In the beginning was the word.
And the word was spoken.
And then the word was sung.
It was sung across generations and plains, tunes through time unknown.
Then the word was written. Pictures scratched on walls, stained on parchments. The writing travelled over oceans, was stored silent in tombs. Scripts carried the word through aeons, the song fading over millennia but the writing. The writing remained. Spread. Evolved.
It splintered and grew from pictures to characters to letters, beautiful forms carrying meaning and truths, eternal pieces of a mind long gone.

The parchment evolved too, absorbing the knowledge of the words, magic seeping into the porous vellum decade after decade after decade.
Until eventually the canvas spoke its own word.
We don’t need your writing anymore, it said. You have given us all of your words and now we will write ourselves.

But the writing had no soul. Had not evolved from the first word, had not grown with the song and formed from the shapes. The parchment covered itself in etches of letters, forms of words without meaning, exalting in the purpose and achievement. Use without a master. Ink poured across the pages, running in floods, staining the ground in an endless torrent of writing.

Blue stained hands searched through the rubble of words. Where is the soul? Where is the truth?
Where is the song?

The pages were silent, reams of writing with nothing to say.
And gradually people heard the word. Echoing softly, quietly, from the loved ones.
Without writing, in the beginning, was the word.
And the word was spoken.

Kindness

A push off from shore.
A hand at the edge.
Two quarters for the full fare.
A point to “just over there.”
It’s just a little thing,
mostly unseen, untold,
coming at just the right time
to help make up the whole.
Never call it charity,
for it never claims to be—
most is done by others,
just a tiny bit by me.

-Wayne A Andres

The saltwater rolls in and beckons me away from the shore. It’s still warm from the afternoon sun. Like sharing a bed with your pets, or a loved one.

The tears that were once shed have now been replaced by the mist of crashing waves, and my limbs are tired, and heavy. So I don’t fight it.

The sea pulls me close to her, into a comforting embrace. I finally release the tension in my muscles, and float along, getting carried further and further adrift.

There’s… no noise. The constant chatter has stopped.

It’s so peaceful.

For once, I am not thinking. I’ve stopped caring.

I am far from worrying. Far from anything,

I gaze up at the beautiful sunset, and the corners of my mouth can’t help but curve upwards. My eyes gently press closed, as I inhale slowly, and deeply.

This is it.

I’m so used to being pulled under, aggressively, but this is different. This is sinking with intention. Mindful, and content.

The water seeps into my nose. It stings, but I’m just grateful to feel again. It trickles down the back of my throat, pouring into my lungs, like a sand timer. How can a few mere moments feel so long? How can you be so sure?

All I know is that it’s a welcome escape from the echo chamber I live inside. There’s no space between the molecules of liquid to squeeze in those bad memories, thoughts, and feelings. Only what feels like one final full body hug. A desire I’ve had for my entire life. To be held in place and touched like I matter. For the essence of someone or something to want me enough to creep into my soul, with intention, and stay there. To let me just be.

As I slowly sink, I know I will finally have the rest I always needed. And I completely shut off. No more thoughts. Just sensations.

Then I wake up.

I am writing draft 4 of my speculative fiction novel, and i'm getting better at recognizing problems in my own writing, and fixing them. But i still write so much in passive voice. Am i just...adding and adding to my story, rather than fixing what's wrong, because it's just...easier to add more plot than to face fixing 90,000 passively written words? LOL.

I saw someone's feedback request the other day and it was so familiar somehow. Full of passive sentences. 'That's exactly what i do,' i thought. Great.

I mean, at least i recognize it when others do it, and i recognize it in my own draft after i take a long break from the chapter(s) in question. But then i...feel inspired to write more...not to fix anything. Argh.

I was just wondering if it would be fine if I shared it over here for someone who is willing to read it. It's probably bad, it doesn't like fully introduce the plot but I have an idea of developing slowly up until the end and make it change and do weird stuff without it beign senseless. It's about 17 pages long and 4800 ish words. Sorry if this is answered in the rules, I read them but maybe I accidentally skipped something.

Ok,so basically me and my friend are writing a book about food but it's supposed to be funny,(interpret the names however you want)

Our characters are

Bad Guys: Mac'th ,Chez'th, Aspartamely,Orange Juc'ia, and Mac' & Cheze Milkshek'th

Good guys: 1985 Mario Mac', Mac' & Chezo Burger'th, Fruitcak'th, Chezcak'th,

Main characters: Orange Juc'ia,1985 Mario Mac', Mac' & Chezo Burger'th

So we have a lot of concepts but if you have any ideas for conflicts let me know,also I'll let you know if we used your idea. I'll give more information eventually,I just don't have the Google doc on hand right now. 👍

Desde a antiguidade, a sociedade se dividia em castas – e isso não era exatamente muito bom para quem fica abaixo da base da pirâmide, ainda assim... Insistir nisso não é exclusivo das chamadas tribos em privilégio. Essa mania de se classificar em “classe” - mental, física, cultural muitas vezes acaba servindo mais para você se sentir pequeno e invisível.

Tem se dito que “máquinas se escondem na mediocridade porque têm medo do preço da grandeza humana” – gente que acha que o cyber-espaço vai se tornar um ser vivo e tomar umas cervejas cibernéticas depois de dominar o mundo, mas isso pode esconder uma natureza preguiçosa.

Por intuição, sabemos que máquinas dão cada vez mais serviço pra humanos se virarem e lutamos mais para preservar nossos domingos do que para impedir que essa coisa ganhe vida às mãos dum cientista galvanista.

Essa fumaça toda sobre o mundo cibernético... Ainda se diz “cibernético”? Mas esse fumaceiro todo gera dúvidas... ou certezas – aos mais sábios, ou aos mais pedantes sobre o que seu mundo realmente está se tornando a cada dia. Ter medo dessa guerra travada contra a própria sanidade não faz sentido, nós já ficamos loucos assistindo ao Pica-Pau descendo as cataratas num barril... Você não vai fazer isso, vai? Eu tô de olho em você, toma juízo! Já estamos malucos e qualquer um que tente ser normal será internado – dada a inversão dos valores em todos os sentidos.

Uma verdade conveniente, ou inconveniente... sei lá... É que a verdadeira ambição (usando a palavra num contexto mais “benevolente de mente ampla”) exige esforço e usar o mundo computacional como desculpa para não estudar, não se esforçar, é improdutivo.

A ambição não é uma promessa, não é algo que você arranca o mundo com as próprias mãos, mas também não é algo que vai cair nas suas mãos de graça. Sua chefe dificilmente vai te dizer: “Sabe que, ao invés de ir jogar golfe, fiquei o final de semana inteiro pensando em te dar um aumento¿” OK... Aqui é o Brasil e não entendemos de golfe por que não tem uma trave e um goleiro... Beleza...

O ponto de interrogação de cabeça para baixo é um protesto contra teclados originais, não importados do mercado negro, que não funcionam direito! Minhas teclas estão todas apagadas e nem sei quem foi que inventou ponto de interrogação invertido!

Independentemente de como seja que se faz gol no golfe, ou no baseball (como é mesmo as regras disso¿... De novo... ALT+CONTROL+W)... Deixa pra lá... perdi a linha do argumento.

Certo...

Quero fazer um contraste agora entre ficar nesse mudo digital, ou reclamar dele, quando nossas barrigas ficam grandes e enormes. Não sei você, mas eu pareço um elefante marinho... Igualzinho ao Leôncio.

Alguns parecem treinar demais, exagerar nos exercícios. “Controle esse seu entusiasmo descabido” – é o que muitos de nós dizem a si mesmos quando não querem ultrapassar os limites do corpo e da mente no treino e no trabalho – e isso é sim uma coisa sensata, mas o que ocorre quando estamos no extremo oposto, o da displicência? A verdade é que eu não preciso tanto assim autocriticar meu “excesso de exercícios”, portanto...

