunned that the address her college friend had given her had directed her to a suburb. Hesitantly, she switched on her left blinker and turned into what appeared to be the setting of the film Pleasantville, yet, she couldn’t ignore the fact that she felt less than pleasant about being there. Out of the corner of her eye, she looked at h...

The Suburbs

The classic suburbs

Where people do no wrong

where old folks retire

And family’s bond


But in every household

There’s a secret to be told

Some are very tiny

And some are very cold


But just stop to think

Most murders happen in small towns

Or at least the brutal ones

Where you don’t hear a sound


It’s the perfect place to kill

Neighbors close, they’ll never tell

Body’s easy to dispose

Just throw...

Why Didn't It Take Us Too?

β€œGood morning, Majorie!” Duncan called from across the lawn to his neighbor, teeth gleaming in the morning sun, β€œLovely day, isn’t it?”


Majorie smiled at him as she brought the milk in from her doorstep. It was that forced smile. The smile she smiled every morning, at 8am, when Duncan would come out and blithely shout the same thing at her. Every morning. And it was driving her -


β€˜Ugh, no matter...

Next Stop Candyland

In a spring breeze, a wooden sign swung idly on one of its chains. It was too weathered and potshot to read with only a capital W and the remains of a lowercase F to be seen. Scrappy hyacinths and daffodils encircled the signpost. I stopped for a moment to smell their sweetness. I wished Mickey was here. Like Mom was, she is into flowers and plants. Mickey would be blowing my ears up about bulbs a...

The American Dream

Bright colored flowers line the edges of the perfectly manicured lawns. Each house a slightly altered version of the next, all coordinating in a pleasing, but bland way.

β€œGreat neighborhood to raise a family!” the realtor ads boast, and desperate young couples flock to open houses trying to outbid the other.

Visions of children riding bikes and playing ball, block parties and BBQ’s filling their...

1
Dream Hills

A few miles outside of neon cities bustling sin metropolis sat the Dream Hills. The largest of gated communities around the city. Home to only the most wealthy families of the big city.



Remidora or Remi as all her friends called her. Was just that, second child of the Flinn family. Known for making the best clones in the city, father Markus Flinn is one of Neon cities founders. A few hundred ye...

Book Of Our Town

π—œπ—‘π—§π—₯𝗒


π™·πšŽπš•πš•πš˜! π™²πš˜πš–πšŽ πšŠπš—πš πšŸπš’πšœπš’πš πš˜πšžπš› πš’πšπšŽπšŠπš• πšπš˜πš πš—. 𝚈𝚘𝚞 πšŒπšŠπš— πšπš’πš—πš πš’πš 𝚊𝚝 π™°πš–πšŽπšœ, π™Έπš˜πš πšŠ. πš†πšŽ πšŠπš›πšŽ 𝚊 πšπš’πš—πš’ 𝚒𝚎𝚝 πšπš›πšŠπš—πš πšπš˜πš πš— πšπš‘πšŠπš πš πšŠπš—πšπšœ 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚎𝚝 𝚊 πšŸπš’πšŽπš  𝚘𝚏 𝚊 πšπš›πšŽπšŠπš–. π™·πšŽπš›πšŽ πšŠπš›πšŽ πšœπš˜πš–πšŽ 𝚘𝚏 πš˜πšžπš› πš–πšŠπš’πš— πš–πšŠπš›πš”πšœ.


𝗔 π—šπ—₯π—˜π—”π—§ π—£π—Ÿπ—”π—–π—˜ 𝗙𝗒π—₯ 𝗬𝗒𝗨π—₯ π—žπ—œπ——π—¦ 𝗧𝗒 π—Ÿπ—˜π—”π—₯𝗑


π™Έπš— πšπšŽπš›πš–πšœ 𝚘𝚏 𝚠𝚊𝚒...

Hutcherson

White House’s lined the streets, with big lawns roses and tulips lining the outside. Blue shutters on every window. Parents walking around with pink, blue, or white strollers. Hair tied up in a ponytail or combed back neatly. Children played chess, & read books. The babies never cried the children never argued. They wore pale pink or pale blue polos white pants or a white skirt, white closed sanda...

1
Same

I blinked my eyes open, my lips stretching into a smile. It was a new day. A new to be me. I hopped out of bed and pulled on the white skirt and pale yellow polo of my school uniform. I slid down the banister to the first floor with glee, gracefully gliding into a run. I found my mom making breakfast in the kitchen, her gold-spun blond hair up in a messy bun.

β€œGood morning, Emma!” My mom said chee...

2
Suburban Utopia

Trimmed bushes.

Perfectly manicured lawns.

Clean painted siding.


Suburban utopia.


A place I call my home.

My home: it is my home.


What is a home?


A pretty little house?

A family unit?

Friends and nice neighbors?


Perhaps.


Perhaps it can be.

But not mine.


My home is where I learned to fly.

It’s the place I flew fromβ€”

A nest left behind.


This suburban utopia

Was a cage whose bar...

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