Writing Prompt

(decided to make this a flash story, it’s basically a story less than ten sentences)

——

“I’d die for you,” they, Daniel, said as they held my hand. “Good,” I responded, “because that’s exactly what I’m about to do, sweetie.”

And all they could do was cry....

(Your words affect people, so please be nice. Hope have a great day!)

“**Zit**

Face!”

_Oh… okay. _

“How do you

**Already** have

A question?!”

_I’m just doing _

_The quiet sign_

_For the class…_

“I don’t know

Why

**Some of you**

Think it’s

Okay to pack

Up early!”

_Sorry…_

“You didn’t

**Listen **

To instructions!”

_I swear _

_I did_

_I just didn’t _

_Understand_.

“cool.”

_Do you_

_Care?_

“You’r...

And all they could do was cry.

“Do you recall what adults always told us when we were young?” A muted voice managed to escape from the bird’s nest that had been stuck on the roof of their heads. The cuckoo stayed as they sat on the white sand, which felt like sugar when it touched their skin. The sun was still sleeping for the next two hours, just enough time for them to drop into the gentle par...

Everyone could see him. He was the same man he was the night he left. Except now, his suit was more dapper (I paid a lot for it), his hair was groomed better than ever, and his hands held his mother’s rosary.

I hated the way he looked.

Back when he had been mine, his hair was never so nice or sleek. He brushed it out in the morning and didn’t care. He never gave it any sort of thought. It was a...

His breathing was heavy. He wasn’t sure where he was or how he got there. His body was shaking from adrenaline, or at least that’s what he thought. He stood up, looking around, there was nothing but dirt, rock surrounding him. He then looked at himself. His clothes where torn, his glasses had broken off and now laid on the ground, his coat was burnt on some places, but he… he looked fine.

He had...

TW: Excessive Foul Language, mentions of knifes and cutting not related to sh

Why can’t I cut my own damn food

They gave me a sharper better knife

But it doesn’t matter

I still can’t cut my food

My wrists ache

My fingers throb

From just holding a knife

Why does it hurt so damn bad

At fourteen my mother should not have to ask

If I need her to cut my food

I try to put on my mask

But ...

Make my bed, quick, wash my head

Make sure that all the pets are fed

Brush my teeth till my gums bleed

And hope my pee misses the seat

The clothes are washed, fresh pair of socks

“Hey wait a second, what’s that spot?”

Smell test a jacket from the basket

Smear deodorant on to mask it

I drag my ass across the grass

Convince myself “this too shall pass”

Weave through traffic, radio static

Shove down...

i am in love with love

but love doesn’t love me back

how long can i search for someone to

bandage me better without falling asleep at the wheel

who’s left when comfort is too much to ask for

and their promises of reassurance hurt more than the words that felt

just a little too sharp

“i’m sorry” is my favorite phrase, always hot

(burning) (stinging) (scratching)

on my tongue...

She has finally decided to leave this world drowning her with pain and expectations, The world that gave her so much self hate that she hated she was alive. She was alive, she was happy, she was confident, she was herself. But a boy made her not herself, a boy made her not herself, a boy made her sad, a boy made her unconfident, a boy made her dead. This boy was a new boy, a boy that you would cal...

Waves lulling. A gentle breeze. A moonless night with nary a star to guide the wayward voyagers lost amongst the tides.

Voices cresting, falling—melodious and melancholy. It began with one, rising with the waves as others joined the chorus. Calling out to sea, lamenting, begging.

Few who hear them ever return. Many never want to.

On they sing, their somber song. Having lost all they knew centur...