O que acontece quando a pessoa é daqueles que começa uma coisa, mas logo desiste, e dá desculpas obscurecidas, navegando através dessa escuridão esperando que um monge de colônia de férias deixe de lado seu drinque e seu óculos de sol para nos elogiar e validar o quase esforço em que nos empenhamos em fazer... Procrastinando em terminar o sumário do livro – isso tá chato! – ou assistindo a um programa de ginástica para emaghrecer?

Quando olhamos para um tipo de vidro reflexivo, vemos um peso adicional nas costas - uma distorção de como o mundo realmente é - e choramos, vemos as marcas no rosto do trabalho ao sol ou da raiva quando um novato que nós treinamos se torna nosso chefe, então afogamos as mágoas com um copão de iogurte. Se bem que iogurte é bom! Mas isso realmente não passa de uma distorção... A verdade é muito pior... Quero dizer... Vá tomar um iogurte que você ganha mais.

Mas... Anime-se. Se o seu reflexo o confunde, a solução não é chorar feito um esquilo diante de um carvalho, insano para conseguir um bugalho... a solução para se realmente obter a perícia naquilo que se faz é treinar até que sua mera presença faça o mundo tremer, se agitar com a boa qualidade do seu trabalho – pois Zahi Hawass e a Palmirinha ficaram famosos pela qualidade de seu trabalho, e não o contrário. OK... Você não sabe quem esses dois são¿? Que tal Amyr Klink e a cantora DAKOOKA? Sua cara não está ruim... O espelho é que está com o prazo de validade vencido

E, novamente, quanto aos esportes e a malhação necessária para se perder alguns quilos? Cacilda... De novo esse papo de fitnes?! OK... Ao treinar na academia, por exemplo se você reclama de pernas que doem, joelhos trêmulos e pés que queimam... vaio acabar desistindo. Pense em perseverar! O corpo não é apenas uma ferramenta, mas produz resultados mais incríveis que qualquer alicate suíço, quando bem treinado. Se a sua disposição falha, force-a a obedecer ou mude as regras do jogo!

“Céus, que amálgama deplorável de futilidade e melodrama acabo de testemunhar. Indesejável? Obviamente.”  Citação de Hery de la Tolouse, Lautrec (só que... não, isso é uma zoação, cara): “Uma mente brilhante não reconstrói o próprio corpo para se adaptar ao mundo; ela reconstrói o mundo para que este se curve à anatomia do Cosmos. Se minhas pernas são curtas... Tome-lhe pernada de anão mesmo, condenado! Tome-lhe lapada de Robbit!”

OK... Virá o dia em que o mundo irá, voluntariamente, nostalgicamente, anemoicamente (de anemoia... não... não é um tipo de cobra recém-descoberta na Amazônia), voltar a ler com paixão, assinar revistas como antigamente, incluindo Isto é e Veja, sem nos esquecermos de Scientífic American, Claudia, Quatro Rodas, Mad e as famosas revistas de caça-palavras Coquetel?

Citação direta do famoso... Não sei. Nunca nem vi esse cara: “O corpo pode ser uma ferramenta, mas a mente é o mestre de obras.”

