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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 used to draw on my back with your fingers. Your hands were the brushes and my skin, the canvas. Hearts went in the hollow of my back, arrows along my spine, indiscernible emoticons between my ribs. Sometimes you'd tell a story comprised of stick figures and song lyrics.(more)
We are at the back
of the bus, alone and lost
love stings our bruised lips.
We are the destructors
We are the creators
Of our own worlds

We build and we tear down the walls
That separate us (more)
there is never a we, when it comes to me
unless it's my subconscious arguing with myself
we are very confused
Wendy's lips pursed, and she cocked an eyebrow at the boy before her. "And?"
"I don't know!" Peter exclaimed, throwing his arms into the air. "Children? Beautiful, wonderful, free, adventurous! Tree-dwellers and nymphs of the forest. Ancient and restless and pure and great!"
She couldn't help but let her(more)
We write love letters mostly for ourselves.
Everything I had to say to you
I mostly needed to hear myself.

We are beautiful dreams,
But those are just pictures in our minds. (more)
       we are
in a tiny
of light (more)
"We are brothers," he says.

"No, we're not," you reply.

"We are childhood friends! You cannot deny that," he pushes on, a miserable look on his face.

"We were," you say amicably. "But things as fickle as friendship can change. We are no longer."

We are sitting in front of each other, chatting away as the sun rises and the moon shines on. We hold out our hands and wish we could touch, our fingers groping at glass making clicking sounds with our nails. The conversation splinters into "I miss you"s and "I(more)
"So.... what now?" He shuffled along beside her, knowing despite her parent's answers he was still in trouble.

She huffed. "We're  invalids."
"No, that's you with a broken arm and recovering from getting run through with a sword."
"Well, you decided to play scientific experiment with my parents(more)
society is obsessed with labels.
there are brands: designer, knock-offs---i never understood the obsession with it. who gives a fuck if your bag is louis vuitton or coach? if it holds things and makes you happy then let's move on.
we're obsessed with who's dating who, and who's th(more)
We, confused by what we think, hardened by what we feel, atrophied by what we do, are living in reverse. How can this be set right? Surely those living backwards cannot make their current run forward again...
"We are okay."
"Most of us are okay."
"I'm okay."
There was nothing but the three of them on that beach, the city they'd just destroyed behind them. Daisuke and Henry were busy with each other, having decided that they'd had enough with the girl for the night. Sara licked Dai behind the ear, and patted Henry's ass. Neither(more)
Too complicated. By chance life happened, and by chance we changed. 3 trillion years is a long time, so much time for so many things. What is sentience, anyway? Aren't we all just little atomi, bonded together by billions of years of ionics and covalences, what worked and what(more)