Writing Inspiration - Blog Posts
uuh three sentences MIGHT turn into three chapters, fair warning.
If you're reading this...
go write three sentences on your current writing project.
body language to use in your writing
he furrowed his eyebrows — in confusion or concentration
he raised his eyebrows — in surprise or skepticism
he narrowed his eyes — in suspicion or annoyance
he bit or pressed his lips together — in hesitation
his lips parted slightly — in shock or anticipation
he clenched his jaw — in frustration or determination
he tilted his head — in curiosity or disbelief
he wrinkled his nose — in disgust or disapproval
he rolled his eyes — in exasperation
he puffed his cheeks — in frustration or exhaustion
eye movements:
his eyes darted around — nervously
he avoided eye contact — out of guilt or shyness
he held eye contact — in defiance or intensity
he squinted slightly — in scrutiny
he looked down — in shame or submission
he glanced away quickly — in embarrassment
he stared blankly — in shock or dissociation
he blinked rapidly — in disbelief or surprise
his eyes widened — in fear or astonishment
he peeked through his fingers — when scared or hesitant
head movements:
he nodded slowly — in understanding or agreement
he shook his head — in disagreement or disbelief
he tilted his head — playfully or teasingly
he bowed his head slightly — in respect or submission
he tossed his head back — in confidence or defiance
he ducked his head — in embarrassment or shyness
he rested his chin in his hand — while thinking or bored
he jerked his head toward a sound — in alertness
he rolled his neck — to release tension
he tipped his chin up — in defiance or arrogance
hand movements:
he clenched his fists — in anger or determination
he ran his hands through his hair — in frustration or stress
he wringed his hands — in nervousness
he drummed his fingers on a surface — in impatience
he pointed — accusingly or demandingly
he pressed his palms against a surface — in desperation
he tugged at his sleeves or hem — in nervousness
he threw his hands up — in exasperation or surrender
he rubbed his temples — in frustration or exhaustion
he covered his mouth — in shock or horror
arm and shoulder movements:
he crossed his arms — in defensiveness or annoyance
he wrapped his arms around himself — for comfort
he shrugged — in uncertainty or indifference
he threw his arms out — in excitement or exasperation
he linked arms with her — for comfort or closeness
he rubbed his arms — to self-soothe or ward off cold
he flailed his arms wildly — in panic or excitement
he stretched his arms above his head — in relaxation or boredom
he held his arms behind his back — in restraint or formality
he used exaggerated arm gestures — when talking passionately
leg and foot movements:
he tapped his foot — impatiently
he crossed his legs — to appear closed off or comfortable
he bounced his knee — in nervousness or excitement
he kicked at the ground — absentmindedly
he shuffled his feet — in hesitation or guilt
he stood on his tiptoes — to see something or seem taller
he turned his toes inward — in insecurity or shyness
he stomped his foot — in frustration or excitement
he swung his legs — in a carefree manner
he stepped back instinctively — in fear or uncertainty
posture and general movement:
he stood tall with his shoulders squared — in confidence
he slouched — in defeat or boredom
he leaned in — engaged or interested
he leaned away — in discomfort or disinterest
he puffed out his chest — in arrogance or bravado
he shrunk into himself — in anxiety or fear
he rocked back and forth — in nervousness or impatience
he swiveled his body away slightly — in disengagement
he walked stiffly — in discomfort or tension
her hips swayed confidently while she walked
microexpressions:
a smile briefly flickered across his face
his eye twitched a single time — in irritation
he swallowed hard — when nervous or emotional
he slightly shuddered — in disgust or fear
he bit the inside of his cheek — in thought or frustration
he quickly inhaled — taken aback
he exhaled shakily after holding his breath too long
he clutched his shirt tightly — in anxiety
he tilted his head down slightly while still looking up (puppy dog eyes)
there was a fleeting look of longing in his eyes before he looked away
scents and smells to use in your writing
sandalwood — think intoxicating, slightly masculine (if you want it to be), wood-y,
fresh laundry — think febreeze, freshly cleaned clothes, cleaning wipes, that kinda thing
cinammon — think cinnamon rolls, desserts, sugar, sweetness
vanilla — sweet and soft. it’s a classic and i feel it’s almost feminine because it’s in a lot of perfumes but it can be for anyone
sea salt — think sand on your feet, sea in your lungs, maybe a few seagulls cawing. a very beach-y smell
chlorine — think of pools, summer, theme parks with water slides. it’s not the most appealing smell but it certainly is a smell
strawberry — when i think of strawberries, i think of strawberry picking when i was little and kind of the taste of the strawberries themselves. as for the ice cream or perfume kinda strawberry, it’s a fun and sweet smell
chocolate — think hot chocolate, a hershey’s kiss, that hint of chocolate in your coffee creamer. it’s warm and cozy
coconut — think tropical, beachy, refreshing. when most people see coconuts they see “exotic”
banana — think banana sundae, banana smoothie, fruit-y smell, laffy taffy, that kinda thing
apple — think apple trees, apple jam, apple pie, that kinda sweet crisp smell
pine — think of a damp, dirty forest with towering trees and leaves gracing its floor. maybe a deer or two is nearby. it’s a forest smell basically
metallic — think of blood, wet copper or iron, etc.