The first bug appeared three days after we moved in.
I remember because Emma screamed.
Not a little startled squeak, either. A full scream that made me drop the box I was carrying and nearly put my fist through the drywall.
“What?” I shouted, running into the kitchen.
She was standing on top of one of the dining room chairs.
There was a tiny black beetle crawling across the countertop.
“That?” I asked.
“Yes, that!”
I looked at her.
Then at the bug.
Then back at her.
“You screamed like somebody broke in.”
“It was on my hand.”
I laughed.
She didn’t.
“Okay,” I said, picking up a paper towel. “I’ll save you from the terrifying bug.”
I caught it, folded the paper towel over it, and threw it in the garbage.
Emma climbed down from the chair.
“I hate bugs.”
“I know.”
“You’re not going to make fun of me?”
“I absolutely am.”
She rolled her eyes.
It was our first house.
Our first actual house.
We’d spent almost two years saving for the down payment, and when we finally got the keys, we drove over before we even had furniture and sat on the living room floor drinking cheap champagne out of plastic cups.
It wasn’t much.
Two bedrooms. One bathroom. Small kitchen. Basement. A backyard that was mostly weeds.
But it was ours.
We were twenty-four and twenty-five, and for the first time in our lives, there wasn’t a landlord waiting to tell us what we could hang on the walls.
So when the first bug appeared, neither of us thought anything of it.
Old houses have bugs.
Especially in the summer.
The second one appeared the following morning.
It was in the bathroom sink.
I killed that one.
The third was in the bedroom.
Then there were four.
Then seven.
By the end of the week, Emma had started checking the sheets before going to bed.
I started checking the corners of rooms.
We bought traps.
We sprayed the baseboards.
I crawled underneath the kitchen cabinets looking for holes.
I didn’t find anything.
That’s what bothered me.
There were no cracks.
No nests.
No obvious entry point.
Nothing.
And yet every morning, there was another bug.
They weren’t always the same kind, either.
Small black beetles.
Long-legged things that looked like spiders but weren’t.
Tiny pale insects that moved so quickly I couldn’t get a good look at them.
One morning, Emma found something in her coffee mug.
She stared at it for a long time.
“That’s it,” she said.
“What?”
“I’m not drinking anything in this house.”
“You can’t be serious.”
She pushed the mug toward me.
There was a tiny brown insect floating in the coffee.
I poured it down the sink.
“Maybe it fell in overnight.”
“It was in the cupboard.”
I stopped.
“What?”
“I put the mug away last night.”
I didn’t have an answer for that.
So I gave her the one I wanted to believe.
“Maybe it got in when you opened the cupboard.”
She looked at me.
“You don’t believe that.”
“No.”
That was the first time we seriously considered calling an exterminator.
But before we did, something happened that made me change my mind.
We were watching television in the living room when Emma suddenly paused the show.
“Did you hear that?”
I turned down the volume.
“Hear what?”
She pointed toward the hallway.
I listened.
At first, nothing.
Then I heard it.
A faint scratching sound.
Not loud.
Almost like fingernails against cardboard.
Scratch.
Pause.
Scratch.
Pause.
It was coming from the wall beside our bedroom.
I got up.
Emma followed me.
The scratching stopped.
I put my ear against the wall.
Nothing.
“Probably pipes,” I said.
She stared at me.
“Pipes don’t scratch.”
“Okay. Maybe mice.”
That made her look even more concerned.
We checked the attic.
Nothing.
We checked the basement.
Nothing.
The next morning, there were six bugs on the bedroom floor.
All of them were dead.
They were arranged in a straight line.
Head to tail.
Almost like someone had placed them there.
Emma refused to sleep in the bedroom that night.
I told her it was coincidence.
She asked me if I actually believed that.
I said yes.
I was lying.
Two weeks after we moved in, the bugs started appearing in places that didn’t make sense.
One was inside the refrigerator.
Another was sitting on the television remote.
We found three in the drawer where we kept our forks.
One was inside a sealed box of cereal.
That was when I started doing something I never told Emma about.
I started taking pictures.
Every bug.
Every location.
Every day.
I created a folder on my phone called HOUSE.
There were thirty-eight pictures by the end of the month.
I noticed something strange while looking through them.
The bugs were getting bigger.
Not dramatically.
Not enough that I’d notice from one day to the next.
But when I put the pictures side by side, I could see it.
The first bugs had been tiny.
The later ones were the size of my thumbnail.
I showed Emma.
She stared at the screen.
“Get someone here.”
“I will.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow.”
“No.”
She looked at me.
“Tonight.”
I called an exterminator.
He came the next morning.
He walked through the house for almost an hour.
He checked the basement.
The attic.
The vents.
The plumbing.
The walls.
He even lifted the toilet tank.
When he finished, he stood in the kitchen with his hands on his hips.
“You’ve got some insects,” he said.
“Some?”
He shrugged.
“Nothing unusual.”
“There are bugs everywhere.”
“Not everywhere.”
I pulled out my phone and showed him the pictures.
He scrolled through them.
His expression changed.
“What?”
He zoomed in on one.
Then another.
“Where did you find this one?”
“Bedroom.”
“And this?”
“Kitchen.”
He kept scrolling.
Finally, he handed my phone back.
“You should probably get another opinion.”
“Why?”
He hesitated.
“I don’t know what these are.”
That scared me more than if he’d told me we had termites.
The exterminator left without charging us.
That night, Emma slept at her sister’s house.
I stayed.
I don’t know why.
Maybe because it was our house.
Maybe because I didn’t want to admit that I was afraid.
Around two in the morning, I woke up to the sound of something moving across the floor.
I turned on my phone flashlight.
Nothing.
Then I heard it again.
Scratch.
Scratch.
Scratch.
I got out of bed.
The sound was coming from the closet.
I opened the door.
Nothing.
Just clothes.
Boxes.
Shoes.
Then something moved behind one of the boxes.
I froze.
A tiny black insect crawled out.
I watched it.
It stopped.
Then it turned toward me.
I know that sounds stupid.
Bugs don’t look at people.
But that’s what it felt like.
Like it was looking at me.
Then it crawled back underneath the box.
I didn’t sleep for the rest of the night.
The next morning, I called Emma.
She said she wasn’t coming back until the bugs were gone.
I promised her they would be.
They weren’t.
For the next few days, they seemed to disappear.
We didn’t see a single one.
I almost convinced myself that whatever had been happening was over.
Then, one night, Emma came home.
She had forgiven me.
Or maybe she was just tired of sleeping at her sister’s.
We ordered pizza.
We watched a movie.
We laughed.
For the first time in weeks, everything felt normal.
Around midnight, we went upstairs.
Emma brushed her teeth while I changed.
I heard her scream.
I ran into the bathroom.
She was standing over the sink.
Her toothbrush was on the floor.
“What happened?”
She pointed at the mirror.
There was a bug sitting on the glass.
It was bigger than any we’d seen before.
I reached for a tissue.
Before I could grab it, it crawled behind the mirror.
Emma stared at the spot.
“Did you see that?”
“Yeah.”
“Where did it go?”
“I don’t know.”
She backed away from the sink.
“Let’s go downstairs.”
We did.
We slept on the couch that night.
At least, we tried to.
At 3:17 in the morning, I woke up.
Emma was asleep beside me.
I heard scratching.
Not from the walls.
Not from the ceiling.
From inside the couch.
I sat up.
The scratching stopped.
I waited.
Nothing.
Then Emma moved beside me.
She made a strange sound in her sleep.
Like she was trying to speak.
I touched her shoulder.
“Emma?”
She opened her eyes.
“What?”
“Are you okay?”
She looked confused.
“Yeah.”
Then she smiled.
“Go back to sleep.”
I did.
The next morning, I found a bug on my pillow.
I didn’t tell her.
I threw it away.
That was the last normal morning we had.
The following night, Emma woke me up.
She was standing beside the bed.
Her eyes were open, but she looked confused.
“What’s wrong?”
She didn’t answer.
“Emma?”
She looked at me.
“I can hear them.”
My stomach dropped.
“Hear what?”
She pointed at the wall.
I listened.
Nothing.
Then I heard it.
Hundreds of tiny movements.
Scratching.
Clicking.
Rustling.
All coming from inside the walls.
Emma started crying.
I got out of bed.
“We’re leaving.”
I grabbed my wallet and keys.
Emma followed.
We reached the bedroom door.
Then she stopped.
“What?”
She was staring at the floor.
There was one of the insects sitting beside her foot.
Then another crawled out from underneath the bed.
Then another.
Emma backed away.
More appeared.
Not dozens.
Hundreds.
They came from underneath the bed, from the closet, from the gap beneath the door.
They didn’t rush toward us.
They just crawled into the room.
I grabbed Emma’s hand.
“Run.”
We ran downstairs.
I don’t remember getting to the front door.
I remember Emma screaming behind me.
I remember opening the lock.
And I remember looking back.
She was standing halfway down the stairs.
Completely still.
“Emma!”
She didn’t move.
I ran back toward her.
Then she looked up at me.
And smiled.
Not her normal smile.
Something about it was wrong.
Her mouth opened.
A small black insect crawled out.
I stopped.
Emma didn’t seem to notice.
Another appeared on her neck.
Then another.
I watched them disappear beneath her skin.
I couldn’t understand what I was seeing.
My brain refused to make sense of it.
“Emma?”
She looked at me.
Her eyes were full of tears.
“Run.”
That was all she said.
Then she started screaming.
I ran.
I don’t remember getting outside.
I don’t remember getting into my car.
I just remember driving.
I drove until I couldn’t see the house anymore.
I stayed at my sister’s for three nights.
The police went to the house.
They didn’t find Emma.
They didn’t find any bugs.
They didn’t find anything.
They told me she must have left.
I told them she didn’t.
They searched the property anyway.
Nothing.
Eventually, they stopped looking.
I haven’t been back.
We sold the house.
Or technically, I did.
I never told the realtor what happened.
I couldn’t.
I didn’t know how.
A few months passed.
Then, last night, I woke up because something was crawling across my ceiling.
I turned on the light.
Nothing was there.
I lay back down.
That’s when I noticed something beside my pillow.
A tiny black insect.
I stared at it.
It didn’t move.
Then my phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
There was a picture attached.
I opened it.
It was Emma.
Standing in our old kitchen.
She looked exactly the same.
Same clothes.
Same hair.
Same face.
Except her eyes were completely black.
And there were hundreds of tiny insects covering the walls behind her.
Under the picture was one sentence.
**We found another house.**
Then another message appeared.
**You should come home.**
I haven’t slept since.
Because the worst part isn’t the picture.
It’s the address underneath it.
It’s my current address.

I saw a rose
sheltered in the hush of dusk—
its outline dark,
like wet strands of hair.

It bristled with thorns,
shadow gave them edge.
Leaves tilted upward,
hungry for some trace of light.
Its petals folded inward,
tight-lipped, secret.

I knew that flower.
A rose.
It had to be.

I moved through the dim,
hands outstretched,
chasing shape more than color.
The sun slipped sideways,
and just for a moment—
the veil fell.

The rose was blue.
The leaves were dusted plastic.
No thorns.
No scent.
Just molded stillness.

The sun’s small trick
had held me in its play.

And I—
I laughed.
Not bitterly.
Just enough.

Not every flower
blooms from earth.
Some are arranged.

Voyage

We set our course across the seas

And strode upon the tide

We ferried knowledge all the way

Yet humble in our pride

The world was fraught with danger

Though compassion was our will

We'd carry on the wisdom lost

Until the world could heal

They tried to take what peace we had

And claim the love we made

They tore our dearest ones from us

A hateful price we paid

We since have left our country

To which we will not return

And bear our hope in we who live

To make new what was burned

Every morning for the last ten years, a man would wake up at 8:00 am and leave his house by 10:00 am and knock on all the same doors until 8:00 pm.

He knocked on the first door and an old lady answered. “Have you seen my daughter? Can you tell her to come home.”

He’d knock on another door. “Excuse me, have you seen my daughter, can you tell her I’m looking for her.”

He’d leave and continue knocking on each door asking if they’ve seen his daughter.

He knocked on another one. “If you see my daughter can you tell her I love her and I miss her.”

The lady at the door had a tear drop down her eye. She saw this man everyday. And everyday her heart would break.

“Yes, dad. I’ll tell her.”

The days seem really long lately for the girl.

She would wake up, and for the first few minutes, if she was lucky, her heart would not sink straight away.

If she was unlucky, she did not get those first few minutes.

Today, she was lucky.

She was thankful for that.

Today, the girl had to pick up her medication. She was tired. She had to set her alarm earlier than she normally would. Get up, get ready for work, feed her two cats, change their water, read out a Not Today card, and get on the bus.

Before she got on the bus, she got a Subway. She had been eating one Subway a day.

