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In five words, no more and no less, sum up some important life lessons for us Reddit young'ns. The lesson can be about anything, from abstaining from stealing to being virtuous. My own is below in the comments.	[WP] Use five words to convey a meaningful, lifelong lesson.	Push fridge, pull A/V cart.	Learn to swim before drowning.
In five words, no more and no less, sum up some important life lessons for us Reddit young'ns. The lesson can be about anything, from abstaining from stealing to being virtuous. My own is below in the comments.	[WP] Use five words to convey a meaningful, lifelong lesson.	Before trying butt stuff, ask.	Learn to swim before drowning.
In five words, no more and no less, sum up some important life lessons for us Reddit young'ns. The lesson can be about anything, from abstaining from stealing to being virtuous. My own is below in the comments.	[WP] Use five words to convey a meaningful, lifelong lesson.	Be smart. Act dumb. Boobies.	Learn to swim before drowning.
In five words, no more and no less, sum up some important life lessons for us Reddit young'ns. The lesson can be about anything, from abstaining from stealing to being virtuous. My own is below in the comments.	[WP] Use five words to convey a meaningful, lifelong lesson.	Nothing is original: steal creatively.	Learn to swim before drowning.
In five words, no more and no less, sum up some important life lessons for us Reddit young'ns. The lesson can be about anything, from abstaining from stealing to being virtuous. My own is below in the comments.	[WP] Use five words to convey a meaningful, lifelong lesson.	Work hard, live life completely.	Learn to swim before drowning.
In five words, no more and no less, sum up some important life lessons for us Reddit young'ns. The lesson can be about anything, from abstaining from stealing to being virtuous. My own is below in the comments.	[WP] Use five words to convey a meaningful, lifelong lesson.	You will always feel alone.	Learn to swim before drowning.
In five words, no more and no less, sum up some important life lessons for us Reddit young'ns. The lesson can be about anything, from abstaining from stealing to being virtuous. My own is below in the comments.	[WP] Use five words to convey a meaningful, lifelong lesson.	Learn to take a punch.	Learn to swim before drowning.
In five words, no more and no less, sum up some important life lessons for us Reddit young'ns. The lesson can be about anything, from abstaining from stealing to being virtuous. My own is below in the comments.	[WP] Use five words to convey a meaningful, lifelong lesson.	Everything has a beginning: now.	Learn to swim before drowning.
In five words, no more and no less, sum up some important life lessons for us Reddit young'ns. The lesson can be about anything, from abstaining from stealing to being virtuous. My own is below in the comments.	[WP] Use five words to convey a meaningful, lifelong lesson.	1. Always stash a little cash 2. Username is good advice too	Learn to swim before drowning.
In five words, no more and no less, sum up some important life lessons for us Reddit young'ns. The lesson can be about anything, from abstaining from stealing to being virtuous. My own is below in the comments.	[WP] Use five words to convey a meaningful, lifelong lesson.	Happiness only real when shared. -Christopher McCandless (Seemed like a good answer to this question.)	Learn to swim before drowning.
In five words, no more and no less, sum up some important life lessons for us Reddit young'ns. The lesson can be about anything, from abstaining from stealing to being virtuous. My own is below in the comments.	[WP] Use five words to convey a meaningful, lifelong lesson.	Rules were made by man. Deviate.	Learn to swim before drowning.
In five words, no more and no less, sum up some important life lessons for us Reddit young'ns. The lesson can be about anything, from abstaining from stealing to being virtuous. My own is below in the comments.	[WP] Use five words to convey a meaningful, lifelong lesson.	Pants are almost always optional.	Learn to swim before drowning.
In five words, no more and no less, sum up some important life lessons for us Reddit young'ns. The lesson can be about anything, from abstaining from stealing to being virtuous. My own is below in the comments.	[WP] Use five words to convey a meaningful, lifelong lesson.	Denying reality doesn't change it.	Learn to swim before drowning.
In five words, no more and no less, sum up some important life lessons for us Reddit young'ns. The lesson can be about anything, from abstaining from stealing to being virtuous. My own is below in the comments.	[WP] Use five words to convey a meaningful, lifelong lesson.	Condoms are cheaper than babies.	Learn to swim before drowning.
In five words, no more and no less, sum up some important life lessons for us Reddit young'ns. The lesson can be about anything, from abstaining from stealing to being virtuous. My own is below in the comments.	[WP] Use five words to convey a meaningful, lifelong lesson.	Advice cannot replace personal experience.	Learn to swim before drowning.
In five words, no more and no less, sum up some important life lessons for us Reddit young'ns. The lesson can be about anything, from abstaining from stealing to being virtuous. My own is below in the comments.	[WP] Use five words to convey a meaningful, lifelong lesson.	Push fridge, pull A/V cart.	Don't forget to keep living.
In five words, no more and no less, sum up some important life lessons for us Reddit young'ns. The lesson can be about anything, from abstaining from stealing to being virtuous. My own is below in the comments.	[WP] Use five words to convey a meaningful, lifelong lesson.	Before trying butt stuff, ask.	Don't forget to keep living.
In five words, no more and no less, sum up some important life lessons for us Reddit young'ns. The lesson can be about anything, from abstaining from stealing to being virtuous. My own is below in the comments.	[WP] Use five words to convey a meaningful, lifelong lesson.	Be smart. Act dumb. Boobies.	Don't forget to keep living.
In five words, no more and no less, sum up some important life lessons for us Reddit young'ns. The lesson can be about anything, from abstaining from stealing to being virtuous. My own is below in the comments.	[WP] Use five words to convey a meaningful, lifelong lesson.	Nothing is original: steal creatively.	Don't forget to keep living.
In five words, no more and no less, sum up some important life lessons for us Reddit young'ns. The lesson can be about anything, from abstaining from stealing to being virtuous. My own is below in the comments.	[WP] Use five words to convey a meaningful, lifelong lesson.	Happiness only real when shared. -Christopher McCandless (Seemed like a good answer to this question.)	Don't forget to keep living.
In five words, no more and no less, sum up some important life lessons for us Reddit young'ns. The lesson can be about anything, from abstaining from stealing to being virtuous. My own is below in the comments.	[WP] Use five words to convey a meaningful, lifelong lesson.	Rules were made by man. Deviate.	Don't forget to keep living.
In five words, no more and no less, sum up some important life lessons for us Reddit young'ns. The lesson can be about anything, from abstaining from stealing to being virtuous. My own is below in the comments.	[WP] Use five words to convey a meaningful, lifelong lesson.	Push fridge, pull A/V cart.	More things ≠ more happiness.
In five words, no more and no less, sum up some important life lessons for us Reddit young'ns. The lesson can be about anything, from abstaining from stealing to being virtuous. My own is below in the comments.	[WP] Use five words to convey a meaningful, lifelong lesson.	Before trying butt stuff, ask.	More things ≠ more happiness.
In five words, no more and no less, sum up some important life lessons for us Reddit young'ns. The lesson can be about anything, from abstaining from stealing to being virtuous. My own is below in the comments.	[WP] Use five words to convey a meaningful, lifelong lesson.	Nothing is original: steal creatively.	More things ≠ more happiness.
In five words, no more and no less, sum up some important life lessons for us Reddit young'ns. The lesson can be about anything, from abstaining from stealing to being virtuous. My own is below in the comments.	[WP] Use five words to convey a meaningful, lifelong lesson.	Happiness only real when shared. -Christopher McCandless (Seemed like a good answer to this question.)	More things ≠ more happiness.
In five words, no more and no less, sum up some important life lessons for us Reddit young'ns. The lesson can be about anything, from abstaining from stealing to being virtuous. My own is below in the comments.	[WP] Use five words to convey a meaningful, lifelong lesson.	Push fridge, pull A/V cart.	You are what you do.
In five words, no more and no less, sum up some important life lessons for us Reddit young'ns. The lesson can be about anything, from abstaining from stealing to being virtuous. My own is below in the comments.	[WP] Use five words to convey a meaningful, lifelong lesson.	Before trying butt stuff, ask.	You are what you do.
In five words, no more and no less, sum up some important life lessons for us Reddit young'ns. The lesson can be about anything, from abstaining from stealing to being virtuous. My own is below in the comments.	[WP] Use five words to convey a meaningful, lifelong lesson.	Nothing is original: steal creatively.	You are what you do.
In five words, no more and no less, sum up some important life lessons for us Reddit young'ns. The lesson can be about anything, from abstaining from stealing to being virtuous. My own is below in the comments.	[WP] Use five words to convey a meaningful, lifelong lesson.	Before trying butt stuff, ask.	Just give it a try.
In five words, no more and no less, sum up some important life lessons for us Reddit young'ns. The lesson can be about anything, from abstaining from stealing to being virtuous. My own is below in the comments.	[WP] Use five words to convey a meaningful, lifelong lesson.	Be smart. Act dumb. Boobies.	Learn from others' painful mistakes.
In five words, no more and no less, sum up some important life lessons for us Reddit young'ns. The lesson can be about anything, from abstaining from stealing to being virtuous. My own is below in the comments.	[WP] Use five words to convey a meaningful, lifelong lesson.	Nothing is original: steal creatively.	Learn from others' painful mistakes.
In five words, no more and no less, sum up some important life lessons for us Reddit young'ns. The lesson can be about anything, from abstaining from stealing to being virtuous. My own is below in the comments.	[WP] Use five words to convey a meaningful, lifelong lesson.	Work hard, live life completely.	Learn from others' painful mistakes.
In five words, no more and no less, sum up some important life lessons for us Reddit young'ns. The lesson can be about anything, from abstaining from stealing to being virtuous. My own is below in the comments.	[WP] Use five words to convey a meaningful, lifelong lesson.	You will always feel alone.	Learn from others' painful mistakes.
In five words, no more and no less, sum up some important life lessons for us Reddit young'ns. The lesson can be about anything, from abstaining from stealing to being virtuous. My own is below in the comments.	[WP] Use five words to convey a meaningful, lifelong lesson.	Learn to take a punch.	Learn from others' painful mistakes.
In five words, no more and no less, sum up some important life lessons for us Reddit young'ns. The lesson can be about anything, from abstaining from stealing to being virtuous. My own is below in the comments.	[WP] Use five words to convey a meaningful, lifelong lesson.	Everything has a beginning: now.	Learn from others' painful mistakes.
In five words, no more and no less, sum up some important life lessons for us Reddit young'ns. The lesson can be about anything, from abstaining from stealing to being virtuous. My own is below in the comments.	[WP] Use five words to convey a meaningful, lifelong lesson.	1. Always stash a little cash 2. Username is good advice too	Learn from others' painful mistakes.
In five words, no more and no less, sum up some important life lessons for us Reddit young'ns. The lesson can be about anything, from abstaining from stealing to being virtuous. My own is below in the comments.	[WP] Use five words to convey a meaningful, lifelong lesson.	Happiness only real when shared. -Christopher McCandless (Seemed like a good answer to this question.)	Learn from others' painful mistakes.
In five words, no more and no less, sum up some important life lessons for us Reddit young'ns. The lesson can be about anything, from abstaining from stealing to being virtuous. My own is below in the comments.	[WP] Use five words to convey a meaningful, lifelong lesson.	Rules were made by man. Deviate.	Learn from others' painful mistakes.
In five words, no more and no less, sum up some important life lessons for us Reddit young'ns. The lesson can be about anything, from abstaining from stealing to being virtuous. My own is below in the comments.	[WP] Use five words to convey a meaningful, lifelong lesson.	Pants are almost always optional.	Learn from others' painful mistakes.
In five words, no more and no less, sum up some important life lessons for us Reddit young'ns. The lesson can be about anything, from abstaining from stealing to being virtuous. My own is below in the comments.	[WP] Use five words to convey a meaningful, lifelong lesson.	Denying reality doesn't change it.	Learn from others' painful mistakes.
In five words, no more and no less, sum up some important life lessons for us Reddit young'ns. The lesson can be about anything, from abstaining from stealing to being virtuous. My own is below in the comments.	[WP] Use five words to convey a meaningful, lifelong lesson.	Condoms are cheaper than babies.	Learn from others' painful mistakes.
In five words, no more and no less, sum up some important life lessons for us Reddit young'ns. The lesson can be about anything, from abstaining from stealing to being virtuous. My own is below in the comments.	[WP] Use five words to convey a meaningful, lifelong lesson.	Nothing is original: steal creatively.	Push fridge, pull A/V cart.
In five words, no more and no less, sum up some important life lessons for us Reddit young'ns. The lesson can be about anything, from abstaining from stealing to being virtuous. My own is below in the comments.	[WP] Use five words to convey a meaningful, lifelong lesson.	Happiness only real when shared. -Christopher McCandless (Seemed like a good answer to this question.)	Be smart. Act dumb. Boobies.
In five words, no more and no less, sum up some important life lessons for us Reddit young'ns. The lesson can be about anything, from abstaining from stealing to being virtuous. My own is below in the comments.	[WP] Use five words to convey a meaningful, lifelong lesson.	Happiness only real when shared. -Christopher McCandless (Seemed like a good answer to this question.)	Work hard, live life completely.
In five words, no more and no less, sum up some important life lessons for us Reddit young'ns. The lesson can be about anything, from abstaining from stealing to being virtuous. My own is below in the comments.	[WP] Use five words to convey a meaningful, lifelong lesson.	Rules were made by man. Deviate.	Work hard, live life completely.
In five words, no more and no less, sum up some important life lessons for us Reddit young'ns. The lesson can be about anything, from abstaining from stealing to being virtuous. My own is below in the comments.	[WP] Use five words to convey a meaningful, lifelong lesson.	Learn to take a punch.	You will always feel alone.
In five words, no more and no less, sum up some important life lessons for us Reddit young'ns. The lesson can be about anything, from abstaining from stealing to being virtuous. My own is below in the comments.	[WP] Use five words to convey a meaningful, lifelong lesson.	1. Always stash a little cash 2. Username is good advice too	You will always feel alone.
In five words, no more and no less, sum up some important life lessons for us Reddit young'ns. The lesson can be about anything, from abstaining from stealing to being virtuous. My own is below in the comments.	[WP] Use five words to convey a meaningful, lifelong lesson.	Happiness only real when shared. -Christopher McCandless (Seemed like a good answer to this question.)	You will always feel alone.
In five words, no more and no less, sum up some important life lessons for us Reddit young'ns. The lesson can be about anything, from abstaining from stealing to being virtuous. My own is below in the comments.	[WP] Use five words to convey a meaningful, lifelong lesson.	Rules were made by man. Deviate.	You will always feel alone.
In five words, no more and no less, sum up some important life lessons for us Reddit young'ns. The lesson can be about anything, from abstaining from stealing to being virtuous. My own is below in the comments.	[WP] Use five words to convey a meaningful, lifelong lesson.	1. Always stash a little cash 2. Username is good advice too	Learn to take a punch.
In five words, no more and no less, sum up some important life lessons for us Reddit young'ns. The lesson can be about anything, from abstaining from stealing to being virtuous. My own is below in the comments.	[WP] Use five words to convey a meaningful, lifelong lesson.	Happiness only real when shared. -Christopher McCandless (Seemed like a good answer to this question.)	Learn to take a punch.
In five words, no more and no less, sum up some important life lessons for us Reddit young'ns. The lesson can be about anything, from abstaining from stealing to being virtuous. My own is below in the comments.	[WP] Use five words to convey a meaningful, lifelong lesson.	Rules were made by man. Deviate.	Learn to take a punch.
In five words, no more and no less, sum up some important life lessons for us Reddit young'ns. The lesson can be about anything, from abstaining from stealing to being virtuous. My own is below in the comments.	[WP] Use five words to convey a meaningful, lifelong lesson.	Happiness only real when shared. -Christopher McCandless (Seemed like a good answer to this question.)	Everything has a beginning: now.
In five words, no more and no less, sum up some important life lessons for us Reddit young'ns. The lesson can be about anything, from abstaining from stealing to being virtuous. My own is below in the comments.	[WP] Use five words to convey a meaningful, lifelong lesson.	Rules were made by man. Deviate.	Everything has a beginning: now.
In five words, no more and no less, sum up some important life lessons for us Reddit young'ns. The lesson can be about anything, from abstaining from stealing to being virtuous. My own is below in the comments.	[WP] Use five words to convey a meaningful, lifelong lesson.	Pants are almost always optional.	Everything has a beginning: now.
In five words, no more and no less, sum up some important life lessons for us Reddit young'ns. The lesson can be about anything, from abstaining from stealing to being virtuous. My own is below in the comments.	[WP] Use five words to convey a meaningful, lifelong lesson.	Denying reality doesn't change it.	Everything has a beginning: now.