dirt/earth — think the smell of dirt, grass, trees. the general smell of nature
rose — think romantic, date night, mysterious, alluring. roses are most commonly associated with life and affection, at least in american culture
sweat — think intense workout, maybe tangy, smoky, etc. just sweat
mint — think of waking up bright and early, toothpaste, doctor’s offices, etc. mint really speaks as fresh to me
damp, wet, wet dog — think of moist places, like a really old pool or something akin to that
dew — think early morning and mist in the air. can be associated with spring as well
musk — think of a scent similar to sweat, but the aftermath. not just pure sweat everywhere, but the scent about an hour after you work out. it smells different for everyone though
smoke — think of that scent you smell when a fireplace turns off, wood stops burning, or when you overcook something
spicy — think of ginger, paprika, spices in general. it’s a kind of fun and daring smell
toasty, warming — this can be anything warm you want: hot cocoa, warm blankets, turning the heater on, summer, fireplace flames
floral — this can be any flower you want it to be. spring is full of it, it is the embodiment of a bouquet, and is the scent you smell when you “stop to smell the flowers”
a list of buildings and structures to use in your writing
hospital
police station
school
fire watch tower
observatory
apartment complex
gas station
city hall
coffee shop
bakery
firefighter station
car dealership
college
high school
elementary school
middle school
university
park
research center
animal shelter
camp/wilderness camp
casino
blacksmith
bank
barber
armory
aquarium
dentist
general store
gunsmith/gun store
doctor’s office/medical store/medicinal supply store
jail
library
museum
farm
food store, like a pizza shop or ice cream store
stationary food truck
vacant lot
skate park
country club(s)
tennis court(s)
basketball court(s)
pool
warehouse
fast food restaurant
twenty phrases for writing facial expressions
his brows knitted together
her lips pulled into a smile
the corners of her lips quirked up into a smile/smirk
her face twitched
a line formed between his brows
a look of happiness engulfed him
a look of sadness washed over him
his face contorted into a frown
his eyes drooped at that, and his lips pulled themselves into a frown
she raised a brow
she cocked an eyebrow
her brows furrowed
her eyes narrowed
her eyebrows shot up
his brows were tightly drawn together
alternatively, his brows were drawn together tightly
her entire face dropped
her smile fell
his eyes glittered with [any emotion]
his eyebrows pinched together
WRITE IT ANYWAY!!! EVEN IF YOU DONT THINK YOURE GOOD ENOUGH!!! WRITE!!! IT!!!! ANYWAY!!!!!!!
“Brown eyes that loved without a trace of fear,”
— Jean Toomer, from Cane: Poems; “November Cotton Flower,” wr. c. 1923 (via violentwavesofemotion)
Struggling to live in the world we made for ourselves, for each other! For we never made this world in the image of kindness. We never cemented these bricks with the intention to shelter one another.
We only wished to trap each other.
We built this world on lies to make it a climb for power. We slip poison into each others cups. We did not fall to the hand of an enemy, we fell subject to not being able to trust anybody at all to do the right thing, not even ourselves.
We made a world where only the strong prevail, and each day, we weaken each other in the lust for menial things.
We are the predator. With jeering claws, horrible fangs, and horrifiying speed. We pin down the most helpless of prey, tearing through its unloveable flesh and grinning the heck off our snouts when blood stains our paws, and you open your maw, flashing shark-like teeth at your victim,
the last thing they'll see before death and you-- and YOU--
But moments away from clamping them dead in a saw-like manner, you notice they have the same eyes as you. Same nose. Same facial structure. Same face. Just... scared.