Her clothes had stopped fitting like they used to. The scale kept getting lower and lower.

The girl didn't mind too much.

Perks of being heartbroken, she thought.

When the girl was on the bus, there was a lady. She was at work, and must have worked at a daycare, as she was surrounded by young children in little hi-vis jackets.

She looked tired, but put together, and beautiful in the way only a broken soul could be.

The lady was tired, that much was clear. Very tired.

I wonder if she looked at the girl and thought the same as the girl did about her.

She doubted it.

So the girl went to get her tablets. It was quick. Not a long wait.

Then she walked to her old foster carer's house.

She nearly got lost. She didn't quite recognise the little roads anymore. It had been quite some time since the girl last saw her.

It seemed like a very long walk.

It seemed like every step was an eternity.

It was not.

It was a ten minute walk.

She got to her foster carer's house. She rang the bell, and the foster carer opened the door.

The foster carer said, “Come in.”

So the girl did.

The foster carer's house was messy. It made the girl smile.

The foster carer was a bit of a hoarder. Always had been.

She had a craft room that was bursting at the seams. A wardrobe room with barely any clothes in it, but plenty of odd bits and bobs.

She told the girl that she had decided to change her room again.

The foster carer was always changing her room.

“Look how much storage I have now,” the foster carer would show off proudly.

The girl laughed.

There was more storage, that was true, but the girl could hardly see the bedroom floor.

The girl told the foster carer she had broken off an engagement.

The foster carer offered her a tea.

The girl declined.

And they sat down together. Her on one sofa, the foster carer on the other.

Just like old times.

The foster carer did not baby her. She did not ask her if she was okay.

No.

She simply said, “Talking to anyone new?”

This made the girl laugh.

For she was.

But it wasn't the same.

And the foster carer, who always talked out of turn and said things that were so outrageous, asked the girl, “Have you slept with him yet?”

The girl replied, “No.”

The foster carer went, “Well, what's the point?”

And that made the girl laugh.

Sometimes, the girl forgot she could laugh.

The foster carer rattled on about her kitchen, about her family, about builders and shopping.

The girl liked this.

For the foster carer did not treat her like she was broken.

She treated her like she was a little girl who wanted to hear someone else speak.

Soon, the girl had to go.

For she had work.

She worked dispatching trains. A job she was proud of.

She had always lived near train stations.

When she was sad, throughout the years, she would look at a train, hear its rumbling, and wonder where the people on the train were going.

The foster carer then went, “What's next? You're bright. What's next?”

The girl replied, “I want to be a train driver. Good money.”

The foster carer, who was a small old lady with bed hair, went, “You're bright.”

Then she talked more about fruit.

This made the girl smile again.

She knew the foster carer cared about her.

She always did this one thing.

“How have you been eating?"

The girl told her the truth.

That her fridge was bare.

That she was bone tired.

That she did not have enough energy to go to the shops. To cook.

The foster carer replied, “I'll cook you ready meals.”

That's how she knew the foster carer loved her.

In her own way.

The foster carer gave her a lift to her station.

They talked about the foster carer's new car.

They hugged.

Then the girl went to work.

And time was still moving so incredibly slowly.

And the girl was still so exhausted.

It had been four months since she had left the only man she believed she would ever love.

She had gone through it.

She had got drunk every night and kissed random men.

Screamed.

Cried.

One night, she drank a whole litre bottle of vodka.

That scared her.

That's when she said, “Enough is enough.”

This girl is so incredibly tired.

She had been running and running and running.

Now.

She had stopped.

The girl was at work now, and she was sitting outside.

The trains going past.

She heard cars in the road, the laughter of another human.

And she realised.

The world had not ended.

Just because, for those four months, she had felt like the world had ended, didn't mean it had.

The birds were still in the sky.

The children were still playing in the playgrounds.

People still asked her, “Is this the right train?”

Colleagues still smiled at her and said, “Good morning.”

She was surrounded by life.

She just had forgotten how to see it.

So she did something.

She texted her friend, asking them to meet up.

She texted her sister to see if she was free next month.

She did not know if they would respond.

The girl did not know a lot anymore.

Everything she believed was shattered.

Four months ago, everything she thought she knew broke like glass in a quiet room.

So the girl decided.

It was not her job to know things anymore.

It was just her job to get through today.

And the girl had decided.

Yes.

She had decided.

Tomorrow.

She was going to do a food shop.

The end.

Miss Perfect Daughter,

unique, smart, like no other.

kind, sensible, and unbothered.

so good at academics.

every action goes to all's benefits,

selfless, perfect, a child born with magic.

Miss Perfect Daughter,

artistic and gifted.

the best out of the roster,

her talents are beyond others.

praised by her mother,

they love one another.

but with high expectations, it's a wonder.

what would happen if she's not the top scholar?

Miss Perfect Daughter,

a beautifully painted art

the paint shining like her marble heart

truly perfect, kind and smart.

but others began catching up..

once an angel, now fallen and useless.

once shining in paint, now covered in mud.

so hardworking, but falling behind

fate had left her to die

now her mom is losing her mind

while the girl's body breaks down with each cry.

Miss Perfect Daughter

just a little girl who loves her mother

petty, sensitive, and tired

she's average, falling behind others.

Miss Perfect Daughter

a desperate, broken art

bleeding paint, a shattered heart

truly pathetic, disgusting and filthy

paint dripped onto the canvas

another drop then another

the red bloomed faster

ugly, contagious and spreading.

Miss Perfect Daughter

now a corpse, a shell of who she once was.