In five words, no more and no less, sum up some important life lessons for us Reddit young'ns. The lesson can be about anything, from abstaining from stealing to being virtuous. My own is below in the comments.	[WP] Use five words to convey a meaningful, lifelong lesson.	Condoms are cheaper than babies.	Everything has a beginning: now.
In five words, no more and no less, sum up some important life lessons for us Reddit young'ns. The lesson can be about anything, from abstaining from stealing to being virtuous. My own is below in the comments.	[WP] Use five words to convey a meaningful, lifelong lesson.	Happiness only real when shared. -Christopher McCandless (Seemed like a good answer to this question.)	1. Always stash a little cash 2. Username is good advice too
In five words, no more and no less, sum up some important life lessons for us Reddit young'ns. The lesson can be about anything, from abstaining from stealing to being virtuous. My own is below in the comments.	[WP] Use five words to convey a meaningful, lifelong lesson.	Rules were made by man. Deviate.	1. Always stash a little cash 2. Username is good advice too
In five words, no more and no less, sum up some important life lessons for us Reddit young'ns. The lesson can be about anything, from abstaining from stealing to being virtuous. My own is below in the comments.	[WP] Use five words to convey a meaningful, lifelong lesson.	Denying reality doesn't change it.	Pants are almost always optional.
In five words, no more and no less, sum up some important life lessons for us Reddit young'ns. The lesson can be about anything, from abstaining from stealing to being virtuous. My own is below in the comments.	[WP] Use five words to convey a meaningful, lifelong lesson.	Condoms are cheaper than babies.	Pants are almost always optional.
In five words, no more and no less, sum up some important life lessons for us Reddit young'ns. The lesson can be about anything, from abstaining from stealing to being virtuous. My own is below in the comments.	[WP] Use five words to convey a meaningful, lifelong lesson.	Condoms are cheaper than babies.	Denying reality doesn't change it.
Nothing too gory. Freaky is okay but I want those dark, heart-wrenching moments of despair that can almost not be expressed through words. Or just an overall somber mood. Edit: I realized too gory is subjective so it's really up to you. Would someone else really want to read that? You decide.	[WP] As depressing as you can possibly be.	I had the dream again; we were walking hand-in-hand down the road during the dark of night. We were young -- we were stupid. We didn’t think to look before we stepped out into the middle of the road; it was night, it was dark. Maybe if I had seen the light sooner? A bright flash. I was awake. I looked around the hospital room that I had called home for months. In reality, it was a self-made prison. I was chained to the bed, but could go wherever I wanted. When I walked out of the room, I left a part of me behind, which kept me coming back every day. And every dark night, reminding me of how young and stupid we were. It’s amazing how a few months can age you. My eyes had grown baggy, my skin deathly pale, I never had an appetite so I was suddenly underweight. My brown hair had lost it’s sparkle, and the smile he had loved so much never brought itself out anymore. What use was smiling in a world he wasn’t in? Got to stay positive, Becca, stay positive for him. He’s still alive, just asleep. A deep, dark, sullen sleep. He was in a coma, he had been for the last three-and-a-half months since that summer night. It was our first anniversary, a year after he had finally convinced me to give him a chance. He was in love, he told me as much the first time we made it. I loved him too, I realized in the stale air that followed his confession, but I didn’t say that. I should have said it more. The only time he heard me say those two deadly words was the night of the crash. Our anniversary. The end of one great year, and the start of a terrible one. We went to the same restaurant that we had gone on the first night; it was expensive beyond his means, but he insisted on it. When I offered to split the bill, he insisted on paying; an early show of chivalry that I appreciated. He loved me long before he asked me out, and even longer before I accepted his suggestion. He was so resilient then. If only he could pick him self up and dust himself off like he did all those times I said no. The only sounds in the hospital room were of my breathing and the machine that monitored his heart. The beeping filled my head like a song; but it’s a song I’d rather turn off in exchange for him looking at me one more time, for him saying how much he loved me with one last hand brushing through my hair, for one last moment, one last kiss, one more passionate night under the dark sky by the lake. I wanted the beeping to stop, but I knew that as long as it kept going, he was alive and he was with me, and we were still invincible. Nothing would come between us; not a fight, not another man or woman, not a 17 year old kid racing his parents sports car in the black of the night. My hand fit in his and held on tight. After that night, I never wanted to let go. The doctors told me that if I had not have let his hand slip away, we might both be in the bed with the machines keeping us alive, but together we were strong, we were invincible. In my dreams I don’t let go, and the car doesn’t hurt us, we hurt it. The boy is flung out the convertible top and lands in the hospital bed instead of us in this room with the beeping machine and stale air that I woke up to every morning. I didn’t hate him. He was young and stupid too. His name was Matthew, he told me when he came to visit, timid, his hand shaking. I could tell he didn’t sleep much either. Did he have the same nightmares as me? Of course he wished just as much as I did that the night had never happened, and of course he was thankful that no one had been killed. But he didn’t know how it felt to be here, in this chair, with his love’s hand in his, listening to the droning beat of a machine keeping him alive. It was still going. BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! The noise filled my head and drowned my thoughts with the idea of an alarm. It kept the same beat. The doctors told me that was a good sign; if it varied too much, it could mean the worst. But what good is being alive if you can’t see, if you can’t feel, if you can’t think? He would never walk again, the doctors assured me, but I just wanted him to talk again, to smile again, to be again. BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP! I jumped back in shock, the machine was coming to life. It was pounding loudly and I called out over it “Nurse! Nurse! Please! Something’s wrong!” The doctor came rushing in, flanked by two attending nurses. And went to work, I stepped back, “Tell me he’s okay. He’s okay. Okay.” They didn’t answer, they wouldn’t answer, they were scared to. They didn’t know any better than me. He’ll pull through. I’m right here. Together, we’re invincible. I ran over to hold his hand, squatting under the physicians going about their work. They pretended like I wasn’t there. I’m not invincible, I’m invisible. They don’t see me? Can’t they see how I’m hurting, how much I need them to tell me it will be alright? The beeps kept coming, and eventually settled. The doctor stepped back and gave me a nod. We made it. We were still here, in this dull room with wilted flowers and stale air. It was him and me, and the beeping that assured me that we were still alive. I still dreamed of that night every time my eyes let themselves close, how maybe had I accepted his advances sooner, we wouldn’t be in the way of the car. We would have been happier sooner, and we’d still be singing songs in the shower and watching soaps on TV, and laughing at jokes only the two of us would ever understand. It was my fault. I was too proud, too cold to his advances. I did this to him, and he had saved me. He had pushed me to the curb while he took the impact. My impact. Our impact. He broke our invincible wall to keep me safe. Every morning I thanked him with a kiss on his pale lips, wishing so much that they’d be full of life like they were before that summer night. I leaned in and tasted the chapstick I rubbed on his dry mouth the night before. When I pulled away, I saw a smile crawl up his cheeks, and I stared back down, stunned by joy.”He’s awake! Doctor! Get in here! He’s woken up!” I pressed my lips to his, and a breath escaped his lungs, and I held it in mine for as long as I could, so as not to let it go. He was alive. He was awake. We were okay! The doctor came in and confirmed what I had thought. His eyes were still closed, but the coma was over. I held his hand tighter than ever, waiting for the lids to move and show me his charming brown eyes again. Our hands gripped on top of his chest, his lungs suddenly expanding. The smell of his breath was terrible, but it was his and I loved it. I stayed smiling down at him until finally, his eyes opened. I didn’t say a word as he took it all in, his hand in my, my eyes on his, a smile brighter than any I had ever given crossing over my cheeks. “Rebecca, where are we?” “We’re together.” I said gently, not sure how much he remembered of that night. “As long as we’re together we’re invincible, and right now no one can hurt us.” “Are we…” He was struggling “in a hospital?” I brushed his hair out of his eyes; I didn’t realize how much it had grown. “Yeah, we’re in a hospital. I’ve been here the whole time.” “What…happened?” Do I tell him about the crash? That he’ll never walk again? I could feel tears coming from deep inside, and no matter how hard I wished I could, there was no stopping them from pouring out. “It’s all my fault. It was dark. I was stupid. We weren’t walking, I was running. You said I shouldn't go, but I did. You chased after me, remember? Then there was the flash, you pushed me, I screamed as loud as I could. I ended up with a scuffed arm, you ended up in a coma. I shouldn't have run. I shouldn't have let go of your hand. “We were fighting about something stupid. That’s why I ran away in tears. You said ‘Becca, don’t go!’ but I did. It was dark. I was stupid. I should have listened. It’s all my fault. It’s all my fault.” I wiped the tears away, and his eyes were closed again; did he fall asleep? Did he slip back into the coma? I called out for the doctor, and held his hand. It was limp. The beeping seemed louder than ever; BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! Just let it end. Let it be over. Let him be okay. I’m still here. While we’re together we’re invincible. If we had stayed together… The doctor was there standing over me. I looked up at him, hopefully. The machine was beeping sporadically. “What’s wrong? What’s happening?” I demanded of the doctor, then the nurses. They wouldn’t answer me. Am I invisible again? It was just me and the beeps, it seemed, but I wasn’t sure how long they’d be there. I closed my eyes, hoping that it was all just a dream, but the beeping stayed, coming slowly, threatening to end any moment… Beep… Beep… Beep… … … I looked up at the doctor, who just shook his head, and I nodded back knowing it was over. We had died. I put my head on his sunken chest, and my tears soaked the thin white cloth. When I closed my eyes, it wasn’t the same dream as before. We were in the restaurant and he was smiling at me. The waitress tapped on my shoulder and held out a box. He was on his knee. The words were coming out. “Becca, will you marry me?” "You know I love you, Tyler" was all I could say. I ran. I was young. I was stupid.	When I started working for Ben Miller everything seemed so exciting. Meetings, documents and cryptic phone calls asking him to "contact me on a secure line". I shuffled his calendar with mysterious abbreviations like MLU and TRB-2. Over time, I put faces to those letters and the papers and meeting arrangements came to life for a moment. Mired in foreign dignitaries, politicians I had seen on the news and even the odd celebrity I often reminded myself of the luck I had found working for the illustrious Reverend Miller. They called him "The Reverend" because he was a stern, serious man. In the entire 14 years I have worked for him I have seen him crack a smile only once. The man was committed, dedicated, with working hours to match. It was not uncommon for me to get call with nothing but a grunt at the end of the phone line. The call was enough but the grunt got me out from under the covers and in front of my computer. Usually I just had to run through a few emails, pull some information that he didn't have on his phone. The odd rescheduling notice here and there. I got used to waking up and going back to sleep quickly. When he called me on the 3rd of May 2083 there was the familiar call. The ringtone that got turned off before it had barely started. The buzzing of the phone in my hand as I slid my thumb across to pick it up. No grunt this time, just laboured breathing and the sound of the old man sucking on a cigarette. He hadn't smoked in years. I hesitantly asked him what he needed after which he paused for what seemed like minutes. "Kid, listen to me. The dance never changes. People come and go but the dance never changes. We all just go through the steps trying to keep in line with the music. But the dance. Never. Changes." I didn't know what to say, he had never addressed me in any other way than professionally. I noticed that in place of my usual drowsiness was now a sort of ominous fear. Maybe just a reaction to an unfamiliar situation, maybe something more. I wasn't sure what he wanted to hear but I asked him if he as okay and if I needed to call someone. I could hear him move his arm in that way he had done whenever I asked a question he thought unnecessary. The aerial backhand that moved just below his chin and over his shoulder. "Bah! Who needs 'em. It's all going to hell anyway, and they're going to take me with them. Nothing to be done about it now. Kid, you'll read about it in the papers tomorrow. The headlines will read "MILLER RESIGNS GLOBAL SECURITY ETHICS COMMITTEE". The papers will glower and gloat but they don't know a damn things that's going on behind these doors." Before I could swallow the frog in my throat that had jumped up at the bombshell he just dropped. The GSEC had been his life's work. The culmination of over five decades of hard work on his part and for almost one and a half decades, mine as well. The committee had been a powerful force in maintaining civil rights in an increasingly globalized world. Many countries had publicly thanked the GSEC for their arbitration in disputes. As resources got more scarce the richer countries of the world had started making demands. Demands that were sometimes backed by military threat. In these cases that were kept under the radar, the GSEC had been the spotlight that brought it all to the forefront. Headlines had been made, interventions set up, situations defused. The GSEC had been a shining white knight to the poor and disenfranchised. Miller's resignation would be devastating. "It's done, kid. They got to them. I'm not sure if it was the lobbies or that some free agents were able to turn them. The seats have been turned and I was the last one out. I reckon their first order of business will be letting KBR set up those manufacturing plants in Liberia." "But they can't! We've been fighting that for three years!" I blurted out. "Doesn't matter. There is too much money on the table. Monaghan and Palmer were checkmated last week and the rest of them were only ever in GSEC for the power." He sighed. A heavy, heaving, defeated sigh. One that could only be uttered by a man robbed of his life's work. It occurred to me that this man had come from being a mere file clerk to one of faces of virtue for a generation. And it didn't matter. "I guess I just can't keep up with the tune any more. Be good, kid". Those were his last words to me. The next day, the papers ran the story of his resignation with a statement made by his PR lady. She spoke with a big smile about new opportunities and "wanting to spend more time in academia". Horse shit. Less than a week after the announcement Ben Miller was found dead in his cottage in West Virginia. An antique six shooter, previously mounted on his wall, had been the culprit. Not long after that, KBR did move their plants into Liberia. The first land grabs started about two years later. The poorest countries in the world got a little poorer and the richest got a little richer. Ten years on and the GSEC is now considered the poster organization for unchecked global capitalism. They proudly wave their corporate sponsorships and hand out business cards at political rallies. Unthinkable in Miller's time. I suppose he was right. The dance never changes.
Nothing too gory. Freaky is okay but I want those dark, heart-wrenching moments of despair that can almost not be expressed through words. Or just an overall somber mood. Edit: I realized too gory is subjective so it's really up to you. Would someone else really want to read that? You decide.	[WP] As depressing as you can possibly be.	Death. His blank eyes stare past me, what is left of my best friend. Lying still in my arms, a bullet through his head. Fighting for my country, In a land across the ocean. I came back home alive, But my life is over. Never the same, never healed, I drink myself to sleep each night. Hoping the nightmares will skip me this time. They never do. There is no escape but in death. Only darkness as far as I can see. There is no hope for me. There is no hope for me.	When I started working for Ben Miller everything seemed so exciting. Meetings, documents and cryptic phone calls asking him to "contact me on a secure line". I shuffled his calendar with mysterious abbreviations like MLU and TRB-2. Over time, I put faces to those letters and the papers and meeting arrangements came to life for a moment. Mired in foreign dignitaries, politicians I had seen on the news and even the odd celebrity I often reminded myself of the luck I had found working for the illustrious Reverend Miller. They called him "The Reverend" because he was a stern, serious man. In the entire 14 years I have worked for him I have seen him crack a smile only once. The man was committed, dedicated, with working hours to match. It was not uncommon for me to get call with nothing but a grunt at the end of the phone line. The call was enough but the grunt got me out from under the covers and in front of my computer. Usually I just had to run through a few emails, pull some information that he didn't have on his phone. The odd rescheduling notice here and there. I got used to waking up and going back to sleep quickly. When he called me on the 3rd of May 2083 there was the familiar call. The ringtone that got turned off before it had barely started. The buzzing of the phone in my hand as I slid my thumb across to pick it up. No grunt this time, just laboured breathing and the sound of the old man sucking on a cigarette. He hadn't smoked in years. I hesitantly asked him what he needed after which he paused for what seemed like minutes. "Kid, listen to me. The dance never changes. People come and go but the dance never changes. We all just go through the steps trying to keep in line with the music. But the dance. Never. Changes." I didn't know what to say, he had never addressed me in any other way than professionally. I noticed that in place of my usual drowsiness was now a sort of ominous fear. Maybe just a reaction to an unfamiliar situation, maybe something more. I wasn't sure what he wanted to hear but I asked him if he as okay and if I needed to call someone. I could hear him move his arm in that way he had done whenever I asked a question he thought unnecessary. The aerial backhand that moved just below his chin and over his shoulder. "Bah! Who needs 'em. It's all going to hell anyway, and they're going to take me with them. Nothing to be done about it now. Kid, you'll read about it in the papers tomorrow. The headlines will read "MILLER RESIGNS GLOBAL SECURITY ETHICS COMMITTEE". The papers will glower and gloat but they don't know a damn things that's going on behind these doors." Before I could swallow the frog in my throat that had jumped up at the bombshell he just dropped. The GSEC had been his life's work. The culmination of over five decades of hard work on his part and for almost one and a half decades, mine as well. The committee had been a powerful force in maintaining civil rights in an increasingly globalized world. Many countries had publicly thanked the GSEC for their arbitration in disputes. As resources got more scarce the richer countries of the world had started making demands. Demands that were sometimes backed by military threat. In these cases that were kept under the radar, the GSEC had been the spotlight that brought it all to the forefront. Headlines had been made, interventions set up, situations defused. The GSEC had been a shining white knight to the poor and disenfranchised. Miller's resignation would be devastating. "It's done, kid. They got to them. I'm not sure if it was the lobbies or that some free agents were able to turn them. The seats have been turned and I was the last one out. I reckon their first order of business will be letting KBR set up those manufacturing plants in Liberia." "But they can't! We've been fighting that for three years!" I blurted out. "Doesn't matter. There is too much money on the table. Monaghan and Palmer were checkmated last week and the rest of them were only ever in GSEC for the power." He sighed. A heavy, heaving, defeated sigh. One that could only be uttered by a man robbed of his life's work. It occurred to me that this man had come from being a mere file clerk to one of faces of virtue for a generation. And it didn't matter. "I guess I just can't keep up with the tune any more. Be good, kid". Those were his last words to me. The next day, the papers ran the story of his resignation with a statement made by his PR lady. She spoke with a big smile about new opportunities and "wanting to spend more time in academia". Horse shit. Less than a week after the announcement Ben Miller was found dead in his cottage in West Virginia. An antique six shooter, previously mounted on his wall, had been the culprit. Not long after that, KBR did move their plants into Liberia. The first land grabs started about two years later. The poorest countries in the world got a little poorer and the richest got a little richer. Ten years on and the GSEC is now considered the poster organization for unchecked global capitalism. They proudly wave their corporate sponsorships and hand out business cards at political rallies. Unthinkable in Miller's time. I suppose he was right. The dance never changes.