And in the reflection of their eyes, you can see a glimpse of your own face. You look scared too.
...Scared of yourself.
We are the prey.
Will you do it? Will you hurt yourself in hunger for something more?
I know the blood warms your paws in a masochistic way that you may enjoy. But is that because no one ever held your hands?...
You poor thing...
I'm sorry it had to be this way.
no time spent writing fanfic is ever wasted
There is no escape.
You can't run away from your mind.
From how you look and who you are.
But like the sky, you will never be blue all the time.
Like the sky, there are colours in you that are beautiful.
You have your own winters and springs,
Your own dawn and dusk.
Stars in your laugh and moonlight in your eyes.
Like the sky, you're the comfort to someone somewhere.
This is the moment you have to realise, being you is fine.
Because like the sky, you hold so much beauty and comfort.
There is no escape
Not for you
Not from yourself
The idea of escaping yourself is an illusion
This is the moment when you have to realize, life is made to be faced
Not to be hidden from
Because like the sky, it will never let you out of sight
Like the sky it will envelope you from all sides
And like the sky when you least expect it, life will come crashing down
Past lives flicker through my mind, as I stand gazing up at the moon. The night's pretty much silent, except for the slow rumbling of thunder in the distance. Every now and then, a cool breeze goes past me. I stand in the moonlight, waiting for a miracle.
You said you'd meet me here, under this old tree covered in moss. It's almost dawn now, and still no sign of you. I have second thoughts, debating whether to turn around and go. Maybe you meant it as a joke.
Afterall, gods never fall for beings beneath them.
Sighing quietly, I start walking back to my home. It was a waste of time, I realise now. I should've never trusted your words.
I pass the lavender patch, and a familiar fragrance hits me. Smiling at the full blooms around me, I sit down on the damp earth and close my eyes. The smell of lavender takes me back to my favourite memory. You sitting beside me as I laugh at your joke.
I open my eyes and find that my vision has blurred. I hate crying but that's all I wanna do right now. Feeling like stones sinking in my stomach, I lay my head in the ground and weep.
The night has become a tired dream, and the stars have gone and hid.
But when you slowly started wiping my tears away, I felt like the world was holding its breath. I sit up and lock eyes with you.
"I thought you wouldn't come" I said in a barely there whisper.
"I wanted to make sure that you were serious about this. About us." You replied in an equally quiet whisper.
"So you were testing me? " I ask with fresh tears in my eyes.
"Not really. More like I was testing myself. And I failed. When the first tear ran down your face, it felt like I was stabbed here." You take my hands and place it over your heart.
And surprisingly enough I felt it beat.
And that hasn't happened in a long time.
© Moonyloonywitch
26/08/2021
What has made me speak less with each passing day? I watch the dragonfly escape the lizard by inches and I decide to stay. I want my words and my life to escape death. So every time I try exaggerating my empathy , the insouciance, and the ability to extract only the bad side of my words and my life makes me edge closer to silence. I do not want to throttle my words to death.
I meet my friends, I laugh, I cry
Well, I think, it's not so bad being alive.
We hug eachother and say goodbye
With a promise to meet again held in each of our eyes.
I wave as I watch them leave, smile lingering just a second longer
My chest is so full of love yet I've never felt calmer.
If only I could keep feeling this way
I know I wouldn't want to run so far away
To a place I hope no one I love walks into
Untill they're old and grey.
-scaredofmyvoice
She taught me how to read
She taught me how to write
She even taught me how to ride a bike.
She taught me how to sing, a boomerang to fling
Hell, she even taught me how to draw an eyeliner wing.
To skip, to hop, to cook, to clean
Everything she taught, she made sure was heard and seen.
She taught me many things for which I'm grateful for
She taught me many things but I wish she'd taught me more.
Like how to clear my head when my thoughts are too loud
Or how to push through a day when my limbs are too heavy.
How to move on when my life comes crashing down
How to stop wearing my loneliness like a crown.
I'll figure these out on my own
I'll learn how and these skills I'll hone
So all I ask you is for you to teach me one thing
Come back and teach me how to be okay
With you being gone.
Please give me a reason to stay.
