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Four times a day,
we help you
get the words out.
Write in any genre in
300 words or less.
Hit publish.
Read. Be Read.
Write. Now.
You, me, trees,
and the colours of the sun.

The rest doesn't matter.
we met and fell in
love blah blah blah heading back
to the singles bar
"Blah blah blah," he smiled, handing me my groceries. I smiled/grimaced back. "Bleh bleh bleh, eh?" he continued. I nodded, hoping it would answer the question. It didn't seem to, but I left anyway.
"Oh, it'll be great!" everyone had said. "It doesn't matter if you don't speak French-(more)
The words won't come, but you can't force them. The keys on the keyboard won't press themselves any more than sheer concentration will push the ink out of the pen. Words are finicky brats and are quite easily frightened. They bubble up out of an intangible haze, but just(more)
I had been anticipating this moment for days, maybe even years. She was everything I ever wanted in a woman, but of course I could never tell her that. I never had that kind of confidence. But oh, how she made me come alive. And here we were, alone,(more)
There's the lasting impression of  a bullet wound in his chest, memories of a blood stained shirt and the clamor of another soldier's hands over him, like it'll change, pull the bullet out with shaking fingers.