Nothing too gory. Freaky is okay but I want those dark, heart-wrenching moments of despair that can almost not be expressed through words. Or just an overall somber mood. Edit: I realized too gory is subjective so it's really up to you. Would someone else really want to read that? You decide.	[WP] As depressing as you can possibly be.	This is the first relationship you think is actually going to go somewhere. You love her truly. You dream of marrying her. This will last forever, you tell yourself. She is the one. You always feel a sense of calm and inner content when you see her. Except that one time you saw her from afar on the street. Thud That's the sound something in your chest makes, when you see your true love kiss another man passionately.	When I started working for Ben Miller everything seemed so exciting. Meetings, documents and cryptic phone calls asking him to "contact me on a secure line". I shuffled his calendar with mysterious abbreviations like MLU and TRB-2. Over time, I put faces to those letters and the papers and meeting arrangements came to life for a moment. Mired in foreign dignitaries, politicians I had seen on the news and even the odd celebrity I often reminded myself of the luck I had found working for the illustrious Reverend Miller. They called him "The Reverend" because he was a stern, serious man. In the entire 14 years I have worked for him I have seen him crack a smile only once. The man was committed, dedicated, with working hours to match. It was not uncommon for me to get call with nothing but a grunt at the end of the phone line. The call was enough but the grunt got me out from under the covers and in front of my computer. Usually I just had to run through a few emails, pull some information that he didn't have on his phone. The odd rescheduling notice here and there. I got used to waking up and going back to sleep quickly. When he called me on the 3rd of May 2083 there was the familiar call. The ringtone that got turned off before it had barely started. The buzzing of the phone in my hand as I slid my thumb across to pick it up. No grunt this time, just laboured breathing and the sound of the old man sucking on a cigarette. He hadn't smoked in years. I hesitantly asked him what he needed after which he paused for what seemed like minutes. "Kid, listen to me. The dance never changes. People come and go but the dance never changes. We all just go through the steps trying to keep in line with the music. But the dance. Never. Changes." I didn't know what to say, he had never addressed me in any other way than professionally. I noticed that in place of my usual drowsiness was now a sort of ominous fear. Maybe just a reaction to an unfamiliar situation, maybe something more. I wasn't sure what he wanted to hear but I asked him if he as okay and if I needed to call someone. I could hear him move his arm in that way he had done whenever I asked a question he thought unnecessary. The aerial backhand that moved just below his chin and over his shoulder. "Bah! Who needs 'em. It's all going to hell anyway, and they're going to take me with them. Nothing to be done about it now. Kid, you'll read about it in the papers tomorrow. The headlines will read "MILLER RESIGNS GLOBAL SECURITY ETHICS COMMITTEE". The papers will glower and gloat but they don't know a damn things that's going on behind these doors." Before I could swallow the frog in my throat that had jumped up at the bombshell he just dropped. The GSEC had been his life's work. The culmination of over five decades of hard work on his part and for almost one and a half decades, mine as well. The committee had been a powerful force in maintaining civil rights in an increasingly globalized world. Many countries had publicly thanked the GSEC for their arbitration in disputes. As resources got more scarce the richer countries of the world had started making demands. Demands that were sometimes backed by military threat. In these cases that were kept under the radar, the GSEC had been the spotlight that brought it all to the forefront. Headlines had been made, interventions set up, situations defused. The GSEC had been a shining white knight to the poor and disenfranchised. Miller's resignation would be devastating. "It's done, kid. They got to them. I'm not sure if it was the lobbies or that some free agents were able to turn them. The seats have been turned and I was the last one out. I reckon their first order of business will be letting KBR set up those manufacturing plants in Liberia." "But they can't! We've been fighting that for three years!" I blurted out. "Doesn't matter. There is too much money on the table. Monaghan and Palmer were checkmated last week and the rest of them were only ever in GSEC for the power." He sighed. A heavy, heaving, defeated sigh. One that could only be uttered by a man robbed of his life's work. It occurred to me that this man had come from being a mere file clerk to one of faces of virtue for a generation. And it didn't matter. "I guess I just can't keep up with the tune any more. Be good, kid". Those were his last words to me. The next day, the papers ran the story of his resignation with a statement made by his PR lady. She spoke with a big smile about new opportunities and "wanting to spend more time in academia". Horse shit. Less than a week after the announcement Ben Miller was found dead in his cottage in West Virginia. An antique six shooter, previously mounted on his wall, had been the culprit. Not long after that, KBR did move their plants into Liberia. The first land grabs started about two years later. The poorest countries in the world got a little poorer and the richest got a little richer. Ten years on and the GSEC is now considered the poster organization for unchecked global capitalism. They proudly wave their corporate sponsorships and hand out business cards at political rallies. Unthinkable in Miller's time. I suppose he was right. The dance never changes.
Nothing too gory. Freaky is okay but I want those dark, heart-wrenching moments of despair that can almost not be expressed through words. Or just an overall somber mood. Edit: I realized too gory is subjective so it's really up to you. Would someone else really want to read that? You decide.	[WP] As depressing as you can possibly be.	I woke up to see my dad getting dressed quickly. I asked him, "What's wrong?" He said he had to go to the hospital and that I should stay home today, skip school. I was confused. I walked around the empty house and sat by the window. Something was wrong today. I had a weak breakfast, didn't feel like watching any cartoons. After an hour of staring out the window at the rising sun, I called my dad's cellphone. That was the first time I had ever heard his broken voice. He told me everything was fine. I was 12 years old, but old enough to know when something was wrong. Right before he hung up, I had my mom weeping in the background. I put two and two together. My sister had died. Why else would they be crying? I am alone now. But I am not sad. I had always been a logical child, hadn't I? I had to accept this. I had accepted it. I look at the sky, said goodbye to my sister and tried to think about something else. The next two days passed very slowly. From having to be in a room full of crying people, to having to stare at my sister's dead blue face before she was cremated. I never once cried. I spent my time consoling my cousins and my parents. I thought I was a big boy and had to behave accordingly. Crying wouldn't bring her back. I focused on the problem at hand - dealing with everyone's emotions. It felt like everyone had forgotten I was just a 12 year old boy who had lost his sister. No one asked me how I felt. It wouldn't have mattered, I felt fine. It was a sad year for my parents, they had lost their child. In their depression, they had forgotten they had a son to look after as well. So, while they dealt with their depressions, I grew up alone. Three years after her death, I would feel lonely one night. I was having trouble with my friendships and had no one to be with that night. There was literally no one in the world I could talk to. If only I had my sister with me, I would've felt fine. And then I wept. I wept for hours and hours through the night. That was the first time I had truly missed the presence of a sibling - when it mattered the most. It hurt. It hurt that I had no one. It hurt that my sister had gone. It fucking hurt that in three years no one ever asked me how I felt or if I felt lonely. These were the emotions of a neglected 12 year old, pouring out of a 15-year old. I have many great friends today. I have a lovely girlfriend. But no matter how well I do socially, I always feel lonely inside. I guess that's what childhood traumas do to a person.	When I started working for Ben Miller everything seemed so exciting. Meetings, documents and cryptic phone calls asking him to "contact me on a secure line". I shuffled his calendar with mysterious abbreviations like MLU and TRB-2. Over time, I put faces to those letters and the papers and meeting arrangements came to life for a moment. Mired in foreign dignitaries, politicians I had seen on the news and even the odd celebrity I often reminded myself of the luck I had found working for the illustrious Reverend Miller. They called him "The Reverend" because he was a stern, serious man. In the entire 14 years I have worked for him I have seen him crack a smile only once. The man was committed, dedicated, with working hours to match. It was not uncommon for me to get call with nothing but a grunt at the end of the phone line. The call was enough but the grunt got me out from under the covers and in front of my computer. Usually I just had to run through a few emails, pull some information that he didn't have on his phone. The odd rescheduling notice here and there. I got used to waking up and going back to sleep quickly. When he called me on the 3rd of May 2083 there was the familiar call. The ringtone that got turned off before it had barely started. The buzzing of the phone in my hand as I slid my thumb across to pick it up. No grunt this time, just laboured breathing and the sound of the old man sucking on a cigarette. He hadn't smoked in years. I hesitantly asked him what he needed after which he paused for what seemed like minutes. "Kid, listen to me. The dance never changes. People come and go but the dance never changes. We all just go through the steps trying to keep in line with the music. But the dance. Never. Changes." I didn't know what to say, he had never addressed me in any other way than professionally. I noticed that in place of my usual drowsiness was now a sort of ominous fear. Maybe just a reaction to an unfamiliar situation, maybe something more. I wasn't sure what he wanted to hear but I asked him if he as okay and if I needed to call someone. I could hear him move his arm in that way he had done whenever I asked a question he thought unnecessary. The aerial backhand that moved just below his chin and over his shoulder. "Bah! Who needs 'em. It's all going to hell anyway, and they're going to take me with them. Nothing to be done about it now. Kid, you'll read about it in the papers tomorrow. The headlines will read "MILLER RESIGNS GLOBAL SECURITY ETHICS COMMITTEE". The papers will glower and gloat but they don't know a damn things that's going on behind these doors." Before I could swallow the frog in my throat that had jumped up at the bombshell he just dropped. The GSEC had been his life's work. The culmination of over five decades of hard work on his part and for almost one and a half decades, mine as well. The committee had been a powerful force in maintaining civil rights in an increasingly globalized world. Many countries had publicly thanked the GSEC for their arbitration in disputes. As resources got more scarce the richer countries of the world had started making demands. Demands that were sometimes backed by military threat. In these cases that were kept under the radar, the GSEC had been the spotlight that brought it all to the forefront. Headlines had been made, interventions set up, situations defused. The GSEC had been a shining white knight to the poor and disenfranchised. Miller's resignation would be devastating. "It's done, kid. They got to them. I'm not sure if it was the lobbies or that some free agents were able to turn them. The seats have been turned and I was the last one out. I reckon their first order of business will be letting KBR set up those manufacturing plants in Liberia." "But they can't! We've been fighting that for three years!" I blurted out. "Doesn't matter. There is too much money on the table. Monaghan and Palmer were checkmated last week and the rest of them were only ever in GSEC for the power." He sighed. A heavy, heaving, defeated sigh. One that could only be uttered by a man robbed of his life's work. It occurred to me that this man had come from being a mere file clerk to one of faces of virtue for a generation. And it didn't matter. "I guess I just can't keep up with the tune any more. Be good, kid". Those were his last words to me. The next day, the papers ran the story of his resignation with a statement made by his PR lady. She spoke with a big smile about new opportunities and "wanting to spend more time in academia". Horse shit. Less than a week after the announcement Ben Miller was found dead in his cottage in West Virginia. An antique six shooter, previously mounted on his wall, had been the culprit. Not long after that, KBR did move their plants into Liberia. The first land grabs started about two years later. The poorest countries in the world got a little poorer and the richest got a little richer. Ten years on and the GSEC is now considered the poster organization for unchecked global capitalism. They proudly wave their corporate sponsorships and hand out business cards at political rallies. Unthinkable in Miller's time. I suppose he was right. The dance never changes.
Nothing too gory. Freaky is okay but I want those dark, heart-wrenching moments of despair that can almost not be expressed through words. Or just an overall somber mood. Edit: I realized too gory is subjective so it's really up to you. Would someone else really want to read that? You decide.	[WP] As depressing as you can possibly be.	I had the dream again; we were walking hand-in-hand down the road during the dark of night. We were young -- we were stupid. We didn’t think to look before we stepped out into the middle of the road; it was night, it was dark. Maybe if I had seen the light sooner? A bright flash. I was awake. I looked around the hospital room that I had called home for months. In reality, it was a self-made prison. I was chained to the bed, but could go wherever I wanted. When I walked out of the room, I left a part of me behind, which kept me coming back every day. And every dark night, reminding me of how young and stupid we were. It’s amazing how a few months can age you. My eyes had grown baggy, my skin deathly pale, I never had an appetite so I was suddenly underweight. My brown hair had lost it’s sparkle, and the smile he had loved so much never brought itself out anymore. What use was smiling in a world he wasn’t in? Got to stay positive, Becca, stay positive for him. He’s still alive, just asleep. A deep, dark, sullen sleep. He was in a coma, he had been for the last three-and-a-half months since that summer night. It was our first anniversary, a year after he had finally convinced me to give him a chance. He was in love, he told me as much the first time we made it. I loved him too, I realized in the stale air that followed his confession, but I didn’t say that. I should have said it more. The only time he heard me say those two deadly words was the night of the crash. Our anniversary. The end of one great year, and the start of a terrible one. We went to the same restaurant that we had gone on the first night; it was expensive beyond his means, but he insisted on it. When I offered to split the bill, he insisted on paying; an early show of chivalry that I appreciated. He loved me long before he asked me out, and even longer before I accepted his suggestion. He was so resilient then. If only he could pick him self up and dust himself off like he did all those times I said no. The only sounds in the hospital room were of my breathing and the machine that monitored his heart. The beeping filled my head like a song; but it’s a song I’d rather turn off in exchange for him looking at me one more time, for him saying how much he loved me with one last hand brushing through my hair, for one last moment, one last kiss, one more passionate night under the dark sky by the lake. I wanted the beeping to stop, but I knew that as long as it kept going, he was alive and he was with me, and we were still invincible. Nothing would come between us; not a fight, not another man or woman, not a 17 year old kid racing his parents sports car in the black of the night. My hand fit in his and held on tight. After that night, I never wanted to let go. The doctors told me that if I had not have let his hand slip away, we might both be in the bed with the machines keeping us alive, but together we were strong, we were invincible. In my dreams I don’t let go, and the car doesn’t hurt us, we hurt it. The boy is flung out the convertible top and lands in the hospital bed instead of us in this room with the beeping machine and stale air that I woke up to every morning. I didn’t hate him. He was young and stupid too. His name was Matthew, he told me when he came to visit, timid, his hand shaking. I could tell he didn’t sleep much either. Did he have the same nightmares as me? Of course he wished just as much as I did that the night had never happened, and of course he was thankful that no one had been killed. But he didn’t know how it felt to be here, in this chair, with his love’s hand in his, listening to the droning beat of a machine keeping him alive. It was still going. BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! The noise filled my head and drowned my thoughts with the idea of an alarm. It kept the same beat. The doctors told me that was a good sign; if it varied too much, it could mean the worst. But what good is being alive if you can’t see, if you can’t feel, if you can’t think? He would never walk again, the doctors assured me, but I just wanted him to talk again, to smile again, to be again. BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP! I jumped back in shock, the machine was coming to life. It was pounding loudly and I called out over it “Nurse! Nurse! Please! Something’s wrong!” The doctor came rushing in, flanked by two attending nurses. And went to work, I stepped back, “Tell me he’s okay. He’s okay. Okay.” They didn’t answer, they wouldn’t answer, they were scared to. They didn’t know any better than me. He’ll pull through. I’m right here. Together, we’re invincible. I ran over to hold his hand, squatting under the physicians going about their work. They pretended like I wasn’t there. I’m not invincible, I’m invisible. They don’t see me? Can’t they see how I’m hurting, how much I need them to tell me it will be alright? The beeps kept coming, and eventually settled. The doctor stepped back and gave me a nod. We made it. We were still here, in this dull room with wilted flowers and stale air. It was him and me, and the beeping that assured me that we were still alive. I still dreamed of that night every time my eyes let themselves close, how maybe had I accepted his advances sooner, we wouldn’t be in the way of the car. We would have been happier sooner, and we’d still be singing songs in the shower and watching soaps on TV, and laughing at jokes only the two of us would ever understand. It was my fault. I was too proud, too cold to his advances. I did this to him, and he had saved me. He had pushed me to the curb while he took the impact. My impact. Our impact. He broke our invincible wall to keep me safe. Every morning I thanked him with a kiss on his pale lips, wishing so much that they’d be full of life like they were before that summer night. I leaned in and tasted the chapstick I rubbed on his dry mouth the night before. When I pulled away, I saw a smile crawl up his cheeks, and I stared back down, stunned by joy.”He’s awake! Doctor! Get in here! He’s woken up!” I pressed my lips to his, and a breath escaped his lungs, and I held it in mine for as long as I could, so as not to let it go. He was alive. He was awake. We were okay! The doctor came in and confirmed what I had thought. His eyes were still closed, but the coma was over. I held his hand tighter than ever, waiting for the lids to move and show me his charming brown eyes again. Our hands gripped on top of his chest, his lungs suddenly expanding. The smell of his breath was terrible, but it was his and I loved it. I stayed smiling down at him until finally, his eyes opened. I didn’t say a word as he took it all in, his hand in my, my eyes on his, a smile brighter than any I had ever given crossing over my cheeks. “Rebecca, where are we?” “We’re together.” I said gently, not sure how much he remembered of that night. “As long as we’re together we’re invincible, and right now no one can hurt us.” “Are we…” He was struggling “in a hospital?” I brushed his hair out of his eyes; I didn’t realize how much it had grown. “Yeah, we’re in a hospital. I’ve been here the whole time.” “What…happened?” Do I tell him about the crash? That he’ll never walk again? I could feel tears coming from deep inside, and no matter how hard I wished I could, there was no stopping them from pouring out. “It’s all my fault. It was dark. I was stupid. We weren’t walking, I was running. You said I shouldn't go, but I did. You chased after me, remember? Then there was the flash, you pushed me, I screamed as loud as I could. I ended up with a scuffed arm, you ended up in a coma. I shouldn't have run. I shouldn't have let go of your hand. “We were fighting about something stupid. That’s why I ran away in tears. You said ‘Becca, don’t go!’ but I did. It was dark. I was stupid. I should have listened. It’s all my fault. It’s all my fault.” I wiped the tears away, and his eyes were closed again; did he fall asleep? Did he slip back into the coma? I called out for the doctor, and held his hand. It was limp. The beeping seemed louder than ever; BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! Just let it end. Let it be over. Let him be okay. I’m still here. While we’re together we’re invincible. If we had stayed together… The doctor was there standing over me. I looked up at him, hopefully. The machine was beeping sporadically. “What’s wrong? What’s happening?” I demanded of the doctor, then the nurses. They wouldn’t answer me. Am I invisible again? It was just me and the beeps, it seemed, but I wasn’t sure how long they’d be there. I closed my eyes, hoping that it was all just a dream, but the beeping stayed, coming slowly, threatening to end any moment… Beep… Beep… Beep… … … I looked up at the doctor, who just shook his head, and I nodded back knowing it was over. We had died. I put my head on his sunken chest, and my tears soaked the thin white cloth. When I closed my eyes, it wasn’t the same dream as before. We were in the restaurant and he was smiling at me. The waitress tapped on my shoulder and held out a box. He was on his knee. The words were coming out. “Becca, will you marry me?” "You know I love you, Tyler" was all I could say. I ran. I was young. I was stupid.	"For sale: baby shoes, never worn."
