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get the words out.
Write in any genre in
300 words or less.
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Read. Be Read.
Write. Now.
Saturday  morning and Henry is in the kitchen making coffee.

She is still in bed, dreaming of a man with pale eyes and careful, callused hands. Soft words and soft smiles. A man who smelt of paints and grass stains, whispers of dreams and longing and hope and want.(more)
You are only important to a certain few.
And the world will go on without you.
Tell me your suffering. Tell how it felt when she died, when he disappeared, when you found out the cancer spread. There isn't a clear path to walk, but confide in me, I will hold your hand. Explain every emotion, express them again. We all suffer differently, but I've(more)
She picked the chocolate cake crumbs off of her sweater that was pilled and faded, that bulged around her bra strap and had a hole in the back from getting stuck in a drawer.   She had eaten every sweet and salty processed product in her house and debated whether(more)
I survived.
I made it.

It should’ve been a comforting thought, but I just couldn’t muster a smile.
The nurse floated into the room with her usual happy-go-lucky smile that seemed to show you how wonderful it was to be alive. I wasn’t. I was alone. I wasn&rsqu(more)
I heard that the fourth season was the best but the fifth got a little hokey.  I never watched it when it was on because I didn't really watch TV back then.  Not because it was beneath me or I had better things to do, I was just poor.  Rice, beans, cigarettes,(more)
My eyes twitched between the faces that passed, but no eyes twitched back to my own. I stood for a while – until I was convinced that no one was going to stop and ask – and then I moved to a new place. I was hungry but I(more)
He puts his head in his hands, his face wet with rain and tears. Grime runs from his hair to his chin and drips off, forming an oily puddle of dirt on his palms that flows like a polluted river down his bruised wrists. His hair is too long,(more)
Lost and alone - that's how she felt despite the fact that she was surrounded by people. She took the customer's money, gave them their coffee, took the next customer's order, and so on. Auto-pilot. Forcing a smile.
Isolation is suffocating, regardless the size of the cage. Even with the entire world to myself the air feels stale and old, like breathing in deep in an old-folks home.

I am the one remaining human being on planet earth. (more)
Sometimes, one wants to walk with someone. Someone big. Someone who knows where both of you are going. That way, you are free to just walk by them and enjoy the ride. You get to see and experience all kinds of things while they worry about the main part(more)
Lost and alone.

That's what Abby was, that's what she always was. She wasn't lost in the 'I can't find my parents' sense, she was lost as a 'I can't find my way out of my mind and it's drowning me' way.

It was terrifying.
The crowd press in on me. Families chatter away. To my side, a young woman talks excitedly to her boyfriend.

'Last year, the display was absolutely breathtaking. Lasted for almost two hours, and each firework was different, would you believe it?'

Out of the corner of m(more)
Lost & Alone just opened last week on 3rd Street. Ocean, the shop owner, who refuses to answer to anything beyond his self-prescribed sobriquet, is a master at his craft. My favorite injection is his proprietary blend, L2A.
Jake was the first twelve-year-old she had ever had in custody, and he was the first person of any age to escape it. Roslyn Jackson glowered at her Number One. With a tight jaw she asked, “Have you drawn a perimeter?”