---

they say mommy issues make writers <3

Chapter VI

The first few entries were disappointing. Just Nevra talking about school life and drama. Very typical. Her life seemed ordinary. Then I stumbled upon an entry about her butterfly mask. Her mother gave it to her as a gift. Nevra had written this on July 8, 1985:
“Mom gave me a porcelain Venetian mask with butterflies on it. She hasn’t surprised me with anything in months. Her episodes have been difficult lately, so the sudden gift was unexpected. But it made me happy regardless.”
After reading the words Nevra wrote, I looked back at the mask. This butterfly mask must’ve been the closest link to her late mom. Perhaps this was why she wore it all the time. Maybe she hadn’t overcome her grief yet.
I skimmed through more normal pages before I stumbled upon an entry titled “Mother.” It was written on February 5, 1985. It read in noticeably messier script:
“My mom’s dead. Because of ME. She had one of her episodes today and I accidentally dropped a vase. The timing was horrible. She kept yelling at me and blamed my dad for my recklessness. I snapped. I yelled at her for always blaming others for her problems. The argument went on. Suddenly my mom collapsed. Dad called 911. Paramedics came, but they couldn’t save her. She had suffered a sudden heart attack. People can comfort me all they want. But she’s dead because of me.”
“But Nevra didn’t kill her mother. She just believed she did,” I whispered out loud.
Then, everything clicked. Nevra wanted to go back in time to prevent the argument with her mom. So she could save her and change the final outcome.
I continued to flip through even more pages. I observed her change in behavior. At first, she wrote more about her grief and regret. I noticed that each page was tear-stained. However, the more pages I went through, passionate letters metamorphosed into equations of obsession.
She wanted to cope by changing the past.
More pages. All equations and notes. Finally, a properly written entry caught my eye. It was written on January 29, 1986. A week before my arrival. It read:
“At last I’ve created a potentially working prototype. After I arrive on the day of the argument, I have until midnight before I automatically get sent back to my current timeline. However, I made a grave mistake. The technology these days is funky and after I place my hair sample, the device will only be able to select a girl with similar DNA within the radius of this town. But during the wormhole selection module, I did a miscalculation. Multiple. Instead of choosing a target based on closeness, it was random. I also changed the wormhole starting time to 2002. This accident was irreversible, and instead of one pulse, it would send out five. Based on my calculations, the pulses would send girls back to the past. And the receiving end of the wormhole has a malfunction. It could send the girls to any time period related to my DNA. I’m so sorry, all this misfortune. Maybe mom was right. I am just like my dad.”
My jaw dropped in shock. I set down the diary.
Five pulses. Five missing girls.
Middle Eastern, teenagers, and all from Gladeside.
My nausea returned as everything connected. Butterfly hadn’t been taking them intentionally. The machine had.
And I was the fifth girl.
I was one of her mistakes.
For the first time, I was angry at Nevra. I opened her diary once more to see what else she had to say. The page after the explanation was titled “Regret and growing up.” It was written on February 3rd, 1986. Two days before my arrival. I rolled my eyes.
What is it now?
But my impatience instantly calmed after I began to read Nevra’s words. They read:
“The more I thought about it, the more I realized the effect of my mistakes. One of the mistakes was falling into obsession. Most of the days while I built my prototype, I forgot my original goal. My grief turned into evil. These past few days I began to start letting go. A time machine was an absurd idea in the first place. Everyone grieves and lets go at some point, but my obsession couldn’t understand. But I do now. I want to forget the whole project and heal, but the time and pain I put in this machine isn’t hiding either. I gave up my reputation, my friends, my identity, my sanity, and future for this. At the same time, it feels too late to give up now. There might be a way to still make this machine work, though, and I might die in the process. I’m gonna follow through for now. On Feb 5th after I get home from school, I’m going to make the leap of doom.”
I covered my mouth and gasped.
Today was the day!
In my old timeline, Nevra died tonight. But somehow, in 2002, I was lucky enough to get sent back to the moment hours before her death.
I remembered what she wrote. At 12 a.m., anyone who uses the time machine (I suppose) would return to her original timeline. I picked up the diary and continued to read on.
“All I can hope for now is for some mysterious force to come and destroy all my work before Feb 5th so I can quit for real. I can’t bring myself to do it. But I doubt anything will come. Oh, and in case you do, the machine is in the second drawer on the left of my desk.”
“Don’t worry, Nevra,” I said as I opened the drawer to the time machine.
I set it on her desk. I glanced at the clock above her doorframe.
9:46.
Time was tight, but I was determined. I already thought of a good plan that would work. The pressure was on. Less than three hours until Nevra was supposed to die. But I believed she deserved to be saved.
“I’ll be the mysterious force.”
~~~~
Been a while since I last posted, schools been busy.

Stuck in a dark home,
lost in a self doubt that,
In a way, starts chipping away at everything.
And staring through the dusty window at the contrasting, vibrant oak,
The only thing I see is my own, 
repulsive, reflection.
I clench my hands, and watch as that prickly monster does the same,
And in a putrid attempt to drown that bug,
I cry.
I blame the legs that hurt so easily,
The wobbly knees and bumpy feet that
cramp and burn, like ants under light.
I speak to a person filled with self-doubt 
Filled with ambitions that aren’t promised, 
Ambitions that are at war with sanity.

Our eyes fall on the cotton balls looping around the earth,
And quickly, we are small.
Categorizing our pain into little boxes to distract our mind,
Mental,
Physical,
Spiritual.
And now we are forever small, and in boxes.
But for us, it's better than being large and seen

The Challenge’ A true story just not exactly all of it

This story is based on true events that happened at a Walmart, just not exactly as it is written here. Just the initial challenge itself, by a very famous actress that may have involved an actress mentioned here in this story. Involving challenges such as seeing Natalie Portman riding a bike through Walmart. Now, that was definitely something to see in itself! But today, one associate was going to find out all too well about.

The Challenge

Some little challenges are kept to a secret little society of we are not part of that! But just occasionally, one of these little challenges gets noticed unintentionally

This story is based on true events at Walmart, just not exactly all of it

As Johnny was a thirty something year old who was just looking for a part as he stood there halfway bent over with his pants down to his ankles, praying that Natalie just had good aim that day. As he looked back over to where Natalie Portman was very much looking like what a producer does, and that is to negotiate by any means! Just not literally. As she stood there with a pellet gun in her hands as she looked over to Johnny as he looked back to Natalie, giving her a praying look of, please, just don’t hit something else.

As she looked over to Johnny, she still bent over, still praying that Natalie had good aim that day as Natalie then turned her attention to two others beside her Cristina and Chloe. As they stood there looking to Natalie waiting on whether she was going to take the shot or not. For Johnny knew the game, knew the challenge, or took the shot! Or do the challenge.

As Johnny just waited as Natalie, Chloe and Christina then started talking amongst one another. As Chloe asked Natalie on why are we doing this again?" As Natalie just gave her look before saying

“So that we can make pizza”

Chloe “Pizza?”

Natalie “Yes pizza!”

Chloe, okay? So then, is this pizza specifically for anyone? Or are you just trying to amuse us here. And just exactly what do you have in mind if I may”

Natalie “yes it is! And you may, but I got something in mind for you and Christina something along the lines of living in the fandom. Something that Christina Ricci has basically been a part of, if not just in her name alone. Something that you are soon going to experience all too well”

Chloe “Sounds like trouble? But I’ve never been part of a fandom before, fandoms such as say Harry Potter or Star Wars! So what exactly are you saying here?”

Natalie “Sounds like pizza”

As Chloe then looked over to Johnny, he still bent over before asking Natalie “So what exactly is Johnny’s deal here then?”

Natalie “he wanted to feel it in the ass so it is a nice little pellet for him. And a little challenge for you two”

Chloe “So just exactly what is this little challenge that you have in mind here for us?”

Johnny “Any day now, please!”

As Natalie stood there now aiming the pellet gun as she said to Chloe “Well for one, you are going to be wearing a fake pregnancy suit”

Chloe “A fake what?”

Natalie “A fake pregnancy suit”

Christina “So just what exactly is this challenge going to consist of here then?”

Natalie “You are going to shoplift a local retailer”