Nothing too gory. Freaky is okay but I want those dark, heart-wrenching moments of despair that can almost not be expressed through words. Or just an overall somber mood. Edit: I realized too gory is subjective so it's really up to you. Would someone else really want to read that? You decide.	[WP] As depressing as you can possibly be.	Death. His blank eyes stare past me, what is left of my best friend. Lying still in my arms, a bullet through his head. Fighting for my country, In a land across the ocean. I came back home alive, But my life is over. Never the same, never healed, I drink myself to sleep each night. Hoping the nightmares will skip me this time. They never do. There is no escape but in death. Only darkness as far as I can see. There is no hope for me. There is no hope for me.	"For sale: baby shoes, never worn."
Nothing too gory. Freaky is okay but I want those dark, heart-wrenching moments of despair that can almost not be expressed through words. Or just an overall somber mood. Edit: I realized too gory is subjective so it's really up to you. Would someone else really want to read that? You decide.	[WP] As depressing as you can possibly be.	This is the first relationship you think is actually going to go somewhere. You love her truly. You dream of marrying her. This will last forever, you tell yourself. She is the one. You always feel a sense of calm and inner content when you see her. Except that one time you saw her from afar on the street. Thud That's the sound something in your chest makes, when you see your true love kiss another man passionately.	"For sale: baby shoes, never worn."
Nothing too gory. Freaky is okay but I want those dark, heart-wrenching moments of despair that can almost not be expressed through words. Or just an overall somber mood. Edit: I realized too gory is subjective so it's really up to you. Would someone else really want to read that? You decide.	[WP] As depressing as you can possibly be.	I woke up to see my dad getting dressed quickly. I asked him, "What's wrong?" He said he had to go to the hospital and that I should stay home today, skip school. I was confused. I walked around the empty house and sat by the window. Something was wrong today. I had a weak breakfast, didn't feel like watching any cartoons. After an hour of staring out the window at the rising sun, I called my dad's cellphone. That was the first time I had ever heard his broken voice. He told me everything was fine. I was 12 years old, but old enough to know when something was wrong. Right before he hung up, I had my mom weeping in the background. I put two and two together. My sister had died. Why else would they be crying? I am alone now. But I am not sad. I had always been a logical child, hadn't I? I had to accept this. I had accepted it. I look at the sky, said goodbye to my sister and tried to think about something else. The next two days passed very slowly. From having to be in a room full of crying people, to having to stare at my sister's dead blue face before she was cremated. I never once cried. I spent my time consoling my cousins and my parents. I thought I was a big boy and had to behave accordingly. Crying wouldn't bring her back. I focused on the problem at hand - dealing with everyone's emotions. It felt like everyone had forgotten I was just a 12 year old boy who had lost his sister. No one asked me how I felt. It wouldn't have mattered, I felt fine. It was a sad year for my parents, they had lost their child. In their depression, they had forgotten they had a son to look after as well. So, while they dealt with their depressions, I grew up alone. Three years after her death, I would feel lonely one night. I was having trouble with my friendships and had no one to be with that night. There was literally no one in the world I could talk to. If only I had my sister with me, I would've felt fine. And then I wept. I wept for hours and hours through the night. That was the first time I had truly missed the presence of a sibling - when it mattered the most. It hurt. It hurt that I had no one. It hurt that my sister had gone. It fucking hurt that in three years no one ever asked me how I felt or if I felt lonely. These were the emotions of a neglected 12 year old, pouring out of a 15-year old. I have many great friends today. I have a lovely girlfriend. But no matter how well I do socially, I always feel lonely inside. I guess that's what childhood traumas do to a person.	"For sale: baby shoes, never worn."
Nothing too gory. Freaky is okay but I want those dark, heart-wrenching moments of despair that can almost not be expressed through words. Or just an overall somber mood. Edit: I realized too gory is subjective so it's really up to you. Would someone else really want to read that? You decide.	[WP] As depressing as you can possibly be.	This is the first relationship you think is actually going to go somewhere. You love her truly. You dream of marrying her. This will last forever, you tell yourself. She is the one. You always feel a sense of calm and inner content when you see her. Except that one time you saw her from afar on the street. Thud That's the sound something in your chest makes, when you see your true love kiss another man passionately.	I don't belive in god. I told them this and they scoffed. You'll see, they told me. There are not athiests in a foxhole. They espoused. They made me visit with the chaplin. They made me say under god. They excluded me from their services and then mocked my misfortune as being punishment. So I ask them, what if there is a god? What if you're right and this god punishes me for my disbelief? What if you're right and we kill in the name of god and country, and what if the country is wrong. Will he forgive you breaking his law because you claimed it was for him? Or will he damn you for eternity, as he is want to do in your book, for invoking his name in political persuits. Did not his son say give unto Caesar what is Caesars, and to god what is gods? How would he respond to you? And if he does hurt me in all these small and petty ways for not believing, why would you want to follow him? If these are his actions how is he anything more than a bully? How impotent must he feel that instead of announcing his presence he instead relies on his followers to mock the injured and demand loyalty where there is none. I don't believe in god and they left me here. There's a bullet in my abdomen, I probably can't hear it rattling, but it feels like I can. I believe in that bullet. But I can't believe in god. Not now when I'm dying in a foxhole, not even after they promised me I would. It would be so nice to believe in god right now, it's getting dark even though I can feel the sun burning me. I don't believe in god. Goodbye.
Nothing too gory. Freaky is okay but I want those dark, heart-wrenching moments of despair that can almost not be expressed through words. Or just an overall somber mood. Edit: I realized too gory is subjective so it's really up to you. Would someone else really want to read that? You decide.	[WP] As depressing as you can possibly be.	I woke up to see my dad getting dressed quickly. I asked him, "What's wrong?" He said he had to go to the hospital and that I should stay home today, skip school. I was confused. I walked around the empty house and sat by the window. Something was wrong today. I had a weak breakfast, didn't feel like watching any cartoons. After an hour of staring out the window at the rising sun, I called my dad's cellphone. That was the first time I had ever heard his broken voice. He told me everything was fine. I was 12 years old, but old enough to know when something was wrong. Right before he hung up, I had my mom weeping in the background. I put two and two together. My sister had died. Why else would they be crying? I am alone now. But I am not sad. I had always been a logical child, hadn't I? I had to accept this. I had accepted it. I look at the sky, said goodbye to my sister and tried to think about something else. The next two days passed very slowly. From having to be in a room full of crying people, to having to stare at my sister's dead blue face before she was cremated. I never once cried. I spent my time consoling my cousins and my parents. I thought I was a big boy and had to behave accordingly. Crying wouldn't bring her back. I focused on the problem at hand - dealing with everyone's emotions. It felt like everyone had forgotten I was just a 12 year old boy who had lost his sister. No one asked me how I felt. It wouldn't have mattered, I felt fine. It was a sad year for my parents, they had lost their child. In their depression, they had forgotten they had a son to look after as well. So, while they dealt with their depressions, I grew up alone. Three years after her death, I would feel lonely one night. I was having trouble with my friendships and had no one to be with that night. There was literally no one in the world I could talk to. If only I had my sister with me, I would've felt fine. And then I wept. I wept for hours and hours through the night. That was the first time I had truly missed the presence of a sibling - when it mattered the most. It hurt. It hurt that I had no one. It hurt that my sister had gone. It fucking hurt that in three years no one ever asked me how I felt or if I felt lonely. These were the emotions of a neglected 12 year old, pouring out of a 15-year old. I have many great friends today. I have a lovely girlfriend. But no matter how well I do socially, I always feel lonely inside. I guess that's what childhood traumas do to a person.	I don't belive in god. I told them this and they scoffed. You'll see, they told me. There are not athiests in a foxhole. They espoused. They made me visit with the chaplin. They made me say under god. They excluded me from their services and then mocked my misfortune as being punishment. So I ask them, what if there is a god? What if you're right and this god punishes me for my disbelief? What if you're right and we kill in the name of god and country, and what if the country is wrong. Will he forgive you breaking his law because you claimed it was for him? Or will he damn you for eternity, as he is want to do in your book, for invoking his name in political persuits. Did not his son say give unto Caesar what is Caesars, and to god what is gods? How would he respond to you? And if he does hurt me in all these small and petty ways for not believing, why would you want to follow him? If these are his actions how is he anything more than a bully? How impotent must he feel that instead of announcing his presence he instead relies on his followers to mock the injured and demand loyalty where there is none. I don't believe in god and they left me here. There's a bullet in my abdomen, I probably can't hear it rattling, but it feels like I can. I believe in that bullet. But I can't believe in god. Not now when I'm dying in a foxhole, not even after they promised me I would. It would be so nice to believe in god right now, it's getting dark even though I can feel the sun burning me. I don't believe in god. Goodbye.