-scaredofmyvoice
I need you to understand this, she says.
I need you to understand that I can't keep repeating myself.
One day I'll snap.
That day might never come
But I still need you to understand this, she says.
I hated myself a little more than before
I didn't even know that was possible.
"You've gone and done it now, you idiot"
"You asked for too much again", the voice in my head mocks.
I'm scared you'll leave me like everyone else.
I'm scared you'll see me the way I see myself.
I need you to understand that this fear has me in a chokehold.
I need you to understand that it's not easy letting go.
So I'm sorry if I apologize one too many times.
I'm sorry if I don't see my own worth.
I'm sorry I don't believe I'm a worthy existence .
I've been told so by too many people I held dear,
That these words in my mind have been forever seared.
-scaredofmyvoice
TO EVERYONE SAYING THEY'RE INSECURE ABOUT THEIR WRITTING:
I've been seeing a lot of people reposting their insecure about their writting and its really sad because ik for a FACT most of you write BEAUTIFULLY. So I just wanted to send some motivation because writting is hard, and writers deserve love. You guys are literally creating ENTIRE REALITIES with your imaginations . Wether it be fan ficts, short story writers, etc., You are giving us a key into experiencing the world from a different perspective. Your craft is an escape, your craft is inspiring. Its always good to want to be better, but please appreciate the work you're doing RIGHT NOW. It may not seem like much, but your stories are so much more than just words in a page. Its the adventure we never experienced, its the worlds we never got to see. Writers please, whatever you write, I want to assure you today it IS good enough. Because you bled your thoughts into the page, because you were brave enough to create. Writting doesnt have to be perfect, for perfection is nothing but a myth, writting just needs to exist. Insecurity is normal but let me tell you today, your writting is worth it, your ideas are worth it, your work is worth it.
Writers, keep your heads high, continue to poor your soul into your words and know you never have to punish yourself for creating
Much love for all of you
Wip Intro: Yellow Houses
I should start by saying that this project is shelved. I’m currently too busy to devote it the time it deserves while juggling uni and another novel. Hopefully, I’ll pick it up one day in the future, but for now, let’s just let it age like a fine wine on a USB stick, shall we?
Genre: Lit-fic/mystery? Logline: Ellen, an aspiring university journalist, finds an envelope in her mailbox filled with photographs of upper-class houses. When she visits these addresses she finds they’ve all been vandalized -- painted a neon, school-bus yellow. When the two vandals engage with her via a virtual chatroom to propose that she cover their ‘art project’ for the local newspaper, she must do her best to write a non-biased recollection of the conflicts that ensue. Literal Logline: A bunch of young hipsters create pretentious art and go on tangents about eating the rich. Also, there is a creepy/psychopathic mayor candidate always wearing a signature yellow jacket and tie having an affair with Ellen’s mom! Fun!
Setting: Takes place in a small, fictional town in British Columbia. But a lot of scenes also take place in a chatroom, with virtual urban cities like Tokyo, New York and more.
Excerpt from the chatroom scene! TW/NSFW warning: mild sexuality. Also I haven’t line edited much yet, oops!
My baby pink VR headset landed me 2050, Chinatown; a street puddled with neon lights swimming in oily water, reflecting a Tetris stack of knockoff Balenciaga retailers. A couple Hello Kitty shaped arcade machines silhouetted a bar window, casting a pink and blue grid over my friends, who caught sight of me and waved. In only 330 hours, 20 minutes, 12 seconds, I’d come to know them better than their own families. If I hovered over their bodies, too creamy and poreless to be truly photorealistic, a timer would reveal when we’d clicked accept, invited eachother into our second lives.
Cassie’s heart shaped face grinned, her bejeweled teeth blue in the ink of store lights. She tossed her metal bat up high, and caught it on her index finger, balancing it there. Jada’s newly installed robo arms were translucent plastic. There were wires tangled inside.
Across the plaza, next to some motorcycles collapsed like dominos, a tall woman with a black veil over her face dragged a leash with a crawling half naked man in a bunny mask on the end of it, shuffling clumsily to keep up with her long strides. When she greeted us with nod, Jada let out a squeak before muting her microphone to safely burst into giggles.