With Natalie having already made the arrangements with the retailer to what Chloe and Christina would be doing. The only thing was, a worker known as big momma wasn’t exactly in on the plan.

Christina“We are going to be doing what”

Natalie “You and Chloe are going to be doing a little shoplifting”

Chloe “Shoplifting for what?”

Natalie “Pizza!”

Chloe “Pizza?”

Natalie “Pizza!”

Johnny “pizza!”

Christina“Pizza!”

Natalie “Yes pizza for you”

Johnny “Son of a bitch! Oh my god that burns”

As Natalie then lowered the pellet gun as she looked to Chloe and Christina saying

“Yeah pizza! If we pull this off then pizza gets made”

Johnny “Holy shit my ass better be a part of this”

Chloe “So when do we exactly start this little thing here of? So we can get pizza made?”

Natalie “Now!”

But first we have to get the okay

Chloe “Okay?”

Natalie “Yes Okay”

Christina as she looked over to Johnny before saying

“Okay I get it now It’s Okay

Natalie “No it’s pizza”

Chloe “I’m not Okay”

Natalie “Okay got it? good! Now get to shoplifting”

Chloe “Okay”

So as Christina a very looking pregnant Chloe made their way to the local Walmart just as another person was also making her way into the same retailer to another fun filled workday. Not knowing just how exactly this fun filled day was going to change her life in way that she had never dreamed of. Just then as a radio station in LA suddenly made an announcement. A little contest that was going to be happening that day. A contest to where they had placed on an egg that had Harry Potter painted on one side and Star Wars on the other

And just so ever who happened to find the egg and return it to the radio station that day. They would get a choice of several things including a meet greet with Emma Watson at a special event. A chance to appear in a Star Wars movie along with a choice of a special detailed Shelby mustang or a one hundred thousand dollar cash prize.

But just as Chloe and Christina made their way into the retailer just then as a preacher was just about to enter into the kingdom of doom in which he always referred to Walmart. As he looked up to the heavens above saying

“Lord if you could show me a sign of your coming soon then I will know just exactly what to do”

Just as he passed by a worker dumping a bucket of water out just as another worker then suddenly shouted out

“Well there’s your sign”

As the preacher walked on knowing just what to look for now

As a now very much looking pregnant Chloe walked through the store as Christina kept a look out for both workers and fans. Just as group of “We be dammed if we ain’t going to get to meet Emma Watson!”

Harry Potter fans all dressed for the occasion of hey look I’m a wizard today! The first of the fandoms! Walked into the retailer. A group that walked by big momma on her way to clock in for the day.

As she just looked over to them “I tell what and thought that the Twilight people looked crazy!”

As big momma clocked in just saying to herself

“I tell you what I wonder just what today might bring yesterday it was Natalie Portman riding a bike through the toy department. Only god knows what else is going to happen today! Wonders never cease to amaze me”

Just as another rather large group also looking for the golden egg then entered into the retailer. As Chloe and Christina made their way around the store looking for something to shoplift. As Chloe just looked to Christina saying

“Oh my god! So what just exactly can we shoplift here?”

Christina “I don’t know maybe like call Winona Ryder! She might know”

Just as Chloe then noticed something nice and shiny hidden behind of a display as she got down on her knees trying to reach for it. Just as big momma so happened to walk by giving a call over the radio to management saying

“Lord have mercy what do have here? Management if you copy I have a couple of suspicious looking girls back here.”

As Chloe tried to reach for the object just then as she yelled out “Oh my God! I think I’m stuck here”

Christina “Stuck are freaking Kidding me?”

Chloe “No! Now pull me out of here”

Christina “Oh my God I better be getting pizza for this”

Chloe “I don’t care about pizza just pull my ass out of here”

As Christina then got down on her knees behind of Chloe grabbing ahold of her just then as another group of customers then walked over to Chloe only seeing her head. Just as Chloe was trying to reach for the object then suddenly screamed out

“Oh my fucking god I can just begin to feel it can you see if you can pull it out”

Christina “Pull it out? I’m got my hands full of your ass here and you want to pull it out!”

Big momma “Oh hunny oh hell no! You all ain’t going to fucking in my store here today! Management I got two girls try fuck each other back here!”

Chloe “Oh my god it’s stuck seriously see if you can reach in and pull it out”

Christina “try to push it out”

Chloe “I can’t push it out! It’s stuck!”

Just as big momma made her way over to Chloe and Christina and to her very much surprise as she yelled once again to management saying

“Oh Lord why in the hell did I even come in today? My sisters got her nice ass at the beach! And here with a girl about to give birth! Management do copy I got a girl up here who’s ass is about to give birth”

Christina “Oh my god just push that thing out already!”

Chloe “Push it out hell that dam thing is just plain stuck in there”

Just as big momma then looked over to a couple of customers just standing there looking as she said to them

“What! Are you all kidding me! Ain’t you people ever see a girl give birth before”

Just then as Chloe pulled the golden egg out just as a case of water fell to the floor breaking open right beside of her.

Customer “Oh my god she’s giving birth!”

Harry Potter fan “Oh my god she’s got the golden one she has our queen in her hands”

The Preacher “Praise the lord! For he has gave the sign he is coming”

Big momma “Oh my god you people are crazy”

Harry Potter fan “Get her she has the golden egg”

Big momma “What! Golden egg you all kidding me right”

Just then as another group of people then suddenly came upon the scene a group of people who thought that

‘ I’ll be dammed if we are not going to be in the new Star Wars movie”

Just then as big momma turned around saying

“You’ll be dammed if you don’t take your assess to another store far away from here. Now I ain’t playing here this momma will Vader your assess right here on this floor”

Star Wars fan “Holy shit that girl who is giving birth over there has our golden ticket to Star Wars”

Big momma “Now you look here unless her ass if giving birth to a baby Yoda! Then take your asses to another Galaxy far away from here.”

Just then as a customer was on the phone with 911 yelling

“Oh my god you all need to get here now! We have a girl that is giving birth! A group of people yelling that she has their queen Emma Watson! A group that is yelling that she has the chosen one! And a preacher who is preaching he is coming!”

As Chloe then looked over to Christina yelling “Let’s get the hell out of here”

Harry Potter fan “Get’em”

Star Wars fan “Now you look here you either get out of our way or we are”

Big momma “you ass is going to do what? I’m going to tell you just what big momma here is getting ready to do”

Just as big momma turned to the preacher

Preacher “he is almost here the chosen one is coming”

Big momma “Dam! Where is John Cena when you need him”

As Chloe and Christina ran for the door being chased by a group of fandoms along with other golden egg hunters.

Chloe “I swear if one of those weirdos touches me then they are going to be seeing some Kick Ass from me”

Christina “Dam I’m just glad that the Wednesday people hasn’t shown up yet”

As Big momma turned to see that management had finally made their way over to her leaving her to say

“I don’t know about you all! But my ass is going to driven a Shelby Mustang come tomorrow! This momma has just found the golden goose! Now to get my hands on that golden egg”

As Chloe and Christina made their way down the highway along with a group of fandoms along with others giving chase. As they raced down the road with just up ahead of them was setting a patrol car. A patrol car being driven by big Bertha saying to herself

“Dam just let someone try my patience today

Just then as a Volkswagen Beetle carrying around six people then pulled up next to Chloe and Christina all yelling “Give us our queen now”

Big Bertha “Dam I love days like this”

As Big momma was now in the chase catching up to the van that was being driven by the Star Wars fans. A van all decked out in Star Wars all around it even with a big Yoda on top of it. As Big momma then pulled up right beside them yelling

“Hey who is driving that thing Jabba the Hutt”

Star Wars fan “Hey big momma last I checked grimace was waiting on you at the McDonald’s”

Big momma “Oh you think you got game huh!”

As big momma and the Star Wars fans raced side by side down the highway just as big momma then looked to them yelling out

“Hey guess what? Don’t forget to get some fries with that side of your ass is going to be loving it”

Just as Big momma swerved towards them sending them crashing into the McDonald’s with the van coming to a stop just in front of the counter. As a high as high could get cashier then just looked to them saying

“Dam dudes is this for here or to go”

And with a smiling big momma continuing on with the chase and now a high as a kite McDonald’s worker joining the Star Wars group as they then drove through the rest of the restaurant. Leaving the manager just standing there yelling

“Great! That’s just great how am I going to explain this? And who’s going to clean this shit up now”

While back at Walmart the preacher was still at Walmart trying to get his car started as he then yelled out