Nothing too gory. Freaky is okay but I want those dark, heart-wrenching moments of despair that can almost not be expressed through words. Or just an overall somber mood. Edit: I realized too gory is subjective so it's really up to you. Would someone else really want to read that? You decide.	[WP] As depressing as you can possibly be.	I woke up to see my dad getting dressed quickly. I asked him, "What's wrong?" He said he had to go to the hospital and that I should stay home today, skip school. I was confused. I walked around the empty house and sat by the window. Something was wrong today. I had a weak breakfast, didn't feel like watching any cartoons. After an hour of staring out the window at the rising sun, I called my dad's cellphone. That was the first time I had ever heard his broken voice. He told me everything was fine. I was 12 years old, but old enough to know when something was wrong. Right before he hung up, I had my mom weeping in the background. I put two and two together. My sister had died. Why else would they be crying? I am alone now. But I am not sad. I had always been a logical child, hadn't I? I had to accept this. I had accepted it. I look at the sky, said goodbye to my sister and tried to think about something else. The next two days passed very slowly. From having to be in a room full of crying people, to having to stare at my sister's dead blue face before she was cremated. I never once cried. I spent my time consoling my cousins and my parents. I thought I was a big boy and had to behave accordingly. Crying wouldn't bring her back. I focused on the problem at hand - dealing with everyone's emotions. It felt like everyone had forgotten I was just a 12 year old boy who had lost his sister. No one asked me how I felt. It wouldn't have mattered, I felt fine. It was a sad year for my parents, they had lost their child. In their depression, they had forgotten they had a son to look after as well. So, while they dealt with their depressions, I grew up alone. Three years after her death, I would feel lonely one night. I was having trouble with my friendships and had no one to be with that night. There was literally no one in the world I could talk to. If only I had my sister with me, I would've felt fine. And then I wept. I wept for hours and hours through the night. That was the first time I had truly missed the presence of a sibling - when it mattered the most. It hurt. It hurt that I had no one. It hurt that my sister had gone. It fucking hurt that in three years no one ever asked me how I felt or if I felt lonely. These were the emotions of a neglected 12 year old, pouring out of a 15-year old. I have many great friends today. I have a lovely girlfriend. But no matter how well I do socially, I always feel lonely inside. I guess that's what childhood traumas do to a person.	In all the grand accomplishments of humanity and the great discoveries of mankind there always lurks the notion that the grand orchestrations of the universe have nothing to do with human life. It is here, in this dismal realization, that true wisdom can come forth since the entirety of the human population will not make one significant change in the infinite universe. True humility comes from those who understand the futility of everyday life but, in the same moment, embrace it. -Jacque Erufkin III "What bullshit," said humans. -Jacque Erufkin IV
Nothing too gory. Freaky is okay but I want those dark, heart-wrenching moments of despair that can almost not be expressed through words. Or just an overall somber mood. Edit: I realized too gory is subjective so it's really up to you. Would someone else really want to read that? You decide.	[WP] As depressing as you can possibly be.	Edited more than three times for formatting reasons __________________________ I saw a toddler today who didn't get any ice cream from his mom. He cried for a couple minutes, but after being told to shut up, and then consequentially being ignored, he stopped. He gradually went from sobbing, to sniffling, to dabbing his nose on his shirtsleeve to being perfectly still. He looked like those old pictures that take a few minutes to take, he had that quiet little expressionless expression on his little face. He just accepted that he wouldn't get what he wanted. He's already figured out how to function as a mature adult human being. Did you know it's considered being incredibly ungrateful to be upset over trivial little things like that? Of course you do, sorry for answering a rhetorical question. You know, sometimes I'll be swept away with this near uncontrollable urge to kill myself- at very random moments. In the middle of a class or sitting on the bus... I'm pretty sure most people do. I just wanted to point it out. How ordinary it is. I haven't followed through with it. I never will. I'm just a kid, after all, my emotions at this age aren't even real, right? Just hormones. For you, it's just stress. Only stress.	In all the grand accomplishments of humanity and the great discoveries of mankind there always lurks the notion that the grand orchestrations of the universe have nothing to do with human life. It is here, in this dismal realization, that true wisdom can come forth since the entirety of the human population will not make one significant change in the infinite universe. True humility comes from those who understand the futility of everyday life but, in the same moment, embrace it. -Jacque Erufkin III "What bullshit," said humans. -Jacque Erufkin IV
Nothing too gory. Freaky is okay but I want those dark, heart-wrenching moments of despair that can almost not be expressed through words. Or just an overall somber mood. Edit: I realized too gory is subjective so it's really up to you. Would someone else really want to read that? You decide.	[WP] As depressing as you can possibly be.	The last person on Earth was a 19 year old girl struggling to breathe through the ash and poison in the atmosphere. Thirty years ago, a conflict between the great nations of our world killed our civilization and it's peoples. Works of art by Rembrandt, El Greco and Michelangelo lie crumbled and forgotten. Race cars will never again delight families on the Indianapolis Motor Speedway. Movie theaters exist as mass tombs. Pediatric wards of burned out hospitals collapse in the middle of the night. Beautiful cities such as New York, Paris, Shanghai and Rome lie as radioactive ruins, the grave sites for millions of people not directly involved in the war. When the nuclear ash blocked out the sun, crops died. People starved. Wars for sustainable land became commonplace. In the end, without food to eat and without water to drink, mankind starved and killed itself, those that weren't poisoned by the radiation. Our survivor lies outside of the cabin built by her father and mother. She didn't have the strength to bury them. Now, in her final hour, her vision blurs, her throat tightens. There is no God to save her, no reaper to take her to a paradise beyond this life. There is only this. And now there is nothing.	In all the grand accomplishments of humanity and the great discoveries of mankind there always lurks the notion that the grand orchestrations of the universe have nothing to do with human life. It is here, in this dismal realization, that true wisdom can come forth since the entirety of the human population will not make one significant change in the infinite universe. True humility comes from those who understand the futility of everyday life but, in the same moment, embrace it. -Jacque Erufkin III "What bullshit," said humans. -Jacque Erufkin IV
Nothing too gory. Freaky is okay but I want those dark, heart-wrenching moments of despair that can almost not be expressed through words. Or just an overall somber mood. Edit: I realized too gory is subjective so it's really up to you. Would someone else really want to read that? You decide.	[WP] As depressing as you can possibly be.	I woke up to see my dad getting dressed quickly. I asked him, "What's wrong?" He said he had to go to the hospital and that I should stay home today, skip school. I was confused. I walked around the empty house and sat by the window. Something was wrong today. I had a weak breakfast, didn't feel like watching any cartoons. After an hour of staring out the window at the rising sun, I called my dad's cellphone. That was the first time I had ever heard his broken voice. He told me everything was fine. I was 12 years old, but old enough to know when something was wrong. Right before he hung up, I had my mom weeping in the background. I put two and two together. My sister had died. Why else would they be crying? I am alone now. But I am not sad. I had always been a logical child, hadn't I? I had to accept this. I had accepted it. I look at the sky, said goodbye to my sister and tried to think about something else. The next two days passed very slowly. From having to be in a room full of crying people, to having to stare at my sister's dead blue face before she was cremated. I never once cried. I spent my time consoling my cousins and my parents. I thought I was a big boy and had to behave accordingly. Crying wouldn't bring her back. I focused on the problem at hand - dealing with everyone's emotions. It felt like everyone had forgotten I was just a 12 year old boy who had lost his sister. No one asked me how I felt. It wouldn't have mattered, I felt fine. It was a sad year for my parents, they had lost their child. In their depression, they had forgotten they had a son to look after as well. So, while they dealt with their depressions, I grew up alone. Three years after her death, I would feel lonely one night. I was having trouble with my friendships and had no one to be with that night. There was literally no one in the world I could talk to. If only I had my sister with me, I would've felt fine. And then I wept. I wept for hours and hours through the night. That was the first time I had truly missed the presence of a sibling - when it mattered the most. It hurt. It hurt that I had no one. It hurt that my sister had gone. It fucking hurt that in three years no one ever asked me how I felt or if I felt lonely. These were the emotions of a neglected 12 year old, pouring out of a 15-year old. I have many great friends today. I have a lovely girlfriend. But no matter how well I do socially, I always feel lonely inside. I guess that's what childhood traumas do to a person.	I had the dream again; we were walking hand-in-hand down the road during the dark of night. We were young -- we were stupid. We didn’t think to look before we stepped out into the middle of the road; it was night, it was dark. Maybe if I had seen the light sooner? A bright flash. I was awake. I looked around the hospital room that I had called home for months. In reality, it was a self-made prison. I was chained to the bed, but could go wherever I wanted. When I walked out of the room, I left a part of me behind, which kept me coming back every day. And every dark night, reminding me of how young and stupid we were. It’s amazing how a few months can age you. My eyes had grown baggy, my skin deathly pale, I never had an appetite so I was suddenly underweight. My brown hair had lost it’s sparkle, and the smile he had loved so much never brought itself out anymore. What use was smiling in a world he wasn’t in? Got to stay positive, Becca, stay positive for him. He’s still alive, just asleep. A deep, dark, sullen sleep. He was in a coma, he had been for the last three-and-a-half months since that summer night. It was our first anniversary, a year after he had finally convinced me to give him a chance. He was in love, he told me as much the first time we made it. I loved him too, I realized in the stale air that followed his confession, but I didn’t say that. I should have said it more. The only time he heard me say those two deadly words was the night of the crash. Our anniversary. The end of one great year, and the start of a terrible one. We went to the same restaurant that we had gone on the first night; it was expensive beyond his means, but he insisted on it. When I offered to split the bill, he insisted on paying; an early show of chivalry that I appreciated. He loved me long before he asked me out, and even longer before I accepted his suggestion. He was so resilient then. If only he could pick him self up and dust himself off like he did all those times I said no. The only sounds in the hospital room were of my breathing and the machine that monitored his heart. The beeping filled my head like a song; but it’s a song I’d rather turn off in exchange for him looking at me one more time, for him saying how much he loved me with one last hand brushing through my hair, for one last moment, one last kiss, one more passionate night under the dark sky by the lake. I wanted the beeping to stop, but I knew that as long as it kept going, he was alive and he was with me, and we were still invincible. Nothing would come between us; not a fight, not another man or woman, not a 17 year old kid racing his parents sports car in the black of the night. My hand fit in his and held on tight. After that night, I never wanted to let go. The doctors told me that if I had not have let his hand slip away, we might both be in the bed with the machines keeping us alive, but together we were strong, we were invincible. In my dreams I don’t let go, and the car doesn’t hurt us, we hurt it. The boy is flung out the convertible top and lands in the hospital bed instead of us in this room with the beeping machine and stale air that I woke up to every morning. I didn’t hate him. He was young and stupid too. His name was Matthew, he told me when he came to visit, timid, his hand shaking. I could tell he didn’t sleep much either. Did he have the same nightmares as me? Of course he wished just as much as I did that the night had never happened, and of course he was thankful that no one had been killed. But he didn’t know how it felt to be here, in this chair, with his love’s hand in his, listening to the droning beat of a machine keeping him alive. It was still going. BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! The noise filled my head and drowned my thoughts with the idea of an alarm. It kept the same beat. The doctors told me that was a good sign; if it varied too much, it could mean the worst. But what good is being alive if you can’t see, if you can’t feel, if you can’t think? He would never walk again, the doctors assured me, but I just wanted him to talk again, to smile again, to be again. BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP! I jumped back in shock, the machine was coming to life. It was pounding loudly and I called out over it “Nurse! Nurse! Please! Something’s wrong!” The doctor came rushing in, flanked by two attending nurses. And went to work, I stepped back, “Tell me he’s okay. He’s okay. Okay.” They didn’t answer, they wouldn’t answer, they were scared to. They didn’t know any better than me. He’ll pull through. I’m right here. Together, we’re invincible. I ran over to hold his hand, squatting under the physicians going about their work. They pretended like I wasn’t there. I’m not invincible, I’m invisible. They don’t see me? Can’t they see how I’m hurting, how much I need them to tell me it will be alright? The beeps kept coming, and eventually settled. The doctor stepped back and gave me a nod. We made it. We were still here, in this dull room with wilted flowers and stale air. It was him and me, and the beeping that assured me that we were still alive. I still dreamed of that night every time my eyes let themselves close, how maybe had I accepted his advances sooner, we wouldn’t be in the way of the car. We would have been happier sooner, and we’d still be singing songs in the shower and watching soaps on TV, and laughing at jokes only the two of us would ever understand. It was my fault. I was too proud, too cold to his advances. I did this to him, and he had saved me. He had pushed me to the curb while he took the impact. My impact. Our impact. He broke our invincible wall to keep me safe. Every morning I thanked him with a kiss on his pale lips, wishing so much that they’d be full of life like they were before that summer night. I leaned in and tasted the chapstick I rubbed on his dry mouth the night before. When I pulled away, I saw a smile crawl up his cheeks, and I stared back down, stunned by joy.”He’s awake! Doctor! Get in here! He’s woken up!” I pressed my lips to his, and a breath escaped his lungs, and I held it in mine for as long as I could, so as not to let it go. He was alive. He was awake. We were okay! The doctor came in and confirmed what I had thought. His eyes were still closed, but the coma was over. I held his hand tighter than ever, waiting for the lids to move and show me his charming brown eyes again. Our hands gripped on top of his chest, his lungs suddenly expanding. The smell of his breath was terrible, but it was his and I loved it. I stayed smiling down at him until finally, his eyes opened. I didn’t say a word as he took it all in, his hand in my, my eyes on his, a smile brighter than any I had ever given crossing over my cheeks. “Rebecca, where are we?” “We’re together.” I said gently, not sure how much he remembered of that night. “As long as we’re together we’re invincible, and right now no one can hurt us.” “Are we…” He was struggling “in a hospital?” I brushed his hair out of his eyes; I didn’t realize how much it had grown. “Yeah, we’re in a hospital. I’ve been here the whole time.” “What…happened?” Do I tell him about the crash? That he’ll never walk again? I could feel tears coming from deep inside, and no matter how hard I wished I could, there was no stopping them from pouring out. “It’s all my fault. It was dark. I was stupid. We weren’t walking, I was running. You said I shouldn't go, but I did. You chased after me, remember? Then there was the flash, you pushed me, I screamed as loud as I could. I ended up with a scuffed arm, you ended up in a coma. I shouldn't have run. I shouldn't have let go of your hand. “We were fighting about something stupid. That’s why I ran away in tears. You said ‘Becca, don’t go!’ but I did. It was dark. I was stupid. I should have listened. It’s all my fault. It’s all my fault.” I wiped the tears away, and his eyes were closed again; did he fall asleep? Did he slip back into the coma? I called out for the doctor, and held his hand. It was limp. The beeping seemed louder than ever; BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! Just let it end. Let it be over. Let him be okay. I’m still here. While we’re together we’re invincible. If we had stayed together… The doctor was there standing over me. I looked up at him, hopefully. The machine was beeping sporadically. “What’s wrong? What’s happening?” I demanded of the doctor, then the nurses. They wouldn’t answer me. Am I invisible again? It was just me and the beeps, it seemed, but I wasn’t sure how long they’d be there. I closed my eyes, hoping that it was all just a dream, but the beeping stayed, coming slowly, threatening to end any moment… Beep… Beep… Beep… … … I looked up at the doctor, who just shook his head, and I nodded back knowing it was over. We had died. I put my head on his sunken chest, and my tears soaked the thin white cloth. When I closed my eyes, it wasn’t the same dream as before. We were in the restaurant and he was smiling at me. The waitress tapped on my shoulder and held out a box. He was on his knee. The words were coming out. “Becca, will you marry me?” "You know I love you, Tyler" was all I could say. I ran. I was young. I was stupid.
Nothing too gory. Freaky is okay but I want those dark, heart-wrenching moments of despair that can almost not be expressed through words. Or just an overall somber mood. Edit: I realized too gory is subjective so it's really up to you. Would someone else really want to read that? You decide.	[WP] As depressing as you can possibly be.	I woke up to see my dad getting dressed quickly. I asked him, "What's wrong?" He said he had to go to the hospital and that I should stay home today, skip school. I was confused. I walked around the empty house and sat by the window. Something was wrong today. I had a weak breakfast, didn't feel like watching any cartoons. After an hour of staring out the window at the rising sun, I called my dad's cellphone. That was the first time I had ever heard his broken voice. He told me everything was fine. I was 12 years old, but old enough to know when something was wrong. Right before he hung up, I had my mom weeping in the background. I put two and two together. My sister had died. Why else would they be crying? I am alone now. But I am not sad. I had always been a logical child, hadn't I? I had to accept this. I had accepted it. I look at the sky, said goodbye to my sister and tried to think about something else. The next two days passed very slowly. From having to be in a room full of crying people, to having to stare at my sister's dead blue face before she was cremated. I never once cried. I spent my time consoling my cousins and my parents. I thought I was a big boy and had to behave accordingly. Crying wouldn't bring her back. I focused on the problem at hand - dealing with everyone's emotions. It felt like everyone had forgotten I was just a 12 year old boy who had lost his sister. No one asked me how I felt. It wouldn't have mattered, I felt fine. It was a sad year for my parents, they had lost their child. In their depression, they had forgotten they had a son to look after as well. So, while they dealt with their depressions, I grew up alone. Three years after her death, I would feel lonely one night. I was having trouble with my friendships and had no one to be with that night. There was literally no one in the world I could talk to. If only I had my sister with me, I would've felt fine. And then I wept. I wept for hours and hours through the night. That was the first time I had truly missed the presence of a sibling - when it mattered the most. It hurt. It hurt that I had no one. It hurt that my sister had gone. It fucking hurt that in three years no one ever asked me how I felt or if I felt lonely. These were the emotions of a neglected 12 year old, pouring out of a 15-year old. I have many great friends today. I have a lovely girlfriend. But no matter how well I do socially, I always feel lonely inside. I guess that's what childhood traumas do to a person.	Death. His blank eyes stare past me, what is left of my best friend. Lying still in my arms, a bullet through his head. Fighting for my country, In a land across the ocean. I came back home alive, But my life is over. Never the same, never healed, I drink myself to sleep each night. Hoping the nightmares will skip me this time. They never do. There is no escape but in death. Only darkness as far as I can see. There is no hope for me. There is no hope for me.
Nothing too gory. Freaky is okay but I want those dark, heart-wrenching moments of despair that can almost not be expressed through words. Or just an overall somber mood. Edit: I realized too gory is subjective so it's really up to you. Would someone else really want to read that? You decide.	[WP] As depressing as you can possibly be.	I woke up to see my dad getting dressed quickly. I asked him, "What's wrong?" He said he had to go to the hospital and that I should stay home today, skip school. I was confused. I walked around the empty house and sat by the window. Something was wrong today. I had a weak breakfast, didn't feel like watching any cartoons. After an hour of staring out the window at the rising sun, I called my dad's cellphone. That was the first time I had ever heard his broken voice. He told me everything was fine. I was 12 years old, but old enough to know when something was wrong. Right before he hung up, I had my mom weeping in the background. I put two and two together. My sister had died. Why else would they be crying? I am alone now. But I am not sad. I had always been a logical child, hadn't I? I had to accept this. I had accepted it. I look at the sky, said goodbye to my sister and tried to think about something else. The next two days passed very slowly. From having to be in a room full of crying people, to having to stare at my sister's dead blue face before she was cremated. I never once cried. I spent my time consoling my cousins and my parents. I thought I was a big boy and had to behave accordingly. Crying wouldn't bring her back. I focused on the problem at hand - dealing with everyone's emotions. It felt like everyone had forgotten I was just a 12 year old boy who had lost his sister. No one asked me how I felt. It wouldn't have mattered, I felt fine. It was a sad year for my parents, they had lost their child. In their depression, they had forgotten they had a son to look after as well. So, while they dealt with their depressions, I grew up alone. Three years after her death, I would feel lonely one night. I was having trouble with my friendships and had no one to be with that night. There was literally no one in the world I could talk to. If only I had my sister with me, I would've felt fine. And then I wept. I wept for hours and hours through the night. That was the first time I had truly missed the presence of a sibling - when it mattered the most. It hurt. It hurt that I had no one. It hurt that my sister had gone. It fucking hurt that in three years no one ever asked me how I felt or if I felt lonely. These were the emotions of a neglected 12 year old, pouring out of a 15-year old. I have many great friends today. I have a lovely girlfriend. But no matter how well I do socially, I always feel lonely inside. I guess that's what childhood traumas do to a person.	This is the first relationship you think is actually going to go somewhere. You love her truly. You dream of marrying her. This will last forever, you tell yourself. She is the one. You always feel a sense of calm and inner content when you see her. Except that one time you saw her from afar on the street. Thud That's the sound something in your chest makes, when you see your true love kiss another man passionately.