“So many weirdos tonight,” Cassie said lowly, staring at the slave’s bony butt disappear around the boba shack. “Alors.” Her hands came together in a prayer. “Matching tattoos. Glowing ones, from the new update. And don’t even think about saying no, I have enough coins for all of us. You’ve got no excuse whatsoever.” She linked her arm through mine and Jada slung her robo arm over my shoulder and they steered me across the street. A group of white-haired teenagers, teardrop wings trailing along their bare feet drifted past us at the traffic lights, which only existed to flash ads for fast food chains or reduced phone plans at the pedestrians. One of them poked out her tongue at me. Pastel blue and pierced with a tiny metal seahorse.
Novel Moodboard: Neon Chatroom.
A little preview of a moodboard for my shelved novel, Yellow Houses. Although this project is now shelved I'll be making an intro for it soon so stay tuned!
Pinterest mood board I created for my wip short story, "Bud and Bunny".
The story takes place in New York during the 90s, exploring the toxic bond between a young girl and her older brother, who restricts her freedom from the world outside their cramped apartment complex.
For eons they have dodged my master's blade by sheer luck. No longer will they be able to stand by death's door with no consequences. Their reckoning is upon them. Let the hunt begin.
Many ages ago Death was defeated and sealed. Immortality is the norm, but the loss of death has lead to a society of ultralites that rule over never dying slaves. As Death’s first reaper after the unsealing, you are here to remind them why Death exists… and why your master should be feared.
"Whoa, dude!" I yelp, throwing my hands into the air. "Chill out!"
He groans. "I don't know how you found out. I tried so hard to hide it. I really liked you, Chris."
"Easy, Jay," I say slowly, my hands still held up. "You don't have to freak out. I promise, I won't tell anyone."
Jay scoffs. "Like hell. I know that's not true. In the unlikely scenario that you don't immediately run to the cops, it would slip out at some point, to someone. I can't risk it."
I try not to laugh. "No, really. I'm a hacker. Not as cool as yours, but I avoid cops like the plague. I've actually worked with a few...friends of yours."
The gun lowers a bit, Jay's face scrunched in suspicion. "Really. Who?"
I start counting on my fingers. "Altair, Nightshade, Morgan, Judas, and Kurt. I think that's it? I could be wrong. You know, several of these people use the same code names. Real inconvenient."
Jay blows out a breath, lowering the gun completely. "Thank God. I really didn't want to have to pull that trigger. I don't really do that anymore."
"Huh. You don't say." I eyeball the gun dangling in his hand lazily. "Wanna out that away maybe?"
"Oh this?" He snorts, then tosses it over his shoulder in the direction of his bed. He laughs when he sees the horrified look on my face.
"It's not loaded. It isn't even real!"
Today you just found out your roommate with strange hobbies, like knowing how to pick a lock, knows how every puzzle and cipher by heart, or how to commit tax fraud, and so many other things, wasn't a guy with ADHD, he was an ex-assassin and now you have a gun pointed at your face
I frown. "You have a therapist?"
He scoffs. "I kill people for a living. Of course I have a therapist! Pamela is completely qualified, if that's what you're worried about."
My brow furrows. "So...you want me, your public nemesis number 1, to come to your home, chill in your guest room, and chat with your therapist?"
He rolls his eyes. "That's not...actually, yeah. That's pretty accurate."
"Why?"
"I need someone around that I'm not paying to keep me company."
I think that was supposed to be a joke, but his delivery was a bit to dry, too forced. Is he...lonely? I shake my head. "But why are you offering that to me? What if I say no?"
He growls. "I just offered you mercy. Your life. And your questioning me? I threatened your life and you actually asked me to.... I don't think you're okay." He folds his arms as if to say, I win. Give it your best shot. The prick even raises his eyebrows to taunt me. Jerk.
I grit my teeth. "So you just want me to sit around your house all day? Where's the fun in that?"
He rubs a hand on his temples. "What part of 'talk to my therapist' did you not understand? I'm serious. We've been fighting over this kingdom for years, and you've always put up a fight."
I know when I've lost a fight, and this is no different. I have a feeling that even if I sit down and refuse to move, he would knock me out and take me back anyway.
I sigh. "Fine, I'll meet Pamela. She better be a good listener."
Under the mask, I think I can see a smile. "She is."
And I know I must have imagined it, but later, I could swear that he mumbled under his breath, "And so am I."