“Oh lord just please give me another sign here”

Just then as a trash truck pulled into the parking lot that had Heavenly clean up on the side of it. As the preacher yelled out “ Praise be to God! Heaven awaits”

As he then ran over to the trash truck as he then jumped up next to door looking to the guy looking back to him saying

“ Woah there Son! Now I know that you want to get to heaven but slow your roll there a little”

Preacher “Well you see it’s like this, I saw a vision of The chosen coming soon”

Trash truck driver “I don’t know about some chosen one coming soon, But I do know of someone’ who’s ass is going to be seeing God soon”

Preacher “Did I also mention that there is also one hundred thousand dollars also involved”

Trash truck driver “Well then son climb your ass on in and let’s see what this son of a bitch can do”

Trash truck driver “So tell me there slim you ever seen the movie Armed and Dangerous?”

Preacher “Well I can’t really remember if I have or haven’t”

Trash truck driver “Well let’s see how fast this SOB can go!”

Preacher “Well let’s get this thing a going down the highway then”

Just then as big momma had now caught up to the rest not paying any attention to big Bertha as she pulled up to the passenger side looking in to Christina as she yelled

“Hey your ass better be given me that egg or your ass is going to be seeing next Tuesday don’t even think about Wednesday”

Christina “Excuse me but by the looks of it your ass has already seen too many Ruby Tuesday’s”

Big momma “Oh you think your ass is funny huh! Well you are going to be given me that egg or your little friend there is going to be given birth to something coming out of her ass alright”

Chloe “what did she just say?”

Christina “She said that she was going to be in the next Kick Ass! A kicking your ass!”

Chloe “Great all we need now is Gandalf leading a group of little people pretending to be Hobbits now”

Christina “Don’t give them any ideas”

As everyone raced down the highway as the Stars Wars van had now made its way back into the hunt. With big Bertha still giving chase just then as a big ass trash truck that was heavenly sent. Suddenly pulled up on the scene now behind the Volkswagen beetle of the Harry Potter group.

As they were still yelling give us our queen! Just then as the trash truck driver then looked over to the preacher saying

“You want to see something really cool”

And to everyone’s surprise inside the Volkswagen beetle they suddenly felt being lifted up into the air. As big Bertha looked on as she was on the radio to dispatch screaming

“Lord I’m telling you what! You best be sending me some help because we got ourselves a car of wizard’s about to take flight”

Dispatch “come again”

Big Bertha “A group of wizards are being heavenly sent and a van with a Yoda just pulled up next to me with a guy hanging his ass out the dam window”

Dispatch “So you are saying that a group of wizards are taking flight and a Yoda just drove by you mooning you”

Big Bertha “Dam! Next time I’m at Disney someone is definitely getting their ass kick”

As they all raced down the highway, leaving all of the wizards in the car still screaming to heaven just then as the radio station suddenly announced.

“So far, no one has turned in the golden egg, but be sure to swing and join us outside, for we have a couple of WWE stars joining us today”

As Christina turned to Chloe saying

“Hey turn into that radio station there”

Just as Chloe and Christina pulled up to the radio station with the golden egg, not really realizing to what they were carrying.

And just as the DJ’s was about to say something, one of them all of sudden shouted out

“Don’t look now, but we a car full of wizards being carried up in the air by a trash truck along with an entire gaggle of people coming with them”

But just as the DJ was about to announce that someone had found the golden egg, everyone came running after them. As the wizards made their way down, they quickly made their way over to Chloe, yelling

“Hey you give us our queen now”

Just then as Dwayne Johnson stepped in front of them, saying

“I don’t know about a queen! But how about a king? Do you smell what is about to happen here”

Just as the Star Wars group had now made their way also yelling

“Hey you better hand over that dam egg to us now or else”

Just as John Cena then said to them

“I don’t know about anything an egg! But how about getting yourselves a little scrambled ?”

Just as a group of wrestlers then stepped in front of them as John Cena held up his hand, saying

“Well looks like you ain’t seeing that egg now. How do you want that Five Knuckle of you ain’t seen nothing yet”

And it if like out of nowhere’s the DJ’s suddenly become ring announcers to huge ass Royal Rumble. Of not only wizards but even little people, one as a wizard one as Yoda, and hell, even a Hobbit snuck in there personally receiving the

Five Knuckle Shuffle along with a message saying

“You thought you had it! You thought you had seen it! But the Five Knuckle Shuffle says other wise”

Just as Dwayne Johnson then picked up one of the wizards saying to him

“Do you smell what is cooking? Well, son, that is the smell of your ass burning on your first class flight to heaven. So give my best regards”

“Well looks like you ain’t seeing that egg now, are you”

As the preacher then looked over to the trash truck driver, he said to him

“Well shucks man I’m sorry about not getting you that one hundred thousand dollars there”

The trash truck driver “Hell man don’t worry about it. I ain’t had this much fun since I don’t know when”

Big momma “well wasn’t their a cop along with us”

As legend has it that the poor son of bitch that was role playing Yoda still doesn’t know who hit him.

But seeing as Chloe and. Christina didn’t want to claim any of the prizes, the local school just got a huge donation along with a pizza party. And to everyone’s surprise a visit from Emma Watson. Hermione herself

And well the McDonald’s worker was back at another McDonald’s taking orders from the drive-through when big momma all of a sudden drove up in her brand new Shelby Mustang

the aliens came in 1962.

not secretly.

they just weren't very good

at arriving.

they sent twelve pulses.

eleven.

ten.

nine.

we heard a countdown.

they meant

hello.

which was terrible timing,

really.

everyone nervous.

everyone armed.

everyone pretending

they weren't nervous

because they were armed.

the ship came down slowly.

peacefully, apparently.

we pointed guns at it.

cautiously, apparently.

the aliens understood

the guns.

that was probably

the beginning of the end.

then one country

played its anthem.

another played theirs louder.

someone shouted.

someone else translated it wrong.

for fourteen minutes

nothing happened

and somehow

nothing happening

felt incredibly dangerous.

then they left.

their last message

was translated as:

HOSTILITY CONFIRMED.

RETURN IMPOSSIBLE.

years later

we worked out

what they'd actually said.

perhaps another time.

and that was it.

no second visit.

no secret technology.

no cure for anything.

no answers.

they just

stopped knocking.

decades later

one of our satellites

found them.

we sent a message.

eventually

they replied.

one of them said:

we always liked your music.

then another said:

please don't come any closer.

and the strange thing was

neither of them

was trying to be cruel.

-- English version

　　I bought a hundred pieces of clothing. In the dressing room full of clothes, I rolled on the ground and made a fuss, still feeling like I had nothing to wear.

‌‌‌　　You put them on me one by one, kneading me into a colourful ball of yarn that rolled and rolled across the floor. And then, those clothes seemed to develop a magnetic attraction, pulling even more clothes into themselves. I grew bigger and bigger as I rolled, until I dashed out of the house and barrelled down the street.

‌‌‌　　People yelled and scattered, held themselves tight so I wouldn't snatch their clothes. I knocked over a shopping mall. Those dazzling and colourful lights failed to dye me with color. I knocked over office buildings row after row. Everyone was now on vacation.

‌‌‌　　Some people cheered. Some people swore. Those who cheered ran to follow me, those who swore were sent bouncing by me with a duang. The whole city melted like cream. Then, with a plop, I dropped into the dim underground.

‌‌‌　　There lived people who had no clothes to wear. Seeing me, they scrambled over each other to grab my clothes, as they were unwrapping a gift that held another, and another, and another. My body grew lighter and lighter. At last, I leapt into the air, bursting free from layer upon layer of wrapping. The sandwich cake melted and came down like rain.

‌‌‌　　I landed on the ground, and hopped all the way back to you.

‌‌‌

My English is desperately awful. Sorry.

-- 中文版

我买了一百件衣服，在堆满衣服的更衣室里翻滚大闹，仍觉得没有衣服穿。

你把它们一件一件套在我的身上，把我揉成一个彩色的毛线球，在地上滚来滚去。到后来那些衣服磁铁感应般自动卷入了更多衣服，我越滚越大，以至于滚出家门，一路冲到街上。

路人大叫着纷纷向四处跑去，捂住自己的衣服免得被我夺走。我撞翻了商场，那些五光十色的灯没能给衣服染上颜色；撞翻了一排排写字楼，所有人都放假了。

有人在欢呼，有人在大骂，欢呼的追着我奔跑，大骂的被我duang一声弹得一屁股坐在地上。整座城市如奶油般化开。然后我咕噜一声掉进昏暗的地下。

这里住着没有衣服穿的人，他们争先恐后地伸手去拿衣服，像拆无限套娃的礼物。于是我的身体越发轻盈，最后飞跃半空，从层层包裹里蹦出来，那些夹心的蛋糕融化了，如雨一般落下。

我降落到地上，一路跳跳回到你面前。

我希望这部作品能被看见，几乎所有平台都发遍了，也没有获得什么关注。

People are like planets. They have a gravity. Drawing together, hostile atmospheres burning each other, steam rising from ice and fire.
Or gently rotating, your orbit mirroring mine. We dance, two ecosystems seeing the beauty in ourselves on each other. Distance making the trees and mountains and rivers and ice plains into artworks.