Nothing too gory. Freaky is okay but I want those dark, heart-wrenching moments of despair that can almost not be expressed through words. Or just an overall somber mood. Edit: I realized too gory is subjective so it's really up to you. Would someone else really want to read that? You decide.	[WP] As depressing as you can possibly be.	Edited more than three times for formatting reasons __________________________ I saw a toddler today who didn't get any ice cream from his mom. He cried for a couple minutes, but after being told to shut up, and then consequentially being ignored, he stopped. He gradually went from sobbing, to sniffling, to dabbing his nose on his shirtsleeve to being perfectly still. He looked like those old pictures that take a few minutes to take, he had that quiet little expressionless expression on his little face. He just accepted that he wouldn't get what he wanted. He's already figured out how to function as a mature adult human being. Did you know it's considered being incredibly ungrateful to be upset over trivial little things like that? Of course you do, sorry for answering a rhetorical question. You know, sometimes I'll be swept away with this near uncontrollable urge to kill myself- at very random moments. In the middle of a class or sitting on the bus... I'm pretty sure most people do. I just wanted to point it out. How ordinary it is. I haven't followed through with it. I never will. I'm just a kid, after all, my emotions at this age aren't even real, right? Just hormones. For you, it's just stress. Only stress.	Death has a distinct scent. Once you become accustomed to it, it will stick in your mind forever. That is, unless you finally die and give off your own stench. The first encounter I had with this smell was with my mother. It was unfortunate, tragic, beyond the scope of my small imagination as I was only six at the time. She had the distinct smell of sea water and gases. It was unpleasant. The second encounter I had with this smell came much later. A small pet rabbit I had adopted turned up dead one morning. From the wounds it was obviously the work of either a small dog or cat. It smelt terribly of rotted onions and sewage. The third encounter I had was rather recent. My roommate was always rather depressed. I suppose that was the result of her life, all of it being one issue after another. She had killed herself with drugs that were supposed to make her feel better. It smelt like vomit and week old compost. The fourth encounter happened today. I slipped while hiking and fell down into a ravine. I suppose I must have hit myself pretty bad on the rocks, because I can't seem to move my arm or legs anymore. I can't smell anything.
Nothing too gory. Freaky is okay but I want those dark, heart-wrenching moments of despair that can almost not be expressed through words. Or just an overall somber mood. Edit: I realized too gory is subjective so it's really up to you. Would someone else really want to read that? You decide.	[WP] As depressing as you can possibly be.	The last person on Earth was a 19 year old girl struggling to breathe through the ash and poison in the atmosphere. Thirty years ago, a conflict between the great nations of our world killed our civilization and it's peoples. Works of art by Rembrandt, El Greco and Michelangelo lie crumbled and forgotten. Race cars will never again delight families on the Indianapolis Motor Speedway. Movie theaters exist as mass tombs. Pediatric wards of burned out hospitals collapse in the middle of the night. Beautiful cities such as New York, Paris, Shanghai and Rome lie as radioactive ruins, the grave sites for millions of people not directly involved in the war. When the nuclear ash blocked out the sun, crops died. People starved. Wars for sustainable land became commonplace. In the end, without food to eat and without water to drink, mankind starved and killed itself, those that weren't poisoned by the radiation. Our survivor lies outside of the cabin built by her father and mother. She didn't have the strength to bury them. Now, in her final hour, her vision blurs, her throat tightens. There is no God to save her, no reaper to take her to a paradise beyond this life. There is only this. And now there is nothing.	Death has a distinct scent. Once you become accustomed to it, it will stick in your mind forever. That is, unless you finally die and give off your own stench. The first encounter I had with this smell was with my mother. It was unfortunate, tragic, beyond the scope of my small imagination as I was only six at the time. She had the distinct smell of sea water and gases. It was unpleasant. The second encounter I had with this smell came much later. A small pet rabbit I had adopted turned up dead one morning. From the wounds it was obviously the work of either a small dog or cat. It smelt terribly of rotted onions and sewage. The third encounter I had was rather recent. My roommate was always rather depressed. I suppose that was the result of her life, all of it being one issue after another. She had killed herself with drugs that were supposed to make her feel better. It smelt like vomit and week old compost. The fourth encounter happened today. I slipped while hiking and fell down into a ravine. I suppose I must have hit myself pretty bad on the rocks, because I can't seem to move my arm or legs anymore. I can't smell anything.
Nothing too gory. Freaky is okay but I want those dark, heart-wrenching moments of despair that can almost not be expressed through words. Or just an overall somber mood. Edit: I realized too gory is subjective so it's really up to you. Would someone else really want to read that? You decide.	[WP] As depressing as you can possibly be.	Edited more than three times for formatting reasons __________________________ I saw a toddler today who didn't get any ice cream from his mom. He cried for a couple minutes, but after being told to shut up, and then consequentially being ignored, he stopped. He gradually went from sobbing, to sniffling, to dabbing his nose on his shirtsleeve to being perfectly still. He looked like those old pictures that take a few minutes to take, he had that quiet little expressionless expression on his little face. He just accepted that he wouldn't get what he wanted. He's already figured out how to function as a mature adult human being. Did you know it's considered being incredibly ungrateful to be upset over trivial little things like that? Of course you do, sorry for answering a rhetorical question. You know, sometimes I'll be swept away with this near uncontrollable urge to kill myself- at very random moments. In the middle of a class or sitting on the bus... I'm pretty sure most people do. I just wanted to point it out. How ordinary it is. I haven't followed through with it. I never will. I'm just a kid, after all, my emotions at this age aren't even real, right? Just hormones. For you, it's just stress. Only stress.	Here lies Sarah Six feet under Why she did it, Makes you wonder. Sad, sad truth, That go's unsaid. Everyone loves you, After you're dead. EDIT: having a lot of formatting problems, it was supposed to be in stanzas.
Nothing too gory. Freaky is okay but I want those dark, heart-wrenching moments of despair that can almost not be expressed through words. Or just an overall somber mood. Edit: I realized too gory is subjective so it's really up to you. Would someone else really want to read that? You decide.	[WP] As depressing as you can possibly be.	The last person on Earth was a 19 year old girl struggling to breathe through the ash and poison in the atmosphere. Thirty years ago, a conflict between the great nations of our world killed our civilization and it's peoples. Works of art by Rembrandt, El Greco and Michelangelo lie crumbled and forgotten. Race cars will never again delight families on the Indianapolis Motor Speedway. Movie theaters exist as mass tombs. Pediatric wards of burned out hospitals collapse in the middle of the night. Beautiful cities such as New York, Paris, Shanghai and Rome lie as radioactive ruins, the grave sites for millions of people not directly involved in the war. When the nuclear ash blocked out the sun, crops died. People starved. Wars for sustainable land became commonplace. In the end, without food to eat and without water to drink, mankind starved and killed itself, those that weren't poisoned by the radiation. Our survivor lies outside of the cabin built by her father and mother. She didn't have the strength to bury them. Now, in her final hour, her vision blurs, her throat tightens. There is no God to save her, no reaper to take her to a paradise beyond this life. There is only this. And now there is nothing.	Here lies Sarah Six feet under Why she did it, Makes you wonder. Sad, sad truth, That go's unsaid. Everyone loves you, After you're dead. EDIT: having a lot of formatting problems, it was supposed to be in stanzas.
It's that one person who everyone sees but doesn't really know. That guy people always see around school but no one bothered to get to know them. That guy you occasionally ask for a pen or to borrow those lecture notes, but never asked for anything from anyone back. That guy who's in several clubs or sports teams but is always quiet. The regular at the bar who sits on his own with the same drink. The neighbour that lives downstairs or across the street you happen to see every morning. What are they thinking?	[WP]That one guy	Behind his large, nerdy, glistening glasses are the squinting eyes of a disturbed mind. His name is Jack. He wakes up at four o'clock and leaves at four thirty to avoid his father. On the days he doesn't wake up on time the sizzle and sharp sting of a lit red cigarette butt on his bicep intercepts his dreams of faraway places and kinder people. He cries out and his father's explosive chuckles wrack his pained body. How? How can a man be this evil? Was the source at the bottom of a broken bottle, or did it stem back to the very roots of the sickened family tree? He wanted to know, but he would never ask. He would never willingly talk to his father. He sits at a desk in the middle of the class. His name is Jack. The roaring class around him loads his ears with gossip involving people better off and more involved than him. His teacher looks at him questioningly from time to time. The persistent pity in her sharp apathetic eyes approach him. He looks away. And she presses no further. Some days, just when he thinks he'd become invisible, when he'd escaped the invasive gazes of the snickering faces, they hit him and call him names. His name is Retard. He falls to the rough cement and hopes the children are scared enough of nearby teachers to make it hasty. A shoe hurts more than a boot, despite what some people may think. Maybe it has to do with how much more comfortable a shoe is. Easier to swing around. Quicker. Violent fantasies play out while he is ferociously abused. His mind is not a warzone. There is no internal struggle between right and wrong. His mind isn't a battlefield, but a slaughterhouse. He lies with that cocky smirk the undertaker never could wipe off his beastly face. His name is written on a big grey stone, chiseled by a man haunted by the knowledge of what Jack'd done. (Any feedback is appreciated, both compliments and constructive criticism) (Also, I know that this doesn't really relate to the prompt, but...yeah.)	His name is Eddy. Some people call him Crazy Eddy. He is a six-foot man with the build of a professional linebacker, but he slumps his shoulders and shuffles his feet everywhere he goes. He has this weird head bob when he walks, and occasionally you'll see him squat to the ground and flick the cement a couple of times. It used to be that when he would watch somebody his eyes would light up, and a fire would begin to burn in his mind. Now his eyes are glazed over and his mind is slow. He used to be a family man. He used to be a lot of things. If you talked to him now, you would begin to understand why he is now homeless, dirty, and sleeping in the warmest places he can find at night. The problem is that no one talks to him. You see, Eddy is a man with a story. He sits at bus-stops but never takes the bus, waving at the occasional stranger or even building up the courage to say hello or ask for some spare change. He'll stand outside of a business, watching people as they go about their lives, and all he wants to do is tell them about his. Because the truth is that when a man has a story to tell and there is no one around to listen, it can drive a man just a little bit crazy.
I look forward to any and every reply!	[WP] Write us something using your username as the prompt. (:	"This is ridiculous." I spat, frustration seeping through my tone. "It's not that big of a deal." I blinked a few times trying to adjust to the light and moving in my seat. I took a deep breath and exhaled. I could feel it welling up inside me, that nervousness. Like someone dragging a feather through your chest cavity, it doesn't hurt, but you don't want to keep feeling it. I adjusted myself in my chair and looked around one more time. I knew she would be back soon. "A lot of people here." I thought. I wondered how many of them were feeling the same way as I was right now. How many of them couldn't seem to get comfortable. They all looked so calm, maybe I did too. "Yeah, I'll be alright" I thought "Oh God. here she is." It was still dark, the light from the screen illuminating only about half of her face. You always see that in pictures of celebrities and it looks amazing. In real life, it's breath taking. She had a kind face, some people don't, but she did and it made me smile reflexively. Her features so soft, you felt like you had to be gentle in how you looked at her. You could scarcely make out the color of her hair, but I knew. It was a deep, powerful, red, and it fit her pale skin well. She sat down next to me. Looked over and made a motion with the bucket of popcorn. I shook my head in reply. Its buttery scent was assaulting my nostrils. I couldn't eat at a time like this. We sat there in silence for a moment. I knew I had to say something, but what, what should I say? "I've heard good things about this movie." She spoke suddenly. So simple, why didn't I think of that. "Yeah, I hope it's good." I replied. You hope it's good, it would be good even if you never looked at the screen. Stupid. I looked down dismayed and frustrated with myself for the poor answer. "I'm sure it will be." She told me. I don't remember the plot to the movie, any of the scenes. The unfolding of something so much more important was happening right before my eyes. I didn't say much, I was too scared to mess anything up but the silence was befitting that night. I remember her leaning over at one point and putting her head on my shoulder. This was when I was supposed to put my arm around her. I suddenly felt so cliche. I understood all the jokes and jests. In a moment of clarity it was all clear to me about how tough this is for the first time. I went for it. I decided to lead with a stretch fake. I felt bad for the people behind me, I hope I didn't block their view. This guilt lasted for only a moment as my hand made touchdown. Goodness her body was hot I remember thinking. I felt her recoil at my touch. I ruined it. That's it. I wanted to stand up and run away. She didn't want me to do that. Maybe she fell asleep, I should've asked first. Oh, no, no, no. "Wow, your hands are cold." she said. I froze, I couldn't decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing. "Uh, I'm sorry." I whimpered. I was looked down at my feet but I could see her face, still on my shoulder, she smiled. We were walking back to the car in the brisk October air. She reached, grabbed my hand and took it in hers. A flood of warmth from the contact caught me off guard. I looked at her suddenly, she was smiling again. Reflexively I smiled back and we both laughed like the fools we were. "I'll have to keep you warm Mr. Cold Hands." she teased.	aspire to something higher than the chaotic mess of mundane life flow, create something better than what I used to know, fire destroys the weakest parts of me, get out in the sun, warm me up it is the bravery that is beautiful going out there and laughing at the energy exhilaration look at me laugh, isn't it great to be?
I look forward to any and every reply!	[WP] Write us something using your username as the prompt. (:	Ewww, what the fuck are in these muffins?	aspire to something higher than the chaotic mess of mundane life flow, create something better than what I used to know, fire destroys the weakest parts of me, get out in the sun, warm me up it is the bravery that is beautiful going out there and laughing at the energy exhilaration look at me laugh, isn't it great to be?
I look forward to any and every reply!	[WP] Write us something using your username as the prompt. (:	"This is ridiculous." I spat, frustration seeping through my tone. "It's not that big of a deal." I blinked a few times trying to adjust to the light and moving in my seat. I took a deep breath and exhaled. I could feel it welling up inside me, that nervousness. Like someone dragging a feather through your chest cavity, it doesn't hurt, but you don't want to keep feeling it. I adjusted myself in my chair and looked around one more time. I knew she would be back soon. "A lot of people here." I thought. I wondered how many of them were feeling the same way as I was right now. How many of them couldn't seem to get comfortable. They all looked so calm, maybe I did too. "Yeah, I'll be alright" I thought "Oh God. here she is." It was still dark, the light from the screen illuminating only about half of her face. You always see that in pictures of celebrities and it looks amazing. In real life, it's breath taking. She had a kind face, some people don't, but she did and it made me smile reflexively. Her features so soft, you felt like you had to be gentle in how you looked at her. You could scarcely make out the color of her hair, but I knew. It was a deep, powerful, red, and it fit her pale skin well. She sat down next to me. Looked over and made a motion with the bucket of popcorn. I shook my head in reply. Its buttery scent was assaulting my nostrils. I couldn't eat at a time like this. We sat there in silence for a moment. I knew I had to say something, but what, what should I say? "I've heard good things about this movie." She spoke suddenly. So simple, why didn't I think of that. "Yeah, I hope it's good." I replied. You hope it's good, it would be good even if you never looked at the screen. Stupid. I looked down dismayed and frustrated with myself for the poor answer. "I'm sure it will be." She told me. I don't remember the plot to the movie, any of the scenes. The unfolding of something so much more important was happening right before my eyes. I didn't say much, I was too scared to mess anything up but the silence was befitting that night. I remember her leaning over at one point and putting her head on my shoulder. This was when I was supposed to put my arm around her. I suddenly felt so cliche. I understood all the jokes and jests. In a moment of clarity it was all clear to me about how tough this is for the first time. I went for it. I decided to lead with a stretch fake. I felt bad for the people behind me, I hope I didn't block their view. This guilt lasted for only a moment as my hand made touchdown. Goodness her body was hot I remember thinking. I felt her recoil at my touch. I ruined it. That's it. I wanted to stand up and run away. She didn't want me to do that. Maybe she fell asleep, I should've asked first. Oh, no, no, no. "Wow, your hands are cold." she said. I froze, I couldn't decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing. "Uh, I'm sorry." I whimpered. I was looked down at my feet but I could see her face, still on my shoulder, she smiled. We were walking back to the car in the brisk October air. She reached, grabbed my hand and took it in hers. A flood of warmth from the contact caught me off guard. I looked at her suddenly, she was smiling again. Reflexively I smiled back and we both laughed like the fools we were. "I'll have to keep you warm Mr. Cold Hands." she teased.	I have to cure them. I have a duty as a doctor to cure them all of their life. I must do it slowly. I must make them scream. I must destroy their hope of escaping. I must perform my duty as a doctor.
I look forward to any and every reply!	[WP] Write us something using your username as the prompt. (:	Ewww, what the fuck are in these muffins?	I have to cure them. I have a duty as a doctor to cure them all of their life. I must do it slowly. I must make them scream. I must destroy their hope of escaping. I must perform my duty as a doctor.
