Writing Prompt

"It was an accident!" she screamed to whoever could hear.

No one could. That was the point. It was all a trick.

"Well, well, well, look who finally showed her true colors," he snickered behind her.

She spun around with a gasp, but he wasn't really there. Just a bright pool of moonlight.

"You were supposed to be the bad guy!" she cried. "Not me!"

At first, there was no response, but then she...

Cygnus lay at my feet, the blood pooling around him as it leaked from his wounds. I thought he was the heart of darkness, but it was more a matter of perspective.
His blood dripped from my fingertips as I looked down on his prone form as I contemplated my actions leading up to this moment.
I had spent years hating Cygnus as he worked against everything I accomplished, when he was truly only t...

As a CIA operative the training is brutal, vigorous, outright torture. You come face to face with the true version of yourself. Not just the version you think you mask from others but the true, deep, dark, primal and animalistic version that you may not know even exists.

My training was completed months ago and the most action I have seen so far is a whole lot of nothing. During training to beco...

I guess I didn't know him as well as I thought I did. Even now, as he's trying to speak, I have no idea what he wants to say. His bloodied lips move laboriously, but no sound comes out. He's dying. Is he trying to curse at me? Tell me something? I can't tell. I start to laugh despite myself. It's just a response I have to stress. I guess it's a little ridiculous, too. Me, standing over him on...

Brainwash is a hero.

Beacon likes to talk this big talk with this self righteous attitude, but a hero is a hero.

You save good people. You stop bad people.

Those are the only stipulations Brainwash goes by.

Exposing Beacon for her hypocrisy was only the beginning. Since he knows she killed Ink Spill. While he doesn’t have a problem with it (it’s just another bad person off the streets), her ...

He wore a white mask, so I could only see is the eyes. They were like dry blood, black and crusty, caverns of broken victims filled with the terror he brought upon them. His large hands inch slowly to my arm. I try to pull back, to escape, but he grabs ahold. His hands are cold, like he had died. I shiver. His fingers grip tighter, like a crow's claws rapping around a dead carcass. He pulls one ha...

It's a lonely life being a hero. However many people you save there are still more who die. However many people who appreciate what you do there are still more who hate you for what you are, for the things you have they will never get. After a while you start to forget why you still do the job, start to think 'Why would I help those who would kick me to the curb without a second thought?' Friendsh...

The wind whistled through the trees as I buried my hands in the pockets of my jacket. It was far too cold in this town, but I preferred it over listening to Sheriff Manghlen talk one more second against the town’s wildlife.

Apparently, there had been several attacks by a wild animal on certain citizens. The attacks were becoming more frequent, and people were clearly scared. According to the "wis...

Part 1: The Room

All this time I thought he was the villain, but as I watched the blood drip from my fingertips, I realised it was all a matter of perspective.

The knife clattered from my hand and spun across the wooden floor, stopping just short of the ornate rug we argued about last week. The antique grandfather clock chimed the half-hour. Thirty minutes past midnight.

He wasn’t moving.

I st...

Maybe I just needed a lie to keep telling myself. Maybe I just needed an excuse to keep doing what I do. Because I liked it. I liked serving justice by my own hands. But is it justice when I direct my wrath to people who don't deserve the same end as him? The blood dripping from my fingertips and forming a dark pool of blood on the gravel is innocent. But they can't know that. They will never kn...