When the villain demanded that you submit or be destroyed you just apathetically shrugged and braced yourself for death. You were surprised when the villain did not kill you and instead offered you a nice, comfortable room and an appointment with their personal therapist.
She gapes at me.
I sigh. "Not what you expected me to say, Brienne?"
She shakes her head. Finding her voice, she stammers, "I- I- didn't know-"
"Yes!" I say with a single, bitter laugh. "That was intentional. I do not, and will not, regret the time we spent together. Both as coworkers and as suitors. What I regret is giving up so much of myself in the process."
Brienne frowns and puts her hands on her hips. "I never asked you to do that. You can't put that on me, Ari."
I rub a hand down my face, trying to stay calm. "I'm not! I didn't even mind being in your shadow. What I minded, is that you never acknowledged what I was doing for you. I felt more for you than you did for me, and I knew that. That's why I didn't say anything." My eyes flash with sadness. "I didn't want to hear you say the words I knew you felt."
She opens her mouth, but I shake my head. "We're done. This," I gesture between us. "It's over. We were happy, but we aren't anymore, so it's time to move on. Goodbye."
I turn and walk away without waiting for her response.
She didn't even try to give one.
"Don't say you regret it. Before... before everything, we were happy."
"Happiness is relative. I must consider what I might have been capable of if I had not contented myself to live in your shadow so long."
"You weren't—"
"Hush. You want to dredge up the past? You want to know if there is something there to salvage? Fine. It is my greatest regret that I ever loved you."
I stare for a minute. There are...a lot of people standing around my front door.
I shake myself out of my surprise. "Can I...help you? Your Highness," I add hastily, sweeping into a deep curtsy.
The prince takes a small step forward. "We are looking for a Miss Anastasia Ryntz? We were told this is the correct residence."
My brow furrows in confusion. I feel like I'm missing something. I fidget with my threadbare apron as I slip between the guards and start fumbling with my keys to unlock the door.
"Yes, it is," I say slowly, ushering the crowd inside. "I'm Anastasia. I'm sorry, not to be rude, but why are you here?"
The prince looks around, distinctly uncomfortable in my very small house. With all the guards and his advisors, the room is very crowded. I wince as one of the guards tries to turn around and knocks a vase off my lone table.
The prince sighs and rubs the space between his eyes. "Really, Cass? That's it, everyone out." Balancing the cake in one hand, he uses the other to shoo at everyone. They look at each other uncertainly.
"I'm serious!" he yells. "The only people who are staying in this house are the lady, myself, and Grimms." He gestures at his closest advisor.
Slowly, my house empties, and I awkwardly offer the prince the one chair I own. "Would you...like to sit?"
He accepts gratefully, his advisor standing behind me, me across the table. The silence stretches for a few minutes before he jumps a bit in his seat. "Oh! I- We brought you a birthday cake!" He shoves it across the table eagerly.
I stare at it, then at him, confused. "Why?"
The prince frowns. "Well...it's your birthday, isn't it?"
I nod slowly. "22nd birthday. Why do you know that? And why do you know my name?"
The prince fumbles with his words for several seconds before his advisor - Grimms - sighs and speaks up. "Prince Auron is here to speak with you about something of the upmost importance. Are you the only person in residence? This is a private matter."
"Yes, it's just me." Dang it, I know my voice sounded sad there. I don't want them to think I'm a loser! "I live alone. By myself." Yeah, that was so much better. Whatever. "Anyway, what's up?" Facepalm.
Prince Auron clears his throat awkwardly. "You, of course, are aware that I am the youngest of the royal family. As such, on my birthday this year, when I came of age, I was given a prophecy about my future in the kingdom."
I nod. This isn't news to me. The prince's oldest sister will inherit the throne and his older brother will lead the armies and advise the crown. The third child is always a bit of a wild card.
"Does your prophecy have something to do with my business?" I ask. "I'm not sure how much help I'll be." I snort with derision. "You can see how I live."
Prince Auron fidgets. "Ah. Yes. Well, not really."
I wait, then when he doesn't elaborate, I sigh. "Your Highness, I would love to help you, but I can't do that unless you actually tell me what you need."
He blurts out. "I need you to marry me. Please."
I blink. "I'm sorry. What?"
You are a poor girl selling flowers. Today is your birthday but no one knows. When you return home you find the prince of the kingdom waiting for you with a birthday cake. "Are you sure this is the one?" He whispers to his advisor.