I look forward to any and every reply!	[WP] Write us something using your username as the prompt. (:	Ewww, what the fuck are in these muffins?	Sometimes I really hate this place. I mean, the pay is good and the work itself is fulfilling. Like the rest of the guys I came with, I’m not entirely welcome here. They warned us all, that Japan has a way of regarding foreigners. ‘How bad could it be?’ we asked ourselves. The dollar signs blinded us all. It started out great, though. When you don’t know what they’re all saying, you don’t know to take offense. Back at the airport, I picked up Rosetta Stone. After a few weeks, I was able to function outside of our little apartment building. And I was able to start piecing together what the bosses were saying. Back in Philadelphia, we knew how to insult a man to his face. Out in Nagoya, they buried theirs in layers of formality. It was at a dinner which my liaison encouraged, between boss and employee, that things started to take a turn. I know seafood. I know it’s supposed to be cooked. Sushi was a cultural dish, but I still wasn’t convinced. To avoid making a scene, I simply avoided it or anything with fish. The place this guy takes me is, of course, one that only serves fish. I tell the server that I want my fish grilled, steamed, fried... anything that made sure it wasn’t alive. I punctuated my request by making gills on my neck and shaking my head ‘no’ in the hopes that I was understood. On of the other employees, Ishigawa, said a few things I couldn’t understand. Through all of the words, I did make out a phrase I’d start hearing a lot: sakana gaijin, or foreigner fish. Around the office, I’d hear “sakana gaijin” uttered, followed by laughs; I’d see people hold their hands up to their neck, aping my display. They wanted to see me break. I’ll admit, they almost had me. But I made a conscious decision. I wasn’t going anywhere. It had been two months since I came to Nagoya. It was about time I got settled in. With the help of a nine-year transplant (a Jersey guy, no less) I got a Hanko, one of those stamps the Japanese use in place of signatures, made up. My family name doesn’t translate well into Japanese. But I wasn’t interested in putting Palometta through the blender for these people. They wanted to break me, brand me as a fish out of water. Fine. I’ll take it. I’ll make it my own. My first finished report, to be delivered to the very guy who started the gestures and whispers in my presence, got the inaugural ink. He had already given me the mocking salute when he looked at the signature line. Rather than the scripted name, he saw the ornate pair of twisted kanji: Sakanagai. His hands returned to his desk. He never made gills again.
"death" and "love" can be changed to anything you want, like "politicians" and "their suits" or "hatred" and "abuse"	[WP] First sentence: I could deal with all the death. It was the love I couldn't handle.	I could deal with all the death. It was the love I couldn't handle. Each day was utterly the same. I would leave for work before she woke up, my client would give me a photo and a name, and I would find the one to whom that name belonged, and I would stop their heart. Sometimes it would be months before I returned. Yet every time I opened the door, the corpse of my victim burned into my mind, she was there. Smiling. Beautiful. Kind. Oblivious. Infuriating. She didn't ask questions, ignored the look of death in my eyes, and welcomed me with a kiss. A kiss to tell me I was home and she was with me. To tell me I could relax. I went along with it every time, smiling back and hiding my rage. I knew she loved me. I could see it in every move she made. Every motion of the hand. I could see it's warmth in the chocolate of her eyes and taste it on her lips. She loved me utterly and completely, without question. The warmth of her love was the only thing that kept me grounded in reality. Kept me sane. I hated it It was because of her I couldn't forget the faces of the men I killed. Her love kept my own emotions alive. All the guilt, anger, sorrow, and regret was there because of her. Because she couldn't let me forget. She didn't even know the torture she put me through with her love. Yet no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't escape. I couldn't bring myself to abandon the flames of her affection and let myself freeze over. I had no choice but to love her. My heart wouldn't let me hate my tormentor. I craved her warmth. Every night I spent with her, she would lean in to whisper sweet things in my ear. To calm the turmoil in my mind. When she thought I was asleep, she would gently kiss my lips and whisper: I love you. And silently I would reply: That's why I hate you.	I could deal with all the death. It was the love I couldn't handle. Love has no place on the battlefield. When you're a soldier nothing matters but your ability to fight. Focus on anything else and you're dead. I never had that problem. I was a perfect soldier. The only thing worse than being forced to obey what you're told to do, is being raised to. The only thing worse than being raised to obey, is being born to obey. Being a perfect soldier put me in a different class of warrior, people started calling me a legend. I know what i am. I'm no legend. No hero... never have been. I'm just an old killer.
"death" and "love" can be changed to anything you want, like "politicians" and "their suits" or "hatred" and "abuse"	[WP] First sentence: I could deal with all the death. It was the love I couldn't handle.	I could deal with all the death. It was the love I couldn't handle. That innocent love shining in their eyes, as I stroke their fur, one last pat on the head, before their eyes close forever. I've become adjusted to being the reaper, but their love will haunt me forever.	I could deal with all the death. It was the love I couldn't handle. Love has no place on the battlefield. When you're a soldier nothing matters but your ability to fight. Focus on anything else and you're dead. I never had that problem. I was a perfect soldier. The only thing worse than being forced to obey what you're told to do, is being raised to. The only thing worse than being raised to obey, is being born to obey. Being a perfect soldier put me in a different class of warrior, people started calling me a legend. I know what i am. I'm no legend. No hero... never have been. I'm just an old killer.
"death" and "love" can be changed to anything you want, like "politicians" and "their suits" or "hatred" and "abuse"	[WP] First sentence: I could deal with all the death. It was the love I couldn't handle.	I'm gonna stick with the original. I could deal with all the death. It was the love I couldn't handle. I thought that this deployment to a forward triage center would just be a quick and easy job. Money was scarce, but death wasn't and of course, someone needed to clean up. My basic training, imposed upon me by my caste and upbringing, was enough to separate the salvagable from the too far gone but nonetheless, my bleeding heart, no pun intended, forced my hand to try to save a few more. I had always been like that throughout my childhood and the riots that consistently happened. I was one of the few triage techs that consistently turned in bloody scrubs and sharklet gloves at the end of a work shift. That day, it was different; she showed up.	I could deal with all the death. It was the love I couldn't handle. Love has no place on the battlefield. When you're a soldier nothing matters but your ability to fight. Focus on anything else and you're dead. I never had that problem. I was a perfect soldier. The only thing worse than being forced to obey what you're told to do, is being raised to. The only thing worse than being raised to obey, is being born to obey. Being a perfect soldier put me in a different class of warrior, people started calling me a legend. I know what i am. I'm no legend. No hero... never have been. I'm just an old killer.
"death" and "love" can be changed to anything you want, like "politicians" and "their suits" or "hatred" and "abuse"	[WP] First sentence: I could deal with all the death. It was the love I couldn't handle.	I could deal with all the death. It was the love I couldn't handle. I'd never really planned on falling in love. When you take a job that you know you'll hate in a city you know you'll leave, growing attached to anything or anything is damned near impossible. Ever read the warning that accompanies commercial grade pesticide? Chlorophacinone: "Do not expose children, pets, or other nontarget animals to rodenticides". Non target. Think about that for a moment. Apicide: "This product is an N-methyl carbamate and is a cholinesterase inhibitor". Not even my boss knows what the hell that one means. The first time I saw her, she was setting up a Flowtron Mosquito PowerTrap. Her face illuminated by the "Ultra Bright" LEDs. The way her boots looked too big on her. They always did. I've never really felt anything like what one would consider love at first sight before. Hell, I'd never really felt anything quite like this at all. My heart stopped, a breath caught in my throat, lips dried out, lost. Just lost. The first time we had sex, I could hear the brittle plastic of the roaches antennas on the top of the truck clacking together, their springs worn out long ago. I remember a bottle cap in the parking lot, pushed in to the dirt. It's funny how small details find themselves forever locked away, as if trapped by Flowtron. The first time I missed a flight out we were fighting. It had been almost a year and she didn't want me to leave. Hell, I didn't really want to leave, but I didn't want to stay, either. I got my job back, no problem. Her cousin owned "Splat", the little company we worked for. We were in bed the second time I missed a flight out. I remember hearing the plane go over, diverted and low. I suppose that was fate. Hell, maybe it was fate roaring goodbye. Eight months later I was painting little Sydney's room pink. Sydney was her moms name. Even had a countdown running on an old laptop to the due date. Sometimes I'd sit up at night and watch the seconds tick by. Tuesday. Fucking Tuesday. God fucking dammit Tuesday. She'd been staying at the office to avoid all the chemicals when the radio went off. That shrill fucking noise to make sure you're paying attention. It'd been going off so regularly we all ignored it. God dammit, why the fuck did we ignore it. They call it an F4. The sort of storm you see on TV. How stupid that I remember my first thought after we got inside was about the plastic sign on top of the truck. I thought the springs would break. I even remember thinking about how silly it was to be worried about that god damned truck. I never got to give her the ring I bought. It's still there, somewhere, buried. Never got to tell if little Sydney would like the color we picked. Funny how paint looks so much brighter when it first goes on. It's not that she's gone, really. Hell, a lot of folks are. It's that now, I'm the only one left who cares that I loved her. At least I finally got to kiss her in the rain like that movie she loved so much.	I could deal with all the death. It was the love I couldn't handle. Love has no place on the battlefield. When you're a soldier nothing matters but your ability to fight. Focus on anything else and you're dead. I never had that problem. I was a perfect soldier. The only thing worse than being forced to obey what you're told to do, is being raised to. The only thing worse than being raised to obey, is being born to obey. Being a perfect soldier put me in a different class of warrior, people started calling me a legend. I know what i am. I'm no legend. No hero... never have been. I'm just an old killer.
"death" and "love" can be changed to anything you want, like "politicians" and "their suits" or "hatred" and "abuse"	[WP] First sentence: I could deal with all the death. It was the love I couldn't handle.	I could deal with all the death. It was the love I couldn't handle. Each day was utterly the same. I would leave for work before she woke up, my client would give me a photo and a name, and I would find the one to whom that name belonged, and I would stop their heart. Sometimes it would be months before I returned. Yet every time I opened the door, the corpse of my victim burned into my mind, she was there. Smiling. Beautiful. Kind. Oblivious. Infuriating. She didn't ask questions, ignored the look of death in my eyes, and welcomed me with a kiss. A kiss to tell me I was home and she was with me. To tell me I could relax. I went along with it every time, smiling back and hiding my rage. I knew she loved me. I could see it in every move she made. Every motion of the hand. I could see it's warmth in the chocolate of her eyes and taste it on her lips. She loved me utterly and completely, without question. The warmth of her love was the only thing that kept me grounded in reality. Kept me sane. I hated it It was because of her I couldn't forget the faces of the men I killed. Her love kept my own emotions alive. All the guilt, anger, sorrow, and regret was there because of her. Because she couldn't let me forget. She didn't even know the torture she put me through with her love. Yet no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't escape. I couldn't bring myself to abandon the flames of her affection and let myself freeze over. I had no choice but to love her. My heart wouldn't let me hate my tormentor. I craved her warmth. Every night I spent with her, she would lean in to whisper sweet things in my ear. To calm the turmoil in my mind. When she thought I was asleep, she would gently kiss my lips and whisper: I love you. And silently I would reply: That's why I hate you.	I could deal with all the lies. It was the truth I couldn't handle. Mom and dad had always told me as little as possible about my real father. Mom would say, "He wasnt a very good person," and I could tell it made her very upset to remember him. Dad would just tell me, "Well Jason, that's a difficult subject to discuss." At least he didn't lie to me. Mom told me he died in some sort of car accident, but I knew she was lying. I think he was some kind of outlaw or something, from what I've pieced together over the years. Well, finally dad told me his name, Luke Glanton. So of course I looked him up on the internet. He was a bank robber who was shot and killed by a police officer fifteen years ago, when I was not even two years old. So that's the truth about my real father. The mystery is gone, replaced by the truth. And the truth hurts.
"death" and "love" can be changed to anything you want, like "politicians" and "their suits" or "hatred" and "abuse"	[WP] First sentence: I could deal with all the death. It was the love I couldn't handle.	I'm gonna stick with the original. I could deal with all the death. It was the love I couldn't handle. I thought that this deployment to a forward triage center would just be a quick and easy job. Money was scarce, but death wasn't and of course, someone needed to clean up. My basic training, imposed upon me by my caste and upbringing, was enough to separate the salvagable from the too far gone but nonetheless, my bleeding heart, no pun intended, forced my hand to try to save a few more. I had always been like that throughout my childhood and the riots that consistently happened. I was one of the few triage techs that consistently turned in bloody scrubs and sharklet gloves at the end of a work shift. That day, it was different; she showed up.	I could deal with all the lies. It was the truth I couldn't handle. Mom and dad had always told me as little as possible about my real father. Mom would say, "He wasnt a very good person," and I could tell it made her very upset to remember him. Dad would just tell me, "Well Jason, that's a difficult subject to discuss." At least he didn't lie to me. Mom told me he died in some sort of car accident, but I knew she was lying. I think he was some kind of outlaw or something, from what I've pieced together over the years. Well, finally dad told me his name, Luke Glanton. So of course I looked him up on the internet. He was a bank robber who was shot and killed by a police officer fifteen years ago, when I was not even two years old. So that's the truth about my real father. The mystery is gone, replaced by the truth. And the truth hurts.
"death" and "love" can be changed to anything you want, like "politicians" and "their suits" or "hatred" and "abuse"	[WP] First sentence: I could deal with all the death. It was the love I couldn't handle.	I could deal with all the death. It was the love I couldn't handle. I'd never really planned on falling in love. When you take a job that you know you'll hate in a city you know you'll leave, growing attached to anything or anything is damned near impossible. Ever read the warning that accompanies commercial grade pesticide? Chlorophacinone: "Do not expose children, pets, or other nontarget animals to rodenticides". Non target. Think about that for a moment. Apicide: "This product is an N-methyl carbamate and is a cholinesterase inhibitor". Not even my boss knows what the hell that one means. The first time I saw her, she was setting up a Flowtron Mosquito PowerTrap. Her face illuminated by the "Ultra Bright" LEDs. The way her boots looked too big on her. They always did. I've never really felt anything like what one would consider love at first sight before. Hell, I'd never really felt anything quite like this at all. My heart stopped, a breath caught in my throat, lips dried out, lost. Just lost. The first time we had sex, I could hear the brittle plastic of the roaches antennas on the top of the truck clacking together, their springs worn out long ago. I remember a bottle cap in the parking lot, pushed in to the dirt. It's funny how small details find themselves forever locked away, as if trapped by Flowtron. The first time I missed a flight out we were fighting. It had been almost a year and she didn't want me to leave. Hell, I didn't really want to leave, but I didn't want to stay, either. I got my job back, no problem. Her cousin owned "Splat", the little company we worked for. We were in bed the second time I missed a flight out. I remember hearing the plane go over, diverted and low. I suppose that was fate. Hell, maybe it was fate roaring goodbye. Eight months later I was painting little Sydney's room pink. Sydney was her moms name. Even had a countdown running on an old laptop to the due date. Sometimes I'd sit up at night and watch the seconds tick by. Tuesday. Fucking Tuesday. God fucking dammit Tuesday. She'd been staying at the office to avoid all the chemicals when the radio went off. That shrill fucking noise to make sure you're paying attention. It'd been going off so regularly we all ignored it. God dammit, why the fuck did we ignore it. They call it an F4. The sort of storm you see on TV. How stupid that I remember my first thought after we got inside was about the plastic sign on top of the truck. I thought the springs would break. I even remember thinking about how silly it was to be worried about that god damned truck. I never got to give her the ring I bought. It's still there, somewhere, buried. Never got to tell if little Sydney would like the color we picked. Funny how paint looks so much brighter when it first goes on. It's not that she's gone, really. Hell, a lot of folks are. It's that now, I'm the only one left who cares that I loved her. At least I finally got to kiss her in the rain like that movie she loved so much.	I could deal with all the lies. It was the truth I couldn't handle. Mom and dad had always told me as little as possible about my real father. Mom would say, "He wasnt a very good person," and I could tell it made her very upset to remember him. Dad would just tell me, "Well Jason, that's a difficult subject to discuss." At least he didn't lie to me. Mom told me he died in some sort of car accident, but I knew she was lying. I think he was some kind of outlaw or something, from what I've pieced together over the years. Well, finally dad told me his name, Luke Glanton. So of course I looked him up on the internet. He was a bank robber who was shot and killed by a police officer fifteen years ago, when I was not even two years old. So that's the truth about my real father. The mystery is gone, replaced by the truth. And the truth hurts.