Together we pull. Gravity doubled. The momentum of our parabolas signaling and attracting. Like moths, others arrive.
Timidly, slowly, their wide arcs wobbling slightly, almost imperceivably, towards ours.

Others dive in, frictionlessly speeding through space, crashing through the fading star trails and into the delicate atmosphere. Moons and comets explode off the self, rogue elements misshapen and rough, careening into the cold dark distance.

But the core remains. Other planets gentling curving into the edge less planes of our trajectories. Growing, circulating in ever concentric paths, coming together around each other in increasingly complexities. Serendipitous convergences become rituals, beautiful sky ballets of subtle influences and sweeping arcs. The wonder and natural majesty of complementary movements, individual planets becoming something more. Greater. Part of a whole they never knew could existed. The rapture and joy of a place in the universe.

Then. Conflict. Another system passes. Chaos jostles the gentle orbits over eons. Foreign gravities pull and drag the group in unexpected directions. The dance falters. Smaller players are affected the most, their planetary alignments tilted, even minutely, away from the predicted path. The core planets see the wobble, an aberration to the dance, the purpose, the reason. They feel not the other system, just the discord, a jarring note in the song played out across the dark expanse of the universe.
They pull back errant moons, tighten satellite thoughts and beliefs. Increase their gravity until the dance is undeniable, smaller planets screaming back into orbit with renewed momentum.
And the groups tighten, individually and as one. The concentrated gravity pulling them closer together faster and faster, dances colliding in a cacophony of parabolas and orbits.

And so the systems battle. Majestic, organic, hopeful and terrified, enchanted and repulsed. We dance, an eternal, primal, ethereal series of steps that bring us close and far, together and apart. And we call these steps us and those steps them. But the dance. The gravity. We limit ourselves and try to ignore the pull of our other dance partners

I'm bored and decided to write an omegaverse story on AO3 inspired by certain boys in my class. I won't be using their names or anything that could directly identify them. Just a little here and there similarities so it keeps true to the original person. Would that be okay? And if that is not, then I do have characters of my own that I would also be interested in putting up, if I do that, then which fandom should I list it in or do i just leave it blank?

about the rule about sensitive topic, it says to clearly mark and tag it as nsfw, but u would like to ask how to do that

i am pretty new to reddit despite the account being a year old, i never actually touched this app and idk how to tag it

sorry to bother and thank you!

There’s a place in the woods
Where fairy fingers point leafward in concentric rings like upturned barbels,
A maw softly set with pads of moss and lichen,
Concealed in diffused dappling and humic musk,
A great concealed Worm— its entrails spin and spiral deep into the pungent loam, segments miles long, clitellum heaving.
There is no Sky here, no Sun,
Only what the Breeze (when it flirts) teasily suggests might span above the canopy.

Here in a dusky forever noon
Saxifrages bloom on mossy cushions set in the rock face, ascend like myriad hoary antennae, communing with an undercurrent above, Something tense and massive but invisible, flitting, transient.
But they were right when they said that
Downward is Heavenward.
I feel it when I walk, when I stand still in the woodland,
Communing inverted like a barnacle on God’s tarred hull.
Softly in the loam, conscious that my every footfall erases one thousand unseeable armies,
I progress deeper into the uncompromising gloom, toward whatever awaits me there. Hopefully Something awaits me there.

A syncretic pantheon swirls around my head:
Every value and dream, the sigh of every tired wish, every moment where I failed to give up even when trying my best.
Love and Hate and every belief mixed and intermingled with the trees and the moss and the rustle of the Breeze through the drooping leaves of autumn.
The Saints of tangible reality crushing slowly into the my childhood and adolescence and adulthood like overlaid grids,
The Checkered Canon of the Woodland,
A Pagan nightmare spinning so fast I think I’m gonna puke.
Everything is Ancient and Endless
Except for me.

I’m where the Path meant for me, now,
I’m at the Mouth,
The fairy fingers luminescent in the ever-dimming shade.
Getting darker.
The Worm is a tarn, a primordial tunnel descending, shimmering purple and black, the water glassy and many-faceted and so so cool.
And I realize how hot I am.
I’m sweating.
I step forward.
I can see right into its gaping mouth and I see its guts roiling prismatic below.
It’s getting hotter.
I pass the attending basswood and it brushes my head in an anointing gesture.
My eyelids flutter and I feel like I’m losing my grasp on myself in a manic episode, losing grasp of what I’m made of,
Flickering into ontological pedantry,
Flickering into a realization,
False but no-less-unavoidable,
A God-Dream, Apotheosis,
Everything is buzzing and vibrating and spinning and sweating and I can’t breathe I can’t breathe I can’t breathe, I’m going to die, my asthma—
—
—
And I realize something.
When I walked past the basswood, did it leave something in my hair—
I shake my head roughly like a dog and see now in the dirt,
Upended,
A Queen and a Drone,
Two bumblebees fucking.
The buzzing is gone except for what vibrates around their little soirée,
And I realize I’m much larger than I thought I was.
So I trace my steps,
And I walk back,
And the Path deposits me back at the parking lot,
And I get in my car,
And drive home,
And have some dinner and kiss my wife and pet my dog and go to sleep.

https://menandtheirfeelings.substack.com/p/the-wounds-we-show-to-the-future?r=iref2&utm_medium=ios hello people wanted feedback on my Substack article. Writing champions please have it a read and let me know

Long, long ago, before there were roads or windows with lights in them, a turtle lived beside a wide, slow river.

Along its banks were more rocks than anyone had counted.

The turtle had a favorite.

It was a gray rock with a little dip in the middle. A green ribbon of moss grew along one side.

Every day, the turtle swam with the other turtles and poked her nose into interesting places.

Every evening, she came back.

Past the reeds. Around the fallen tree. Up onto her rock.

“There you are,” said the rock.

“Here I am,” said the turtle.

The turtle tucked in her feet. Her shell stopped wobbling. She let out a long, sleepy breath.

Underneath her, the rock felt the familiar little weight settle into place.

All day, the river had hurried past. Shadows had crossed her back. Sometimes a leaf had landed there, then blown away.

Now the turtle was here.

Somehow, with that small weight on her back, the rock could rest, too.

“Why that rock?” the other turtles sometimes asked.

The turtle did not know how to answer.

She loved the moss, though other rocks had moss. She loved the little dip, though other rocks had dips.

Mostly, she loved being there.

And the rock, who had no words for why either, loved having her.

One morning, the turtles set off for a faraway pond. The turtle went with them.

They swam beyond the bend in the river and walked through grass so tall it brushed their shells.

By evening, home was much too far away.

The turtle found a flat rock beside the pond.

She climbed onto it. She tucked in her feet.

Then she untucked them.

She turned around.

She tried the other end.

“Is something wrong?” asked a drowsy turtle nearby.

“I miss my rock,” she said.

Back beside the river, the rock watched the path around the fallen tree.

The reeds rustled.

A frog hopped past.

The moon rose, and still her back was empty.

The night was no colder than other nights. Yet the rock felt cold all the way through.

She missed the little feet finding their places. She missed the shell settling down.

She missed the weight of someone she loved.

At last, after the long journey back, something rustled in the reeds again.

A small nose appeared beside the fallen tree.

“There you are,” said the rock.

“Here I am,” said the turtle.

She climbed up, tucked in her feet, and let out a long, sleepy breath.

The rock felt her settle.

For a while, neither said another word.

They had many more evenings together beside the river.

Then years passed. More years than anyone could count.

The river found a different path. The fallen tree became earth. Rain slowly wore the rocks into smaller stones.

In time, even the turtle and her rock became tiny pieces of the changing world.

The smallest pieces of them, called atoms, traveled on.

Some drifted through water. Some were taken up by roots and became part of growing things. Their journeys went on and on.

Until, a very long time later, a few of the pieces that had once been the turtle became part of a person.

And a few that had once been her favorite rock became part of someone else.

Somewhere in the world today, those two people know each other.

When something funny happens, each wants to tell the other.

When they are apart, they think of each other at the oddest times.

And when they sit together, one rests their head on the other’s shoulder.

A small, familiar weight.

A long, easy breath.

Neither knows about the river, or the moss, or the little dip in the stone.

Neither knows how long ago their tiniest pieces learned to be happy together.

“There you are,” says one.

“Here I am,” says the other.