"No."
"Yes."
"No."
"Yes. I can go all day."
"No. I can do it myself."
*wince* "Well, not so much."
"What's that supposed to mean? I'm not giving it to you."
*shrug* "Fine." *nods at Character C*
*Character A turns in time to see Character C hit them hit something heavy, knocking them out*
*Character B takes the object from Character A* "Sorry. It's for your own good, you know."
Writing Prompt #2880
"Stop trying to help me. I can do this myself."
"Quite frankly? You can't. You're one mistake from having a nervous breakdown or hurting yourself because you can't think clearly. Now, swallow your pride, and give that to me."
The first few times, I didn’t understand why everything felt so familiar. I would wake up at 16 with nothing but vague dreams from every time before. My room sometimes looked different than I thought it should. Eventually, I started to keep a diary. Strangely, it always stuck around when the clock reset.
That was how I figured out the timeline. 30 whole years. I lived from 16 to 35, and on the morning of my 46th birthday, I would wake up at 16 again.
Once I realized what was happening, I tried to make the best of it. I lived each time out differently, reading about everything I had done before in my diary.
One time, I married my best friend. The next, I married someone I met in college. A few times, I didn’t get married, once I didn’t go to college.
I had four kids after I graduated, then one kid during college, then no kids at all.
Once, I had a kid before I was even out of high school.
Saved my father’s life, didn’t get there in time.
Got arrested (only made that mistake once), became a bad influence, became a good one.
Got an office job, worked as a police officer, tried my hand at acting, singing, dancing, tried graphic design.
Made friends, lost friends, made more.
I made plenty of mistakes, especially in the beginning. But then, doesn’t everyone? Some of them I made over and over again, but some mistakes you only make once.
I never figured out what was causing me to reset my life.
But I didn’t really care.
See, most people only get one life, no matter how long or short it is.
My life may have only been 30 years, but I got to do it over and over again, however I wanted.
In my opinion, that’s a gift.
I love my life.
You are caught in a time loop but instead of resetting you daily, it resets you every 30 years
Sylvie looked away. "Can we not talk about this?"
Brady shook his head. "No. I want to know the truth. I am an awful person! I'm not proud of it, but at least I know that. Why do you keep me around?"
"Please," Sylvie begged. "I don't want to talk about this. You're a good person. Let's talk about that fire you helped put out last week, or the person you saved from the kidnapping three days ago. Or hey, we can talk about how you aren't too proud and boastful!"
Brady frowned. "Sylvie, I'm not a good person. I started the fire on accident, the person still got hurt, and I literally brag any chance I get. Why the hell haven't you kicked me to the curb yet?!"
Sylvie shook her head quickly. "No. Not happening. I'm not talking about this."
She started to walk away, but Brady reached out and grabbed her arm.
"You can't even tell me why I don't suck!" Brady's voice was rising, ignoring the pleading look Sylvie was sending him. "I'm going to leave before I actually hurt someone, and you can't say anything to make me stay!"
He finally dropped her arm and started to turn away, leaving Sylvie standing there.
Brady was halfway to the door when her voice stopped him.
"You want to know why I keep you around?"
He nodded without speaking, without turning around.
"Because I love you."
Writing Prompt #2884
"You know what? I fucking suck! Like, how the hell do you even put up with me?"
"Hey, don't say that about—"
"Why not? It's true. I know don't have enough redeeming qualities to keep around."
“Are you kidding?” I exclaim, backing away.
“Alright, calm down, Eleanor,” my adoptive father says nervously. “It was just an option. I just thought maybe you would want to see your family and friends again.”
I scoff. “My family was three days from marrying me off to the worst man in the village. I only had two friends, and one of them died two years before I left. Richard…I could see him again, but not at the cost of leaving here!”
“It was only an idea.” My father rubs his head. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
I fold my arms. “I love you. You were more family to me than anyone in my original time was. And don’t forget, I was sucked out just a few years before the Black Death. Chances are, I wouldn’t have survived, so the anomaly likely saved my life.”
My father just nods, still looking guilty. “I just want you to be happy.”
“I am happy,” I say gently. “I get to spend my days here with you, go out with my friends on the weekends, I don’t have to get married, or take care of kids. Best of all, indoor plumbing!”
He laughs at that. “True.”
Later, I thought about the words I had said to him.