"death" and "love" can be changed to anything you want, like "politicians" and "their suits" or "hatred" and "abuse"	[WP] First sentence: I could deal with all the death. It was the love I couldn't handle.	I'm gonna stick with the original. I could deal with all the death. It was the love I couldn't handle. I thought that this deployment to a forward triage center would just be a quick and easy job. Money was scarce, but death wasn't and of course, someone needed to clean up. My basic training, imposed upon me by my caste and upbringing, was enough to separate the salvagable from the too far gone but nonetheless, my bleeding heart, no pun intended, forced my hand to try to save a few more. I had always been like that throughout my childhood and the riots that consistently happened. I was one of the few triage techs that consistently turned in bloody scrubs and sharklet gloves at the end of a work shift. That day, it was different; she showed up.	I could deal with all the death. It was the love I couldn't handle. Each day was utterly the same. I would leave for work before she woke up, my client would give me a photo and a name, and I would find the one to whom that name belonged, and I would stop their heart. Sometimes it would be months before I returned. Yet every time I opened the door, the corpse of my victim burned into my mind, she was there. Smiling. Beautiful. Kind. Oblivious. Infuriating. She didn't ask questions, ignored the look of death in my eyes, and welcomed me with a kiss. A kiss to tell me I was home and she was with me. To tell me I could relax. I went along with it every time, smiling back and hiding my rage. I knew she loved me. I could see it in every move she made. Every motion of the hand. I could see it's warmth in the chocolate of her eyes and taste it on her lips. She loved me utterly and completely, without question. The warmth of her love was the only thing that kept me grounded in reality. Kept me sane. I hated it It was because of her I couldn't forget the faces of the men I killed. Her love kept my own emotions alive. All the guilt, anger, sorrow, and regret was there because of her. Because she couldn't let me forget. She didn't even know the torture she put me through with her love. Yet no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't escape. I couldn't bring myself to abandon the flames of her affection and let myself freeze over. I had no choice but to love her. My heart wouldn't let me hate my tormentor. I craved her warmth. Every night I spent with her, she would lean in to whisper sweet things in my ear. To calm the turmoil in my mind. When she thought I was asleep, she would gently kiss my lips and whisper: I love you. And silently I would reply: That's why I hate you.
"death" and "love" can be changed to anything you want, like "politicians" and "their suits" or "hatred" and "abuse"	[WP] First sentence: I could deal with all the death. It was the love I couldn't handle.	I'm gonna stick with the original. I could deal with all the death. It was the love I couldn't handle. I thought that this deployment to a forward triage center would just be a quick and easy job. Money was scarce, but death wasn't and of course, someone needed to clean up. My basic training, imposed upon me by my caste and upbringing, was enough to separate the salvagable from the too far gone but nonetheless, my bleeding heart, no pun intended, forced my hand to try to save a few more. I had always been like that throughout my childhood and the riots that consistently happened. I was one of the few triage techs that consistently turned in bloody scrubs and sharklet gloves at the end of a work shift. That day, it was different; she showed up.	I could deal with all the death. It was the love I couldn't handle. That innocent love shining in their eyes, as I stroke their fur, one last pat on the head, before their eyes close forever. I've become adjusted to being the reaper, but their love will haunt me forever.
"death" and "love" can be changed to anything you want, like "politicians" and "their suits" or "hatred" and "abuse"	[WP] First sentence: I could deal with all the death. It was the love I couldn't handle.	I could deal with all the death. It was the love I couldn't handle. I'd never really planned on falling in love. When you take a job that you know you'll hate in a city you know you'll leave, growing attached to anything or anything is damned near impossible. Ever read the warning that accompanies commercial grade pesticide? Chlorophacinone: "Do not expose children, pets, or other nontarget animals to rodenticides". Non target. Think about that for a moment. Apicide: "This product is an N-methyl carbamate and is a cholinesterase inhibitor". Not even my boss knows what the hell that one means. The first time I saw her, she was setting up a Flowtron Mosquito PowerTrap. Her face illuminated by the "Ultra Bright" LEDs. The way her boots looked too big on her. They always did. I've never really felt anything like what one would consider love at first sight before. Hell, I'd never really felt anything quite like this at all. My heart stopped, a breath caught in my throat, lips dried out, lost. Just lost. The first time we had sex, I could hear the brittle plastic of the roaches antennas on the top of the truck clacking together, their springs worn out long ago. I remember a bottle cap in the parking lot, pushed in to the dirt. It's funny how small details find themselves forever locked away, as if trapped by Flowtron. The first time I missed a flight out we were fighting. It had been almost a year and she didn't want me to leave. Hell, I didn't really want to leave, but I didn't want to stay, either. I got my job back, no problem. Her cousin owned "Splat", the little company we worked for. We were in bed the second time I missed a flight out. I remember hearing the plane go over, diverted and low. I suppose that was fate. Hell, maybe it was fate roaring goodbye. Eight months later I was painting little Sydney's room pink. Sydney was her moms name. Even had a countdown running on an old laptop to the due date. Sometimes I'd sit up at night and watch the seconds tick by. Tuesday. Fucking Tuesday. God fucking dammit Tuesday. She'd been staying at the office to avoid all the chemicals when the radio went off. That shrill fucking noise to make sure you're paying attention. It'd been going off so regularly we all ignored it. God dammit, why the fuck did we ignore it. They call it an F4. The sort of storm you see on TV. How stupid that I remember my first thought after we got inside was about the plastic sign on top of the truck. I thought the springs would break. I even remember thinking about how silly it was to be worried about that god damned truck. I never got to give her the ring I bought. It's still there, somewhere, buried. Never got to tell if little Sydney would like the color we picked. Funny how paint looks so much brighter when it first goes on. It's not that she's gone, really. Hell, a lot of folks are. It's that now, I'm the only one left who cares that I loved her. At least I finally got to kiss her in the rain like that movie she loved so much.	I could deal with all the death. It was the love I couldn't handle. That innocent love shining in their eyes, as I stroke their fur, one last pat on the head, before their eyes close forever. I've become adjusted to being the reaper, but their love will haunt me forever.
	[WP] Find x.	2x + 7 = x + 18 x=11 ? Anyone? No? Okay...	He turned the jar over and whirled it around. After that, he smacked the old tin bottom and flipped it back over so that he could stare at the cookie jar. A little painted bear stared back with flat-black eyes, mocking him. Jim Finnegan growled at the bear then set the jar down on the counter. No more cookies, not in the jar, not in his reserve baggy, not on the cooling rack. It wasn't like there were a whole lot of people that could have taken the cookies - Jim lived alone. "Who took the cookies?" He chewed the words out slowly, glaring at his various kitchen appliances, "Who took the cookies from the cookie jar?" Nothing answered him. But, Jim thought, the microwave looks awfully suspicious. It was shivering in its cubby, door shut tight like it had something to hide. Microwaves are not known for hiding anything, so Jim immediately made it for what it was. A spy. He stepped up to it slowly and stopped with a ram-rod back. "Do you know where I can find my cookies?" Jim asked it, leaning in close, "Do you know where they are?" His reflection on the glass face stared back. "It's alright if you took them," he lied to his appliance, "I'm not mad, really. I just need to find them. That's all I need." Still, the microwave refused to answer. It stood its ground - giving nothing but the brand name, the time, and model-number on the faceplate. Unacceptable, Jim thought, I must make an example of this spy. So he unplugged the device and set it on the dining table. There it sat, unable to move, or speak, or even flash its little time stamp in defiance. Jim turned to his other appliances and clicked his bare heels. "Who's next?" He interrogated every appliance in his kitchen - from the blender to the toaster, from the fridge to the time. None spoke. Jim got progressively more inventive with his interrogation tactics, and by the time he got to the oven he was slowly scuffing the glossy surfaces. "So," he told the oven, "You're family will never recognize you again." But no matter what he did, no matter which appliance he interrogated, he got no answers. The cookies had vanished without a trace. "I didn't want to do this," Jim told his prisoners, "But you've left me no choice." He picked up the phone and began to dial '911' when he realized the phone might be in on it too. There was the computer - but computers were always shifty appliances. Maybe he'd just need to walk down to the police station. Except there were security cameras in his building, and then again at the station. Not to mention the red lights on the way. Jim turned to face his appliances, and saw them scowling at him. They were sore winners, it was written on their faces. "Alright then," he said, hands up and urging for calm, "No need for violence. I'm just trying to find my cookies."
Just for a change and a little challenge, write us a story which is erotic/sensual in nature and write your own twist at the end of it.	[WP] Erotic Story with a twist	Sorry mine is so long. If it is too long I can put it on my website and link to it. Casual Encounter He locked eyes with her from across the bar. At first he was just glancing in that direction, scanning the room and seeing how many people were here on the busy Friday night, but when he saw her he let his eyes linger. She had a pretty face, sharp cheek bones and a nose that was small with a slight point. On some women that nose would make her look stuck-up, but it gave her a pixie quality. It made her cute. She glanced in his direction and their eyes met. He quickly darted his eyes back to his drink, a little shy and embarrassed that he had been caught checking her out. After some small talk with the bartender he looked back in her direction. She was standing now watching a couple of people play darts. She was of average height and had what appeared to be a nice body. It was a little hard to know for sure because she had on a loose fitting T-shirt and a pair of jeans, but the jeans hugged her hips in just the right way. Whatever the rest of her body may or may not look like, she had a fantastic ass. She looked back and once again their eyes met and he quickly looked away. He wanted to go talk to her. He wrestled with the idea of just getting up, walking over to her and saying hi. What was the worst that could happen? It wasn’t like she was a regular here. Just as he was about to stand up he heard the voice to his left. “Hi,” she said. He turned to look and she was standing next to him. “Hi,” he replied in an almost stutter. After a second of being frozen with indecision he invited her sit down next to him at the bar and offered her a drink. She accepted both. The next two hours were like something he read about in books and saw in movies. She was everything he could dream of. She smelled so good. Her perfume had hints of vanilla and her hair was like a field of strawberries. Now that he was close to her he could see she had gorgeous blue eyes and a she was beautiful. It wasn’t just the nose and cheek bones. She had a smile that lit up the room and a warm, inviting laugh. They talked, flirted. She put her hand on his arm several times and on his leg a few times as they talked. When she got up to use the bathroom she let her hand drag across his back as she walked behind him. Her touch nearly made his body shiver. There was something about her. He desperately wanted to kiss her, but he also wanted to know her on a deeper level. It was as if he knew her in some way. She was familiar even though he had never seen her before tonight. When she returned from the bathroom she leaned over and spoke softly in his ear. “I don’t want to seem too bold here, but I actually have to do some stuff tomorrow and have to be up kind of early. Do you want to get out of here and go somewhere we can be alone?” He agreed. A quick conversation followed where she suggested that they get a motel room. They jumped in his car, her hand on his leg as they drove, arrived at a nearby motel and she waited in the car while he went inside and got a room. As they walked through the door to the room they were all over each other. She pressed her mouth hard against his. Her aggression turned him on. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close kissing her neck then dragging his lips back to hers. He could feel her breasts pressing against his chest. He let a hand slide down her back to feel her butt. It was a perfect mix of firm and soft. Just as he had imagined it would be. She pulled his shirt off while he unbuttoned her pants. She slithered out of her jeans and held her arms above her head so he could pull off her shirt. The warmth of her body pressed against his, the taste of her lips with the hint of booze on them and her soft, talented tongue in his mouth had him raging in his pants. When she unzipped him and pulled his pants down she grabbed him and smiled as they continued to taste each other. He had never been this turned on. Her desire had taken him to a place he had never been before. He nearly tore his boxers off. As they hit the floor she wrapped her hand around his shaft and gave him a couple of gentle tugs. He nearly lost it right there. She had him pressed against the wall with her tongue inside his mouth and her hand around his shaft. He could feel her hunger, but he needed to slow down. He put his hands on her hips and pushed her back, pulling his mouth away from hers. “I need to use the bathroom real quick.” He told her. She smiled and stepped back, her eyes glowing with desire. She hadn’t been wearing a bra so as all she had left on was a small pair of panties. Slowly, she bent at the waist and eased them off. She stood up, twirled them on her finger then tossed them across the room. “I’ll be waiting,” she said in a low, throaty tone that was at once erotic and mysterious. He quickly glanced at her most private of areas and saw she was fully shaved. Bare and smooth. Another first for him. He wanted to reach out and touch it, but he forced himself to go to the bathroom. He had to pace himself or it would be over too soon. Good things come to those who wait. After a quick trip to the bathroom, he returned to the room where he found her holding two glasses. She handed him one. She said she had found an airplane bottle of rum in her purse. They made a toast and swallowed down the booze then things picked up right where they had left off. As she kissed him she wrapped her arms around him and said in a very matter-of-fact way, “I want you to fuck me in the shower.” He was not about to deny her so arm in arm, lips on lips they made their way to the bathroom, stepped into the bathtub and let the warm water cascade over their nude bodies as they continued to devour each other. For the next handful of minutes it was like he was living a dream. Things like this just don’t happen to him. He had never been more correct. Just as he slid his hand between her legs and realized that her holiest of holies was as soft and smooth and he imagined it to be, things got a little fuzzy. He felt dizzy and even a little nauseous. He felt himself stumble away from her as his feet felt like they were sliding out from under him. Then everything went black. When he woke he was sitting in the bath tub that was now half full of water. There were straps wrapped around his arms holding them to his torso. His legs were strapped together at his ankles as well. “Welcome back.” Her voice came from his left. He turned his head and saw her sitting on the toilet. She was dressed now and looked menacing as she sat with her arms on her knees glaring at him. What was happening? “You might be a little confused. Let me shed some light on the situation.” She showed him a picture of a girl. “You know her correct?” It was almost more of a statement then a question. He looked at the picture and immediately recognized the girl. He had gone out with her a few times in college. He nodded his head, “Yes.” “And you remember what you did to her?” He didn’t move. The long buried memories were exploding in his head. Over the years he had worked hard to convince himself that it hadn’t happened or that it had gone down differently. “Care to explain what happened?” she asked him. “Can’t say it out loud?” she continued, “Let me. You met her in college. You took her out on a few dates. You were awkward, but she thought it was cute. After a few dates over a couple of weeks you took her to a movie then afterwards you went to a park where you watched the stars. You made your move. She was happy to make out with you, but you wanted more. When she tried to stop, you forced yourself on her. You raped her. Not only did you rape her, you then ran away and left her lying in the dark park, naked, bleeding and alone. She had to get dressed, walk down the street and find someone to call 911.” “How do you know this?” he croaked, his throat now dry and raw. “She’s my sister. Before that night she was fun and full of life. She’s never been the same since. That night you took something from her that she never got back. Tonight I am returning the favor.” She stood up, picked something up from the counter and walked over to him. When she was close he could see she was holding a razor blade. He started the thrash, trying to escape, but the combination of whatever was in the drink, the slippery, wet tub and the straps around his body made it hard for him to move. She grabbed his left arm, turned it so it faced wrist up and she sunk the razor blade into his flesh then dragged it up his arm. The blood came instantly and in a waterfall. She let go of that hand and did the same to the other, drawing a deep, beautiful wound from his wrist up his forearm. Within seconds the blood hit the water in the tub and spread like wildfire. He was bathing in crimson, his face pale with shock. It hurt, but he didn’t know what to say, what to do. It occurred to him he should scream for help, but his mouth simply couldn’t form the words. “Your suicide note is on the bed. In it you confess to the rape. The guilt from that was too much for you to carry with you. When you’re gone I will remove the straps and they will find you, dead and naked. With the note they won’t think twice. You were a loser who had nothing and nobody in their life and who destroyed the only good thing that ever happened to you so you finally decided to end it all. He could feel the life draining from his body. It wasn’t like he imagined it would be. He was cold and tired and felt weak and light headed. As his eyes grew heavy the last thing he saw was her face with its sharp cheekbones and perfect pixie nose. Her eyes were different now. Those gorgeous blue eyes now stared at him with an edge sharper than the razor that had danced across his wrist. As things faded to black he realized it wasn’t the look of passion or desire that he had seen in her eyes. It was the look of satisfaction.	There you are: pleasuring yourself in the middle of the day to thoughts of your latest crush. It feels so good -- better than usual. Each moment is better than the last, yet you wish that each one would stay forever. You're getting shorter of breath by the second. A euphoric feeling starts to overcome you. It gets stronger and stronger, each bit of contact intensifying it. You reach the breaking point and can stand it no longer. You speed up, your hand a blur. Then it happens: you reach climax. Everything slows down as you feel the surge of endorphins rushing through your body. You slowly open your eyes and look around the room with a satisfied, exhausted grin. It isn't until you see the looks ranging from horrified to "I can't wait to tell everyone I know" that you realize that masturbating at the table during Thanksgiving dinner was probably a bad judgment call on your part.

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