Every single one was true.
I was happy here.
And plumbing is fantastic.
You were born in the Medieval Age, but at 15, a time anomaly brought you to the modern era, where a scientist adopted you. Now, 11 years later, they’ve found a way to send you back and asked for your opinion, but your answer is clear: “Hell no.”
“Hey!” I cry out in shock. Jason obviously can’t hear me, up on the platform through the screaming crowds, as he kisses Ella soundly on the lips.
When they pull apart, Ella’s face is red. They turn to the crowd and bow proudly.
I am in shock. There are tears pouring down my face, but I can’t feel them. I stare numbly at the stage. I pinch my arm to make sure I’m awake.
It’s not a nightmare. It’s real.
The tall guy next to me looks over and frowns. He shouts over the noise, “Hey man, are you okay?”
I can only shake my head, eyes locked on the stage where Jason and Ella are holding hands and staring at each other as they answer questions from the reporters.
The man takes my arm, leading me onto a side street a few blocks away, where the noise is significantly reduced.
“What happened?” he asks, offering me a bottle of water.
“Tha-that’s my girlfriend,” I say shakily.
His eyes go wide.
“And,” I continue, gulping the water. “My best friend Jason. We’ve known each other since we were six! And Ella…”
I can feel the tears now, hot tears falling down my face as I start to sob.
The man sighs deeply. “I’m sorry, man. That’s rough. I’m George, by the way.”
He offers his hand to shake, and I accept it with a shaky laugh.
“Dylan.”
I wipe my eyes roughly, trying to stop the tears. Now that I’m a bit less shocked, I’m angry.
“Do you want to talk about it?” George asks carefully.
My hands clench into fists. “We’ve been dating for three years! I was going to…”
My voice trails off and I reach into my pocket, pulling out the small box. I thrust it at George angrily, putting my head in my hands.
George doesn’t have to open it to know that the box contains a ring.
“I was going to ask tonight,” I whisper.
He tries to hand the box back. “Call her. Or him. Maybe it’s a misunderstanding?”
I know deep down that he’s wrong, but I can’t ignore the brief hope that flares up in my chest at the possibility.
I fumble my phone out of my pocket and desperately press Ella’s name, putting it on speaker.
George and I listen to it ring several times before she picks up.
“Hey, baby!” Her voice is breathless. “I’m kinda busy, can I call you back?”
I close my eyes, hearing the crowd in the background. “Where are you, Ella? I was going to surprise you at work.”
This was true. That had been my pan before the whole fiasco happened and the streets were blocked.
“Oh, you know,” she says. “Just…in the back, working on something.”
“Sweetheart,” I say quietly. “Have you seen or talked to Jason today? He was supposed to meet me for lunch, but he never showed up.”
“Jason?” Ella’s voice jumps up an almost imperceptible note. “No, I haven’t seen Jason today! Listen, I’ll call you back in a few hours, baby. I’m really busy right now, you can stop by then, okay?”
George shakes his head slowly, eyes angry for me, a bit sad.
I can’t stop the tremble in my voice as I say, “Never mind, Ella. I saw you. It’s over between us. You can tell Jason the same thing from me. I don’t ever want to talk to you ever again.”
I stare at the phone in front of me as Ella gasps and sputters, protesting. I can’t bring myself to hang up.
So George leans over and does it for me, turning my phone off and handing it back to me.
“I, uh, left my bag back there,” I mumble, pointing back to where we had come from, where the crowds were still screaming.
George nods. “Look, I gotta get back to work, but I put my number in your phone. If you wanna catch up later, talk, get coffee, whatever, just text me.”
I nod, with a small smile. “Thanks, man.”
I push my way back through the crowds, miraculously finding my things right where I had left them. Ella and Jason are still on the platform, though now they look considerably less happy.
But their hands are still tangled together between them.
Ella scans the crowd. Eventually, her eyes find mine. She nudges Jason and they both lock eyes with me, clearly pleading with me to talk to them.
I find it funny that in doing this, they ignore the reporter currently talking to them. He looks confused, trying to see who they are looking at.
I shake my head and turn around, pushing my way out of the crowd.
I hope my disgust was clear on my face.
You squealed as the heroes unmasked and kissed in front of the roaring crowds. Wait…you recognize their faces…that’s YOUR best friend and YOUR girlfriend/boyfriend.